No More Learning

It would surely be presumptuous in the most
successful improver to affirm, that he possessed a carnation in which
these qualities existed in the greatest possible state of perfection.
However beautiful his flower may be, other care, other soil, or other
suns, might produce one still more beautiful.

Yet, although he may be aware of the absurdity of supposing that he has
reached perfection, and though he may know by what means he attained
that degree of beauty in the flower which he at present possesses, yet
he cannot be sure that by pursuing similar means, rather increased in
strength, he will obtain a more beautiful blossom. By endeavouring to
improve one quality, he may impair the beauty of another. The richer
mould which he would employ to increase the size of his plant would
probably burst the calyx, and destroy at once its symmetry. In a
similar manner, the forcing manure used to bring about the French
Revolution, and to give a greater freedom and energy to the human mind,
has burst the calyx of humanity, the restraining bond of all society;
and, however large the separate petals have grown, however strongly, or
even beautifully, a few of them have been marked, the whole is at
present a loose, deformed, disjointed mass, without union, symmetry, or
harmony of colouring.

Were it of consequence to improve pinks and carnations, though we could
have no hope of raising them as large as cabbages, we might undoubtedly
expect, by successive efforts, to obtain more beautiful specimens than
we at present possess. No person can deny the importance of improving
the happiness of the human species. Every the least advance in this
respect is highly valuable. But an experiment with the human race is
not like an experiment upon inanimate objects. The bursting of a flower
may be a trifle. Another will soon succeed it. But the bursting of the
bonds of society is such a separation of parts as cannot take place
without giving the most acute pain to thousands: and a long time may
elapse, and much misery may be endured, before the wound grows up again.

As the five propositions which I have been examining may be considered
as the corner stones of Mr Godwin's fanciful structure, and, indeed, as
expressing the aim and bent of his whole work, however excellent much
of his detached reasoning may be, he must be considered as having
failed in the great object of his undertaking. Besides the difficulties
arising from the compound nature of man, which he has by no means
sufficiently smoothed, the principal argument against the
perfectibility of man and society remains whole and unimpaired from any
thing that he has advanced. And as far as I can trust my own judgement,
this argument appears to be conclusive, not only against the
perfectibility of man, in the enlarged sense in which Mr Godwin
understands the term, but against any very marked and striking change
for the better, in the form and structure of general society; by which
I mean any great and decided amelioration of the condition of the lower
classes of mankind, the most numerous, and, consequently, in a general
view of the subject, the most important part of the human race. Were I
to live a thousand years, and the laws of nature to remain the same, I
should little fear, or rather little hope, a contradiction from
experience in asserting that no possible sacrifices or exertions of the
rich, in a country which had been long inhabited, could for any time
place the lower classes of the community in a situation equal, with
regard to circumstances, to the situation of the common people about
thirty years ago in the northern States of America.

The lower classes of people in Europe may at some future period be much
better instructed than they are at present; they may be taught to
employ the little spare time they have in many better ways than at the
ale-house; they may live under better and more equal laws than they
have ever hitherto done, perhaps, in any country; and I even conceive
it possible, though not probable that they may have more leisure; but
it is not in the nature of things that they can be awarded such a
quantity of money or subsistence as will allow them all to marry early,
in the full confidence that they shall be able to provide with ease for
a numerous family.




CHAPTER 15

Models too perfect may sometimes rather impede than promote
improvement--Mr Godwin's essay on 'Avarice and
Profusion'--Impossibility of dividing the necessary labour of a society
amicably among all--Invectives against labour may produce present evil,
with little or no chance of producing future good--An accession to the
mass of agricultural labour must always be an advantage to the labourer.


Mr Godwin in the preface to his Enquirer, drops a few expressions which
seem to hint at some change in his opinions since he wrote the
Political Justice; and as this is a work now of some years standing, I
should certainly think that I had been arguing against opinions which
the author had himself seen reason to alter, but that in some of the
essays of the Enquirer, Mr Godwin's peculiar mode of thinking appears
in as striking a light as ever.

It has been frequently observed that though we cannot hope to reach
perfection in any thing, yet that it must always be advantageous to us
to place before our eyes the most perfect models. This observation has
a plausible appearance, but is very far from being generally true. I
even doubt its truth in one of the most obvious exemplifications that
would occur. I doubt whether a very young painter would receive so much
benefit, from an attempt to copy a highly finished and perfect picture,
as from copying one where the outlines were more strongly marked and
the manner of laying on the colours was more easily discoverable. But
in cases where the perfection of the model is a perfection of a
different and superior nature from that towards which we should
naturally advance, we shall not always fail in making any progress
towards it, but we shall in all probability impede the progress which
we might have expected to make had we not fixed our eyes upon so
perfect a model. A highly intellectual being, exempt from the infirm
calls of hunger or sleep, is undoubtedly a much more perfect existence
than man, but were man to attempt to copy such a model, he would not
only fail in making any advances towards it; but by unwisely straining
to imitate what was inimitable, he would probably destroy the little
intellect which he was endeavouring to improve.

The form and structure of society which Mr Godwin describes is as
essentially distinct from any forms of society which have hitherto
prevailed in the world as a being that can live without food or sleep
is from a man. By improving society in its present form, we are making
no more advances towards such a state of things as he pictures than we
should make approaches towards a line, with regard to which we were
walking parallel. The question, therefore, is whether, by looking to
such a form of society as our polar star, we are likely to advance or
retard the improvement of the human species? Mr Godwin appears to me to
have decided this question against himself in his essay on 'Avarice and
Profusion' in the Enquirer.

Dr Adam Smith has very justly observed that nations as well as
individuals grow rich by parsimony and poor by profusion, and that,
therefore, every frugal man was a friend and every spendthrift an enemy
to his country. The reason he gives is that what is saved from revenue
is always added to stock, and is therefore taken from the maintenance
of labour that is generally unproductive and employed in the
maintenance of labour that realizes itself in valuable commodities. No
observation can be more evidently just. The subject of Mr Godwin's
essay is a little similar in its first appearance, but in essence is as
distinct as possible. He considers the mischief of profusion as an
acknowledged truth, and therefore makes his comparison between the
avaricious man, and the man who spends his income. But the avaricious
man of Mr Godwin is totally a distinct character, at least with regard
to his effect upon the prosperity of the state, from the frugal man of
Dr Adam Smith. The frugal man in order to make more money saves from
his income and adds to his capital, and this capital he either employs
himself in the maintenance of productive labour, or he lends it to some
other person who will probably employ it in this way. He benefits the
state because he adds to its general capital, and because wealth
employed as capital not only sets in motion more labour than when spent
as income, but the labour is besides of a more valuable kind. But the
avaricious man of Mr Godwin locks up his wealth in a chest and sets in
motion no labour of any kind, either productive or unproductive. This
is so essential a difference that Mr Godwin's decision in his essay
appears at once as evidently false as Dr Adam Smith's position is
evidently true. It could not, indeed, but occur to Mr Godwin that some
present inconvenience might arise to the poor from thus locking up the
funds destined for the maintenance of labour. The only way, therefore,
he had of weakening this objection was to compare the two characters
chiefly with regard to their tendency to accelerate the approach of
that happy state of cultivated equality, on which he says we ought
always to fix our eyes as our polar star.

I think it has been proved in the former parts of this essay that such
a state of society is absolutely impracticable. What consequences then
are we to expect from looking to such a point as our guide and polar
star in the great sea of political discovery? Reason would teach us to
expect no other than winds perpetually adverse, constant but fruitless
toil, frequent shipwreck, and certain misery. We shall not only fail in
making the smallest real approach towards such a perfect form of
society; but by wasting our strength of mind and body, in a direction
in which it is impossible to proceed, and by the frequent distress
which we must necessarily occasion by our repeated failures, we shall
evidently impede that degree of improvement in society, which is really
attainable.

It has appeared that a society constituted according to Mr Godwin's
system must, from the inevitable laws of our nature, degenerate into a
class of proprietors and a class of labourers, and that the
substitution of benevolence for self-love as the moving principle of
society, instead of producing the happy effects that might be expected
from so fair a name, would cause the same pressure of want to be felt
by the whole of society, which is now felt only by a part. It is to the
established administration of property and to the apparently narrow
principle of self-love that we are indebted for all the noblest
exertions of human genius, all the finer and more delicate emotions of
the soul, for everything, indeed, that distinguishes the civilized from
the savage state; and no sufficient change has as yet taken place in
the nature of civilized man to enable us to say that he either is, or
ever will be, in a state when he may safely throw down the ladder by
which he has risen to this eminence.

If in every society that has advanced beyond the savage state, a class
of proprietors and a class of labourers must necessarily exist, it is
evident that, as labour is the only property of the class of labourers,
every thing that tends to diminish the value of this property must tend
to diminish the possession of this part of society. The only way that a
poor man has of supporting himself in independence is by the exertion
of his bodily strength. This is the only commodity he has to give in
exchange for the necessaries of life. It would hardly appear then that
you benefit him by narrowing the market for this commodity, by
decreasing the demand for labour, and lessening the value of the only
property that he possesses.

