No More Learning

The institution of marriage, or at least, of some express or implied
obligation on every man to support his own children, seems to be the
natural result of these reasonings in a community under the
difficulties that we have supposed.

The view of these difficulties presents us with a very natural origin
of the superior disgrace which attends a breach of chastity in the
woman than in the man. It could not be expected that women should have
resources sufficient to support their own children. When therefore a
woman was connected with a man, who had entered into no compact to
maintain her children, and, aware of the inconveniences that he might
bring upon himself, had deserted her, these children must necessarily
fall for support upon the society, or starve. And to prevent the
frequent recurrence of such an inconvenience, as it would be highly
unjust to punish so natural a fault by personal restraint or
infliction, the men might agree to punish it with disgrace. The offence
is besides more obvious and conspicuous in the woman, and less liable
to any mistake. The father of a child may not always be known, but the
same uncertainty cannot easily exist with regard to the mother. Where
the evidence of the offence was most complete, and the inconvenience to
the society at the same time the greatest, there it was agreed that the
large share of blame should fall. The obligation on every man to
maintain his children, the society would enforce, if there were
occasion; and the greater degree of inconvenience or labour, to which a
family would necessarily subject him, added to some portion of disgrace
which every human being must incur who leads another into unhappiness,
might be considered as a sufficient punishment for the man.

That a woman should at present be almost driven from society for an
offence which men commit nearly with impunity, seems to be undoubtedly
a breach of natural justice. But the origin of the custom, as the most
obvious and effectual method of preventing the frequent recurrence of a
serious inconvenience to a community, appears to be natural, though not
perhaps perfectly justifiable. This origin, however, is now lost in the
new train of ideas which the custom has since generated. What at first
might be dictated by state necessity is now supported by female
delicacy, and operates with the greatest force on that part of society
where, if the original intention of the custom were preserved, there is
the least real occasion for it.

When these two fundamental laws of society, the security of property,
and the institution of marriage, were once established, inequality of
conditions must necessarily follow. Those who were born after the
division of property would come into a world already possessed. If
their parents, from having too large a family, could not give them
sufficient for their support, what are they to do in a world where
everything is appropriated? We have seen the fatal effects that would
result to a society, if every man had a valid claim to an equal share
of the produce of the earth. The members of a family which was grown
too large for the original division of land appropriated to it could
not then demand a part of the surplus produce of others, as a debt of
justice. It has appeared, that from the inevitable laws of our nature
some human beings must suffer from want. These are the unhappy persons
who, in the great lottery of life, have drawn a blank. The number of
these claimants would soon exceed the ability of the surplus produce to
supply. Moral merit is a very difficult distinguishing criterion,
except in extreme cases. The owners of surplus produce would in general
seek some more obvious mark of distinction. And it seems both natural
and just that, except upon particular occasions, their choice should
fall upon those who were able, and professed themselves willing, to
exert their strength in procuring a further surplus produce; and thus
at once benefiting the community, and enabling these proprietors to
afford assistance to greater numbers. All who were in want of food
would be urged by imperious necessity to offer their labour in exchange
for this article so absolutely essential to existence. The fund
appropriated to the maintenance of labour would be the aggregate
quantity of food possessed by the owners of land beyond their own
consumption. When the demands upon this fund were great and numerous,
it would naturally be divided in very small shares. Labour would be ill
paid. Men would offer to work for a bare subsistence, and the rearing
of families would be checked by sickness and misery. On the contrary,
when this fund was increasing fast, when it was great in proportion to
the number of claimants, it would be divided in much larger shares. No
man would exchange his labour without receiving an ample quantity of
food in return. Labourers would live in ease and comfort, and would
consequently be able to rear a numerous and vigorous offspring.

On the state of this fund, the happiness, or the degree of misery,
prevailing among the lower classes of people in every known state at
present chiefly depends. And on this happiness, or degree of misery,
depends the increase, stationariness, or decrease of population.

And thus it appears, that a society constituted according to the most
beautiful form that imagination can conceive, with benevolence for its
moving principle, instead of self-love, and with every evil disposition
in all its members corrected by reason and not force, would, from the
inevitable laws of nature, and not from any original depravity of man,
in a very short period degenerate into a society constructed upon a
plan not essentially different from that which prevails in every known
state at present; I mean, a society divided into a class of
proprietors, and a class of labourers, and with self-love the
main-spring of the great machine.

In the supposition I have made, I have undoubtedly taken the increase
of population smaller, and the increase of produce greater, than they
really would be. No reason can be assigned why, under the circumstances
I have supposed, population should not increase faster than in any
known instance. If then we were to take the period of doubling at
fifteen years, instead of twenty-five years, and reflect upon the
labour necessary to double the produce in so short a time, even if we
allow it possible, we may venture to pronounce with certainty that if
Mr Godwin's system of society was established in its utmost perfection,
instead of myriads of centuries, not thirty years could elapse before
its utter destruction from the simple principle of population.

I have taken no notice of emigration for obvious reasons. If such
societies were instituted in other parts of Europe, these countries
would be under the same difficulties with regard to population, and
could admit no fresh members into their bosoms. If this beautiful
society were confined to this island, it must have degenerated
strangely from its original purity, and administer but a very small
portion of the happiness it proposed; in short, its essential principle
must be completely destroyed, before any of its members would
voluntarily consent to leave it, and live under such governments as at
present exist in Europe, or submit to the extreme hardships of first
settlers in new regions. We well know, from repeated experience, how
much misery and hardship men will undergo in their own country, before
they can determine to desert it; and how often the most tempting
proposals of embarking for new settlements have been rejected by people
who appeared to be almost starving.




CHAPTER 11

Mr Godwin's conjecture concerning the future extinction of the passion
between the sexes--Little apparent grounds for such a
conjecture--Passion of love not inconsistent either with reason or
virtue.


