particular case, we could derive little additional advantage from
specific experience. The causes being given, we may know what will be
their effect, without an actual trial of every possible combination;
since the causes are human feelings, and outward circumstances fitted to
excite them: and, as these for the most part are, or at least might be,
familiar to us, we can more surely judge of their combined effect from
that familiarity, than from any evidence which can be elicited from the
complicated and entangled circumstances of an actual experiment. If the
knowledge what are the particular causes operating in any given instance
were revealed to us by infallible authority, then, if our abstract
science were perfect, we should become prophets. But the causes are not
so revealed: they are to be collected by observation; and observation in
circumstances of complexity is apt to be imperfect. Some of the causes
may lie beyond observation; many are apt to escape it, unless we are on
the look-out for them; and it is only the habit of long and accurate
observation which can give us so correct a preconception what causes we
are likely to find, as shall induce us to look for them in the right
quarter. But such is the nature of the human understanding, that the
very fact of attending with intensity to one part of a thing, has a
tendency to withdraw the attention from the other parts. We are
consequently in great danger of adverting to a portion only of the
causes which are actually at work. And if we are in this predicament,
the more accurate our deductions and the more certain our conclusions in
the abstract, (that is, making abstraction of all circumstances except
those which form part of the hypothesis,) the less we are likely to
suspect that we are in error: for no one can have looked closely into
the sources of fallacious thinking without being deeply conscious that
the coherence, and neat concatenation of our philosophical systems, is
more apt than we are commonly aware to pass with us as evidence of their
truth.
We cannot, therefore, too carefully endeavour to verify our theory, by
comparing, in the particular cases to which we have access, the results
which it would have led us to predict, with the most trustworthy
accounts we can obtain of those which have been actually realized. The
discrepancy between our anticipations and the actual fact is often the
only circumstance which would have drawn our attention to some important
disturbing cause which we had overlooked. Nay, it often discloses to us
errors in thought, still more serious than the omission of what can with
any propriety be termed a disturbing cause. It often reveals to us that
the basis itself of our whole argument is insufficient; that the data,
from which we had reasoned, comprise only a part, and not always the
most important part, of the circumstances by which the result is really
determined. Such oversights are committed by very good reasoners, and
even by a still rarer class, that of good observers. It is a kind of
error to which those are peculiarly liable whose views are the largest
and most philosophical: for exactly in that ratio are their minds more
accustomed to dwell upon those laws, qualities, and tendencies, which
are common to large classes of cases, and which belong to all place and
all time; while it often happens that circumstances almost peculiar to
the particular case or era have a far greater share in governing that
one case.
Although, therefore, a philosopher be convinced that no general truths
can be attained in the affairs of nations by the _à posteriori_ road,
it does not the less behove him, according to the measure of his
opportunities, to sift and scrutinize the details of every specific
experiment. Without this, he may be an excellent professor of abstract
science; for a person may be of great use who points out correctly what
effects will follow from certain combinations of possible circumstances,
in whatever tract of the extensive region of hypothetical cases those
combinations may be found. He stands in the same relation to the
legislator, as the mere geographer to the practical navigator; telling
him the latitude and longitude of all sorts of places, but not how to
find whereabouts he himself is sailing. If, however, he does no more
than this, he must rest contented to take no share in practical
politics; to have no opinion, or to hold it with extreme modesty, on
the applications which should be made of his doctrines to existing
circumstances.
No one who attempts to lay down propositions for the guidance of
mankind, however perfect his scientific acquirements, can dispense with
a practical knowledge of the actual modes in which the affairs of the
world are carried on, and an extensive personal experience of the actual
ideas, feelings, and intellectual and moral tendencies of his own
country and of his own age. The true practical statesman is he who
combines this experience with a profound knowledge of abstract political
philosophy. Either acquirement, without the other, leaves him lame and
impotent if he is sensible of the deficiency; renders him obstinate and
presumptuous if, as is more probable, he is entirely unconscious of it.