It should be observed that the principal argument of this Essay only
goes to prove the necessity of a class of proprietors, and a class of
labourers, but by no means infers that the present great inequality of
property is either necessary or useful to society. On the contrary, it
must certainly be considered as an evil, and every institution that
promotes it is essentially bad and impolitic. But whether a government
could with advantage to society actively interfere to repress
inequality of fortunes may be a matter of doubt. Perhaps the generous
system of perfect liberty adopted by Dr Adam Smith and the French
economists would be ill exchanged for any system of restraint.

Mr Godwin would perhaps say that the whole system of barter and
exchange is a vile and iniquitous traffic. If you would essentially
relieve the poor man, you should take a part of his labour upon
yourself, or give him your money, without exacting so severe a return
for it. In answer to the first method proposed, it may be observed,
that even if the rich could be persuaded to assist the poor in this
way, the value of the assistance would be comparatively trifling. The
rich, though they think themselves of great importance, bear but a
small proportion in point of numbers to the poor, and would, therefore,
relieve them but of a small part of their burdens by taking a share.
Were all those that are employed in the labours of luxuries added to
the number of those employed in producing necessaries, and could these
necessary labours be amicably divided among all, each man's share might
indeed be comparatively light; but desirable as such an amicable
division would undoubtedly be, I cannot conceive any practical
principle according to which it could take place. It has been shewn,
that the spirit of benevolence, guided by the strict impartial justice
that Mr Godwin describes, would, if vigorously acted upon, depress in
want and misery the whole human race. Let us examine what would be the
consequence, if the proprietor were to retain a decent share for
himself, but to give the rest away to the poor, without exacting a task
from them in return. Not to mention the idleness and the vice that such
a proceeding, if general, would probably create in the present state of
society, and the great risk there would be, of diminishing the produce
of land, as well as the labours of luxury, another objection yet
remains.

Mr Godwin seems to have but little respect for practical principles;
but I own it appears to me, that he is a much greater benefactor to
mankind, who points out how an inferior good may be attained, than he
who merely expatiates on the deformity of the present state of society,
and the beauty of a different state, without pointing out a practical
method, that might be immediately applied, of accelerating our advances
from the one, to the other.

It has appeared that from the principle of population more will always
be in want than can be adequately supplied. The surplus of the rich man
might be sufficient for three, but four will be desirous to obtain it.
He cannot make this selection of three out of the four without
conferring a great favour on those that are the objects of his choice.
These persons must consider themselves as under a great obligation to
him and as dependent upon him for their support. The rich man would
feel his power and the poor man his dependence, and the evil effects of
these two impressions on the human heart are well known. Though I
perfectly agree with Mr Godwin therefore in the evil of hard labour,
yet I still think it a less evil, and less calculated to debase the
human mind, than dependence, and every history of man that we have ever
read places in a strong point of view the danger to which that mind is
exposed which is entrusted with constant power.

In the present state of things, and particularly when labour is in
request, the man who does a day's work for me confers full as great an
obligation upon me as I do upon him. I possess what he wants, he
possesses what I want. We make an amicable exchange. The poor man walks
erect in conscious independence; and the mind of his employer is not
vitiated by a sense of power.

Three or four hundred years ago there was undoubtedly much less labour
in England, in proportion to the population, than at present, but there
was much more dependence, and we probably should not now enjoy our
present degree of civil liberty if the poor, by the introduction of
manufactures, had not been enabled to give something in exchange for
the provisions of the great Lords, instead of being dependent upon
their bounty. Even the greatest enemies of trade and manufactures, and
I do not reckon myself a very determined friend to them, must allow
that when they were introduced into England, liberty came in their
train.

Nothing that has been said tends in the most remote degree to
undervalue the principle of benevolence. It is one of the noblest and
most godlike qualities of the human heart, generated, perhaps, slowly
and gradually from self-love, and afterwards intended to act as a
general law, whose kind office it should be, to soften the partial
deformities, to correct the asperities, and to smooth the wrinkles of
its parent: and this seems to be the analog of all nature. Perhaps
there is no one general law of nature that will not appear, to us at
least, to produce partial evil; and we frequently observe at the same
time, some bountiful provision which, acting as another general law,
corrects the inequalities of the first.

The proper office of benevolence is to soften the partial evils arising
from self-love, but it can never be substituted in its place. If no man
were to allow himself to act till he had completely determined that the
action he was about to perform was more conducive than any other to the
general good, the most enlightened minds would hesitate in perplexity
and amazement; and the unenlightened would be continually committing
the grossest mistakes.

As Mr Godwin, therefore, has not laid down any practical principle
according to which the necessary labours of agriculture might be
amicably shared among the whole class of labourers, by general
invectives against employing the poor he appears to pursue an
unattainable good through much present evil. For if every man who
employs the poor ought to be considered as their enemy, and as adding
to the weight of their oppressions, and if the miser is for this reason
to be preferred to the man who spends his income, it follows that any
number of men who now spend their incomes might, to the advantage of
society, be converted into misers. Suppose then that a hundred thousand
persons who now employ ten men each were to lock up their wealth from
general use, it is evident, that a million of working men of different
kinds would be completely thrown out of all employment. The extensive
misery that such an event would produce in the present state of society
Mr Godwin himself could hardly refuse to acknowledge, and I question
whether he might not find some difficulty in proving that a conduct of
this kind tended more than the conduct of those who spend their incomes
to 'place human beings in the condition in which they ought to be
placed. ' But Mr Godwin says that the miser really locks up nothing,
that the point has not been rightly understood, and that the true
development and definition of the nature of wealth have not been
applied to illustrate it. Having defined therefore wealth, very justly,
to be the commodities raised and fostered by human labour, he observes
that the miser locks up neither corn, nor oxen, nor clothes, nor
houses. Undoubtedly he does not really lock up these articles, but he
locks up the power of producing them, which is virtually the same.
These things are certainly used and consumed by his contemporaries, as
truly, and to as great an extent, as if he were a beggar; but not to as
great an extent as if he had employed his wealth in turning up more
land, in breeding more oxen, in employing more tailors, and in building
more houses. But supposing, for a moment, that the conduct of the miser
did not tend to check any really useful produce, how are all those who
are thrown out of employment to obtain patents which they may shew in
order to be awarded a proper share of the food and raiment produced by
the society? This is the unconquerable difficulty.

I am perfectly willing to concede to Mr Godwin that there is much more
labour in the world than is really necessary, and that, if the lower
classes of society could agree among themselves never to work more than
six or seven hours in the day, the commodities essential to human
happiness might still be produced in as great abundance as at present.
But it is almost impossible to conceive that such an agreement could be
adhered to. From the principle of population, some would necessarily be
more in want than others. Those that had large families would naturally
be desirous of exchanging two hours more of their labour for an ampler
quantity of subsistence. How are they to be prevented from making this
exchange? it would be a violation of the first and most sacred property
that a man possesses to attempt, by positive institutions, to interfere
with his command over his own labour.

Till Mr Godwin, therefore, can point out some practical plan according
to which the necessary labour in a society might be equitably divided,
his invectives against labour, if they were attended to, would
certainly produce much present evil without approximating us to that
state of cultivated equality to which he looks forward as his polar
star, and which, he seems to think, should at present be our guide in
determining the nature and tendency of human actions. A mariner guided
by such a polar star is in danger of shipwreck.

Perhaps there is no possible way in which wealth could in general be
employed so beneficially to a state, and particularly to the lower
orders of it, as by improving and rendering productive that land which
to a farmer would not answer the expense of cultivation. Had Mr Godwin
exerted his energetic eloquence in painting the superior worth and
usefulness of the character who employed the poor in this way, to him
who employed them in narrow luxuries, every enlightened man must have
applauded his efforts. The increasing demand for agricultural labour
must always tend to better the condition of the poor; and if the
accession of work be of this kind, so far is it from being true that
the poor would be obliged to work ten hours for the same price that
they before worked eight, that the very reverse would be the fact; and
a labourer might then support his wife and family as well by the labour
of six hours as he could before by the labour of eight.

The labour created by luxuries, though useful in distributing the
produce of the country, without vitiating the proprietor by power, or
debasing the labourer by dependence, has not, indeed, the same
beneficial effects on the state of the poor. A great accession of work
from manufacturers, though it may raise the price of labour even more
than an increasing demand for agricultural labour, yet, as in this case
the quantity of food in the country may not be proportionably
increasing, the advantage to the poor will be but temporary, as the
price of provisions must necessarily rise in proportion to the price of
labour. Relative to this subject, I cannot avoid venturing a few
remarks on a part of Dr Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, speaking at the
same time with that diffidence which I ought certainly to feel in
differing from a person so justly celebrated in the political world.




CHAPTER 16

Probable error of Dr Adam Smith in representing every increase of the
revenue or stock of a society as an increase in the funds for the
maintenance of labour--Instances where an increase of wealth can have
no tendency to better the condition of the labouring poor--England has
increased in riches without a proportional increase in the funds for
the maintenance of labour--The state of the poor in China would not be
improved by an increase of wealth from manufactures.


