Expenses of the Sovereign or Commonwealth

The first duty of the sovereign, that of protecting the society from the violence and invasion of other independent societies, can be performed only by means of a military force. But the expense both of preparing this military force in time of peace, and of employing it in time of war, is very different in the different states of society, in the different periods of improvement.

The ruler’s first duty is to protect society from violence and invasion by other independent societies. This duty can be carried out only with a military force. But the cost of preparing a military force in peacetime and using it in war varies greatly. It varies with the state of society and its stage of development.

Among nations of hunters, the lowest and rudest state of society, such as we find it among the native tribes of North America, every man is a warrior, as well as a hunter. When he goes to war, either to defend his society, or to revenge the injuries which have been done to it by other societies, he maintains himself by his own labour, in the same manner as when he lives at home. His society (for in this state of things there is properly neither sovereign nor commonwealth) is at no sort of expense, either to prepare him for the field, or to maintain him while he is in it.

Among nations of hunters, the lowest and crudest state of society, every man is both a warrior and a hunter. We find this state of society among the native tribes of North America. A man may go to war to defend his society or avenge injuries inflicted on it by other societies. When he does, he supports himself through his own work, just as he does at home. In this state of society, there is properly neither a sovereign nor a commonwealth. His society spends nothing to prepare him for war or support him while he is fighting.

Among nations of shepherds, a more advanced state of society, such as we find it among the Tartars and Arabs, every man is, in the same manner, a warrior. Such nations have commonly no fixed habitation, but live either in tents, or in a sort of covered waggons, which are easily transported from place to place. The whole tribe, or nation, changes its situation according to the different seasons of the year, as well as according to other accidents. When its herds and flocks have consumed the forage of one part of the country, it removes to another, and from that to a third. In the dry season, it comes down to the banks of the rivers; in the wet season, it retires to the upper country. When such a nation goes to war, the warriors will not trust their herds and flocks to the feeble defence of their old men, their women and children; and their old men, their women and children, will not be left behind without defence, and without subsistence. The whole nation, besides, being accustomed to a wandering life, even in time of peace, easily takes the field in time of war. Whether it marches as an army, or moves about as a company of herdsmen, the way of life is nearly the same, though the object proposed by it be very different. They all go to war together, therefore, and everyone does as well as he can. Among the Tartars, even the women have been frequently known to engage in battle. If they conquer, whatever belongs to the hostile tribe is the recompence of the victory; but if they are vanquished, all is lost; and not only their herds and flocks, but their women and children become the booty of the conqueror. Even the greater part of those who survive the action are obliged to submit to him for the sake of immediate subsistence. The rest are commonly dissipated and dispersed in the desert.

Among nations of shepherds, every man is likewise a warrior. These societies are more advanced, as we see among the Tartars and Arabs. Such nations usually have no fixed home. They live in tents or covered wagons that can easily be moved from place to place. The whole tribe or nation moves with the seasons and in response to other circumstances. When its herds and flocks have eaten the available vegetation in one part of the country, it moves to another, and then to a third. In the dry season, it comes down to the banks of rivers. In the wet season, it moves back to higher ground. When such a nation goes to war, the warriors will not trust their herds and flocks to the weak defense of their old men, women, and children. Nor will the old men, women, and children stay behind without protection or food. Besides, the whole nation is used to a wandering life, even in peacetime. It can therefore easily take the field in wartime. Whether the people march as an army or move about as herdsmen, their way of life is nearly the same, though their purpose is very different. They all go to war together, then, and each does as well as he can. Among the Tartars, even the women have often been known to fight in battle. If they conquer, everything belonging to the hostile tribe is their reward for victory. But if they are defeated, all is lost. Not only their herds and flocks, but also their women and children, become the conqueror's spoils. Even most of those who survive the battle must submit to the conqueror to get the food they immediately need. The rest are usually scattered across the desert.

The ordinary life, the ordinary exercise of a Tartar or Arab, prepares him sufficiently for war. Running, wrestling, cudgel-playing, throwing the javelin, drawing the bow, etc. are the common pastimes of those who live in the open air, and are all of them the images of war. When a Tartar or Arab actually goes to war, he is maintained by his own herds and flocks, which he carries with him, in the same manner as in peace. His chief or sovereign (for those nations have all chiefs or sovereigns) is at no sort of expense in preparing him for the field; and when he is in it, the chance of plunder is the only pay which he either expects or requires.

The everyday life and activities of a Tartar or Arab prepare him well enough for war. Running, wrestling, fighting with clubs, throwing the javelin, and drawing the bow are common pastimes among people who live outdoors. All of them resemble war. When a Tartar or Arab goes to war, he lives off his own herds and flocks. He takes them with him, just as he does in peacetime. His chief or sovereign spends nothing to prepare him for battle. All these nations have chiefs or sovereigns. Once he is in the field, the chance of plunder is the only pay he expects or requires.

An army of hunters can seldom exceed two or three hundred men. The precarious subsistence which the chace affords, could seldom allow a greater number to keep together for any considerable time. An army of shepherds, on the contrary, may sometimes amount to two or three hundred thousand. As long as nothing stops their progress, as long as they can go on from one district, of which they have consumed the forage, to another, which is yet entire; there seems to be scarce any limit to the number who can march on together. A nation of hunters can never be formidable to the civilized nations in their neighbourhood; a nation of shepherds may. Nothing can be more contemptible than an Indian war in North America; nothing, on the contrary, can be more dreadful than a Tartar invasion has frequently been in Asia. The judgment of Thucydides, that both Europe and Asia could not resist the Scythians united, has been verified by the experience of all ages. The inhabitants of the extensive, but defenceless plains of Scythia or Tartary, have been frequently united under the dominion of the chief of some conquering horde or clan; and the havock and devastation of Asia have always signalized their union. The inhabitants of the inhospitable deserts of Arabia, the other great nation of shepherds, have never been united but once, under Mahomet and his immediate successors. Their union, which was more the effect of religious enthusiasm than of conquest, was signalized in the same manner. If the hunting nations of America should ever become shepherds, their neighbourhood would be much more dangerous to the European colonies than it is at present.

An army of hunters can seldom exceed two or three hundred men. Hunting provides an uncertain food supply, which could seldom support a larger group for long. An army of shepherds, by contrast, may sometimes number two or three hundred thousand. They can move from one district to another, leaving behind pastures they have used up for ones still untouched. As long as nothing stops their advance, there seems to be almost no limit to how many can march together. A nation of hunters can never be a serious threat to the civilized nations nearby. A nation of shepherds may be. Nothing can be more contemptible than an Indian war in North America. By contrast, nothing can be more dreadful than a Tartar invasion has often been in Asia. Thucydides judged that Europe and Asia together could not resist a united Scythian force. The experience of all ages has confirmed his judgment. The inhabitants of the vast but defenseless plains of Scythia or Tartary have often been united under the chief of a conquering horde or clan. Their union has always brought havoc and devastation to Asia. The inhabitants of Arabia’s harsh deserts were the other great nation of shepherds. They have been united only once, under Mahomet and his immediate successors. Their union was more the result of religious enthusiasm than of conquest, but it brought the same havoc and devastation. If the hunting nations of America should ever become shepherds, they would be much more dangerous neighbors to the European colonies than they are now.

In a yet more advanced state of society, among those nations of husbandmen who have little foreign commerce, and no other manufactures but those coarse and household ones, which almost every private family prepares for its own use, every man, in the same manner, either is a warrior, or easily becomes such. Those who live by agriculture generally pass the whole day in the open air, exposed to all the inclemencies of the seasons. The hardiness of their ordinary life prepares them for the fatigues of war, to some of which their necessary occupations bear a great analogy. The necessary occupation of a ditcher prepares him to work in the trenches, and to fortify a camp, as well as to inclose a field. The ordinary pastimes of such husbandmen are the same as those of shepherds, and are in the same manner the images of war. But as husbandmen have less leisure than shepherds, they are not so frequently employed in those pastimes. They are soldiers but soldiers not quite so much masters of their exercise. Such as they are, however, it seldom costs the sovereign or commonwealth any expense to prepare them for the field.

In a more advanced stage of society, some farming nations have little foreign trade. Their only manufactured goods are coarse or household goods, which almost every family makes for its own use. In these nations, too, every man is either a soldier or can easily become one. Farmers generally spend the whole day outdoors, exposed to harsh weather in every season. Their hard daily lives prepare them for the hardships of war. Some of their necessary work is much like the work of soldiers. A man who digs ditches for a living is prepared to dig trenches and fortify a camp, as well as to fence a field. Farmers enjoy the same pastimes as shepherds, and these pastimes also imitate war. But farmers have less leisure than shepherds, so they do not take part in these pastimes as often. They are soldiers, but they are not quite as skilled in military exercises. Even so, it seldom costs the ruler or the state anything to prepare them for battle.

Agriculture, even in its rudest and lowest state, supposes a settlement, some sort of fixed habitation, which cannot be abandoned without great loss. When a nation of mere husbandmen, therefore, goes to war, the whole people cannot take the field together. The old men, the women and children, at least, must remain at home, to take care of the habitation. All the men of the military age, however, may take the field, and in small nations of this kind, have frequently done so. In every nation, the men of the military age are supposed to amount to about a fourth or a fifth part of the whole body of the people. If the campaign, too, should begin after seedtime, and end before harvest, both the husbandman and his principal labourers can be spared from the farm without much loss. He trusts that the work which must be done in the mean time, can be well enough executed by the old men, the women, and the children. He is not unwilling, therefore, to serve without pay during a short campaign; and it frequently costs the sovereign or commonwealth as little to maintain him in the field as to prepare him for it. The citizens of all the different states of ancient Greece seem to have served in this manner till after the second Persian war; and the people of Peloponnesus till after the Peloponnesian war. The Peloponnesians, Thucydides observes, generally left the field in the summer, and returned home to reap the harvest. The Roman people, under their kings, and during the first ages of the republic, served in the same manner. It was not till the seige of Veii, that they who staid at home began to contribute something towards maintaining those who went to war. In the European monarchies, which were founded upon the ruins of the Roman empire, both before, and for some time after, the establishment of what is properly called the feudal law, the great lords, with all their immediate dependents, used to serve the crown at their own expense. In the field, in the same manner as at home, they maintained themselves by their own revenue, and not by any stipend or pay which they received from the king upon that particular occasion.

Agriculture, even in its simplest and least developed state, requires a settlement of some kind. People must have a fixed home that they cannot abandon without great loss. So when a nation made up entirely of farmers goes to war, not everyone can take the field. At least the old men, women, and children must stay home to look after their homes. All the men of military age, however, may take the field. In small nations of this kind, they have often done so. In every nation, men of military age are thought to make up about a fourth or a fifth of the population. If a campaign begins after planting and ends before harvest, farmers and their main workers can leave their farms without much loss. A farmer trusts the old men, women, and children to do the necessary work well enough in the meantime. He is therefore willing to serve without pay during a short campaign. Maintaining him in the field often costs the sovereign or commonwealth as little as preparing him for it. The citizens of all the different states of ancient Greece seem to have served in this way until after the second Persian war. The people of Peloponnesus seem to have done so until after the Peloponnesian war. As Thucydides observes, the Peloponnesians generally left the field in summer and returned home to reap the harvest. The Roman people served in the same way under their kings and during the early years of the republic. Only at the siege of Veii did those who stayed home begin contributing to the support of those who went to war. European monarchies were founded on the ruins of the Roman empire. In those monarchies, the great lords and all their immediate dependents used to serve the crown at their own expense. They did so before the establishment of what is properly called feudal law, and for some time afterward. In the field, as at home, they supported themselves from their own income. They received no allowance or pay from the king for their service.

In a more advanced state of society, two different causes contribute to render it altogether impossible that they who take the field should maintain themselves at their own expense. Those two causes are, the progress of manufactures, and the improvement in the art of war.

In a more advanced society, two causes make it impossible for those who go to war to support themselves at their own expense. These causes are the growth of manufacturing and advances in the art of war.

Though a husbandman should be employed in an expedition, provided it begins after seedtime, and ends before harvest, the interruption of his business will not always occasion any considerable diminution of his revenue. Without the intervention of his labour, Nature does herself the greater part of the work which remains to be done. But the moment that an artificer, a smith, a carpenter, or a weaver, for example, quits his workhouse, the sole source of his revenue is completely dried up. Nature does nothing for him; he does all for himself. When he takes the field, therefore, in defence of the public, as he has no revenue to maintain himself, he must necessarily be maintained by the public. But in a country, of which a great part of the inhabitants are artificers and manufacturers, a great part of the people who go to war must be drawn from those classes, and must, therefore, be maintained by the public as long as they are employed in its service.

A farmer may serve in an expedition without losing much income from the interruption to his work. This is true if the expedition begins after planting and ends before harvest. Even without his labor, nature does most of the work that remains. But the moment a craftsman, such as a blacksmith, carpenter, or weaver, leaves his workshop, his only source of income dries up completely. Nature does nothing for him. He does everything himself. So when he goes to war to defend the public, he has no income to support himself. The public must therefore support him. But in a country where many people are craftsmen and manufacturers, many who go to war must come from those classes. The public must therefore support them as long as they serve.

When the art of war, too, has gradually grown up to be a very intricate and complicated science; when the event of war ceases to be determined, as in the first ages of society, by a single irregular skirmish or battle; but when the contest is generally spun out through several different campaigns, each of which lasts during the greater part of the year; it becomes universally necessary that the public should maintain those who serve the public in war, at least while they are employed in that service. Whatever, in time of peace, might be the ordinary occupation of those who go to war, so very tedious and expensive a service would otherwise be by far too heavy a burden upon them. After the second Persian war, accordingly, the armies of Athens seem to have been generally composed of mercenary troops, consisting, indeed, partly of citizens, but partly, too, of foreigners; and all of them equally hired and paid at the expense of the state. From the time of the siege of Veii, the armies of Rome received pay for their service during the time which they remained in the field. Under the feudal governments, the military service, both of the great lords, and of their immediate dependents, was, after a certain period, universally exchanged for a payment in money, which was employed to maintain those who served in their stead.

The art of war gradually becomes a very intricate and complicated science. In the earliest stages of society, a single irregular skirmish or battle determined the outcome of a war. But later, wars generally stretch over several campaigns, each lasting most of the year. It then becomes necessary everywhere for the public to support those who fight for it, at least while they serve. Whatever their usual peacetime occupation, such long and expensive service would otherwise be far too heavy a burden on them. After the second Persian war, the armies of Athens seem to have been generally made up of mercenary troops. Some were citizens and others were foreigners, but all were equally hired and paid by the state. From the siege of Veii onward, the armies of Rome received pay while they remained in the field. Under feudal governments, the military service of both the great lords and their immediate dependents was everywhere replaced, after a certain period, by a payment in money. This money was used to support those who served in their place.

The number of those who can go to war, in proportion to the whole number of the people, is necessarily much smaller in a civilized than in a rude state of society. In a civilized society, as the soldiers are maintained altogether by the labour of those who are not soldiers, the number of the former can never exceed what the latter can maintain, over and above maintaining, in a manner suitable to their respective stations, both themselves and the other officers of government and law, whom they are obliged to maintain. In the little agrarian states of ancient Greece, a fourth or a fifth part of the whole body of the people considered the themselves as soldiers, and would sometimes, it is said, take the field. Among the civilized nations of modern Europe, it is commonly computed, that not more than the one hundredth part of the inhabitants of any country can be employed as soldiers, without ruin to the country which pays the expense of their service.

The share of people who can go to war is necessarily much smaller in a civilized society than in a primitive one. In a civilized society, soldiers are supported entirely by the work of those who are not soldiers. So the number of soldiers can never exceed what the rest can support. Those who are not soldiers must also support themselves and the other officials of government and law they are obliged to maintain. They must do so in a manner suited to each person's social position. In the small farming states of ancient Greece, a quarter or a fifth of the entire population regarded themselves as soldiers. It is said that they would sometimes take the field. Among the civilized nations of modern Europe, it is commonly estimated that no more than one person in a hundred can serve as a soldier. Any more would ruin the country that pays for their service.

The expense of preparing the army for the field seems not to have become considerable in any nation, till long after that of maintaining it in the field had devolved entirely upon the sovereign or commonwealth. In all the different republics of ancient Greece, to learn his military exercises, was a necessary part of education imposed by the state upon every free citizen. In every city there seems to have been a public field, in which, under the protection of the public magistrate, the young people were taught their different exercises by different masters. In this very simple institution consisted the whole expense which any Grecian state seems ever to have been at, in preparing its citizens for war. In ancient Rome, the exercises of the Campus Martius answered the same purpose with those of the Gymnasium in ancient Greece. Under the feudal governments, the many public ordinances, that the citizens of every district should practise archery, as well as several other military exercises, were intended for promoting the same purpose, but do not seem to have promoted it so well. Either from want of interest in the officers entrusted with the execution of those ordinances, or from some other cause, they appear to have been universally neglected; and in the progress of all those governments, military exercises seem to have gone gradually into disuse among the great body of the people.

The cost of preparing an army for the field seems to have become considerable only long after the sovereign or commonwealth had assumed the entire cost of maintaining it there. In all the republics of ancient Greece, the state required every free citizen to learn military exercises as part of his education. Every city seems to have had a public field where different instructors taught young people these exercises under the protection of a public official. This simple arrangement seems to have been the only expense any Grecian state ever incurred in preparing its citizens for war. In ancient Rome, exercises on the Campus Martius served the same purpose as those in the Gymnasium in ancient Greece. Under feudal governments, many public ordinances required citizens in every district to practise archery and other military exercises. These ordinances had the same purpose, but do not seem to have served it as well. The officers responsible for enforcing them may have lacked interest, or there may have been some other cause. In any case, the ordinances appear to have been universally neglected. As these governments developed, military exercises seem to have gradually fallen into disuse among the great body of the people.

In the republics of ancient Greece and Rome, during the whole period of their existence, and under the feudal governments, for a considerable time after their first establishment, the trade of a soldier was not a separate, distinct trade, which constituted the sole or principal occupation of a particular class of citizens; every subject of the state, whatever might be the ordinary trade or occupation by which he gained his livelihood, considered himself, upon all ordinary occasions, as fit likewise to exercise the trade of a soldier, and, upon many extraordinary occasions, as bound to exercise it.

In the republics of ancient Greece and Rome, soldiering was never a separate profession. Nor was it a separate profession under feudal governments for a considerable time after they were first established. In neither case was soldiering the sole or main occupation of a particular class of citizens. Whatever their ordinary occupation or livelihood, all subjects of the state considered themselves fit to serve as soldiers in ordinary circumstances. On many extraordinary occasions, they also considered themselves duty-bound to serve.

The art of war, however, as it is certainly the noblest of all arts, so, in the progress of improvement, it necessarily becomes one of the most complicated among them. The state of the mechanical, as well as some other arts, with which it is necessarily connected, determines the degree of perfection to which it is capable of being carried at any particular time. But in order to carry it to this degree of perfection, it is necessary that it should become the sole or principal occupation of a particular class of citizens; and the division of labour is as necessary for the improvement of this, as of every other art. Into other arts, the division of labour is naturally introduced by the prudence of individuals, who find that they promote their private interest better by confining themselves to a particular trade, than by exercising a great number. But it is the wisdom of the state only, which can render the trade of a soldier a particular trade, separate and distinct from all others. A private citizen, who, in time of profound peace, and without any particular encouragement from the public, should spend the greater part of his time in military exercises, might, no doubt, both improve himself very much in them, and amuse himself very well; but he certainly would not promote his own interest. It is the wisdom of the state only, which can render it for his interest to give up the greater part of his time to this peculiar occupation; and states have not always had this wisdom, even when their circumstances had become such, that the preservation of their existence required that they should have it.

The art of war is certainly the noblest of all arts. But as society advances, warfare necessarily becomes one of the most complicated arts. Its possible level of perfection at any time depends on the state of mechanical and certain other arts necessarily connected with it. To reach that level, warfare must become the sole or main occupation of a particular class of citizens. The division of labor is just as necessary to improve warfare as it is to improve every other art. In other arts, the division of labor arises naturally from the good judgment of individuals. They find that they serve their own interests better by concentrating on one trade than by practicing many. But only the wisdom of the state can make soldiering a separate trade, distinct from all others. In a time of deep peace, a private citizen might spend most of his time practicing military skills without any special encouragement from the public. He might no doubt greatly improve his skills and enjoy himself. But he certainly would not advance his own interests. Only the wisdom of the state can make it worthwhile for him to devote most of his time to this particular occupation. And states have not always had this wisdom. They have lacked it even when their circumstances made it necessary for their survival.

A shepherd has a great deal of leisure; a husbandman, in the rude state of husbandry, has some; an artificer or manufacturer has none at all. The first may, without any loss, employ a great deal of his time in martial exercises; the second may employ some part of it; but the last cannot employ a single hour in them without some loss, and his attention to his own interest naturally leads him to neglect them altogether. Those improvements in husbandry, too, which the progress of arts and manufactures necessarily introduces, leave the husbandman as little leisure as the artificer. Military exercises come to be as much neglected by the inhabitants of the country as by those of the town, and the great body of the people becomes altogether unwarlike. That wealth, at the same time, which always follows the improvements of agriculture and manufactures, and which, in reality, is no more than the accumulated produce of those improvements, provokes the invasion of all their neighbours. An industrious, and, upon that account, a wealthy nation, is of all nations the most likely to be attacked; and unless the state takes some new measure for the public defence, the natural habits of the people render them altogether incapable of defending themselves.

A shepherd has a great deal of leisure. A farmer using basic farming methods has some, but a craftsman or manufacturer has none at all. The shepherd can spend a great deal of time on military training without loss. The farmer can spend some of his time on it. But the craftsman or manufacturer cannot spend a single hour on it without some loss. His attention to his own interests naturally leads him to neglect military training altogether. Advances in the crafts and manufacturing also bring improvements in farming. These leave the farmer as little leisure as the craftsman. People in the country come to neglect military training as much as people in towns. The great majority of people become entirely unprepared for war. At the same time, improvements in agriculture and manufacturing always bring wealth, which provokes all their neighbors to invade. This wealth is really nothing more than the accumulated output of those improvements. An industrious nation is wealthy for that reason, and it is the most likely of all nations to be attacked. Unless the state takes some new measure for public defense, the people's natural habits leave them entirely incapable of defending themselves.

In these circumstances, there seem to be but two methods by which the state can make any tolerable provision for the public defence.

In these circumstances, there seem to be only two ways the state can provide adequately for public defense.

It may either, first, by means of a very rigorous police, and in spite of the whole bent of the interest, genius, and inclinations of the people, enforce the practice of military exercises, and oblige either all the citizens of the military age, or a certain number of them, to join in some measure the trade of a soldier to whatever other trade or profession they may happen to carry on.

First, it may use very strict regulation to enforce military training, despite the people’s interests, talents, and inclinations. It may require all citizens of military age, or a certain number of them, to train as soldiers. They must do this alongside whatever other trade or profession they pursue.

Or, secondly, by maintaining and employing a certain number of citizens in the constant practice of military exercises, it may render the trade of a soldier a particular trade, separate and distinct from all others.

Or, secondly, it may support and employ a certain number of citizens in constant military training. This may make soldiering a separate profession, distinct from all others.

If the state has recourse to the first of those two expedients, its military force is said to consist in a militia; if to the second, it is said to consist in a standing army. The practice of military exercises is the sole or principal occupation of the soldiers of a standing army, and the maintenance or pay which the state affords them is the principal and ordinary fund of their subsistence. The practice of military exercises is only the occasional occupation of the soldiers of a militia, and they derive the principal and ordinary fund of their subsistence from some other occupation. In a militia, the character of the labourer, artificer, or tradesman, predominates over that of the soldier; in a standing army, that of the soldier predominates over every other character; and in this distinction seems to consist the essential difference between those two different species of military force.

If the state uses the first of these two methods, its military force is called a militia. If it uses the second, the force is called a standing army. Soldiers in a standing army spend all or most of their time on military training. The support or pay they receive from the state is their main and usual means of living. Soldiers in a militia train only occasionally. They earn their main and usual living from another occupation. In a militia, a person is primarily a worker, craftsperson, or tradesperson, rather than a soldier. In a standing army, a person is primarily a soldier, rather than anything else. This distinction seems to be the essential difference between the two kinds of military force.

Militias have been of several different kinds. In some countries, the citizens destined for defending the state seem to have been exercised only, without being, if I may say so, regimented; that is, without being divided into separate and distinct bodies of troops, each of which performed its exercises under its own proper and permanent officers. In the republics of ancient Greece and Rome, each citizen, as long as he remained at home, seems to have practised his exercises, either separately and independently, or with such of his equals as he liked best; and not to have been attached to any particular body of troops, till he was actually called upon to take the field. In other countries, the militia has not only been exercised, but regimented. In England, in Switzerland, and, I believe, in every other country of modern Europe, where any imperfect military force of this kind has been established, every militiaman is, even in time of peace, attached to a particular body of troops, which performs its exercises under its own proper and permanent officers.

Militias have taken several different forms. In some countries, citizens chosen to defend the state seem only to have trained, without being organized into regiments, if I may use the term. They were not divided into separate bodies of troops, each training under its own permanent officers. In the republics of ancient Greece and Rome, each citizen seems to have trained while at home, either alone or with those of his equals whom he preferred. He did not join a particular body of troops until he was actually called to take the field. In other countries, the militia has not only been trained but also organized into regiments. England, Switzerland, and, I believe, every other modern European country with this kind of imperfect military force follow this practice. Even in peacetime, every militiaman belongs to a particular body of troops that trains under its own permanent officers.

Before the invention of fire-arms, that army was superior in which the soldiers had, each individually, the greatest skill and dexterity in the use of their arms. Strength and agility of body were of the highest consequence, and commonly determined the fate of battles. But this skill and dexterity in the use of their arms could be acquired only, in the same manner as fencing is at present, by practising, not in great bodies, but each man separately, in a particular school, under a particular master, or with his own particular equals and companions. Since the invention of fire-arms, strength and agility of body, or even extraordinary dexterity and skill in the use of arms, though they are far from being of no consequence, are, however, of less consequence. The nature of the weapon, though it by no means puts the awkward upon a level with the skilful, puts him more nearly so than he ever was before. All the dexterity and skill, it is supposed, which are necessary for using it, can be well enough acquired by practising in great bodies.

Before firearms were invented, the stronger army was the one whose individual soldiers were most skilled at using their weapons. Physical strength and agility were extremely important and usually determined the outcome of battles. But soldiers could acquire skill with weapons only by practicing individually, just as people now learn fencing. Each man practiced at a particular school, under a particular teacher, or with his own peers and companions. Since firearms were invented, physical strength and agility have become less important, as have extraordinary skill and dexterity with weapons. They are still far from unimportant. Firearms do not make a clumsy soldier equal to a skilled one, but they bring him closer than ever before. It is assumed that all the skill needed to use firearms can be acquired well enough by practicing in large groups.

Regularity, order, and prompt obedience to command, are qualities which, in modern armies, are of more importance towards determining the fate of battles, than the dexterity and skill of the soldiers in the use of their arms. But the noise of fire-arms, the smoke, and the invisible death to which every man feels himself every moment exposed, as soon as he comes within cannon-shot, and frequently a long time before the battle can be well said to be engaged, must render it very difficult to maintain any considerable degree of this regularity, order, and prompt obedience, even in the beginning of a modern battle. In an ancient battle, there was no noise but what arose from the human voice; there was no smoke, there was no invisible cause of wounds or death. Every man, till some mortal weapon actually did approach him, saw clearly that no such weapon was near him. In these circumstances, and among troops who had some confidence in their own skill and dexterity in the use of their arms, it must have been a good deal less difficult to preserve some degree of regularity and order, not only in the beginning, but through the whole progress of an ancient battle, and till one of the two armies was fairly defeated. But the habits of regularity, order, and prompt obedience to command, can be acquired only by troops which are exercised in great bodies.

In modern armies, regularity, order, and prompt obedience to commands matter more in deciding battles than soldiers’ skill with their weapons. But firearms make noise and smoke, and every man feels exposed to invisible death at every moment. He feels this as soon as he comes within cannon range, often long before the battle can really be said to have begun. These conditions must make it very difficult to maintain much regularity, order, and prompt obedience, even at the beginning of a modern battle. In an ancient battle, the only noise came from human voices. There was no smoke and no invisible cause of wounds or death. Until a deadly weapon actually approached him, every man could see clearly that no such weapon was near him. Under these conditions, troops with some confidence in their skill with weapons must have found it much easier to maintain some regularity and order. They could do so not only at the beginning of a battle, but throughout it, until one army was clearly defeated. But troops can acquire habits of regularity, order, and prompt obedience only by training in large groups.

A militia, however, in whatever manner it may be either disciplined or exercised, must always be much inferior to a well disciplined and well exercised standing army.

However a militia is trained and drilled, it will always be much less effective than a well-trained, well-drilled standing army.

The soldiers who are exercised only once a week, or once a-month, can never be so expert in the use of their arms, as those who are exercised every day, or every other day; and though this circumstance may not be of so much consequence in modern, as it was in ancient times, yet the acknowledged superiority of the Prussian troops, owing, it is said, very much to their superior expertness in their exercise, may satisfy us that it is, even at this day, of very considerable consequence.

Soldiers who train only once a week or once a month can never handle their weapons as skillfully as those who train every day or every other day. This difference may matter less in modern times than it did in ancient times. Yet the recognized superiority of the Prussian troops may convince us that it still matters a great deal today. Their superiority is said to be due largely to their greater skill in military drills.

The soldiers, who are bound to obey their officer only once a-week, or once a-month, and who are at all other times at liberty to manage their own affairs their own way, without being, in any respect, accountable to him, can never be under the same awe in his presence, can never have the same disposition to ready obedience, with those whose whole life and conduct are every day directed by him, and who every day even rise and go to bed, or at least retire to their quarters, according to his orders. In what is called discipline, or in the habit of ready obedience, a militia must always be still more inferior to a standing army, than it may sometimes be in what is called the manual exercise, or in the management and use of its arms. But, in modern war, the habit of ready and instant obedience is of much greater consequence than a considerable superiority in the management of arms.

Soldiers who must obey their officer only once a week or once a month are free to manage their own affairs at all other times. In those affairs, they are not accountable to him in any way. Such soldiers can never feel the same awe in his presence or be as ready to obey as soldiers whose whole lives and conduct he directs every day. Those soldiers even rise and go to bed, or at least return to their quarters, according to his daily orders. A militia must always be even more inferior to a standing army in discipline, or the habit of ready obedience, than it may sometimes be in drills and the handling and use of weapons. But in modern war, the habit of ready and immediate obedience is much more important than a considerable superiority in handling weapons.

Those militias which, like the Tartar or Arab militia, go to war under the same chieftains whom they are accustomed to obey in peace, are by far the best. In respect for their officers, in the habit of ready obedience, they approach nearest to standing armies. The Highland militia, when it served under its own chieftains, had some advantage of the same kind. As the Highlanders, however, were not wandering, but stationary shepherds, as they had all a fixed habitation, and were not, in peaceable times, accustomed to follow their chieftain from place to place; so, in time of war, they were less willing to follow him to any considerable distance, or to continue for any long time in the field. When they had acquired any booty, they were eager to return home, and his authority was seldom sufficient to detain them. In point of obedience, they were always much inferior to what is reported of the Tartars and Arabs. As the Highlanders, too, from their stationary life, spend less of their time in the open air, they were always less accustomed to military exercises, and were less expert in the use of their arms than the Tartars and Arabs are said to be.

The best militias are those, like the Tartar or Arab militia, that go to war under the same chieftains they obey in peacetime. In their respect for officers and their habit of ready obedience, they come closest to standing armies. The Highland militia had some of the same advantage when it served under its own chieftains. The Highlanders, however, were settled shepherds, not wanderers. They all had fixed homes and, in peacetime, were not used to following their chieftain from place to place. So, in wartime, they were less willing to follow him very far or remain in the field for long. Once they had taken any booty, they were eager to return home. Their chieftain's authority was seldom enough to keep them in the field. In obedience, they were always much inferior to what is reported of the Tartars and Arabs. Because the Highlanders lived in fixed places, they also spent less time outdoors. They were therefore always less accustomed to military exercises. They were also less skilled with their weapons than the Tartars and Arabs are said to be.

A militia of any kind, it must be observed, however, which has served for several successive campaigns in the field, becomes in every respect a standing army. The soldiers are every day exercised in the use of their arms, and, being constantly under the command of their officers, are habituated to the same prompt obedience which takes place in standing armies. What they were before they took the field, is of little importance. They necessarily become in every respect a standing army, after they have passed a few campaigns in it. Should the war in America drag out through another campaign, the American militia may become, in every respect, a match for that standing army, of which the valour appeared, in the last war at least, not inferior to that of the hardiest veterans of France and Spain.

However, a militia of any kind becomes a standing army in every respect after several successive campaigns in the field. Its soldiers practice using their weapons every day. Because they are constantly under their officers' command, they grow accustomed to the same prompt obedience expected in standing armies. What they were before taking the field matters little. After a few campaigns in the field, they necessarily become a standing army in every respect. If the war in America drags on through another campaign, the American militia may become a match in every respect for the standing army. In the last war at least, that army's courage appeared equal to that of the toughest veterans of France and Spain.

This distinction being well understood, the history of all ages, it will be found, hears testimony to the irresistible superiority which a well regulated standing army has over a militia.

Once this distinction is understood, the history of all ages shows the overwhelming superiority of a well-regulated standing army over a militia.

One of the first standing armies, of which we have any distinct account in any well authenticated history, is that of Philip of Macedon. His frequent wars with the Thracians, Illyrians, Thessalians, and some of the Greek cities in the neighbourhood of Macedon, gradually formed his troops, which in the beginning were probably militia, to the exact discipline of a standing army. When he was at peace, which he was very seldom, and never for any long time together, he was careful not to disband that army. It vanquished and subdued, after a long and violent struggle, indeed, the gallant and well exercised militias of the principal republics of ancient Greece; and afterwards, with very little struggle, the effeminate and ill exercised militia of the great Persian empire. The fall of the Greek republics, and of the Persian empire was the effect of the irresistible superiority which a standing arm has over every other sort of militia. It is the first great revolution in the affairs of mankind of which history has preserved any distinct and circumstantial account.

One of the first standing armies described clearly in a well-authenticated history was that of Philip of Macedon. His frequent wars were against the Thracians, Illyrians, Thessalians, and some Greek cities near Macedon. His troops were probably militia at first. Gradually, these wars trained them in the exact discipline of a standing army. Philip was seldom at peace, and never for long. But when he was, he took care not to disband his army. After a long and violent struggle, his army defeated and subdued the brave, well-trained militias of ancient Greece’s principal republics. Later, it defeated the effeminate, poorly trained militia of the great Persian empire with very little struggle. The Greek republics and the Persian empire fell because a standing army is irresistibly superior to every kind of militia. This was the first great revolution in human affairs of which history has preserved a clear and detailed account.

The fall of Carthage, and the consequent elevation of Rome, is the second. All the varieties in the fortune of those two famous republics may very well be accounted for from the same cause.

The second is the fall of Carthage and the resulting rise of Rome. All the changes in the fortunes of those two famous republics may be explained by the same cause.

From the end of the first to the beginning of the second Carthaginian war, the armies of Carthage were continually in the field, and employed under three great generals, who succeeded one another in the command; Amilcar, his son-in-law Asdrubal, and his son Annibal: first in chastising their own rebellious slaves, afterwards in subduing the revolted nations of Africa; and lastly, in conquering the great kingdom of Spain. The army which Annibal led from Spain into Italy must necessarily, in those different wars, have been gradually formed to the exact discipline of a standing army. The Romans, in the meantime, though they had not been altogether at peace, yet they had not, during this period, been engaged in any war of very great consequence; and their military discipline, it is generally said, was a good deal relaxed. The Roman armies which Annibal encountered at Trebi, Thrasymenus, and Cannae, were militia opposed to a standing army. This circumstance, it is probable, contributed more than any other to determine the fate of those battles.

From the end of the first Carthaginian war to the beginning of the second, Carthage’s armies were constantly in the field. Three great generals commanded them in succession: Amilcar, his son-in-law Asdrubal, and his son Annibal. They first punished their own rebellious slaves, then subdued the nations of Africa that had revolted. Finally, they conquered the great kingdom of Spain. In these wars, the army that Annibal led from Spain into Italy must have gradually acquired the strict discipline of a standing army. Meanwhile, the Romans had not been entirely at peace. But during this period, they had not fought any war of great consequence. Their military discipline, it is generally said, had become much less strict. The Roman armies that Annibal faced at Trebi, Thrasymenus, and Cannae were militia fighting a standing army. This difference probably did more than anything else to determine the outcome of those battles.

The standing army which Annibal left behind him in Spain had the like superiority over the militia which the Romans sent to oppose it; and, in a few years, under the command of his brother, the younger Asdrubal, expelled them almost entirely from that country.

The standing army that Annibal left in Spain had the same superiority over the militia the Romans sent against it. Within a few years, it drove the Romans almost entirely out of Spain under the command of his brother, the younger Asdrubal.

Annibal was ill supplied from home. The Roman militia, being continually in the field, became, in the progress of the war, a well disciplined and well exercised standing army; and the superiority of Annibal grew every day less and less. Asdrubal judged it necessary to lead the whole, or almost the whole, of the standing army which he commanded in Spain, to the assistance of his brother in Italy. In this march, he is said to have been misled by his guides; and in a country which he did not know, was surprised and attacked, by another standing army, in every respect equal or superior to his own, and was entirely defeated.

Annibal received few supplies from home. The Roman militia was constantly in the field, and as the war went on, it became a well-trained, well-disciplined standing army. Annibal’s advantage grew smaller every day. Asdrubal decided that he needed to bring all, or almost all, of the standing army he commanded in Spain to help his brother in Italy. During the march, his guides are said to have led him astray. In a country he did not know, another standing army surprised and attacked him. This army was equal or superior to his own in every respect, and it defeated him completely.

When Asdrubal had left Spain, the great Scipio found nothing to oppose him but a militia inferior to his own. He conquered and subdued that militia, and, in the course of the war, his own militia necessarily became a well disciplined and well exercised standing army. That standing army was afterwards carried to Africa, where it found nothing but a militia to oppose it. In order to defend Carthage, it became necessary to recal the standing army of Annibal. The disheartened and frequently defeated African militia joined it, and, at the battle of Zama, composed the greater part of the troops of Annibal. The event of that day determined the fate of the two rival republics.

When Asdrubal left Spain, the great Scipio faced only a militia weaker than his own. He conquered and subdued that militia. During the war, his own militia necessarily became a well disciplined and well trained standing army. That army was later taken to Africa, where it faced only a militia. To defend Carthage, it became necessary to recall Annibal’s standing army. The discouraged African militia, which had been defeated many times, joined it. At the battle of Zama, the African militia made up most of Annibal’s troops. The outcome of that day decided the fate of the two rival republics.

From the end of the second Carthaginian war till the fall of the Roman republic, the armies of Rome were in every respect standing armies. The standing army of Macedon made some resistance to their arms. In the height of their grandeur, it cost them two great wars, and three great battles, to subdue that little kingdom, of which the conquest would probably have been still more difficult, had it not been for the cowardice of its last king. The militias of all the civilized nations of the ancient world, of Greece, of Syria, and of Egypt, made but a feeble resistance to the standing armies of Rome. The militias of some barbarous nations defended themselves much better. The Scythian or Tartar militia, which Mithridates drew from the countries north of the Euxine and Caspian seas, were the most formidable enemies whom the Romans had to encounter after the second Carthaginian war. The Parthian and German militias, too, were always respectable, and upon several occasions, gained very considerable advantages over the Roman armies. In general, however, and when the Roman armies were well commanded, they appear to have been very much superior; and if the Romans did not pursue the final conquest either of Parthia or Germany, it was probably because they judged that it was not worth while to add those two barbarous countries to an empire which was already too large. The ancient Parthians appear to have been a nation of Scythian or Tartar extraction, and to have always retained a good deal of the manners of their ancestors. The ancient Germans were, like the Scythians or Tartars, a nation of wandering shepherds, who went to war under the same chiefs whom they were accustomed to follow in peace. ‘Their militia was exactly of the same kind with that of the Scythians or Tartars, from whom, too, they were probably descended.

From the end of the second Carthaginian war until the fall of the Roman republic, Rome’s armies were standing armies in every respect. The standing army of Macedon offered some resistance to Rome’s forces. At the height of Rome’s power, it took two great wars and three great battles to subdue that little kingdom. The conquest would probably have been even harder if Macedon’s last king had not been a coward. The militias of all the civilized nations of the ancient world, of Greece, Syria, and Egypt, offered little resistance to Rome’s standing armies. The militias of some barbarous nations defended themselves much better. The Scythian or Tartar militia that Mithridates drew from lands north of the Euxine and Caspian seas were the most formidable enemies the Romans faced after the second Carthaginian war. The Parthian and German militias were also always formidable. On several occasions, they gained very considerable advantages over the Roman armies. In general, however, the Roman armies seem to have been far superior when they were well commanded. The Romans did not pursue the final conquest of either Parthia or Germany. That was probably because they judged it not worth adding those two barbarous countries to an empire that was already too large. The ancient Parthians seem to have been a nation of Scythian or Tartar descent. They also seem always to have retained many of their ancestors’ customs. Like the Scythians or Tartars, the ancient Germans were a nation of wandering shepherds. They went to war under the same chiefs they normally followed in peacetime. ‘Their militia was exactly like that of the Scythians or Tartars, from whom they were probably also descended.

Many different causes contributed to relax the discipline of the Roman armies. Its extreme severity was, perhaps, one of those causes. In the days of their grandeur, when no enemy appeared capable of opposing them, their heavy armour was laid aside as unnecessarily burdensome, their laborious exercises were neglected, as unnecessarily toilsome. Under the Roman emperors, besides, the standing armies of Rome, those particularly which guarded the German and Pannonian frontiers, became dangerous to their masters, against whom they used frequently to set up their own generals. In order to render them less formidable, according to some authors, Dioclesian, according to others, Constantine, first withdrew them from the frontier, where they had always before been encamped in great bodies, generally of two or three legions each, and dispersed them in small bodies through the different provincial towns, from whence they were scarce ever removed, but when it became necessary to repel an invasion. Small bodies of soldiers, quartered in trading and manufacturing towns, and seldom removed from those quarters, became themselves trades men, artificers, and manufacturers. The civil came to predominate over the military character; and the standing armies of Rome gradually degenerated into a corrupt, neglected, and undisciplined militia, incapable of resisting the attack of the German and Scythian militias, which soon afterwards invaded the western empire. It was only by hiring the militia of some of those nations to oppose to that of others, that the emperors were for some time able to defend themselves. The fall of the western empire is the third great revolution in the affairs of mankind, of which ancient history has preserved any distinct or circumstantial account. It was brought about by the irresistible superiority which the militia of a barbarous has over that of a civilized nation; which the militia of a nation of shepherds has over that of a nation of husbandmen, artificers, and manufacturers. The victories which have been gained by militias have generally been, not over standing armies, but over other militias, in exercise and discipline inferior to themselves. Such were the victories which the Greek militia gained over that of the Persian empire; and such, too, were those which, in later times, the Swiss militia gained over that of the Austrians and Burgundians.

Many different causes helped weaken the discipline of the Roman armies. Their extreme severity was perhaps one of them. At the height of Rome’s power, no enemy seemed capable of opposing its armies. The soldiers set aside their heavy armor because it seemed an unnecessary burden. They also neglected their demanding exercises because they seemed unnecessarily hard. Under the Roman emperors, Rome’s standing armies became dangerous to their masters. This was especially true of the armies guarding the German and Pannonian frontiers. They frequently used to set up their own generals against the emperors. According to some authors, Dioclesian first withdrew these armies from the frontier to make them less formidable. According to others, Constantine did so. Until then, the armies had always been camped there in large groups, generally of two or three legions each. They were then dispersed in small groups among the provincial towns. They were hardly ever moved from those towns, except when needed to repel an invasion. Small groups of soldiers were stationed in trading and manufacturing towns and seldom moved. They became tradesmen, craftsmen, and manufacturers themselves. Their civilian character came to dominate their military character. Rome’s standing armies gradually declined into a corrupt, neglected, and undisciplined militia. This militia could not resist the German and Scythian militias that soon afterward invaded the western empire. For a time, the emperors could defend themselves only by hiring the militias of some of those nations to oppose others. The fall of the western empire is the third great revolution in human affairs of which ancient history preserves a clear or detailed account. It was brought about by the irresistible superiority of a barbarous nation’s militia over that of a civilized nation. It was also brought about by the superiority of a nation of shepherds’ militia over that of a nation of farmers, craftsmen, and manufacturers. Victories won by militias have generally been over other militias, not over standing armies. The defeated militias were less practiced and disciplined than the victors. Such were the victories of the Greek militia over that of the Persian empire. So too were the later victories of the Swiss militia over those of the Austrians and Burgundians.

The military force of the German and Scythian nations, who established themselves upon ruins of the western empire, continued for some time to be of the same kind in their new settlements, as it had been in their original country. It was a militia of shepherds and husbandmen, which, in time of war, took the field under the command of the same chieftains whom it was accustomed to obey in peace. It was, therefore, tolerably well exercised, and tolerably well disciplined. As arts and industry advanced, however, the authority of the chieftains gradually decayed, and the great body of the people had less time to spare for military exercises. Both the discipline and the exercise of the feudal militia, therefore, went gradually to ruin, and standing armies were gradually introduced to supply the place of it. When the expedient of a standing army, besides, had once been adopted by one civilized nation, it became necessary that all its neighbours should follow the example. They soon found that their safety depended upon their doing so, and that their own militia was altogether incapable of resisting the attack of such an army.

The German and Scythian nations settled on the ruins of the western empire. For some time, their military forces remained much as they had been in their original homelands. They were militias of shepherds and farmers. In war, these men took the field under the same chieftains they obeyed in peacetime. The militias were therefore reasonably well trained and disciplined. As arts and industry advanced, however, the chieftains gradually lost authority. Most people also had less time for military training. The training and discipline of the feudal militia therefore gradually fell into decline. Standing armies were gradually introduced to replace it. Once one civilized nation adopted a standing army, all its neighbors had to follow its example. They soon found that their safety depended on doing so. Their own militias were entirely unable to resist an attack by such an army.

The soldiers of a standing army, though they may never have seen an enemy, yet have frequently appeared to possess all the courage of veteran troops, and, the very moment that they took the field, to have been fit to face the hardiest and most experienced veterans. In 1756, when the Russian army marched into Poland, the valour of the Russian soldiers did not appear inferior to that of the Prussians, at that time supposed to be the hardiest and most experienced veterans in Europe. The Russian empire, however, had enjoyed a profound peace for near twenty years before, and could at that time have very few soldiers who had ever seen an enemy. When the Spanish war broke out in 1739, England had enjoyed a profound peace for about eight-and-twenty years. The valour of her soldiers, however, far from being corrupted by that long peace, was never more distinguished than in the attempt upon Carthagena, the first unfortunate exploit of that unfortunate war. In a long peace, the generals, perhaps, may sometimes forget their skill; but where a well regulated standing army has been kept up, the soldiers seem never to forget their valour.

Soldiers in a standing army may never have seen an enemy. Yet they have often shown all the courage of veteran troops. As soon as they entered battle, they seemed ready to face the toughest and most experienced veterans. In 1756, the Russian army marched into Poland. The courage of the Russian soldiers appeared no less than that of the Prussians. At the time, the Prussians were thought to be the toughest and most experienced veterans in Europe. Yet the Russian empire had enjoyed deep peace for nearly twenty years before then. Its army could have had very few soldiers who had ever seen an enemy. When the Spanish war broke out in 1739, England had enjoyed deep peace for about twenty-eight years. Yet that long peace had not weakened the courage of its soldiers. Their courage was never more distinguished than in the attempt to capture Carthagena. It was the first unfortunate operation of that unfortunate war. During a long peace, generals may sometimes lose their skill. But where a well-regulated standing army has been maintained, the soldiers seem never to lose their courage.

When a civilized nation depends for its defence upon a militia, it is at all times exposed to be conquered by any barbarous nation which happens to be in its neighbourhood. The frequent conquests of all the civilized countries in Asia by the Tartars, sufficiently demonstrates the natural superiority which the militia of a barbarous has over that of a civilized nation. A well regulated standing army is superior to every militia. Such an army, as it can best be maintained by an opulent and civilized nation, so it can alone defend such a nation against the invasion of a poor and barbarous neighbour. It is only by means of a standing army, therefore, that the civilization of any country can be perpetuated, or even preserved, for any considerable time.

When a civilized nation relies on a militia for defence, it is always at risk of conquest by any neighbouring barbarous nation. The Tartars have frequently conquered all the civilized countries in Asia. This clearly shows that a barbarous nation's militia is naturally superior to a civilized nation's militia. A well regulated standing army is superior to every militia. A wealthy and civilized nation can best maintain such an army. And only such an army can defend that nation against invasion by a poor and barbarous neighbour. Therefore, only a standing army can keep a country's civilization alive, or even preserve it, for any considerable time.

As it is only by means of a well regulated standing army, that a civilized country can be defended, so it is only by means of it that a barbarous country can be suddenly and tolerably civilized. A standing army establishes, with an irresistible force, the law of the sovereign through the remotest provinces of the empire, and maintains some degree of regular government in countries which could not otherwise admit of any. Whoever examines with attention, the improvements which Peter the Great introduced into the Russian empire, will find that they almost all resolve themselves into the establishment of a well regulated standing army. It is the instrument which executes and maintains all his other regulations. That degree of order and internal peace, which that empire has ever since enjoyed, is altogether owing to the influence of that army.