We have supported Mr Godwin's system of society once completely
established. But it is supposing an impossibility. The same causes in
nature which would destroy it so rapidly, were it once established,
would prevent the possibility of its establishment. And upon what
grounds we can presume a change in these natural causes, I am utterly
at a loss to conjecture. No move towards the extinction of the passion
between the sexes has taken place in the five or six thousand years
that the world has existed. Men in the decline of life have in all ages
declaimed against a passion which they have ceased to feel, but with as
little reason as success. Those who from coldness of constitutional
temperament have never felt what love is, will surely be allowed to be
very incompetent judges with regard to the power of this passion to
contribute to the sum of pleasurable sensations in life. Those who have
spent their youth in criminal excesses and have prepared for
themselves, as the comforts of their age, corporeal debility and mental
remorse may well inveigh against such pleasures as vain and futile, and
unproductive of lasting satisfaction. But the pleasures of pure love
will bear the contemplation of the most improved reason, and the most
exalted virtue. Perhaps there is scarcely a man who has once
experienced the genuine delight of virtuous love, however great his
intellectual pleasure may have been, that does not look back to the
period as the sunny spot in his whole life, where his imagination loves
to bask, which he recollects and contemplates with the fondest regrets,
and which he would most wish to live over again. The superiority of
intellectual to sensual pleasures consists rather in their filling up
more time, in their having a larger range, and in their being less
liable to satiety, than in their being more real and essential.

Intemperance in every enjoyment defeats its own purpose. A walk in the
finest day through the most beautiful country, if pursued too far, ends
in pain and fatigue. The most wholesome and invigorating food, eaten
with an unrestrained appetite, produces weakness instead of strength.
Even intellectual pleasures, though certainly less liable than others
to satiety, pursued with too little intermission, debilitate the body,
and impair the vigour of the mind. To argue against the reality of
these pleasures from their abuse seems to be hardly just. Morality,
according to Mr Godwin, is a calculation of consequences, or, as
Archdeacon Paley very justly expresses it, the will of God, as
collected from general expediency. According to either of these
definitions, a sensual pleasure not attended with the probability of
unhappy consequences does not offend against the laws of morality, and
if it be pursued with such a degree of temperance as to leave the most
ample room for intellectual attainments, it must undoubtedly add to the
sum of pleasurable sensations in life. Virtuous love, exalted by
friendship, seems to be that sort of mixture of sensual and
intellectual enjoyment particularly suited to the nature of man, and
most powerfully calculated to awaken the sympathies of the soul, and
produce the most exquisite gratifications.

Mr Godwin says, in order to shew the evident inferiority of the
pleasures of sense, 'Strip the commerce of the sexes of all its
attendant circumstances, and it would be generally despised' (Bk. I,
ch. 5; in the third edition, Vol. I, pp. 71-72). He might as well say
to a man who admired trees: strip them of their spreading branches and
lovely foliage, and what beauty can you see in a bare pole? But it was
the tree with the branches and foliage, and not without them, that
excited admiration. One feature of an object may be as distinct, and
excite as different emotions, from the aggregate as any two things the
most remote, as a beautiful woman, and a map of Madagascar. It is 'the
symmetry of person, the vivacity, the voluptuous softness of temper,
the affectionate kindness of feelings, the imagination and the wit' of
a woman that excite the passion of love, and not the mere distinction
of her being female. Urged by the passion of love, men have been driven
into acts highly prejudicial to the general interests of society, but
probably they would have found no difficulty in resisting the
temptation, had it appeared in the form of a woman with no other
attractions whatever but her sex. To strip sensual pleasures of all
their adjuncts, in order to prove their inferiority, is to deprive a
magnet of some of its most essential causes of attraction, and then to
say that it is weak and inefficient.

In the pursuit of every enjoyment, whether sensual or intellectual,
reason, that faculty which enables us to calculate consequences, is the
proper corrective and guide. It is probable therefore that improved
reason will always tend to prevent the abuse of sensual pleasures,
though it by no means follows that it will extinguish them.

I have endeavoured to expose the fallacy of that argument which infers
an unlimited progress from a partial improvement, the limits of which
cannot be exactly ascertained. It has appeared, I think, that there are
many instances in which a decided progress has been observed, where yet
it would be a gross absurdity to suppose that progress indefinite. But
towards the extinction of the passion between the sexes, no observable
progress whatever has hitherto been made. To suppose such an
extinction, therefore, is merely to offer an unfounded conjecture,
unsupported by any philosophical probabilities.

It is a truth, which history I am afraid makes too clear, that some men
of the highest mental powers have been addicted not only to a moderate,
but even to an immoderate indulgence in the pleasures of sensual love.
But allowing, as I should be inclined to do, notwithstanding numerous
instances to the contrary, that great intellectual exertions tend to
diminish the empire of this passion over man, it is evident that the
mass of mankind must be improved more highly than the brightest
ornaments of the species at present before any difference can take
place sufficient sensibly to affect population. I would by no means
suppose that the mass of mankind has reached its term of improvement,
but the principal argument of this essay tends to place in a strong
point of view the improbability that the lower classes of people in any
country should ever be sufficiently free from want and labour to obtain
any high degree of intellectual improvement.




CHAPTER 12

Mr Godwin's conjecture concerning the indefinite prolongation of human
life--Improper inference drawn from the effects of mental stimulants on
the human frame, illustrated in various instances--Conjectures not
founded on any indications in the past not to be considered as
philosophical conjectures--Mr Godwin's and Mr Condorcet's conjecture
respecting the approach of man towards immortality on earth, a curious
instance of the inconsistency of scepticism.