The professed object of Dr Adam Smith's inquiry is the nature and
causes of the wealth of nations. There is another inquiry, however,
perhaps still more interesting, which he occasionally mixes with it; I
mean an inquiry into the causes which affect the happiness of nations
or the happiness and comfort of the lower orders of society, which is
the most numerous class in every nation. I am sufficiency aware of the
near connection of these two subjects, and that the causes which tend
to increase the wealth of a state tend also, generally speaking, to
increase the happiness of the lower classes of the people. But perhaps
Dr Adam Smith has considered these two inquiries as still more nearly
connected than they really are; at least, he has not stopped to take
notice of those instances where the wealth of a society may increase
(according to his definition of 'wealth') without having any tendency
to increase the comforts of the labouring part of it. I do not mean to
enter into a philosophical discussion of what constitutes the proper
happiness of man, but shall merely consider two universally
acknowledged ingredients, health, and the command of the necessaries
and conveniences of life.

Little or no doubt can exist that the comforts of the labouring poor
depend upon the increase of the funds destined for the maintenance of
labour, and will be very exactly in proportion to the rapidity of this
increase. The demand for labour which such increase would occasion, by
creating a competition in the market, must necessarily raise the value
of labour, and, till the additional number of hands required were
reared, the increased funds would be distributed to the same number of
persons as before the increase, and therefore every labourer would live
comparatively at his ease. But perhaps Dr Adam Smith errs in
representing every increase of the revenue or stock of a society as an
increase of these funds. Such surplus stock or revenue will, indeed,
always be considered by the individual possessing it as an additional
fund from which he may maintain more labour: but it will not be a real
and effectual fund for the maintenance of an additional number of
labourers, unless the whole, or at least a great part of this increase
of the stock or revenue of the society, be convertible into a
proportional quantity of provisions; and it will not be so convertible
where the increase has arisen merely from the produce of labour, and
not from the produce of land. A distinction will in this case occur,
between the number of hands which the stock of the society could
employ, and the number which its territory can maintain.

To explain myself by an instance. Dr Adam Smith defines the wealth of a
nation to consist. In the annual produce of its land and labour. This
definition evidently includes manufactured produce, as well as the
produce of the land. Now supposing a nation for a course of years was
to add what it saved from its yearly revenue to its manufacturing
capital solely, and not to its capital employed upon land, it is
evident that it might grow richer according to the above definition,
without a power of supporting a greater number of labourers, and,
therefore, without an increase in the real funds for the maintenance of
labour. There would, notwithstanding, be a demand for labour from the
power which each manufacturer would possess, or at least think he
possessed, of extending his old stock in trade or of setting up fresh
works. This demand would of course raise the price of labour, but if
the yearly stock of provisions in the country was not increasing, this
rise would soon turn out to be merely nominal, as the price of
provisions must necessarily rise with it. The demand for manufacturing
labourers might, indeed, entice many from agriculture and thus tend to
diminish the annual produce of the land, but we will suppose any effect
of this kind to be compensated by improvements in the instruments of
agriculture, and the quantity of provisions therefore to remain the
same. Improvements in manufacturing machinery would of course take
place, and this circumstance, added to the greater number of hands
employed in manufactures, would cause the annual produce of the labour
of the country to be upon the whole greatly increased. The wealth
therefore of the country would be increasing annually, according to the
definition, and might not, perhaps, be increasing very slowly.

The question is whether wealth, increasing in this way, has any
tendency to better the condition of the labouring poor. It is a
self-evident proposition that any general rise in the price of labour,
the stock of provisions remaining the same, can only be a nominal rise,
as it must very shortly be followed by a proportional rise in the price
of provisions. The increase in the price of labour, therefore, which we
have supposed, would have little or no effect in giving the labouring
poor a greater command over the necessaries and conveniences of life.
In this respect they would be nearly in the same state as before. In
one other respect they would be in a worse state. A greater proportion
of them would be employed in manufactures, and fewer, consequently, in
agriculture. And this exchange of professions will be allowed, I think,
by all, to be very unfavourable in respect of health, one essential
ingredient of happiness, besides the greater uncertainty of
manufacturing labour, arising from the capricious taste of man, the
accidents of war, and other causes.

It may be said, perhaps, that such an instance as I have supposed could
not occur, because the rise in the price of provisions would
immediately turn some additional capital into the channel of
agriculture. But this is an event which may take place very slowly, as
it should be remarked that a rise in the price of labour had preceded
the rise of provisions, and would, therefore, impede the good effects
upon agriculture, which the increased value of the produce of the land
might otherwise have occasioned.

It might also be said, that the additional capital of the nation would
enable it to import provisions sufficient for the maintenance of those
whom its stock could employ. A small country with a large navy, and
great inland accommodations for carriage, such as Holland, may, indeed,
import and distribute an effectual quantity of provisions; but the
price of provisions must be very high to make such an importation and
distribution answer in large countries less advantageously
circumstanced in this respect.

An instance, accurately such as I have supposed, may not, perhaps, ever
have occurred, but I have little doubt that instances nearly
approximating to it may be found without any very laborious search.
Indeed I am strongly inclined to think that England herself, since the
Revolution, affords a very striking elucidation of the argument in
question.

The commerce of this country, internal as well as external, has
certainly been rapidly advancing during the last century. The
exchangeable value in the market of Europe of the annual produce of its
land and labour has, without doubt, increased very considerably. But,
upon examination, it will be found that the increase has been chiefly
in the produce of labour and not in the produce of land, and therefore,
though the wealth of the nation has been advancing with a quick pace,
the effectual funds for the maintenance of labour have been increasing
very slowly, and the result is such as might be expected. The
increasing wealth of the nation has had little or no tendency to better
the condition of the labouring poor. They have not, I believe, a
greater command of the necessaries and conveniences of life, and a much
greater proportion of them than at the period of the Revolution is
employed in manufactures and crowded together in close and unwholesome
rooms.

Could we believe the statement of Dr Price that the population of
England has decreased since the Revolution, it would even appear that
the effectual funds for the maintenance of labour had been declining
during the progress of wealth in other respects. For I conceive that it
may be laid down as a general rule that if the effectual funds for the
maintenance of labour are increasing, that is, if the territory can
maintain as well as the stock employ a greater number of labourers,
this additional number will quickly spring up, even in spite of such
wars as Dr Price enumerates. And, consequently, if the population of
any country has been stationary, or declining, we may safely infer,
that, however it may have advanced in manufacturing wealth, its
effectual funds for the maintenance of labour cannot have increased.

It is difficult, however, to conceive that the population of England
has been declining since the Revolution, though every testimony concurs
to prove that its increase, if it has increased, has been very slow. In
the controversy which the question has occasioned, Dr Price undoubtedly
appears to be much more completely master of his subject, and to
possess more accurate information, than his opponents. Judging simply
from this controversy, I think one should say that Dr Price's point is
nearer being proved than Mr Howlett's. Truth, probably, lies between
the two statements, but this supposition makes the increase of
population since the Revolution to have been very slow in comparison
with the increase of wealth.

That the produce of the land has been decreasing, or even that it has
been absolutely stationary during the last century, few will be
disposed to believe. The enclosure of commons and waste lands certainly
tends to increase the food of the country, but it has been asserted
with confidence that the enclosure of common fields has frequently had
a contrary effect, and that large tracts of land which formerly
produced great quantities of corn, by being converted into pasture both
employ fewer hands and feed fewer mouths than before their enclosure.
It is, indeed, an acknowledged truth, that pasture land produces a
smaller quantity of human subsistence than corn land of the same
natural fertility, and could it be clearly ascertained that from the
increased demand for butchers' meat of the best quality, and its
increased price in consequence, a greater quantity of good land has
annually been employed in grazing, the diminution of human subsistence,
which this circumstance would occasion, might have counterbalanced the
advantages derived from the enclosure of waste lands, and the general
improvements in husbandry.

It scarcely need be remarked that the high price of butchers' meat at
present, and its low price formerly, were not caused by the scarcity in
the one case or the plenty in the other, but by the different expense
sustained at the different periods, in preparing cattle for the market.
It is, however, possible, that there might have been more cattle a
hundred years ago in the country than at present; but no doubt can be
entertained, that there is much more meat of a superior quality brought
to market at present than ever there was. When the price of butchers'
meat was very low, cattle were reared chiefly upon waste lands; and
except for some of the principal markets, were probably killed with but
little other fatting. The veal that is sold so cheap in some distant
counties at present bears little other resemblance than the name, to
that which is bought in London. Formerly, the price of butchers, meat
would not pay for rearing, and scarcely for feeding, cattle on land
that would answer in tillage; but the present price will not only pay
for fatting cattle on the very best land, but will even allow of the
rearing many, on land that would bear good crops of corn. The same
number of cattle, or even the same weight of cattle at the different
periods when killed, will have consumed (if I may be allowed the
expression) very different quantities of human substance. A fatted
beast may in some respects be considered, in the language of the French
economists, as an unproductive labourer: he has added nothing to the
value of the raw produce that he has consumed. The present system of
grating, undoubtedly tends more than the former system to diminish the
quantity of human subsistence in the country, in proportion to the
general fertility of the land.