Just as only a well-regulated standing army can defend a civilized country, only such an army can rapidly bring a barbarous country to a reasonable degree of civilization. A standing army imposes the sovereign’s law with irresistible force, even in the most distant provinces of the empire. It maintains some degree of regular government in countries where none would otherwise be possible. Anyone who closely examines the improvements Peter the Great introduced into the Russian empire will find that almost all of them come down to establishing a well-regulated standing army. The army is the instrument that carries out and maintains all his other regulations. The order and internal peace that the empire has enjoyed ever since are entirely due to the army’s influence.

Men of republican principles have been jealous of a standing army, as dangerous to liberty. It certainly is so, wherever the interest of the general, and that of the principal officers, are not necessarily connected with the support of the constitution of the state. The standing army of Caesar destroyed the Roman republic. The standing army of Cromwell turned the long parliament out of doors. But where the sovereign is himself the general, and the principal nobility and gentry of the country the chief officers of the army; where the military force is placed under the command of those who have the greatest interest in the support of the civil authority, because they have themselves the greatest share of that authority, a standing army can never be dangerous to liberty. On the contrary, it may, in some cases, be favourable to liberty. The security which it gives to the sovereign renders unnecessary that troublesome jealousy, which, in some modern republics, seems to watch over the minutest actions, and to be at all times ready to disturb the peace of every citizen. Where the security of the magistrate, though supported by the principal people of the country, is endangered by every popular discontent; where a small tumult is capable of bringing about in a few hours a great revolution, the whole authority of government must be employed to suppress and punish every murmur and complaint against it. To a sovereign, on the contrary, who feels himself supported, not only by the natural aristocracy of the country, but by a well regulated standing army, the rudest, the most groundless, and the most licentious remonstrances, can give little disturbance. He can safely pardon or neglect them, and his consciousness of his own superiority naturally disposes him to do so. That degree of liberty which approaches to licentiousness, can be tolerated only in countries where the sovereign is secured by a well regulated standing army. It is in such countries only, that the public safety does not require that the sovereign should be trusted with any discretionary power, for suppressing even the impertinent wantonness of this licentious liberty.

People with republican principles have viewed a standing army with suspicion, as a danger to liberty. It certainly is dangerous wherever the interests of the general and chief officers are not necessarily tied to supporting the state’s constitution. Caesar’s standing army destroyed the Roman republic. Cromwell’s standing army drove the long parliament out. But a standing army can never endanger liberty under different conditions. The sovereign must be the general, and the country’s leading nobles and gentry must be the army’s chief officers. They must command the military force. They have the greatest interest in supporting civil authority because they themselves hold the greatest share of it. On the contrary, a standing army may sometimes support liberty. It gives the sovereign security. This makes unnecessary the troublesome suspicion seen in some modern republics. There, suspicion seems to watch over the smallest actions and is always ready to disturb every citizen’s peace. In some states, every outbreak of popular discontent endangers the magistrate’s security, even though the country’s leading people support him. A small disturbance can bring about a great revolution in a few hours. In such a state, the government must use all its authority to suppress and punish every murmur and complaint against it. By contrast, a sovereign may feel supported by both the country’s natural aristocracy and a well regulated standing army. Even the rudest, most groundless and most unruly protests can give such a sovereign little trouble. He can safely pardon or ignore them, and his awareness of his own superiority naturally inclines him to do so. Liberty that approaches lawlessness can be tolerated only in countries where a well regulated standing army secures the sovereign. Only in such countries can public safety be protected without giving the sovereign discretionary power to suppress even the impudent excesses of this unruly liberty.

The first duty of the sovereign, therefore, that of defending the society from the violence and injustice of other independent societies, grows gradually more and more expensive, as the society advances in civilization. The military force of the society, which originally cost the sovereign no expense, either in time of peace, or in time of war, must, in the progress of improvement, first be maintained by him in time of war, and afterwards even in time of peace.

The sovereign’s first duty is to defend society against violence and injustice from other independent societies. This duty therefore becomes increasingly expensive as society becomes more civilized. At first, the military force costs the sovereign nothing, either in peace or in war. As society develops, the sovereign must first pay to maintain it in wartime, and later even in peacetime.

The great change introduced into the art of war by the invention of fire-arms, has enhanced still further both the expense of exercising and disciplining any particular number of soldiers in time of peace, and that of employing them in time of war. Both their arms and their ammunition are become more expensive. A musket is a more expensive machine than a javelin or a bow and arrows; a cannon or a mortar, than a balista or a catapulta. The powder which is spent in a modern review is lost irrecoverably, and occasions a very considerable expense. The javelins and arrows which were thrown or shot in an ancient one, could easily be picked up again, and were, besides, of very little value. The cannon and the mortar are not only much dearer, but much heavier machines than the balista or catapulta; and require a greater expense, not only to prepare them for the field, but to carry them to it. As the superiority of the modern artillery, too, over that of the ancients, is very great; it has become much more difficult, and consequently much more expensive, to fortify a town, so as to resist, even for a few weeks, the attack of that superior artillery. In modern times, many different causes contribute to render the defence of the society more expensive. The unavoidable effects of the natural progress of improvement have, in this respect, been a good deal enhanced by a great revolution in the art of war, to which a mere accident, the invention of gunpowder, seems to have given occasion.

The invention of firearms brought a great change to warfare. It made training and drilling a given number of soldiers in peacetime even more expensive. It also made employing them in wartime more expensive. Both their weapons and ammunition have become more costly. A musket costs more than a javelin or a bow and arrows. A cannon or mortar costs more than a ballista or a catapult. The gunpowder used in a modern military review is lost for good, at considerable expense. The javelins and arrows thrown or shot in an ancient review could easily be collected again. Besides, they were worth very little. Cannons and mortars are not only much more expensive than ballistas or catapults, but also much heavier. They cost more to prepare for use in the field and to transport there. Modern artillery is also far superior to that of the ancients. As a result, fortifying a town has become much more difficult and expensive. Even then, the town may withstand an attack by this superior artillery for only a few weeks. In modern times, many different causes make defending society more expensive. The natural progress of improvement has unavoidably increased these costs. But a great revolution in warfare has increased them considerably more. That revolution seems to have been brought about by a mere accident: the invention of gunpowder.

In modern war, the great expense of firearms gives an evident advantage to the nation which can best afford that expense; and, consequently, to an opulent and civilized, over a poor and barbarous nation. In ancient times, the opulent and civilized found it difficult to defend themselves against the poor and barbarous nations. In modern times, the poor and barbarous find it difficult to defend themselves against the opulent and civilized. The invention of fire-arms, an invention which at first sight appears to be so pernicious, is certainly favourable, both to the permanency and to the extension of civilization.

In modern war, the high cost of firearms gives a clear advantage to the nation best able to afford them. As a result, a wealthy and civilized nation has an advantage over a poor and barbarous one. In ancient times, wealthy and civilized nations found it difficult to defend themselves against poor and barbarous nations. In modern times, poor and barbarous nations find it difficult to defend themselves against wealthy and civilized nations. At first, the invention of firearms seems very harmful. Yet it certainly helps civilization endure and spread.

The second duty of the sovereign, that of protecting, as far as possible, every member of the society from the injustice or oppression of every other member of it, or the duty of establishing an exact administration of justice, requires two very different degrees of expense in the different periods of society.

The sovereign’s second duty is to protect every member of society, as far as possible, from injustice or oppression by any other member. This duty requires a fair and precise administration of justice. It calls for two very different levels of spending at different stages of society.

Among nations of hunters, as there is scarce any property, or at least none that exceeds the value of two or three days labour; so there is seldom any established magistrate, or any regular administration of justice. Men who have no property, can injure one another only in their persons or reputations. But when one man kills, wounds, beats, or defames another, though he to whom the injury is done suffers, he who does it receives no benefit. It is otherwise with the injuries to property. The benefit of the person who does the injury is often equal to the loss of him who suffers it. Envy, malice, or resentment, are the only passions which can prompt one man to injure another in his person or reputation. But the greater part of men are not very frequently under the influence of those passions; and the very worst men are so only occasionally. As their gratification, too, how agreeable soever it may be to certain characters, is not attended with any real or permanent advantage, it is, in the greater part of men, commonly restrained by prudential considerations. Men may live together in society with some tolerable degree of security, though there is no civil magistrate to protect them from the injustice of those passions. But avarice and ambition in the rich, in the poor the hatred of labour and the love of present ease and enjoyment, are the passions which prompt to invade property; passions much more steady in their operation, and much more universal in their influence. Wherever there is a great property, there is great inequality. For one very rich man, there must be at least five hundred poor, and the affluence of the few supposes the indigence of the many. The affluence of the rich excites the indignation of the poor, who are often both driven by want, and prompted by envy to invade his possessions. It is only under the shelter of the civil magistrate, that the owner of that valuable property, which is acquired by the labour of many years, or perhaps of many successive generations, can sleep a single night in security. He is at all times surrounded by unknown enemies, whom, though he never provoked, he can never appease, and from whose injustice he can be protected only by the powerful arm of the civil magistrate, continually held up to chastise it. The acquisition of valuable and extensive property, therefore, necessarily requires the establishment of civil government. Where there is no property, or at least none that exceeds the value of two or three days labour, civil government is not so necessary.

Among nations of hunters, there is hardly any property, or at least none worth more than two or three days’ labor. As a result, there is seldom an established magistrate or a regular system of justice. People without property can harm one another only in their persons or reputations. But when one person kills, wounds, beats, or defames another, the victim suffers, while the offender gains nothing. Injuries to property are different. The offender’s gain is often equal to the victim’s loss. Only envy, malice, or resentment can drive one person to harm another’s person or reputation. But most people are not often under the influence of these passions, and even the worst people feel them only occasionally. Satisfying these passions may be pleasing to certain characters, but it brings no real or lasting advantage. So practical considerations usually restrain most people from acting on them. People can live together with a reasonable degree of security, even without a civil magistrate to protect them from such injustices. But greed and ambition in the rich lead them to violate others’ property rights. In the poor, hatred of labor and love of immediate ease and enjoyment do the same. These passions operate much more steadily and influence far more people. Wherever there is great wealth, there is great inequality. For every very rich person, there must be at least five hundred poor people. The wealth of the few depends on the poverty of the many. The wealth of the rich arouses indignation among the poor. The poor are often driven by need and prompted by envy to take the rich person’s possessions. Only under the protection of a civil magistrate can the owner of valuable property sleep securely for a single night. That property may have been acquired through many years of labor, or perhaps through the labor of many successive generations. The owner is always surrounded by unknown enemies. Though he has never provoked them, he can never appease them. Only the strong arm of the civil magistrate can protect him from their injustice, by remaining constantly ready to punish it. The acquisition of extensive and valuable property therefore necessarily requires the establishment of civil government. Civil government is less necessary where there is no property, or at least none worth more than two or three days’ labor.

Civil government supposes a certain subordination. But as the necessity of civil government gradually grows up with the acquisition of valuable property; so the principal causes, which naturally introduce subordination, gradually grow up with the growth of that valuable property.

Civil government requires some people to be subordinate to others. But the need for civil government gradually grows as people acquire valuable property. So too do the main causes that naturally lead some people to become subordinate to others.

The causes or circumstances which naturally introduce subordination, or which naturally and antecedent to any civil institution, give some men some superiority over the greater part of their brethren, seem to be four in number.

There seem to be four causes or circumstances that naturally lead to subordination. Before any civil institutions exist, they naturally give some men superiority over most of their fellow men.

The first of those causes or circumstances, is the superiority of personal qualifications, of strength, beauty, and agility of body; of wisdom and virtue; of prudence, justice, fortitude, and moderation of mind. The qualifications of the body, unless supported by those of the mind, can give little authority in any period of society. He is a very strong man, who, by mere strength of body, can force two weak ones to obey him. The qualifications of the mind can alone give very great authority. They are however, invisible qualities; always disputable, and generally disputed. No society, whether barbarous or civilized, has ever found it convenient to settle the rules of precedency of rank and subordination, according to those invisible qualities; but according to something that is more plain and palpable.

The first of these causes or circumstances is superior personal qualities. These include physical strength, beauty, and agility, as well as wisdom and virtue, prudence, justice, courage, and moderation. Physical qualities can give a person little authority in any period of society unless they are supported by qualities of mind. A man must be very strong to force two weaker men to obey him by physical strength alone. Qualities of mind alone can give a person great authority. But these qualities are invisible. They can always be disputed, and usually are. No society, whether barbarous or civilized, has ever found it practical to decide rank and subordination according to such invisible qualities. Instead, societies base these rules on something clearer and more tangible.

The second of those causes or circumstances, is the superiority of age. An old man, provided his age is not so far advanced as to give suspicion of dotage, is everywhere more respected than a young man of equal rank, fortune, and abilities. Among nations of hunters, such as the native tribes of North America, age is the sole foundation of rank and precedency. Among them, father is the appellation of a superior; brother, of an equal; and son, of an inferior. In the most opulent and civilized nations, age regulates rank among those who are in every other respect equal; and among whom, therefore, there is nothing else to regulate it. Among brothers and among sisters, the eldest always takes place; and in the succession of the paternal estate, every thing which cannot be divided, but must go entire to one person, such as a title of honour, is in most cases given to the eldest. Age is a plain and palpable quality, which admits of no dispute.

The second of these causes or circumstances is greater age. Everywhere, an old man is more respected than a young man of equal rank, wealth, and abilities. This is true as long as the old man is not so old that people suspect he is senile. Among nations of hunters, such as the native tribes of North America, age is the only basis for rank and precedence. Among them, a superior is called father, an equal brother, and an inferior son. In the wealthiest and most civilized nations, age determines rank among people who are equal in every other respect. In such cases, there is nothing else to determine rank. Among brothers and sisters, the eldest always takes precedence. When a father's estate is inherited, some things cannot be divided and must go to one person. A title of honor is one example. In most cases, these things go to the eldest. Age is a clear and obvious quality that cannot be disputed.

The third of those causes or circumstances, is the superiority of fortune. The authority of riches, however, though great in every age of society, is, perhaps, greatest in the rudest ages of society, which admits of any considerable inequality of fortune. A Tartar chief, the increase of whose flocks and herds is sufficient to maintain a thousand men, cannot well employ that increase in any other way than in maintaining a thousand men. The rude state of his society does not afford him any manufactured produce any trinkets or baubles of any kind, for which he can exchange that part of his rude produce which is over and above his own consumption. The thousand men whom he thus maintains, depending entirely upon him for their subsistence, must both obey his orders in war, and submit to his jurisdiction in peace. He is necessarily both their general and their judge, and his chieftainship is the necessary effect of the superiority of his fortune. In an opulent and civilized society, a man may possess a much greater fortune, and yet not be able to command a dozen of people. Though the produce of his estate may be sufficient to maintain, and may, perhaps, actually maintain, more than a thousand people, yet, as those people pay for every thing which they get from him, as he gives scarce any thing to any body but in exchange for an equivalent, there is scarce anybody who considers himself as entirely dependent upon him, and his authority extends only over a few menial servants. The authority of fortune, however, is very great, even in an opulent and civilized society. That it is much greater than that either of age or of personal qualities, has been the constant complaint of every period of society which admitted of any considerable inequality of fortune. The first period of society, that of hunters, admits of no such inequality. Universal poverty establishes their universal equality; and the superiority, either of age or of personal qualities, are the feeble, but the sole foundations of authority and subordination. There is, therefore, little or no authority or subordination in this period of society. The second period of society, that of shepherds, admits of very great inequalities of fortune, and there is no period in which the superiority of fortune gives so great authority to those who possess it. There is no period, accordingly, in which authority and subordination are more perfectly established. The authority of an Arabian scherif is very great; that of a Tartar khan altogether despotical.

The third cause is superior wealth. Wealth has great authority in every age of society. But perhaps its authority is greatest in the most primitive societies that allow considerable inequality of wealth. A Tartar chief’s growing flocks and herds may be enough to support a thousand men. He can hardly use that increase in any other way. His society is too primitive to provide manufactured goods, trinkets, or baubles. He cannot exchange what he produces beyond his own needs for such things. The thousand men he supports depend entirely on him for their livelihood. They must obey his orders in war and submit to his judgment in peace. He is necessarily both their general and their judge. His position as chief is a necessary result of his superior wealth. In a wealthy and civilized society, a man may have a much greater fortune. Yet he may not be able to command a dozen people. His estate may produce enough to support more than a thousand people, and may actually support them. Yet those people pay for everything they get from him. He gives hardly anything to anyone except in exchange for something of equal value. So hardly anyone sees himself as entirely dependent on him. His authority extends only over a few household servants. Even in a wealthy and civilized society, however, wealth carries great authority. In every period that allowed considerable inequality of wealth, people have constantly complained that wealth commands much greater authority than age or personal qualities. The first period of society, that of hunters, allows no such inequality. Their universal poverty makes them all equal. Only greater age or personal qualities give anyone authority or make others submit, and even these are weak foundations. There is therefore little or no authority or submission in this period of society. The second period of society, that of shepherds, allows very great inequalities of wealth. In no other period does superior wealth give its possessors so much authority. Accordingly, in no other period are authority and submission more firmly established. The authority of an Arabian scherif is very great. That of a Tartar khan is completely despotic.

The fourth of those causes or circumstances, is the superiority of birth. Superiority of birth supposes an ancient superiority of fortune in the family of the person who claims it. All families are equally ancient; and the ancestors of the prince, though they may be better known, cannot well be more numerous than those of the beggar. Antiquity of family means everywhere the antiquity either of wealth, or of that greatness which is commonly either founded upon wealth, or accompanied with it. Upstart greatness is everywhere less respected than ancient greatness. The hatred of usurpers, the love of the family of an ancient monarch, are in a great measure founded upon the contempt which men naturally have for the former, and upon their veneration for the latter. As a military officer submits, without reluctance, to the authority of a superior by whom he has always been commanded, but cannot bear that his inferior should be set over his head; so men easily submit to a family to whom they and their ancestors have always submitted; but are fired with indignation when another family, in whom they had never acknowledged any such superiority, assumes a dominion over them.

The fourth of these causes or circumstances is superiority of birth. Superiority of birth assumes that the person's family has long been wealthy. All families are equally old. A prince's ancestors may be better known than a beggar's, but they can hardly be more numerous. Everywhere, an old family means one with a long history of wealth or greatness. Such greatness is usually founded on wealth or accompanied by it. Newly acquired greatness is everywhere less respected than long-established greatness. People hate usurpers and love the family of an ancient monarch. This is largely because they naturally despise the former and revere the latter. A military officer willingly submits to a superior who has always commanded him. But he cannot bear to have an inferior placed over him. In the same way, people readily submit to a family they and their ancestors have always obeyed. But they are outraged when another family takes power over them, if they have never acknowledged that family's superiority.

The distinction of birth, being subsequent to the inequality of fortune, can have no place in nations of hunters, among whom all men, being equal in fortune, must likewise be very nearly equal in birth. The son of a wise and brave man may, indeed, even among them, be somewhat more respected than a man of equal merit, who has the misfortune to be the son of a fool or a coward. The difference, however will not be very great; and there never was, I believe, a great family in the world, whose illustration was entirely derived from the inheritance of wisdom and virtue.

Distinctions of birth arise after inequalities of wealth. They can have no place among nations of hunters, where all men have equal wealth and must be nearly equal in birth. Even among hunters, the son of a wise and brave man may be somewhat more respected than an equally worthy man who has the misfortune to be the son of a fool or a coward. But the difference will not be very great. I believe there has never been a great family whose distinction came entirely from inherited wisdom and virtue.

The distinction of birth not only may, but always does, take place among nations of shepherds. Such nations are always strangers to every sort of luxury, and great wealth can scarce ever be dissipated among them by improvident profusion. There are no nations, accordingly, who abound more in families revered and honoured on account of their descent from a long race of great and illustrious ancestors; because there are no nations among whom wealth is likely to continue longer in the same families.

Distinctions of birth can exist among nations of shepherds, and they always do. Such nations never experience any kind of luxury, and great wealth can hardly ever be wasted through reckless spending. Accordingly, no nations have more families revered and honored for their descent from a long line of great and distinguished ancestors. This is because wealth is likely to remain in the same families longer among shepherd nations than among any other nations.

Birth and fortune are evidently the two circumstances which principally set one man above another. They are the two great sources of personal distinction, and are, therefore, the principal causes which naturally establish authority and subordination among men. Among nations of shepherds, both those causes operate with their full force. The great shepherd or herdsman, respected on account of his great wealth, and of the great number of those who depend upon him for subsistence, and revered on account of the nobleness of his birth, and of the immemorial antiquity or his illustrious family, has a natural authority over all the inferior shepherds or herdsmen of his horde or clan. He can command the united force of a greater number of people than any of them. His military power is greater than that of any of them. In time of war, they are all of them naturally disposed to muster themselves under his banner, rather than under that of any other person; and his birth and fortune thus naturally procure to him some sort of executive power. By commanding, too, the united force of a greater number of people than any of them, he is best able to compel any one of them, who may have injured another, to compensate the wrong. He is the person, therefore, to whom all those who are too weak to defend themselves naturally look up for protection. It is to him that they naturally complain of the injuries which they imagine have been done to them; and his interposition, in such cases, is more easily submitted to, even by the person complained of, than that of any other person would be. His birth and fortune thus naturally procure him some sort of judicial authority.

Birth and wealth are clearly the two main things that raise one man above another. They are the two great sources of personal distinction. They are therefore the main causes that naturally establish authority and subordination among men. Among nations of shepherds, both causes operate with full force. A great shepherd or herdsman is respected for his great wealth and for the many people who depend on him for food. He is also revered for his noble birth and the ancient lineage of his illustrious family. He has a natural authority over all the lesser shepherds or herdsmen of his horde or clan. He can command the combined force of more people than any of them. His military power is greater than that of any of them. In wartime, they are all naturally inclined to gather under his banner rather than anyone else's. His birth and wealth thus naturally give him some executive power. Because he commands the combined force of more people than any of them, he is also best able to compel one who has injured another to make amends. So all those too weak to defend themselves naturally look to him for protection. They naturally complain to him about the injuries they believe they have suffered. In such cases, even the person accused is more willing to accept his intervention than anyone else's. His birth and wealth thus naturally give him some judicial authority.

It is in the age of shepherds, in the second period of society, that the inequality of fortune first begins to take place, and introduces among men a degree of authority and subordination, which could not possibly exist before. It thereby introduces some degree of that civil government which is indispensably necessary for its own preservation; and it seems to do this naturally, and even independent of the consideration of that necessity. The consideration of that necessity comes, no doubt, afterwards, to contribute very much to maintain and secure that authority and subordination. The rich, in particular, are necessarily interested to support that order of things, which can alone secure them in the possession of their own advantages. Men of inferior wealth combine to defend those of superior wealth in the possession of their property, in order that men of superior wealth may combine to defend them in the possession of theirs. All the inferior shepherds and herdsmen feel, that the security of their own herds and flocks depends upon the security of those of the great shepherd or herdsman; that the maintenance of their lesser authority depends upon that of his greater authority; and that upon their subordination to him depends his power of keeping their inferiors in subordination to them. They constitute a sort of little nobility, who feel themselves interested to defend the property, and to support the authority, of their own little sovereign, in order that he may be able to defend their property, and to support their authority. Civil government, so far as it is instituted for the security of property, is, in reality, instituted for the defence of the rich against the poor, or of those who have some property against those who have none at all.

In the age of shepherds, the second stage of society, inequality of wealth first appears. It introduces a degree of authority and subordination that could not possibly have existed before. It also introduces some degree of civil government, which is essential to preserving that inequality. It seems to do so naturally, even without anyone recognizing the need for such government. Later, people undoubtedly come to recognize that need, and this does much to maintain and secure authority and subordination. The rich, in particular, necessarily have an interest in supporting the social order. Only that order can secure their advantages for them. People with less wealth join together to defend the property of those with more wealth. They do so in order that the wealthier people will join together to defend their property in turn. All the lesser shepherds and herdsmen feel that the security of their own herds and flocks depends on the security of the great shepherd’s or herdsman’s herds and flocks. They feel that maintaining their lesser authority depends on maintaining his greater authority. They also feel that his power to keep their own subordinates in line depends on their subordination to him. They form a kind of small nobility. They feel it is in their interest to defend the property and support the authority of their own little sovereign. In this way, he can defend their property and support their authority. To the extent that civil government is established to protect property, it is really established to defend the rich against the poor. It defends those who have some property against those who have none at all.

The judicial authority of such a sovereign, however, far from being a cause of expense, was, for a long time, a source of revenue to him. The persons who applied to him for justice were always willing to pay for it, and a present never failed to accompany a petition. After the authority of the sovereign, too, was thoroughly established, the person found guilty, over and above the satisfaction which he was obliged to make to the party, was like-wise forced to pay an amercement to the sovereign. He had given trouble, he had disturbed, he had broke the peace of his lord the king, and for those offences an amercement was thought due. In the Tartar governments of Asia, in the governments of Europe which were founded by the German and Scythian nations who overturned the Roman empire, the administration of justice was a considerable source of revenue, both to the sovereign, and to all the lesser chiefs or lords who exercised under him any particular jurisdiction, either over some particular tribe or clan, or over some particular territory or district. Originally, both the sovereign and the inferior chiefs used to exercise this jurisdiction in their own persons. Afterwards, they universally found it convenient to delegate it to some substitute, bailiff, or judge. This substitute, however, was still obliged to account to his principal or constituent for the profits of the jurisdiction. Whoever reads the instructions (They are to be found in Tyrol’s History of England) which were given to the judges of the circuit in the time of Henry II will see clearly that those judges were a sort of itinerant factors, sent round the country for the purpose of levying certain branches of the king’s revenue. In those days, the administration of justice not only afforded a certain revenue to the sovereign, but, to procure this revenue, seems to have been one of the principal advantages which he proposed to obtain by the administration of justice.

For a long time, however, the judicial authority of such a sovereign was a source of revenue, not an expense. People who came to him for justice were always willing to pay for it. A petition was always accompanied by a gift. Once the sovereign’s authority was firmly established, a person found guilty also had to pay him an amercement, or fine. This was in addition to the compensation owed to the injured party. The guilty person had caused trouble, disturbed the peace, and broken the peace of his lord the king. An amercement was thought due for those offenses. In the Tartar governments of Asia, the administration of justice was a considerable source of revenue. The same was true in the European governments founded by the German and Scythian nations who overturned the Roman empire. Justice brought revenue to the sovereign and to all the lesser chiefs or lords who exercised jurisdiction under him. These chiefs or lords might have authority over a particular tribe or clan, or over a particular territory or district. Originally, both the sovereign and the lesser chiefs exercised this jurisdiction personally. Later, they all found it convenient to delegate it to a substitute, bailiff, or judge. The substitute, however, still had to account to the person who appointed him for the profits of the jurisdiction. Anyone who reads the instructions given to the circuit judges in the time of Henry II will see this clearly. The instructions can be found in Tyrol’s History of England. They show that the judges were a kind of traveling agent, sent around the country to collect certain parts of the king’s revenue. In those days, the administration of justice not only provided the sovereign with a steady revenue. Obtaining that revenue also seems to have been one of his principal aims in administering justice.

This scheme of making the administration of justice subservient to the purposes of revenue, could scarce fail to be productive of several very gross abuses. The person who applied for justice with a large present in his hand, was likely to get something more than justice; while he who applied for it with a small one was likely to get something less. Justice, too, might frequently be delayed, in order that this present might be repeated. The amercement, besides, of the person complained of, might frequently suggest a very strong reason for finding him in the wrong, even when he had not really been so. That such abuses were far from being uncommon, the ancient history of every country in Europe bears witness.

This scheme made the administration of justice serve the purpose of raising revenue. It could hardly fail to cause several serious abuses. A person seeking justice with a large gift in hand was likely to get more than justice. Someone offering a small gift was likely to get less. Justice might also often be delayed so that the gift would be repeated. Besides, the fine imposed on the accused might often provide a strong reason to find them at fault, even when they were not. The early history of every European country shows that such abuses were far from uncommon.

When the sovereign or chief exercises his judicial authority in his own person, how much soever he might abuse it, it must have been scarce possible to get any redress; because there could seldom be any body powerful enough to call him to account. When he exercised it by a bailiff, indeed, redress might sometimes be had. If it was for his own benefit only, that the bailiff had been guilty of an act of injustice, the sovereign himself might not always be unwilling to punish him, or to oblige him to repair the wrong. But if it was for the benefit of his sovereign; if it was in order to make court to the person who appointed him, and who might prefer him, that he had committed any act of oppression; redress would, upon most occasions, be as impossible as if the sovereign had committed it himself. In all barbarous governments, accordingly, in all those ancient governments of Europe in particular, which were founded upon the ruins of the Roman empire, the administration of justice appears for a long time to have been extremely corrupt; far from being quite equal and impartial, even under the best monarchs, and altogether profligate under the worst.

When the sovereign or chief administered justice personally, it was almost impossible to obtain redress, however much he abused his authority. This was because there was seldom anyone powerful enough to hold him accountable. When he administered justice through a bailiff, however, redress was sometimes possible. If the bailiff had acted unjustly only for his own benefit, the sovereign might be willing to punish him. The sovereign might also require him to right the wrong. But the bailiff might have oppressed someone for the sovereign’s benefit. He might have done so to win favor with the person who appointed him and could promote him. In such cases, redress would usually be as impossible as if the sovereign had committed the injustice himself. Accordingly, in all barbarous governments, the administration of justice appears to have been extremely corrupt for a long time. This was especially true of all those ancient European governments founded on the ruins of the Roman empire. Even under the best monarchs, justice was far from equal and impartial. Under the worst, it was utterly corrupt.

Among nations of shepherds, where the sovereign or chief is only the greatest shepherd or herdsman of the horde or clan, he is maintained in the same manner as any of his vassals or subjects, by the increase of his own herds or flocks. Among those nations of husbandmen, who are but just come out of the shepherd state, and who are not much advanced beyond that state, such as the Greek tribes appear to have been about the time of the Trojan war, and our German and Scythian ancestors, when they first settled upon the ruins of the western empire; the sovereign or chief is, in the same manner, only the greatest landlord of the country, and is maintained in the same manner as any other landlord, by a revenue derived from his own private estate, or from what, in modern Europe, was called the demesne of the crown. His subjects, upon ordinary occasions, contribute nothing to his support, except when, in order to protect them from the oppression of some of their fellow-subjects, they stand in need of his authority. The presents which they make him upon such occasions constitute the whole ordinary revenue, the whole of the emoluments which, except, perhaps, upon some very extraordinary emergencies, he derives from his dominion over them. When Agamemnon, in Homer, offers to Achilles, for his friendship, the sovereignty of seven Greek cities, the sole advantage which he mentions as likely to be derived from it was, that the people would honour him with presents. As long as such presents, as long as the emoluments of justice, or what may be called the fees of court, constituted, in this manner, the whole ordinary revenue which the sovereign derived from his sovereignty, it could not well be expected, it could not even decently be proposed, that he should give them up altogether. It might, and it frequently was proposed, that he should regulate and ascertain them. But after they had been so regulated and ascertained, how to hinder a person who was all-powerful from extending them beyond those regulations, was still very difficult, not to say impossible. During the continuance of this state of things, therefore, the corruption of justice, naturally resulting from the arbitrary and uncertain nature of those presents, scarce admitted of any effectual remedy.

Among nations of shepherds, the sovereign or chief is simply the greatest shepherd or herdsman of the horde or clan. Like any of his vassals or subjects, he supports himself from the increase of his own herds or flocks. Some nations of farmers have only just left the shepherd state and have not advanced far beyond it. The Greek tribes seem to have been at this stage around the time of the Trojan war. So were our German and Scythian ancestors when they first settled on the ruins of the western empire. Among such nations, the sovereign or chief is likewise simply the greatest landlord in the country. Like any other landlord, he supports himself with income from his own private estate. In modern Europe, this estate was called the crown's demesne. On ordinary occasions, his subjects contribute nothing to his support. They give him presents only when they need his authority to protect them from oppression by fellow subjects. These presents make up his entire ordinary revenue from his rule over them. They are the only benefits he receives from his rule, except perhaps in very extraordinary emergencies. In Homer, when Agamemnon offers Achilles sovereignty over seven Greek cities in return for his friendship, he mentions only one likely benefit. The people would honour Achilles with presents. As long as such presents, the profits of justice or what may be called court fees, made up the sovereign's entire ordinary revenue from his sovereignty, he could hardly be expected to give them up altogether. It could not even be decently proposed that he do so. It could be proposed, and frequently was, that he regulate the presents and set their amounts. But even after the presents had been regulated and fixed, preventing an all-powerful person from taking more was still very difficult, if not impossible. As long as this state of affairs continued, there was therefore hardly any effective remedy for the corruption of justice that naturally resulted from the arbitrary and uncertain nature of these presents.

But when, from different causes, chiefly from the continually increasing expense of defending the nation against the invasion of other nations, the private estate of the sovereign had become altogether insufficient for defraying the expense of the sovereignty; and when it had become necessary that the people should, for their own security, contribute towards this expense by taxes of different kinds; it seems to have been very commonly stipulated, that no present for the administration of justice should, under any pretence, be accepted either by the sovereign, or by his bailiffs and substitutes, the judges. Those presents, it seems to have been supposed, could more easily be abolished altogether, than effectually regulated and ascertained. Fixed salaries were appointed to the judges, which were supposed to compensate to them the loss of whatever might have been their share of the ancient emoluments of justice; as the taxes more than compensated to the sovereign the loss of his. Justice was then said to be administered gratis.

But for various reasons, the sovereign's private estate became entirely inadequate to cover the costs of ruling. The chief reason was the ever-increasing expense of defending the nation against invasion by other nations. The people then had to contribute to these costs through various taxes, for their own security. It seems that an agreement was then commonly made that no gifts for administering justice should be accepted under any pretext. This applied to the sovereign and to his bailiffs and substitutes, the judges. Such gifts seem to have been thought easier to abolish altogether than to regulate effectively and fix at definite amounts. The judges were given fixed salaries, which were supposed to compensate them for losing their share of the former income from administering justice. Similarly, the taxes more than compensated the sovereign for losing his share. Justice was then said to be administered free of charge.

Justice, however, never was in reality administered gratis in any country. Lawyers and attorneys, at least, must always be paid by the parties; and if they were not, they would perform their duty still worse than they actually perform it. The fees annually paid to lawyers and attorneys, amount, in every court, to a much greater sum than the salaries of the judges. The circumstance of those salaries being paid by the crown, can nowhere much diminish the necessary expense of a law-suit. But it was not so much to diminish the expense, as to prevent the corruption of justice, that the judges were prohibited from receiving my present or fee from the parties.

Justice, however, has never actually been provided free of charge in any country. At the very least, the parties must always pay lawyers and attorneys. If they did not, lawyers and attorneys would do their work even worse than they already do. In every court, the fees paid to lawyers and attorneys each year far exceed the judges' salaries. The fact that the crown pays those salaries can nowhere greatly reduce the necessary cost of a lawsuit. But judges were forbidden to accept any gift or fee from the parties mainly to prevent corruption of justice, not to reduce costs.

The office of judge is in itself so very honourable, that men are willing to accept of it, though accompanied with very small emoluments. The inferior office of justice of peace, though attended with a good deal of trouble, and in most cases with no emoluments at all, is an object of ambition to the greater part of our country gentlemen. The salaries of all the different judges, high and low, together with the whole expense of the administration and execution of justice, even where it is not managed with very good economy, makes, in any civilized country, but a very inconsiderable part of the whole expense of government.

The office of judge is so honorable that men willingly accept it for very little pay. Most of our country gentlemen aspire to the lesser office of justice of the peace. This is so even though the office involves considerable trouble and, in most cases, no pay at all. The salaries of all judges, high and low, add to the total cost of administering and enforcing justice. Even when justice is not administered very economically, this total cost is a very small part of government spending in any civilized country.

The whole expense of justice, too, might easily be defrayed by the fees of court; and, without exposing the administration of justice to any real hazard of corruption, the public revenue might thus be entirely discharged from a certain, though perhaps but a small incumbrance. It is difficult to regulate the fees of court effectually, where a person so powerful as the sovereign is to share in them and to derive any considerable part of his revenue from them. It is very easy, where the judge is the principal person who can reap any benefit from them. The law can very easily oblige the judge to respect the regulation though it might not always be able to make the sovereign respect it. Where the fees of court are precisely regulated and ascertained where they are paid all at once, at a certain period of every process, into the hands of a cashier or receiver, to be by him distributed in certain known proportions among the different judges after the process is decided and not till it is decided; there seems to be no more danger of corruption than when such fees are prohibited altogether. Those fees, without occasioning any considerable increase in the expense of a law-suit, might be rendered fully sufficient for defraying the whole expense of justice. But not being paid to the judges till the process was determined, they might be some incitement to the diligence of the court in examining and deciding it. In courts which consisted of a considerable number of judges, by proportioning the share of each judge to the number of hours and days which he had employed in examining the process, either in the court, or in a committee, by order of the court, those fees might give some encouragement to the diligence of each particular judge. Public services are never better performed, than when their reward comes only in consequence of their being performed, and is proportioned to the diligence employed in performing them. In the different parliaments of France, the fees of court (called epices and vacations) constitute the far greater part of the emoluments of the judges. After all deductions are made, the neat salary paid by the crown to a counsellor or judge in the parliament of Thoulouse, in rank and dignity the second parliament of the kingdom, amounts only to 150 livres, about £6:11s. sterling a-year. About seven years ago, that sum was in the same place the ordinary yearly wages of a common footman. The distribution of these epices, too, is according to the diligence of the judges. A diligent judge gains a comfortable, though moderate revenue, by his office; an idle one gets little more than his salary. Those parliaments are, perhaps, in many respects, not very convenient courts of justice; but they have never been accused; they seem never even to have been suspected of corruption.

The entire cost of justice could easily be paid from court fees. This would free public revenue entirely from a definite, though perhaps small, burden, without exposing the administration of justice to any real risk of corruption. Court fees are difficult to regulate effectively when someone as powerful as the sovereign shares in them and draws a considerable part of his revenue from them. They are very easy to regulate when the judge is the principal person who can benefit from them. The law can very easily make the judge obey the rules, though it might not always be able to make the sovereign obey them. Suppose court fees are precisely fixed by regulation. Suppose they are paid all at once, at a specified stage of each case, to a cashier or receiver. The receiver would distribute them among the judges in known proportions, but only after the case was decided. Under these conditions, there seems to be no more danger of corruption than when such fees are prohibited altogether. Without greatly increasing the cost of a lawsuit, the fees could be made sufficient to pay the entire cost of justice. But because the judges would not receive them until the case was decided, the fees might encourage the court to examine and decide it diligently. In courts with a considerable number of judges, each judge's share could be proportional to the hours and days spent examining the case. This would include time spent in court or on a committee appointed by the court. The fees might then encourage each judge to work diligently. Public services are never better performed than when payment follows only after the work is done and is proportional to the diligence used in doing it. In the different parliaments of France, court fees, called epices and vacations, make up by far the greater part of the judges' earnings. After all deductions, the net salary paid by the crown to a counsellor or judge in the parliament of Thoulouse is only 150 livres, about £6:11s. sterling a year. That parliament is second in rank and dignity in the kingdom. About seven years ago, that sum was the ordinary yearly wage of a common footman in the same place. These epices are also distributed according to the diligence of the judges. A diligent judge earns a comfortable, though moderate, income from his office. An idle judge gets little more than his salary. These parliaments are perhaps unsatisfactory courts of justice in many respects. But they have never been accused of corruption. They seem never even to have been suspected of it.

The fees of court seem originally to have been the principal support of the different courts of justice in England. Each court endeavoured to draw to itself as much business as it could, and was, upon that account, willing to take cognizance of many suits which were not originally intended to fall under its jurisdiction. The court of king’s bench, instituted for the trial of criminal causes only, took cognizance of civil suits; the plaintiff pretending that the defendant, in not doing him justice, had been guilty of some trespass or misdemeanour. The court of exchequer, instituted for the levying of the king’s revenue, and for enforcing the payment of such debts only as were due to the king, took cognizance of all other contract debts; the planitiff alleging that he could not pay the king, because the defendant would not pay him. In consequence of such fictions, it came, in many cases, to depend altogether upon the parties, before what court they would choose to have their cause tried, and each court endeavoured, by superior dispatch and impartiality, to draw to itself as many causes as it could. The present admirable constitution of the courts of justice in England was, perhaps, originally, in a great measure, formed by this emulation, which anciently took place between their respective judges: each judge endeavouring to give, in his own court, the speediest and most effectual remedy which the law would admit, for every sort of injustice. Originally, the courts of law gave damages only for breach of contract. The court of chancery, as a court of conscience, first took upon it to enforce the specific performance of agreements. When the breach of contract consisted in the non-payment of money, the damage sustained could be compensated in no other way than by ordering payment, which was equivalent to a specific performance of the agreement. In such cases, therefore, the remedy of the courts of law was sufficient. It was not so in others. When the tenant sued his lord for having unjustly outed him of his lease, the damages which he recovered were by no means equivalent to the possession of the land. Such causes, therefore, for some time, went all to the court of chancery, to the no small loss of the courts of law. It was to draw back such causes to themselves, that the courts of law are said to have invented the artificial and fictitious writ of ejectment, the most effectual remedy for an unjust outer or dispossession of land.

Court fees seem originally to have been the main source of support for England’s different courts of justice. Each court tried to attract as much business as it could. For that reason, each was willing to hear many cases that were not originally intended to fall under its jurisdiction. The court of king’s bench had been established to try only criminal cases, but it also heard civil cases. The plaintiff would claim that the defendant had committed a trespass or misdemeanour by failing to do him justice. The court of exchequer had been established to collect the king’s revenue and enforce payment of debts owed to the king. But it also heard cases involving all other contract debts. The plaintiff would claim that he could not pay the king because the defendant would not pay him. Because of these legal fictions, the parties in many cases came to have complete freedom to choose which court would hear them. Each court tried to attract as many cases as possible by offering greater speed and impartiality. This competition among the judges of the different courts may have done much to create the present admirable constitution of England’s courts of justice. Each judge tried to provide, in his own court, the quickest and most effective remedy the law allowed for every kind of injustice. Originally, the courts of law awarded only damages for breach of contract. The court of chancery, as a court of conscience, was the first to undertake to enforce specific performance of agreements. When the breach consisted of failure to pay money, the loss could be compensated only by ordering payment. This was equivalent to specific performance of the agreement. In such cases, therefore, the remedy offered by the courts of law was sufficient. But it was not sufficient in other cases. When a tenant sued his lord for unjustly removing him from his leasehold, the damages he recovered were by no means equivalent to possession of the land. For a time, therefore, all such cases went to the court of chancery, causing the courts of law considerable loss. To draw those cases back, the courts of law are said to have invented the artificial and fictitious writ of ejectment. This was the most effective remedy for unjust removal or dispossession from land.

A stamp-duty upon the law proceedings of each particular court, to be levied by that court, and applied towards the maintenance of the judges, and other officers belonging to it, might in the same manner, afford a revenue sufficient for defraying the expense of the administration of justice, without bringing any burden upon the general revenue of the society. The judges, indeed, might in this case, be under the temptation of multiplying unnecessarily the proceedings upon every cause, in order to increase, as much as possible, the produce of such a stamp-duty. It has been the custom in modern Europe to regulate, upon most occasions, the payment of the attorneys and clerks of court according to the number of pages which they had occasion to write; the court, however, requiring that each page should contain so many lines, and each line so many words. In order to increase their payment, the attorneys and clerks have contrived to multiply words beyond all necessity, to the corruption of the law language of, I believe, every court of justice in Europe. A like temptation might, perhaps, occasion a like corruption in the form of law proceedings.

Each court could charge a stamp duty on its legal proceedings. The court could use the money to pay its judges and other officers. In the same way, this might provide enough revenue to cover the cost of administering justice. It would place no burden on society’s general revenue. In this case, however, judges might be tempted to add unnecessary proceedings to every case. This would allow them to raise as much money as possible from the stamp duty. In modern Europe, attorneys and court clerks have usually been paid according to the number of pages they write. The courts require each page to contain a set number of lines, and each line a set number of words. To increase their pay, attorneys and clerks have found ways to use far more words than necessary. This has corrupted legal language in, I believe, every court of justice in Europe. A similar temptation might perhaps cause a similar corruption in the form of legal proceedings.

But whether the administration of justice be so contrived as to defray its own expense, or whether the judges be maintained by fixed salaries paid to them from some other fund, it does not seen necessary that the person or persons entrusted with the executive power should be charged with the management of that fund, or with the payment of those salaries. That fund might arise from the rent of landed estates, the management of each estate being entrusted to the particular court which was to be maintained by it. That fund might arise even from the interest of a sum of money, the lending out of which might, in the same manner, be entrusted to the court which was to be maintained by it. A part, though indeed but a small part of the salary of the judges of the court of session in Scotland, arises from the interest of a sum of money. The necessary instability of such a fund seems, however, to render it an improper one for the maintenance of an institution which ought to last for ever.

The justice system might be designed to cover its own expenses. Alternatively, judges might receive fixed salaries paid from another fund. In either case, the person or people entrusted with executive power do not seem to need responsibility for managing the fund or paying the salaries. The fund could come from rent on landed estates. Each estate could be managed by the particular court it supported. The fund could even come from interest on a sum of money. In the same way, the court supported by the money could be entrusted with lending it out. Part of the judges’ salaries in the court of session in Scotland comes from interest on a sum of money. This is, however, only a small part. A fund of this kind is necessarily unstable. It therefore seems unsuitable for maintaining an institution that ought to last forever.

The separation of the judicial from the executive power, seems originally to have arisen from the increasing business of the society, in consequence of its increasing improvement. The administration of justice became so laborious and so complicated a duty, as to require the undivided attention of the person to whom it was entrusted. The person entrusted with the executive power, not having leisure to attend to the decision of private causes himself, a deputy was appointed to decide them in his stead. In the progress of the Roman greatness, the consul was too much occupied with the political affairs of the state, to attend to the administration of justice. A praetor, therefore, was appointed to administer it in his stead. In the progress of the European monarchies, which were founded upon the ruins of the Roman empire, the sovereigns and the great lords came universally to consider the administration of justice as an office both too laborious and too ignoble for them to execute in their own persons. They universally, therefore, discharged themselves of it, by appointing a deputy, bailiff or judge.

The separation of judicial power from executive power seems to have originated in society’s growing business as it became more advanced. Administering justice became so laborious and complicated that it required the full attention of the person responsible for it. The person holding executive power had no time to decide private cases personally, so a deputy was appointed to decide them instead. As Rome grew in greatness, the consul became too busy with the state’s political affairs to administer justice. A praetor was therefore appointed to administer justice in the consul’s place. The European monarchies were founded on the ruins of the Roman empire. As they developed, sovereigns and great lords all came to regard the administration of justice as too laborious and beneath their dignity. They therefore all freed themselves from this duty by appointing a deputy, bailiff, or judge.

When the judicial is united to the executive power, it is scarce possible that justice should not frequently be sacrificed to what is vulgarly called politics. The persons entrusted with the great interests of the state may even without any corrupt views, sometimes imagine it necessary to sacrifice to those interests the rights of a private man. But upon the impartial administration of justice depends the liberty of every individual, the sense which he has of his own security. In order to make every individual feel himself perfectly secure in the possession of every right which belongs to him, it is not only necessary that the judicial should be separated from the executive power, but that it should be rendered as much as possible independent of that power. The judge should not be liable to be removed from his office according to the caprice of that power. The regular payment of his salary should not depend upon the good will, or even upon the good economy of that power.

When judicial power is combined with executive power, justice will almost inevitably be sacrificed to what people commonly call politics. Those entrusted with the state’s major interests may sometimes think it necessary to sacrifice a private citizen’s rights to those interests. They may do so even without corrupt motives. But every individual’s freedom and sense of security depend on the impartial administration of justice. To make every person feel completely secure in all their rights, judicial power must be separated from executive power. It must also be made as independent of executive power as possible. A judge should not be removed from office at the whim of the executive. The regular payment of a judge’s salary should not depend on the executive’s goodwill, or even its careful management of money.

The third and last duty of the sovereign or commonwealth, is that of erecting and maintaining those public institutions and those public works, which though they may be in the highest degree advantageous to a great society, are, however, of such a nature, that the profit could never repay the expense to any individual, or small number of individuals; and which it, therefore, cannot be expected that any individual, or small number of individuals, should erect or maintain. The performance of this duty requires, too, very different degrees of expense in the different periods of society.

The third and last duty of the government is to build and maintain certain public institutions and works. These may greatly benefit a large society, but their profits could never repay the cost to one person or a small group. Therefore, no individual or small group can be expected to build or maintain them. The cost of fulfilling this duty also varies greatly at different stages of society.

After the public institutions and public works necessary for the defence of the society, and for the administration of justice, both of which have already been mentioned, the other works and institutions of this kind are chiefly for facilitating the commerce of the society, and those for promoting the instruction of the people. The institutions for instruction are of two kinds: those for the education of the youth, and those for the instruction of people of all ages. The consideration of the manner in which the expense of those different sorts of public works and institutions may be most properly defrayed will divide this third part of the present chapter into three different articles.

I have already discussed the public institutions and works needed for society’s defense and the administration of justice. Other public works and institutions chiefly serve two purposes: facilitating commerce and promoting education. Educational institutions are of two kinds: those that educate young people and those that educate people of all ages. This third part of the chapter is divided into three articles. They consider how the costs of these different public works and institutions may best be paid.