Mr Godwin's conjecture respecting the future approach of man towards
immortality on earth seems to be rather oddly placed in a chapter which
professes to remove the objection to his system of equality from the
principle of population. Unless he supposes the passion between the
sexes to decrease faster than the duration of life increases, the earth
would be more encumbered than ever. But leaving this difficulty to Mr
Godwin, let us examine a few of the appearances from which the probable
immortality of man is inferred.

To prove the power of the mind over the body, Mr Godwin observes, "How
often do we find a piece of good news dissipating a distemper? How
common is the remark that those accidents which are to the indolent a
source of disease are forgotten and extirpated in the busy and active?
I walk twenty miles in an indolent and half determined temper and am
extremely fatigued. I walk twenty miles full of ardour, and with a
motive that engrosses my soul, and I come in as fresh and as alert as
when I began my journey. Emotion excited by some unexpected word, by a
letter that is delivered to us, occasions the most extraordinary
revolutions in our frame, accelerates the circulation, causes the heart
to palpitate, the tongue to refuse its office, and has been known to
occasion death by extreme anguish or extreme joy. There is nothing
indeed of which the physician is more aware than of the power of the
mind in assisting or reading convalescence. "

The instances here mentioned are chiefly instances of the effects of
mental stimulants on the bodily frame. No person has ever for a moment
doubted the near, though mysterious, connection of mind and body. But
it is arguing totally without knowledge of the nature of stimulants to
suppose, either that they can be applied continually with equal
strength, or if they could be so applied, for a time, that they would
not exhaust and wear out the subject. In some of the cases here
noticed, the strength of the stimulus depends upon its novelty and
unexpectedness. Such a stimulus cannot, from its nature, be repeated
often with the same effect, as it would by repetition lose that
property which gives it its strength.

In the other cases, the argument is from a small and partial effect, to
a great and general effect, which will in numberless instances be found
to be a very fallacious mode of reasoning. The busy and active man may
in some degree counteract, or what is perhaps nearer the truth, may
disregard those slight disorders of frame which fix the attention of a
man who has nothing else to think of; but this does not tend to prove
that activity of mind will enable a man to disregard a high fever, the
smallpox, or the plague.

The man who walks twenty miles with a motive that engrosses his soul
does not attend to his slight fatigue of body when he comes in; but
double his motive, and set him to walk another twenty miles, quadruple
it, and let him start a third time, and so on; and the length of his
walk will ultimately depend upon muscle and not mind. Powell, for a
motive of ten guineas, would have walked further probably than Mr
Godwin, for a motive of half a million. A motive of uncommon power
acting upon a frame of moderate strength would, perhaps, make the man
kill himself by his exertions, but it would not make him walk a hundred
miles in twenty-four hours. This statement of the case shews the
fallacy of supposing that the person was really not at all tired in his
first walk of twenty miles, because he did not appear to be so, or,
perhaps, scarcely felt any fatigue himself. The mind cannot fix its
attention strongly on more than one object at once. The twenty thousand
pounds so engrossed his thoughts that he did not attend to any slight
soreness of foot, or stiffness of limb. But had he been really as fresh
and as alert, as when he first set off, he would be able to go the
second twenty miles with as much ease as the first, and so on, the
third, &c. Which leads to a palpable absurdity. When a horse of spirit
is nearly half tired, by the stimulus of the spur, added to the proper
management of the bit, he may be put so much upon his mettle, that he
would appear to a standerby, as fresh and as high spirited as if he had
not gone a mile. Nay, probably, the horse himself, while in the heat
and passion occasioned by this stimulus, would not feel any fatigue;
but it would be strangely contrary to all reason and experience, to
argue from such an appearance that, if the stimulus were continued, the
horse would never be tired. The cry of a pack of hounds will make some
horses, after a journey of forty miles on the road, appear as fresh,
and as lively, as when they first set out. Were they then to be hunted,
no perceptible abatement would at first be felt by their riders in
their strength and spirits, but towards the end of a hard day, the
previous fatigue would have its full weight and effect, and make them
tire sooner. When I have taken a long walk with my gun, and met with no
success, I have frequently returned home feeling a considerable degree
of uncomfortableness from fatigue. Another day, perhaps, going over
nearly the same extent of ground with a good deal of sport, I have come
home fresh, and alert. The difference in the sensation of fatigue upon
coming in, on the different days, may have been very striking, but on
the following mornings I have found no such difference. I have not
perceived that I was less stiff in my limbs, or less footsore, on the
morning after the day of the sport, than on the other morning.

In all these cases, stimulants upon the mind seem to act rather by
taking off the attention from the bodily fatigue, than by really and
truly counteracting it. If the energy of my mind had really
counteracted the fatigue of my body, why should I feel tired the next
morning? if the stimulus of the hounds had as completely overcome the
fatigue of the journey in reality, as it did in appearance, why should
the horse be tired sooner than if he had not gone the forty miles? I
happen to have a very bad fit of the toothache at the time I am writing
this. In the eagerness of composition, I every now and then, for a
moment or two, forget it. Yet I cannot help thinking that the process,
which causes the pain, is still going forwards, and that the nerves
which carry the information of it to the brain are even during these
moments demanding attention and room for their appropriate vibrations.
The multiplicity of vibrations of another kind may perhaps prevent
their admission, or overcome them for a time when admitted, till a
shoot of extraordinary energy puts all other vibration to the rout,
destroys the vividness of my argumentative conceptions, and rides
triumphant in the brain. In this case, as in the others, the mind seems
to have little or no power in counteracting or curing the disorder, but
merely possesses a power, if strongly excited, of fixing its attention
on other subjects.