I would not by any means be understood to say that the former system
either could or ought to have continued. The increasing price of
butchers' meat is a natural and inevitable consequence of the general
progress of cultivation; but I cannot help thinking, that the present
great demand for butchers' meat of the best quality, and the quantity
of good land that is in consequence annually employed to produce it,
together with the great number of horses at present kept for pleasure,
are the chief causes that have prevented the quantity of human food in
the country from keeping pace with the generally increased fertility of
the soil; and a change of custom in these respects would, I have little
doubt, have a very sensible effect on the quantity of subsistence in
the country, and consequently on its population.

The employment of much of the most fertile land in grating, the
improvements in agricultural instruments, the increase of large farms,
and particularly the diminution of the number of cottages throughout
the kingdom, all concur to prove, that there are not probably so many
persons employed in agricultural labour now as at the period of the
Revolution. Whatever increase of population, therefore, has taken
place, must be employed almost wholly in manufactures, and it is well
known that the failure of some of these manufactures, merely from the
caprice of fashion, such as the adoption of muslins instead of silks,
or of shoe-strings and covered buttons, instead of buckles and metal
buttons, combined with the restraints in the market of labour arising
from corporation and parish laws, have frequently driven thousands on
charity for support. The great increase of the poor rates is, indeed,
of itself a strong evidence that the poor have not a greater command of
the necessaries and conveniences of life, and if to the consideration,
that their condition in this respect is rather worse than better, be
added the circumstance, that a much greater proportion of them is
employed in large manufactories, unfavourable both to health and
virtue, it must be acknowledged, that the increase of wealth of late
years has had no tendency to increase the happiness of the labouring
poor.

That every increase of the stock or revenue of a nation cannot be
considered as an increase of the real funds for the maintenance of
labour and, therefore, cannot have the same good effect upon the
condition of the poor, will appear in a strong light if the argument be
applied to China.

Dr Adam Smith observes that China has probably long been as rich as the
nature of her laws and institutions will admit, but that with other
laws and institutions, and if foreign commerce were had in honour, she
might still be much richer. The question is, would such an increase of
wealth be an increase of the real funds for the maintenance of labour,
and consequently tend to place the lower classes of people in China in
a state of greater plenty?

It is evident, that if trade and foreign commerce were held in great
honour in China, from the plenty of labourers, and the cheapness of
labour, she might work up manufactures for foreign sale to an immense
amount. It is equally evident that from the great bulk of provisions
and the amazing extent of her inland territory she could not in return
import such a quantity as would be any sensible addition to the annual
stock of subsistence in the country. Her immense amount of
manufactures, therefore, she would exchange, chiefly, for luxuries
collected from all parts of the world. At present, it appears, that no
labour whatever is spared in the production of food. The country is
rather over-people in proportion to what its stock can employ, and
labour is, therefore, so abundant, that no pains are taken to abridge
it. The consequence of this is, probably, the greatest production of
food that the soil can possibly afford, for it will be generally
observed, that processes for abridging labour, though they may enable a
farmer to bring a certain quantity of grain cheaper to market, tend
rather to diminish than increase the whole produce; and in agriculture,
therefore, may, in some respects, be considered rather as private than
public advantages.

An immense capital could not be employed in China in preparing
manufactures for foreign trade without taking off so many labourers
from agriculture as to alter this state of things, and in some degree
to diminish the produce of the country. The demand for manufacturing
labourers would naturally raise the price of labour, but as the
quantity of subsistence would not be increased, the price of provisions
would keep pace with it, or even more than keep pace with it if the
quantity of provisions were really decreasing. The country would be
evidently advancing in wealth, the exchangeable value of the annual
produce of its land and labour would be annually augmented, yet the
real funds for the maintenance of labour would be stationary, or even
declining, and, consequently, the increasing wealth of the nation would
rather tend to depress than to raise the condition of the poor. With
regard to the command over the necessaries and comforts of life, they
would be in the same or rather worse state than before; and a great
part of them would have exchanged the healthy labours of agriculture
for the unhealthy occupations of manufacturing industry.

The argument, perhaps, appears clearer when applied to China, because
it is generally allowed that the wealth of China has been long
stationary. With regard to any other country it might be always a
matter of dispute at which of the two periods, compared, wealth was
increasing the fastest, as it is upon the rapidity of the increase of
wealth at any particular period that Dr Adam Smith says the condition
of the poor depends. It is evident, however, that two nations might
increase exactly with the same rapidity in the exchangeable value of
the annual produce of their land and labour, yet if one had applied
itself chiefly to agriculture, and the other chiefly to commerce, the
funds for the maintenance of labour, and consequently the effect of the
increase of wealth in each nation, would be extremely different. In
that which had applied itself chiefly to agriculture, the poor would
live in great plenty, and population would rapidly increase. In that
which had applied itself chiefly to commerce, the poor would be
comparatively but little benefited and consequently population would
increase slowly.




CHAPTER 17

Question of the proper definition of the wealth of a state--Reason
given by the French economists for considering all manufacturers as
unproductive labourers, not the true reason--The labour of artificers
and manufacturers sufficiently productive to individuals, though not to
the state--A remarkable passage in Dr Price's two volumes of
Observations--Error of Dr Price in attributing the happiness and rapid
population of America, chiefly, to its peculiar state of
civilization--No advantage can be expected from shutting our eyes to
the difficulties in the way to the improvement of society.


A question seems naturally to arise here whether the exchangeable value
of the annual produce of the land and labour be the proper definition
of the wealth of a country, or whether the gross produce of the land,
according to the French economists, may not be a more accurate
definition. Certain it is that every increase of wealth, according to
the definition of the economists, will be an increase of the funds for
the maintenance of labour, and consequently will always tend to
ameliorate the condition of the labouring poor, though an increase of
wealth, according to Dr Adam Smith's definition, will by no means
invariably have the same tendency. And yet it may not follow from this
consideration that Dr Adam Smith's definition is not just. It seems in
many respects improper to exclude the clothing and lodging of a whole
people from any part of their revenue. Much of it may, indeed, be of
very trivial and unimportant value in comparison with the food of the
country, yet still it may be fairly considered as a part of its
revenue; and, therefore, the only point in which I should differ from
Dr Adam Smith is where he seems to consider every increase of the
revenue or stock of a society as an increase of the funds for the
maintenance of labour, and consequently as tending always to ameliorate
the condition of the poor.

The fine silks and cottons, the laces, and other ornamental luxuries of
a rich country, may contribute very considerably to augment the
exchangeable value of its annual produce; yet they contribute but in a
very small degree to augment the mass of happiness in the society, and
it appears to me that it is with some view to the real utility of the
produce that we ought to estimate the productiveness or
unproductiveness of different sorts of labour. The French economists
consider all labour employed in manufactures as unproductive. Comparing
it with the labour employed upon land, I should be perfectly disposed
to agree with them, but not exactly for the reasons which they give.
They say that labour employed upon land is productive because the
produce, over and above completely paying the labourer and the farmer,
affords a clear rent to the landlord, and that the labour employed upon
a piece of lace is unproductive because it merely replaces the
provisions that the workman had consumed, and the stock of his
employer, without affording any clear rent whatever. But supposing the
value of the wrought lace to be such as that, besides paying in the
most complete manner the workman and his employer, it could afford a
clear rent to a third person, it appears to me that, in comparison with
the labour employed upon land, it would be still as unproductive as
ever. Though, according to the reasoning used by the French economists,
the man employed in the manufacture of lace would, in this case, seem
to be a productive labourer. Yet according to their definition of the
wealth of a state, he ought not to be considered in that light. He will
have added nothing to the gross produce of the land: he has consumed a
portion of this gross produce, and has left a bit of lace in return;
and though he may sell this bit of lace for three times the quantity of
provisions that he consumed whilst he was making it, and thus be a very
productive labourer with regard to himself, yet he cannot be considered
as having added by his labour to any essential part of the riches of
the state.
The clear rent, therefore, that a certain produce can
afford, after paying the expenses of procuring it, does not appear to
be the sole criterion, by which to judge of the productiveness or
unproductiveness to a state of any particular species of labour.

Suppose that two hundred thousand men, who are now employed in
producing manufactures that only tend to gratify the vanity of a few
rich people, were to be employed upon some barren and uncultivated
lands, and to produce only half the quantity of food that they
themselves consumed; they would be still more productive labourers with
regard to the state than they were before, though their labour, so far
from affording a rent to a third person, would but half replace the
provisions used in obtaining the produce. In their former employment
they consumed a certain portion of the food of the country and left in
return some silks and laces. In their latter employment they consumed
the same quantity of food and left in return provision for a hundred
thousand men. There can be little doubt which of the two legacies would
be the most really beneficial to the country, and it will, I think, be
allowed that the wealth which supported the two hundred thousand men
while they were producing silks and laces would have been more usefully
employed in supporting them while they were producing the additional
quantity of food.