ARTICLE I.—Of the public Works and Institutions for facilitating the Commerce of the Society.

ARTICLE I. Public Works and Institutions That Facilitate the Society's Trade.

And, first, of those which are necessary for facilitating Commerce in general.

First, those necessary to make commerce easier in general.

That the erection and maintenance of the public works which facilitate the commerce of any country, such as good roads, bridges, navigable canals, harbours, etc. must require very different degrees of expense in the different periods of society, is evident without any proof. The expense of making and maintaining the public roads of any country must evidently increase with the annual produce of the land and labour of that country, or with the quantity and weight of the goods which it becomes necessary to fetch and carry upon those roads. The strength of a bridge must be suited to the number and weight of the carriages which are likely to pass over it. The depth and the supply of water for a navigable canal must be proportioned to the number and tonnage of the lighters which are likely to carry goods upon it; the extent of a harbour, to the number of the shipping which are likely to take shelter in it.

Clearly, the cost of building and maintaining public works that support a country’s trade varies greatly at different stages of society. These works include good roads, bridges, navigable canals, and harbors. The cost of building and maintaining public roads must obviously rise with the annual output of the country’s land and labor. In other words, it must rise with the quantity and weight of goods that need to be carried on those roads. A bridge must be strong enough for the number and weight of vehicles likely to cross it. A navigable canal’s depth and water supply must suit the number and tonnage of the barges likely to carry goods on it. A harbor’s size must suit the number of ships likely to take shelter in it.

It does not seem necessary that the expense of those public works should be defrayed from that public revenue, as it is commonly called, of which the collection and application are in most countries, assigned to the executive power. The greater part of such public works may easily be so managed, as to afford a particular revenue, sufficient for defraying their own expense without bringing any burden upon the general revenue of the society.

It does not seem necessary to pay for these public works from what is commonly called public revenue. In most countries, the executive branch is responsible for collecting and spending this revenue. Most such public works can easily be managed to generate enough revenue to cover their own costs. They would therefore place no burden on the general revenue of society.

A highway, a bridge, a navigable canal, for example, may, in most cases, be both made add maintained by a small toll upon the carriages which make use of them; a harbour, by a moderate port-duty upon the tonnage of the shipping which load or unload in it. The coinage, another institution for facilitating commerce, in many countries, not only defrays its own expense, but affords a small revenue or a seignorage to the sovereign. The post-office, another institution for the same purpose, over and above defraying its own expense, affords, in almost all countries, a very considerable revenue to the sovereign.

A highway, bridge, or navigable canal can usually be built and maintained with a small toll on the vehicles that use it. A harbour can be built and maintained with a moderate port duty based on the tonnage of ships loading or unloading there. Coinage is another institution that makes commerce easier. In many countries, it not only covers its own costs but also provides the sovereign with a small revenue, called seignorage. The post office also makes commerce easier. In almost all countries, it covers its own costs and provides the sovereign with a very substantial revenue.

When the carriages which pass over a highway or a bridge, and the lighters which sail upon a navigable canal, pay toll in proportion to their weight or their tonnage, they pay for the maintenance of those public works exactly in proportion to the wear and tear which they occasion of them. It seems scarce possible to invent a more equitable way of maintaining such works. This tax or toll, too, though it is advanced by the carrier, is finally paid by the consumer, to whom it must always be charged in the price of the goods. As the expense of carriage, however, is very much reduced by means of such public works, the goods, notwithstanding the toll, come cheaper to the consumer than they could otherwise have done, their price not being so much raised by the toll, as it is lowered by the cheapness of the carriage. The person who finally pays this tax, therefore, gains by the application more than he loses by the payment of it. His payment is exactly in proportion to his gain. It is, in reality, no more than a part of that gain which he is obliged to give up, in order to get the rest. It seems impossible to imagine a more equitable method of raising a tax. When the toll upon carriages of luxury, upon coaches, post-chaises, etc. is made somewhat higher in proportion to their weight, than upon carriages of necessary use, such as carts, waggons, etc. the indolence and vanity of the rich is made to contribute, in a very easy manner, to the relief of the poor, by rendering cheaper the transportation of heavy goods to all the different parts of the country.

When vehicles using a highway or bridge pay tolls based on their weight, they pay for maintenance in proportion to the wear they cause. The same is true of canal boats charged according to their tonnage. It seems almost impossible to devise a fairer way to maintain these public works. Although the carrier pays the toll upfront, the consumer ultimately pays it through the price of the goods. But these public works greatly reduce transportation costs. So, despite the toll, goods reach consumers more cheaply than they otherwise could. The toll raises their price less than cheaper transportation lowers it. The person who ultimately pays the toll therefore gains more from its use than the payment costs them. The payment is exactly proportional to the gain. In reality, the person gives up only part of that gain to get the rest. It seems impossible to imagine a fairer way to raise a tax. Tolls on luxury vehicles, such as coaches and post-chaises, can be set somewhat higher for their weight than those on necessary vehicles, such as carts and wagons. This makes the idleness and vanity of the rich contribute easily to the relief of the poor. It does so by making it cheaper to transport heavy goods to every part of the country.

When high-roads, bridges, canals, etc. are in this manner made and supported by the commerce which is carried on by means of them, they can be made only where that commerce requires them, and, consequently, where it is proper to make them. Their expense, too, their grandeur and magnificence, must be suited to what that commerce can afford to pay. They must be made, consequently, as it is proper to make them. A magnificent high-road cannot be made through a desert country, where there is little or no commerce, or merely because it happens to lead to the country villa of the intendant of the province, or to that of some great lord, to whom the intendant finds it convenient to make his court. A great bridge cannot be thrown over a river at a place where nobody passes, or merely to embellish the view from the windows of a neighbouring palace; things which sometimes happen in countries, where works of this kind are carried on by any other revenue than that which they themselves are capable of affording.

When roads, bridges, canals, and similar works are built and maintained this way, the trade that uses them pays for them. They can be built only where trade requires them and, therefore, where it is right to build them. Their cost, scale, and grandeur must also suit what that trade can afford to pay. They must therefore be built as they should be. A magnificent road cannot be built through a deserted country where there is little or no trade. Nor can it be built merely because it leads to the country villa of the provincial administrator. Nor can it be built merely because it leads to the villa of a great lord whose favor the administrator seeks. A great bridge cannot be built across a river where nobody crosses. Nor can it be built merely to improve the view from the windows of a nearby palace. Such things sometimes happen in countries where these works are paid for by revenue other than what they themselves can generate.

In several different parts of Europe, the toll or lock-duty upon a canal is the property of private persons, whose private interest obliges them to keep up the canal. If it is not kept in tolerable order, the navigation necessarily ceases altogether, and, along with it, the whole profit which they can make by the tolls. If those tolls were put under the management of commissioners, who had themselves no interest in them, they might be less attentive to the maintenance of the works which produced them. The canal of Languedoc cost the king of France and the province upwards of thirteen millions of livres, which (at twenty-eight livres the mark of silver, the value of French money in the end of the last century) amounted to upwards of nine hundred thousand pounds sterling. When that great work was finished, the most likely method, it was found, of keeping it in constant repair, was to make a present of the tolls to Riquet, the engineer who planned and conducted the work. Those tolls constitute, at present, a very large estate to the different branches of the family of that gentleman, who have, therefore, a great interest to keep the work in constant repair. But had those tolls been put under the management of commissioners, who had no such interest, they might perhaps, have been dissipated in ornamental and unnecessary expenses, while the most essential parts of the works were allowed to go to ruin.

In several parts of Europe, canal tolls or lock duties belong to private owners. Their own interest obliges them to maintain the canals. If a canal is not kept in reasonably good condition, navigation necessarily stops altogether. With it goes all the profit the owners can make from the tolls. If commissioners with no personal interest in the tolls managed them, they might pay less attention to maintaining the works that produced them. The canal of Languedoc cost the king of France and the province more than thirteen million livres. This amounted to more than nine hundred thousand pounds sterling. The calculation uses a rate of twenty-eight livres to the mark of silver, the value of French money at the end of the last century. When that great work was finished, the most likely way to keep it in constant repair was found to be giving the tolls to Riquet, the engineer who planned and directed the work. Today, those tolls make up a very large estate belonging to the different branches of his family. They therefore have a strong interest in keeping the canal in constant repair. But commissioners with no such interest might perhaps have wasted the tolls on ornamental and unnecessary expenses. Meanwhile, they might have allowed the most essential parts of the works to fall into ruin.

The tolls for the maintenance of a highroad cannot, with any safety, be made the property of private persons. A high-road, though entirely neglected, does not become altogether impassable, though a canal does. The proprietors of the tolls upon a high-road, therefore, might neglect altogether the repair of the road, and yet continue to levy very nearly the same tolls. It is proper, therefore, that the tolls for the maintenance of such a work should be put under the management of commissioners or trustees.

Tolls collected to maintain a highway cannot safely be owned by private individuals. Even if completely neglected, a highway does not become entirely impassable, though a canal does. The owners of highway tolls could therefore neglect road repairs entirely and still collect nearly the same tolls. The tolls for maintaining a highway should therefore be managed by commissioners or trustees.

In Great Britain, the abuses which the trustees have committed in the management of those tolls, have, in many cases, been very justly complained of. At many turnpikes, it has been said, the money levied is more than double of what is necessary for executing, in the completest manner, the work, which is often executed in a very slovenly manner, and sometimes not executed at all. The system of repairing the high-roads by tolls of this kind, it must be observed, is not of very long standing. We should not wonder, therefore, if it has not yet been brought to that degree of perfection of which it seems capable. If mean and improper persons are frequently appointed trustees; and if proper courts of inspection and account have not yet been established for controlling their conduct, and for reducing the tolls to what is barely sufficient for executing the work to be done by them; the recency of the institution both accounts and apologizes for those defects, of which, by the wisdom of parliament, the greater part may, in due time, be gradually remedied.

In Great Britain, people have often rightly complained about trustees’ abuses in managing these tolls. At many turnpikes, it is said, the money collected is more than twice what is needed to do the work thoroughly. Yet the work is often done very poorly, and sometimes not at all. It should be noted that the system of repairing highways with such tolls is relatively new. We should not be surprised, then, that it has not yet reached the level of perfection it seems capable of. Unworthy and unsuitable people may often be appointed as trustees. And proper courts may not yet have been established to inspect accounts, oversee their conduct, and reduce tolls to what is just sufficient for the work. If so, the newness of the system both explains and excuses these defects. Through the wisdom of parliament, most of them may gradually be remedied in time.

The money levied at the different turnpikes in Great Britain, is supposed to exceed so much what is necessary for repairing the roads, that the savings which, with proper economy, might be made from it, have been considered, even by some ministers, as a very great resource, which might, at some time or another, be applied to the exigencies of the state. Government, it has been said, by taking the management of the turnpikes into its own hands, and by employing the soldiers, who would work for a very small addition to their pay, could keep the roads in good order, at a much less expense than it can be done by trustees, who have no other workmen to employ, but such as derive their whole subsistence from their wages. A great revenue, half a million, perhaps {Since publishing the two first editions of this book, I have got good reasons to believe that all the turnpike tolls levied in Great Britain do not produce a neat revenue that amounts to half a million; a sum which, under the management of government, would not be sufficient to keep in repair five of the principal roads in the kingdom}, it has been pretended, might in this manner be gained, without laying any new burden upon the people; and the turnpike roads might be made to contribute to the general expense of the state, in the same manner as the post-office does at present.

The tolls collected at the turnpikes in Great Britain are thought to far exceed the cost of repairing the roads. Even some ministers have seen the savings that could be made through careful spending as a valuable resource. They believe these savings might someday be used to meet the needs of the state. It has been said that the government could take over management of the turnpikes and employ soldiers to maintain the roads. The soldiers would work for a very small increase in pay. In this way, the government could keep the roads in good order at much less expense than the trustees. The trustees can employ only workers who depend entirely on their wages for a living. It has been claimed that this could produce a large revenue, perhaps half a million. {Since publishing the first two editions of this book, I have gained good reason to believe otherwise. All the turnpike tolls collected in Great Britain do not produce a net revenue of half a million. Under government management, that sum would not be enough to keep five of the kingdom’s principal roads in repair.} It has been claimed that this revenue could be gained without placing any new burden on the people. The turnpike roads could then contribute to the general expenses of the state, as the post office does now.

That a considerable revenue might be gained in this manner, I have no doubt, though probably not near so much as the projectors of this plan have supposed. The plan itself, however, seems liable to several very important objections.

I have no doubt that this method could raise considerable revenue. But it would probably raise far less than the plan’s supporters have assumed. The plan itself, however, seems open to several very important objections.

First, If the tolls which are levied at the turnpikes should ever be considered as one of the resources for supplying the exigencies of the state, they would certainly be augmented as those exigencies were supposed to require. According to the policy of Great Britain, therefore, they would probably he augmented very fast. The facility with which a great revenue could be drawn from them, would probably encourage administration to recur very frequently te this resource. Though it may, perhaps, be more than doubtful whether half a million could by any economy be saved out of the present tolls, it can scarcely be doubted, but that a million might be saved out of them, if they were doubled; and perhaps two millions, if they were tripled {I have now good reason to believe that all these conjectural sums are by much too large.}. This great revenue, too, might be levied without the appointment of a single new officer to collect and receive it. But the turnpike tolls, being continually augmented in this manner, instead of facilitating the inland commerce of the country, as at present, would soon become a very great incumbrance upon it. The expense of transporting all heavy goods from one part of the country to another, would soon be so much increased, the market for all such goods, consequently, would soon be so much narrowed, that their production would be in a great measure discouraged, and the most important branches of the domestic industry of the country annihilated altogether.

First, if turnpike tolls were ever treated as a source of revenue for the state, they would certainly be increased as the state’s needs seemed to require. Given Great Britain’s policies, they would probably rise very quickly. The government could raise a large revenue from the tolls so easily that it would probably turn to them very often. It may be more than doubtful whether any economies could save half a million from the current tolls. But there can hardly be any doubt that a million could be saved if the tolls were doubled, and perhaps two million if they were tripled. {I now have good reason to believe that all these estimates are much too large.} This large revenue, moreover, could be collected without appointing a single new officer to collect or receive it. But if turnpike tolls kept rising in this way, they would soon become a serious burden on the country’s inland commerce, instead of making it easier, as they do now. The cost of transporting all heavy goods from one part of the country to another would soon rise sharply. As a result, the market for all such goods would soon shrink so much that their production would be greatly discouraged. The most important branches of the country’s domestic industry would be destroyed altogether.

Secondly, A tax upon carriages, in proportion to their weight, though a very equal tax when applied to the sole purpose of repairing the roads, is a very unequal one when applied to any other purpose, or to supply the common exigencies of the state. When it is applied to the sole purpose above mentioned, each carriage is supposed to pay exactly for the wear and tear which that carriage occasions of the roads. But when it is applied to any other purpose, each carriage is supposed to pay for more than that wear and tear, and contributes to the supply of some other exigency of the state. But as the turnpike toll raises the price of goods in proportion to their weight and not to their value, it is chiefly paid by the consumers of coarse and bulky, not by those of precious and light commodities. Whatever exigency of the state, therefore, this tax might be intended to supply, that exigency would be chiefly supplied at the expense of the poor, not of the rich; at the expense of those who are least able to supply it, not of those who are most able.

Secondly, a tax on carriages based on their weight is very fair when used solely to repair roads. But it is very unfair when used for any other purpose, or to meet the general needs of the state. When used only to repair roads, each carriage is supposed to pay exactly for the wear it causes. But when the tax is used for any other purpose, each carriage is supposed to pay more than that. The extra payment contributes to some other need of the state. But the road toll raises the price of goods according to their weight, not their value. It is therefore paid chiefly by consumers of coarse, bulky goods, not by consumers of precious, light goods. Whatever need of the state the tax might be meant to meet, it would be met chiefly at the expense of the poor, not the rich. It would fall on those least able to pay, not those most able.

Thirdly, If government should at any time neglect the reparation of the high-roads, it would be still more difficult, than it is at present, to compel the proper application of any part of the turnpike tolls. A large revenue might thus be levied upon the people, without any part of it being applied to the only purpose to which a revenue levied in this manner ought ever to be applied. If the meanness and poverty of the trustees of turnpike roads render it sometimes difficult, at present, to oblige them to repair their wrong; their wealth and greatness would render it ten times more so in the case which is here supposed.

Thirdly, if the government ever neglected to repair the main roads, it would be even harder than it is now to ensure that any turnpike tolls were properly used. A large sum might thus be collected from the people, without any of it being used for the only purpose for which such revenue should ever be used. The low status and poverty of turnpike road trustees sometimes make it difficult to make them correct their wrongdoing. If the trustees were wealthy and powerful, as in the case imagined here, it would be ten times harder.

In France, the funds destined for the reparation of the high-roads are under the immediate direction of the executive power. Those funds consist, partly in a certain number of days labour, which the country people are in most parts of Europe obliged to give to the reparation of the highways; and partly in such a portion of the general revenue of the state as the king chooses to spare from his other expenses.

In France, the executive power directly controls the funds for repairing highways. These funds come partly from labor. In most parts of Europe, country people are required to work a certain number of days repairing highways. The funds also include whatever portion of the state’s general revenue the king chooses to spare from his other expenses.

By the ancient law of France, as well as by that of most other parts of Europe, the labour of the country people was under the direction of a local or provincial magistracy, which had no immediate dependency upon the king’s council. But, by the present practice, both the labour of the country people, and whatever other fund the king may choose to assign for the reparation of the high-roads in any particular province or generality, are entirely under the management of the intendant; an officer who is appointed and removed by the king’s council who receives his orders from it, and is in constant correspondence with it. In the progress of despotism, the authority of the executive power gradually absorbs that of every other power in the state, and assumes to itself the management of every branch of revenue which is destined for any public purpose. In France, however, the great post-roads, the roads which make the communication between the principal towns of the kingdom, are in general kept in good order; and, in some provinces, are even a good deal superior to the greater part of the turnpike roads of England. But what we call the cross roads, that is, the far greater part of the roads in the country, are entirely neglected, and are in many places absolutely impassable for any heavy carriage. In some places it is even dangerous to travel on horseback, and mules are the only conveyance which can safely be trusted. The proud minister of an ostentatious court, may frequently take pleasure in executing a work of splendour and magnificence, such as a great highway, which is frequently seen by the principal nobility, whose applauses not only flatter his vanity, but even contribute to support his interest at court. But to execute a great number of little works, in which nothing that can be done can make any great appearance, or excite the smallest degree of admiration in any traveller, and which, in short, have nothing to recommend them but their extreme utility, is a business which appears, in every respect, too mean and paltry to merit the attention of so great a magistrate. Under such an administration therefore, such works are almost always entirely neglected.

Under the old laws of France and most other parts of Europe, local or provincial officials directed the work of country people. These officials were not directly answerable to the king’s council. But under current practice, the intendant has full control over both their work and any other funds the king chooses to assign for repairing highways in a particular province or generality. The king’s council appoints and removes the intendant. He takes his orders from the council and is in constant correspondence with it. As despotism advances, the authority of the executive gradually absorbs that of every other power in the state. It takes control of every source of revenue intended for any public purpose. In France, however, the great post roads connecting the kingdom’s principal towns are generally kept in good order. In some provinces, they are even much better than most of England’s turnpike roads. But what we call the cross roads, which make up by far the greater part of the country’s roads, are entirely neglected. In many places, no heavy carriage can pass along them. In some places, it is even dangerous to travel on horseback. Only mules can be trusted to travel safely. The proud minister of a showy court may often take pleasure in carrying out a splendid and magnificent project. A great highway, for example, is frequently seen by the leading nobles. Their praise not only flatters his vanity but also helps support his influence at court. But many small projects can produce no great show and inspire no admiration in any traveller. In short, they have nothing to recommend them except their extreme usefulness. Carrying them out seems in every respect too lowly and trivial to deserve the attention of so great an official. Under such an administration, therefore, such works are almost always entirely neglected.

In China, and in several other governments of Asia, the executive power charges itself both with the reparation of the high-roads, and with the maintenance of the navigable canals. In the instructions which are given to the governor of each province, those objects, it is said, are constantly recommended to him, and the judgment which the court forms of his conduct is very much regulated by the attention which he appears to have paid to this part of his instructions. This branch of public police, accordingly, is said to be very much attended to in all those countries, but particularly in China, where the high-roads, and still more the navigable canals, it is pretended, exceed very much every thing of the same kind which is known in Europe. The accounts of those works, however, which have been transmitted to Europe, have generally been drawn up by weak and wondering travellers; frequently by stupid and lying missionaries. If they had been examined by more intelligent eyes, and if the accounts of them had been reported by more faithful witnesses, they would not, perhaps, appear to be so wonderful. The account which Bernier gives of some works of this kind in Indostan, falls very short of what had been reported of them by other travellers, more disposed to the marvellous than he was. It may too, perhaps, be in those countries, as it is in France, where the great roads, the great communications, which are likely to be the subjects of conversation at the court and in the capital, are attended to, and all the rest neglected. In China, besides, in Indostan, and in several other governments of Asia, the revenue of the sovereign arises almost altogether from a land tax or land rent, which rises or falls with the rise and fall of the annual produce of the land. The great interest of the sovereign, therefore, his revenue, is in such countries necessarily and immediately connected with the cultivation of the land, with the greatness of its produce, and with the value of its produce. But in order to render that produce both as great and as valuable as possible, it is necessary to procure to it as extensive a market as possible, and consequently to establish the freest, the easiest, and the least expensive communication between all the different parts of the country; which can be done only by means of the best roads and the best navigable canals. But the revenue of the sovereign does not, in any part of Europe, arise chiefly from a land tax or land rent. In all the great kingdoms of Europe, perhaps, the greater part of it may ultimately depend upon the produce of the land: but that dependency is neither so immediate nor so evident. In Europe, therefore, the sovereign does not feel himself so directly called upon to promote the increase, both in quantity and value of the produce of the land, or, by maintaining good roads and canals, to provide the most extensive market for that produce. Though it should be true, therefore, what I apprehend is not a little doubtful, that in some parts of Asia this department of the public police is very properly managed by the executive power, there is not the least probability that, during the present state of things, it could be tolerably managed by that power in any part of Europe.

In China and several other Asian governments, the executive power takes responsibility for repairing highways and maintaining navigable canals. Provincial governors are said to be regularly instructed to attend to these duties. The court judges their conduct largely by how much attention they appear to have paid to these instructions. Accordingly, this branch of public administration is said to receive much attention in all those countries, especially China. There, the highways, and even more so the navigable canals, are claimed to surpass anything of the kind known in Europe. The accounts of these works sent to Europe, however, have generally been written by gullible, awestruck travelers, and often by stupid and lying missionaries. If more intelligent people had examined the works, and more faithful witnesses had reported on them, they might not seem so wonderful. Bernier’s account of some such works in Indostan falls far short of reports by other travelers, who were more inclined to marvel than he was. Perhaps, too, these countries are like France. There, the great roads and major routes are maintained because they are likely to be discussed at court and in the capital, while all the rest are neglected. In China, Indostan, and several other Asian governments, the sovereign’s revenue comes almost entirely from a land tax or land rent. This revenue rises or falls with the land’s annual produce. The sovereign’s great interest, his revenue, is therefore necessarily and immediately tied to the cultivation of the land, the quantity it produces, and the value of that produce. But to make the produce as plentiful and valuable as possible, it must have as wide a market as possible. This requires the freest, easiest, and cheapest communication among all parts of the country. That can be achieved only through the best roads and navigable canals. But nowhere in Europe does the sovereign’s revenue come chiefly from a land tax or land rent. In all the great kingdoms of Europe, perhaps the greater part ultimately depends on the produce of the land. But that dependence is neither so immediate nor so obvious. In Europe, therefore, the sovereign does not feel so directly called upon to increase the quantity and value of the land’s produce. Nor does he feel so directly called upon to maintain good roads and canals, giving that produce the widest possible market. It may be true, though I think it is far from certain, that the executive power manages this branch of public administration very well in some parts of Asia. Even so, there is not the least likelihood that it could manage this branch tolerably anywhere in Europe under present conditions.

Even those public works, which are of such a nature that they cannot afford any revenue for maintaining themselves, but of which the conveniency is nearly confined to some particular place or district, are always better maintained by a local or provincial revenue, under the management of a local and provincial administration, than by the general revenue of the state, of which the executive power must always have the management. Were the streets of London to be lighted and paved at the expense of the treasury, is there any probability that they would be so well lighted and paved as they are at present, or even at so small an expense? The expense, besides, instead of being raised by a local tax upon the inhabitants of each particular street, parish, or district in London, would, in this case, be defrayed out of the general revenue of the state, and would consequently be raised by a tax upon all the inhabitants of the kingdom, of whom the greater part derive no sort of benefit from the lighting and paving of the streets of London.

Some public works cannot earn enough money to maintain themselves, and their benefits are mostly confined to a particular place or district. Even these works are always better maintained with local or provincial funds, managed by local or provincial authorities. They are better maintained this way than with the state’s general revenue, which must always be managed by the executive branch. Suppose the streets of London were lit and paved at the treasury’s expense. Is it likely they would be as well lit and paved as they are now, or even at as little cost? Moreover, the expense would be paid from the state’s general revenue, rather than by a local tax on the inhabitants of each street, parish, or district in London. It would therefore be raised by a tax on all the inhabitants of the kingdom. Most of them receive no benefit at all from the lighting and paving of London’s streets.

The abuses which sometimes creep into the local and provincial administration of a local and provincial revenue, how enormous soever they may appear, are in reality, however, almost always very trifling in comparison of those which commonly take place in the administration and expenditure of the revenue of a great empire. They are, besides, much more easily corrected. Under the local or provincial administration of the justices of the peace in Great Britain, the six days labour which the country people are obliged to give to the reparation of the highways, is not always, perhaps, very judiciously applied, but it is scarce ever exacted with any circumstance of cruelty or oppression. In France, under the administration of the intendants, the application is not always more judicious, and the exaction is frequently the most cruel and oppressive. Such corvees, as they are called, make one of the principal instruments of tyranny by which those officers chastise any parish or communeaute, which has had the misfortune to fall under their displeasure.

Abuses sometimes creep into the local or provincial administration of local or provincial revenue. However enormous they may seem, they are almost always very small compared with those common in managing and spending a great empire's revenue. They are also much easier to correct. In Great Britain, justices of the peace oversee local and provincial administration. The six days of labor that country people must give to repairing highways may not always be used wisely. But the labor is hardly ever demanded cruelly or oppressively. In France, under the administration of the intendants, the labor is not always used more wisely. Yet it is frequently demanded in the cruelest and most oppressive way. Such forced labor, known as corvees, is one of the main instruments of tyranny used by these officials. They use corvees to punish any parish or communeaute unfortunate enough to have fallen out of their favor.

Of the public Works and Institution which are necessary for facilitating particular Branches of Commerce.

On the public works and institutions needed to support particular branches of commerce.

The object of the public works and institutions above mentioned, is to facilitate commerce in general. But in order to facilitate some particular branches of it, particular institutions are necessary, which again require a particular and extraordinary expense.

The public works and institutions mentioned above are intended to support commerce in general. But some branches of commerce need special institutions, which require additional, exceptional expenses.

Some particular branches of commerce which are carried on with barbarous and uncivilized nations, require extraordinary protection. An ordinary store or counting-house could give little security to the goods of the merchants who trade to the western coast of Africa. To defend them from the barbarous natives, it is necessary that the place where they are deposited should be in some measure fortified. The disorders in the government of Indostan have been supposed to render a like precaution necessary, even among that mild and gentle people; and it was under pretence of securing their persons and property from violence, that both the English and French East India companies were allowed to erect the first forts which they possessed in that country. Among other nations, whose vigorous government will suffer no strangers to possess any fortified place within their territory, it may be necessary to maintain some ambassador, minister, or consul, who may both decide, according to their own customs, the differences arising among his own countrymen, and, in their disputes with the natives, may by means of his public character, interfere with more authority and afford them a more powerful protection than they could expect from any private man. The interests of commerce have frequently made it necessary to maintain ministers in foreign countries, where the purposes either of war or alliance would not have required any. The commerce of the Turkey company first occasioned the establishment of an ordinary ambassador at Constantinople. The first English embassies to Russia arose altogether from commercial interests. The constant interference with those interests, necessarily occasioned between the subjects of the different states of Europe, has probably introduced the custom of keeping, in all neighbouring countries, ambassadors or ministers constantly resident, even in the time of peace. This custom, unknown to ancient times, seems not to be older than the end of the fifteenth, or beginning of the sixteenth century; that is, than the time when commerce first began to extend itself to the greater part of the nations of Europe, and when they first began to attend to its interests.

Some branches of trade with barbarous and uncivilized nations require extraordinary protection. An ordinary warehouse or office would offer little security for the goods of merchants trading on the western coast of Africa. To defend their goods from the barbarous natives, merchants must store them in a place that is at least partly fortified. Disorder in the government of Indostan has been thought to make a similar precaution necessary, even among that mild and gentle people. The English and French East India companies were allowed to build their first forts there on the pretext of protecting their people and property from violence. Other nations have strong governments that will not allow foreigners to hold fortified places within their territory. In those countries, an ambassador, minister, or consul may be needed. Such an official can settle disputes among his own countrymen according to their own customs. In their disputes with the natives, his official position allows him to intervene with greater authority. He can also offer them stronger protection than they could expect from a private person. Commercial interests have often made it necessary to keep ministers in foreign countries where war or alliances would not have required them. The Turkey company's trade first led to the appointment of a regular ambassador at Constantinople. The first English embassies to Russia arose entirely from commercial interests. The commercial interests of the subjects of different European states necessarily came into constant conflict. This conflict has probably led to the custom of keeping resident ambassadors or ministers in all neighboring countries, even in peacetime. The custom was unknown in ancient times. It seems to date no earlier than the end of the fifteenth or the beginning of the sixteenth century. That was when trade first began to spread to most European nations, and when they first began to attend to its interests.

It seems not unreasonable, that the extraordinary expense which the protection of any particular branch of commerce may occasion, should be defrayed by a moderate tax upon that particular branch; by a moderate fine, for example, to be paid by the traders when they first enter into it; or, what is more equal, by a particular duty of so much per cent. upon the goods which they either import into, or export out of, the particular countries with which it is carried on. The protection of trade, in general, from pirates and freebooters, is said to have given occasion to the first institution of the duties of customs. But, if it was thought reasonable to lay a general tax upon trade, in order to defray the expense of protecting trade in general, it should seem equally reasonable to lay a particular tax upon a particular branch of trade, in order to defray the extraordinary expense of protecting that branch.

It seems reasonable that a moderate tax on a particular branch of trade should cover the extra cost of protecting it. For example, traders could pay a moderate fee when they first enter that branch. Or, more fairly, a specific percentage could be charged on goods imported from or exported to the countries involved in that trade. Customs duties are said to have first been established to cover the cost of protecting trade in general from pirates and raiders. But if a general tax on trade was considered reasonable to cover the cost of protecting trade in general, a specific tax on a particular branch seems equally reasonable. Such a tax would cover the extra cost of protecting that branch.

The protection of trade, in general, has always been considered as essential to the defence of the commonwealth, and, upon that account, a necessary part of the duty of the executive power. The collection and application of the general duties of customs, therefore, have always been left to that power. But the protection of any particular branch of trade is a part of the general protection of trade; a part, therefore, of the duty of that power; and if nations always acted consistently, the particular duties levied for the purposes of such particular protection, should always have been left equally to its disposal. But in this respect, as well as in many others, nations have not always acted consistently; and in the greater part of the commercial states of Europe, particular companies of merchants have had the address to persuade the legislature to entrust to them the performance of this part of the duty of the sovereign, together with all the powers which are necessarily connected with it.

Protecting trade in general has always been considered essential to defending the nation. For that reason, it has been considered a necessary duty of the executive branch. The collection and use of general customs duties have therefore always been left to the executive branch. But protecting any particular branch of trade is part of protecting trade in general. It is therefore also a duty of the executive branch. If nations always acted consistently, they would have left the executive branch in control of the duties levied for such particular protection. But nations have not always acted consistently in this respect, or in many others. In most of the commercial states of Europe, particular merchant companies have skillfully persuaded the legislature to entrust them with this part of the sovereign's duty, along with all the powers necessarily connected with it.

These companies, though they may, perhaps, have been useful for the first introduction of some branches of commerce, by making, at their own expense, an experiment which the state might not think it prudent to make, have in the long-run proved, universally, either burdensome or useless, and have either mismanaged or confined the trade.

These companies may perhaps have helped introduce some branches of trade. They did so by paying for experiments that the state might not have thought wise to undertake. But in the long run, they have always proved either burdensome or useless. They have either mismanaged or restricted trade.

When those companies do not trade upon a joint stock, but are obliged to admit any person, properly qualified, upon paying a certain fine, and agreeing to submit to the regulations of the company, each member trading upon his own stock, and at his own risk, they are called regulated companies. When they trade upon a joint stock, each member sharing in the common profit or loss, in proportion to his share in this stock, they are called joint-stock companies. Such companies, whether regulated or joint-stock, sometimes have, and sometimes have not, exclusive privileges.

Companies that do not trade with shared capital must admit anyone who meets their qualifications. The person must pay a fee and agree to follow the company's rules. Each member trades with their own capital and at their own risk. These are called regulated companies. Companies that trade with shared capital are called joint-stock companies. Each member shares in the profit or loss according to their share of the capital. Both regulated and joint-stock companies sometimes have exclusive privileges, but not always.

Regulated companies resemble, in every respect, the corporation of trades, so common in the cities and towns of all the different countries of Europe; and are a sort of enlarged monopolies of the same kind. As no inhabitant of a town can exercise an incorporated trade, without first obtaining his freedom in the incorporation, so, in most cases, no subject of the state can lawfully carry on any branch of foreign trade, for which a regulated company is established, without first becoming a member of that company. The monopoly is more or less strict, according as the terms of admission are more or less difficult, and according as the directors of the company have more or less authority, or have it more or less in their power to manage in such a manner as to confine the greater part of the trade to themselves and their particular friends. In the most ancient regulated companies, the privileges of apprenticeship were the same as in other corporations, and entitled the person who had served his time to a member of the company, to become himself a member, either without paying any fine, or upon paying a much smaller one than what was exacted of other people. The usual corporation spirit, wherever the law does not restrain it, prevails in all regulated companies. When they have been allowed to act according to their natural genius, they have always, in order to confine the competition to as small a number of persons as possible, endeavoured to subject the trade to many burdensome regulations. When the law has restrained them from doing this, they have become altogether useless and insignificant.

Regulated companies resemble the trade guilds common in cities and towns throughout Europe in every respect. They are a kind of enlarged monopoly of the same kind. A town resident cannot practice a guild trade without first becoming a member of the guild. In the same way, in most cases, a subject of the state cannot lawfully conduct foreign trade covered by a regulated company without first joining it. The monopoly is stricter or looser depending on how difficult the terms of admission are. It also depends on how much authority the directors have. It depends, too, on how much power they have to manage the company so as to keep most of the trade for themselves and their particular friends. In the oldest regulated companies, apprentices had the same privileges as apprentices in other guilds. Anyone who completed an apprenticeship under a company member was entitled to join the company. They could join either without paying a fee or by paying a much smaller one than others had to pay. The usual guild spirit prevails in all regulated companies wherever the law does not restrain it. When companies have been allowed to act according to their natural character, they have always tried to impose many burdensome regulations on the trade. Their purpose has been to limit competition to as few people as possible. When the law has prevented them from doing this, they have become entirely useless and insignificant.

The regulated companies for foreign commerce which at present subsist in Great Britain, are the ancient merchant-adventurers company, now commonly called the Hamburgh company, the Russia company, the Eastland company, the Turkey company, and the African company.

The regulated companies for foreign trade that currently exist in Great Britain are the old merchant-adventurers company, now commonly called the Hamburgh company, the Russia company, the Eastland company, the Turkey company, and the African company.

The terms of admission into the Hamburgh company are now said to be quite easy; and the directors either have it not in their power to subject the trade to any troublesome restraint or regulations, or, at least, have not of late exercised that power. It has not always been so. About the middle of the last century, the fine for admission was fifty, and at one time one hundred pounds, and the conduct of the company was said to be extremely oppressive. In 1643, in 1645, and in 1661, the clothiers and free traders of the west of England complained of them to parliament, as of monopolists, who confined the trade, and oppressed the manufactures of the country. Though those complaints produced no act of parliament, they had probably intimidated the company so far, as to oblige them to reform their conduct. Since that time, at least, there have been no complaints against them. By the 10th and 11th of William III. c.6, the fine for admission into the Russia company was reduced to five pounds; and by the 25th of Charles II. c.7, that for admission into the Eastland company to forty shillings; while, at the same time, Sweden, Denmark, and Norway, all the countries on the north side of the Baltic, were exempted from their exclusive charter. The conduct of those companies had probably given occasion to those two acts of parliament. Before that time, Sir Josiah Child had represented both these and the Hamburgh company as extremely oppressive, and imputed to their bad management the low state of the trade, which we at that time carried on to the countries comprehended within their respective charters. But though such companies may not, in the present times, be very oppressive, they are certainly altogether useless. To be merely useless, indeed, is perhaps, the highest eulogy which can ever justly be bestowed upon a regulated company; and all the three companies above mentioned seem, in their present state, to deserve this eulogy.

The terms for joining the Hamburgh company are now said to be quite easy. Its directors either lack the power to impose troublesome restrictions or regulations on trade, or have not exercised it lately. But this has not always been so. Around the middle of the last century, the admission fee was fifty pounds, and at one time one hundred pounds. The company’s conduct was said to be extremely oppressive. In 1643, 1645, and 1661, the clothiers and free traders of western England complained to parliament about the company. They called its members monopolists who restricted trade and oppressed the country’s manufacturers. Although those complaints produced no act of parliament, they probably intimidated the company enough to make it reform its conduct. At least, there have been no complaints against it since then. The act of 10 and 11 William III, chapter 6, reduced the admission fee for the Russia company to five pounds. The act of 25 Charles II, chapter 7, reduced the fee for the Eastland company to forty shillings. At the same time, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and all the countries on the north side of the Baltic were exempted from its exclusive charter. The conduct of those companies probably prompted these two acts of parliament. Before then, Sir Josiah Child had described both companies and the Hamburgh company as extremely oppressive. He blamed their poor management for the weak state of our trade with the countries covered by their respective charters. But although such companies may not be very oppressive today, they are certainly altogether useless. Indeed, merely to be useless is perhaps the highest praise a regulated company can ever justly receive. In their present state, all three companies mentioned above seem to deserve this praise.

The fine for admission into the Turkey company was formerly twenty-five pounds for all persons under twenty-six years of age, and fifty pounds for all persons above that age. Nobody but mere merchants could be admitted; a restriction which excluded all shop-keepers and retailers. By a bye-law, no British manufactures could be exported to Turkey but in the general ships of the company; and as those ships sailed always from the port of London, this restriction confined the trade to that expensive port, and the traders to those who lived in London and in its neighbourhood. By another bye-law, no person living within twenty miles of London, and not free of the city, could be admitted a member; another restriction which, joined to the foregoing, necessarily excluded all but the freemen of London. As the time for the loading and sailing of those general ships depended altogether upon the directors, they could easily fill them with their own goods, and those of their particular friends, to the exclusion of others, who, they might pretend, had made their proposals too late. In this state of things, therefore, this company was, in every respect, a strict and oppressive monopoly. Those abuses gave occasion to the act of the 26th of George II. c. 18, reducing the fine for admission to twenty pounds for all persons, without any distinction of ages, or any restriction, either to mere merchants, or to the freemen of London; and granting to all such persons the liberty of exporting, from all the ports of Great Britain, to any port in Turkey, all British goods, of which the exportation was not prohibited, upon paying both the general duties of customs, and the particular duties assessed for defraying the necessary expenses of the company; and submitting, at the same time, to the lawful authority of the British ambassador and consuls resident in Turkey, and to the bye-laws of the company duly enacted. To prevent any oppression by those bye-laws, it was by the same act ordained, that if any seven members of the company conceived themselves aggrieved by any bye-law which should be enacted after the passing of this act, they might appeal to the board of trade and plantations (to the authority of which a committee of the privy council has now succeeded), provided such appeal was brought within twelve months after the bye-law was enacted; and that, if any seven members conceived themselves aggrieved by any bye-law which had been enacted before the passing of this act, they might bring a like appeal, provided it was within twelve months after the day on which this act was to take place. The experience of one year, however, may not always be sufficient to discover to all the members of a great company the pernicious tendency of a particular bye-law; and if several of them should afterwards discover it, neither the board of trade, nor the committee of council, can afford them any redress. The object, besides, of the greater part of the bye-laws of all regulated companies, as well as of all other corporations, is not so much to oppress those who are already members, as to discourage others from becoming so; which may be done, not only by a high fine, but by many other contrivances. The constant view of such companies is always to raise the rate of their own profit as high as they can; to keep the market, both for the goods which they export, and for those which they import, as much understocked as they can; which can be done only by restraining the competition, or by discouraging new adventurers from entering into the trade. A fine, even of twenty pounds, besides, though it may not, perhaps, be sufficient to discourage any man from entering into the Turkey trade, with an intention to continue in it, may be enough to discourage a speculative merchant from hazarding a single adventure in it. In all trades, the regular established traders, even though not incorporated, naturally combine to raise profits, which are noway so likely to be kept, at all times, down to their proper level, as by the occasional competition of speculative adventurers. The Turkey trade, though in some measure laid open by this act of parliament, is still considered by many people as very far from being altogether free. The Turkey company contribute to maintain an ambassador and two or three consuls, who, like other public ministers, ought to be maintained altogether by the state, and the trade laid open to all his majesty’s subjects. The different taxes levied by the company, for this and other corporation purposes, might afford a revenue much more than sufficient to enable a state to maintain such ministers.

The fee for joining the Turkey company was formerly twenty-five pounds for anyone under twenty-six, and fifty pounds for anyone older. Only merchants could join, a restriction that excluded all shopkeepers and retailers. A company bylaw allowed British manufactured goods to be exported to Turkey only on the company’s general ships. These ships always sailed from London. The restriction therefore confined the trade to that expensive port, and to traders living in or near London. Another bylaw barred anyone living within twenty miles of London from joining unless they were a freeman of the city. Together, these restrictions necessarily excluded everyone except freemen of London. The directors had complete control over when the general ships were loaded and sailed. They could easily fill them with their own goods and those of their particular friends, leaving others out. They could claim that these others had submitted their proposals too late. Under these conditions, the company was in every respect a strict and oppressive monopoly. These abuses led to the act of the 26th of George II. c. 18. It reduced the admission fee to twenty pounds for everyone, regardless of age. It also removed the restrictions limiting membership to merchants and freemen of London. The act allowed all such people to export permitted British goods from any port in Great Britain to any port in Turkey. They had to pay the general customs duties and the special duties imposed to cover the company’s necessary expenses. They also had to submit to the lawful authority of the British ambassador and consuls resident in Turkey. And they had to obey the company’s duly enacted bylaws. The same act sought to prevent oppression through those bylaws. If any seven members felt wronged by a bylaw enacted after the act passed, they could appeal to the board of trade and plantations. A committee of the privy council has now taken over the board’s authority. The members had to appeal within twelve months of the bylaw’s enactment. If any seven members felt wronged by a bylaw enacted before the act passed, they could make a similar appeal. They had to do so within twelve months of the date on which the act was to take effect. One year’s experience, however, may not always be enough for every member of a large company to discover a bylaw’s harmful effects. If several members discover those effects later, neither the board of trade nor the committee of council can offer them any remedy. Besides, most bylaws of regulated companies and other corporations aim less to oppress existing members than to discourage others from joining. A high admission fee is only one of many ways to do this. Such companies always aim to raise their own profits as high as possible. They also aim to keep the market as undersupplied as possible, both for their exports and for their imports. They can do this only by restricting competition or discouraging new traders from entering the trade. Even a fee of twenty pounds may not discourage someone who intends to enter the Turkey trade and remain in it. But it may be enough to discourage a speculative merchant from risking a single venture in the trade. In all trades, established traders naturally combine to raise profits, even when they are not incorporated. Nothing is as likely to keep profits at their proper level at all times as occasional competition from speculative traders. Although this act of parliament opened the Turkey trade to some extent, many people still regard it as far from completely free. The Turkey company helps maintain an ambassador and two or three consuls. Like other public officials, they ought to be maintained entirely by the state, and the trade should be open to all his majesty’s subjects. The various taxes the company collects for this and other corporate purposes might provide a state with more than enough revenue to maintain such officials.

Regulated companies, it was observed by Sir Josiah Child, though they had frequently supported public ministers, had never maintained any forts or garrisons in the countries to which they traded; whereas joint-stock companies frequently had. And, in reality, the former seem to be much more unfit for this sort of service than the latter. First, the directors of a regulated company have no particular interest in the prosperity of the general trade of the company, for the sake of which such forts and garrisons are maintained. The decay of that general trade may even frequently contribute to the advantage of their own private trade; as, by diminishing the number of their competitors, it may enable them both to buy cheaper, and to sell dearer. The directors of a joint-stock company, on the contrary, having only their share in the profits which are made upon the common stock committed to their management, have no private trade of their own, of which the interest can be separated from that of the general trade of the company. Their private interest is connected with the prosperity of the general trade of the company, and with the maintenance of the forts and garrisons which are necessary for its defence. They are more likely, therefore, to have that continual and careful attention which that maintenance necessarily requires. Secondly, The directors of a joint-stock company have always the management of a large capital, the joint stock of the company, a part of which they may frequently employ, with propriety, in building, repairing, and maintaining such necessary forts and garrisons. But the directors of a regulated company, having the management of no common capital, have no other fund to employ in this way, but the casual revenue arising from the admission fines, and from the corporation duties imposed upon the trade of the company. Though they had the same interest, therefore, to attend to the maintenance of such forts and garrisons, they can seldom have the same ability to render that attention effectual. The maintenance of a public minister, requiring scarce any attention, and but a moderate and limited expense, is a business much more suitable both to the temper and abilities of a regulated company.

Sir Josiah Child observed that regulated companies had often supported public ministers, but had never maintained forts or garrisons in the countries where they traded. Joint-stock companies, by contrast, often had. In fact, regulated companies seem much less suited to this task than joint-stock companies. First, the directors of a regulated company have no particular interest in the prosperity of the company’s overall trade. Yet forts and garrisons are maintained for the sake of that trade. A decline in overall trade may even often benefit the directors’ own private trade. It may reduce the number of their competitors, allowing them to buy more cheaply and sell at higher prices. By contrast, the directors of a joint-stock company receive only their share of the profits from the common stock they manage. They have no private trade of their own whose interests can be separated from those of the company’s overall trade. Their private interest is tied to the prosperity of that trade and to the maintenance of the forts and garrisons needed to defend it. They are therefore more likely to give their maintenance the constant, careful attention it requires. Second, the directors of a joint-stock company always manage a large amount of capital, the company’s joint stock. They can often properly use part of it to build, repair, and maintain necessary forts and garrisons. But the directors of a regulated company manage no common capital. Their only funds for this purpose come from the occasional revenue from admission fees and the duties the company imposes on its members’ trade. So even if they had the same interest in maintaining forts and garrisons, they could seldom do as much to maintain them. Supporting a public minister requires hardly any attention and only a moderate, limited expense. It is therefore a task much better suited to both the inclinations and abilities of a regulated company.

Long after the time of Sir Josiah Child, however, in 1750, a regulated company was established, the present company of merchants trading to Africa; which was expressly charged at first with the maintenance of all the British forts and garrisons that lie between Cape Blanc and the Cape of Good Hope, and afterwards with that of those only which lie between Cape Rouge and the Cape of Good Hope. The act which establishes this company (the 23rd of George II. c.51 ), seems to have had two distinct objects in view; first, to restrain effectually the oppressive and monopolizing spirit which is natural to the directors of a regulated company; and, secondly, to force them, as much as possible, to give an attention, which is not natural to them, towards the maintenance of forts and garrisons.

However, long after Sir Josiah Child’s time, a regulated company was established in 1750. This is the present company of merchants trading to Africa. At first, it was expressly responsible for maintaining all British forts and garrisons between Cape Blanc and the Cape of Good Hope. Later, it was responsible only for those between Cape Rouge and the Cape of Good Hope. The act establishing the company (the 23rd of George II. c.51) seems to have had two distinct aims. First, it sought to curb effectively the oppressive and monopolizing spirit natural to directors of a regulated company. Second, it sought to force them, as much as possible, to pay attention to maintaining forts and garrisons. Such attention is not natural to them.