Such, then, are the respective offices and uses of the _à priori_ and
the _à posteriori_ methods--the method of abstract science, and that of
specific experiment--as well in Political Economy, as in all the other
branches of social philosophy. Truth compels us to express our
conviction that whether among those who have written on, these subjects,
or among those for whose use they wrote, few can be pointed out who have
allowed to each of these methods its just value, and systematically kept
each to its proper objects and functions. One of the peculiarities of
modern times, the separation of theory from practice--of the studies of
the closet, from the outward business of the world--has given a wrong
bias to the ideas and feelings both of the student and of the man of
business. Each undervalues that part of the materials of thought with
which he is not familiar. The one despises all comprehensive views, the
other neglects details. The one draws his notion of the universe from
the few objects with which his course of life has happened to render him
familiar; the other having got demonstration on his side, and forgetting
that it is only a demonstration _nisi_--a proof at all times liable to
be set aside by the addition of a single new fact to the hypothesis
--denies, instead of examining and sifting, the allegations which are
opposed to him. For this he has considerable excuse in the worthlessness
of the testimony on which the facts brought forward to invalidate the
conclusions of theory usually rest. In these complex matters, men see
with their preconceived opinions, not with their eyes: an interested or
a passionate man's statistics are of little worth; and a year seldom
passes without examples of the astounding falsehoods which large bodies
of respectable men will back each other in publishing to the world as
facts within their personal knowledge. It is not because a thing is
_asserted_ to be true, but because in its nature it _may_ be true, that
a sincere and patient inquirer will feel himself called upon to
investigate it. He will use the assertions of opponents not as evidence,
but indications leading to evidence; suggestions of the most proper
course for his own inquiries.
But while the philosopher and the practical man bandy half-truths with
one another, we may seek far without finding one who, placed on a higher
eminence of thought, comprehends as a whole what they see only in
separate parts; who can make the anticipations of the philosopher guide
the observation of the practical man, and the specific experience of the
practical man warn the philosopher where something is to be added to his
theory.
The most memorable example in modern times of a man who united the
spirit of philosophy with the pursuits of active life, and kept wholly
clear from the partialities and prejudices both of the student and of
the practical statesman, was Turgot; the wonder not only of his age, but
of history, for his astonishing combination of the most opposite, and,
judging from common experience, almost incompatible excellences.
Though it is impossible to furnish any test by which a speculative
thinker, either in Political Economy or in any other branch of social
philosophy, may know that he is competent to judge of the application of
his principles to the existing condition of his own or any other country,
indications may be suggested by the absence of which he may well and
surely know that he is not competent. His knowledge must at least enable
him to explain and account for what _is_, or he is an insufficient judge
of what ought to be. If a political economist, for instance, finds
himself puzzled by any recent or present commercial phenomena; if there
is any mystery to him in the late or present state of the productive
industry of the country, which his knowledge of principle does not
enable him to unriddle; he may be sure that something is wanting to
render his system of opinions a safe guide in existing circumstances.
Either some of the facts which influence the situation of the country
and the course of events are not known to him; or, knowing them, he
knows not what ought to be their effects. In the latter case his system
is imperfect even as an abstract system; it does not enable him to trace
correctly all the consequences even of assumed premises. Though he
succeed in throwing doubts upon the reality of some of the phenomena
which he is required to explain, his task is not yet completed; even
then he is called upon to show how the belief, which he deems unfounded,
arose; and what is the real nature of the appearances which gave a
colour of probability to allegations which examination proves to be
untrue.
When the speculative politician has gone through this labour--has gone
through it conscientiously, not with the desire of finding his system
complete, but of making it so--he may deem himself qualified to apply
his principles to the guidance of practice: but he must still continue
to exercise the same discipline upon every new combination of facts as
it arises; he must make a large allowance for the disturbing influence
of unforeseen causes, and must carefully watch the result of every
experiment, in order that any residuum of facts which his principles did
not lead him to expect, and do not enable him to explain, may become the
subject of a fresh analysis, and furnish the occasion for a consequent
enlargement or correction of his general views.
