OF NATIONAL FELICITY.
Man is, by nature, the member of a community; and when considered in this
capacity, the individual appears to be no longer made for himself. He must
forego his happiness and his freedom, where these interfere with the good
of society. He is only part of a whole; and the praise we think due to his
virtue, is but a branch of that more general commendation we bestow on the
member of a body, on the part of a fabric, or engine, for being well fitted
to occupy its place, and to produce its effect.
If this follow from the relation of a part to its whole, and if the public
good be the principal object with individuals, it is likewise true, that
the happiness of individuals is the great end of civil society; for, in
what sense can a public enjoy any good, if its members, considered apart,
be unhappy?
The interests of society, however, and of its members, are easily
reconciled. If the individual owe every degree of consideration to the
public, he receives, in paying that very consideration, the greatest
happiness of which his nature is capable; and the greatest blessing the
public can bestow on its members, is to keep them attached to itself. That
is the most happy state, which is most beloved by its subjects; and they
are the most happy men, whose hearts are engaged to a community, in which
they find every object of generosity and zeal, and a scope to the exercise
of every talent, and of every virtuous disposition.
After we have thus found general maxims, the greater part of our trouble
remains, their just application to particular cases. Nations are different
in respect to their extent, numbers of people, and wealth; in respect to
the arts they practise, and the accommodations they have procured. These
circumstances may not only affect the manners of men; they even, in our
esteem, come into competition with the article of manners itself; are
supposed to constitute a national felicity, independent of virtue; and give
a title, upon which we indulge our own vanity, and that of other nations,
as we do that of private men, on the score of their fortunes and honours.
But if this way of measuring happiness, when applied to private men, be
ruinous and false, it is so no less when applied to nations. Wealth,
commerce, extent of territory, and the knowledge of arts, are, when
properly employed, the means of preservation, and the foundations of power.
If they fail in part, the nation is weakened; if they were entirely
withheld, the race would perish: Their tendency is to maintain numbers of
men, but not to constitute happiness. They will accordingly maintain the
wretched as well as the happy. They answer one purpose, but are not
therefore sufficient for all; and are of little significance, when only
employed to maintain a timid, dejected, and servile people.
Great and powerful states are able to overcome and subdue the weak;
polished and commercial nations have more wealth, and practise a greater
variety of arts, than the rude: but the happiness of men, in all cases
alike, consists in the blessings of a candid, an active, and strenuous
mind. And if we consider the state of society merely as that into which
mankind are led by their propensities, as a state to be valued from its
effect in preserving the species, in ripening their talents, and exciting
their virtues, we need not enlarge our communities, in order to enjoy these
advantages. We frequently obtain them in the most remarkable degree, where
nations remain independent, and are of a small extent.
To increase the numbers of mankind, may be admitted as a great and
important object; but to extend the limits of any particular state, is not,
perhaps, the way to obtain it: while we desire that our fellow creatures
should multiply, it does not follow, that the whole should, if possible, be
united under one head. We are apt to admire the empire of the Romans, as a
model of national greatness and splendour; but the greatness we admire, in
this case, was ruinous to the virtue and the happiness of mankind; it was
found to be inconsistent with all the advantages which that conquering
people had formerly enjoyed in the articles of government and manners.
The emulation of nations proceeds from their division. A cluster of states,
like a company of men, find the exercise of their reason, and the test of
their virtues, in the affairs they transact, upon a foot of equality, and
of separate interest. The measures taken for safety, including great part
of the national policy, are relative in every state to what is apprehended
from abroad. Athens was necessary to Sparta in the exercise of her virtue,
as steel is to flint in the production of fire; and if the cities of Greece
had been united under one head, we should never have heard of Epaminondas
or Thrasybulus, of Lycurgus or Solon.
When we reason in behalf of our species, therefore, although we may lament
the abuses which sometimes arise from independence, and opposition of
interest; yet, whilst any degrees of virtue remain with mankind, we cannot
wish to crowd, under one establishment, numbers of men who may serve to
constitute several; or to commit affairs to the conduct of one senate, one
legislative or executive power, which, upon a distinct and separate
footing, might furnish an exercise of ability, and a theatre of glory to
many.
This may be a subject upon which no determinate rule can be given; but the
admiration of boundless dominion is a ruinous error; and in no instance,
perhaps, is the real interest of mankind more entirely mistaken.