For the first of these purposes, the fine for admission is limited to forty shillings. The company is prohibited from trading in their corporate capacity, or upon a joint stock; from borrowing money upon common seal, or from laying any restraints upon the trade, which may be carried on freely from all places, and by all persons being British subjects, and paying the fine. The government is in a committee of nine persons, who meet at London, but who are chosen annually by the freemen of the company at London, Bristol, and Liverpool; three from each place. No committeeman can be continued in office for more than three years together. Any committee-man might be removed by the board of trade and plantations, now by a committee of council, after being heard in his own defence. The committee are forbid to export negroes from Africa, or to import any African goods into Great Britain. But as they are charged with the maintenance of forts and garrisons, they may, for that purpose export from Great Britain to Africa goods and stores of different kinds. Out of the moneys which they shall receive from the company, they are allowed a sum, not exceeding eight hundred pounds, for the salaries of their clerks and agents at London, Bristol, and Liverpool, the house-rent of their offices at London, and all other expenses of management, commission, and agency, in England. What remains of this sum, after defraying these different expenses, they may divide among themselves, as compensation for their trouble, in what manner they think proper. By this constitution, it might have been expected, that the spirit of monopoly would have been effectually restrained, and the first of these purposes sufficiently answered. It would seem, however, that it had not. Though by the 4th of George III. c.20, the fort of Senegal, with all its dependencies, had been invested in the company of merchants trading to Africa, yet, in the year following (by the 5th of George III. c.44), not only Senegal and its dependencies, but the whole coast, from the port of Sallee, in South Barbary, to Cape Rouge, was exempted from the jurisdiction of that company, was vested in the crown, and the trade to it declared free to all his majesty’s subjects. The company had been suspected of restraining the trade and of establishing some sort of improper monopoly. It is not, however, very easy to conceive how, under the regulations of the 23d George II. they could do so. In the printed debates of the house of commons, not always the most authentic records of truth, I observe, however, that they have been accused of this. The members of the committee of nine being all merchants, and the governors and factors in their different forts and settlements being all dependent upon them, it is not unlikely that the latter might have given peculiar attention to the consignments and commissions of the former, which would establish a real monopoly.

For the first of these purposes, the admission fee is limited to forty shillings. The company is prohibited from trading as a corporation or with a joint stock. It may not borrow money under its corporate seal or place any restrictions on trade. Trade may be carried on freely from all places by any British subject who pays the fee. The company is governed by a committee of nine people who meet in London. They are elected each year by the freemen of the company in London, Bristol, and Liverpool, with three from each place. No committee member may serve for more than three consecutive years. The board of trade and plantations, now a committee of council, could remove any committee member after hearing his defence. The committee is forbidden to export negroes from Africa or import African goods into Great Britain. But it is responsible for maintaining forts and garrisons. For that purpose, it may export various goods and supplies from Great Britain to Africa. From the money it receives from the company, the committee is allowed a sum not exceeding eight hundred pounds. This covers the salaries of its clerks and agents in London, Bristol, and Liverpool, and the rent for its London offices. It also covers all other management, commission, and agency expenses in England. After paying these expenses, the committee members may divide whatever remains among themselves as compensation for their trouble. They may divide it as they think proper. Under this constitution, one might have expected the spirit of monopoly to be effectively restrained. The first of these purposes might therefore have seemed adequately achieved. It appears, however, that it was not. Under the 4th of George III, c.20, the fort of Senegal and all its dependencies had been vested in the company of merchants trading to Africa. Yet the following year, under the 5th of George III, c.44, Senegal and its dependencies were removed from the company's jurisdiction. So was the entire coast from the port of Sallee, in South Barbary, to Cape Rouge. This territory was vested in the crown, and trade with it was declared free to all his majesty's subjects. The company had been suspected of restricting trade and establishing some kind of improper monopoly. It is not very easy, however, to see how it could have done so under the regulations of the 23d George II. I observe that the company was accused of this in the printed debates of the House of Commons. These are not always the most reliable records of the truth. All nine committee members were merchants, and the governors and factors in the company's various forts and settlements all depended on them. It is therefore not unlikely that those governors and factors paid special attention to the committee members' consignments and commissions. That would establish a real monopoly.

For the second of these purposes, the maintenance of the forts and garrisons, an annual sum has been allotted to them by parliament, generally about £13,000. For the proper application of this sum, the committee is obliged to account annually to the cursitor baron of exchequer; which account is afterwards to be laid before parliament. But parliament, which gives so little attention to the application of millions, is not likely to give much to that of £13,000 a-year; and the cursitor baron of exchequer, from his profession and education, is not likely to be profoundly skilled in the proper expense of forts and garrisons. The captains of his majesty’s navy, indeed, or any other commissioned officers, appointed by the board of admiralty, may inquire into the condition of the forts and garrisons, and report their observations to that board. But that board seems to have no direct jurisdiction over the committee, nor any authority to correct those whose conduct it may thus inquire into; and the captains of his majesty’s navy, besides, are not supposed to be always deeply learned in the science of fortification. Removal from an office, which can be enjoyed only for the term of three years, and of which the lawful emoluments, even during that term, are so very small, seems to be the utmost punishment to which any committee-man is liable, for any fault, except direct malversation, or embezzlement, either of the public money, or of that of the company; and the fear of the punishment can never be a motive of sufficient weight to force a continual and careful attention to a business to which he has no other interest to attend. The committee are accused of having sent out bricks and stones from England for the reparation of Cape Coast Castle, on the coast of Guinea; a business for which parliament had several times granted an extraordinary sum of money. These bricks and stones, too, which had thus been sent upon so long a voyage, were said to have been of so bad a quality, that it was necessary to rebuild, from the foundation, the walls which had been repaired with them. The forts and garrisons which lie north of Cape Rouge, are not only maintained at the expense of the state, but are under the immediate government of the executive power; and why those which lie south of that cape, and which, too, are, in part at least, maintained at the expense of the state, should be under a different government, it seems not very easy even to imagine a good reason. The protection of the Mediterranean trade was the original purpose or pretence of the garrisons of Gibraltar and Minorca; and the maintenance and government of those garrisons have always been, very properly, committed, not to the Turkey company, but to the executive power. In the extent of its dominion consists, in a great measure, the pride and dignity of that power; and it is not very likely to fail in attention to what is necessary for the defence of that dominion. The garrisons at Gibraltar and Minorca, accordingly, have never been neglected. Though Minorca has been twice taken, and is now probably lost for ever, that disaster has never been imputed to any neglect in the executive power. I would not, however, be understood to insinuate, that either of those expensive garrisons was ever, even in the smallest degree, necessary for the purpose for which they were originally dismembered from the Spanish monarchy. That dismemberment, perhaps, never served any other real purpose than to alienate from England her natural ally the king of Spain, and to unite the two principal branches of the house of Bourbon in a much stricter and more permanent alliance than the ties of blood could ever have united them.

For the second purpose, maintaining the forts and garrisons, Parliament has allocated an annual sum, generally about £13,000. The committee must account annually to the cursitor baron of the exchequer for how it spends this money. The account must then be presented to Parliament. But Parliament pays so little attention to how millions are spent that it is unlikely to give much attention to £13,000 a year. And the cursitor baron, given his profession and education, is unlikely to know much about the proper cost of forts and garrisons. Captains of his majesty’s navy, or any other commissioned officers appointed by the board of admiralty, may inspect the forts and garrisons. They may then report their observations to the board. But the board seems to have no direct jurisdiction over the committee. Nor does it seem able to correct the conduct of those it may investigate in this way. Besides, captains of his majesty’s navy are not supposed to be always deeply learned in the science of fortification. Removal from office seems to be the greatest punishment a committee member can face for any fault, except outright misuse or embezzlement of public money or company money. A member can hold office for only three years, and even during that time its lawful rewards are very small. Fear of removal can never be a strong enough motive to compel constant, careful attention to a business in which he has no other interest. The committee is accused of sending bricks and stones from England to repair Cape Coast Castle, on the coast of Guinea. Parliament had several times granted an extra sum of money for this work. The bricks and stones, despite their long voyage, were said to be of such poor quality that the walls repaired with them had to be rebuilt from the foundations. The forts and garrisons north of Cape Rouge are maintained at the state’s expense and directly governed by the executive power. Those south of the cape are also maintained, at least in part, at the state’s expense. It is hard even to imagine a good reason why they should be governed differently. Protecting Mediterranean trade was the original purpose, or pretext, for the garrisons of Gibraltar and Minorca. Their maintenance and government have always, quite properly, been entrusted to the executive power, not to the Turkey company. The pride and dignity of the executive power depend greatly on the extent of its dominion. It is therefore unlikely to neglect what is necessary to defend that dominion. Accordingly, the garrisons at Gibraltar and Minorca have never been neglected. Though Minorca has been taken twice and is now probably lost forever, that disaster has never been attributed to neglect by the executive power. I do not mean to suggest, however, that either of those expensive garrisons was ever necessary, even in the slightest degree, for the purpose for which Gibraltar and Minorca were originally taken from the Spanish monarchy. Perhaps taking them never served any real purpose except to alienate England’s natural ally, the king of Spain. It may also have brought the two principal branches of the house of Bourbon into a much closer and more lasting alliance than ties of blood alone could ever have created.

Joint-stock companies, established either by royal charter, or by act of parliament, are different in several respects, not only from regulated companies, but from private copartneries.

Joint-stock companies are established either by royal charter or by an act of Parliament. They differ in several ways from both regulated companies and private partnerships.

First, In a private copartnery, no partner without the consent of the company, can transfer his share to another person, or introduce a new member into the company. Each member, however, may, upon proper warning, withdraw from the copartnery, and demand payment from them of his share of the common stock. In a joint-stock company, on the contrary, no member can demand payment of his share from the company; but each member can, without their consent, transfer his share to another person, and thereby introduce a new member. The value of a share in a joint stock is always the price which it will bring in the market; and this may be either greater or less in any proportion, than the sum which its owner stands credited for in the stock of the company.

First, in a private partnership, no partner can transfer their share to another person or bring in a new member without the other partners’ consent. However, each partner may leave after giving proper notice and demand payment for their share of the partnership’s assets. In a joint-stock company, by contrast, no member can demand payment for their share from the company. But each member can transfer their share to another person without the company’s consent, thereby bringing in a new member. A share in a joint-stock company is always worth the price it will bring on the market. This price may be greater or less, by any amount, than the sum credited to its owner in the company’s stock.

Secondly, In a private copartnery, each partner is bound for the debts contracted by the company, to the whole extent of his fortune. In a joint-stock company, on the contrary, each partner is bound only to the extent of his share.

Second, in a private partnership, each partner is liable for the company’s debts to the full extent of their wealth. In a joint-stock company, by contrast, each partner is liable only up to the value of their share.

The trade of a joint-stock company is always managed by a court of directors. This court, indeed, is frequently subject, in many respects, to the control of a general court of proprietors. But the greater part of these proprietors seldom pretend to understand any thing of the business of the company; and when the spirit of faction happens not to prevail among them, give themselves no trouble about it, but receive contentedly such halfyearly or yearly dividend as the directors think proper to make to them. This total exemption front trouble and front risk, beyond a limited sum, encourages many people to become adventurers in joint-stock companies, who would, upon no account, hazard their fortunes in any private copartnery. Such companies, therefore, commonly draw to themselves much greater stocks, than any private copartnery can boast of. The trading stock of the South Sea company at one time amounted to upwards of thirty-three millions eight hundred thousand pounds. The divided capital of the Bank of England amounts, at present, to ten millions seven hundred and eighty thousand pounds. The directors of such companies, however, being the managers rather of other people’s money than of their own, it cannot well be expected that they should watch over it with the same anxious vigilance with which the partners in a private copartnery frequently watch over their own. Like the stewards of a rich man, they are apt to consider attention to small matters as not for their master’s honour, and very easily give themselves a dispensation from having it. Negligence and profusion, therefore, must always prevail, more or less, in the management of the affairs of such a company. It is upon this account, that joint-stock companies for foreign trade have seldom been able to maintain the competition against private adventurers. They have, accordingly, very seldom succeeded without an exclusive privilege; and frequently have not succeeded with one. Without an exclusive privilege, they have commonly mismanaged the trade. With an exclusive privilege, they have both mismanaged and confined it.

A joint-stock company’s trade is always managed by a board of directors. The board is often subject to control in many respects by a general meeting of shareholders. But most shareholders rarely claim to understand anything about the company’s business. When factional disputes do not prevail among them, they give themselves no trouble about it. They are content to receive whatever half-yearly or yearly dividend the directors think fit to pay. They are spared all trouble and risk no more than a limited sum. This encourages many people to invest in joint-stock companies who would never risk their fortunes in a private partnership. Such companies therefore commonly attract much more capital than any private partnership can boast. The South Sea company’s trading capital once amounted to more than £33,800,000. The Bank of England’s capital divided among shareholders now amounts to £10,780,000. The directors of such companies, however, manage other people’s money rather than their own. They can hardly be expected to guard it as anxiously as partners in a private partnership often guard their own money. Like the stewards of a rich man, they tend to think that attention to small matters is beneath their master’s dignity. They readily excuse themselves from paying such attention. Negligence and waste must therefore always prevail to some degree in the management of such a company. For this reason, joint-stock companies trading abroad have seldom been able to compete against private traders. Accordingly, they have very seldom succeeded without an exclusive privilege, and frequently have not succeeded even with one. Without an exclusive privilege, they have commonly mismanaged the trade. With one, they have both mismanaged and restricted it.

The Royal African company, the predecessors of the present African company, had an exclusive privilege by charter; but as that charter had not been confirmed by act of parliament, the trade, in consequence of the declaration of rights, was, soon after the Revolution, laid open to all his majesty’s subjects. The Hudson’s Bay company are, as to their legal rights, in the same situation as the Royal African company. Their exclusive charter has not been confirmed by act of parliament. The South Sea company, as long as they continued to be a trading company, had an exclusive privilege confirmed by act of parliament; as have likewise the present united company of merchants trading to the East Indies.

The Royal African company was the predecessor of the present African company. Its charter gave it exclusive trading rights. But Parliament had not confirmed the charter by an act. As a result of the declaration of rights, the trade was opened to all the king’s subjects soon after the Revolution. The Hudson’s Bay company is in the same legal position as the Royal African company. Parliament has not confirmed its exclusive charter by an act. The South Sea company had exclusive trading rights confirmed by an act of Parliament, as long as it remained a trading company. The present united company of merchants trading to the East Indies also has exclusive rights confirmed by an act of Parliament.

The Royal African company soon found that they could not maintain the competition against private adventurers, whom, notwithstanding the declaration of rights, they continued for some time to call interlopers, and to persecute as such. In 1698, however, the private adventurers were subjected to a duty of ten per cent. upon almost all the different branches of their trade, to be employed by the company in the maintenance of their forts and garrisons. But, notwithstanding this heavy tax, the company were still unable to maintain the competition. Their stock and credit gradually declined. In 1712, their debts had become so great, that a particular act of parliament was thought necessary, both for their security and for that of their creditors. It was enacted, that the resolution of two-thirds of these creditors in number and value should bind the rust, both with regard to the time which should be allowed to the company for the payment of their debts, and with regard to any other agreement which it might be thought proper to make with them concerning those debts. In 1730, their affairs were in so great disorder, that they were altogether incapable of maintaining their forts and garrisons, the sole purpose and pretext of their institution. From that year till their final dissolution, the parliament judged it necessary to allow the annual sum of £10,000 for that purpose. In 1732, after having been for many years losers by the trade of carrying negroes to the West Indies, they at last resolved to give it up altogether; to sell to the private traders to America the negroes which they purchased upon the coast; and to employ their servants in a trade to the inland parts of Africa for gold dust, elephants teeth, dyeing drugs, etc. But their success in this more confined trade was not greater than in their former extensive one. Their affairs continued to go gradually to decline, till at last, being in every respect a bankrupt company, they were dissolved by act of parliament, and their forts and garrisons vested in the present regulated company of merchants trading to Africa. Before the erection of the Royal African company, there had been three other joint-stock companies successively established, one after another, for the African trade. They were all equally unsuccessful. They all, however, had exclusive charters, which, though not confirmed by act of parliament, were in those days supposed to convey a real exclusive privilege.

The Royal African company soon found that it could not compete with private traders. Despite the Declaration of Rights, the company continued for some time to call them interlopers and persecute them as such. In 1698, however, a duty of ten percent was imposed on almost all branches of the private traders’ business. The company was to use the money to maintain its forts and garrisons. But even with this heavy tax, the company could not compete. Its stock and credit gradually declined. By 1712, the company’s debts had grown so large that a special act of parliament was thought necessary. The act was meant to protect both the company and its creditors. It provided that a decision by two-thirds of the creditors, measured by both number and value, would bind the rest. This applied to the time allowed for repayment and to any other agreement thought appropriate concerning the debts. By 1730, the company’s affairs were in such disorder that it could no longer maintain its forts and garrisons. Maintaining them was the sole purpose and pretext for establishing the company. From that year until its final dissolution, parliament judged it necessary to provide £10,000 a year for this purpose. For many years, the company had lost money carrying negroes to the West Indies. In 1732, it finally decided to give up that trade altogether. It would sell the negroes it purchased on the coast to private traders bound for America. It would also send its employees inland to trade for gold dust, elephant tusks, dyes, and other goods. But the company had no more success in this narrower trade than in its earlier, more extensive one. Its affairs continued to decline gradually. At last, bankrupt in every respect, the company was dissolved by act of parliament. Its forts and garrisons were transferred to the present regulated company of merchants trading to Africa. Before the Royal African company was established, three other joint-stock companies had been established in succession for the African trade. All were equally unsuccessful. All, however, had exclusive charters. Though parliament had not confirmed these charters by act, they were then thought to grant a genuine exclusive privilege.

The Hudson’s Bay company, before their misfortunes in the late war, had been much more fortunate than the Royal African company. Their necessary expense is much smaller. The whole number of people whom they maintain in their different settlements and habitations, which they have honoured with the name of forts, is said not to exceed a hundred and twenty persons. This number, however, is sufficient to prepare beforehand the cargo of furs and other goods necessary for loading their ships, which, on account of the ice, can seldom remain above six or eight weeks in those seas. This advantage of having a cargo ready prepared, could not, for several years, be acquired by private adventurers; and without it there seems to be no possibility of trading to Hudson’s Bay. The moderate capital of the company, which, it is said, does not exceed one hundred and ten thousand pounds, may, besides, be sufficient to enable them to engross the whole, or almost the whole trade and surplus produce, of the miserable though extensive country comprehended within their charter. No private adventurers, accordingly, have ever attempted to trade to that country in competition with them. This company, therefore, have always enjoyed an exclusive trade, in fact, though they may have no right to it in law. Over and above all this, the moderate capital of this company is said to be divided among a very small number of proprietors. But a joint-stock company, consisting of a small number of proprietors, with a moderate capital, approaches very nearly to the nature of a private copartnery, and may be capable of nearly the same degree of vigilance and attention. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, if, in consequence of these different advantages, the Hudson’s Bay company had, before the late war, been able to carry on their trade with a considerable degree of success. It does not seem probable, however, that their profits ever approached to what the late Mr Dobbs imagined them. A much more sober and judicious writer, Mr Anderson, author of the Historical and Chronological Deduction of Commerce, very justly observes, that upon examining the accounts which Mr Dobbs himself has given for several years together, of their exports and imports, and upon making proper allowances for their extraordinary risk and expense, it does not appear that their profits deserve to be envied, or that they can much, if at all, exceed the ordinary profits of trade.

Before its misfortunes in the recent war, the Hudson’s Bay company had been much more fortunate than the Royal African company. Its necessary expenses are much lower. The company maintains people at various settlements and dwellings, which it has honoured with the name of forts. Their total number is said not to exceed 120. Yet that is enough to prepare the cargo of furs and other goods needed to load its ships. Because of the ice, the ships can seldom remain in those seas for more than six or eight weeks. Independent traders could not gain the advantage of having a cargo ready in advance for several years. Without that advantage, trade with Hudson’s Bay seems impossible. The company’s modest capital is said not to exceed £110,000. Even so, it may be enough to let the company monopolize all or almost all the trade and surplus produce of the miserable but extensive country covered by its charter. Accordingly, no independent traders have ever tried to compete with the company there. The company has therefore always enjoyed an exclusive trade in practice, though it may have no legal right to one. Furthermore, the company’s modest capital is said to be divided among very few owners. A joint-stock company with few owners and modest capital is much like a private partnership. It may be capable of nearly the same vigilance and attention. Given these advantages, it is no wonder that the Hudson’s Bay company traded quite successfully before the recent war. It seems unlikely, however, that its profits ever came close to what the late Mr Dobbs imagined. A much more sober and judicious writer, Mr Anderson, makes a very fair observation. He is the author of the Historical and Chronological Deduction of Commerce. Mr Anderson examined Mr Dobbs’s own accounts of the company’s exports and imports over several years. He also made proper allowances for its extraordinary risks and expenses. He found no evidence that its profits were worth envying, or that they could greatly exceed ordinary trading profits, if they exceeded them at all.

The South Sea company never had any forts or garrisons to maintain, and therefore were entirely exempted from one great expense, to which other joint-stock companies for foreign trade are subject; but they had an immense capital divided among an immense number of proprietors. It was naturally to be expected, therefore, that folly, negligence, and profusion, should prevail in the whole management of their affairs. The knavery and extravagance of their stock-jobbing projects are sufficiently known, and the explication of them would be foreign to the present subject. Their mercantile projects were not much better conducted. The first trade which they engaged in, was that of supplying the Spanish West Indies with negroes, of which (in consequence of what was called the Assiento Contract granted them by the treaty of Utrecht) they had the exclusive privilege. But as it was not expected that much profit could be made by this trade, both the Portuguese and French companies, who had enjoyed it upon the same terms before them, having been ruined by it, they were allowed, as compensation, to send annually a ship of a certain burden, to trade directly to the Spanish West Indies. Of the ten voyages which this annual ship was allowed to make, they are said to have gained considerably by one, that of the Royal Caroline, in 1731; and to have been losers, more or less, by almost all the rest. Their ill success was imputed, by their factors and agents, to the extortion and oppression of the Spanish government; but was, perhaps, principally owing to the profusion and depredations of those very factors and agents; some of whom are said to have acquired great fortunes, even in one year. In 1734, the company petitioned the king, that they might be allowed to dispose of the trade and tonnage of their annual ship, on account of the little profit which they made by it, and to accept of such equivalent as they could obtain from the king of Spain.

The South Sea company never had to maintain forts or garrisons. It was therefore free from a major expense faced by other joint-stock companies trading abroad. But it had immense capital, divided among an immense number of owners. So it was natural to expect folly, negligence, and waste throughout the management of its affairs. The dishonesty and extravagance of its stock-jobbing schemes are well known, and explaining them would take us away from the present subject. Its trading ventures were not managed much better. Its first venture was supplying the Spanish West Indies with negroes. It had the exclusive right to do this under the Assiento Contract, granted by the treaty of Utrecht. But the trade was not expected to make much profit. Both the Portuguese and French companies that had previously held the same rights had been ruined by it. As compensation, the South Sea company was allowed to send one ship of a specified size each year to trade directly with the Spanish West Indies. The company was allowed ten such voyages. It is said to have made a considerable profit on one, the voyage of the Royal Caroline in 1731. It is said to have lost money, to varying degrees, on almost all the others. Its factors and agents blamed this poor performance on extortion and oppression by the Spanish government. But it was perhaps mainly due to the waste and plunder of those very factors and agents. Some of them are said to have made great fortunes in a single year. In 1734, the company petitioned the king for permission to give up the trading rights and tonnage of its annual ship, because it made so little profit from them. It also asked to be allowed to accept whatever compensation it could obtain from the king of Spain.

In 1724, this company had undertaken the whale fishery. Of this, indeed, they had no monopoly; but as long as they carried it on, no other British subjects appear to have engaged in it. Of the eight voyages which their ships made to Greenland, they were gainers by one, and losers by all the rest. After their eighth and last voyage, when they had sold their ships, stores, and utensils, they found that their whole loss upon this branch, capital and interest included, amounted to upwards of £237,000.

In 1724, this company entered the whale fishery. It did not have a monopoly on whaling. But as long as the company continued whaling, no other British subjects appear to have engaged in it. The company’s ships made eight voyages to Greenland. The company made a profit on one voyage and lost money on all the others. After its eighth and final voyage, the company sold its ships, supplies, and equipment. It found that its total loss on whaling, including capital and interest, came to more than £237,000.

In 1722, this company petitioned the parliament to be allowed to divide their immense capital of more than thirty-three millions eight hundred thousand pounds, the whole of which had been lent to government, into two equal parts; the one half, or upwards of £16,900,000, to be put upon the same footing with other government annuities, and not to be subject to the debts contracted, or losses incurred, by the directors of the company, in the prosecution of their mercantile projects; the other half to remain as before, a trading stock, and to be subject to those debts and losses. The petition was too reasonable not to be granted. In 1733, they again petitioned the parliament, that three-fourths of their trading stock might be turned into annuity stock, and only one-fourth remain as trading stock, or exposed to the hazards arising from the bad management of their directors. Both their annuity and trading stocks had, by this time, been reduced more than two millions each, by several different payments from government; so that this fourth amounted only to £3,662,784:8:6. In 1748, all the demands of the company upon the king of Spain, in consequence of the assiento contract, were, by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle, given up for what was supposed an equivalent. An end was put to their trade with the Spanish West Indies; the remainder of their trading stock was turned into an annuity stock; and the company ceased, in every respect, to be a trading company.

In 1722, the company petitioned Parliament to divide its enormous capital of more than £33,800,000 into two equal parts. The whole sum had been lent to the government. One half, or more than £16,900,000, would be treated like other government annuities. It would not be liable for debts or losses incurred by the company’s directors in their trading ventures. The other half would remain trading stock, as before, and would be liable for those debts and losses. The petition was too reasonable to be refused. In 1733, the company petitioned Parliament again. It asked to convert three-fourths of its trading stock into annuity stock. Only one-fourth would remain trading stock, exposed to the risks arising from the directors’ bad management. By then, several government payments had reduced both the annuity stock and the trading stock by more than £2,000,000 each. As a result, this fourth amounted to only £3,662,784:8:6. In 1748, the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle gave up all the company’s claims against the king of Spain arising from the assiento contract. In return, the company received what was supposed to be an equivalent. Its trade with the Spanish West Indies came to an end. The rest of its trading stock was converted into annuity stock. The company ceased, in every respect, to be a trading company.

It ought to be observed, that in the trade which the South Sea company carried on by means of their annual ship, the only trade by which it ever was expected that they could make any considerable profit, they were not without competitors, either in the foreign or in the home market. At Carthagena, Porto Bello, and La Vera Cruz, they had to encounter the competition of the Spanish merchants, who brought from Cadiz to those markets European goods, of the same kind with the outward cargo of their ship; and in England they had to encounter that of the English merchants, who imported from Cadiz goods of the Spanish West Indies, of the same kind with the inward cargo. The goods, both of the Spanish and English merchants, indeed, were, perhaps, subject to higher duties. But the loss occasioned by the negligence, profusion, and malversation of the servants of the company, had probably been a tax much heavier than all those duties. That a joint-stock company should be able to carry on successfully any branch of foreign trade, when private adventurers can come into any sort of open and fair competition with them, seems contrary to all experience.

It is worth noting that the South Sea company faced competition in both foreign and domestic markets. This competition affected its trade through its annual ship, the only trade expected to bring the company any considerable profit. At Carthagena, Porto Bello, and La Vera Cruz, it competed with Spanish merchants. They brought European goods from Cadiz to those markets, of the same kind as the ship's outgoing cargo. In England, it competed with English merchants who imported goods from the Spanish West Indies by way of Cadiz. These goods were of the same kind as the ship's return cargo. The Spanish and English merchants' goods were perhaps subject to higher duties. But the losses caused by the negligence, waste, and misconduct of the company's employees had probably been a much heavier tax than all those duties. It seems contrary to all experience that a joint-stock company could successfully conduct any branch of foreign trade when private traders can compete with it in any kind of open and fair competition.

The old English East India company was established in 1600, by a charter from Queen Elizabeth. In the first twelve voyages which they fitted out for India, they appear to have traded as a regulated company, with separate stocks, though only in the general ships of the company. In 1612, they united into a joint stock. Their charter was exclusive, and, though not confirmed by act of parliament, was in those days supposed to convey a real exclusive privilege. For many years, therefore, they were not much disturbed by interlopers. Their capital, which never exceeded £744,000, and of which £50 was a share, was not so exorbitant, nor their dealings so extensive, as to afford either a pretext for gross negligence and profusion, or a cover to gross malversation. Notwithstanding some extraordinary losses, occasioned partly by the malice of the Dutch East India company, and partly by other accidents, they carried on for many years a successful trade. But in process of time, when the principles of liberty were better understood, it became every day more and more doubtful, how far a royal charter, not confirmed by act of parliament, could convey an exclusive privilege. Upon this question the decisions of the courts of justice were not uniform, but varied with the authority of government, and the humours of the times. Interlopers multiplied upon them; and towards the end of the reign of Charles II., through the whole of that of James II., and during a part of that of William III., reduced them to great distress. In 1698, a proposal was made to parliament, of advancing two millions to government, at eight per cent. provided the subscribers were erected into a new East India company, with exclusive privileges. The old East India company offered seven hundred thousand pounds, nearly the amount of their capital, at four per cent. upon the same conditions. But such was at that time the state of public credit, that it was more convenient for government to borrow two millions at eight per cent. than seven hundred thousand pounds at four. The proposal of the new subscribers was accepted, and a new East India company established in consequence. The old East India company, however, had a right to continue their trade till 1701. They had, at the same time, in the name of their treasurer, subscribed very artfully three hundred and fifteen thousand pounds into the stock of the new. By a negligence in the expression of the act of parliament, which vested the East India trade in the subscribers to this loan of two millions, it did not appear evident that they were all obliged to unite into a joint stock. A few private traders, whose subscriptions amounted only to seven thousand two hundred pounds, insisted upon the privilege of trading separately upon their own stocks, and at their own risks. The old East India company had a right to a separate trade upon their own stock till 1701; and they had likewise, both before and after that period, a right, like that or other private traders, to a separate trade upon the £315,000, which they had subscribed into the stock of the new company. The competition of the two companies with the private traders, and with one another, is said to have well nigh ruined both. Upon a subsequent occasion, in 1750, when a proposal was made to parliament for putting the trade under the management of a regulated company, and thereby laying it in some measure open, the East India company, in opposition to this proposal, represented, in very strong terms, what had been, at this time, the miserable effects, as they thought them, of this competition. In India, they said, it raised the price of goods so high, that they were not worth the buying; and in England, by overstocking the market, it sunk their price so low, that no profit could be made by them. That by a more plentiful supply, to the great advantage and conveniency of the public, it must have reduced very much the price of India goods in the English market, cannot well be doubted; but that it should have raised very much their price in the Indian market, seems not very probable, as all the extraordinary demand which that competition could occasion must have been but as a drop of water in the immense ocean of Indian commerce. The increase of demand, besides, though in the beginning it may sometimes raise the price of goods, never fails to lower it in the long-run. It encourages production, and thereby increases the competition of the producers, who, in order to undersell one another, have recourse to new divisions or labour and new improvements of art, which might never otherwise have been thought of. The miserable effects of which the company complained, were the cheapness of consumption, and the encouragement given to production; precisely the two effects which it is the great business of political economy to promote. The competition, however, of which they gave this doleful account, had not been allowed to be of long continuance. In 1702, the two companies were, in some measure, united by an indenture tripartite, to which the queen was the third party; and in 1708, they were by act of parliament, perfectly consolidated into one company, by their present name of the United Company of Merchants trading to the East Indies. Into this act it was thought worth while to insert a clause, allowing the separate traders to continue their trade till Michaelmas 1711; but at the same time empowering the directors, upon three years notice, to redeem their little capital of seven thousand two hundred pounds, and thereby to convert the whole stock of the company into a joint stock. By the same act, the capital of the company, in consequence of a new loan to government, was augmented from two millions to three millions two hundred thousand pounds. In 1743, the company advanced another million to government. But this million being raised, not by a call upon the proprietors, but by selling annuities and contracting bond-debts, it did not augment the stock upon which the proprietors could claim a dividend. It augmented, however, their trading stock, it being equally liable with the other three millions two hundred thousand pounds, to the losses sustained, and debts contracted by the company in prosecution of their mercantile projects. From 1708, or at least from 1711, this company, being delivered from all competitors, and fully established in the monopoly of the English commerce to the East Indies, carried on a successful trade, and from their profits, made annually a moderate dividend to their proprietors. During the French war, which began in 1741, the ambition of Mr. Dupleix, the French governor of Pondicherry, involved them in the wars of the Carnatic, and in the politics of the Indian princes. After many signal successes, and equally signal losses, they at last lost Madras, at that time their principal settlement in India. It was restored to them by the treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle; and, about this time the spirit of war and conquest seems to have taken possession of their servants in India, and never since to have left them. During the French war, which began in 1755, their arms partook of the general good fortune of those of Great Britain. They defended Madras, took Pondicherry, recovered Calcutta, and acquired the revenues of a rich and extensive territory, amounting, it was then said, to upwards of three millions a-year. They remained for several years in quiet possession of this revenue; but in 1767, administration laid claim to their territorial acquisitions, and the revenue arising from them, as of right belonging to the crown; and the company, in compensation for this claim, agreed to pay to government £400,000 a-year. They had, before this, gradually augmented their dividend from about six to ten per cent.; that is, upon their capital of three millions two hundred thousand pounds, they had increased it by £128,000, or had raised it from one hundred and ninety-two thousand to three hundred and twenty thousand pounds a-year. They were attempting about this time to raise it still further, to twelve and a-half per cent., which would have made their annual payments to their proprietors equal to what they had agreed to pay annually to government, or to £400,000 a-year. But during the two years in which their agreement with government was to take place, they were restrained from any further increase of dividend by two successive acts of parliament, of which the object was to enable them to make a speedier progress in the payment of their debts, which were at this time estimated at upwards of six or seven millions sterling. In 1769, they renewed their agreement with government for five years more, and stipulated, that during the course of that period, they should be allowed gradually to increase their dividend to twelve and a-half per cent; never increasing it, however, more than one per cent. in one year. This increase of dividend, therefore, when it had risen to its utmost height, could augment their annual payments, to their proprietors and government together, but by £680,000, beyond what they had been before their late territorial acquisitions. What the gross revenue of those territorial acquisitions was supposed to amount to, has already been mentioned; and by an account brought by the Cruttenden East Indiaman in 1769, the neat revenue, clear of all deductions and military charges, was stated at two millions forty-eight thousand seven hundred and forty-seven pounds. They were said, at the same time, to possess another revenue, arising partly from lands, but chiefly from the customs established at their different settlements, amounting to £439,000. The profits of their trade, too, according to the evidence of their chairman before the house of commons, amounted, at this time, to at least £400,000 a-year; according to that of their accountant, to at least £500,000; according to the lowest account, at least equal to the highest dividend that was to be paid to their proprietors. So great a revenue might certainly have afforded an augmentation of £680,000 in their annual payments; and, at the same time, have left a large sinking fund, sufficient for the speedy reduction of their debt. In 1773, however, their debts, instead of being reduced, were augmented by an arrear to the treasury in the payment of the four hundred thousand pounds; by another to the custom-house for duties unpaid; by a large debt to the bank, for money borrowed; and by a fourth, for bills drawn upon them from India, and wantonly accepted, to the amount of upwards of twelve hundred thousand pounds. The distress which these accumulated claims brought upon them, obliged them not only to reduce all at once their dividend to six per cent. but to throw themselves upon the mercy of govermnent, and to supplicate, first, a release from the further payment of the stipulated £400,000 a-year; and, secondly, a loan of fourteen hundred thousand, to save them from immediate bankruptcy. The great increase of their fortune had, it seems, only served to furnish their servants with a pretext for greater profusion, and a cover for greater malversation, than in proportion even to that increase of fortune. The conduct of their servants in India, and the general state of their affairs both in India and in Europe, became the subject of a parliamentary inquiry: in consequence of which, several very important alterations were made in the constitution of their government, both at home and abroad. In India, their principal settlements or Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta, which had before been altogether independent of one another, were subjected to a governor-general, assisted by a council of four assessors, parliament assuming to itself the first nomination of this governor and council, who were to reside at Calcutta; that city having now become, what Madras was before, the most important of the English settlements in India. The court of the Mayor of Calcutta, originally instituted for the trial of mercantile causes, which arose in the city and neighbourhood, had gradually extended its jurisdiction with the extension of the empire. It was now reduced and confined to the original purpose of its institution. Instead of it, a new supreme court of judicature was established, consisting of a chief justice and three judges, to be appointed by the crown. In Europe, the qualification necessary to entitle a proprietor to vote at their general courts was raised, from five hundred pounds, the original price of a share in the stock of the company, to a thousand pounds. In order to vote upon this qualification, too, it was declared necessary, that he should have possessed it, if acquired by his own purchase, and not by inheritance, for at least one year, instead of six months, the term requisite before. The court of twenty-four directors had before been chosen annually; but it was now enacted, that each director should, for the future, be chosen for four years; six of them, however, to go out of office by rotation every year, and not be capable of being re-chosen at the election of the six new directors for the ensuing year. In consequence of these alterations, the courts, both of the proprietors and directors, it was expected, would be likely to act with more dignity and steadiness than they had usually done before. But it seems impossible, by any alterations, to render those courts, in any respect, fit to govern, or even to share in the government of a great empire; because the greater part of their members must always have too little interest in the prosperity of that empire, to give any serious attention to what may promote it. Frequently a man of great, sometimes even a man of small fortune, is willing to purchase a thousand pounds share in India stock, merely for the influence which he expects to aquire by a vote in the court of proprietors. It gives him a share, though not in the plunder, yet in the appointment of the plunderers of India; the court of directors, though they make that appointment, being necessarily more or less under the influence of the proprietors, who not only elect those directors, but sometimes over-rule the appointments of their servants in India. Provided he can enjoy this influence for a few years, and thereby provide for a certain number of his friends, he frequently cares little about the dividend, or even about the value of the stock upon which his vote is founded. About the prosperity of the great empire, in the government of which that vote gives him a share, he seldom cares at all. No other sovereigns ever were, or, from the nature of things, ever could be, so perfectly indifferent about the happiness or misery of their subjects, the improvement or waste of their dominions, the glory or disgrace of their administration, as, from irresistible moral causes, the greater part of the proprietors of such a mercantile company are, and necessarily must be. This indifference, too, was more likely to be increased than diminished by some of the new regulations which were made in consequence of the parliamentary inquiry. By a resolution of the house of commons, for example, it was declared, that when the £1,400,000 lent to the company by government, should be paid, and their bond-debts be reduced to £1,500,000, they might then, and not till then, divide eight per cent. upon their capital; and that whatever remained of their revenues and neat profits at home should be divided into four parts; three of them to be paid into the exchequer for the use of the public, and the fourth to be reserved as a fund, either for the further reduction of their bond-debts, or for the discharge of other contingent exigencies which the company might labour under. But if the company were bad stewards and bad sovereigns, when the whole of their neat revenue and profits belonged to themselves, and were at their own disposal, they were surely not likely to be better when three-fourths of them were to belong to other people, and the other fourth, though to be laid out for the benefit of the company, yet to be so under the inspection and with the approbation of other people.

The old English East India company was established in 1600 by a charter from Queen Elizabeth. On the first twelve voyages it equipped for India, it appears to have traded as a regulated company. Its members invested separate funds, though they traded only in the company’s shared ships. In 1612, they combined their funds into a joint stock. The company’s charter granted exclusive trading rights. Although Parliament had not confirmed it by an act, the charter was then understood to grant a genuine monopoly. For many years, therefore, outside traders caused the company little trouble. The company’s capital never exceeded £744,000, and a share was worth £50. Neither its capital nor its trade was large enough to excuse gross negligence and extravagance or conceal serious misconduct. Despite some extraordinary losses, it traded successfully for many years. These losses were caused partly by the malice of the Dutch East India company and partly by other accidents. In time, however, the principles of liberty came to be better understood. It became increasingly doubtful whether a royal charter could grant a monopoly without confirmation by Parliament. The courts gave inconsistent decisions on this question. Their rulings varied with the authority of the government and the mood of the times. Outside traders multiplied. Toward the end of Charles II’s reign, throughout James II’s reign, and during part of William III’s, they greatly distressed the company. In 1698, Parliament was offered a loan of £2 million to the government at eight percent interest. The condition was that the subscribers be established as a new East India company with exclusive privileges. The old East India company offered £700,000, nearly all its capital, at four percent on the same terms. But public credit was then in such a state that the government found it more convenient to borrow £2 million at eight percent than £700,000 at four percent. The new subscribers’ offer was accepted, and a new East India company was established. The old East India company, however, had the right to continue trading until 1701. At the same time, it had shrewdly subscribed £315,000 to the new company’s stock in its treasurer’s name. The act of Parliament gave the East India trade to the subscribers to the £2 million loan. But careless wording left it unclear whether all subscribers had to combine their funds into a joint stock. A few private traders, whose subscriptions totaled only £7,200, claimed the right to trade separately with their own funds and at their own risk. The old East India company had the right to trade separately with its own stock until 1701. Both before and after that date, it also had the same right as other private traders to trade separately using the £315,000 it had subscribed to the new company’s stock. The two companies competed with the private traders and with each other. This competition is said to have nearly ruined both companies. On a later occasion, in 1750, Parliament was offered a proposal to put the trade under a regulated company. This would have opened the trade to some extent. The East India company opposed the proposal and described, in very strong terms, what it saw as the miserable effects of the earlier competition. In India, the company said, competition had raised goods’ prices so high that they were not worth buying. In England, it had oversupplied the market and driven prices so low that no profit could be made. There can be little doubt that the greater supply greatly reduced the price of Indian goods in England. This was much to the public’s advantage and convenience. But it seems unlikely that competition greatly raised prices in the Indian market. All the extra demand it could have caused must have been a drop of water in the immense ocean of Indian commerce. Moreover, increased demand, though it may sometimes raise prices at first, always lowers them in the long run. It encourages production and thereby increases competition among producers. To undersell one another, they introduce new divisions of labor and improvements in technique. These might otherwise never have been imagined. The miserable effects the company complained of were cheaper goods for consumers and encouragement for producers. These are precisely the two effects that political economy’s great business is to promote. The competition described in such mournful terms had not, however, been allowed to last long. In 1702, the two companies were partly united by a three-party agreement, with the queen as the third party. In 1708, an act of Parliament fully combined them into one company. Its present name is the United Company of Merchants trading to the East Indies. The act included a clause allowing the separate traders to continue trading until Michaelmas 1711. At the same time, it authorized the directors, after three years’ notice, to buy back their small capital of £7,200. This would convert all the company’s stock into a joint stock. Under the same act, the company made a new loan to the government, and its capital increased from £2 million to £3.2 million. In 1743, the company advanced another £1 million to the government. This money was raised by selling annuities and issuing bonds, not by asking shareholders for further payments. It therefore did not increase the stock on which shareholders could claim a dividend. It did, however, increase the company’s trading capital. Like the other £3.2 million, it was liable for losses and debts incurred in the company’s trading ventures. From 1708, or at least from 1711, the company was free of all competitors. Its monopoly over English trade with the East Indies was fully established. It traded successfully and paid its shareholders a moderate annual dividend from its profits. During the French war that began in 1741, the ambition of Mr. Dupleix, the French governor of Pondicherry, drew the company into the wars of the Carnatic and the politics of the Indian princes. After many notable successes and equally notable losses, the company finally lost Madras, then its principal settlement in India. The treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle restored Madras to the company. Around this time, a spirit of war and conquest seems to have taken hold of its servants in India and never left them. During the French war that began in 1755, the company’s forces shared in the general good fortune of Great Britain’s forces. They defended Madras, took Pondicherry, recovered Calcutta, and acquired the revenues of a rich and extensive territory. These revenues were then said to exceed £3 million a year. The company held this revenue undisturbed for several years. But in 1767, the administration claimed that the territories and their revenues rightfully belonged to the crown. In return for this claim, the company agreed to pay the government £400,000 a year. Before this, the company had gradually raised its dividend from about six to ten percent. On its capital of £3.2 million, this was an increase of £128,000, from £192,000 to £320,000 a year. Around this time, the company was trying to raise the dividend further, to twelve and a half percent. Its annual payments to shareholders would then have equaled its agreed annual payment to the government, or £400,000. But during the two years covered by the government agreement, two successive acts of Parliament prevented any further dividend increase. The acts aimed to help the company pay off its debts more quickly. These were then estimated at over £6 million or £7 million. In 1769, the company renewed its agreement with the government for another five years. It stipulated that, during this period, it should be allowed to raise its dividend gradually to twelve and a half percent. But it could not increase the rate by more than one percentage point in any year. Even at its highest point, therefore, the increase would add only £680,000 to the company’s combined annual payments to shareholders and government, compared with their level before its recent territorial acquisitions. The supposed gross revenue from those territories has already been mentioned. An account brought by the East Indiaman Cruttenden in 1769 stated the net revenue at £2,048,747, after all deductions and military expenses. The company was also said to have another revenue of £439,000. This came partly from land, but chiefly from customs duties at its various settlements. Its trading profits, too, amounted to at least £400,000 a year, according to its chairman’s evidence before the House of Commons. According to its accountant, they amounted to at least £500,000. Even the lower figure equaled the highest dividend to be paid to shareholders. Such a great revenue could certainly have supported an increase of £680,000 in annual payments. It could also have left a large sinking fund, enough to reduce the company’s debt quickly. In 1773, however, its debts had increased rather than decreased. It had fallen behind on its £400,000 payment to the treasury and on customs duties. It owed the bank a large sum in borrowed money. It also owed more than £1.2 million on bills drawn on it from India, which it had recklessly accepted. The distress caused by these accumulated claims forced the company to cut its dividend at once to six percent. It also had to throw itself on the mercy of the government. It begged, first, to be released from further payment of the agreed £400,000 a year. Second, it asked for a loan of £1.4 million to save it from immediate bankruptcy. The great increase in the company’s fortune had apparently only given its servants an excuse for greater extravagance and a cover for greater misconduct. Both had increased by even more than its fortune. The conduct of its servants in India and the general state of its affairs in India and Europe became the subject of a parliamentary inquiry. As a result, several very important changes were made to its system of government at home and abroad. In India, its principal settlements of Madras, Bombay, and Calcutta had previously been entirely independent of one another. They were now placed under a governor-general assisted by a council of four assessors. Parliament claimed the right to appoint the first governor-general and council. They were to reside in Calcutta, which had now replaced Madras as the most important English settlement in India. The Mayor’s court in Calcutta had originally been established to hear commercial cases arising in the city and its neighborhood. Its jurisdiction had gradually expanded with the empire. It was now reduced and confined to its original purpose. In its place, a new supreme court of judicature was established. It consisted of a chief justice and three judges, appointed by the crown. In Europe, the holding required for a shareholder to vote at general meetings was raised from £500 to £1,000. Five hundred pounds had been the original price of a share in the company’s stock. If the shareholder had bought rather than inherited the required holding, he now had to own it for at least a year before voting. The previous requirement had been six months. The court of twenty-four directors had previously been elected every year. It was now enacted that each director would serve for four years. Six would leave office by rotation each year. They could not be reelected when the six new directors were chosen for the following year. These changes were expected to make the courts of shareholders and directors act with more dignity and steadiness than they usually had before. But no changes seem capable of making those courts fit in any respect to govern, or even share in governing, a great empire. Most of their members must always have too little interest in the empire’s prosperity to give serious attention to what might promote it. A man of great wealth, and sometimes even a man of modest means, will often buy £1,000 of India stock merely for the influence he expects from a vote in the court of shareholders. The vote gives him a share, not in the plunder of India, but in appointing its plunderers. The court of directors makes those appointments, but must be more or less influenced by the shareholders. The shareholders not only elect the directors but sometimes overturn their appointments of servants in India. As long as the shareholder can enjoy this influence for a few years and use it to provide for some of his friends, he often cares little about the dividend or even the value of the stock that gives him his vote. He seldom cares at all about the prosperity of the great empire that his vote gives him a share in governing. No other sovereigns ever were, or by the nature of things ever could be, so completely indifferent to their subjects’ happiness or misery, the improvement or waste of their dominions, and the glory or disgrace of their administration. Yet irresistible moral causes make most shareholders in such a trading company indifferent to these things, and necessarily must do so. Some of the new regulations following the parliamentary inquiry were more likely to increase this indifference than reduce it. For example, a resolution of the House of Commons declared that the company could pay an eight percent dividend on its capital once it had repaid the government’s £1.4 million loan and reduced its bond debts to £1.5 million. It could not do so before then. The resolution also declared that whatever remained of its revenues and net profits at home should be divided into four parts. Three parts were to be paid into the exchequer for public use. The fourth was to be reserved as a fund, either to reduce its bond debts further or to meet other unexpected needs the company might face. But the company had been a bad steward and a bad sovereign when all its net revenue and profits belonged to it and were at its disposal. Surely it was not likely to improve when three quarters belonged to other people. Even the remaining quarter, though to be spent for the company’s benefit, would be spent under other people’s supervision and with their approval.

It might be more agreeable to the company, that their own servants and dependants should have either the pleasure of wasting, or the profit of embezzling, whatever surplus might remain, after paying the proposed dividend of eight per cent. than that it should come into the hands of a set of people with whom those resolutions could scarce fail to set them in some measure at variance. The interest of those servants and dependants might so far predominate in the court of proprietors, as sometimes to dispose it to support the authors of depredations which had been committed in direct violation of its own authority. With the majority of proprietors, the support even of the authority of their own court might sometimes be a matter of less consequence than the support of those who had set that authority at defiance.

The company might prefer that its own servants and dependants enjoy wasting or profit from embezzling any surplus. This would be the surplus left after paying the proposed dividend of eight percent. The company might prefer this to having the surplus go to people whom those resolutions would almost certainly put somewhat at odds with it. The interests of those servants and dependants might carry great weight in the court of proprietors. They might sometimes lead the court to support those responsible for plundering in direct violation of its own authority. For a majority of proprietors, upholding their court's authority might sometimes matter less than supporting those who had defied it.