The method of the practical philosopher consists, therefore, of two
processes; the one analytical, the other synthetical. He must _analyze_
the existing state of society into its elements, not dropping and losing
any of them by the way. After referring to the experience of individual
man to learn the _law_ of each of these elements, that is, to learn what
are its natural effects, and how much of the effect follows from so much
of the cause when not counteracted by any other cause, there remains an
operation of _synthesis_; to put all these effects together, and, from
what they are separately, to collect what would be the effect of all the
causes acting at once. If these various operations could be correctly
performed, the result would be prophecy; but, as they can be performed
only with a certain approximation to correctness, mankind can never
predict with absolute certainty, but only with a less or greater degree
of probability; according as they are better or worse apprised what the
causes are,--have learnt with more or less accuracy from experience the
law to which each of those causes, when acting separately, conforms,
--and have summed up the aggregate effect more or less carefully.
With all the precautions which have been indicated there will still be
some danger of falling into partial views; but we shall at least have
taken the best securities against it. All that we can do more, is to
endeavour to be impartial critics of our own theories, and to free
ourselves, as far as we are able, from that reluctance from which few
inquirers are altogether him to expect, and do not enable him to
explain, may become the subject of a fresh analysis, and furnish the
occasion for a consequent enlargement or correction of his general
views.
The method of the practical philosopher consists, therefore, of two
processes; the one analytical, the other synthetical. He must _analyze_
the existing state of society into its elements, not dropping and losing
any of them by the way. After referring to the experience of individual
man to learn the _law_ of each of these elements, that is, to learn what
are its natural effects, and how much of the effect follows from so much
of the cause when not counteracted by any other cause, there remains an
operation of _synthesis_; to put all these effects together, and, from
what they are separately, to collect what would be the effect of all the
causes acting at once. If these various operations could be correctly
performed, the result would be prophecy; but, as they can be performed
only with a certain approximation to correctness, mankind can never
predict with absolute certainty, but only with a less or greater degree
of probability; according as they are better or worse apprised what the
causes are,--have learnt with more or less accuracy from experience the
law to which each of those causes, when acting separately, conforms,--and
have summed up the aggregate effect more or less carefully.
With all the precautions which have been indicated there will still be
some danger of falling into partial views; but we shall at least have
taken the best securities against it. All that we can do more, is to
endeavour to be impartial critics of our own theories, and to free
ourselves, as far as we are able, from that reluctance from which few
inquirers are altogether exempt, to admit the reality or relevancy of
any facts which they have not previously either taken into, or left a
place open for in, their systems.
If indeed every phenomenon was generally the effect of no more than one
cause, a knowledge of the law of that cause would, unless there was a
logical error in our reasoning, enable us confidently to predict all the
circumstances of the phenomenon. We might then, if we had carefully
examined our premises and our reasoning, and found no flaw, venture to
disbelieve the testimony which might be brought to show that matters had
turned out differently from what we should have predicted. If the causes
of erroneous conclusions were always patent on the face of the
reasonings which lead to them, the human understanding would be a far
more trustworthy instrument than it is. But the narrowest examination of
the process itself will help us little towards discovering that we have
omitted part of the premises which we ought to have taken into our
reasoning. Effects are commonly determined by a _concurrence_ of causes.
If we have overlooked any one cause, we may reason justly from all the
others, and only be the further wrong. Our premises will be true, and
our reasoning correct, and yet the result of no value in the particular
case. There is, therefore, almost always room for a modest doubt as to
our practical conclusions. Against false premises and unsound reasoning,
a good mental discipline may effectually secure us; but against the
danger of _overlooking_ something, neither strength of understanding nor
intellectual cultivation can be more than a very imperfect protection.
A person may be warranted in feeling confident, that whatever he has
carefully contemplated with his mind's eye he has seen correctly; but no
one can be sure that there is not something in existence which he has
not seen at all. He can do no more than satisfy himself that he has seen
all that is visible to any other persons who have concerned themselves
with the subject. For this purpose he must endeavour to place himself at
their point of view, and strive earnestly to see the object as they see
it; nor give up the attempt until he has either added the appearance
which is floating before them to his own stock of realities, or made out
clearly that it is an optical deception.