I do not, however, mean to say that a sound and vigorous mind has no
tendency whatever to keep the body in a similar state. So close and
intimate is the union of mind and body that it would be highly
extraordinary if they did not mutually assist each other's functions.
But, perhaps, upon a comparison, the body has more effect upon the mind
than the mind upon the body. The first object of the mind is to act as
purveyor to the wants of the body. When these wants are completely
satisfied, an active mind is indeed apt to wander further, to range
over the fields of science, or sport in the regions of. Imagination, to
fancy that it has 'shuffled off this mortal coil', and is seeking its
kindred element. But all these efforts are like the vain exertions of
the hare in the fable. The slowly moving tortoise, the body, never
fails to overtake the mind, however widely and extensively it may have
ranged, and the brightest and most energetic intellects, unwillingly as
they may attend to the first or second summons, must ultimately yield
the empire of the brain to the calls of hunger, or sink with the
exhausted body in sleep.

It seems as if one might say with certainty that if a medicine could be
found to immortalize the body there would be no fear of its [not] being
accompanied by the immortality of the mind. But the immortality of the
mind by no means seems to infer the immortality of the body. On the
contrary, the greatest conceivable energy of mind would probably
exhaust and destroy the strength of the body. A temperate vigour of
mind appears to be favourable to health, but very great intellectual
exertions tend rather, as has been often observed, to wear out the
scabbard. Most of the instances which Mr Godwin has brought to prove
the power of the mind over the body, and the consequent probability of
the immortality of man, are of this latter description, and could such
stimulants be continually applied, instead of tending to immortalize,
they would tend very rapidly to destroy the human frame.

The probable increase of the voluntary power of man over his animal
frame comes next under Mr Godwin's consideration, and he concludes by
saying, that the voluntary power of some men, in this respect, is found
to extend to various articles in which other men are impotent. But this
is reasoning against an almost universal rule from a few exceptions;
and these exceptions seem to be rather tricks, than powers that may be
exerted to any good purpose. I have never heard of any man who could
regulate his pulse in a fever, and doubt much, if any of the persons
here alluded to have made the smallest perceptible progress in the
regular correction of the disorders of their frames and the consequent
prolongation of their lives.

Mr Godwin says, 'Nothing can be more unphilosophical than to conclude,
that, because a certain species of power is beyond the train of our
present observation, that it is beyond the limits of the human mind. ' I
own my ideas of philosophy are in this respect widely different from Mr
Godwin's. The only distinction that I see, between a philosophical
conjecture, and the assertions of the Prophet Mr Brothers, is, that one
is founded upon indications arising from the train of our present
observations, and the other has no foundation at all. I expect that
great discoveries are yet to take place in all the branches of human
science, particularly in physics; but the moment we leave past
experience as the foundation of our conjectures concerning the future,
and, still more, if our conjectures absolutely contradict past
experience, we are thrown upon a wide field of uncertainty, and any one
supposition is then just as good as another. If a person were to tell
me that men would ultimately have eyes and hands behind them as well as
before them, I should admit the usefulness of the addition, but should
give as a reason for my disbelief of it, that I saw no indications
whatever in the past from which I could infer the smallest probability
of such a change. If this be not allowed a valid objection, all
conjectures are alike, and all equally philosophical. I own it appears
to me that in the train of our present observations, there are no more
genuine indications that man will become immortal upon earth than that
he will have four eyes and four hands, or that trees will grow
horizontally instead of perpendicularly.

It will be said, perhaps, that many discoveries have already taken
place in the world that were totally unforeseen and unexpected. This I
grant to be true; but if a person had predicted these discoveries
without being guided by any analogies or indications from past facts,
he would deserve the name of seer or prophet, but not of philosopher.
The wonder that some of our modern discoveries would excite in the
savage inhabitants of Europe in the times of Theseus and Achilles,
proves but little. Persons almost entirely unacquainted with the powers
of a machine cannot be expected to guess at its effects. I am far from
saying, that we are at present by any means fully acquainted with the
powers of the human mind; but we certainly know more of this instrument
than was known four thousand years ago; and therefore, though not to be
called competent judges, we are certainly much better able than savages
to say what is, or is not, within its grasp. A watch would strike a
savage with as much surprise as a perpetual motion; yet one is to us a
most familiar piece of mechanism, and the other has constantly eluded
the efforts of the most acute intellects. In many instances we are now
able to perceive the causes, which prevent an unlimited improvement in
those inventions, which seemed to promise fairly for it at first. The
original improvers of telescopes would probably think, that as long as
the size of the specula and the length of the tubes could be increased,
the powers and advantages of the instrument would increase; but
experience has since taught us, that the smallness of the field, the
deficiency of light, and the circumstance of the atmosphere being
magnified, prevent the beneficial results that were to be expected from
telescopes of extraordinary size and power. In many parts of knowledge,
man has been almost constantly making some progress; in other parts,
his efforts have been invariably baffled. The savage would not probably
be able to guess at the causes of this mighty difference. Our further
experience has given us some little insight into these causes, and has
therefore enabled us better to judge, if not of what we are to expect
in future, at least of what we are not to expect, which, though
negative, is a very useful piece of information.

As the necessity of sleep seems rather to depend upon the body than the
mind, it does not appear how the improvement of the mind can tend very
greatly to supersede this 'conspicuous infirmity'. A man who by great
excitements on his mind is able to pass two or three nights without
sleep, proportionably exhausts the vigour of his body, and this
diminution of health and strength will soon disturb the operations of
his understanding, so that by these great efforts he appears to have
made no real progress whatever in superseding the necessity of this
species of rest.