The regulations of 1773, accordingly, did not put an end to the disorder of the company’s government in India. Notwithstanding that, during a momentary fit of good conduct, they had at one time collected into the treasury of Calcutta more than £3,000,000 sterling; notwithstanding that they had afterwards extended either their dominion or their depredations over a vast accession of some of the richest and most fertile countries in India, all was wasted and destroyed. They found themselves altogether unprepared to stop or resist the incursion of Hyder Ali; and in consequence of those disorders, the company is now (1784) in greater distress than ever; and, in order to prevent immediate bankruptcy, is once more reduced to supplicate the assistance of government. Different plans have been proposed by the different parties in parliament for the better management of its affairs; and all those plans seem to agree in supposing, what was indeed always abundantly evident, that it is altogether unfit to govern its territorial possessions. Even the company itself seems to be convinced of its own incapacity so far, and seems, upon that account willing to give them up to government.

The regulations of 1773, therefore, did not end the disorder in the company’s government in India. During a brief spell of good conduct, the company had collected more than £3,000,000 sterling in the treasury at Calcutta. It had afterward extended its rule or its plundering over a vast area of India’s richest and most fertile lands. Yet all was wasted and destroyed. The company found itself completely unprepared to stop or resist Hyder Ali’s invasion. As a result of these disorders, the company is now (1784) in greater distress than ever. To prevent immediate bankruptcy, it has once again been reduced to begging the government for help. Different parties in parliament have proposed different plans for managing the company’s affairs better. All these plans seem to assume what was always abundantly clear: the company is completely unfit to govern its territorial possessions. Even the company itself seems convinced of its incapacity to govern them. For that reason, it seems willing to give them up to the government.

With the right of possessing forts and garrisons in distant and barbarous countries is necessarily connected the right of making peace and war in those countries. The joint-stock companies, which have had the one right, have constantly exercised the other, and have frequently had it expressly conferred upon them. How unjustly, how capriciously, how cruelly, they have commonly exercised it, is too well known from recent experience.

The right to maintain forts and garrisons in distant and barbarous countries necessarily includes the right to make peace and war there. Joint-stock companies with the first right have always exercised the second. They have often been expressly granted that right as well. Recent experience has made it all too clear how unjustly, capriciously, and cruelly they have usually exercised it.

When a company of merchants undertake, at their own risk and expense, to establish a new trade with some remote and barbarous nation, it may not be unreasonable to incorporate them into a joint-stock company, and to grant them, in case of their success, a monopoly of the trade for a certain number of years. It is the easiest and most natural way in which the state can recompense them for hazarding a dangerous and expensive experiment, of which the public is afterwards to reap the benefit. A temporary monopoly of this kind may be vindicated, upon the same principles upon which a like monopoly of a new machine is granted to its inventor, and that of a new book to its author. But upon the expiration of the term, the monopoly ought certainly to determine; the forts and garrisons, if it was found necessary to establish any, to be taken into the hands of government, their value to be paid to the company, and the trade to be laid open to all the subjects of the state. By a perpetual monopoly, all the other subjects of the state are taxed very absurdly in two different ways: first, by the high price of goods, which, in the case of a free trade, they could buy much cheaper; and, secondly, by their total exclusion from a branch of business which it might be both convenient and profitable for many of them to carry on. It is for the most worthless of all purposes, too, that they are taxed in this manner. It is merely to enable the company to support the negligence, profusion, and malversation of their own servants, whose disorderly conduct seldom allows the dividend of the company to exceed the ordinary rate of profit in trades which are altogether free, and very frequently makes a fall even a good deal short of that rate. Without a monopoly, however, a joint-stock company, it would appear from experience, cannot long carry on any branch of foreign trade. To buy in one market, in order to sell with profit in another, when there are many competitors in both; to watch over, not only the occasional variations in the demand, but the much greater and more frequent variations in the competition, or in the supply which that demand is likely to get from other people; and to suit with dexterity and judgment both the quantity and quality of each assortment of goods to all these circumstances, is a species of warfare, of which the operations are continually changing, and which can scarce ever be conducted successfully, without such an unremitting exertion of vigilance and attention as cannot long be expected from the directors of a joint-stock company. The East India company, upon the redemption of their funds, and the expiration of their exclusive privilege, have a right, by act of parliament, to continue a corporation with a joint stock, and to trade in their corporate capacity to the East Indies, in common with the rest of their fellow subjects. But in this situation, the superior vigilance and attention of a private adventurer would, in all probability, soon make them weary of the trade.

When merchants undertake to establish a new trade with a remote and barbarous nation, they do so at their own risk and expense. It may not be unreasonable to incorporate them as a joint-stock company. If they succeed, they might be granted a monopoly on the trade for a certain number of years. This is the easiest and most natural way for the state to reward them for risking a dangerous and expensive experiment. The public will later reap the benefit of that experiment. A temporary monopoly of this kind can be justified on the same principles as a temporary monopoly on a new machine granted to its inventor, or on a new book granted to its author. But when the term expires, the monopoly should certainly end. If any forts and garrisons were found necessary, the government should take them over and pay the company their value. The trade should then be opened to all subjects of the state. A perpetual monopoly taxes all the other subjects of the state in two very absurd ways. First, they pay high prices for goods they could buy much more cheaply under free trade. Second, they are completely excluded from a branch of business that many might find convenient and profitable to pursue. They are taxed in this way for the most worthless of all purposes. It is merely to allow the company to bear the negligence, extravagance, and misconduct of its own employees. Their disorderly conduct seldom allows the company's dividend to exceed the ordinary rate of profit in trades that are entirely free. Very often, it makes the dividend fall well short of that rate. Experience suggests, however, that without a monopoly, a joint-stock company cannot long carry on any branch of foreign trade. A trader must buy in one market to sell at a profit in another, with many competitors in both. The trader must watch for occasional changes in demand. But the trader must also watch for the much greater and more frequent changes in competition, or in the supply that others are likely to provide to meet that demand. The trader must then use skill and judgment to adjust the quantity and quality of each assortment of goods to all these circumstances. This is a kind of warfare whose operations constantly change. It can hardly ever be conducted successfully without unremitting vigilance and attention. Such effort cannot long be expected from the directors of a joint-stock company. When its funds are redeemed and its exclusive privilege expires, the East India company has a right, by act of parliament, to continue as a corporation with joint stock. It may also trade as a corporation with the East Indies, alongside its fellow subjects. But under these conditions, the greater vigilance and attention of a private trader would, in all probability, soon make the company weary of the trade.

An eminent French author, of great knowledge in matters of political economy, the Abbe Morellet, gives a list of fifty-five joint-stock companies for foreign trade, which have been established in different parts of Europe since the year 1600, and which, according to him, have all failed from mismanagement, notwithstanding they had exclusive privileges. He has been misinformed with regard to the history of two or three of them, which were not joint-stock companies and have not failed. But, in compensation, there have been several joint-stock companies which have failed, and which he has omitted.

The Abbe Morellet was a distinguished French author with extensive knowledge of political economy. He lists fifty-five joint-stock companies established for foreign trade in different parts of Europe since 1600. According to him, all of them failed through mismanagement, despite having exclusive privileges. He was misinformed about the history of two or three of them. They were not joint-stock companies and have not failed. But, to make up for this, he omitted several joint-stock companies that did fail.

The only trades which it seems possible for a joint-stock company to carry on successfully, without an exclusive privilege, are those, of which all the operations are capable of being reduced to what is called a routine, or to such a uniformity of method as admits of little or no variation. Of this kind is, first, the banking trade; secondly, the trade of insurance from fire and from sea risk, and capture in time of war; thirdly, the trade of making and maintaining a navigable cut or canal; and, fourthly, the similar trade of bringing water for the supply of a great city.

The only businesses that joint-stock companies seem able to run successfully without an exclusive privilege are those whose operations can all be made routine. Their methods must be uniform, allowing little or no variation. These businesses include, first, banking; second, insurance against fire, sea risks, and capture during war; third, building and maintaining navigable canals; and fourth, the similar business of supplying water to a large city.

Though the principles of the banking trade may appear somewhat abstruse, the practice is capable of being reduced to strict rules. To depart upon any occasion from those rules, in consequence of some flattering speculation of extraordinary gain, is almost always extremely dangerous and frequently fatal to the banking company which attempts it. But the constitution of joint-stock companies renders them in general, more tenacious of established rules than any private copartnery. Such companies, therefore, seem extremely well fitted for this trade. The principal banking companies in Europe, accordingly, are joint-stock companies, many of which manage their trade very successfully without any exclusive privilege. The bank of England has no other exclusive privilege, except that no other banking company in England shall consist of more than six persons. The two banks of Edinburgh are joint-stock companies, without any exclusive privilege.

Although the principles of banking may seem difficult to understand, banking can be governed by strict rules. A bank may depart from those rules because it is tempted by the prospect of extraordinary profits. But doing so is almost always extremely dangerous and often fatal to the bank. Joint-stock companies, however, are generally more inclined to follow established rules than private partnerships. Such companies therefore seem extremely well suited to banking. Accordingly, the principal banking companies in Europe are joint-stock companies. Many of them operate very successfully without any exclusive privilege. The bank of England has only one exclusive privilege: no other banking company in England may have more than six members. The two banks of Edinburgh are joint-stock companies without any exclusive privilege.

The value of the risk, either from fire, or from loss by sea, or by capture, though it cannot, perhaps, be calculated very exactly, admits, however, of such a gross estimation, as renders it, in some degree, reducible to strict rule and method. The trade of insurance, therefore, may be carried on successfully by a joint-stock company, without any exclusive privilege. Neither the London Assurance, nor the Royal Exchange Assurance companies have any such privilege.

The cost of risk from fire, loss at sea, or capture perhaps cannot be calculated very precisely. But it can be estimated roughly enough to be managed, to some degree, by strict rules and methods. A joint-stock company may therefore conduct insurance business successfully without any exclusive privilege. Neither the London Assurance nor the Royal Exchange Assurance companies have any such privilege.

When a navigable cut or canal has been once made, the management of it becomes quite simple and easy, and it is reducible to strict rule and method. Even the making of it is so, as it may be contracted for with undertakers, at so much a mile, and so much a lock. The same thing may be said of a canal, an aqueduct, or a great pipe for bringing water to supply a great city. Such under-takings, therefore, may be, and accordingly frequently are, very successfully managed by joint-stock companies, without any exclusive privilege.

Once a navigable channel or canal has been built, it is simple and easy to manage. Its management can follow strict rules and procedures. Even its construction can follow such rules. Contractors can be hired at a fixed price per mile and per lock. The same is true of a canal, aqueduct, or large pipe built to supply water to a great city. Joint-stock companies can therefore manage such projects very successfully without any exclusive privilege. They often do so.

To establish a joint-stock company, however, for any undertaking, merely because such a company might be capable of managing it successfully; or, to exempt a particular set of dealers from some of the general laws which take place with regard to all their neighbours, merely because they might be capable of thriving, if they had such an exemption, would certainly not be reasonable. To render such an establishment perfectly reasonable, with the circumstance of being reducible to strict rule and method, two other circumstances ought to concur. First, it ought to appear with the clearest evidence, that the undertaking is of greater and more general utility than the greater part of common trades; and, secondly, that it requires a greater capital than can easily be collected into a private copartnery. If a moderate capital were sufficient, the great utility of the undertaking would not be a sufficient reason for establishing a joint-stock company; because, in this case, the demand for what it was to produce, would readily and easily be supplied by private adventurers. In the four trades above mentioned, both those circumstances concur.

It would not be reasonable to establish a joint-stock company for an undertaking merely because the company might manage it successfully. Nor would it be reasonable to exempt a particular group of dealers from laws that apply to all their neighbors. The fact that those dealers might thrive with such an exemption would not be enough. To make such a company entirely reasonable, the undertaking must be manageable by strict rules and methods. Two other conditions must also be met. First, the clearest evidence must show that the undertaking is more useful to the public than most ordinary trades. Second, the undertaking must require more capital than a private partnership could easily raise. If a modest amount of capital were enough, the undertaking's great usefulness would not justify establishing a joint-stock company. In that case, private entrepreneurs could readily and easily supply the demand for its products. Both conditions are met in the four trades mentioned above.

The great and general utility of the banking trade, when prudently managed, has been fully explained in the second book of this Inquiry. But a public bank, which is to support public credit, and, upon particular emergencies, to advance to government the whole produce of a tax, to the amount, perhaps, of several millions, a year or two before it comes in, requires a greater capital than can easily be collected into any private copartnery.

The second book of this Inquiry fully explained the great and widespread usefulness of banking when it is managed prudently. But a public bank has to support public credit. In particular emergencies, it must also advance the government the full proceeds of a tax a year or two before they come in. Those proceeds might amount to several million. A public bank therefore needs more capital than a private partnership can easily raise.

The trade of insurance gives great security to the fortunes of private people, and, by dividing among a great many that loss which would ruin an individual, makes it fall light and easy upon the whole society. In order to give this security, however, it is necessary that the insurers should have a very large capital. Before the establishment of the two joint-stock companies for insurance in London, a list, it is said, was laid before the attorney-general, of one hundred and fifty private usurers, who had failed in the course of a few years.

Insurance gives people’s fortunes great security. It spreads a loss that would ruin one person among many, making the burden light and manageable for society as a whole. To provide this security, however, insurers need very large amounts of capital. Before the two joint-stock insurance companies were established in London, a list was reportedly presented to the attorney-general. It named 150 private moneylenders who had failed within a few years.

That navigable cuts and canals, and the works which are sometimes necessary for supplying a great city with water, are of great and general utility, while, at the same time, they frequently require a greater expense than suits the fortunes of private people, is sufficiently obvious.

Clearly, navigable waterways and canals, and the works sometimes needed to supply a large city with water, benefit everyone greatly. Yet they often cost more than private individuals can afford.

Except the four trades above mentioned, I have not been able to recollect any other, in which all the three circumstances requisite for rendering reasonable the establishment of a joint-stock company concur. The English copper company of London, the lead-smelting company, the glass-grinding company, have not even the pretext of any great or singular utility in the object which they pursue; nor does the pursuit of that object seem to require any expense unsuitable to the fortunes of many private men. Whether the trade which those companies carry on, is reducible to such strict rule and method as to render it fit for the management of a joint-stock company, or whether they have any reason to boast of their extraordinary profits, I do not pretend to know. The mine-adventurers company has been long ago bankrupt. A share in the stock of the British Linen company of Edinburgh sells, at present, very much below par, though less so than it did some years ago. The joint-stock companies, which are established for the public-spirited purpose of promoting some particular manufacture, over and above managing their own affairs ill, to the diminution of the general stock of the society, can, in other respects, scarce ever fail to do more harm than good. Notwithstanding the most upright intentions, the unavoidable partiality of their directors to particular branches of the manufacture, of which the undertakers mislead and impose upon them, is a real discouragement to the rest, and necessarily breaks, more or less, that natural proportion which would otherwise establish itself between judicious industry and profit, and which, to the general industry of the country, is of all encouragements the greatest and the most effectual.

Apart from the four trades mentioned above, I cannot recall any others that meet all three conditions needed to justify establishing a joint-stock company. The English copper company of London, the lead-smelting company, and the glass-grinding company cannot even claim that their work is exceptionally useful. Nor does their work seem to require more money than many private individuals can afford. I do not claim to know whether their trades can be managed according to rules and methods strict enough for a joint-stock company. Nor do I know whether the companies have reason to boast of extraordinary profits. The mine-adventurers company went bankrupt long ago. A share in the British Linen company of Edinburgh now sells for far below its face value, though less so than some years ago. Some joint-stock companies are established with the public-spirited aim of promoting a particular manufacture. They manage their own affairs badly, reducing the community's total stock. Beyond that, they can hardly fail to do more harm than good. Even with the most honest intentions, their directors are inevitably partial to particular branches of the manufacture. The people running those branches mislead and deceive the directors. This partiality truly discourages the other branches. It necessarily disrupts, to some extent, the natural balance that would otherwise arise between soundly directed industry and profit. For the country's industry as a whole, no encouragement is greater or more effective than that balance.

ART. II.—Of the Expense of the Institution for the Education of Youth.

ARTICLE II. The Cost of Institutions for Educating Young People.

The institutions for the education of the youth may, in the same manner, furnish a revenue sufficient for defraying their own expense. The fee or honorary, which the scholar pays to the master, naturally constitutes a revenue of this kind.

In the same way, schools for young people may earn enough revenue to cover their own expenses. The fee a student pays a teacher naturally provides such revenue.

Even where the reward of the master does not arise altogether from this natural revenue, it still is not necessary that it should be derived from that general revenue of the society, of which the collection and application are, in most countries, assigned to the executive power. Through the greater part of Europe, accordingly, the endowment of schools and colleges makes either no charge upon that general revenue, or but a very small one. It everywhere arises chiefly from some local or provincial revenue, from the rent of some landed estate, or from the interest of some sum of money, allotted and put under the management of trustees for this particular purpose, sometimes by the sovereign himself, and sometimes by some private donor.

Even when the teacher’s pay does not come entirely from this natural revenue, it need not come from society’s general revenue. In most countries, the executive branch collects and manages that general revenue. Accordingly, throughout most of Europe, school and college endowments cost the general revenue little or nothing. Everywhere, these endowments come chiefly from local or provincial revenue, rent from a landed estate, or interest on a sum of money. The revenue, estate, or money is set aside for this purpose and placed under the management of trustees. Sometimes the sovereign provides it, and sometimes a private donor does.

Have those public endowments contributed in general, to promote the end of their institution? Have they contributed to encourage the diligence, and to improve the abilities, of the teachers? Have they directed the course of education towards objects more useful, both to the individual and to the public, than those to which it would naturally have gone of its own accord? It should not seem very difficult to give at least a probable answer to each of those questions.

Have these public endowments generally helped achieve the purpose for which they were established? Have they encouraged teachers to work harder and improve their abilities? Have they directed education toward subjects more useful to individuals and the public than it would naturally have pursued? It should not be very difficult to give at least a probable answer to each of these questions.

In every profession, the exertion of the greater part of those who exercise it, is always in proportion to the necessity they are under of making that exertion. This necessity is greatest with those to whom the emoluments of their profession are the only source from which they expect their fortune, or even their ordinary revenue and subsistence. In order to acquire this fortune, or even to get this subsistence, they must, in the course of a year, execute a certain quantity of work of a known value; and, where the competition is free, the rivalship of competitors, who are all endeavouring to justle one another out of employment, obliges every man to endeavour to execute his work with a certain degree of exactness. The greatness of the objects which are to be acquired by success in some particular professions may, no doubt, sometimes animate the exertions of a few men of extraordinary spirit and ambition. Great objects, however, are evidently not necessary, in order to occasion the greatest exertions. Rivalship and emulation render excellency, even in mean professions, an object of ambition, and frequently occasion the very greatest exertions. Great objects, on the contrary, alone and unsupported by the necessity of application, have seldom been sufficient to occasion any considerable exertion. In England, success in the profession of the law leads to some very great objects of ambition; and yet how few men, born to easy fortunes, have ever in this country been eminent in that profession?

In every profession, most people’s efforts are always in proportion to how much they need to make them. This need is greatest for those who depend on their professional earnings for their wealth, or even their ordinary income and livelihood. To gain wealth, or even to earn a living, they must complete a certain amount of work of known value each year. Where competition is free, everyone competes to take work from others. This rivalry forces each person to try to do their work with a certain degree of care. The great rewards of success in certain professions may sometimes inspire a few people of exceptional spirit and ambition. But great rewards are clearly not necessary to inspire the greatest efforts. Rivalry and the desire to excel make excellence an object of ambition, even in humble professions. They often inspire the greatest efforts. Great rewards alone, on the other hand, are seldom enough to inspire much effort without the need to work hard. In England, success in law leads to some great rewards that people aspire to. Yet how few people born to comfortable fortunes have ever become eminent in that profession in this country?

The endowments of schools and colleges have necessarily diminished, more or less, the necessity of application in the teachers. Their subsistence, so far as it arises from their salaries, is evidently derived from a fund, altogether independent of their success and reputation in their particular professions.

The endowments of schools and colleges have necessarily reduced, to some extent, the need for teachers to work hard. The portion of their living that comes from salaries is clearly paid from a fund. That fund is entirely independent of their success and reputation in their professions.

In some universities, the salary makes but a part, and frequently but a small part, of the emoluments of the teacher, of which the greater part arises from the honoraries or fees of his pupils. The necessity of application, though always more or less diminished, is not, in this case, entirely taken away. Reputation in his profession is still of some importance to him, and he still has some dependency upon the affection, gratitude, and favourable report of those who have attended upon his instructions; and these favourable sentiments he is likely to gain in no way so well as by deserving them, that is, by the abilities and diligence with which he discharges every part of his duty.

In some universities, a teacher’s salary makes up only part of his earnings, and often only a small part. Most of his earnings come from fees paid by his students. Although this always reduces his need to work hard to some degree, it does not remove it entirely. His professional reputation still matters to him. He still depends to some extent on the affection, gratitude, and favorable reports of those he has taught. The best way to earn these favorable feelings is to deserve them, by carrying out every part of his duty with skill and diligence.

In other universities, the teacher is prohibited from receiving any honorary or fee from his pupils, and his salary constitutes the whole of the revenue which he derives from his office. His interest is, in this case, set as directly in opposition to his duty as it is possible to set it. It is the interest of every man to live as much at his ease as he can; and if his emoluments are to be precisely the same, whether he does or does not perform some very laborious duty, it is certainly his interest, at least as interest is vulgarly understood, either to neglect it altogether, or, if he is subject to some authority which will not suffer him to do this, to perform it in as careless and slovenly a manner as that authority will permit. If he is naturally active and a lover of labour, it is his interest to employ that activity in any way from which he can derive some advantage, rather than in the performance of his duty, from which he can derive none.

In other universities, teachers are forbidden to receive any payment or fee from their pupils. Their salary is their entire income from their position. In this case, a teacher’s interest is set as directly against his duty as possible. Every man has an interest in living as comfortably as he can. Suppose his pay is exactly the same whether or not he performs a very demanding duty. Then it is certainly in his interest to neglect that duty altogether, at least as interest is commonly understood. But an authority over him may not allow him to neglect it altogether. In that case, it is in his interest to do it as carelessly and poorly as the authority permits. If he is naturally active and enjoys work, it is in his interest to use that energy to gain some advantage. That is better for him than performing his duty, from which he can gain nothing.

If the authority to which he is subject resides in the body corporate, the college, or university, of which he himself is a member, and in which the greater part of the other members are, like himself, persons who either are, or ought to be teachers, they are likely to make a common cause, to be all very indulgent to one another, and every man to consent that his neighbour may neglect his duty, provided he himself is allowed to neglect his own. In the university of Oxford, the greater part of the public professors have, for these many years, given up altogether even the pretence of teaching.

Suppose the authority over him rests with the corporate body, college, or university of which he is a member. Most of its other members, like him, are people who either are teachers or ought to be. They are likely to make common cause and be very forgiving of one another. Each will agree to let his neighbor neglect his duty, provided he is allowed to neglect his own. At the university of Oxford, most public professors have for many years given up even pretending to teach.

If the authority to which he is subject resides, not so much in the body corporate, of which he is a member, as in some other extraneous persons, in the bishop of the diocese, for example, in the governor of the province, or, perhaps, in some minister of state, it is not, indeed, in this case, very likely that he will be suffered to neglect his duty altogether. All that such superiors, however, can force him to do, is to attend upon his pupils a certain number of hours, that is, to give a certain number of lectures in the week, or in the year. What those lectures shall be, must still depend upon the diligence of the teacher; and that diligence is likely to be proportioned to the motives which he has for exerting it. An extraneous jurisdiction of this kind, besides, is liable to be exercised both ignorantly and capriciously. In its nature, it is arbitrary and discretionary; and the persons who exercise it, neither attending upon the lectures of the teacher themselves, nor perhaps understanding the sciences which it is his business to teach, are seldom capable of exercising it with judgment. From the insolence of office, too, they are frequently indifferent how they exercise it, and are very apt to censure or deprive him of his office wantonly and without any just cause. The person subject to such jurisdiction is necessarily degraded by it, and, instead of being one of the most respectable, is rendered one of the meanest and most contemptible persons in the society. It is by powerful protection only, that he can effectually guard himself against the bad usage to which he is at all times exposed; and this protection he is most likely to gain, not by ability or diligence in his profession, but by obsequiousness to the will of his superiors, and by being ready, at all times, to sacrifice to that will the rights, the interest, and the honour of the body corporate, of which he is a member. Whoever has attended for any considerable time to the administration of a French university, must have had occasion to remark the effects which naturally result from an arbitrary and extraneous jurisdiction of this kind.

If the authority over a teacher lies less with the corporate body of which he is a member than with outsiders, he is unlikely to be allowed to neglect his duty altogether. Those outsiders might be the bishop of the diocese, the governor of the province, or perhaps a minister of state. But such superiors can only force him to attend to his pupils for a certain number of hours. That is, they can require him to give a certain number of lectures each week or year. What those lectures contain must still depend on the teacher's diligence. And his diligence is likely to match his motives for exerting himself. Moreover, outside authority of this kind is liable to be exercised both ignorantly and capriciously. By its nature, it is arbitrary and left to the discretion of those who exercise it. They do not attend the teacher's lectures themselves and perhaps do not understand the sciences he teaches. They are therefore seldom able to exercise their authority with good judgment. The arrogance of office also often makes them indifferent to how they exercise it. They are very likely to censure or dismiss him on a whim, without any just cause. A person subject to such authority is necessarily degraded by it. Instead of being one of the most respected people in society, he becomes one of the lowest and most contemptible. Only powerful protection can effectively guard him against the mistreatment to which he is always exposed. He is most likely to gain this protection not through ability or diligence in his profession, but by being obedient to his superiors' wishes. He must also be ready at all times to sacrifice the rights, interests, and honor of his corporate body to those wishes. Anyone who has observed the administration of a French university for any considerable time must have noticed the natural effects of arbitrary outside authority of this kind.

Whatever forces a certain number of students to any college or university, independent of the merit or reputation of the teachers, tends more or less to diminish the necessity of that merit or reputation.

Anything that forces a certain number of students to attend a college or university, regardless of its teachers' ability or reputation, reduces the need for those qualities to some degree.

The privileges of graduates in arts, in law, physic, and divinity, when they can be obtained only by residing a certain number of years in certain universities, necessarily force a certain number of students to such universities, independent of the merit or reputation of the teachers. The privileges of graduates are a sort of statutes of apprenticeship, which have contributed to the improvement of education just as the other statutes of apprenticeship have to that of arts and manufactures.

The privileges granted to graduates in arts, law, medicine, and theology can be obtained only by studying at certain universities for a set number of years. This requirement necessarily draws a certain number of students to those universities, regardless of the teachers’ merit or reputation. These privileges are a kind of apprenticeship law. They have improved education just as other apprenticeship laws have improved the arts and manufacturing.

The charitable foundations of scholarships, exhibitions, bursaries, etc. necessarily attach a certain number of students to certain colleges, independent altogether of the merit of those particular colleges. Were the students upon such charitable foundations left free to choose what college they liked best, such liberty might perhaps contribute to excite some emulation among different colleges. A regulation, on the contrary, which prohibited even the independent members of every particular college from leaving it, and going to any other, without leave first asked and obtained of that which they meant to abandon, would tend very much to extinguish that emulation.

Charitable funds for scholarships, exhibitions, bursaries, and the like necessarily tie a certain number of students to particular colleges. This happens regardless of the merits of those colleges. If students supported by such funds were free to choose whichever college they liked best, that freedom might perhaps encourage competition among colleges. On the other hand, a rule might prevent even a college’s independent members from leaving for another college without first asking for and obtaining permission from the college they wished to leave. Such a rule would do much to extinguish that competition.

If in each college, the tutor or teacher, who was to instruct each student in all arts and sciences, should not be voluntarily chosen by the student, but appointed by the head of the college; and if, in case of neglect, inability, or bad usage, the student should not be allowed to change him for another, without leave first asked and obtained; such a regulation would not only tend very much to extinguish all emulation among the different tutors of the same college, but to diminish very much, in all of them, the necessity of diligence and of attention to their respective pupils. Such teachers, though very well paid by their students, might be as much disposed to neglect them, as those who are not paid by them at all or who have no other recompense but their salary.

Suppose that, in each college, the head appointed the tutor who would teach each student all the arts and sciences. The student would not choose the tutor voluntarily. Suppose also that a student could not change tutors without first asking for and receiving permission, even if the tutor was neglectful, incompetent, or treated the student badly. Such a rule would greatly reduce competition among the tutors at the same college. It would also greatly reduce the need for all of them to work diligently and pay attention to their students. Even if students paid such teachers very well, the teachers might be just as inclined to neglect them as teachers who receive no payment from their students or whose only compensation is their salary.

If the teacher happens to be a man of sense, it must be an unpleasant thing to him to be conscious, while he is lecturing to his students, that he is either speaking or reading nonsense, or what is very little better than nonsense. It must, too, be unpleasant to him to observe, that the greater part of his students desert his lectures; or perhaps, attend upon them with plain enough marks of neglect, contempt, and derision. If he is obliged, therefore, to give a certain number of lectures, these motives alone, without any other interest, might dispose him to take some pains to give tolerably good ones. Several different expedients, however, may be fallen upon, which will effectually blunt the edge of all those incitements to diligence. The teacher, instead of explaining to his pupils himself the science in which he proposes to instruct them, may read some book upon it; and if this book is written in a foreign and dead language, by interpreting it to them into their own, or, what would give him still less trouble, by making them interpret it to him, and by now and then making an occasional remark upon it, he may flatter himself that he is giving a lecture. The slightest degree of knowledge and application will enable him to do this, without exposing himself to contempt or derision, by saying any thing that is really foolish, absurd, or ridiculous. The discipline of the college, at the same time, may enable him to force all his pupils to the most regular attendance upon his sham lecture, and to maintain the most decent and respectful behaviour during the whole time of the performance.

If the teacher is a sensible man, he must find it unpleasant to know that his lectures are nonsense, or little better. He must also find it unpleasant to see most of his students abandon his lectures. Perhaps they attend but show clear signs of indifference, contempt, and mockery. If he must give a certain number of lectures, these motives alone might encourage him to make them reasonably good. He might do so even without any other incentive. But several methods may effectively dull all these incentives to work hard. Instead of explaining the subject himself, the teacher may read a book about it. If the book is written in a foreign, dead language, he may translate it for his students. Or, with even less effort, he may make them translate it for him. By adding an occasional remark, he may flatter himself that he is giving a lecture. Very little knowledge or effort will allow him to do this without saying anything foolish, absurd, or ridiculous. He can thus avoid exposing himself to contempt or mockery. At the same time, college discipline may let him force all his students to attend his sham lectures regularly. It may also let him make them behave properly and respectfully throughout the performance.

The discipline of colleges and universities is in general contrived, not for the benefit of the students, but for the interest, or, more properly speaking, for the ease of the masters. Its object is, in all cases, to maintain the authority of the master, and, whether he neglects or performs his duty, to oblige the students in all cases to behave to him as if he performed it with the greatest diligence and ability. It seems to presume perfect wisdom and virtue in the one order, and the greatest weakness and folly in the other. Where the masters, however, really perform their duty, there are no examples, I believe, that the greater part of the students ever neglect theirs. No discipline is ever requisite to force attendance upon lectures which are really worth the attending, as is well known wherever any such lectures are given. Force and restraint may, no doubt, be in some degree requisite, in order to oblige children, or very young boys, to attend to those parts of education, which it is thought necessary for them to acquire during that early period of life; but after twelve or thirteen years of age, provided the master does his duty, force or restraint can scarce ever be necessary to carry on any part of education. Such is the generosity of the greater part of young men, that so far from being disposed to neglect or despise the instructions of their master, provided he shews some serious intention of being of use to them, they are generally inclined to pardon a great deal of incorrectness in the performance of his duty, and sometimes even to conceal from the public a good deal of gross negligence.

The rules of colleges and universities are generally designed not to benefit students, but to serve teachers’ interests. More properly speaking, they are designed for the teachers’ convenience. In every case, their purpose is to maintain the teacher’s authority. Whether he neglects his duty or fulfills it, students must always behave toward him as if he fulfilled it with the utmost diligence and skill. These rules seem to assume perfect wisdom and virtue in teachers, and the greatest weakness and folly in students. But where teachers really do their duty, I believe there are no examples of most students neglecting theirs. Rules are never needed to force students to attend lectures that are truly worth attending. This is well known wherever such lectures are given. Force and restraint may, no doubt, be needed to some extent to make children or very young boys study certain subjects. These are subjects that people think children need to learn at that early age. But after the age of twelve or thirteen, force or restraint can hardly ever be necessary for any part of education, provided the teacher does his duty. Most young men are generous enough that, if their teacher shows a serious intention to help them, they are far from inclined to neglect or scorn his instruction. They are generally inclined to forgive many mistakes in his teaching. Sometimes they even conceal a great deal of gross negligence from the public.

Those parts of education, it is to be observed, for the teaching of which there are no public institutions, are generally the best taught. When a young man goes to a fencing or a dancing school, he does not, indeed, always learn to fence or to dance very well; but he seldom fails of learning to fence or to dance. The good effects of the riding school are not commonly so evident. The expense of a riding school is so great, that in most places it is a public institution. The three most essential parts of literary education, to read, write, and account, it still continues to be more common to acquire in private than in public schools; and it very seldom happens, that anybody fails of acquiring them to the degree in which it is necessary to acquire them.

It is worth noting that subjects without public institutions to teach them are generally taught best. When a young man attends a fencing or dancing school, he does not always learn to fence or dance very well. But he rarely fails to learn how to do either. The benefits of riding schools are usually less obvious. A riding school is so expensive that in most places it is a public institution. Reading, writing, and arithmetic are the three most essential parts of a literary education. It is still more common to learn them in private schools than in public schools. And people very rarely fail to learn them as well as they need to.

In England, the public schools are much less corrupted than the universities. In the schools, the youth are taught, or at least may be taught, Greek and Latin; that is, everything which the masters pretend to teach, or which it is expected they should teach. In the universities, the youth neither are taught, nor always can find any proper means of being taught the sciences, which it is the business of those incorporated bodies to teach. The reward of the schoolmaster, in most cases, depends principally, in some cases almost entirely, upon the fees or honoraries of his scholars. Schools have no exclusive privileges. In order to obtain the honours of graduation, it is not necessary that a person should bring a certificate of his having studied a certain number of years at a public school. If, upon examination, he appears to understand what is taught there, no questions are asked about the place where he learnt it.

In England, public schools are much less corrupt than universities. In schools, young people are taught Greek and Latin, or at least they can be taught them. These are all the subjects the teachers claim or are expected to teach. In universities, young people are not taught the sciences. Nor can they always find a proper way to learn them. Yet teaching the sciences is the business of these institutions. In most cases, a schoolmaster’s pay depends mainly on fees from his pupils. In some cases, it depends almost entirely on them. Schools have no exclusive privileges. To earn a degree, a person does not need a certificate proving that he studied at a public school for a certain number of years. If an examination shows that he understands what is taught there, no one asks where he learned it.

The parts of education which are commonly taught in universities, it may perhaps be said, are not very well taught. But had it not been for those institutions, they would not have been commonly taught at all; and both the individual and the public would have suffered a good deal from the want of those important parts of education.

It might be said that universities do not teach their subjects very well. But without universities, those subjects would not have been commonly taught at all. Both individuals and the public would have suffered greatly without those important parts of education.

The present universities of Europe were originally, the greater part of them, ecclesiastical corporations, instituted for the education of churchmen. They were founded by the authority of the pope; and were so entirely under his immediate protection, that their members, whether masters or students, had all of them what was then called the benefit of clergy, that is, were exempted from the civil jurisdiction of the countries in which their respective universities were situated, and were amenable only to the ecclesiastical tribunals. What was taught in the greater part of those universities was suitable to the end of their institution, either theology, or something that was merely preparatory to theology.

Most of Europe’s present-day universities were originally church corporations established to educate clergy. They were founded under the authority of the pope and were entirely under his direct protection. As a result, all their members, whether teachers or students, had what was then called benefit of clergy. This meant they were exempt from the civil courts of the countries where their universities were located. They were subject only to church courts. What most of these universities taught suited the purpose for which they were established. They taught either theology or subjects intended merely to prepare students for theology.

When Christianity was first established by law, a corrupted Latin had become the common language of all the western parts of Europe. The service of the church, accordingly, and the translation of the Bible which were read in churches, were both in that corrupted Latin; that is, in the common language of the country, After the irruption of the barbarous nations who overturned the Roman empire, Latin gradually ceased to be the language of any part of Europe. But the reverence of the people naturally preserves the established forms and ceremonies of religion long after the circumstances which first introduced and rendered them reasonable, are no more. Though Latin, therefore, was no longer understood anywhere by the great body of the people, the whole service of the church still continued to be performed in that language. Two different languages were thus established in Europe, in the same manner as in ancient Egypt: a language of the priests, and a language of the people; a sacred and a profane, a learned and an unlearned language. But it was necessary that the priests should understand something of that sacred and learned language in which they were to officiate; and the study of the Latin language therefore made, from the beginning, an essential part of university education.

When Christianity was first established by law, a corrupted form of Latin was the common language throughout western Europe. Accordingly, church services and the Bible translation read in churches were both in that corrupted Latin. In other words, they were in the common language of the country. After the barbarous nations invaded and overturned the Roman empire, Latin gradually ceased to be spoken anywhere in Europe. But people’s reverence naturally preserves established religious forms and ceremonies. They survive long after the circumstances that first introduced and justified them have disappeared. So although most people no longer understood Latin anywhere, the entire church service continued to be conducted in it. Thus two different languages were established in Europe, just as in ancient Egypt: a language of the priests and a language of the people. One was sacred, the other profane. One was learned, the other unlearned. But priests needed to understand something of the sacred and learned language in which they were to conduct services. For that reason, the study of Latin was an essential part of university education from the beginning.

It was not so with that either of the Greek or of the Hebrew language. The infallible decrees of the church had pronounced the Latin translation of the Bible, commonly called the Latin Vulgate, to have been equally dictated by divine inspiration, and therefore of equal authority with the Greek and Hebrew originals. The knowledge of those two languages, therefore, not being indispensably requisite to a churchman, the study of them did not for a long time make a necessary part of the common course of university education. There are some Spanish universities, I am assured, in which the study of the Greek language has never yet made any part of that course. The first reformers found the Greek text of the New Testament, and even the Hebrew text of the Old, more favourable to their opinions than the vulgate translation, which, as might naturally be supposed, had been gradually accommodated to support the doctrines of the Catholic Church. They set themselves, therefore, to expose the many errors of that translation, which the Roman catholic clergy were thus put under the necessity of defending or explaining. But this could not well be done without some knowledge of the original languages, of which the study was therefore gradually introduced into the greater part of universities; both of those which embraced, and of those which rejected, the doctrines of the reformation. The Greek language was connected with every part of that classical learning, which, though at first principally cultivated by catholics and Italians, happened to come into fashion much about the same time that the doctrines of the reformation were set on foot. In the greater part of universities, therefore, that language was taught previous to the study of philosophy, and as soon as the student had made some progress in the Latin. The Hebrew language having no connection with classical learning, and, except the Holy Scriptures, being the language of not a single book in any esteem the study of it did not commonly commence till after that of philosophy, and when the student had entered upon the study of theology.

That was not the case with either Greek or Hebrew. The church had declared in its infallible decrees that the Latin translation of the Bible was equally divinely inspired. This translation, commonly called the Latin Vulgate, therefore had the same authority as the Greek and Hebrew originals. A churchman did not need to know those two languages. So, for a long time, their study was not a required part of the usual university course. I am assured that some Spanish universities have never included Greek in that course. The first reformers found that the Greek text of the New Testament supported their opinions better than the Vulgate did. Even the Hebrew text of the Old Testament was more favourable to their views. As one might expect, the Vulgate had gradually been adapted to support the doctrines of the Catholic Church. The reformers therefore set out to expose its many errors. The Roman Catholic clergy were thus forced to defend or explain them. But the clergy could not easily do this without some knowledge of the original languages. Their study was therefore gradually introduced into most universities, both those that embraced the doctrines of the Reformation and those that rejected them. Greek was connected with every part of classical learning. Though Catholics and Italians had chiefly pursued classical learning at first, it became fashionable around the time the doctrines of the Reformation were introduced. In most universities, therefore, Greek was taught before philosophy, once a student had made some progress in Latin. Hebrew had no connection with classical learning. Apart from the Holy Scriptures, not a single esteemed book was written in Hebrew. So students usually did not begin studying it until after philosophy, when they had begun studying theology.

Originally, the first rudiments, both of the Greek and Latin languages, were taught in universities; and in some universities they still continue to be so. In others, it is expected that the student should have previously acquired, at least, the rudiments of one or both of those languages, of which the study continues to make everywhere a very considerable part of university education.

Originally, universities taught the basics of both Greek and Latin. Some universities still do. Others expect students to have already learned at least the basics of one or both languages. Everywhere, the study of these languages remains a substantial part of university education.

The ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three great branches; physics, or natural philosophy; ethics, or moral philosophy; and logic. This general division seems perfectly agreeable to the nature of things.

Ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three main branches: physics, or natural philosophy, ethics, or moral philosophy, and logic. This division seems to fit the nature of things perfectly.

The great phenomena of nature, the revolutions of the heavenly bodies, eclipses, comets; thunder and lightning, and other extraordinary meteors; the generation, the life, growth, and dissolution of plants and animals; are objects which, as they necessarily excite the wonder, so they naturally call forth the curiosity of mankind to inquire into their causes. Superstition first attempted to satisfy this curiosity, by referring all those wonderful appearances to the immediate agency of the gods. Philosophy afterwards endeavoured to account for them from more familiar causes, or from such as mankind were better acquainted with, than the agency of the gods. As those great phenomena are the first objects of human curiosity, so the science which pretends to explain them must naturally have been the first branch of philosophy that was cultivated. The first philosophers, accordingly, of whom history has preserved any account, appear to have been natural philosophers.

The great phenomena of nature inspire wonder and naturally make people curious about their causes. These include the movements of heavenly bodies, eclipses, comets, thunder and lightning, and other extraordinary atmospheric events. They also include the birth, life, growth, and death of plants and animals. Superstition first tried to satisfy this curiosity by attributing all these wonders to the direct action of the gods. Philosophy later tried to explain them through causes more familiar to people than the actions of the gods. Since these great phenomena are the first objects of human curiosity, the science that claims to explain them must naturally have been the first branch of philosophy to be studied. Accordingly, the first philosophers recorded in history appear to have been natural philosophers.

In every age and country of the world, men must have attended to the characters, designs, and actions of one another; and many reputable rules and maxims for the conduct of human life must have been laid down and approved of by common consent. As soon as writing came into fashion, wise men, or those who fancied themselves such, would naturally endeavour to increase the number of those established and respected maxims, and to express their own sense of what was either proper or improper conduct, sometimes in the more artificial form of apologues, like what are called the fables of Aesop; and sometimes in the more simple one of apophthegms or wise sayings, like the proverbs of Solomon, the verses of Theognis and Phocyllides, and some part of the works of Hesiod. They might continue in this manner, for a long time, merely to multiply the number of those maxims of prudence and morality, without even attempting to arrange them in any very distinct or methodical order, much less to connect them together by one or more general principles, from which they were all deducible, like effects from their natural causes. The beauty of a systematical arrangement of different observations, connected by a few common principles, was first seen in the rude essays of those ancient times towards a system of natural philosophy. Something of the same kind was afterwards attempted in morals. The maxims of common life were arranged in some methodical order, and connected together by a few common principles, in the same manner as they had attempted to arrange and connect the phenomena of nature. The science which pretends to investigate and explain those connecting principles, is what is properly called Moral Philosophy.

In every age and country, people must have paid attention to one another’s characters, intentions, and actions. Many respected rules and principles for human conduct must have been established and approved by common consent. Once writing became common, wise people, or those who thought themselves wise, would naturally try to add to these established principles. They would express their own views of proper and improper conduct. Sometimes they used the more elaborate form of instructive stories, like the fables of Aesop. At other times, they used simpler wise sayings, like the proverbs of Solomon, the verses of Theognis and Phocyllides, and parts of the works of Hesiod. They might have continued for a long time simply adding to these principles of prudence and morality. They might not even have tried to arrange them in a clear or orderly way. Still less would they have tried to connect them through one or more general principles from which they all followed, as effects follow from their natural causes. The beauty of arranging different observations systematically and connecting them through a few common principles was first recognized in ancient times. It appeared in early, rough attempts to develop a system of natural philosophy. Later, something similar was attempted in morals. The principles of everyday life were arranged in some orderly way and connected through a few common principles. This was done just as people had tried to arrange and connect the phenomena of nature. The field of study that claims to investigate and explain these connecting principles is properly called Moral Philosophy.

Different authors gave different systems, both of natural and moral philosophy. But the arguments by which they supported those different systems, far from being always demonstrations, were frequently at best but very slender probabilities, and sometimes mere sophisms, which had no other foundation but the inaccuracy and ambiguity of common language. Speculative systems, have, in all ages of the world, been adopted for reasons too frivolous to have determined the judgment of any man of common sense, in a matter of the smallest pecuniary interest. Gross sophistry has scarce ever had any influence upon the opinions of mankind, except in matters of philosophy and speculation; and in these it has frequently had the greatest. The patrons of each system of natural and moral philosophy, naturally endeavoured to expose the weakness of the arguments adduced to support the systems which were opposite to their own. In examining those arguments, they were necessarily led to consider the difference between a probable and a demonstrative argument, between a fallacious and a conclusive one; and logic, or the science of the general principles of good and bad reasoning, necessarily arose out of the observations which a scrutiny of this kind gave occasion to; though, in its origin, posterior both to physics and to ethics, it was commonly taught, not indeed in all, but in the greater part of the ancient schools of philosophy, previously to either of those sciences. The student, it seems to have been thought, ought to understand well the difference between good and bad reasoning, before he was led to reason upon subjects of so great importance.

Different authors offered different systems of natural and moral philosophy. But the arguments supporting these systems were far from always being proofs. Often they offered, at best, only a slight probability of being true. Sometimes they were merely misleading arguments based on the imprecision and ambiguity of everyday language. In every age, people have adopted speculative systems for reasons too trivial to sway any sensible person in a matter involving the smallest financial interest. Obvious false reasoning has hardly ever influenced people’s opinions except in matters of philosophy and speculation. Yet in these matters, it has often had the greatest influence. Supporters of each system of natural and moral philosophy naturally tried to expose weaknesses in the arguments for opposing systems. In examining those arguments, they were bound to consider the difference between an argument that was probable and one that was conclusive. They also had to distinguish between a misleading argument and a sound one. Logic, the science of the general principles of good and bad reasoning, necessarily arose from observations made during this kind of scrutiny. Logic developed later than both physics and ethics. Yet most ancient schools of philosophy, though not all, taught logic before either of those subjects. The thinking seems to have been that students should understand the difference between good and bad reasoning before being asked to reason about such important subjects.

This ancient division of philosophy into three parts was, in the greater part of the universities of Europe, changed for another into five.

Most European universities replaced this ancient division of philosophy into three parts with a division into five.

In the ancient philosophy, whatever was taught concerning the nature either of the human mind or of the Deity, made a part of the system of physics. Those beings, in whatever their essence might be supposed to consist, were parts of the great system of the universe, and parts, too, productive of the most important effects. Whatever human reason could either conclude or conjecture concerning them, made, as it were, two chapters, though no doubt two very important ones, of the science which pretended to give an account of the origin and revolutions of the great system of the universe. But in the universities of Europe, where philosophy was taught only as subservient to theology, it was natural to dwell longer upon these two chapters than upon any other of the science. They were gradually more and more extended, and were divided into many inferior chapters; till at last the doctrine of spirits, of which so little can be known, came to take up as much room in the system of philosophy as the doctrine of bodies, of which so much can be known. The doctrines concerning those two subjects were considered as making two distinct sciences. What are called metaphysics, or pneumatics, were set in opposition to physics, and were cultivated not only as the more sublime, but, for the purposes of a particular profession, as the more useful science of the two. The proper subject of experiment and observation, a subject in which a careful attention is capable of making so many useful discoveries, was almost entirely neglected. The subject in which, after a very few simple and almost obvious truths, the most careful attention can discover nothing but obscurity and uncertainty, and can consequently produce nothing but subtleties and sophisms, was greatly cultivated.

In ancient philosophy, everything taught about the nature of the human mind or the Deity was part of physics. Whatever their essence was thought to be, both were parts of the great system of the universe. Both also produced effects of the greatest importance. Human reason could draw conclusions or make guesses about them. These formed, as it were, two chapters in the science that claimed to explain the origin and changes of the universe. They were, no doubt, two very important chapters. But in European universities, philosophy was taught only to serve theology. It was therefore natural to spend more time on these two chapters than on any other part of physics. They gradually grew longer and were divided into many smaller chapters. Eventually, the study of spirits came to occupy as much space in philosophy as the study of bodies. Yet so little can be known about spirits, and so much about bodies. The teachings on these two subjects came to be regarded as two separate sciences. What are called metaphysics, or pneumatics, were set against physics. They were pursued not only as the more elevated science, but also as the more useful one for a particular profession. The proper subject of experiment and observation was almost entirely neglected. Careful attention to that subject can produce so many useful discoveries. Instead, great attention was given to a subject where careful attention can discover only obscurity and uncertainty, beyond a few simple and almost obvious truths. As a result, it can produce nothing but subtle arguments and false reasoning.