The measure of enlargement to be wished for in any particular state, is
often to be taken from the condition of its neighbours. Where a number of
states are contiguous, they should be near an equality, in order that they
may be mutually objects of respect and consideration, and in order that
they may possess that independence in which the political life of a nation
consists. When the kingdoms of Spain were united, when the great fiefs in
France were annexed to the crown, it was no longer expedient for the
nations of Great Britain to continue disjoined.
The small republics of Greece, indeed, by their subdivisions, and the
balance of their power, found almost in every village the object of
nations. Every little district was a nursery of excellent men, and what is
now the wretched corner of a great empire, was the field on which mankind
have reaped their principal honours. But in modern Europe, republics of a
similar extent are like shrubs, under the shade of a taller wood, choaked
by the neighbourhood of more powerful states. In their case, a certain
disproportion of force frustrates, in a great measure, the advantage of
separation. They are like the trader in Poland, who is the more despicable,
and the less secure, that he is neither master nor slave.
Independent communities, in the mean time, however weak, are averse to a
coalition, not only where it comes with an air of imposition, or unequal
treaty, but even where it implies no more than the admission of new members
to an equal share of consideration with the old. The citizen has no
interest in the annexation of kingdoms; he must find his importance
diminished, as the state is enlarged. But ambitious men, under the
enlargement of territory, find a more plentiful harvest of power, and of
wealth, while government itself is an easier task. Hence the ruinous
progress of empire; and hence free nations, under the show of acquiring
dominion, suffer themselves, in the end, to be yoked with the slaves they
had conquered.
Our desire to augment the force of a nation is the only pretext for
enlarging its territory; but this measure, when pursued to extremes, seldom
fails to frustrate itself.
Notwithstanding the advantage of numbers, and superior resources in war,
the strength of a nation is derived from the character, not from the
wealth, nor from the multitude of its people. If the treasure of a state
can hire numbers of men, erect ramparts, and furnish the implements of war;
the possessions of the fearful are easily seized; a timorous multitude
falls into rout of itself; ramparts may be scaled where they are not
defended by valour; and arms are of consequence only in the hands of the
brave. The band to which Agesilaus pointed as the wall of his city, made a
defence for their country more permanent, and more effectual, than the rock
and the cement with which other cities were fortified.
We should owe little to that statesman, who were to contrive a defence that
might supersede the external uses of virtue. It is wisely ordered for man,
as a rational being, that the employment of reason is necessary to his
preservation; it is fortunate for him, in the pursuit of distinction, that
his personal consideration depends on his character; and it is fortunate
for nations, that, in order to be powerful and safe, they must strive to
maintain the courage, and cultivate the virtues, of their people. By the
use of such means, they at once gain their external ends, and are happy.
Peace and unanimity are commonly considered as the principal foundations of
public felicity; yet the rivalship of separate communities, and the
agitations of a free people, are the principles of political life, and the
school of men. How shall we reconcile these jarring and opposite tenets? It
is, perhaps, not necessary to reconcile them. The pacific may do what they
can to allay the animosities, and to reconcile the opinions, of men; and it
will be happy if they can succeed in repressing their crimes, and in
calming the worst of their passions. Nothing, in the mean time, but
corruption or slavery can suppress the debates that subsist among men of
integrity, who bear an equal part in the administration of state.
A perfect agreement in matters of opinion is not to be obtained in the most
select company; and if it were, what would become of society? "The
Spartan legislator," says Plutarch, "appears to have sown the seeds of
variance and dissention among his countrymen: he meant that good citizens
should be led to dispute; he considered emulation as the brand by which
their virtues were kindled; and seemed to apprehend, that a complaisance,
by which men submit their opinions without examination, is a principal
source of corruption."
Forms of government are supposed to decide of the happiness or misery of
mankind. But forms of government must be varied, in order to suit the
extent, the way of subsistence, the character, and the manners of different
nations. In some cases, the multitude may be suffered to govern themselves;
in others they must be severely restrained. The inhabitants of a village,
in some primitive age, may have been safely entrusted to the conduct of
reason, and to the suggestion of their innocent views; but the tenants of
Newgate can scarcely be trusted, with chains locked to their bodies, and
bars of iron fixed to their legs. How is it possible, therefore, to find
any single form of government that would suit mankind in every condition?
We proceed, however, in the following section, to point out the
distinctions, and to explain the language which occurs in this place, on
the head of different models for subordination and government.