There is certainly a sufficiently marked difference in the various
characters of which we have some knowledge, relative to the energies of
their minds, their benevolent pursuits, etc. , to enable us to judge
whether the operations of intellect have any decided effect in
prolonging the duration of human life. It is certain that no decided
effect of this kind has yet been observed. Though no attention of any
kind has ever produced such an effect as could be construed into the
smallest semblance of an approach towards immortality, yet of the two,
a certain attention to the body seems to have more effect in this
respect than an attention to the mind. The man who takes his temperate
meals and his bodily exercise, with scrupulous regularity, will
generally be found more healthy than the man who, very deeply engaged
in intellectual pursuits, often forgets for a time these bodily
cravings. The citizen who has retired, and whose ideas, perhaps,
scarcely soar above or extend beyond his little garden, puddling all
the morning about his borders of box, will, perhaps, live as long as
the philosopher whose range of intellect is the most extensive, and
whose views are the clearest of any of his contemporaries. It has been
positively observed by those who have attended to the bills of
mortality that women live longer upon an average than men, and, though
I would not by any means say that their intellectual faculties are
inferior, yet, I think, it must be allowed that, from their different
education, there are not so many women as men, who are excited to
vigorous mental exertion.

As in these and similar instances, or to take a larger range, as in the
great diversity of characters that have existed during some thousand
years, no decided difference has been observed in the duration of human
life from the operation of intellect, the mortality of man on earth
seems to be as completely established, and exactly upon the same
grounds, as any one, the most constant, of the laws of nature. An
immediate act of power in the Creator of the Universe might, indeed,
change one or all of these laws, either suddenly or gradually, but
without some indications of such a change, and such indications do not
exist, it. Is just as unphilosophical to suppose that the life of man
may be prolonged beyond any assignable limits, as to suppose that the
attraction of the earth will gradually be changed into repulsion and
that stones will ultimately rise instead of fall or that the earth will
fly off at a certain period to some more genial and warmer sun.

The conclusion of this chapter presents us, undoubtedly, with a very
beautiful and desirable picture, but like some of the landscapes drawn
from fancy and not imagined with truth, it fails of that interest in
the heart which nature and probability can alone give.

I cannot quit this subject without taking notice of these conjectures
of Mr Godwin and Mr Condorcet concerning the indefinite prolongation of
human life, as a very curious instance of the longing of the soul after
immortality. Both these gentlemen have rejected the light of revelation
which absolutely promises eternal life in another state. They have also
rejected the light of natural religion, which to the ablest intellects
in all ages has indicated the future existence of the soul. Yet so
congenial is the idea of immortality to the mind of man that they
cannot consent entirely to throw it out of their systems. After all
their fastidious scepticisms concerning the only probable mode of
immortality, they introduce a species of immortality of their own, not
only completely contradictory to every law of philosophical
probability, but in itself in the highest degree narrow, partial, and
unjust. They suppose that all the great, virtuous, and exalted minds
that have ever existed or that may exist for some thousands, perhaps
millions of years, will be sunk in annihilation, and that only a few
beings, not greater in number than can exist at once upon the earth,
will be ultimately crowned with immortality. Had such a tenet been
advanced as a tenet of revelation I am very sure that all the enemies
of religion, and probably Mr Godwin and Mr Condorcet among the rest,
would have exhausted the whole force of their ridicule upon it, as the
most puerile, the most absurd, the poorest, the most pitiful, the most
iniquitously unjust, and, consequently, the most unworthy of the Deity
that the superstitious folly of man could invent.

What a strange and curious proof do these conjectures exhibit of the
inconsistency of scepticism! For it should be observed, that there is a
very striking and essential difference between believing an assertion
which absolutely contradicts the most uniform experience, and an
assertion which contradicts nothing, but is merely beyond the power of
our present observation and knowledge. So diversified are the natural
objects around us, so many instances of mighty power daily offer
themselves to our view, that we may fairly presume, that there are many
forms and operations of nature which we have not yet observed, or
which, perhaps, we are not capable of observing with our present
confined inlets of knowledge. The resurrection of a spiritual body from
a natural body does not appear in itself a more wonderful instance of
power than the germination of a blade of wheat from the grain, or of an
oak from an acorn. Could we conceive an intelligent being, so placed as
to be conversant only with inanimate or full grown objects, and never
to have witnessed the process of vegetation and growth; and were
another being to shew him two little pieces of matter, a grain of
wheat, and an acorn, to desire him to examine them, to analyse them if
he pleased, and endeavour to find out their properties and essences;
and then to tell him, that however trifling these little bits of matter
might appear to him, that they possessed such curious powers of
selection, combination, arrangement, and almost of creation, that upon
being put into the ground, they would choose, amongst all the dirt and
moisture that surrounded them, those parts which best suited their
purpose, that they would collect and arrange these parts with wonderful
taste, judgement, and execution, and would rise up into beautiful
forms, scarcely in any respect analogous to the little bits of matter
which were first placed in the earth. I feel very little doubt that the
imaginary being which I have supposed would hesitate more, would
require better authority, and stronger proofs, before he believed these
strange assertions, than if he had been told, that a being of mighty
power, who had been the cause of all that he saw around him, and of
that existence of which he himself was conscious, would, by a great act
of power upon the death and corruption of human creatures, raise up the
essence of thought in an incorporeal, or at least invisible form, to
give it a happier existence in another state.

The only difference, with regard to our own apprehensions, that is not
in favour of the latter assertion is that the first miracle we have
repeatedly seen, and the last miracle we have not seen. I admit the
full weight of this prodigious difference, but surely no man can
hesitate a moment in saying that, putting Revelation out of the
question, the resurrection of a spiritual body from a natural body,
which may be merely one among the many operations of nature which we
cannot see, is an event indefinitely more probable than the immortality
of man on earth, which is not only an event of which no symptoms or
indications have yet appeared, but is a positive contradiction to one
of the most constant of the laws of nature that has ever come within
the observation of man.