When those two sciences had thus been set in opposition to one another, the comparison between them naturally gave birth to a third, to what was called ontology, or the science which treated of the qualities and attributes which were common to both the subjects of the other two sciences. But if subtleties and sophisms composed the greater part of the metaphysics or pneumatics of the schools, they composed the whole of this cobweb science of ontology, which was likewise sometimes called metaphysics.

Once these two sciences had been set against each other, comparing them naturally gave rise to a third science. It was called ontology. It studied the qualities and attributes shared by the subjects of the other two sciences. But if fine distinctions and misleading arguments made up most of the schools' metaphysics or pneumatics, they made up all of ontology. This cobweb of a science was also sometimes called metaphysics.

Wherein consisted the happiness and perfection of a man, considered not only as an individual, but as the member of a family, of a state, and of the great society of mankind, was the object which the ancient moral philosophy proposed to investigate. In that philosophy, the duties of human life were treated of as subservient to the happiness and perfection of human life, But when moral, as well as natural philosophy, came to be taught only as subservient to theology, the duties of human life were treated of as chiefly subservient to the happiness of a life to come. In the ancient philosophy, the perfection of virtue was represented as necessarily productive, to the person who possessed it, of the most perfect happiness in this life. In the modern philosophy, it was frequently represented as generally, or rather as almost always, inconsistent with any degree of happiness in this life; and heaven was to be earned only by penance and mortification, by the austerities and abasement of a monk, not by the liberal, generous, and spirited conduct of a man. Casuistry, and an ascetic morality, made up, in most cases, the greater part of the moral philosophy of the schools. By far the most important of all the different branches of philosophy became in this manner by far the most corrupted.

Ancient moral philosophy sought to discover what made a person happy and fulfilled. It considered people not only as individuals, but also as members of a family, a state, and the great society of mankind. In that philosophy, the duties of human life served the happiness and fulfillment of human life. But moral philosophy, like natural philosophy, came to be taught only as a subject serving theology. The duties of human life were then treated as serving chiefly the happiness of a life to come. Ancient philosophy taught that perfect virtue necessarily brought the person who possessed it the greatest possible happiness in this life. Modern philosophy often taught that virtue was generally, or rather almost always, incompatible with any degree of happiness in this life. Heaven could be earned only through penance and self-denial, through the austerity and self-abasement of a monk. It could not be earned through the open-minded, generous, and spirited conduct of a man. Casuistry and ascetic morality made up most of the moral philosophy taught in the schools. In this way, the most important branch of philosophy by far became the most corrupted.

Such, therefore, was the common course of philosophical education in the greater part of the universities in Europe. Logic was taught first; ontology came in the second place; pneumatology, comprehending the doctrine concerning the nature of the human soul and of the Deity, in the third; in the fourth followed a debased system of moral philosophy, which was considered as immediately connected with the doctrines of pneumatology, with the immortality of the human soul, and with the rewards and punishments which, from the justice of the Deity, were to be expected in a life to come: a short and superficial system of physics usually concluded the course.

This was the usual course of philosophical education at most European universities. Logic was taught first, followed by ontology. Third came pneumatology, which included teachings about the nature of the human soul and God. Fourth came a debased system of moral philosophy. It was seen as directly connected to pneumatology, the immortality of the human soul, and the rewards and punishments expected in the next life because of God's justice. A short and superficial course in physics usually concluded the education.

The alterations which the universities of Europe thus introduced into the ancient course of philosophy were all meant for the education of ecclesiastics, and to render it a more proper introduction to the study of theology. But the additional quantity of subtlety and sophistry, the casuistry and ascetic morality which those alterations introduced into it, certainly did not render it more for the education of gentlemen or men of the world, or more likely either to improve the understanding or to mend the heart.

The universities of Europe made all these changes to the ancient philosophy curriculum to educate clergy. The changes were meant to make the curriculum a better introduction to the study of theology. But they added more subtle reasoning, sophistry, casuistry, and ascetic morality to the curriculum. These additions certainly did not make it better suited to educating gentlemen or worldly men. Nor did they make it more likely to improve the mind or the heart.

This course of philosophy is what still continues to be taught in the greater part of the universities of Europe, with more or less diligence, according as the constitution of each particular university happens to render diligence more or less necessary to the teachers. In some of the richest and best endowed universities, the tutors content themselves with teaching a few unconnected shreds and parcels of this corrupted course; and even these they commonly teach very negligently and superficially.

This course of philosophy is still taught at most universities in Europe. How diligently it is taught depends on how much each university’s structure makes diligence necessary for its teachers. At some of the richest and best-funded universities, tutors content themselves with teaching a few disconnected fragments of this corrupted course. Even these they usually teach carelessly and superficially.

The improvements which, in modern times have been made in several different branches of philosophy, have not, the greater part of them, been made in universities, though some, no doubt, have. The greater part of universities have not even been very forward to adopt those improvements after they were made; and several of those learned societies have chosen to remain, for a long time, the sanctuaries in which exploded systems and obsolete prejudices found shelter and protection, after they had been hunted out of every other corner of the world. In general, the richest and best endowed universities have been slowest in adopting those improvements, and the most averse to permit any considerable change in the established plan of education. Those improvements were more easily introduced into some of the poorer universities, in which the teachers, depending upon their reputation for the greater part of their subsistence, were obliged to pay more attention to the current opinions of the world.

In modern times, most advances in various branches of philosophy have not been made in universities, though some certainly have. Most universities have not been very eager to adopt those advances even after they were made. For a long time, several of these learned institutions chose to shelter and protect discredited systems and outdated prejudices. They did so even after those ideas had been driven from every other corner of the world. In general, the richest and best-funded universities have been the slowest to adopt these advances. They have also been the most reluctant to allow any major change in the established course of education. The advances were more easily introduced at some poorer universities. There, teachers depended on their reputations for most of their income and had to pay more attention to prevailing public opinion.

But though the public schools and universities of Europe were originally intended only for the education of a particular profession, that of churchmen; and though they were not always very diligent in instructing their pupils, even in the sciences which were supposed necessary for that profession; yet they gradually drew to themselves the education of almost all other people, particularly of almost all gentlemen and men of fortune. No better method, it seems, could be fallen upon, of spending, with any advantage, the long interval between infancy and that period of life at which men begin to apply in good earnest to the real business of the world, the business which is to employ them during the remainder of their days. The greater part of what is taught in schools and universities, however, does not seem to be the most proper preparation for that business.

Europe’s public schools and universities were originally intended only to educate people for the clergy. They were not always diligent in teaching even the subjects thought necessary for that profession. Yet they gradually took over the education of almost everyone else, especially gentlemen and wealthy men. It seems no better way could be found to spend the long years between childhood and adult life with some benefit. Adult life was when men began to devote themselves seriously to the real business of the world, which would occupy them for the rest of their lives. Yet most of what schools and universities teach does not seem to be the best preparation for that business.

In England, it becomes every day more and more the custom to send young people to travel in foreign countries immediately upon their leaving school, and without sending them to any university. Our young people, it is said, generally return home much improved by their travels. A young man, who goes abroad at seventeen or eighteen, and returns home at one-and-twenty, returns three or four years older than he was when he went abroad; and at that age it is very difficult not to improve a good deal in three or four years. In the course of his travels, he generally acquires some knowledge of one or two foreign languages; a knowledge, however, which is seldom sufficient to enable him either to speak or write them with propriety. In other respects, he commonly returns home more conceited, more unprincipled, more dissipated, and more incapable of any serious application, either to study or to business, than he could well have become in so short a time had he lived at home. By travelling so very young, by spending in the most frivolous dissipation the most precious years of his life, at a distance from the inspection and control of his parents and relations, every useful habit, which the earlier parts of his education might have had some tendency to form in him, instead of being riveted and confirmed, is almost necessarily either weakened or effaced. Nothing but the discredit into which the universities are allowing themselves to fall, could ever have brought into repute so very absurd a practice as that of travelling at this early period of life. By sending his son abroad, a father delivers himself, at least for some time, from so disagreeable an object as that of a son unemployed, neglected, and going to ruin before his eyes.

In England, it is becoming increasingly common to send young people abroad immediately after they leave school, without sending them to university. Our young people, it is said, generally return home much improved by their travels. A young man who goes abroad at seventeen or eighteen and returns at twenty-one comes home three or four years older. At that age, it is very difficult not to improve a good deal in three or four years. During his travels, he generally learns something of one or two foreign languages. His knowledge, however, is seldom enough to let him speak or write them properly. In other respects, he commonly returns home more conceited, more unprincipled, and more given to self-indulgence. He is also less capable of applying himself seriously to study or business. He could hardly have become so in such a short time had he lived at home. He travels so young and spends the most precious years of his life in frivolous self-indulgence, far from the supervision and control of his parents and relatives. As a result, any useful habits his early education might have begun to form are almost inevitably weakened or erased. They are not strengthened and confirmed. Only the loss of respect that universities are allowing themselves to suffer could have made such an absurd practice fashionable. For it is absurd to travel at so early an age. By sending his son abroad, a father at least frees himself for a time from an unpleasant sight. He no longer has to watch his son idle, neglected, and going to ruin before his eyes.

Such have been the effects of some of the modern institutions for education.

These have been the effects of some modern educational institutions.

Different plans and different institutions for education seem to have taken place in other ages and nations.

Different plans and institutions for education seem to have existed in other times and nations.

In the republics of ancient Greece, every free citizen was instructed, under the direction of the public magistrate, in gymnastic exercises and in music. By gymnastic exercises, it was intended to harden his body, to sharpen his courage, and to prepare him for the fatigues and dangers of war; and as the Greek militia was, by all accounts, one of the best that ever was in the world, this part of their public education must have answered completely the purpose for which it was intended. By the other part, music, it was proposed, at least by the philosophers and historians, who have given us an account of those institutions, to humanize the mind, to soften the temper, and to dispose it for performing all the social and moral duties of public and private life.

In the republics of ancient Greece, every free citizen was taught physical exercises and music under the direction of public officials. The exercises were intended to strengthen his body, sharpen his courage, and prepare him for the hardships and dangers of war. By all accounts, the Greek militia was one of the best the world has ever known. This part of public education must therefore have fully achieved its purpose. Music was meant to make the mind more humane and soften the temper. At least, this was its purpose according to the philosophers and historians who described these institutions. It was also meant to prepare citizens to carry out all the social and moral duties of public and private life.

In ancient Rome, the exercises of the Campus Martius answered the same purpose as those of the Gymnasium in ancient Greece, and they seem to have answered it equally well. But among the Romans there was nothing which corresponded to the musical education of the Greeks. The morals of the Romans, however, both in private and public life, seem to have been, not only equal, but, upon the whole, a good deal superior to those of the Greeks. That they were superior in private life, we have the express testimony of Polybius, and of Dionysius of Halicarnassus, two authors well acquainted with both nations; and the whole tenor of the Greek and Roman history bears witness to the superiority of the public morals of the Romans. The good temper and moderation of contending factions seem to be the most essential circumstances in the public morals of a free people. But the factions of the Greeks were almost always violent and sanguinary; whereas, till the time of the Gracchi, no blood had ever been shed in any Roman faction; and from the time of the Gracchi, the Roman republic may be considered as in reality dissolved. Notwithstanding, therefore, the very respectable authority of Plato, Aristotle, and Polybius, and notwithstanding the very ingenious reasons by which Mr. Montesquieu endeavours to support that authority, it seems probable that the musical education of the Greeks had no great effect in mending their morals, since, without any such education, those of the Romans were, upon the whole, superior. The respect of those ancient sages for the institutions of their ancestors had probably disposed them to find much political wisdom in what was, perhaps, merely an ancient custom, continued, without interruption, from the earliest period of those societies, to the times in which they had arrived at a considerable degree of refinement. Music and dancing are the great amusements of almost all barbarous nations, and the great accomplishments which are supposed to fit any man for entertaining his society. It is so at this day among the negroes on the coast of Africa. It was so among the ancient Celtes, among the ancient Scandinavians, and, as we may learn from Homer, among the ancient Greeks, in the times preceding the Trojan war. When the Greek tribes had formed themselves into little republics, it was natural that the study of those accomplishments should for a long time make a part of the public and common education of the people.

In ancient Rome, the exercises of the Campus Martius served the same purpose as those of the Gymnasium in ancient Greece. They seem to have served that purpose equally well. But the Romans had nothing corresponding to the Greeks' musical education. Even so, Roman morals, in both private and public life, seem to have been at least equal to Greek morals. On the whole, they seem to have been much superior. Polybius and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, two authors who knew both nations well, explicitly testify to Roman superiority in private life. And the whole course of Greek and Roman history bears witness to the superiority of Roman public morals. The good temper and moderation of competing factions seem essential to the public morals of a free people. But Greek factions were almost always violent and bloody. In Rome, by contrast, no blood had been shed in factional conflict until the time of the Gracchi. And from that time, the Roman republic may be regarded as having effectively dissolved. Despite the highly respected authority of Plato, Aristotle, and Polybius, Greek musical education probably did little to improve morals. Mr. Montesquieu also offers very ingenious reasons to support their authority. Yet, without any such education, Roman morals were, on the whole, superior. Those ancient sages respected the institutions of their ancestors. This respect probably led them to find much political wisdom in what may have been merely an ancient custom. The custom had continued without interruption from the earliest days of those societies until they had become considerably refined. Music and dancing are the chief amusements of almost all barbarous nations. They are also the chief accomplishments thought to fit any man to entertain his company. This is still true today among the negroes on the coast of Africa. It was true among the ancient Celtes and the ancient Scandinavians. And, as we can learn from Homer, it was true among the ancient Greeks before the Trojan war. When the Greek tribes formed small republics, it was natural for these accomplishments to remain part of public education for a long time.

The masters who instructed the young people, either in music or in military exercises, do not seem to have been paid, or even appointed by the state, either in Rome or even at Athens, the Greek republic of whose laws and customs we are the best informed. The state required that every free citizen should fit himself for defending it in war, and should upon that account, learn his military exercises. But it left him to learn them of such masters as he could find; and it seems to have advanced nothing for this purpose, but a public field or place of exercise, in which he should practise and perform them.

The teachers who taught young people music or military exercises do not seem to have been paid or even appointed by the state. This was true in Rome and even in Athens. Of all the Greek republics, Athens is the one whose laws and customs we know best. The state required every free citizen to prepare to defend it in war. For this reason, each citizen had to learn military exercises. But the state left him to learn from whatever teachers he could find. It seems to have provided nothing for this purpose except a public field or exercise ground where he could practice.

In the early ages, both of the Greek and Roman republics, the other parts of education seem to have consisted in learning to read, write, and account, according to the arithmetic of the times. These accomplishments the richer citizens seem frequently to have acquired at home, by the assistance of some domestic pedagogue, who was, generally, either a slave or a freedman; and the poorer citizens in the schools of such masters as made a trade of teaching for hire. Such parts of education, however, were abandoned altogether to the care of the parents or guardians of each individual. It does not appear that the state ever assumed any inspection or direction of them. By a law of Solon, indeed, the children were acquitted from maintaining those parents who had neglected to instruct them in some profitable trade or business.

In the early days of both the Greek and Roman republics, other parts of education seem to have consisted of learning to read, write, and calculate using the arithmetic of the time. Wealthier citizens seem often to have learned these skills at home with the help of a private tutor. The tutor was generally either a slave or a freedman. Poorer citizens seem to have learned at schools run by teachers who taught for a fee. These parts of education, however, were left entirely to each child's parents or guardians. The state does not appear ever to have supervised or directed them. A law of Solon did, however, free children from the duty of supporting parents who had neglected to teach them a profitable trade or business.

In the progress of refinement, when philosophy and rhetoric came into fashion, the better sort of people used to send their children to the schools of philosophers and rhetoricians, in order to be instructed in these fashionable sciences. But those schools were not supported by the public. They were, for a long time, barely tolerated by it. The demand for philosophy and rhetoric was, for a long time, so small, that the first professed teachers of either could not find constant employment in any one city, but were obliged to travel about from place to place. In this manner lived Zeno of Elea, Protagoras, Gorgias, Hippias, and many others. As the demand increased, the school, both of philosophy and rhetoric, became stationary, first in Athens, and afterwards in several other cities. The state, however, seems never to have encouraged them further, than by assigning to some of them a particular place to teach in, which was sometimes done, too, by private donors. The state seems to have assigned the Academy to Plato, the Lyceum to Aristotle, and the Portico to Zeno of Citta, the founder of the Stoics. But Epicurus bequeathed his gardens to his own school. Till about the time of Marcus Antoninus, however, no teacher appears to have had any salary from the public, or to have had any other emoluments, but what arose from the honoraries or fees of his scholars. The bounty which that philosophical emperor, as we learn from Lucian, bestowed upon one of the teachers of philosophy, probably lasted no longer than his own life. There was nothing equivalent to the privileges of graduation; and to have attended any of those schools was not necessary, in order to be permitted to practise any particular trade or profession. If the opinion of their own utility could not draw scholars to them, the law neither forced anybody to go to them, nor rewarded anybody for having gone to them. The teachers had no jurisdiction over their pupils, nor any other authority besides that natural authority which superior virtue and abilities never fail to procure from young people towards those who are entrusted with any part of their education.

As society became more refined, philosophy and rhetoric came into fashion. Wealthier people sent their children to schools run by philosophers and rhetoricians to learn these fashionable subjects. But the public did not support these schools. For a long time, it barely tolerated them. Demand for philosophy and rhetoric remained so low that their first professional teachers could not find steady work in any one city. They had to travel from place to place. Zeno of Elea, Protagoras, Gorgias, Hippias, and many others lived this way. As demand increased, schools of philosophy and rhetoric settled in one place, first in Athens and later in several other cities. The state, however, seems never to have supported them beyond assigning some schools a particular place to teach. Private donors sometimes did this too. The state seems to have assigned the Academy to Plato, the Lyceum to Aristotle, and the Portico to Zeno of Citta, the founder of the Stoics. But Epicurus left his gardens to his own school. Until about the time of Marcus Antoninus, no teacher appears to have received a public salary. Nor did teachers have any other income except the payments or fees of their students. As we learn from Lucian, that philosophical emperor gave a gift to one teacher of philosophy. The gift probably lasted no longer than his own life. There was nothing like the privileges that come with a degree. Nor was it necessary to attend any of these schools to be allowed to practice a particular trade or profession. The schools had to attract students by convincing them of their usefulness. If they failed to do so, the law neither forced anyone to attend nor rewarded anyone for attending. Teachers had no legal authority over their pupils. They had only the natural authority that superior virtue and ability always earn from young people for those entrusted with any part of their education.

At Rome, the study of the civil law made a part of the education, not of the greater part of the citizens, but of some particular families. The young people, however, who wished to acquire knowledge in the law, had no public school to go to, and had no other method of studying it, than by frequenting the company of such of their relations and friends as were supposed to understand it. It is, perhaps, worth while to remark, that though the laws of the twelve tables were many of them copied from those of some ancient Greek republics, yet law never seems to have grown up to be a science in any republic of ancient Greece. In Rome it became a science very early, and gave a considerable degree of illustration to those citizens who had the reputation of understanding it. In the republics of ancient Greece, particularly in Athens, the ordinary courts of justice consisted of numerous, and therefore disorderly, bodies of people, who frequently decided almost at random, or as clamour, faction, and party-spirit, happened to determine. The ignominy of an unjust decision, when it was to be divided among five hundred, a thousand, or fifteen hundred people (for some of their courts were so very numerous), could not fall very heavy upon any individual. At Rome, on the contrary, the principal courts of justice consisted either of a single judge, or of a small number of judges, whose characters, especially as they deliberated always in public, could not fail to be very much affected by any rash or unjust decision. In doubtful cases such courts, from their anxiety to avoid blame, would naturally endeavour to shelter themselves under the example or precedent of the judges who had sat before them, either in the same or in some other court. This attention to practice and precedent, necessarily formed the Roman law into that regular and orderly system in which it has been delivered down to us; and the like attention has had the like effects upon the laws of every other country where such attention has taken place. The superiority of character in the Romans over that of the Greeks, so much remarked by Polybius and Dionysius of Halicarnassus, was probably more owing to the better constitution of their courts of justice, than to any of the circumstances to which those authors ascribe it. The Romans are said to have been particularly distinguished for their superior respect to an oath. But the people who were accustomed to make oath only before some diligent and well informed court of justice, would naturally be much more attentive to what they swore, than they who were accustomed to do the same thing before mobbish and disorderly assemblies.

In Rome, the study of civil law was part of the education of certain families, but not of most citizens. Young people who wanted to learn the law had no public school to attend. Their only way to study it was to spend time with relatives and friends thought to understand it. It is perhaps worth noting that many laws of the twelve tables were copied from those of ancient Greek republics. Yet law seems never to have developed into a science in any ancient Greek republic. In Rome, it became a science very early. Citizens with a reputation for understanding it gained considerable distinction. In the ancient Greek republics, particularly Athens, the ordinary courts of justice consisted of large and therefore disorderly bodies of people. They often decided cases almost at random, or according to the influence of public outcry, faction, and party spirit. Some of these courts had as many as five hundred, a thousand, or fifteen hundred members. When the disgrace of an unjust decision was divided among so many people, it could not weigh heavily on any individual. In Rome, by contrast, the principal courts of justice consisted of either one judge or a small number of judges. They always deliberated in public, so any rash or unjust decision was bound to affect their reputations greatly. In doubtful cases, such courts would naturally be anxious to avoid blame. They would therefore try to protect themselves by following the examples or precedents of earlier judges, whether in the same court or another. This attention to practice and precedent necessarily shaped Roman law into the regular and orderly system handed down to us. The same attention has had the same effects on the laws of every other country where it has been practiced. Polybius and Dionysius of Halicarnassus made much of the superiority of the Romans' character over that of the Greeks. This superiority was probably due more to the better structure of Roman courts than to any circumstances those authors mentioned. The Romans are said to have been especially distinguished by their greater respect for an oath. But people accustomed to taking oaths only before a diligent and well-informed court would naturally take greater care with their sworn words. They would take more care than people accustomed to swearing before unruly and disorderly crowds.

The abilities, both civil and military, of the Greeks and Romans, will readily be allowed to have been at least equal to those of any modern nation. Our prejudice is perhaps rather to overrate them. But except in what related to military exercises, the state seems to have been at no pains to form those great abilities; for I cannot be induced to believe that the musical education of the Greeks could be of much consequence in forming them. Masters, however, had been found, it seems, for instructing the better sort of people among those nations, in every art and science in which the circumstances of their society rendered it necessary or convenient for them to be instructed. The demand for such instruction produced, what it always produces, the talent for giving it; and the emulation which an unrestrained competition never fails to excite, appears to have brought that talent to a very high degree of perfection. In the attention which the ancient philosophers excited, in the empire which they acquired over the opinions and principles of their auditors, in the faculty which they possessed of giving a certain tone and character to the conduct and conversation of those auditors, they appear to have been much superior to any modern teachers. In modern times, the diligence of public teachers is more or less corrupted by the circumstances which render them more or less independent of their success and reputation in their particular professions. Their salaries, too, put the private teacher, who would pretend to come into competition with them, in the same state with a merchant who attempts to trade without a bounty, in competition with those who trade with a considerable one. If he sells his goods at nearly the same price, he cannot have the same profit; and poverty and beggary at least, if not bankruptcy and ruin, will infallibly be his lot. If he attempts to sell them much dearer, he is likely to have so few customers, that his circumstances will not be much mended. The privileges of graduation, besides, are in many countries necessary, or at least extremely convenient, to most men of learned professions, that is, to the far greater part of those who have occasion for a learned education. But those privileges can be obtained only by attending the lectures of the public teachers. The most careful attendance upon the ablest instructions of any private teacher cannot always give any title to demand them. It is from these different causes that the private teacher of any of the sciences, which are commonly taught in universities, is, in modern times, generally considered as in the very lowest order of men of letters. A man of real abilities can scarce find out a more humiliating or a more unprofitable employment to turn them to. The endowments of schools and colleges have in this manner not only corrupted the diligence of public teachers, but have rendered it almost impossible to have any good private ones.

The civil and military abilities of the Greeks and Romans are readily acknowledged to have been at least equal to those of any modern nation. Our prejudice perhaps leads us to overrate them. But except for military exercises, the state seems to have made no effort to develop those great abilities. I cannot believe that the musical education of the Greeks contributed much to developing them. Nevertheless, teachers apparently were found to instruct the better sort of people among those nations in every art and science their society made necessary or convenient to learn. The demand for such instruction produced what it always produces: the talent to provide it. Unrestricted competition always stirs up the desire to excel. It seems to have brought that talent to a very high degree of perfection. The ancient philosophers appear to have been far superior to any modern teachers. They attracted greater attention and gained greater power over the opinions and principles of their listeners. They also had a greater ability to give their listeners’ conduct and conversation a particular tone and character. In modern times, the circumstances that make public teachers more or less independent of success and reputation in their profession also corrupt their diligence to a greater or lesser degree. Their salaries also put a private teacher who tries to compete with them at a disadvantage. He is like a merchant who trades without a subsidy while competing with merchants who receive a substantial one. If he sells his goods at nearly the same price, he cannot make the same profit. Poverty and begging, at least, will certainly be his fate, if not bankruptcy and ruin. If he tries to sell them for much more, he is likely to have so few customers that his circumstances will be little improved. Moreover, in many countries, the privileges that come with graduation are necessary, or at least extremely convenient, for most men in learned professions. These men make up the great majority of those who need a learned education. But those privileges can be obtained only by attending the lectures of public teachers. Even the most careful attendance at the lessons of the ablest private teacher cannot always establish a right to those privileges. For these various reasons, a private teacher of any science commonly taught at universities is generally regarded today as belonging to the lowest rank of men of letters. A man of real ability can hardly find a more humiliating or less profitable way to use his talents. In this way, the endowments of schools and colleges have not only corrupted the diligence of public teachers. They have also made it almost impossible to have good private teachers.

Were there no public institutions for education, no system, no science, would be taught, for which there was not some demand, or which the circumstances of the times did not render it either necessary or convenient, or at least fashionable to learn. A private teacher could never find his account in teaching either an exploded and antiquated system of a science acknowledged to be useful, or a science universally believed to be a mere useless and pedantic heap of sophistry and nonsense. Such systems, such sciences, can subsist nowhere but in those incorporated societies for education, whose prosperity and revenue are in a great measure independent of their industry. Were there no public institutions for education, a gentleman, after going through, with application and abilities, the most complete course of education which the circumstances of the times were supposed to afford, could not come into the world completely ignorant of everything which is the common subject of conversation among gentlemen and men of the world.

If there were no public educational institutions, no system or science would be taught unless there was some demand for it. The times would have to make it necessary, convenient, or at least fashionable to learn. A private teacher could never profit from teaching a discredited, outdated system of a science recognized as useful. Nor could a private teacher profit from teaching a science everyone believed was merely a useless, pedantic heap of sophistry and nonsense. Such systems and sciences can survive only in incorporated educational societies. The prosperity and income of these societies depend largely on factors other than their work. If there were no public educational institutions, a gentleman could not enter the world completely ignorant of common subjects of conversation among gentlemen and worldly men. This assumes he had studied diligently and skillfully through the most complete course of education available at the time.

There are no public institutions for the education of women, and there is accordingly nothing useless, absurd, or fantastical, in the common course of their education. They are taught what their parents or guardians judge it necessary or useful for them to learn, and they are taught nothing else. Every part of their education tends evidently to some useful purpose; either to improve the natural attractions of their person, or to form their mind to reserve, to modesty, to chastity, and to economy; to render them both likely to became the mistresses of a family, and to behave properly when they have become such. In every part of her life, a woman feels some conveniency or advantage from every part of her education. It seldom happens that a man, in any part of his life, derives any conveniency or advantage from some of the most laborious and troublesome parts of his education.

There are no public institutions for women’s education. As a result, the usual course of their education contains nothing useless, absurd, or fanciful. They are taught only what their parents or guardians think necessary or useful for them to learn. Every part of their education clearly serves some useful purpose. It either enhances their natural physical attractions or develops reserve, modesty, chastity, and thrift. It makes them more likely to become heads of a household and to behave properly once they do. Throughout her life, a woman finds some benefit or advantage in every part of her education. A man, by contrast, seldom finds any benefit or advantage in some of the most demanding and troublesome parts of his education.

Ought the public, therefore, to give no attention, it may be asked, to the education of the people? Or, if it ought to give any, what are the different parts of education which it ought to attend to in the different orders of the people? and in what manner ought it to attend to them?

Should the public, then, pay no attention to the education of the people, one might ask? If it should pay attention, which aspects of education should it focus on for different classes of people? And how should it address them?

In some cases, the state of society necessarily places the greater part of individuals in such situations as naturally form in them, without any attention of government, almost all the abilities and virtues which that state requires, or perhaps can admit of. In other cases, the state of the society does not place the greater part of individuals in such situations; and some attention of government is necessary, in order to prevent the almost entire corruption and degeneracy of the great body of the people.

In some cases, the state of society necessarily puts most people in situations that naturally develop almost all the abilities and virtues that society requires, or perhaps can allow. This happens without any attention from the government. In other cases, the state of society does not put most people in such situations. Some attention from the government is then necessary to prevent the great majority of people from becoming almost entirely corrupt and degraded.

In the progress of the division of labour, the employment of the far greater part of those who live by labour, that is, of the great body of the people, comes to be confined to a few very simple operations; frequently to one or two. But the understandings of the greater part of men are necessarily formed by their ordinary employments. The man whose whole life is spent in performing a few simple operations, of which the effects, too, are perhaps always the same, or very nearly the same, has no occasion to exert his understanding, or to exercise his invention, in finding out expedients for removing difficulties which never occur. He naturally loses, therefore, the habit of such exertion, and generally becomes as stupid and ignorant as it is possible for a human creature to become. The torpor of his mind renders him not only incapable of relishing or bearing a part in any rational conversation, but of conceiving any generous, noble, or tender sentiment, and consequently of forming any just judgment concerning many even of the ordinary duties of private life. Of the great and extensive interests of his country he is altogether incapable of judging; and unless very particular pains have been taken to render him otherwise, he is equally incapable of defending his country in war. The uniformity of his stationary life naturally corrupts the courage of his mind, and makes him regard, with abhorrence, the irregular, uncertain, and adventurous life of a soldier. It corrupts even the activity of his body, and renders him incapable of exerting his strength with vigour and perseverance in any other employment, than that to which he has been bred. His dexterity at his own particular trade seems, in this manner, to be acquired at the expense of his intellectual, social, and martial virtues. But in every improved and civilized society, this is the state into which the labouring poor, that is, the great body of the people, must necessarily fall, unless government takes some pains to prevent it.

As the division of labor advances, the work of most people who live by labor becomes limited to a few simple tasks. These workers make up the great majority of the people. Often, they perform only one or two tasks. But most people's minds are necessarily shaped by their usual work. A man may spend his whole life performing a few simple tasks, perhaps always with the same or nearly the same results. He has no reason to use his mind or his ingenuity to solve problems that never arise. He therefore naturally loses the habit of such effort. He generally becomes as stupid and ignorant as a human being can possibly become. His dull mind makes him incapable of enjoying or taking part in any rational conversation. It also leaves him incapable of generous, noble, or tender feelings. As a result, he cannot judge fairly many of the ordinary duties of private life. He is entirely incapable of judging the great and far-reaching interests of his country. Unless special care has been taken to make him otherwise, he is equally incapable of defending his country in war. The sameness of his settled life naturally weakens his courage. It makes him shrink from the irregular, uncertain, and adventurous life of a soldier. It even weakens his physical energy. He becomes incapable of using his strength vigorously and steadily in any work except the work he was trained to do. In this way, his skill at his particular trade seems to come at the expense of his intellectual, social, and military virtues. Yet in every advanced and civilized society, the working poor must necessarily fall into this state unless the government takes some care to prevent it. These workers make up the great majority of the people.

It is otherwise in the barbarous societies, as they are commonly called, of hunters, of shepherds, and even of husbandmen in that rude state of husbandry which precedes the improvement of manufactures, and the extension of foreign commerce. In such societies, the varied occupations of every man oblige every man to exert his capacity, and to invent expedients for removing difficulties which are continually occurring. Invention is kept alive, and the mind is not suffered to fall into that drowsy stupidity, which, in a civilized society, seems to benumb the understanding of almost all the inferior ranks of people. In those barbarous societies, as they are called, every man, it has already been observed, is a warrior. Every man, too, is in some measure a statesman, and can form a tolerable judgment concerning the interest of the society, and the conduct of those who govern it. How far their chiefs are good judges in peace, or good leaders in war, is obvious to the observation of almost every single man among them. In such a society, indeed, no man can well acquire that improved and refined understanding which a few men sometimes possess in a more civilized state. Though in a rude society there is a good deal of variety in the occupations of every individual, there is not a great deal in those of the whole society. Every man does, or is capable of doing, almost every thing which any other man does, or is capable of being. Every man has a considerable degree of knowledge, ingenuity, and invention but scarce any man has a great degree. The degree, however, which is commonly possessed, is generally sufficient for conducting the whole simple business of the society. In a civilized state, on the contrary, though there is little variety in the occupations of the greater part of individuals, there is an almost infinite variety in those of the whole society. These varied occupations present an almost infinite variety of objects to the contemplation of those few, who, being attached to no particular occupation themselves, have leisure and inclination to examine the occupations of other people. The contemplation of so great a variety of objects necessarily exercises their minds in endless comparisons and combinations, and renders their understandings, in an extraordinary degree, both acute and comprehensive. Unless those few, however, happen to be placed in some very particular situations, their great abilities, though honourable to themselves, may contribute very little to the good government or happiness of their society. Notwithstanding the great abilities of those few, all the nobler parts of the human character may be, in a great measure, obliterated and extinguished in the great body of the people.

It is different in the societies commonly called barbarous: those of hunters, shepherds, and even farmers. These farmers practice a basic form of agriculture that precedes the improvement of manufacturing and the expansion of foreign trade. In such societies, every man has varied occupations. These require him to use his abilities and devise ways to overcome difficulties that constantly arise. Ingenuity stays alive, and the mind is not allowed to sink into a sleepy stupidity. In a civilized society, this stupidity seems to dull the understanding of almost everyone in the lower ranks. As already noted, every man in those societies called barbarous is a warrior. Every man is also, to some extent, a statesman. He can judge reasonably well the interests of his society and the conduct of its rulers. Almost every man can see how good his chiefs are at judging matters in peace or leading in war. In such a society, however, no man can easily develop the cultivated and refined understanding that a few sometimes possess in a more civilized state. Though each individual has a good deal of variety in his occupations, there is not much variety across the whole society. Every man does, or can do, almost everything that any other man does or can do. Every man has considerable knowledge, ingenuity, and inventiveness, but hardly any man has a great deal. Still, what people commonly possess is generally enough to conduct all the simple business of their society. In a civilized state, by contrast, most individuals have little variety in their occupations. But across the whole society, there is an almost infinite variety of occupations. These present an almost infinite variety of subjects for a few people to consider. Those few have no particular occupation of their own and have the leisure and inclination to examine other people's work. Considering so many different subjects necessarily exercises their minds in endless comparisons and combinations. It makes their understanding extraordinarily sharp and wide-ranging. Unless those few happen to be in very particular positions, however, their great abilities may do little for their society's good government or happiness. Their abilities may bring them honor, but despite those abilities, the nobler parts of human character may be largely erased and extinguished among the great body of the people.

The education of the common people requires, perhaps, in a civilized and commercial society, the attention of the public, more than that of people of some rank and fortune. People of some rank and fortune are generally eighteen or nineteen years of age before they enter upon that particular business, profession, or trade, by which they propose to distinguish themselves in the world. They have, before that, full time to acquire, or at least to fit themselves for afterwards acquiring, every accomplishment which can recommend them to the public esteem, or render them worthy of it. Their parents or guardians are generally sufficiently anxious that they should be so accomplished, and are in most cases, willing enough to lay out the expense which is necessary for that purpose. If they are not always properly educated, it is seldom from the want of expense laid out upon their education, but from the improper application of that expense. It is seldom from the want of masters, but from the negligence and incapacity of the masters who are to be had, and from the difficulty, or rather from the impossibility, which there is, in the present state of things, of finding any better. The employments, too, in which people of some rank or fortune spend the greater part of their lives, are not, like those of the common people, simple and uniform. They are almost all of them extremely complicated, and such as exercise the head more than the hands. The understandings of those who are engaged in such employments, can seldom grow torpid for want of exercise. The employments of people of some rank and fortune, besides, are seldom such as harass them from morning to night. They generally have a good deal of leisure, during which they may perfect themselves in every branch, either of useful or ornamental knowledge, of which they may have laid the foundation, or for which they may have acquired some taste in the earlier part of life.

In a civilized and commercial society, the education of ordinary people perhaps requires more public attention than that of people of some rank and wealth. People of some rank and wealth are generally eighteen or nineteen before they enter the business, profession, or trade through which they hope to distinguish themselves in the world. Before then, they have plenty of time to acquire every accomplishment that can earn them public respect or make them worthy of it. At least, they have time to prepare themselves to acquire those accomplishments later. Their parents or guardians are generally eager enough for them to have such accomplishments. In most cases, they are also willing enough to pay what is necessary. If these young people are not always properly educated, it is seldom because too little has been spent on their education. It is because the money has been spent unwisely. It is seldom because there are too few teachers. Rather, it is because the available teachers are negligent or incapable. And, as things now stand, it is difficult, or rather impossible, to find better ones. Moreover, the work in which people of some rank or wealth spend most of their lives is not simple and repetitive, like the work of ordinary people. Almost all of it is extremely complicated and exercises the mind more than the hands. The minds of those who do such work can seldom grow dull from lack of exercise. Besides, the work of people of some rank and wealth seldom wears them out from morning to night. They generally have a good deal of leisure. During that time, they can improve their knowledge, whether useful or ornamental. They may have laid the foundations for that knowledge, or developed a taste for it, earlier in life.

It is otherwise with the common people. They have little time to spare for education. Their parents can scarce afford to maintain them, even in infancy. As soon as they are able to work, they must apply to some trade, by which they can earn their subsistence. That trade, too, is generally so simple and uniform, as to give little exercise to the understanding; while, at the same time, their labour is both so constant and so severe, that it leaves them little leisure and less inclination to apply to, or even to think of any thing else.

The situation is different for ordinary people. They have little time for education. Their parents can barely afford to support them, even as infants. As soon as they can work, they must take up a trade to earn a living. Their trade is generally so simple and repetitive that it gives their minds little exercise. At the same time, their work is so constant and demanding that they have little time for anything else. They have even less desire to pursue or even think about anything else.

But though the common people cannot, in any civilized society, be so well instructed as people of some rank and fortune; the most essential parts of education, however, to read, write, and account, can be acquired at so early a period of life, that the greater part, even of those who are to be bred to the lowest occupations, have time to acquire them before they can be employed in those occupations. For a very small expense, the public can facilitate, can encourage and can even impose upon almost the whole body of the people, the necessity of acquiring those most essential parts of education.

In any civilized society, ordinary people cannot be as well educated as people of some rank and wealth. But the most essential skills, reading, writing, and arithmetic, can be learned very early in life. Most children have time to learn them before they can begin work, even those destined for the lowest occupations. At very little cost, the public can make it easier for almost everyone to acquire these essential skills. It can encourage them to do so and even require them to learn.

The public can facilitate this acquisition, by establishing in every parish or district a little school, where children maybe taught for a reward so moderate, that even a common labourer may afford it; the master being partly, but not wholly, paid by the public; because, if he was wholly, or even principally, paid by it, he would soon learn to neglect his business. In Scotland, the establishment of such parish schools has taught almost the whole common people to read, and a very great proportion of them to write and account. In England, the establishment of charity schools has had an effect of the same kind, though not so universally, because the establishment is not so universal. If, in those little schools, the books by which the children are taught to read, were a little more instructive than they commonly are; and if, instead of a little smattering in Latin, which the children of the common people are sometimes taught there, and which can scarce ever be of any use to them, they were instructed in the elementary parts of geometry and mechanics; the literary education of this rank of people would, perhaps, be as complete as can be. There is scarce a common trade, which does not afford some opportunities of applying to it the principles of geometry and mechanics, and which would not, therefore, gradually exercise and improve the common people in those principles, the necessary introduction to the most sublime, as well as to the most useful sciences.

The public can help people acquire this education by establishing a small school in every parish or district. Children could be taught there for a fee so low that even an ordinary laborer could afford it. The public should pay part, but not all, of the teacher’s wages. If the public paid all or even most of them, the teacher would soon learn to neglect his work. In Scotland, these parish schools have taught almost all ordinary people to read. A very large proportion have also learned to write and do arithmetic. In England, charity schools have had a similar effect, though not as widely, because they are not as widespread. The reading books in these small schools could be a little more instructive than they usually are. And the children could be taught the basics of geometry and mechanics instead of a little Latin. The children of ordinary people are sometimes taught a little Latin there, though it can hardly ever be useful to them. With these changes, the formal education of this class of people would perhaps be as complete as it could be. Nearly every common trade offers opportunities to apply the principles of geometry and mechanics. These trades would therefore gradually give ordinary people practice in those principles and improve their understanding of them. Those principles are a necessary introduction to the most sublime sciences, as well as the most useful ones.

The public can encourage the acquisition of those most essential parts of education, by giving small premiums, and little badges of distinction, to the children of the common people who excel in them.

The public can encourage children from ordinary families to learn the most essential subjects. It can offer small prizes and badges of distinction to those who excel in them.

The public can impose upon almost the whole body of the people the necessity of acquiring the most essential parts of education, by obliging every man to undergo an examination or probation in them, before he can obtain the freedom in any corporation, or be allowed to set up any trade, either in a village or town corporate.

The public can require almost everyone to acquire the most essential parts of an education. It can do this by requiring every man to pass a test in those subjects before he can gain the freedom of any corporation or be allowed to set up a trade in a village or incorporated town.

It was in this manner, by facilitating the acquisition of their military and gymnastic exercises, by encouraging it, and even by imposing upon the whole body of the people the necessity of learning those exercises, that the Greek and Roman republics maintained the martial spirit of their respective citizens. They facilitated the acquisition of those exercises, by appointing a certain place for learning and practising them, and by granting to certain masters the privilege of teaching in that place. Those masters do not appear to have had either salaries or exclusive privileges of any kind. Their reward consisted altogether in what they got from their scholars; and a citizen, who had learnt his exercises in the public gymnasia, had no sort of legal advantage over one who had learnt them privately, provided the latter had learned them equally well. Those republics encouraged the acquisition of those exercises, by bestowing little premiums and badges of distinction upon those who excelled in them. To have gained a prize in the Olympic, Isthmian, or Nemaean games, gave illustration, not only to the person who gained it, but to his whole family and kindred. The obligation which every citizen was under, to serve a certain number of years, if called upon, in the armies of the republic, sufficiently imposed the necessity of learning those exercises, without which he could not be fit for that service.

The Greek and Roman republics maintained the fighting spirit of their citizens by making military and athletic exercises easier to learn. They encouraged citizens to learn them and even made it necessary for the whole population to do so. They made learning easier by setting aside a place for instruction and practice. They also gave certain teachers the right to teach there. These teachers appear to have received no salaries or exclusive privileges of any kind. Their entire reward came from what their students paid them. A citizen who had trained in the public gymnasia had no legal advantage over one who had trained privately, provided the latter had trained equally well. The republics encouraged people to learn these exercises by giving small prizes and badges of distinction to those who excelled. Winning a prize at the Olympic, Isthmian, or Nemaean games brought honor not only to the winner, but also to the winner’s whole family and relatives. Every citizen was obliged to serve for a certain number of years in the republic’s armies if called upon. This obligation made it necessary to learn the exercises, since no citizen could be fit for service without them.

That in the progress of improvement, the practice of military exercises, unless government takes proper pains to support it, goes gradually to decay, and, together with it, the martial spirit of the great body of the people, the example of modern Europe sufficiently demonstrates. But the security of every society must always depend, more or less, upon the martial spirit of the great body of the people. In the present times, indeed, that martial spirit alone, and unsupported by a well-disciplined standing army, would not, perhaps, be sufficient for the defence and security of any society. But where every citizen had the spirit of a soldier, a smaller standing army would surely be requisite. That spirit, besides, would necessarily diminish very much the dangers to liberty, whether real or imaginary, which are commonly apprehended from a standing army. As it would very much facilitate the operations of that army against a foreign invader; so it would obstruct them as much, if unfortunately they should ever be directed against the constitution of the state.

Modern Europe clearly shows what happens as society progresses. Unless the government takes proper care to support military training, the practice gradually declines. Along with it, the military spirit of most people also declines. Yet the security of every society must always depend, to some extent, on that spirit. Today, military spirit alone, without a well-disciplined standing army, would perhaps not be enough to defend and secure any society. But if every citizen had the spirit of a soldier, a smaller standing army would surely be needed. That spirit would also greatly reduce the dangers to liberty commonly feared from a standing army, whether real or imagined. It would greatly help the army resist a foreign invader. But it would just as greatly hinder the army if, unfortunately, it were ever directed against the constitution of the state.

The ancient institutions of Greece and Rome seem to have been much more effectual for maintaining the martial spirit of the great body of the people, than the establishment of what are called the militias of modern times. They were much more simple. When they were once established, they executed themselves, and it required little or no attention from government to maintain them in the most perfect vigour. Whereas to maintain, even in tolerable execution, the complex regulations of any modern militia, requires the continual and painful attention of government, without which they are constantly falling into total neglect and disuse. The influence, besides, of the ancient institutions, was much more universal. By means of them, the whole body of the people was completely instructed in the use of arms; whereas it is but a very small part of them who can ever be so instructed by the regulations of any modern militia, except, perhaps, that of Switzerland. But a coward, a man incapable either of defending or of revenging himself, evidently wants one of the most essential parts of the character of a man. He is as much mutilated and deformed in his mind as another is in his body, who is either deprived of some of its most essential members, or has lost the use of them. He is evidently the more wretched and miserable of the two; because happiness and misery, which reside altogether in the mind, must necessarily depend more upon the healthful or unhealthful, the mutilated or entire state of the mind, than upon that of the body. Even though the martial spirit of the people were of no use towards the defence of the society, yet, to prevent that sort of mental mutilation, deformity, and wretchedness, which cowardice necessarily involves in it, from spreading themselves through the great body of the people, would still deserve the most serious attention of government; in the same manner as it would deserve its most serious attention to prevent a leprosy, or any other loathsome and offensive disease, though neither mortal nor dangerous, from spreading itself among them; though, perhaps, no other public good might result from such attention, besides the prevention of so great a public evil.

The ancient institutions of Greece and Rome seem to have been much more effective than modern militias at maintaining a martial spirit among the great body of the people. The ancient institutions were much simpler. Once established, they ran themselves. The government needed to pay little or no attention to keep them at full strength. By contrast, even keeping the complex regulations of a modern militia reasonably effective requires the government's constant and burdensome attention. Without that attention, they continually fall into total neglect and disuse. The ancient institutions also had a much wider influence. Through them, the whole body of the people received complete instruction in the use of arms. Under the regulations of a modern militia, only a very small part can ever receive such instruction. Switzerland's militia may be an exception. But a coward, a man unable either to defend himself or to take revenge, clearly lacks an essential part of a man's character. His mind is as mutilated and deformed as the body of someone who has lost an essential limb or its use. The coward is clearly the more wretched and miserable of the two. Happiness and misery exist entirely in the mind. They must therefore depend more on the mind's health and wholeness than on the body's. Even if the people's martial spirit were useless for defending society, cowardice would still be a serious concern for government. It would deserve the government's closest attention to prevent the mental mutilation, deformity, and wretchedness that cowardice necessarily involves from spreading through the great body of the people. In the same way, the government should pay the closest attention to preventing leprosy or any other loathsome and offensive disease from spreading among them, even if it were neither fatal nor dangerous. This would deserve attention even if it brought no other public good than preventing such a great public evil.

The same thing may be said of the gross ignorance and stupidity which, in a civilized society, seem so frequently to benumb the understandings of all the inferior ranks of people. A man without the proper use of the intellectual faculties of a man, is, if possible, more contemptible than even a coward, and seems to be mutilated and deformed in a still more essential part of the character of human nature. Though the state was to derive no advantage from the instruction of the inferior ranks of people, it would still deserve its attention that they should not be altogether uninstructed. The state, however, derives no inconsiderable advantage from their instruction. The more they are instructed, the less liable they are to the delusions of enthusiasm and superstition, which, among ignorant nations frequently occasion the most dreadful disorders. An instructed and intelligent people, besides, are always more decent and orderly than an ignorant and stupid one. They feel themselves, each individually, more respectable, and more likely to obtain the respect of their lawful superiors, and they are, therefore, more disposed to respect those superiors. They are more disposed to examine, and more capable of seeing through, the interested complaints of faction and sedition; and they are, upon that account, less apt to be misled into any wanton or unnecessary opposition to the measures of government. In free countries, where the safety of government depends very much upon the favourable judgment which the people may form of its conduct, it must surely be of the highest importance, that they should not be disposed to judge rashly or capriciously concerning it.

The same can be said of the profound ignorance and stupidity that so often seem to dull the minds of all lower-ranking people in a civilized society. A man who cannot properly use his intellectual abilities is, if possible, even more contemptible than a coward. He seems damaged and deformed in an even more essential part of human nature. Even if the state gained nothing from educating lower-ranking people, it should still make sure they are not left entirely uneducated. The state, however, gains a great deal from their education. The more educated they are, the less vulnerable they are to the illusions of fanaticism and superstition. Among ignorant nations, these illusions often cause the most dreadful disorders. Educated and intelligent people are also always more decent and orderly than ignorant and stupid people. Each person feels more respectable and more likely to gain the respect of their lawful superiors. They are therefore more inclined to respect those superiors. They are more inclined to examine the self-interested complaints of factions and agitators, and better able to see through them. For that reason, they are less likely to be misled into reckless or unnecessary opposition to government measures. In free countries, the safety of the government depends greatly on the people's favorable judgment of its conduct. It must therefore be of the greatest importance that they not be inclined to judge it rashly or on a whim.