A capital employed upon land may be unproductive to the individual that
employs it and yet be highly productive to the society. A capital
employed in trade, on the contrary, may be highly productive to the
individual, and yet be almost totally unproductive to the society: and
this is the reason why I should call manufacturing labour unproductive,
in comparison of that which is employed in agriculture, and not for the
reason given by the French economists. It is, indeed, almost impossible
to see the great fortunes that are made in trade, and the liberality
with which so many merchants live, and yet agree in the statement of
the economists, that manufacturers can only grow rich by depriving
themselves of the funds destined for their support. In many branches of
trade the profits are so great as would allow of a clear rent to a
third person; but as there is no third person in the case, and as all
the profits centre in the master manufacturer, or merchant, he seems to
have a fair chance of growing rich, without much privation; and we
consequently see large fortunes acquired in trade by persons who have
not been remarked for their parsimony.

Daily experience proves that the labour employed in trade and
manufactures is sufficiently productive to individuals, but it
certainly is not productive in the same degree to the state. Every
accession to the food of a country tends to the immediate benefit of
the whole society; but the fortunes made in trade tend but in a remote
and uncertain manner to the same end, and in some respects have even a
contrary tendency. The home trade of consumption is by far the most
important trade of every nation. China is the richest country in the
world, without any other. Putting then, for a moment, foreign trade out
of the question, the man who, by an ingenious manufacture, obtains a
double portion out of the old stock of provisions, will certainly not
to be so useful to the state as the man who, by his labour, adds a
single share to the former stock. The consumable commodities of silks,
laces, trinkets, and expensive furniture, are undoubtedly a part of the
revenue of the society; but they are the revenue only of the rich, and
not of the society in general. An increase in this part of the revenue
of a state, cannot, therefore, be considered of the same importance as
an increase of food, which forms the principal revenue of the great
mass of the people.

Foreign commerce adds to the wealth of a state, according to Dr Adam
Smith's definition, though not according to the definition of the
economists. Its principal use, and the reason, probably, that it has in
general been held in such high estimation is that it adds greatly to
the external power of a nation or to its power of commanding the labour
of other countries; but it will be found, upon a near examination, to
contribute but little to the increase of the internal funds for the
maintenance of labour, and consequently but little to the happiness of
the greatest part of society. In the natural progress of a state
towards riches, manufactures, and foreign commerce would follow, in
their order, the high cultivation of the soil. In Europe, this natural
order of things has been inverted, and the soil has been cultivated
from the redundancy of manufacturing capital, instead of manufactures
rising from the redundancy of capital employed upon land. The superior
encouragement that has been given to the industry of the towns, and the
consequent higher price that is paid for the labour of artificers than
for the labour of those employed in husbandry, are probably the reasons
why so much soil in Europe remains uncultivated. Had a different policy
been pursued throughout Europe, it might undoubtedly have been much
more populous than at present, and yet not be more incumbered by its
population.

I cannot quit this curious subject of the difficulty arising from
population, a subject that appears to me to deserve a minute
investigation and able discussion much beyond my power to give it,
without taking notice of an extraordinary passage in Dr Price's two
volumes of Observations. Having given some tables on the probabilities
of life, in towns and in the country, he says (Vol. II, p. 243):

From this comparison, it appears with how much truth great cities have
been called the graves of mankind. It must also convince all who
consider it, that according to the observation, at the end of the
fourth essay, in the former volume, it is by no means strictly proper
to consider our diseases as the original intention of nature. They are,
without doubt, in general our own creation. Were there a country where
the inhabitants led lives entirely natural and virtuous, few of them
would die without measuring out the whole period of present existence
allotted to them; pain and distemper would be unknown among them, and
death would come upon them like a sleep, in consequence of no other
cause than gradual and unavoidable decay.

I own that I felt myself obliged to draw a very opposite conclusion
from the facts advanced in Dr Price's two volumes. I had for some time
been aware that population and food increased in different ratios, and
a vague opinion had been floating in my mind that they could only be
kept equal by some species of misery or vice, but the perusal of Dr
Price's two volumes of Observations, after that opinion had been
conceived, raised it at once to conviction. With so many facts in his
view to prove the extraordinary rapidity with which population
increases when unchecked, and with such a body of evidence before him
to elucidate even the manner by which the general laws of nature
repress a redundant population, it is perfectly inconceivable to me how
he could write the passage that I have quoted. He was a strenuous
advocate for early marriages, as the best preservative against vicious
manners. He had no fanciful conceptions about the extinction of the
passion between the sexes, like Mr Godwin, nor did he ever think of
eluding the difficulty in the ways hinted at by Mr Condorcet. He
frequently talks of giving the prolifick powers of nature room to exert
themselves. Yet with these ideas, that his understanding could escape
from the obvious and necessary inference that an unchecked population
would increase, beyond comparison, faster than the earth, by the best
directed exertions of man, could produce food for its support, appears
to me as astonishing as if he had resisted the conclusion of one of the
plainest propositions of Euclid.

Dr Price, speaking of the different stages of the civilized state,
says, 'The first, or simple stages of civilization, are those which
favour most the increase and the happiness of mankind. ' He then
instances the American colonies, as being at that time in the first and
happiest of the states that he had described, and as affording a very
striking proof of the effects of the different stages of civilization
on population. But he does not seem to be aware that the happiness of
the Americans depended much less upon their peculiar degree of
civilization than upon the peculiarity of their situation, as new
colonies, upon their having a great plenty of fertile uncultivated
land. In parts of Norway, Denmark, or Sweden, or in this country, two
or three hundred years ago, he might have found perhaps nearly the same
degree of civilization, but by no means the same happiness or the same
increase of population. He quotes himself a statute of Henry the
Eighth, complaining of the decay of tillage, and the enhanced price of
provisions, 'whereby a marvellous number of people were rendered
incapable of maintaining themselves and families. ' The superior degree
of civil liberty which prevailed in America contributed, without doubt,
its share to promote the industry, happiness, and population of these
states, but even civil liberty, all powerful as it is, will not create
fresh land. The Americans may be said, perhaps, to enjoy a greater
degree of civil liberty, now they are an independent people, than while
they were in subjection in England, but we may be perfectly sure that
population will not long continue to increase with the same rapidity as
it did then.

A person who contemplated the happy state of the lower classes of
people in America twenty years ago would naturally wish to retain them
for ever in that state, and might think, perhaps, that by preventing
the introduction of manufactures and luxury he might effect his
purpose, but he might as reasonably expect to prevent a wife or
mistress from growing old by never exposing her to the sun or air. The
situation of new colonies, well governed, is a bloom of youth that no
efforts can arrest. There are, indeed, many modes of treatment in the
political, as well as animal, body, that contribute to accelerate or
retard the approaches of age, but there can be no chance of success, in
any mode that could be devised, for keeping either of them in perpetual
youth. By encouraging the industry of the towns more than the industry
of the country, Europe may be said, perhaps, to have brought on a
premature old age. A different policy in this respect would infuse
fresh life and vigour into every state. While from the law of
primogeniture, and other European customs, land bears a monopoly price,
a capital can never be employed in it with much advantage to the
individual; and, therefore, it is not probable that the soil should be
properly cultivated. And, though in every civilized state a class of
proprietors and a class of labourers must exist, yet one permanent
advantage would always result from a nearer equalization of property.
The greater the number of proprietors, the smaller must be the number
of labourers: a greater part of society would be in the happy state of
possessing property: and a smaller part in the unhappy state of
possessing no other property than their labour. But the best directed
exertions, though they may alleviate, can never remove the pressure of
want, and it will be difficult for any person who contemplates the
genuine situation of man on earth, and the general laws of nature, to
suppose it possible that any, the most enlightened, efforts could place
mankind in a state where 'few would die without measuring out the whole
period of present existence allotted to them; where pain and distemper
would be unknown among them; and death would come upon them like a
sleep, in consequence of no other cause than gradual and unavoidable
decay. '

It is, undoubtedly, a most disheartening reflection that the great
obstacle in the way to any extraordinary improvement in society is of a
nature that we can never hope to overcome. The perpetual tendency in
the race of man to increase beyond the means of subsistence is one of
the general laws of animated nature which we can have no reason to
expect will change. Yet, discouraging as the contemplation of this
difficulty must be to those whose exertions are laudably directed to
the improvement of the human species, it is evident that no possible
good can arise from any endeavours to slur it over or keep it in the
background. On the contrary, the most baleful mischiefs may be expected
from the unmanly conduct of not daring to face truth because it is
unpleasing. Independently of what relates to this great obstacle,
sufficient yet remains to be done for mankind to animate us to the most
unremitted exertion. But if we proceed without a thorough knowledge and
accurate comprehension of the nature, extent, and magnitude of the
difficulties we have to encounter, or if we unwisely direct our efforts
towards an object in which we cannot hope for success, we shall not
only exhaust our strength in fruitless exertions and remain at as great
a distance as ever from the summit of our wishes, but we shall be
perpetually crushed by the recoil of this rock of Sisyphus.