When we extend our view beyond this life, it is evident that we can
have no other guides than authority, or conjecture, and perhaps,
indeed, an obscure and undefined feeling. What I say here, therefore,
does not appear to me in any respect to contradict what I said before,
when I observed that it was unphilosophical to expect any specifick
event that was not indicated by some kind of analogy in the past. In
ranging beyond the bourne from which no traveller returns, we must
necessarily quit this rule; but with regard to events that may be
expected to happen on earth, we can seldom quit it consistently with
true philosophy. Analogy has, however, as I conceive, great latitude.
For instance, man has discovered many of the laws of nature: analogy
seems to indicate that he will discover many more; but no analogy seems
to indicate that he will discover a sixth sense, or a new species of
power in the human mind, entirely beyond the train of our present
observations.

The powers of selection, combination, and transmutation, which every
seed shews, are truly miraculous. Who can imagine that these wonderful
faculties are contained in these little bits of matter? To me it
appears much more philosophical to suppose that the mighty God of
nature is present in full energy in all these operations. To this all
powerful Being, it would be equally easy to raise an oak without an
acorn as with one. The preparatory process of putting seeds into the
ground is merely ordained for the use of man, as one among the various
other excitements necessary to awaken matter into mind. It is an idea
that will be found consistent, equally with the natural phenomena
around us, with the various events of human life, and with the
successive revelations of God to man, to suppose that the world is a
mighty process for the creation and formation of mind. Many vessels
will necessarily come out of this great furnace in wrong shapes. These
will be broken and thrown aside as useless; while those vessels whose
forms are full of truth, grace, and loveliness, will be wafted into
happier situations, nearer the presence of the mighty maker.

I ought perhaps again to make an apology to my readers for dwelling so
long upon a conjecture which many, I know, will think too absurd and
improbable to require the least discussion. But if it be as improbable
and as contrary to the genuine spirit of philosophy as I own I think it
is, why should it not be shewn to be so in a candid examination?
A
conjecture, however improbable on the first view of it, advanced by
able and ingenious men, seems at least to deserve investigation. For my
own part I feel no disinclination whatever to give that degree of
credit to the opinion of the probable immortality of man on earth,
which the appearances that can be brought in support of it deserve.
Before we decide upon the utter improbability of such an event, it is
but fair impartially to examine these appearances; and from such an
examination I think we may conclude, that we have rather less reason
for supposing that the life of man may be indefinitely prolonged, than
that trees may be made to grow indefinitely high, or potatoes
indefinitely large. Though Mr Godwin advances the idea of the
indefinite prolongation of human life merely as a conjecture, yet as he
has produced some appearances, which in his conception favour the
supposition, he must certainly intend that these appearances should be
examined and this is all that I have meant to do.




CHAPTER 13

Error of Mr Godwin is considering man too much in the light of a being
merely rational--In the compound being, man, the passions will always
act as disturbing forces in the decisions of the
understanding--Reasonings of Mr Godwin on the subject of coercion--Some
truths of a nature not to be communicated from one man to another.


In the chapter which I have been examining, Mr Godwin professes to
consider the objection to his system of equality from the principle of
population. It has appeared, I think clearly, that he is greatly
erroneous in his statement of the distance of this difficulty, and that
instead of myriads of centuries, it is really not thirty years, or even
thirty days, distant from us. The supposition of the approach of man to
immortality on earth is certainly not of a kind to soften the
difficulty. The only argument, therefore, in the chapter which has any
tendency to remove the objection is the conjecture concerning the
extinction of the passion between the sexes, but as this is a mere
conjecture, unsupported by the smallest shadow of proof, the force of
the objection may be fairly said to remain unimpaired, and it is
undoubtedly of sufficient weight of itself completely to overturn Mr
Godwin's whole system of equality. I will, however, make one or two
observations on a few of the prominent parts of Mr Godwin's reasonings
which will contribute to place in a still clearer point of view the
little hope that we can reasonably entertain of those vast improvements
in the nature of man and of society which he holds up to our admiring
gaze in his Political Justice.

Mr Godwin considers man too much in the light of a being merely
intellectual. This error, at least such I conceive it to be, pervades
his whole work and mixes itself with all his reasonings. The voluntary
actions of men may originate in their opinions, but these opinions will
be very differently modified in creatures compounded of a rational
faculty and corporal propensities from what they would be in beings
wholly intellectual. Mr Godwin, in proving that sound reasoning and
truth are capable of being adequately communicated, examines the
proposition first practically, and then adds, 'Such is the appearance
which this proposition assumes, when examined in a loose and practical
view. In strict consideration it will not admit of debate. Man is a
rational being, etc. ' (Bk. I, ch. 5; in the third edition Vol. I, p.
88). So far from calling this a strict consideration of the subject, I
own I should call it the loosest, and most erroneous, way possible, of
considering it. It is the calculating the velocity of a falling body in
vacuo, and persisting in it, that it would be the same through whatever
resisting mediums it might fall. This was not Newton's mode of
philosophizing. Very few general propositions are just in application
to a particular subject. The moon is not kept in her orbit round the
earth, nor the earth in her orbit round the sun, by a force that varies
merely in the inverse ratio of the squares of the distances. To make
the general theory just in application to the revolutions of these
bodies, it was necessary to calculate accurately the disturbing force
of the sun upon the moon, and of the moon upon the earth; and till
these disturbing forces were properly estimated, actual observations on
the motions of these bodies would have proved that the theory was not
accurately true.