Art. III.—Of the Expense of the Institutions for the Instruction of People of all Ages.

Article III: The Cost of Institutions for Educating People of All Ages.

The institutions for the instruction of people of all ages, are chiefly those for religious instruction. This is a species of instruction, of which the object is not so much to render the people good citizens in this world, as to prepare them for another and a better world in the life to come. The teachers of the doctrine which contains this instruction, in the same manner as other teachers, may either depend altogether for their subsistence upon the voluntary contributions of their hearers; or they may derive it from some other fund, to which the law of their country may entitle them; such as a landed estate, a tythe or land tax, an established salary or stipend. Their exertion, their zeal and industry, are likely to be much greater in the former situation than in the latter. In this respect, the teachers of a new religion have always had a considerable advantage in attacking those ancient and established systems, of which the clergy, reposing themselves upon their benefices, had neglected to keep up the fervour of faith and devotion in the great body of the people; and having given themselves up to indolence, were become altogether incapable of making any vigorous exertion in defence even of their own establishment. The clergy of an established and well endowed religion frequently become men of learning and elegance, who possess all the virtues of gentlemen, or which can recommend them to the esteem of gentlemen; but they are apt gradually to lose the qualities, both good and bad, which gave them authority and influence with the inferior ranks of people, and which had perhaps been the original causes of the success and establishment of their religion. Such a clergy, when attacked by a set of popular and bold, though perhaps stupid and ignorant enthusiasts, feel themselves as perfectly defenceless as the indolent, effeminate, and full fed nations of the southern parts of Asia, when they were invaded by the active, hardy, and hungry Tartars of the north. Such a clergy, upon such an emergency, have commonly no other resource than to call upon the civil magistrate to persecute, destroy, or drive out their adversaries, as disturbers of the public peace. It was thus that the Roman catholic clergy called upon the civil magistrate to persecute the protestants, and the church of England to persecute the dissenters; and that in general every religious sect, when it has once enjoyed, for a century or two, the security of a legal establishment, has found itself incapable of making any vigorous defence against any new sect which chose to attack its doctrine or discipline. Upon such occasions, the advantage, in point of learning and good writing, may sometimes be on the side of the established church. But the arts of popularity, all the arts of gaining proselytes, are constantly on the side of its adversaries. In England, those arts have been long neglected by the well endowed clergy of the established church, and are at present chiefly cultivated by the dissenters and by the methodists. The independent provisions, however, which in many places have been made for dissenting teachers, by means of voluntary subscriptions, of trust rights, and other evasions of the law, seem very much to have abated the zeal and activity of those teachers. They have many of them become very learned, ingenious, and respectable men; but they have in general ceased to be very popular preachers. The methodists, without half the learning of the dissenters, are much more in vogue.

Institutions that teach people of all ages are chiefly concerned with religious instruction. Their aim is not so much to make people good citizens in this world as to prepare them for another and better world in the life to come. Like other teachers, religious teachers may depend entirely on voluntary contributions from their listeners for their living. Or they may receive their living from another source to which their country’s laws entitle them. This might be a landed estate, a tithe or land tax, or a fixed salary or stipend. They are likely to show much greater effort, zeal, and industry when they depend on voluntary contributions. In this respect, the teachers of a new religion have always had a considerable advantage when attacking ancient, established systems. The clergy of those systems have rested on the income from their church positions. They have neglected to keep faith and devotion alive among most of the people. Having given themselves over to idleness, they have become entirely incapable of making a vigorous effort to defend even their own establishment. The clergy of an established and well-funded religion often become learned and refined men. They possess all the virtues of gentlemen, or those virtues that can win them the esteem of gentlemen. But they tend gradually to lose the qualities, both good and bad, that gave them authority and influence among the lower ranks of society. Those qualities may also have been the original causes of their religion’s success and establishment. Such clergy may be attacked by popular and bold enthusiasts, who are perhaps stupid and ignorant. They then feel entirely defenseless, like the idle, effeminate, and well-fed nations of southern Asia when they were invaded by the active, hardy, and hungry Tartars of the north. In such a crisis, the clergy usually have no choice but to call on the civil authorities to persecute, destroy, or drive out their opponents as disturbers of the public peace. Thus the Roman catholic clergy called on the civil authorities to persecute the protestants, and the church of England called on them to persecute the dissenters. In general, every religious sect that has enjoyed the security of legal establishment for a century or two has found itself unable to mount a vigorous defense against any new sect that chose to attack its doctrine or discipline. On such occasions, the established church may sometimes have the advantage in learning and good writing. But its opponents always have the skills needed to win popularity and gain converts. In England, the well-funded clergy of the established church have long neglected those skills. Today, dissenters and methodists chiefly cultivate them. In many places, however, dissenting teachers have been given independent means of support through voluntary subscriptions, trust rights, and other ways of getting around the law. This support seems to have greatly reduced their zeal and activity. Many have become very learned, ingenious, and respectable men, but they have generally ceased to be very popular preachers. The methodists, with less than half the learning of the dissenters, are much more popular.

In the church of Rome the industry and zeal of the inferior clergy are kept more alive by the powerful motive of self-interest, than perhaps in any established protestant church. The parochial clergy derive many of them, a very considerable part of their subsistence from the voluntary oblations of the people; a source of revenue, which confession gives them many opportunities of improving. The mendicant orders derive their whole subsistence from such oblations. It is with them as with the hussars and light infantry of some armies; no plunder, no pay. The parochial clergy are like those teachers whose reward depends partly upon their salary, and partly upon the fees or honoraries which they get from their pupils; and these must always depend, more or less, upon their industry and reputation. The mendicant orders are like those teachers whose subsistence depends altogether upon their industry. They are obliged, therefore, to use every art which can animate the devotion of the common people. The establishment of the two great mendicant orders of St Dominic and St. Francis, it is observed by Machiavel, revived, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the languishing faith and devotion of the catholic church. In Roman catholic countries, the spirit of devotion is supported altogether by the monks, and by the poorer parochial clergy. The great dignitaries of the church, with all the accomplishments of gentlemen and men of the world, and sometimes with those of men of learning, are careful to maintain the necessary discipline over their inferiors, but seldom give themselves any trouble about the instruction of the people.

In the Church of Rome, the powerful motive of self-interest keeps lower-ranking clergy more active and zealous than perhaps in any established Protestant church. Many parish priests receive a very substantial part of their living from the people's voluntary offerings. Confession gives them many opportunities to increase this income. The mendicant orders depend entirely on such offerings for their living. They are like the hussars and light infantry of some armies: no plunder, no pay. Parish priests are like teachers whose income comes partly from a salary and partly from fees paid by their pupils. Those fees must always depend, at least to some extent, on their hard work and reputation. The mendicant orders are like teachers whose living depends entirely on their hard work. They must therefore use every means to stir the devotion of ordinary people. Machiavel observes that the founding of the two great mendicant orders of St Dominic and St. Francis revived the Catholic Church's waning faith and devotion in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In Roman Catholic countries, devotion is sustained entirely by monks and the poorer parish clergy. The great church dignitaries have all the accomplishments of gentlemen and men of the world. Sometimes they also have the accomplishments of scholars. They take care to maintain the necessary discipline among their subordinates, but seldom trouble themselves to instruct the people.

“Most of the arts and professions in a state,” says by far the most illustrious philosopher and historian of the present age, “are of such a nature, that, while they promote the interests of the society, they are also useful or agreeable to some individuals; and, in that case, the constant rule of the magistrate, except, perhaps, on the first introduction of any art, is, to leave the profession to itself, and trust its encouragement to the individuals who reap the benefit of it. The artizans, finding their profits to rise by the favour of their customers, increase, as much as possible, their skill and industry; and as matters are not disturbed by any injudicious tampering, the commodity is always sure to be at all times nearly proportioned to the demand.

“Most trades and professions in a country,” says by far the most distinguished philosopher and historian of our age, “benefit society while also being useful or pleasant to some individuals. In such cases, the government’s usual rule is to leave the profession alone. The only possible exception is when a trade is first introduced. The government relies on the individuals who benefit from the profession to support it. Craftspeople see their profits rise when customers favor them, so they improve their skills and work as hard as they can. Because no one interferes unwisely, supply is always sure to be roughly in line with demand.

“But there are also some callings which, though useful and even necessary in a state, bring no advantage or pleasure to any individual; and the supreme power is obliged to alter its conduct with regard to the retainers of those professions. It must give them public encouragement in order to their subsistence; and it must provide against that negligence to which they will naturally be subject, either by annexing particular honours to profession, by establishing a long subordination of ranks, and a strict dependence, or by some other expedient. The persons employed in the finances, fleets, and magistracy, are instances of this order of men.

“But some occupations, though useful and even necessary to the state, bring no individual any benefit or pleasure. The government must treat people in these occupations differently. It must support them publicly so they can make a living. It must also guard against the negligence to which they will naturally be prone. It can do this by attaching special honors to their professions, or by establishing a long chain of ranks with strict dependence on superiors. It can also use some other means. People employed in public finance, the navy, and the courts are examples of this kind of worker.

“It may naturally be thought, at first sight, that the ecclesiastics belong to the first class, and that their encouragement, as well as that of lawyers and physicians, may safely be entrusted to the liberality of individuals, who are attached to their doctrines, and who find benefit or consolation from their spiritual ministry and assistance. Their industry and vigilance will, no doubt, be whetted by such an additional motive; and their skill in the profession, as well as their address in governing the minds of the people, must receive daily increase, from their increasing practice, study, and attention.

“At first glance, it may seem natural to place clergy in the first class. Like lawyers and doctors, they may safely be supported by the generosity of individuals. These individuals are attached to their doctrines and find benefit or comfort in their spiritual ministry and assistance. This additional incentive will no doubt sharpen the clergy’s diligence and vigilance. And with increasing practice, study, and attention, they must improve daily in their professional skills and their ability to govern people’s minds.

“But if we consider the matter more closely, we shall find that this interested diligence of the clergy is what every wise legislator will study to prevent; because, in every religion except the true, it is highly pernicious, and it has even a natural tendency to pervert the truth, by infusing into it a strong mixture of superstition, folly, and delusion. Each ghostly practitioner, in order to render himself more precious and sacred in the eyes of his retainers, will inspire them with the most violent abhorrence of all other sects, and continually endeavour, by some novelty, to excite the languid devotion of his audience. No regard will be paid to truth, morals, or decency, in the doctrines inculcated. Every tenet will be adopted that best suits the disorderly affections of the human frame. Customers will be drawn to each conventicle by new industry and address, in practising on the passions and credulity of the populace. And, in the end, the civil magistrate will find that he has dearly paid for his intended frugality, in saving a fixed establishment for the priests; and that, in reality, the most decent and advantageous composition, which he can make with the spiritual guides, is to bribe their indolence, by assigning stated salaries to their profession, and rendering it superfluous for them to be farther active, than merely to prevent their flock from straying in quest of new pastors. And in this manner ecclesiastical establishments, though commonly they arose at first from religious views, prove in the end advantageous to the political interests of society.”

“But if we look more closely, we will find that every wise legislator will try to prevent this self-interested zeal among the clergy. In every religion except the true one, it is extremely harmful. It even tends naturally to corrupt the truth by mixing it with superstition, folly, and delusion. Each religious practitioner will try to make himself seem more valuable and sacred to his followers. To do this, he will inspire them with intense hatred of all other sects. He will constantly try to revive his audience’s fading devotion with some novelty. The doctrines he teaches will show no regard for truth, morals, or decency. He will adopt every belief that best appeals to people’s unruly passions. Each religious gathering will attract followers through fresh efforts and skill in exploiting the passions and gullibility of the populace. In the end, the civil magistrate will find that he has paid dearly for his attempt to save money by not providing a fixed income for priests. He will find that the most respectable and advantageous agreement he can make with spiritual guides is, in fact, to bribe them to be idle. He can do this by giving them fixed salaries and making further effort unnecessary, except to prevent their flocks from wandering off in search of new pastors. In this way, religious establishments, though they usually first arose from religious motives, ultimately benefit the political interests of society.”

But whatever may have been the good or bad effects of the independent provision of the clergy, it has, perhaps, been very seldom bestowed upon them from any view to those effects. Times of violent religious controversy have generally been times of equally violent political faction. Upon such occasions, each political party has either found it, or imagined it, for his interest, to league itself with some one or other of the contending religious sects. But this could be done only by adopting, or, at least, by favouring the tenets of that particular sect. The sect which had the good fortune to be leagued with the conquering party necessarily shared in the victory of its ally, by whose favour and protection it was soon enabled, in some degree, to silence and subdue all its adversaries. Those adversaries had generally leagued themselves with the enemies of the conquering party, and were, therefore the enemies of that party. The clergy of this particular sect having thus become complete masters of the field, and their influence and authority with the great body of the people being in its highest vigour, they were powerful enough to overawe the chiefs and leaders of their own party, and to oblige the civil magistrate to respect their opinions and inclinations. Their first demand was generally that he should silence and subdue all their adversaries; and their second, that he should bestow an independent provision on themselves. As they had generally contributed a good deal to the victory, it seemed not unreasonable that they should have some share in the spoil. They were weary, besides, of humouring the people, and of depending upon their caprice for a subsistence. In making this demand, therefore, they consulted their own ease and comfort, without troubling themselves about the effect which it might have, in future times, upon the influence and authority of their order. The civil magistrate, who could comply with their demand only by giving them something which he would have chosen much rather to take, or to keep to himself, was seldom very forward to grant it. Necessity, however, always forced him to submit at last, though frequently not till after many delays, evasions, and affected excuses.

Whatever the good or bad effects of giving the clergy an independent income, it was perhaps seldom granted with those effects in mind. Times of fierce religious controversy have generally also been times of fierce political division. On such occasions, each political party has found, or imagined, that it was in its interest to ally itself with one of the competing religious sects. But a party could do this only by adopting, or at least favoring, that sect’s beliefs. The sect fortunate enough to ally itself with the winning party necessarily shared in its ally’s victory. With the party’s favor and protection, the sect was soon able to silence and subdue all its opponents to some degree. Those opponents had generally allied themselves with the winning party’s enemies. They were therefore enemies of the winning party themselves. The clergy of the victorious sect had thus gained complete control, and their influence and authority over most people were at their height. They were powerful enough to intimidate the leaders of their own party and force the civil authorities to respect their opinions and wishes. Their first demand was generally that the authorities silence and subdue all their opponents. Their second was that the authorities grant them an independent income. Since they had generally contributed greatly to the victory, it seemed reasonable that they should share in the spoils. Besides, they were tired of pleasing the people and depending on their unpredictable wishes for a living. In making this demand, the clergy therefore looked to their own ease and comfort. They did not concern themselves with its possible effects on the future influence and authority of the clergy as a whole. The civil authorities could grant the demand only by giving the clergy something they would much rather have taken or kept for themselves. They were therefore seldom eager to grant it. Necessity, however, always forced them to give in eventually, though often only after many delays, evasions, and false excuses.

But if politics had never called in the aid of religion, had the conquering party never adopted the tenets of one sect more than those of another, when it had gained the victory, it would probably have dealt equally and impartially with all the different sects, and have allowed every man to choose his own priest, and his own religion, as he thought proper. There would, and, in this case, no doubt, have been, a great multitude of religious sects. Almost every different congregation might probably have had a little sect by itself, or have entertained some peculiar tenets of its own. Each teacher, would, no doubt, have felt himself under the necessity of making the utmost exertion, and of using every art, both to preserve and to increase the number of his disciples. But as every other teacher would have felt himself under the same necessity, the success of no one teacher, or sect of teachers, could have been very great. The interested and active zeal of religious teachers can be dangerous and troublesome only where there is either but one sect tolerated in the society, or where the whole of a large society is divided into two or three great sects; the teachers of each acting by concert, and under a regular discipline and subordination. But that zeal must be altogether innocent, where the society is divided into two or three hundred, or, perhaps, into as many thousand small sects, of which no one could be considerable enough to disturb the public tranquillity. The teachers of each sect, seeing themselves surrounded on all sides with more adversaries than friends, would be obliged to learn that candour and moderation which are so seldom to be found among the teachers of those great sects, whose tenets, being supported by the civil magistrate, are held in veneration by almost all the inhabitants of extensive kingdoms and empires, and who, therefore, see nothing round them but followers, disciples, and humble admirers. The teachers of each little sect, finding themselves almost alone, would be obliged to respect those of almost every other sect; and the concessions which they would mutually find it both convenient and agreeable to make one to another, might in time, probably reduce the doctrine of the greater part of them to that pure and rational religion, free from every mixture of absurdity, imposture, or fanaticism, such as wise men have, in all ages of the world, wished to see established; but such as positive law has, perhaps, never yet established, and probably never will establish in any country; because, with regard to religion, positive law always has been, and probably always will be, more or less influenced by popular superstition and enthusiasm. This plan of ecclesiastical government, or, more properly, of no ecclesiastical government, was what the sect called Independents (a sect, no doubt, of very wild enthusiasts), proposed to establish in England towards the end of the civil war. If it had been established, though of a very unphilosophical origin, it would probably, by this time, have been productive of the most philosophical good temper and moderation with regard to every sort of religious principle. It has been established in Pennsylvania, where, though the quakers happen to be the most numerous, the law, in reality, favours no one sect more than another; and it is there said to have been productive of this philosophical good temper and moderation.

But suppose politics had never called on religion for support. Suppose the victorious party had never adopted one sect’s beliefs over another’s. It would probably have treated all sects equally and impartially. It would have allowed everyone to choose their own priest and religion as they thought best. In that case, there would no doubt have been a great many religious sects. Almost every congregation might have formed a small sect of its own, or held some distinctive beliefs. Each teacher would no doubt have felt the need to make every effort and use every skill to retain and increase their followers. But every other teacher would have felt the same need. So no teacher or group of teachers could have achieved very great success. The self-interested, active zeal of religious teachers can be dangerous and troublesome only under certain conditions. Either society tolerates only one sect, or a large society is divided into two or three great sects. In the latter case, each sect’s teachers act together under an organized system of discipline and authority. But such zeal must be entirely harmless when society is divided into two or three hundred small sects, or perhaps even thousands. None could be large enough to disturb the public peace. The teachers of each sect would see themselves surrounded by more opponents than friends. They would therefore have to learn openness and moderation. These qualities are rarely found among teachers of the great sects. The beliefs of those sects are supported by civil authorities and revered by almost everyone in vast kingdoms and empires. Their teachers therefore see nothing around them but followers, disciples, and humble admirers. The teachers of each small sect, finding themselves almost alone, would have to respect the teachers of almost every other sect. They would find it both convenient and agreeable to make concessions to one another. In time, those concessions might probably bring most of their doctrines closer to a pure and rational religion. It would be free from any trace of absurdity, fraud, or fanaticism. Wise people in every age have wished to see such a religion established. But law has perhaps never yet established it, and probably never will in any country. For in matters of religion, law has always been, and probably always will be, influenced to some degree by popular superstition and religious enthusiasm. The sect called Independents proposed this system of church government in England towards the end of the civil war. More properly, they proposed having no church government at all. The Independents were no doubt very wild enthusiasts. Though their proposal had a very unphilosophical origin, it would probably by now have produced the most philosophical good temper and moderation toward every kind of religious belief, if it had been established. This system has been established in Pennsylvania. Although the quakers happen to be the largest sect there, the law in fact favors no sect over another. It is said to have produced this philosophical good temper and moderation there.

But though this equality of treatment should not be productive of this good temper and moderation in all, or even in the greater part of the religious sects of a particular country; yet, provided those sects were sufficiently numerous, and each of them consequently too small to disturb the public tranquillity, the excessive zeal of each for its particular tenets could not well be productive of any very hurtful effects, but, on the contrary, of several good ones; and if the government was perfectly decided, both to let them all alone, and to oblige them all to let alone one another, there is little danger that they would not of their own accord, subdivide themselves fast enough, so as soon to become sufficiently numerous.

Equal treatment might not produce this good temper and moderation in all, or even most, religious sects in a country. Yet there might be enough sects for each to be too small to disturb public peace. In that case, each sect’s excessive zeal for its particular beliefs could hardly cause much harm. On the contrary, it could produce several benefits. And the government might be firmly resolved to leave all the sects alone and make them leave one another alone. If so, the sects would probably divide of their own accord fast enough to become sufficiently numerous before long.

In every civilized society, in every society where the distinction of ranks has once been completely established, there have been always two different schemes or systems of morality current at the same time; of which the one may be called the strict or austere; the other the liberal, or, if you will, the loose system. The former is generally admired and revered by the common people; the latter is commonly more esteemed and adopted by what are called the people of fashion. The degree of disapprobation with which we ought to mark the vices of levity, the vices which are apt to arise from great prosperity, and from the excess of gaiety and good humour, seems to constitute the principal distinction between those two opposite schemes or systems. In the liberal or loose system, luxury, wanton, and even disorderly mirth, the pursuit of pleasure to some degree of intemperance, the breach of chastity, at least in one of the two sexes, etc. provided they are not accompanied with gross indecency, and do not lead to falsehood and injustice, are generally treated with a good deal of indulgence, and are easily either excused or pardoned altogether. In the austere system, on the contrary, those excesses are regarded with the utmost abhorrence and detestation. The vices of levity are always ruinous to the common people, and a single week’s thoughtlessness and dissipation is often sufficient to undo a poor workman for ever, and to drive him, through despair, upon committing the most enormous crimes. The wiser and better sort of the common people, therefore, have always the utmost abhorrence and detestation of such excesses, which their experience tells them are so immediately fatal to people of their condition. The disorder and extravagance of several years, on the contrary, will not always ruin a man of fashion; and people of that rank are very apt to consider the power of indulging in some degree of excess, as one of the advantages of their fortune; and the liberty of doing so without censure or reproach, as one of the privileges which belong to their station. In people of their own station, therefore, they regard such excesses with but a small degree of disapprobation, and censure them either very slightly or not at all.

In every civilized society where differences in rank have become fully established, two systems of morality have always existed side by side. One may be called strict or austere. The other may be called liberal or, if you prefer, loose. Common people generally admire and revere the strict system. People known as fashionable generally favor and follow the loose one. The main difference between these opposing systems seems to be how strongly they condemn the vices of frivolity. These vices tend to arise from great prosperity and from excessive gaiety and good humor. Under the liberal or loose system, people generally treat luxury and unrestrained, even disorderly, merriment with considerable indulgence. They also indulge the pursuit of pleasure to the point of some excess, breaches of chastity, at least in one sex, and so on. As long as these actions are not grossly indecent and do not lead to dishonesty or injustice, they are readily excused or forgiven altogether. Under the austere system, by contrast, such excesses are regarded with utter abhorrence and disgust. The vices of frivolity are always ruinous to common people. A single week of thoughtlessness and indulgence is often enough to ruin a poor worker forever. It may also drive him, in despair, to commit the most terrible crimes. The wiser and better sort of common people have therefore always viewed such excesses with utter abhorrence and disgust. Their experience tells them that these excesses are so immediately ruinous to people in their position. By contrast, several years of disorder and extravagance will not always ruin a fashionable man. People of that rank are very likely to see the power to indulge in some excess as an advantage of their wealth. They also see the freedom to do so without criticism or reproach as a privilege of their station. They therefore view such excesses among people of their own rank with little disapproval. They criticize them only slightly or not at all.

Almost all religious sects have begun among the common people, from whom they have generally drawn their earliest, as well as their most numerous proselytes. The austere system of morality has, accordingly, been adopted by those sects almost constantly, or with very few exceptions; for there have been some. It was the system by which they could best recommend themselves to that order of people, to whom they first proposed their plan of reformation upon what had been before established. Many of them, perhaps the greater part of them, have even endeavoured to gain credit by refining upon this austere system, and by carrying it to some degree of folly and extravagance; and this excessive rigour has frequently recommended them, more than any thing else, to the respect and veneration of the common people.

Almost all religious sects began among the common people. They generally drew their earliest converts, as well as most of their converts, from the common people. Accordingly, these sects almost always adopted a strict moral code, though there were a few exceptions. This code was the best way to appeal to the people to whom they first proposed reforming established practices. Many sects, perhaps most, even tried to gain respect by making this strict code more exacting. They carried it to the point of some foolishness and excess. This extreme strictness often earned them the respect and reverence of the common people more than anything else.

A man of rank and fortune is, by his station, the distinguished member of a great society, who attend to every part of his conduct, and who thereby oblige him to attend to every part of it himself. His authority and consideration depend very much upon the respect which this society bears to him. He dares not do anything which would disgrace or discredit him in it; and he is obliged to a very strict observation of that species of morals, whether liberal or austere, which the general consent of this society prescribes to persons of his rank and fortune. A man of low condition, on the contrary, is far from being a distinguished member of any great society. While he remains in a country village, his conduct may be attended to, and he may be obliged to attend to it himself. In this situation, and in this situation only, he may have what is called a character to lose. But as soon as he comes into a great city, he is sunk in obscurity and darkness. His conduct is observed and attended to by nobody; and he is, therefore, very likely to neglect it himself, and to abandon himself to every sort of low profligacy and vice. He never emerges so effectually from this obscurity, his conduct never excites so much the attention of any respectable society, as by his becoming the member of a small religious sect. He from that moment acquires a degree of consideration which he never had before. All his brother sectaries are, for the credit of the sect, interested to observe his conduct; and, if he gives occasion to any scandal, if he deviates very much from those austere morals which they almost always require of one another, to punish him by what is always a very severe punishment, even where no evil effects attend it, expulsion or excommunication from the sect. In little religious sects, accordingly, the morals of the common people have been almost always remarkably regular and orderly; generally much more so than in the established church. The morals of those little sects, indeed, have frequently been rather disagreeably rigorous and unsocial.

A man of rank and wealth is, by his position, a prominent member of a large society. Its members pay attention to everything he does, forcing him to pay attention to his own conduct. His authority and standing depend greatly on their respect for him. He dares not do anything that would disgrace or discredit him in their eyes. He must strictly follow the moral code that society generally expects of people of his rank and wealth, whether that code is permissive or strict. A man of low social standing, by contrast, is far from being a prominent member of any large society. While he remains in a country village, people may watch his conduct, forcing him to watch it himself. Only in this situation may he have what is called a reputation to lose. But as soon as he comes to a great city, he sinks into obscurity. No one watches or pays attention to his conduct. He is therefore very likely to neglect it himself and give himself over to every kind of low debauchery and vice. Nothing brings him out of this obscurity more effectively than joining a small religious sect. Nothing draws more attention to his conduct from any respectable society. From that moment, he gains a degree of respect he never had before. All his fellow members have an interest in watching his conduct for the sake of the sect's reputation. They will punish him if he causes a scandal by straying far from the strict morals they almost always demand of one another. They punish him by expelling or excommunicating him from the sect. This is always a very severe punishment, even when it has no harmful consequences. In small religious sects, accordingly, the morals of ordinary people have almost always been remarkably regular and orderly. They have generally been much more so than in the established church. Indeed, the morals of these small sects have often been unpleasantly strict and unfriendly to social life.

There are two very easy and effectual remedies, however, by whose joint operation the state might, without violence, correct whatever was unsocial or disagreeably rigorous in the morals of all the little sects into which the country was divided.

However, there are two very easy and effective remedies that the state could use together. Without violence, they could correct anything antisocial or unpleasantly strict in the morals of all the small sects into which the country was divided.

The first of those remedies is the study of science and philosophy, which the state might render almost universal among all people of middling or more than middling rank and fortune; not by giving salaries to teachers in order to make them negligent and idle, but by instituting some sort of probation, even in the higher and more difficult sciences, to be undergone by every person before he was permitted to exercise any liberal profession, or before he could be received as a candidate for any honourable office, of trust or profit. If the state imposed upon this order of men the necessity of learning, it would have no occasion to give itself any trouble about providing them with proper teachers. They would soon find better teachers for themselves, than any whom the state could provide for them. Science is the great antidote to the poison of enthusiasm and superstition; and where all the superior ranks of people were secured from it, the inferior ranks could not be much exposed to it.

The first remedy is the study of science and philosophy. The state could make this study almost universal among people of middle or higher rank and wealth. It could do this, not by paying teachers salaries that make them careless and idle, but by introducing examinations. These would cover even the more advanced and difficult sciences. Everyone would have to pass them before practicing a learned profession or applying for any respected position involving public trust or pay. If the state required these people to learn, it would not need to provide them with suitable teachers. They would soon find better teachers for themselves than any the state could provide. Science is the great antidote to the poison of fanaticism and superstition. And if all people of higher rank were protected from that poison, those of lower rank could not be greatly exposed to it.

The second of those remedies is the frequency and gaiety of public diversions. The state, by encouraging, that is, by giving entire liberty to all those who, from their own interest, would attempt, without scandal or indecency, to amuse and divert the people by painting, poetry, music, dancing; by all sorts of dramatic representations and exhibitions; would easily dissipate, in the greater part of them, that melancholy and gloomy humour which is almost always the nurse of popular superstition and enthusiasm. Public diversions have always been the objects of dread and hatred to all the fanatical promoters of those popular frenzies. The gaiety and good humour which those diversions inspire, were altogether inconsistent with that temper of mind which was fittest for their purpose, or which they could best work upon. Dramatic representations, besides, frequently exposing their artifices to public ridicule, and sometimes even to public execration, were, upon that account, more than all other diversions, the objects of their peculiar abhorrence.

The second remedy is frequent and cheerful public entertainment. The state could encourage such entertainment by giving full freedom to all who, for their own benefit, seek to amuse people without scandal or indecency. They might offer painting, poetry, music, dancing, and all kinds of plays and exhibitions. In this way, the state could easily dispel the gloomy mood of most people. That mood almost always fosters popular superstition and religious fervor. Public entertainment has always been feared and hated by all the fanatical promoters of these popular frenzies. The cheerfulness and good humor it inspires were completely at odds with the state of mind best suited to their purposes. They could exploit that state of mind most easily. Plays also frequently exposed their tricks to public ridicule and sometimes even to public condemnation. For that reason, they hated plays more than any other form of entertainment.

In a country where the law favoured the teachers of no one religion more than those of another, it would not be necessary that any of them should have any particular or immediate dependency upon the sovereign or executive power; or that he should have anything to do either in appointing or in dismissing them from their offices. In such a situation, he would have no occasion to give himself any concern about them, further than to keep the peace among them, in the same manner as among the rest of his subjects, that is, to hinder them from persecuting, abusing, or oppressing one another. But it is quite otherwise in countries where there is an established or governing religion. The sovereign can in this case never be secure, unless he has the means of influencing in a considerable degree the greater part of the teachers of that religion.

In a country where the law favored the teachers of no religion over those of another, none would need to depend directly or immediately on the ruler or the executive power. Nor would the ruler need any role in appointing or dismissing them. In such a country, the ruler would only need to keep the peace among them, as among his other subjects. That is, he would need to prevent them from persecuting, abusing, or oppressing one another. But matters are quite different in countries with an established or governing religion. In that case, the ruler can never be secure unless he has the means to influence most of that religion’s teachers to a considerable degree.

The clergy of every established church constitute a great incorporation. They can act in concert, and pursue their interest upon one plan, and with one spirit as much as if they were under the direction of one man; and they are frequently, too, under such direction. Their interest as an incorporated body is never the same with that of the sovereign, and is sometimes directly opposite to it. Their great interest is to maintain their authority with the people, and this authority depends upon the supposed certainty and importance of the whole doctrine which they inculcate, and upon the supposed necessity of adopting every part of it with the most implicit faith, in order to avoid eternal misery. Should the sovereign have the imprudence to appear either to deride, or doubt himself of the most trifling part of their doctrine, or from humanity, attempt to protect those who did either the one or the other, the punctilious honour of a clergy, who have no sort of dependency upon him, is immediately provoked to proscribe him as a profane person, and to employ all the terrors of religion, in order to oblige the people to transfer their allegiance to some more orthodox and obedient prince. Should he oppose any of their pretensions or usurpations, the danger is equally great. The princes who have dared in this manner to rebel against the church, over and above this crime of rebellion, have generally been charged, too, with the additional crime of heresy, notwithstanding their solemn protestations of their faith, and humble submission to every tenet which she thought proper to prescribe to them. But the authority of religion is superior to every other authority. The fears which it suggests conquer all other fears. When the authorized teachers of religion propagate through the great body of the people, doctrines subversive of the authority of the sovereign, it is by violence only, or by the force of a standing army, that he can maintain his authority. Even a standing army cannot in this case give him any lasting security; because if the soldiers are not foreigners, which can seldom be the case, but drawn from the great body of the people, which must almost always be the case, they are likely to be soon corrupted by those very doctrines. The revolutions which the turbulence of the Greek clergy was continually occasioning at Constantinople, as long as the eastern empire subsisted; the convulsions which, during the course of several centuries, the turbulence of the Roman clergy was continually occasioning in every part of Europe, sufficiently demonstrate how precarious and insecure must always be the situation of the sovereign, who has no proper means of influencing the clergy of the established and governing religion of his country.

The clergy of every established church form a large corporate body. They can act together and pursue their interests according to a single plan and in a single spirit. They can do this as effectively as if one man directed them, and often one man does. Their interests as a corporate body are never the same as the sovereign’s, and sometimes they are directly opposed. Their chief interest is to maintain their authority over the people. This authority depends on the supposed certainty and importance of everything they teach. It also depends on the supposed need to accept every part of their teaching with unquestioning faith to avoid eternal misery. Suppose the sovereign is so unwise as to appear to mock or doubt even the most trivial part of their teaching. Or suppose he tries, out of compassion, to protect those who do either. The clergy’s scrupulous sense of honor is immediately offended, for they do not depend on him in any way. They denounce him as an irreligious person. They use all the terrors of religion to compel the people to transfer their allegiance to a more orthodox and obedient prince. The danger is just as great if he opposes any of their claims or encroachments. Princes who have dared to rebel against the church in this way have generally been charged with heresy as well as rebellion. This has happened despite their solemn declarations of faith and humble submission to every doctrine the church saw fit to prescribe. But the authority of religion is greater than every other authority. The fears it arouses overcome all other fears. When the authorized teachers of religion spread doctrines that undermine the sovereign’s authority among the people, he can maintain his authority only through violence or the force of a standing army. Even a standing army cannot give him lasting security in this case. Its soldiers are unlikely to be foreigners, which is seldom possible. They must almost always be drawn from the people, and so they are likely to be corrupted soon by those very doctrines. The unrest caused by the Greek clergy continually brought about revolutions in Constantinople for as long as the eastern empire survived. And for several centuries, the unrest caused by the Roman clergy continually produced upheavals throughout Europe. These events show clearly how precarious and insecure a sovereign’s position must always be if he has no proper means of influencing the clergy of his country’s established and governing religion.

Articles of faith, as well as all other spiritual matters, it is evident enough, are not within the proper department of a temporal sovereign, who, though he may be very well qualified for protecting, is seldom supposed to be so for instructing the people. With regard to such matters, therefore, his authority can seldom be sufficient to counterbalance the united authority of the clergy of the established church. The public tranquillity, however, and his own security, may frequently depend upon the doctrines which they may think proper to propagate concerning such matters. As he can seldom directly oppose their decision, therefore, with proper weight and authority, it is necessary that he should be able to influence it; and he can influence it only by the fears and expectations which he may excite in the greater part of the individuals of the order. Those fears and expectations may consist in the fear of deprivation or other punishment, and in the expectation of further preferment.

Articles of faith and all other spiritual matters clearly lie outside the proper duties of a secular ruler. He may be well qualified to protect the people, but he is seldom thought qualified to instruct them. On spiritual matters, therefore, his authority can seldom outweigh the combined authority of the clergy of the established church. Yet public peace and his own security may often depend on the doctrines the clergy choose to spread about these matters. He can seldom oppose their decisions directly with enough weight and authority. He must therefore be able to influence them. He can do this only by arousing fears and expectations among most members of the clergy. They may fear removal from office or other punishment, and hope for further advancement.

In all Christian churches, the benefices of the clergy are a sort of freeholds, which they enjoy, not during pleasure, but during life or good behaviour. If they held them by a more precarious tenure, and were liable to be turned out upon every slight disobligation either of the sovereign or of his ministers, it would perhaps be impossible for them to maintain their authority with the people, who would then consider them as mercenary dependents upon the court, in the sincerity of whose instructions they could no longer have any confidence. But should the sovereign attempt irregularly, and by violence, to deprive any number of clergymen of their freeholds, on account, perhaps, of their having propagated, with more than ordinary zeal, some factious or seditious doctrine, he would only render, by such persecution, both them and their doctrine ten times more popular, and therefore ten times more troublesome and dangerous, than they had been before. Fear is in almost all cases a wretched instrument of govermnent, and ought in particular never to be employed against any order of men who have the smallest pretensions to independency. To attempt to terrify them, serves only to irritate their bad humour, and to confirm them in an opposition, which more gentle usage, perhaps, might easily induce them either to soften, or to lay aside altogether. The violence which the French government usually employed in order to oblige all their parliaments, or sovereign courts of justice, to enregister any unpopular edict, very seldom succeeded. The means commonly employed, however, the imprisonment of all the refractory members, one would think, were forcible enough. The princes of the house of Stuart sometimes employed the like means in order to influence some of the members of the parliament of England, and they generally found them equally intractable. The parliament of England is now managed in another manner; and a very small experiment, which the duke of Choiseul made, about twelve years ago, upon the parliament of Paris, demonstrated sufficiently that all the parliaments of France might have been managed still more easily in the same manner. That experiment was not pursued. For though management and persuasion are always the easiest and safest instruments of government as force and violence are the worst and the most dangerous; yet such, it seems, is the natural insolence of man, that he almost always disdains to use the good instrument, except when he cannot or dare not use the bad one. The French government could and durst use force, and therefore disdained to use management and persuasion. But there is no order of men, it appears I believe, from the experience of all ages, upon whom it is so dangerous or rather so perfectly ruinous, to employ force and violence, as upon the respected clergy of an established church. The rights, the privileges, the personal liberty of every individual ecclesiastic, who is upon good terms with his own order, are, even in the most despotic governments, more respected than those of any other person of nearly equal rank and fortune. It is so in every gradation of despotism, from that of the gentle and mild government of Paris, to that of the violent and furious government of Constantinople. But though this order of men can scarce ever be forced, they may be managed as easily as any other; and the security of the sovereign, as well as the public tranquillity, seems to depend very much upon the means which he has of managing them; and those means seem to consist altogether in the preferment which he has to bestow upon them.

In all Christian churches, clergy hold their benefices, or church offices and incomes, as a kind of freehold. They keep them for life or as long as they behave well, not merely at someone else's pleasure. Suppose their tenure were less secure. They might then be dismissed whenever they gave even slight offense to the sovereign or his ministers. In that case, they might find it impossible to maintain their authority with the people. The people would regard them as paid dependents of the court and would no longer trust their teaching to be sincere. But suppose the sovereign tried to deprive a number of clergy of their freeholds by irregular and violent means. Perhaps they had spread some divisive or seditious doctrine with unusual zeal. By persecuting them, he would only make both the clergy and their doctrine ten times more popular. They would therefore be ten times more troublesome and dangerous than before. In almost every case, fear is a wretched tool of government. It should never be used against any group with even the slightest claim to independence. Attempts to frighten such people only make them more resentful and more determined in their opposition. Gentler treatment might easily persuade them to soften that opposition or abandon it altogether. The French government usually used force to compel its parliaments, or sovereign courts of justice, to register unpopular edicts. This approach very seldom succeeded. Yet the usual means, imprisoning all the defiant members, might seem forceful enough. The princes of the house of Stuart sometimes used similar means to influence members of the parliament of England. They generally found those members just as unwilling to yield. The parliament of England is now managed differently. About twelve years ago, the duke of Choiseul made a very small experiment with the parliament of Paris. It demonstrated clearly enough that all the parliaments of France could have been managed even more easily in the same way. That experiment was not pursued. Management and persuasion are always the easiest and safest tools of government, just as force and violence are the worst and most dangerous. Yet such, it seems, is human insolence that people almost always scorn the good tool. They use it only when they cannot or dare not use the bad one. The French government could and dared to use force, so it scorned management and persuasion. The experience of all ages shows, I believe, that force and violence are especially dangerous against one group. Indeed, they are utterly ruinous when used against the respected clergy of an established church. Even in the most despotic governments, the rights, privileges, and personal freedom of every clergyman in good standing with his own order are especially respected. They are respected more than those of anyone else of nearly equal rank and fortune. This holds at every level of despotism, from the gentle and mild government of Paris to the violent and furious government of Constantinople. But although the clergy can hardly ever be forced, they can be managed as easily as any other group. The sovereign's security, as well as public peace, seems to depend greatly on his means of managing them. Those means seem to consist entirely in the offices and promotions he can bestow on them.

In the ancient constitution of the Christian church, the bishop of each diocese was elected by the joint votes of the clergy and of the people of the episcopal city. The people did not long retain their right of election; and while they did retain it, they almost always acted under the influence of the clergy, who, in such spiritual matters, appeared to be their natural guides. The clergy, however, soon grew weary of the trouble of managing them, and found it easier to elect their own bishops themselves. The abbot, in the same manner, was elected by the monks of the monastery, at least in the greater part of abbacies. All the inferior ecclesiastical benefices comprehended within the diocese were collated by the bishop, who bestowed them upon such ecclesiastics as he thought proper. All church preferments were in this manner in the disposal of the church. The sovereign, though he might have some indirect influence in those elections, and though it was sometimes usual to ask both his consent to elect, and his approbation of the election, yet had no direct or sufficient means of managing the clergy. The ambition of every clergyman naturally led him to pay court, not so much to his sovereign as to his own order, from which only he could expect preferment.

In the early Christian church, the clergy and the people of the bishop’s city jointly elected the bishop of each diocese. The people did not keep this right for long. Even while they had it, they almost always acted under the influence of the clergy. In spiritual matters, the clergy seemed to be their natural guides. But the clergy soon tired of managing the people and found it easier to elect their bishops themselves. Similarly, in most monasteries, the monks elected their own abbot. The bishop appointed clergy to all the lower church offices within the diocese. He gave these offices to whichever clergy he thought suitable. In this way, all church appointments were controlled by the church. The sovereign might have some indirect influence in these elections. It was also sometimes customary to ask for his permission to hold an election and his approval of the result. Even so, he had no direct or effective means of controlling the clergy. Every ambitious clergyman naturally sought favor not so much with his sovereign as with his fellow clergy. Only from them could he expect advancement.

Through the greater part of Europe, the pope gradually drew to himself, first the collation of almost all bishoprics and abbacies, or of what were called consistorial benefices, and afterwards, by various machinations and pretences, of the greater part of inferior benefices comprehended within each diocese, little more being left to the bishop than what was barely necessary to give him a decent authority with his own clergy. By this arrangement the condition of the sovereign was still worse than it had been before. The clergy of all the different countries of Europe were thus formed into a sort of spiritual army, dispersed in different quarters indeed, but of which all the movements and operations could now be directed by one head, and conducted upon one uniform plan. The clergy of each particular country might be considered as a particular detachment of that army, of which the operations could easily be supported and seconded by all the other detachments quartered in the different countries round about. Each detachment was not only independent of the sovereign of the country in which it was quartered, and by which it was maintained, but dependent upon a foreign sovereign, who could at any time turn its arms against the sovereign of that particular country, and support them by the arms of all the other detachments.

Across most of Europe, the pope gradually took for himself the power to appoint people to almost all bishoprics and abbacies. These were called consistorial benefices. Later, through various schemes and pretexts, he took control of most of the lesser benefices within each diocese. The bishop was left with little more than he needed to maintain respectable authority over his own clergy. This arrangement left the sovereign worse off than before. The clergy of all the countries of Europe thus formed a kind of spiritual army. Its members were scattered in different places, but one head could now direct all their movements and operations according to a single plan. The clergy of each country could be seen as a separate detachment of that army. All the other detachments stationed in the surrounding countries could easily support its operations. Each detachment was independent of the sovereign of the country where it was stationed and which maintained it. But each depended on a foreign sovereign, who could at any time turn its arms against that country's sovereign. He could also support its forces with those of all the other detachments.

Those arms were the most formidable that can well be imagined. In the ancient state of Europe, before the establishment of arts and manufactures, the wealth of the clergy gave them the same sort of influence over the common people which that of the great barons gave them over their respective vassals, tenants, and retainers. In the great landed estates, which the mistaken piety both of princes and private persons had bestowed upon the church, jurisdictions were established, of the same kind with those of the great barons, and for the same reason. In those great landed estates, the clergy, or their bailiffs, could easily keep the peace, without the support or assistance either of the king or of any other person; and neither the king nor any other person could keep the peace there without the support and assistance of the clergy. The jurisdictions of the clergy, therefore, in their particular baronies or manors, were equally independent, and equally exclusive of the authority of the king’s courts, as those of the great temporal lords. The tenants of the clergy were, like those of the great barons, almost all tenants at will, entirely dependent upon their immediate lords, and, therefore, liable to be called out at pleasure, in order to fight in any quarrel in which the clergy might think proper to engage them. Over and above the rents of those estates, the clergy possessed in the tithes a very large portion of the rents of all the other estates in every kingdom of Europe. The revenues arising from both those species of rents were, the greater part of them, paid in kind, in corn, wine, cattle, poultry, etc. The quantity exceeded greatly what the clergy could themselves consume; and there were neither arts nor manufactures, for the produce of which they could exchange the surplus. The clergy could derive advantage from this immense surplus in no other way than by employing it, as the great barons employed the like surplus of their revenues, in the most profuse hospitality, and in the most extensive charity. Both the hospitality and the charity of the ancient clergy, accordingly, are said to have been very great. They not only maintained almost the whole poor of every kingdom, but many knights and gentlemen had frequently no other means of subsistence than by travelling about from monastery to monastery, under pretence of devotion, but in reality to enjoy the hospitality of the clergy. The retainers of some particular prelates were often as numerous as those of the greatest lay-lords; and the retainers of all the clergy taken together were, perhaps, more numerous than those of all the lay-lords. There was always much more union among the clergy than among the lay-lords. The former were under a regular discipline and subordination to the papal authority. The latter were under no regular discipline or subordination, but almost always equally jealous of one another, and of the king. Though the tenants and retainers of the clergy, therefore, had both together been less numerous than those of the great lay-lords, and their tenants were probably much less numerous, yet their union would have rendered them more formidable. The hospitality and charity of the clergy, too, not only gave them the command of a great temporal force, but increased very much the weight of their spiritual weapons. Those virtues procured them the highest respect and veneration among all the inferior ranks of people, of whom many were constantly, and almost all occasionally, fed by them. Everything belonging or related to so popular an order, its possessions, its privileges, its doctrines, necessarily appeared sacred in the eyes of the common people; and every violation of them, whether real or pretended, the highest act of sacrilegious wickedness and profaneness. In this state of things, if the sovereign frequently found it difficult to resist the confederacy of a few of the great nobility, we cannot wonder that he should find it still more so to resist the united force of the clergy of his own dominions, supported by that of the clergy of all the neighbouring dominions. In such circumstances, the wonder is, not that he was sometimes obliged to yield, but that he ever was able to resist.

Those weapons were as formidable as one can well imagine. In early Europe, before the development of crafts and manufacturing, the wealth of the clergy gave them influence over ordinary people. It was much like the influence that the wealth of the great barons gave them over their vassals, tenants, and retainers. Princes and private individuals, in their misguided piety, had given the church great landed estates. On these estates, the clergy established the same kinds of legal authority as the great barons, and for the same reason. The clergy or their bailiffs could easily keep the peace on these estates without help from the king or anyone else. Neither the king nor anyone else could keep the peace there without the clergy’s help. The clergy’s legal authority in their baronies and manors was therefore as independent as that of the great secular lords. It also excluded the authority of the king’s courts just as completely. Like the tenants of the great barons, almost all the clergy’s tenants held their land at their lords’ pleasure. They were entirely dependent on those lords. The clergy could therefore call them out at will to fight in any quarrel they chose. Besides the rent from their estates, the clergy received a very large share of the rent from all other estates in every European kingdom. They received this share in the form of tithes. Most of the income from both kinds of rent was paid in goods such as grain, wine, cattle, and poultry. The amount far exceeded what the clergy could consume themselves. There were no crafts or manufactures whose products they could get in exchange for the surplus. The only way the clergy could benefit from this immense surplus was to use it as the great barons did. They spent it on lavish hospitality and extensive charity. The hospitality and charity of the clergy in earlier times are said to have been very great. They supported almost all the poor in every kingdom. Many knights and gentlemen often had no other means of support than to travel from monastery to monastery. They claimed to be making religious visits, but in fact they came to enjoy the clergy’s hospitality. Some individual prelates often had as many retainers as the greatest secular lords. The retainers of all the clergy together were perhaps more numerous than those of all the secular lords. The clergy were always much more united than the secular lords. They followed an established system of discipline and obedience to papal authority. The secular lords followed no such system. Instead, they were almost always equally suspicious of one another and of the king. The clergy’s tenants and retainers together may have been fewer than those of the great secular lords. Indeed, their tenants were probably much fewer. Even so, their unity would have made them more formidable. The clergy’s hospitality and charity gave them command of a great worldly force. These virtues also greatly increased the power of their spiritual weapons. They earned the clergy the highest respect and reverence among all the lower ranks of society. The clergy fed many of these people regularly and almost all of them from time to time. In the eyes of ordinary people, everything belonging or related to such a popular order necessarily seemed sacred. That included its possessions, privileges, and doctrines. Any violation of them, whether real or merely claimed, seemed a supreme act of sacrilegious wickedness and disrespect for the sacred. Under these conditions, a ruler often found it hard to resist an alliance of a few great nobles. It is no wonder, then, that he found it even harder to resist the united force of the clergy in his own dominions. They had the support of the clergy in all the neighboring dominions. In such circumstances, the wonder is not that he was sometimes forced to give way, but that he was ever able to resist.