CHAPTER 18

The constant pressure of distress on man, from the principle of
population, seems to direct our hopes to the future--State of trial
inconsistent with our ideas of the foreknowledge of God--The world,
probably, a mighty process for awakening matter into mind--Theory of
the formation of mind--Excitements from the wants of the
body--Excitements from the operation of general laws--Excitements from
the difficulties of life arising from the principle of population.


The view of human life which results from the contemplation of the
constant pressure of distress on man from the difficulty of
subsistence, by shewing the little expectation that he can reasonably
entertain of perfectibility on earth, seems strongly to point his hopes
to the future. And the temptations to which he must necessarily be
exposed, from the operation of those laws of nature which we have been
examining, would seem to represent the world in the light in which it
has been frequently considered, as a state of trial and school of
virtue preparatory to a superior state of happiness. But I hope I shall
be pardoned if I attempt to give a view in some degree different of the
situation of man on earth, which appears to me to be more consistent
with the various phenomena of nature which we observe around us and
more consonant to our ideas of the power, goodness, and foreknowledge
of the Deity.

It cannot be considered as an unimproving exercise of the human mind to
endeavour to 'vindicate the ways of God to man' if we proceed with a
proper distrust of our own understandings and a just sense of our
insufficiency to comprehend the reason of all we see, if we hail every
ray of light with gratitude, and, when no light appears, think that the
darkness is from within and not from without, and bow with humble
deference to the supreme wisdom of him whose 'thoughts are above our
thoughts' 'as the heavens are high above the earth. '

In all our feeble attempts, however, to 'find out the Almighty to
perfection', it seems absolutely necessary that we should reason from
nature up to nature's God and not presume to reason from God to nature.
The moment we allow ourselves to ask why some things are not otherwise,
instead of endeavouring to account for them as they are, we shall never
know where to stop, we shall be led into the grossest and most childish
absurdities, all progress in the knowledge of the ways of Providence
must necessarily be at an end, and the study will even cease to be an
improving exercise of the human mind. Infinite power is so vast and
incomprehensible an idea that the mind of man must necessarily be
bewildered in the contemplation of it. With the crude and puerile
conceptions which we sometimes form of this attribute of the Deity, we
might imagine that God could call into being myriads and myriads of
existences, all free from pain and imperfection, all eminent in
goodness and wisdom, all capable of the highest enjoyments, and
unnumbered as the points throughout infinite space. But when from these
vain and extravagant dreams of fancy, we turn our eyes to the book of
nature, where alone we can read God as he is, we see a constant
succession of sentient beings, rising apparently from so many specks of
matter, going through a long and sometimes painful process in this
world, but many of them attaining, ere the termination of it, such high
qualities and powers as seem to indicate their fitness for some
superior state. Ought we not then to correct our crude and puerile
ideas of infinite Power from the contemplation of what we actually see
existing? Can we judge of the Creator but from his creation? And,
unless we wish to exalt the power of God at the expense of his
goodness, ought we not to conclude that even to the great Creator,
almighty as he is, a certain process may be necessary, a certain time
(or at least what appears to us as time) may be requisite, in order to
form beings with those exalted qualities of mind which will fit them
for his high purposes?

A state of trial seems to imply a previously formed existence that does
not agree with the appearance of man in infancy and indicates something
like suspicion and want of foreknowledge, inconsistent with those ideas
which we wish to cherish of the Supreme Being. I should be inclined,
therefore, as I have hinted before, to consider the world and this life
as the mighty process of God, not for the trial, but for the creation
and formation of mind, a process necessary to awaken inert, chaotic
matter into spirit, to sublimate the dust of the earth into soul, to
elicit an ethereal spark from the clod of clay. And in this view of the
subject, the various impressions and excitements which man receives
through life may be considered as the forming hand of his Creator,
acting by general laws, and awakening his sluggish existence, by the
animating touches of the Divinity, into a capacity of superior
enjoyment. The original sin of man is the torpor and corruption of the
chaotic matter in which he may be said to be born.

It could answer no good purpose to enter into the question whether mind
be a distinct substance from matter, or only a finer form of it. The
question is, perhaps, after all, a question merely of words. Mind is as
essentially mind, whether formed from matter or any other substance. We
know from experience that soul and body are most intimately united, and
every appearance seems to indicate that they grow from infancy
together. It would be a supposition attended with very little
probability to believe that a complete and full formed spirit existed
in every infant, but that it was clogged and impeded in its operations
during the first twenty years of life by the weakness, or hebetude, of
the organs in which it was enclosed. As we shall all be disposed to
agree that God is the creator of mind as well as of body, and as they
both seem to be forming and unfolding themselves at the same time, it
cannot appear inconsistent either with reason or revelation, if it
appear to be consistent with phenomena of nature, to suppose that God
is constantly occupied in forming mind out of matter and that the
various impressions that man receives through life is the process for
that purpose. The employment is surely worthy of the highest attributes
of the Deity.

This view of the state of man on earth will not seem to be unattended
with probability, if, judging from the little experience we have of the
nature of mind, it shall appear upon investigation that the phenomena
around us, and the various events of human life, seem peculiarly
calculated to promote this great end, and especially if, upon this
supposition, we can account, even to our own narrow understandings, for
many of those roughnesses and inequalities in life which querulous man
too frequently makes the subject of his complaint against the God of
nature.

The first great awakeners of the mind seem to be the wants of the body.
(It was my intention to have entered at some length into this subject
as a kind of second part to the Essay. A long interruption, from
particular business, has obliged me to lay aside this intention, at
least for the present. I shall now, therefore, only give a sketch of a
few of the leading circumstances that appear to me to favour the
general supposition that I have advanced. ) They are the first
stimulants that rouse the brain of infant man into sentient activity,
and such seems to be the sluggishness of original matter that unless by
a peculiar course of excitements other wants, equally powerful, are
generated, these stimulants seem, even afterwards, to be necessary to
continue that activity which they first awakened. The savage would
slumber for ever under his tree unless he were roused from his torpor
by the cravings of hunger or the pinchings of cold, and the exertions
that he makes to avoid these evils, by procuring food, and building
himself a covering, are the exercises which form and keep in motion his
faculties, which otherwise would sink into listless inactivity. From
all that experience has taught us concerning the structure of the human
mind, if those stimulants to exertion which arise from the wants of the
body were removed from the mass of mankind, we have much more reason to
think that they would be sunk to the level of brutes, from a deficiency
of excitements, than that they would be raised to the rank of
philosophers by the possession of leisure. In those countries where
nature is the most redundant in spontaneous produce the inhabitants
will not be found the most remarkable for acuteness of intellect.
Necessity has been with great truth called the mother of invention.
Some of the noblest exertions of the human mind have been set in motion
by the necessity of satisfying the wants of the body. Want has not
unfrequently given wings to the imagination of the poet, pointed the
flowing periods of the historian, and added acuteness to the researches
of the philosopher, and though there are undoubtedly many minds at
present so far improved by the various excitements of knowledge, or of
social sympathy, that they would not relapse into listlessness if their
bodily stimulants were removed, yet it can scarcely be doubted that
these stimulants could not be withdrawn from the mass of mankind
without producing a general and fatal torpor, destructive of all the
germs of future improvement.

Locke, if I recollect, says that the endeavour to avoid pain rather
than the pursuit of pleasure is the great stimulus to action in life:
and that in looking to any particular pleasure, we shall not be roused
into action in order to obtain it, till the contemplation of it has
continued so long as to amount to a sensation of pain or uneasiness
under the absence of it. To avoid evil and to pursue good seem to be
the great duty and business of man, and this world appears to be
peculiarly calculated to afford opportunity of the most unremitted
exertion of this kind, and it is by this exertion, by these stimulants,
that mind is formed. If Locke's idea be just, and there is great reason
to think that it is, evil seems to be necessary to create exertion, and
exertion seems evidently necessary to create mind.

The necessity of food for the support of life gives rise, probably, to
a greater quantity of exertion than any other want, bodily or mental.
The Supreme Being has ordained that the earth shall not produce good in
great quantities till much preparatory labour and ingenuity has been
exercised upon its surface. There is no conceivable connection to our
comprehensions, between the seed and the plant or tree that rises from
it. The Supreme Creator might, undoubtedly, raise up plants of all
kinds, for the use of his creatures, without the assistance of those
little bits of matter, which we call seed, or even without the
assisting labour and attention of man. The processes of ploughing and
clearing the ground, of collecting and sowing seeds, are not surely for
the assistance of God in his creation, but are made previously
necessary to the enjoyment of the blessings of life, in order to rouse
man into action, and form his mind to reason.