I am willing to allow that every voluntary act is preceded by a
decision of the mind, but it is strangely opposite to what I should
conceive to be the just theory upon the subject, and a palpable
contradiction to all experience, to say that the corporal propensities
of man do not act very powerfully, as disturbing forces, in these
decisions. The question, therefore, does not merely depend upon whether
a man may be made to understand a distinct proposition or be convinced
by an unanswerable argument. A truth may be brought home to his
conviction as a rational being, though he may determine to act contrary
to it, as a compound being. The cravings of hunger, the love of liquor,
the desire of possessing a beautiful woman, will urge men to actions,
of the fatal consequences of which, to the general interests of
society, they are perfectly well convinced, even at the very time they
commit them. Remove their bodily cravings, and they would not hesitate
a moment in determining against such actions. Ask them their opinion of
the same conduct in another person, and they would immediately
reprobate it. But in their own case, and under all the circumstances of
their situation with these bodily cravings, the decision of the
compound being is different from the conviction of the rational being.

If this be the just view of the subject, and both theory and experience
unite to prove that it is, almost all Mr Godwin's reasonings on the
subject of coercion in his seventh chapter, will appear to be founded
on error. He spends some time in placing in a ridiculous point of view
the attempt to convince a man's understanding and to clear up a
doubtful proposition in his mind, by blows. Undoubtedly it is both
ridiculous and barbarous, and so is cock-fighting, but one has little
more to do with the real object of human punishments than the other.
One frequent (indeed much too frequent) mode of punishment is death. Mr
Godwin will hardly think this intended for conviction, at least it does
not appear how the individual or the society could reap much future
benefit from an understanding enlightened in this manner.

The principal objects which human punishments have in view are
undoubtedly restraint and example; restraint, or removal, of an
individual member whose vicious habits are likely to be prejudicial to
the society'; and example, which by expressing the sense of the
community with regard to a particular crime, and by associating more
nearly and visibly crime and punishment, holds out a moral motive to
dissuade others from the commission of it.

Restraint, Mr Godwin thinks, may be permitted as a temporary expedient,
though he reprobates solitary imprisonment, which has certainly been
the most successful, and, indeed, almost the only attempt towards the
moral amelioration of offenders. He talks of the selfish passions that
are fostered by solitude and of the virtues generated in society. But
surely these virtues are not generated in the society of a prison. Were
the offender confined to the society of able and virtuous men he would
probably be more improved than in solitude. But is this practicable? Mr
Godwin's ingenuity is more frequently employed in finding out evils
than in suggesting practical remedies.

Punishment, for example, is totally reprobated. By endeavouring to make
examples too impressive and terrible, nations have, indeed, been led
into the most barbarous cruelties, but the abuse of any practice is not
a good argument against its use. The indefatigable pains taken in this
country to find out a murder, and the certainty of its punishment, has
powerfully contributed to generate that sentiment which is frequent in
the mouths of the common people, that a murder will sooner or later
come to light; and the habitual horror in which murder is in
consequence held will make a man, in the agony of passion, throw down
his knife for fear he should be tempted to use it in the gratification
of his revenge. In Italy, where murderers, by flying to a sanctuary,
are allowed more frequently to escape, the crime has never been held in
the same detestation and has consequently been more frequent. No man,
who is at all aware of the operation of moral motives, can doubt for a
moment, that if every murder in Italy had been invariably punished, the
use of the stiletto in transports of passion would have been
comparatively but little known.

That human laws either do, or can, proportion the punishment accurately
to the offence, no person will have the folly to assert. From the
inscrutability of motives the thing is absolutely impossible, but this
imperfection, though it may be called a species of injustice, is no
valid argument against human laws. It is the lot of man, that he will
frequently have to choose between two evils; and it is a sufficient
reason for the adoption of any institution, that it is the best mode
that suggests itself of preventing greater evils. A continual endeavour
should undoubtedly prevail to make these institutions as perfect as the
nature of them will admit. But nothing is so easy as to find fault with
human institutions; nothing so difficult as to suggest adequate
practical improvements. It is to be lamented, that more men of talents
employ their time in the former occupation than in the latter.

The frequency of crime among men, who, as the common saying is, know
better, sufficiently proves, that some truths may be brought home to
the conviction of the mind without always producing the proper effect
upon the conduct. There are other truths of a nature that perhaps never
can be adequately communicated from one man to another. The superiority
of the pleasures of intellect to those of sense, Mr Godwin considers as
a fundamental truth. Taking all circumstances into consideration, I
should be disposed to agree with him; but how am I to communicate this
truth to a person who has scarcely ever felt intellectual pleasure? I
may as well attempt to explain the nature and beauty of colours to a
blind man. If I am ever so laborious, patient, and clear, and have the
most repeated opportunities of expostulation, any real progress toward
the accomplishment of my purpose seems absolutely hopeless. There is no
common measure between us. I cannot proceed step by step. . It is a
truth of a nature absolutely incapable of demonstration. All that I can
say is, that the wisest and best men in all ages had agreed in giving
the preference, very greatly, to the pleasures of intellect; and that
my own experience completely confirmed the truth of their decisions;
that I had found sensual pleasures vain, transient, and continually
attended with tedium and disgust; but that intellectual pleasures
appeared to me ever fresh and young, filled up all my hours
satisfactorily, gave a new zest to life, and diffused a lasting
serenity over my mind. If he believe me, it can only be from respect
and veneration for my authority. It is credulity, and not conviction. I
have not said any thing, nor can any thing be said, of a nature to
produce real conviction. The affair is not an affair of reasoning, but
of experience. He would probably observe in reply, what you say may be
very true with regard to yourself and many other good men, but for my
own part I feel very differently upon the subject. I have very
frequently taken up a book and almost as frequently gone to sleep over
it; but when I pass an evening with a gay party, or a pretty woman, I
feel alive, and in spirits, and truly enjoy my existence.

Under such circumstances, reasoning and arguments are not instruments
from which success can be expected. At some future time perhaps, real
satiety of sensual pleasures, or some accidental impressions that
awakened the energies of his mind, might effect that, in a month, which
the most patient and able expostulations might be incapable of
effecting in forty years.