The privileges of the clergy in those ancient times (which to us, who live in the present times, appear the most absurd), their total exemption from the secular jurisdiction, for example, or what in England was called the benefit of clergy, were the natural, or rather the necessary, consequences of this state of things. How dangerous must it have been for the sovereign to attempt to punish a clergyman for any crime whatever, if his order were disposed to protect him, and to represent either the proof as insufficient for convicting so holy a man, or the punishment as too severe to be inflicted upon one whose person had been rendered sacred by religion? The sovereign could, in such circumstances, do no better than leave him to be tried by the ecclesiastical courts, who, for the honour of their own order, were interested to restrain, as much as possible, every member of it from committing enormous crimes, or even from giving occasion to such gross scandal as might disgust the minds of the people.

The privileges of the clergy in those ancient times seem utterly absurd to us today. For example, clergy were completely exempt from secular courts, a privilege called the benefit of clergy in England. Yet these privileges were the natural, or rather the necessary, consequences of this state of affairs. How dangerous it must have been for a sovereign to try to punish a clergyman for any crime, if his fellow clergy were willing to protect him. They might claim that the evidence was not enough to convict such a holy man. Or they might claim that the punishment was too severe for a man whose person had been made sacred by religion. In such circumstances, the sovereign could do no better than leave him to be tried by church courts. For the honor of their own order, these courts had an interest in preventing its members from committing serious crimes. They also had an interest in preventing even the gross scandals that might turn the people against them.

In the state in which things were, through the greater part of Europe, during the tenth, eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, and for some time both before and after that period, the constitution of the church of Rome may be considered as the most formidable combination that ever was formed against the authority and security of civil government, as well as against the liberty, reason, and happiness of mankind, which can flourish only where civil government is able to protect them. In that constitution, the grossest delusions of superstition were supported in such a manner by the private interests of so great a number of people, as put them out of all danger from any assault of human reason; because, though human reason might, perhaps, have been able to unveil, even to the eyes of the common people, some of the delusions of superstition, it could never have dissolved the ties of private interest. Had this constitution been attacked by no other enemies but the feeble efforts of human reason, it must have endured for ever. But that immense and well-built fabric, which all the wisdom and virtue of man could never have shaken, much less have overturned, was, by the natural course of things, first weakened, and afterwards in part destroyed; and is now likely, in the course of a few centuries more, perhaps, to crumble into ruins altogether.

For most of Europe, the tenth through thirteenth centuries were a time of disorder. This was also true for some time before and after that period. In those circumstances, the structure of the church of Rome may be considered the most formidable alliance ever formed against the authority and security of civil government. It was also an alliance against the liberty, reason, and happiness of mankind. These can flourish only where civil government is able to protect them. Within that structure, the private interests of so many people supported the crudest superstitious delusions that human reason posed no danger to them. Human reason might perhaps have exposed some of those delusions, even to ordinary people. But it could never have broken the ties of private interest. If this structure had faced no enemies but the feeble efforts of human reason, it would have lasted forever. All human wisdom and virtue could never have shaken this immense and well-built structure, much less brought it down. Yet the natural course of events first weakened it and then partly destroyed it. Now it seems likely that, perhaps in a few more centuries, it will crumble altogether.

The gradual improvements of arts, manufactures, and commerce, the same causes which destroyed the power of the great barons, destroyed, in the same manner, through the greater part of Europe, the whole temporal power of the clergy. In the produce of arts, manufactures, and commerce, the clergy, like the great barons, found something for which they could exchange their rude produce, and thereby discovered the means of spending their whole revenues upon their own persons, without giving any considerable share of them to other people. Their charity became gradually less extensive, their hospitality less liberal, or less profuse. Their retainers became consequently less numerous, and, by degrees, dwindled away altogether. The clergy, too, like the great barons, wished to get a better rent from their landed estates, in order to spend it, in the same manner, upon the gratification of their own private vanity and folly. But this increase of rent could be got only by granting leases to their tenants, who thereby became, in a great measure, independent of them. The ties of interest, which bound the inferior ranks of people to the clergy, were in this manner gradually broken and dissolved. They were even broken and dissolved sooner than those which bound the same ranks of people to the great barons; because the benefices of the church being, the greater part of them, much smaller than the estates of the great barons, the possessor of each benefice was much sooner able to spend the whole of its revenue upon his own person. During the greater part of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the power of the great barons was, through the greater part of Europe, in full vigour. But the temporal power of the clergy, the absolute command which they had once had over the great body of the people was very much decayed. The power of the church was, by that time, very nearly reduced, through the greater part of Europe, to what arose from their spiritual authority; and even that spiritual authority was much weakened, when it ceased to be supported by the charity and hospitality of the clergy. The inferior ranks of people no longer looked upon that order as they had done before; as the comforters of their distress, and the relievers of their indigence. On the contrary, they were provoked and disgusted by the vanity, luxury, and expense of the richer clergy, who appeared to spend upon their own pleasures what had always before been regarded as the patrimony of the poor.

The gradual improvement of crafts, manufacturing, and commerce destroyed the power of the great barons. In the same way, these forces destroyed all the worldly power of the clergy across most of Europe. Like the great barons, the clergy found goods from crafts, manufacturing, and commerce that they could exchange for their raw produce. They thus found a way to spend all their income on themselves, without giving any significant share to others. They gradually gave less to charity and became less generous or lavish in their hospitality. As a result, they had fewer retainers, who gradually disappeared altogether. The clergy also wanted higher rents from their landed estates, just as the great barons did. They wanted to spend the money in the same way, satisfying their own vanity and folly. But they could get higher rents only by granting leases to their tenants. These leases made the tenants largely independent of them. In this way, the ties of interest that bound the lower ranks of people to the clergy gradually broke and dissolved. These ties broke sooner than those that bound the same people to the great barons. Most church benefices were much smaller than the estates of the great barons. So the holder of each benefice could spend its entire income on himself much sooner. For most of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the great barons remained fully powerful across most of Europe. But the worldly power of the clergy had greatly declined. They no longer had the absolute control they once had over the great body of the people. By then, across most of Europe, the church’s power was almost entirely limited to its spiritual authority. Even that authority was much weakened once it no longer had the support of the clergy’s charity and hospitality. People of the lower ranks no longer saw the clergy as they once had, as those who comforted them in distress and relieved their poverty. On the contrary, they were angered and disgusted by the vanity, luxury, and expense of the richer clergy. The clergy seemed to spend on their own pleasures what had always been regarded as the rightful inheritance of the poor.

In this situation of things, the sovereigns in the different states of Europe endeavoured to recover the influence which they had once had in the disposal of the great benefices of the church; by procuring to the deans and chapters of each diocese the restoration of their ancient right of electing the bishop; and to the monks of each abbacy that of electing the abbot. The re-establishing this ancient order was the object of several statutes enacted in England during the course of the fourteenth century, particularly of what is called the statute of provisors; and of the pragmatic sanction, established in France in the fifteenth century. In order to render the election valid, it was necessary that the sovereign should both consent to it before hand, and afterwards approve of the person elected; and though the election was still supposed to be free, he had, however all the indirect means which his situation necessarily afforded him, of influencing the clergy in his own dominions. Other regulations, of a similar tendency, were established in other parts of Europe. But the power of the pope, in the collation of the great benefices of the church, seems, before the reformation, to have been nowhere so effectually and so universally restrained as in France and England. The concordat afterwards, in the sixteenth century, gave to the kings of France the absolute right of presenting to all the great, or what are called the consistorial, benefices of the Gallican church.

In these circumstances, rulers across Europe tried to regain their former influence over appointments to the great offices of the church. They sought to restore the ancient right of the deans and chapters of each diocese to elect their bishop. They also sought to restore the right of the monks in each abbey to elect their abbot. Several laws passed in England during the fourteenth century aimed to restore this ancient order. These included the statute known as the Statute of Provisors. The Pragmatic Sanction, established in France in the fifteenth century, had the same aim. For an election to be valid, the ruler had to consent beforehand and approve the person elected afterward. Although the election was still supposed to be free, the ruler had every indirect means of influencing the clergy in his own dominions that his position necessarily afforded him. Similar regulations were established elsewhere in Europe. But before the Reformation, the pope's power to appoint people to the great offices of the church seems to have been restrained nowhere as effectively and universally as in France and England. Later, in the sixteenth century, the Concordat gave the kings of France the absolute right to nominate people to all the great, or consistorial, offices of the Gallican church.

Since the establishment of the pragmatic sanction and of the concordat, the clergy of France have in general shewn less respect to the decrees of the papal court, than the clergy of any other catholic country. In all the disputes which their sovereign has had with the pope, they have almost constantly taken part with the former. This independency of the clergy of France upon the court of Rome seems to be principally founded upon the pragmatic sanction and the concordat. In the earlier periods of the monarchy, the clergy of France appear to have been as much devoted to the pope as those of any other country. When Robert, the second prince of the Capetian race, was most unjustly excommunicated by the court of Rome, his own servants, it is said, threw the victuals which came from his table to the dogs, and refused to taste any thing themselves which had been polluted by the contact of a person in his situation. They were taught to do so, it may very safely be presumed, by the clergy of his own dominions.

Since the establishment of the pragmatic sanction and the concordat, the French clergy have generally shown less respect for papal decrees than the clergy of any other Catholic country. In all disputes between their sovereign and the pope, they have almost always taken the sovereign’s side. The independence of the French clergy from the court of Rome seems to rest mainly on the pragmatic sanction and the concordat. In the earlier periods of the monarchy, the French clergy appear to have been as devoted to the pope as those of any other country. Robert, the second prince of the Capetian line, was most unjustly excommunicated by the court of Rome. His own servants, it is said, threw the food from his table to the dogs. They refused to taste anything themselves that had been tainted by contact with a person in his position. We may safely presume that the clergy in his own kingdom taught them to act this way.

The claim of collating to the great benefices of the church, a claim in defence of which the court of Rome had frequently shaken, and sometimes overturned, the thrones of some of the greatest sovereigns in Christendom, was in this manner either restrained or modified, or given up altogether, in many different parts of Europe, even before the time of the reformation. As the clergy had now less influence over the people, so the state had more influence over the clergy. The clergy, therefore, had both less power, and less inclination, to disturb the state.

The court of Rome claimed the right to appoint people to the church’s most important offices. In defending this claim, it had often shaken and sometimes overturned the thrones of some of Christendom’s greatest rulers. In this way, the claim was restricted, modified, or abandoned altogether in many parts of Europe, even before the Reformation. As the clergy’s influence over the people declined, the state’s influence over the clergy grew. The clergy therefore had less power and less inclination to disturb the state.

The authority of the church of Rome was in this state of declension, when the disputes which gave birth to the reformation began in Germany, and soon spread themselves through every part of Europe. The new doctrines were everywhere received with a high degree of popular favour. They were propagated with all that enthusiastic zeal which commonly animates the spirit of party, when it attacks established authority. The teachers of those doctrines, though perhaps, in other respects, not more learned than many of the divines who defended the established church, seem in general to have been better acquainted with ecclesiastical history, and with the origin and progress of that system of opinions upon which the authority of the church was established; and they had thereby the advantage in almost every dispute. The austerity of their manners gave them authority with the common people, who contrasted the strict regularity of their conduct with the disorderly lives of the greater part of their own clergy. They possessed, too, in a much higher degree than their adversaries, all the arts of popularity and of gaining proselytes; arts which the lofty and dignified sons of the church had long neglected, as being to them in a great measure useless. The reason of the new doctrines recommended them to some, their novelty to many; the hatred and contempt of the established clergy to a still greater number: but the zealous, passionate, and fanatical, though frequently coarse and rustic eloquence, with which they were almost everywhere inculcated, recommended them to by far the greatest number.

The authority of the Church of Rome was already declining when the disputes that gave rise to the Reformation began in Germany. These disputes soon spread throughout Europe. The new doctrines were received everywhere with great popular favor. Their supporters spread them with the passionate zeal that commonly drives a movement when it attacks established authority. The teachers of these doctrines were perhaps no more learned in other respects than many theologians who defended the established church. But they generally seem to have known more about church history. They also knew more about the origins and development of the beliefs on which the church’s authority rested. This knowledge gave them the advantage in almost every dispute. Their strict way of life gave them authority with ordinary people. People contrasted their disciplined conduct with the disorderly lives of most of their own clergy. The teachers were also far more skilled than their opponents at winning popular support and gaining converts. The proud and dignified sons of the church had long neglected these skills, since they had little use for them. Some people were drawn to the new doctrines by their reason, and many by their novelty. An even greater number were drawn to them by their hatred and contempt for the established clergy. But by far the greatest number were drawn to them by the eloquence used to teach them almost everywhere. It was zealous, passionate, and fanatical, though often coarse and unsophisticated.

The success of the new doctrines was almost everywhere so great, that the princes, who at that time happened to be on bad terms with the court of Rome, were, by means of them, easily enabled, in their own dominions, to overturn the church, which having lost the respect and veneration of the inferior ranks of people, could make scarce any resistance. The court of Rome had disobliged some of the smaller princes in the northern parts of Germany, whom it had probably considered as too insignificant to be worth the managing. They universally, therefore, established the reformation in their own dominions. The tyranny of Christiern II., and of Troll archbishop of Upsal, enabled Gustavus Vasa to expel them both from Sweden. The pope favoured the tyrant and the archbishop, and Gustavus Vasa found no difficulty in establishing the reformation in Sweden. Christiern II. was afterwards deposed from the throne of Denmark, where his conduct had rendered him as odious as in Sweden. The pope, however, was still disposed to favour him; and Frederic of Holstein, who had mounted the throne in his stead, revenged himself, by following the example of Gustavus Vasa. The magistrates of Berne and Zurich, who had no particular quarrel with the pope, established with great ease the reformation in their respective cantons, where just before some of the clergy had, by an imposture somewhat grosser than ordinary, rendered the whole order both odious and contemptible.

The new doctrines succeeded almost everywhere. Princes who were then on bad terms with the court of Rome could easily use them to overthrow the church in their own territories. The church had lost the respect and reverence of the lower classes, so it could offer hardly any resistance. The court of Rome had offended some of the smaller princes in northern Germany. It had probably thought them too insignificant to bother keeping on good terms. All of them therefore established the Reformation in their territories. The tyranny of Christiern II. and Troll, archbishop of Upsal, enabled Gustavus Vasa to expel them both from Sweden. The pope supported the tyrant and the archbishop, and Gustavus Vasa had no difficulty establishing the Reformation in Sweden. Christiern II. was later deposed from the throne of Denmark, where his conduct had made him as hated as in Sweden. The pope, however, was still inclined to support him. Frederic of Holstein, who had taken the throne in his place, took revenge by following the example of Gustavus Vasa. The magistrates of Berne and Zurich had no particular quarrel with the pope. Yet they established the Reformation with great ease in their respective cantons. Shortly before, some of the clergy there had committed a fraud somewhat more blatant than usual. They had made the whole clergy both hated and despised.

In this critical situation of its affairs the papal court was at sufficient pains to cultivate the friendship of the powerful sovereigns of France and Spain, of whom the latter was at that time emperor of Germany. With their assistance, it was enabled, though not without great difficulty, and much bloodshed, either to suppress altogether, or to obstruct very much, the progress of the reformation in their dominions. It was well enough inclined, too, to be complaisant to the king of England. But from the circumstances of the times, it could not be so without giving offence to a still greater sovereign, Charles V., king of Spain and emperor of Germany. Henry VIII., accordingly, though he did not embrace himself the greater part of the doctrines of the reformation, was yet enabled, by their general prevalence, to suppress all the monasteries, and to abolish the authority of the church of Rome in his dominions. That he should go so far, though he went no further, gave some satisfaction to the patrons of the reformation, who, having got possession of the government in the reign of his son and successor completed, without any difficulty, the work which Henry VIII. had begun.

At this critical point, the papal court took great care to cultivate the friendship of the powerful rulers of France and Spain. The king of Spain was also emperor of Germany at the time. With their help, the papal court was able either to stop the Reformation altogether or greatly hinder its progress in their territories. But it did so only with great difficulty and much bloodshed. The papal court was also willing enough to accommodate the king of England. But circumstances at the time made this impossible without offending an even greater ruler, Charles V., king of Spain and emperor of Germany. Henry VIII. did not himself accept most of the doctrines of the Reformation. Even so, because those doctrines were widespread, he was able to suppress all the monasteries and abolish the authority of the church of Rome in his territories. Supporters of the Reformation were somewhat satisfied that he went so far, though he went no further. They gained control of the government during the reign of his son and successor. They then completed, without difficulty, the work Henry VIII. had begun.

In some countries, as in Scotland, where the government was weak, unpopular, and not very firmly established, the reformation was strong enough to overturn, not only the church, but the state likewise, for attempting to support the church.

In some countries, such as Scotland, the government was weak, unpopular, and not firmly established. In these countries, the Reformation was strong enough to overthrow not only the church but also the state for trying to support it.

Among the followers of the reformation, dispersed in all the different countries of Europe, there was no general tribunal, which, like that of the court of Rome, or an oecumenical council, could settle all disputes among them, and, with irresistible authority, prescribe to all of them the precise limits of orthodoxy. When the followers of the reformation in one country, therefore, happened to differ from their brethren in another, as they had no common judge to appeal to, the dispute could never be decided; and many such disputes arose among them. Those concerning the government of the church, and the right of conferring ecclesiastical benefices, were perhaps the most interesting to the peace and welfare of civil society. They gave birth, accordingly, to the two principal parties or sects among the followers of the reformation, the Lutheran and Calvinistic sects, the only sects among them, of which the doctrine and discipline have ever yet been established by law in any part of Europe.

The followers of the Reformation were spread across the countries of Europe. They had no general court like the court of Rome or an ecumenical council. No such body could settle all their disputes and define the precise limits of orthodox belief with irresistible authority. When followers of the Reformation in one country disagreed with their fellow believers in another, they had no common judge to appeal to. Their disputes could therefore never be settled, and many such disputes arose. Those concerning the government of the church and the right to appoint people to church offices were perhaps the most important for the peace and welfare of civil society. These disputes accordingly gave rise to the two main parties or sects among the followers of the Reformation: the Lutheran and Calvinistic sects. These are the only sects among them whose doctrine and discipline have ever been established by law anywhere in Europe.

The followers of Luther, together with what is called the church of England, preserved more or less of the episcopal government, established subordination among the clergy, gave the sovereign the disposal of all the bishoprics, and other consistorial benefices within his dominions, and thereby rendered him the real head of the church; and without depriving the bishop of the right of collating to the smaller benefices within his diocese, they, even to those benefices, not only admitted, but favoured the right of presentation, both in the sovereign and in all other lay patrons. This system of church government was, from the beginning, favourable to peace and good order, and to submission to the civil sovereign. It has never, accordingly, been the occasion of any tumult or civil commotion in any country in which it has once been established. The church of England, in particular, has always valued herself, with great reason, upon the unexceptionable loyalty of her principles. Under such a government, the clergy naturally endeavour to recommend themselves to the sovereign, to the court, and to the nobility and gentry of the country, by whose influence they chiefly expect to obtain preferment. They pay court to those patrons, sometimes, no doubt, by the vilest flattery and assentation; but frequently, too, by cultivating all those arts which best deserve, and which are therefore most likely to gain them, the esteem of people of rank and fortune; by their knowledge in all the different branches of useful and ornamental learning, by the decent liberality of their manners, by the social good humour of their conversation, and by their avowed contempt of those absurd and hypocritical austerities which fanatics inculcate and pretend to practise, in order to draw upon themselves the veneration, and upon the greater part of men of rank and fortune, who avow that they do not practise them, the abhorrence of the common people. Such a clergy, however, while they pay their court in this manner to the higher ranks of life, are very apt to neglect altogether the means of maintaining their influence and authority with the lower. They are listened to, esteemed, and respected by their superiors; but before their inferiors they are frequently incapable of defending, effectually, and to the conviction of such hearers, their own sober and moderate doctrines, against the most ignorant enthusiast who chooses to attack them.

The followers of Luther, along with the church of England, kept episcopal government to varying degrees. They established ranks among the clergy and gave the sovereign the power to fill all bishoprics and other church offices within his dominions. They thus made him the real head of the church. Bishops kept the right to appoint clergy to the smaller church offices in their dioceses. Even for these offices, however, Luther’s followers and the church of England not only recognized but favoured the right of the sovereign and all other lay patrons to nominate candidates. From the beginning, this system of church government favoured peace, good order, and submission to the civil sovereign. Accordingly, it has never caused any uprising or civil unrest in a country where it has been established. The church of England, in particular, has always prided itself, with great reason, on the unquestionable loyalty of its principles. Under such a government, the clergy naturally try to gain favour with the sovereign, the court, and the country’s nobility and gentry. They expect to gain promotion chiefly through the influence of these people. They court their patrons, sometimes, no doubt, with the vilest flattery and agreement. But they also frequently cultivate the qualities that best deserve the esteem of people of rank and fortune, and are therefore most likely to win it. They cultivate knowledge in all branches of useful learning and learning valued for its cultural refinement. They cultivate proper but open-minded manners and cheerful, sociable conversation. They also openly scorn the absurd and hypocritical austerities that fanatics preach and pretend to practise. The fanatics do this to win the common people’s reverence for themselves. They also seek to turn the common people against most people of rank and fortune, who openly admit that they do not practise such austerities. While such clergy court the higher ranks in this way, however, they are very likely to neglect entirely the means of maintaining their influence and authority among the lower ranks. Their superiors listen to, esteem, and respect them. But before their inferiors, they are often unable to defend their own sober and moderate doctrines effectively against even the most ignorant enthusiast who chooses to attack them. They cannot defend those doctrines in a way that convinces such listeners.

The followers of Zuinglius, or more properly those of Calvin, on the contrary, bestowed upon the people of each parish, whenever the church became vacant, the right of electing their own pastor; and established, at the same time, the most perfect equality among the clergy. The former part of this institution, as long as it remained in vigour, seems to have been productive of nothing but disorder and confusion, and to have tended equally to corrupt the morals both of the clergy and of the people. The latter part seems never to have had any effects but what were perfectly agreeable.

The followers of Zuinglius, or more properly those of Calvin, took the opposite approach. They gave the people of each parish the right to elect their own pastor whenever the position became vacant. At the same time, they established complete equality among the clergy. As long as the right to elect a pastor remained in force, it seems to have produced nothing but disorder and confusion. It also seems to have corrupted the morals of both the clergy and the people equally. Equality among the clergy, on the other hand, seems to have had only entirely agreeable effects.

As long as the people of each parish preserved the right of electing their own pastors, they acted almost always under the influence of the clergy, and generally of the most factious and fanatical of the order. The clergy, in order to preserve their influence in those popular elections, became, or affected to become, many of them, fanatics themselves, encouraged fanaticism among the people, and gave the preference almost always to the most fanatical candidate. So small a matter as the appointment of a parish priest, occasioned almost always a violent contest, not only in one parish, but in all the neighbouring parishes who seldom failed to take part in the quarrel. When the parish happened to be situated in a great city, it divided all the inhabitants into two parties; and when that city happened, either to constitute itself a little republic, or to be the head and capital of a little republic, as in the case with many of the considerable cities in Switzerland and Holland, every paltry dispute of this kind, over and above exasperating the animosity of all their other factions, threatened to leave behind it, both a new schism in the church, and a new faction in the state. In those small republics, therefore, the magistrate very soon found it necessary, for the sake of preserving the public peace, to assume to himself the right of presenting to all vacant benefices. In Scotland, the most extensive country in which this presbyterian form of church government has ever been established, the rights of patronage were in effect abolished by the act which established presbytery in the beginning of the reign of William III. That act, at least, put in the power of certain classes of people in each parish to purchase, for a very small price, the right of electing their own pastor. The constitution which this act established, was allowed to subsist for about two-and-twenty years, but was abolished by the 10th of queen Anne, ch.12, on account of the confusions and disorders which this more popular mode of election had almost everywhere occasioned. In so extensive a country as Scotland, however, a tumult in a remote parish was not so likely to give disturbance to government as in a smaller state. The 10th of queen Anne restored the rights of patronage. But though, in Scotland, the law gives the benefice, without any exception to the person presented by the patron; yet the church requires sometimes (for she has not in this respect been very uniform in her decisions) a certain concurrence of the people, before she will confer upon the presentee what is called the cure of souls, or the ecclesiastical jurisdiction in the parish. She sometimes, at least, from an affected concern for the peace of the parish, delays the settlement till this concurrence can be procured. The private tampering of some of the neighbouring clergy, sometimes to procure, but more frequently to prevent this concurrence, and the popular arts which they cultivate, in order to enable them upon such occasions to tamper more effectually, are perhaps the causes which principally keep up whatever remains of the old fanatical spirit, either in the clergy or in the people of Scotland.

As long as the people of each parish kept the right to elect their own pastors, they almost always acted under the clergy’s influence. The most divisive and fanatical clergy generally had the greatest influence. To preserve their influence in these popular elections, many clergy became fanatics themselves, or pretended to. They encouraged fanaticism among the people and almost always favored the most fanatical candidate. Even something as small as appointing a parish priest almost always caused a violent dispute. The dispute spread beyond the parish itself. Neighboring parishes seldom failed to join the quarrel. When the parish was in a great city, the dispute divided all its inhabitants into two parties. Many major cities in Switzerland and Holland were either small republics themselves or the capitals of small republics. In those cities, every petty dispute of this kind intensified the hostility among all their other factions. It also threatened to leave behind both a new split in the church and a new faction in the state. In those small republics, therefore, the magistrate soon found it necessary to take the right to nominate candidates for all vacant church offices. The magistrate did this to preserve public peace. Scotland is the largest country in which this presbyterian form of church government has ever been established. There, the rights of patronage were effectively abolished by the act that established presbytery early in the reign of William III. At least, the act allowed certain classes of people in each parish to purchase the right to elect their own pastor for a very small price. The system established by this act was allowed to last for about twenty-two years. But it was abolished by the 10th of queen Anne, ch.12. This happened because the more popular method of election had caused confusion and disorder almost everywhere. In a country as large as Scotland, however, a disturbance in a remote parish was less likely to trouble the government than in a smaller state. The 10th of queen Anne restored the rights of patronage. In Scotland, the law gives the church office to the person nominated by the patron, without exception. But the church sometimes requires a certain degree of agreement from the people before granting that person what is called the cure of souls, or church authority in the parish. The church has not been very consistent in its decisions on this point. At least sometimes, it delays the appointment until this agreement can be obtained, under a pretense of concern for peace in the parish. Some neighboring clergy interfere privately, sometimes to obtain this agreement, but more often to prevent it. They also cultivate ways of winning popular support so that they can interfere more effectively on such occasions. These are perhaps the chief causes of whatever remains of the old fanatical spirit, either among the clergy or among the people of Scotland.

The equality which the presbyterian form of church government establishes among the clergy, consists, first, in the equality of authority or ecclesiastical jurisdiction; and, secondly, in the equality of benefice. In all presbyterian churches, the equality of authority is perfect; that of benefice is not so. The difference, however, between one benefice and another, is seldom so considerable, as commonly to tempt the possessor even of the small one to pay court to his patron, by the vile arts of flattery and assentation, in order to get a better. In all the presbyterian churches, where the rights of patronage are thoroughly established, it is by nobler and better arts, that the established clergy in general endeavour to gain the favour of their superiors; by their learning, by the irreproachable regularity of their life, and by the faithful and diligent discharge of their duty. Their patrons even frequently complain of the independency of their spirit, which they are apt to construe into ingratitude for past favours, but which, at worse, perhaps, is seldom anymore than that indifference which naturally arises from the consciousness that no further favours of the kind are ever to be expected. There is scarce, perhaps, to be found anywhere in Europe, a more learned, decent, independent, and respectable set of men, than the greater part of the presbyterian clergy of Holland, Geneva, Switzerland, and Scotland.

The Presbyterian form of church government establishes equality among the clergy in two ways. First, it gives them equal authority, or church jurisdiction. Second, it gives them equal benefices, or church positions and their incomes. In all Presbyterian churches, equality of authority is perfect, but equality of benefices is not. Even so, the difference between benefices is seldom very great. It is not usually enough to tempt even a minister with a small benefice to seek a better one. He would have to court his patron through the vile arts of flattery and agreeing with everything the patron says. In all Presbyterian churches where patrons’ rights are firmly established, the established clergy generally seek their superiors’ favor through nobler and better means. They do so through their learning, their blameless lives, and their faithful and diligent performance of their duties. Their patrons often complain about their independent spirit. They tend to see it as ingratitude for past favors. But at worst, perhaps, it is seldom more than the indifference that naturally comes from knowing that no further favors of that kind can be expected. Perhaps hardly anywhere in Europe can one find a more learned, decent, independent, and respectable group than most Presbyterian clergy in Holland, Geneva, Switzerland, and Scotland.

Where the church benefices are all nearly equal, none of them can be very great; and this mediocrity of benefice, though it may be, no doubt, carried too far, has, however, some very agreeable effects. Nothing but exemplary morals can give dignity to a man of small fortune. The vices of levity and vanity necessarily render him ridiculous, and are, besides, almost as ruinous to him as they are to the common people. In his own conduct, therefore, he is obliged to follow that system of morals which the common people respect the most. He gains their esteem and affection, by that plan of life which his own interest and situation would lead him to follow. The common people look upon him with that kindness with which we naturally regard one who approaches somewhat to our own condition, but who, we think, ought to be in a higher. Their kindness naturally provokes his kindness. He becomes careful to instruct them, and attentive to assist and relieve them. He does not even despise the prejudices of people who are disposed to be so favourable to him, and never treats them with those contemptuous and arrogant airs, which we so often meet with in the proud dignitaries of opulent and well endowed churches. The presbyterian clergy, accordingly, have more influence over the minds of the common people, than perhaps the clergy of any other established church. It is, accordingly, in presbyterian countries only, that we ever find the common people converted, without persecution completely, and almost to a man, to the established church.

Where church benefices are all nearly equal, none can be very large. This modest level of income can no doubt be taken too far. Even so, it has some very agreeable effects. Only exemplary morals can give dignity to a man of modest means. Frivolity and vanity inevitably make him ridiculous. They are also almost as ruinous to him as they are to the common people. He is therefore obliged to follow the moral code that the common people respect most. By living as his own interests and circumstances would lead him to live, he gains their esteem and affection. The common people look kindly on him. We naturally feel this kindness toward someone whose condition is close to our own, but who we think deserves a higher position. Their kindness naturally draws out his own. He takes care to teach them and pays attention to their needs, helping and relieving them. He does not even despise the prejudices of people who are so well disposed toward him. He never treats them with the contempt and arrogance we so often meet in the proud dignitaries of wealthy, well-endowed churches. The Presbyterian clergy therefore have more influence over the minds of the common people than perhaps the clergy of any other established church. Accordingly, only in Presbyterian countries do we find the common people converted to the established church without persecution, completely and almost to the last person.

In countries where church benefices are, the greater part of them, very moderate, a chair in a university is generally a better establishment than a church benefice. The universities have, in this case, the picking and chusing of their members from all the churchmen of the country, who, in every country, constitute by far the most numerous class of men of letters. Where church benefices, on the contrary, are many of them very considerable, the church naturally draws from the universities the greater part of their eminent men of letters; who generally find some patron, who does himself honour by procuring them church preferment. In the former situation, we are likely to find the universities filled with the most eminent men of letters that are to be found in the country. In the latter, we are likely to find few eminent men among them, and those few among the youngest members of the society, who are likely, too, to be drained away from it, before they can have acquired experience and knowledge enough to be of much use to it. It is observed by Mr. de Voltaire, that father Porée, a jesuit of no great eminence in the republic of letters, was the only professor they had ever had in France, whose works were worth the reading. In a country which has produced so many eminent men of letters, it must appear somewhat singular, that scarce one of them should have been a professor in a university. The famous Cassendi was, in the beginning of his life, a professor in the university of Aix. Upon the first dawning of his genius, it was represented to him, that by going into the church he could easily find a much more quiet and comfortable subsistence, as well as a better situation for pursuing his studies; and he immediately followed the advice. The observation of Mr. de Voltaire may be applied, I believe, not only to France, but to all other Roman Catholic countries. We very rarely find in any of them an eminent man of letters, who is a professor in a university, except, perhaps, in the professions of law and physic; professions from which the church is not so likely to draw them. After the church of Rome, that of England is by far the richest and best endowed church in Christendom. In England, accordingly, the church is continually draining the universities of all their best and ablest members; and an old college tutor who is known and distinguished in Europe as an eminent man of letters, is as rarely to be found there as in any Roman catholic country. In Geneva, on the contrary, in the protestant cantons of Switzerland, in the protestant countries of Germany, in Holland, in Scotland, in Sweden, and Denmark, the most eminent men of letters whom those countries have produced, have, not all indeed, but the far greater part of them, been professors in universities. In those countries, the universities are continually draining the church of all its most eminent men of letters.

In countries where most church benefices provide a modest income, a university professorship generally offers a better living. In such countries, universities can choose their members from among all the country’s clergy. In every country, the clergy make up by far the largest class of men of learning. Where many church benefices provide a substantial income, however, the church naturally draws most eminent scholars away from universities. Such scholars generally find a patron who gains honor by securing them a church appointment. In the first situation, universities are likely to be filled with the country’s most eminent scholars. In the second, universities are likely to have few eminent scholars. Those few will be among their youngest members. They too are likely to be drawn away before they have enough experience and knowledge to be very useful to the university. Mr. de Voltaire observes that father Porée was the only professor France had ever had whose works were worth reading. Father Porée was a Jesuit of no great distinction in the world of letters. France has produced so many eminent scholars that it seems somewhat strange that hardly one should have been a university professor. Early in his life, the famous Cassendi was a professor at the university of Aix. As soon as his genius began to show, he was advised to enter the church. There, he was told, he could easily find a much quieter and more comfortable living, as well as a better position for pursuing his studies. He immediately followed the advice. I believe Mr. de Voltaire’s observation applies not only to France, but to all other Roman Catholic countries. In any of them, we very rarely find an eminent scholar who is a university professor, except perhaps in law and medicine. The church is less likely to draw people away from those professions. After the church of Rome, the church of England is by far the richest and best endowed church in Christendom. Accordingly, the church in England continually draws all the best and ablest members away from universities. An older college tutor known and distinguished in Europe as an eminent scholar is as rare there as in any Roman Catholic country. In Geneva, by contrast, the same is true in the protestant cantons of Switzerland, the protestant countries of Germany, Holland, Scotland, Sweden, and Denmark. Not all, but the great majority of the most eminent scholars those countries have produced have been university professors. In those countries, universities continually draw all the most eminent scholars away from the church.

It may, perhaps, be worth while to remark, that, if we except the poets, a few orators, and a few historians, the far greater part of the other eminent men of letters, both of Greece and Rome, appear to have been either public or private teachers; generally either of philosophy or of rhetoric. This remark will be found to hold true, from the days of Lysias and Isocrates, of Plato and Aristotle, down to those of Plutarch and Epictetus, Suetonius, and Quintilian. To impose upon any man the necessity of teaching, year after year, in any particular branch of science seems in reality to be the most effectual method for rendering him completely master of it himself. By being obliged to go every year over the same ground, if he is good for any thing, he necessarily becomes, in a few years, well acquainted with every part of it, and if, upon any particular point, he should form too hasty an opinion one year, when he comes, in the course of his lectures to reconsider the same subject the year thereafter, he is very likely to correct it. As to be a teacher of science is certainly the natural employment of a mere man of letters; so is it likewise, perhaps, the education which is most likely to render him a man of solid learning and knowledge. The mediocrity of church benefices naturally tends to draw the greater part of men of letters in the country where it takes place, to the employment in which they can be the most useful to the public, and at the same time to give them the best education, perhaps, they are capable of receiving. It tends to render their learning both as solid as possible, and as useful as possible.

It may be worth noting that most other eminent scholars in Greece and Rome appear to have been teachers, either public or private. The exceptions were the poets, a few orators, and a few historians. The scholars generally taught either philosophy or rhetoric. This observation holds true from the days of Lysias and Isocrates, Plato and Aristotle, down to those of Plutarch and Epictetus, Suetonius, and Quintilian. Requiring someone to teach a particular field of knowledge year after year seems the most effective way to make him master it himself. If he is at all capable, going over the same ground every year necessarily makes him familiar with every part of it within a few years. And if he forms an opinion too hastily on a particular point one year, he is very likely to correct it when his lectures bring him back to the subject the following year. Teaching a field of knowledge is certainly the natural occupation of a man devoted solely to scholarship. It is also, perhaps, the training most likely to give him sound learning and knowledge. Where church benefices provide modest incomes, they naturally tend to draw most scholars into the occupation in which they can be most useful to the public. At the same time, this occupation gives them perhaps the best education they can receive. It tends to make their learning both as sound and as useful as possible.

The revenue of every established church, such parts of it excepted as may arise from particular lands or manors, is a branch, it ought to be observed, of the general revenue of the state, which is thus diverted to a purpose very different from the defence of the state. The tithe, for example, is a real land tax, which puts it out of the power of the proprietors of land to contribute so largely towards the defence of the state as they otherwise might be able to do. The rent of land, however, is, according to some, the sole fund; and, according to others, the principal fund, from which, in all great monarchies, the exigencies of the state must be ultimately supplied. The more of this fund that is given to the church, the less, it is evident, can be spared to the state. It may be laid down as a certain maxim, that all other things being supposed equal, the richer the church, the poorer must necessarily be, either the sovereign on the one hand, or the people on the other; and, in all cases, the less able must the state be to defend itself. In several protestant countries, particularly in all the protestant cantons of Switzerland, the revenue which anciently belonged to the Roman catholic church, the tithes and church lands, has been found a fund sufficient, not only to afford competent salaries to the established clergy, but to defray, with little or no addition, all the other expenses of the state. The magistrates of the powerful canton of Berne, in particular, have accumulated, out of the savings from this fund, a very large sum, supposed to amount to several millions; part of which is deposited in a public treasure, and part is placed at interest in what are called the public funds of the different indebted nations of Europe; chiefly in those of France and Great Britain. What may be the amount of the whole expense which the church, either of Berne, or of any other protestant canton, costs the state, I do not pretend to know. By a very exact account it appears, that, in 1755, the whole revenue of the clergy of the church of Scotland, including their glebe or church lands, and the rent of their manses or dwelling-houses, estimated according to a reasonable valuation, amounted only to £68,514:1:5 1/12d. This very moderate revenue affords a decent subsistence to nine hundred and forty-four ministers. The whole expense of the church, including what is occasionally laid out for the building and reparation of churches, and of the manses of ministers, cannot well be supposed to exceed eighty or eighty-five thousand pounds a-year. The most opulent church in Christendom does not maintain better the uniformity of faith, the fervour of devotion, the spirit of order, regularity, and austere morals, in the great body of the people, than this very poorly endowed church of Scotland. All the good effects, both civil and religious, which an established church can be supposed to produce, are produced by it as completely as by any other. The greater part of the protestant churches of Switzerland, which, in general, are not better endowed than the church of Scotland, produce those effects in a still higher degree. In the greater part of the protestant cantons, there is not a single person to be found, who does not profess himself to be of the established church. If he professes himself to be of any other, indeed, the law obliges him to leave the canton. But so severe, or, rather, indeed, so oppressive a law, could never have been executed in such free countries, had not the diligence of the clergy beforehand converted to the established church the whole body of the people, with the exception of, perhaps, a few individuals only. In some parts of Switzerland, accordingly, where, from the accidental union of a protestant and Roman catholic country, the conversion has not been so complete, both religions are not only tolerated, but established by law.

The revenue of every established church, apart from what may come from particular lands or manors, is part of the state’s general revenue. It is diverted to a purpose very different from the defense of the state. The tithe, for example, is effectively a land tax. It prevents landowners from contributing as much to the defense of the state as they otherwise could. Some say that land rent is the only source from which the needs of the state must ultimately be met in all great monarchies. Others say it is the main source. Clearly, the more of this source is given to the church, the less is available to the state. We can take it as certain that, all else being equal, the richer the church, the poorer either the sovereign or the people must be. In every case, the state must be less able to defend itself. In several Protestant countries, especially all the Protestant cantons of Switzerland, a fund was found in the revenue that once belonged to the Roman Catholic church. This revenue came from tithes and church lands. The fund has proved sufficient not only to pay the established clergy adequate salaries, but also to cover all other state expenses with little or no addition. The magistrates of the powerful canton of Berne, in particular, have saved a very large sum from this fund. It is believed to amount to several million pounds. Part is held in a public treasury. The rest is invested at interest in what are called the public funds of various indebted European nations, chiefly France and Great Britain. I do not claim to know the total cost to the state of the church in Berne or any other Protestant canton. But a very precise account shows the entire income of the clergy of the Church of Scotland in 1755. It amounted to only £68,514:1:5 1/12d. This included a reasonable estimate of the value of their glebe, or church lands, and the rental value of their manses, or dwelling houses. This very modest income provides a decent living for 944 ministers. The total cost of the church can hardly be supposed to exceed eighty or eighty-five thousand pounds a year. This includes occasional spending on building and repairing churches and ministers’ manses. The most richly endowed church in Christendom does no better than this very poorly endowed Church of Scotland at maintaining uniformity of faith, fervent devotion, order, regularity, and austere morals among the great body of the people. It produces all the good effects, both civil and religious, that an established church might be expected to produce. It produces them as fully as any other church. Most Protestant churches in Switzerland generally have no greater endowments than the Church of Scotland. Yet they produce those effects to an even greater degree. In most Protestant cantons, not a single person can be found who does not declare membership in the established church. If anyone declares membership in another church, the law does require that person to leave the canton. But such a severe, or rather oppressive, law could never have been enforced in such free countries without the clergy’s earlier efforts. Their diligence had converted the whole population to the established church, with perhaps only a few exceptions. In some parts of Switzerland, however, a Protestant territory and a Roman Catholic one were joined by chance. There, the conversion has not been so complete, and both religions are not only tolerated but established by law.

The proper performance of every service seems to require, that its pay or recompence should be, as exactly as possible, proportioned to the nature of the service. If any service is very much underpaid, it is very apt to suffer by the meanness and incapacity of the greater part of those who are employed in it. If it is very much overpaid, it is apt to suffer, perhaps still more, by their negligence and idleness. A man of a large revenue, whatever may be his profession, thinks he ought to live like other men of large revenues; and to spend a great part of his time in festivity, in vanity, and in dissipation. But in a clergyman, this train of life not only consumes the time which ought to be employed in the duties of his function, but in the eyes of the common people, destroys almost entirely that sanctity of character, which can alone enable him to perform those duties with proper weight and authority.

Every service seems to require pay that matches its nature as closely as possible. If a service is paid far too little, it is likely to suffer. Most of the people employed in it may be poorly qualified and incapable. If a service is paid far too much, it may suffer, perhaps even more, from their negligence and idleness. A man with a large income, whatever his profession, thinks he should live like other wealthy men. He thinks he should spend much of his time on festivities, vanity, and self-indulgence. But for a clergyman, this way of life consumes time that should be spent on his duties. In the eyes of ordinary people, it also almost entirely destroys his reputation for holiness. Only that reputation can enable him to carry out his duties with proper influence and authority.

Over and above the expenses necessary for enabling the sovereign to perform his several duties, a certain expense is requisite for the support of his dignity. This expense varies, both with the different periods of improvement, and with the different forms of government.

Besides the expenses needed for the sovereign to carry out his duties, some spending is necessary to maintain his dignity. This expense varies with the stage of development and the form of government.

In an opulent and improved society, where all the different orders of people are growing every day more expensive in their houses, in their furniture, in their tables, in their dress, and in their equipage; it cannot well be expected that the sovereign should alone hold out against the fashion. He naturally, therefore, or rather necessarily, becomes more expensive in all those different articles too. His dignity even seems to require that he should become so.

In a wealthy and developed society, people of all classes spend more each day on their homes, furniture, food, clothes, and carriages. The sovereign alone can hardly be expected to resist this fashion. Naturally, or rather necessarily, he too spends more on all these things. His dignity even seems to require it.

As, in point of dignity, a monarch is more raised above his subjects than the chief magistrate of any republic is ever supposed to be above his fellow-citizens; so a greater expense is necessary for supporting that higher dignity. We naturally expect more splendour in the court of a king, than in the mansion-house of a doge or burgo-master.

A monarch stands higher above his subjects in dignity than the head of a republic is ever thought to stand above his fellow citizens. So maintaining a monarch's higher dignity requires greater expense. We naturally expect more splendor at a king's court than in the home of a doge or mayor.

The expense of defending the society, and that of supporting the dignity of the chief magistrate, are both laid out for the general benefit of the whole society. It is reasonable, therefore, that they should be defrayed by the general contribution of the whole society; all the different members contributing, as nearly as possible, in proportion to their respective abilities.

Defending society and maintaining the dignity of its chief magistrate both benefit society as a whole. It is reasonable, therefore, for everyone in society to help pay these costs. Each member should contribute as closely as possible in proportion to their ability to pay.

The expense of the administration of justice, too, may no doubt be considered as laid out for the benefit of the whole society. There is no impropriety, therefore, in its being defrayed by the general contribution of the whole society. The persons, however, who give occasion to this expense, are those who, by their injustice in one way or another, make it necessary to seek redress or protection from the courts of justice. The persons, again, most immediately benefited by this expense, are those whom the courts of justice either restore to their rights, or maintain in their rights. The expense of the administration of justice, therefore, may very properly be defrayed by the particular contribution of one or other, or both, of those two different sets of persons, according as different occasions may require, that is, by the fees of court. It cannot be necessary to have recourse to the general contribution of the whole society, except for the conviction of those criminals who have not themselves any estate or fund sufficient for paying those fees.

The cost of administering justice can no doubt be seen as serving society as a whole. There is therefore nothing improper about paying for it through contributions from everyone. But those who cause this expense are the people whose unjust actions make others seek remedies or protection from the courts. And those who benefit most directly are the people whose rights the courts restore or protect. The cost of administering justice may therefore properly be paid by one or both of these groups through court fees, as circumstances require. Contributions from society as a whole can be necessary only to convict criminals who lack sufficient property or funds to pay those fees themselves.

Those local or provincial expenses, of which the benefit is local or provincial (what is laid out, for example, upon the police of a particular town or district), ought to be defrayed by a local or provincial revenue, and ought to be no burden upon the general revenue of the society. It is unjust that the whole society should contribute towards an expense, of which the benefit is confined to a part of the society.

Local or provincial expenses that benefit only a local area or province should be paid from local or provincial revenue. One example is the cost of maintaining order in a particular town or district. These expenses should place no burden on society’s general revenue. It is unjust for the whole society to contribute to an expense that benefits only part of it.

The expense of maintaining good roads and communications is, no doubt, beneficial to the whole society, and may, therefore, without any injustice, be defrayed by the general contributions of the whole society. This expense, however, is most immediately and directly beneficial to those who travel or carry goods from one place to another, and to those who consume such goods. The turnpike tolls in England, and the duties called peages in other countries, lay it altogether upon those two different sets of people, and thereby discharge the general revenue of the society from a very considerable burden.

Maintaining good roads and transportation routes benefits society as a whole. It is therefore fair for everyone in society to contribute to the cost. However, the most immediate and direct beneficiaries are those who travel or transport goods, and those who consume those goods. Road tolls in England, and charges called peages in other countries, place the entire cost on these two groups. This relieves society’s general revenue of a very considerable burden.

The expense of the institutions for education and religious instruction, is likewise, no doubt, beneficial to the whole society, and may, therefore, without injustice, be defrayed by the general contribution of the whole society. This expense, however, might, perhaps, with equal propriety, and even with some advantage, be defrayed altogether by those who receive the immediate benefit of such education and instruction, or by the voluntary contribution of those who think they have occasion for either the one or the other.

Spending on institutions for education and religious instruction undoubtedly benefits society as a whole. So it would not be unfair for all of society to share the cost. However, it might be equally proper, and perhaps even advantageous, for the cost to be paid entirely by those who benefit directly from the education and instruction. Alternatively, it could be paid through voluntary contributions from those who think they need either education or religious instruction.

When the institutions, or public works, which are beneficial to the whole society, either cannot be maintained altogether, or are not maintained altogether, by the contribution of such particular members of the society as are most immediately benefited by them; the deficiency must, in most cases, be made up by the general contribution of the whole society. The general revenue of the society, over and above defraying the expense of defending the society, and of supporting the dignity of the chief magistrate, must make up for the deficiency of many particular branches of revenue. The sources of this general or public revenue, I shall endeavour to explain in the following chapter.

Some institutions and public works benefit society as a whole. Sometimes, those who benefit most directly from them cannot or do not contribute enough to maintain them fully. In most cases, the whole society must then contribute to make up the shortfall. Society's general revenue must cover the costs of defending society and supporting the dignity of its chief magistrate. It must also make up for the shortfalls in many specific sources of revenue. I will try to explain the sources of this general or public revenue in the following chapter.