To furnish the most unremitted excitements of this kind, and to urge
man to further the gracious designs of Providence by the full
cultivation of the earth, it has been ordained that population should
increase much faster than food. This general law (as it has appeared in
the former parts of this Essay) undoubtedly produces much partial evil,
but a little reflection may, perhaps, satisfy us, that it produces a
great overbalance of good. Strong excitements seem necessary to create
exertion, and to direct this exertion, and form the reasoning faculty,
it seems absolutely necessary, that the Supreme Being should act always
according to general laws. The constancy of the laws of nature, or the
certainty with which we may expect the same effects from the same
causes, is the foundation of the faculty of reason. If in the ordinary
course of things, the finger of God were frequently visible, or to
speak more correctly, if God were frequently to change his purpose (for
the finger of God is, indeed, visible in every blade of grass that we
see), a general and fatal torpor of the human faculties would probably
ensue; even the bodily wants of mankind would cease to stimulate them
to exertion, could they not reasonably expect that if their efforts
were well directed they would be crowned with success. The constancy of
the laws of nature is the foundation of the industry and foresight of
the husbandman, the indefatigable ingenuity of the artificer, the
skilful researches of the physician and anatomist, and the watchful
observation and patient investigation of the natural philosopher. To
this constancy we owe all the greatest and noblest efforts of
intellect. To this constancy we owe the immortal mind of a Newton.

As the reasons, therefore, for the constancy of the laws of nature
seem, even to our understandings, obvious and striking; if we return to
the principle of population and consider man as he really is, inert,
sluggish, and averse from labour, unless compelled by necessity (and it
is surely the height of folly to talk of man, according to our crude
fancies of what he might be), we may pronounce with certainty that the
world would not have been peopled, but for the superiority of the power
of population to the means of subsistence. Strong and constantly
operative as this stimulus is on man to urge him to the cultivation of
the earth, if we still see that cultivation proceeds very slowly, we
may fairly conclude that a less stimulus would have been insufficient.
Even under the operation of this constant excitement, savages will
inhabit countries of the greatest natural fertility for a long period
before they betake themselves to pasturage or agriculture. Had
population and food increased in the same ratio, it is probable that
man might never have emerged from the savage state. But supposing the
earth once well peopled, an Alexander, a Julius Caesar, a Tamberlane,
or a bloody revolution might irrecoverably thin the human race, and
defeat the great designs of the Creator. The ravages of a contagious
disorder would be felt for ages; and an earthquake might unpeople a
region for ever. The principle, according to which population
increases, prevents the vices of mankind, or the accidents of nature,
the partial evils arising from general laws, from obstructing the high
purpose of the creation. It keeps the inhabitants of the earth always
fully up to the level of the means of subsistence; and is constantly
acting upon man as a powerful stimulus, urging him to the further
cultivation of the earth, and to enable it, consequently, to support a
more extended population. But it is impossible that this law can
operate, and produce the effects apparently intended by the Supreme
Being, without occasioning partial evil. Unless the principle of
population were to be altered according to the circumstances of each
separate country (which would not only be contrary to our universal
experience, with regard to the laws of nature, but would contradict
even our own reason, which sees the absolute necessity of general laws
for the formation of intellect), it is evident that the same principle
which, seconded by industry, will people a fertile region in a few
years must produce distress in countries that have been long inhabited.

It seems, however, every way probable that even the acknowledged
difficulties occasioned by the law of population tend rather to promote
than impede the general purpose of Providence. They excite universal
exertion and contribute to that infinite variety of situations, and
consequently of impressions, which seems upon the whole favourable to
the growth of mind. It is probable, that too great or too little
excitement, extreme poverty, or too great riches may be alike
unfavourable in this respect. The middle regions of society seem to be
best suited to intellectual improvement, but it is contrary to the
analogy of all nature to expect that the whole of society can be a
middle region. The temperate zones of the earth seem to be the most
favourable to the mental and corporal energies of man, but all cannot
be temperate zones. A world, warmed and enlightened but by one sun,
must from the laws of matter have some parts chilled by perpetual
frosts and others scorched by perpetual heats. Every piece of matter
lying on a surface must have an upper and an under side, all the
particles cannot be in the middle. The most valuable parts of an oak,
to a timber merchant, are not either the roots or the branches, but
these are absolutely necessary to the existence of the middle part, or
stem, which is the object in request. The timber merchant could not
possibly expect to make an oak grow without roots or branches, but if
he could find out a mode of cultivation which would cause more of the
substance to go to stem, and less to root and branch, he would be right
to exert himself in bringing such a system into general use.

In the same manner, though we cannot possibly expect to exclude riches
and poverty from society, yet if we could find out a mode of government
by which the numbers in the extreme regions would be lessened and the
numbers in the middle regions increased, it would be undoubtedly our
duty to adopt it. It is not, however, improbable that as in the oak,
the roots and branches could not be diminished very greatly without
weakening the vigorous circulation of the sap in the stem, so in
society the extreme parts could not be diminished beyond a certain
degree without lessening that animated exertion throughout the middle
parts, which is the very cause that they are the most favourable to the
growth of intellect. If no man could hope to rise or fear to fall, in
society, if industry did not bring with it its reward and idleness its
punishment, the middle parts would not certainly be what they now are.
In reasoning upon this subject, it is evident that we ought to consider
chiefly the mass of mankind and not individual instances. There are
undoubtedly many minds, and there ought to be many, according to the
chances out of so great a mass, that, having been vivified early by a
peculiar course of excitements, would not need the constant action of
narrow motives to continue them in activity. But if we were to review
the various useful discoveries, the valuable writings, and other
laudable exertions of mankind, I believe we should find that more were
to be attributed to the narrow motives that operate upon the many than
to the apparently more enlarged motives that operate upon the few.

Leisure is, without doubt, highly valuable to man, but taking man as he
is, the probability seems to be that in the greater number of instances
it will produce evil rather than good. It has been not infrequently
remarked that talents are more common among younger brothers than among
elder brothers, but it can scarcely be imagined that younger brothers
are, upon an average, born with a greater original susceptibility of
parts. The difference, if there really is any observable difference,
can only arise from their different situations. Exertion and activity
are in general absolutely necessary in one case and are only optional
in the other.

That the difficulties of life contribute to generate talents, every
day's experience must convince us. The exertions that men find it
necessary to make, in order to support themselves or families,
frequently awaken faculties that might otherwise have lain for ever
dormant, and it has been commonly remarked that new and extraordinary
situations generally create minds adequate to grapple with the
difficulties in which they are involved.




CHAPTER 19

The sorrows of life necessary to soften and humanize the heart--The
excitement of social sympathy often produce characters of a higher
order than the mere possessors of talents--Moral evil probably
necessary to the production of moral excellence--Excitements from
intellectual wants continually kept up by the infinite variety of
nature, and the obscurity that involves metaphysical subjects--The
difficulties in revelation to be accounted for upon this principle--The
degree of evidence which the scriptures contain, probably, best suited
to the improvements of the human faculties, and the moral amelioration
of mankind--The idea that mind is created by excitements seems to
account for the existence of natural and moral evil.


The sorrows and distresses of life form another class of excitements,
which seem to be necessary, by a peculiar train of impressions, to
soften and humanize the heart, to awaken social sympathy, to generate
all the Christian virtues, and to afford scope for the ample exertion
of benevolence. The general tendency of an uniform course of prosperity
is rather to degrade than exalt the character. The heart that has never
known sorrow itself will seldom be feelingly alive to the pains and
pleasures, the wants and wishes, of its fellow beings. It will seldom
be overflowing with that warmth of brotherly love, those kind and
amiable affections, which dignify the human character even more than
the possession of the highest talents. Talents, indeed, though
undoubtedly a very prominent and fine feature of mind, can by no means
be considered as constituting the whole of it. There are many minds
which have not been exposed to those excitements that usually form
talents, that have yet been vivified to a high degree by the
excitements of social sympathy. In every rank of life, in the lowest as
frequently as in the highest, characters are to be found overflowing
with the milk of human kindness, breathing love towards God and man,
and, though without those peculiar powers of mind called talents,
evidently holding a higher rank in the scale of beings than many who
possess them. Evangelical charity, meekness, piety, and all that class
of virtues distinguished particularly by the name of Christian virtues
do not seem necessarily to include abilities; yet a soul possessed of
these amiable qualities, a soul awakened and vivified by these
delightful sympathies, seems to hold a nearer commerce with the skies
than mere acuteness of intellect.