CHAPTER 14

Mr Godwin's five propositions respecting political truth, on which his
whole work hinges, not established--Reasons we have for supposing, from
the distress occasioned by the principle of population, that the vices
and moral weakness of man can never be wholly
eradicated--Perfectibility, in the sense in which Mr Godwin uses the
term, not applicable to man--Nature of the real perfectibility of man
illustrated.


If the reasonings of the preceding chapter are just, the corollaries
respecting political truth, which Mr Godwin draws from the proposition,
that the voluntary actions of men originate in their opinions, will not
appear to be clearly established. These corollaries are, "Sound
reasoning and truth, when adequately communicated, must always be
victorious over error: Sound reasoning and truth are capable of being
so communicated: Truth is omnipotent: The vices and moral weakness of
man are not invincible: Man is perfectible, or in other words,
susceptible of perpetual improvement. "

The first three propositions may be considered a complete syllogism. If
by adequately communicated, be meant such a conviction as to produce an
adequate effect upon the conduct, the major may be allowed and the
minor denied. The consequent, or the omnipotence of truth, of course
falls to the ground. If by 'adequately communicated' be meant merely
the conviction of the rational faculty, the major must be denied, the
minor will be only true in cases capable of demonstration, and the
consequent equally falls. The fourth proposition Mr Godwin calls the
preceding proposition, with a slight variation in the statement. If so,
it must accompany the preceding proposition in its fall. But it may be
worth while to inquire, with reference to the principal argument of
this essay, into the particular reasons which we have for supposing
that the vices and moral weakness of man can never be wholly overcome
in this world.

Man, according to Mr Godwin, is a creature formed what he is by the
successive impressions which he has received, from the first moment
that the germ from which he sprung was animated. Could he be placed in
a situation, where he was subject to no evil impressions whatever,
though it might be doubted whether in such a situation virtue could
exist, vice would certainly be banished. The great bent of Mr Godwin's
work on Political Justice, if I understand it rightly, is to shew that
the greater part of the vices and weaknesses of men proceed from the
injustice of their political and social institutions, and that if these
were removed and the understandings of men more enlightened, there
would be little or no temptation in the world to evil. As it has been
clearly proved, however, (at least as I think) that this is entirely a
false conception, and that, independent of any political or social
institutions whatever, the greater part of mankind, from the fixed and
unalterable laws of nature, must ever be subject to the evil
temptations arising from want, besides other passions, it follows from
Mr Godwin's definition of man that such impressions, and combinations
of impressions, cannot be afloat in the world without generating a
variety of bad men. According to Mr Godwin's own conception of the
formation of character, it is surely as improbable that under such
circumstances all men will be virtuous as that sixes will come up a
hundred times following upon the dice. The great variety of
combinations upon the dice in a repeated succession of throws appears
to me not inaptly to represent the great variety of character that must
necessarily exist in the world, supposing every individual to be formed
what he is by that combination of impressions which he has received
since his first existence. And this comparison will, in some measure,
shew the absurdity of supposing, that exceptions will ever become
general rules; that extraordinary and unusual combinations will be
frequent; or that the individual instances of great virtue which had
appeared in all ages of the world will ever prevail universally.

I am aware that Mr Godwin might say that the comparison is in one
respect inaccurate, that in the case of the dice, the preceding causes,
or rather the chances respecting the preceding causes, were always the
same, and that, therefore, I could have no good reason for supposing
that a greater number of sixes would come up in the next hundred times
of throwing than in the preceding same number of throws. But, that man
had in some sort a power of influencing those causes that formed
character, and that every good and virtuous man that was produced, by
the influence which he must necessarily have, rather increased the
probability that another such virtuous character would be generated,
whereas the coming up of sixes upon the dice once, would certainly not
increase the probability of their coming up a second time. I admit this
objection to the accuracy of the comparison, but it is only partially
valid. Repeated experience has assured us, that the influence of the
most virtuous character will rarely prevail against very strong
temptations to evil. It will undoubtedly affect some, but it will fail
with a much greater number. Had Mr Godwin succeeded in his attempt to
prove that these temptations to evil could by the exertions of man be
removed, I would give up the comparison; or at least allow, that a man
might be so far enlightened with regard to the mode of shaking his
elbow, that he would be able to throw sixes every time. But as long as
a great number of those impressions which form character, like the nice
motions of the arm, remain absolutely independent of the will of man,
though it would be the height of folly and presumption to attempt to
calculate the relative proportions of virtue and vice at the future
periods of the world, it may be safely asserted that the vices and
moral weakness of mankind, taken in the mass, are invincible.

The fifth proposition is the general deduction from the four former and
will consequently fall, as the foundations which support it have given
way. In the sense in which Mr Godwin understands the term
'perfectible', the perfectibility of man cannot be asserted, unless the
preceding propositions could have been clearly established. There is,
however, one sense, which the term will bear, in which it is, perhaps,
just. It may be said with truth that man is always susceptible of
improvement, or that there never has been, or will be, a period of his
history, in which he can be said to have reached his possible acme of
perfection. Yet it does not by any means follow from this, that our
efforts to improve man will always succeed, or even that he will ever
make, in the greatest number of ages, any extraordinary strides towards
perfection. The only inference that can be drawn is that the precise
limit of his improvement cannot possibly be known. And I cannot help
again reminding the reader of a distinction which, it appears to me,
ought particularly to be attended to in the present question: I mean,
the essential difference there is between an unlimited improvement and
an improvement the limit of which cannot be ascertained. The former is
an improvement not applicable to man under the present laws of his
nature. The latter, undoubtedly, is applicable.

The real perfectibility of man may be illustrated, as I have mentioned
before, by the perfectibility of a plant. The object of the
enterprising florist is, as I conceive, to unite size, symmetry, and
beauty of colour. 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.