The greatest talents have been frequently misapplied and have produced
evil proportionate to the extent of their powers. Both reason and
revelation seem to assure us that such minds will be condemned to
eternal death, but while on earth, these vicious instruments performed
their part in the great mass of impressions, by the disgust and
abhorrence which they excited. It seems highly probable that moral evil
is absolutely necessary to the production of moral excellence. A being
with only good placed in view may be justly said to be impelled by a
blind necessity. The pursuit of good in this case can be no indication
of virtuous propensities. It might be said, perhaps, that infinite
Wisdom cannot want such an indication as outward action, but would
foreknow with certainly whether the being would choose good or evil.
This might be a plausible argument against a state of trial, but will
not hold against the supposition that mind in this world is in a state
of formation. Upon this idea, the being that has seen moral evil and
has felt disapprobation and disgust at it is essentially different from
the being that has seen only good. They are pieces of clay that have
received distinct impressions: they must, therefore, necessarily be in
different shapes; or, even if we allow them both to have the same
lovely form of virtue, it must be acknowledged that one has undergone
the further process, necessary to give firmness and durability to its
substance, while the other is still exposed to injury, and liable to be
broken by every accidental impulse. An ardent love and admiration of
virtue seems to imply the existence of something opposite to it, and it
seems highly probable that the same beauty of form and substance, the
same perfection of character, could not be generated without the
impressions of disapprobation which arise from the spectacle of moral
evil.

When the mind has been awakened into activity by the passions, and the
wants of the body, intellectual wants arise; and the desire of
knowledge, and the impatience under ignorance, form a new and important
class of excitements. Every part of nature seems peculiarly calculated
to furnish stimulants to mental exertion of this kind, and to offer
inexhaustible food for the most unremitted inquiry. Our mortal Bard
says of Cleopatra:

Custom cannot stale
Her infinite variety.

The expression, when applied to any one object, may be considered as a
poetical amplification, but it is accurately true when applied to
nature. Infinite variety seems, indeed, eminently her characteristic
feature. The shades that are here and there blended in the picture give
spirit, life, and prominence to her exuberant beauties, and those
roughnesses and inequalities, those inferior parts that support the
superior, though they sometimes offend the fastidious microscopic eye
of short-sighted man, contribute to the symmetry, grace, and fair
proportion of the whole.

The infinite variety of the forms and operations of nature, besides
tending immediately to awaken and improve the mind by the variety of
impressions that it creates, opens other fertile sources of improvement
by offering so wide and extensive a field for investigation and
research. Uniform, undiversified perfection could not possess the same
awakening powers. When we endeavour then to contemplate the system of
the universe, when we think of the stars as the suns of other systems
scattered throughout infinite space, when we reflect that we do not
probably see a millionth part of those bright orbs that are beaming
light and life to unnumbered worlds, when our minds, unable to grasp
the immeasurable conception, sink, lost and confounded, in admiration
at the mighty incomprehensible power of the Creator, let us not
querulously complain that all climates are not equally genial, that
perpetual spring does not reign throughout the year, that God's
creatures do not possess the same advantages, that clouds and tempests
sometimes darken the natural world and vice and misery the moral world,
and that all the works of the creation are not formed with equal
perfection. Both reason and experience seem to indicate to us that the
infinite variety of nature (and variety cannot exist without inferior
parts, or apparent blemishes) is admirably adapted to further the high
purpose of the creation and to produce the greatest possible quantity
of good.

The obscurity that involves all metaphysical subjects appears to me, in
the same manner, peculiarly calculated to add to that class of
excitements which arise from the thirst of knowledge. It is probable
that man, while on earth, will never be able to attain complete
satisfaction on these subjects; but this is by no means a reason that
he should not engage in them. The darkness that surrounds these
interesting topics of human curiosity may be intended to furnish
endless motives to intellectual activity and exertion. The constant
effort to dispel this darkness, even if it fail of success, invigorates
and improves the thinking faculty. If the subjects of human inquiry
were once exhausted, mind would probably stagnate; but the infinitely
diversified forms and operations of nature, together with the endless
food for speculation which metaphysical subjects offer, prevent the
possibility that such a period should ever arrive.

It is by no means one of the wisest sayings of Solomon that 'there is
no new thing under the sun. ' On the contrary, it is probable that were
the present system to continue for millions of years, continual
additions would be making to the mass of human knowledge, and yet,
perhaps, it may be a matter of doubt whether what may be called the
capacity of mind be in any marked and decided manner increasing. A
Socrates, a Plato, or an Aristotle, however confessedly inferior in
knowledge to the philosophers of the present day, do not appear to have
been much below them in intellectual capacity. Intellect rises from a
speck, continues in vigour only for a certain period, and will not
perhaps admit while on earth of above a certain number of impressions.
These impressions may, indeed, be infinitely modified, and from these
various modifications, added probably to a difference in the
susceptibility of the original germs, arise the endless diversity of
character that we see in the world; but reason and experience seem both
to assure us that the capacity of individual minds does not increase in
proportion to the mass of existing knowledge. (It is probable that no
two grains of wheat are exactly alike. Soil undoubtedly makes the
principal difference in the blades that spring up, but probably not
all. It seems natural to suppose some sort of difference in the
original germs that are afterwards awakened into thought, and the
extraordinary difference of susceptibility in very young children seems
to confirm the supposition. )

The finest minds seem to be formed rather by efforts at original
thinking, by endeavours to form new combinations, and to discover new
truths, than by passively receiving the impressions of other men's
ideas. Could we suppose the period arrived, when there was not further
hope of future discoveries, and the only employment of mind was to
acquire pre-existing knowledge, without any efforts to form new and
original combinations, though the mass of human knowledge were a
thousand times greater than it is at present, yet it is evident that
one of the noblest stimulants to mental exertion would have ceased; the
finest feature of intellect would be lost; everything allied to genius
would be at an end; and it appears to be impossible, that, under such
circumstances, any individuals could possess the same intellectual
energies as were possessed by a Locke, a Newton, or a Shakespeare, or
even by a Socrates, a Plato, an Aristotle or a Homer.

If a revelation from heaven of which no person could feel the smallest
doubt were to dispel the mists that now hang over metaphysical
subjects, were to explain the nature and structure of mind, the
affections and essences of all substances, the mode in which the
Supreme Being operates in the works of the creation, and the whole plan
and scheme of the Universe, such an accession of knowledge so obtained,
instead of giving additional vigour and activity to the human mind,
would in all probability tend to repress future exertion and to damp
the soaring wings of intellect.

For this reason I have never considered the doubts and difficulties
that involve some parts of the sacred writings as any ardent against
their divine original. The Supreme Being might, undoubtedly, have
accompanied his revelations to man by such a succession of miracles,
and of such a nature, as would have produced universal overpowering
conviction and have put an end at once to all hesitation and
discussion. But weak as our reason is to comprehend the plans of the
great Creator, it is yet sufficiently strong to see the most striking
objections to such a revelation. From the little we know of the
structure of the human understanding, we must be convinced that an
overpowering conviction of this kind, instead of tending to the
improvement and moral amelioration of man, would act like the touch of
a torpedo on all intellectual exertion and would almost put an end to
the existence of virtue. If the scriptural denunciations of eternal
punishment were brought home with the same certainty to every man's
mind as that the night will follow the day, this one vast and gloomy
idea would take such full possession of the human faculties as to leave
no room for any other conceptions, the external actions of men would be
all nearly alike, virtuous conduct would be no indication of virtuous
disposition, vice and virtue would be blended together in one common
mass, and though the all-seeing eye of God might distinguish them they
must necessarily make the same impressions on man, who can judge only
from external appearances. Under such a dispensation, it is difficult
to conceive how human beings could be formed to a detestation of moral
evil, and a love and admiration of God, and of moral excellence.

Our ideas of virtue and vice are not, perhaps, very accurate and
well-defined; but few, I think, would call an action really virtuous
which was performed simply and solely from the dread of a very great
punishment or the expectation of a very great reward. The fear of the
Lord is very justly said to be the beginning of wisdom, but the end of
wisdom is the love of the Lord and the admiration of moral good. The
denunciations of future punishment contained in the scriptures seem to
be well calculated to arrest the progress of the vicious and awaken the
attention of the careless, but we see from repeated experience that
they are not accompanied with evidence of such a nature as to overpower
the human will and to make men lead virtuous lives with vicious
dispositions, merely from a dread of hereafter. A genuine faith, by
which I mean a faith that shews itself in it the virtues of a truly
Christian life, may generally be considered as an indication of an
amiable and virtuous disposition, operated upon more by love than by
pure unmixed fear.

When we reflect on the temptations to which man must necessarily be
exposed in this world, from the structure of his frame, and the
operation of the laws of nature, and the consequent moral certainty
that many vessels will come out of this mighty creative furnace in
wrong shapes, it is perfectly impossible to conceive that any of these
creatures of God's hand can be condemned to eternal suffering. Could we
once admit such an idea, it our natural conceptions of goodness and
justice would be completely overthrown, and we could no longer look up
to God as a merciful and righteous Being. But the doctrine of life and
Mortality which was brought to light by the gospel, the doctrine that
the end of righteousness is everlasting life, but that the wages of sin
are death, is in every respect just and merciful, and worthy of the
great Creator. Nothing can appear more consonant to our reason than
that those beings which come out of the creative process of the world
in lovely and beautiful forms should be crowned with immortality, while
those which come out misshapen, those whose minds are not suited to a
purer and happier state of existence, should perish and be condemned to
mix again with their original clay. Eternal condemnation of this kind
may be considered as a species of eternal punishment, and it is not
wonderful that it should be represented, sometimes, under images of
suffering.