* * * * *
The principles which we have now stated are by no means alien to common
apprehension: they are not absolutely hidden, perhaps, from any one, but
are commonly seen through a mist. We might have presented the latter
part of them in a phraseology in which they would have seemed the most
familiar of truisms: we might have cautioned inquirers against too
extensive _generalization_, and reminded them that there are _exceptions_
to all rules. Such is the current language of those who distrust
comprehensive thinking, without having any clear notion why or where it
ought to be distrusted. We have avoided the use of these expressions
purposely, because we deem them superficial and inaccurate. The error,
when there is error, does _not_ arise from generalizing too extensively;
that is, from including too wide a range of particular cases in a single
proposition. Doubtless, a man often asserts of an entire class what is
only true of a part of it; but his error generally consists not in making
too wide an assertion, but in making the wrong _kind_ of assertion: he
predicated an actual result, when he should only have predicated a
_tendency_ to that result--a power acting with a certain intensity in that
direction. With regard to _exceptions_; in any tolerably ably advanced
science there is properly no such thing as an exception. What is thought
to be an exception to a principle is always some other and distinct
principle cutting into the former: some other force which impinges against
the first force, and deflects it from its direction. There are not a _law_
and an _exception_ to that law--the law acting in ninety-nine cases, and
the exception in one. There are two laws, each possibly acting in the
whole hundred cases, and bringing about a common effect by their conjunct
operation. If the force which, being the less conspicuous of the two, is
called the disturbing force, prevails sufficiently over the other force
in some one case, to constitute that case what is commonly called an
exception, the same disturbing force probably acts as a modifying cause
in many other cases which no one will call exceptions.
Thus if it were stated to be a law of nature, that all heavy bodies fall
to the ground, it would probably be said that the resistance of the
atmosphere, which prevents a balloon from falling, constitutes the
balloon an exception to that pretended law of nature. But the real law
is, that all heavy bodies _tend_ to fall; and to this there is no
exception, not even the sun and moon; for even they, as every astronomer
knows, tend towards the earth, with a force exactly equal to that with
which the earth tends towards them. The resistance of the atmosphere
might, in the particular case of the balloon, from a misapprehension of
what the law of gravitation is, be said to _prevail_ over the law; but
its disturbing effect is quite as real in every other case, since though
it does not prevent, it retards the fall of all bodies whatever. The
rule, and the so-called exception, do not divide the cases between them;
each of them is a comprehensive rule extending to all cases. To call one
of these concurrent principles an exception to the other, is
superficial, and contrary to the correct principles of nomenclature and
arrangement. An effect of precisely the same kind, and arising from the
same cause, ought not to be placed in two different categories, merely
as there does or does not exist another cause preponderating over it.
It is only in art, as distinguished from science, that we can with
propriety speak of exceptions. Art, the immediate end of which is
practice, has nothing to do with causes, except as the means of bringing
about effects. However heterogeneous the causes, it carries the effects
of them all into one single reckoning, and according as the sum-total is
_plus_ or _minus_, according as it falls above or below a certain line,
Art says, Do this, or Abstain from doing it. The exception does not run
by insensible degrees into the rule, like what are called exceptions in
science. In a question of practice it frequently happens that a certain
thing is either fit to be done, or fit to be altogether abstained from,
there being no medium. If, in the majority of cases, it is fit to be
done, that is made the rule. When a case subsequently occurs in which
the thing ought not to be done, an entirely new leaf is turned over; the
rule is now done with, and dismissed: a new train of ideas is introduced,
between which and those involved in the rule there is a broad line of
demarcation; as broad and _tranchant_ as the difference between Ay and
No. Very possibly, between the last case which comes within the rule and
the first of the exception, there is only the difference of a shade: but
that shade probably makes the whole interval between acting in one way
and in a totally different one. We may, therefore, in talking of art,
unobjectionably speak of the _rule_ and the _exception_; meaning by the
rule, the cases in which there exists a preponderance, however slight,
of inducements for acting in a particular way; and by the exception, the
cases in which the preponderance is on the contrary side.
THE END.
NOTES:
[8] We say, the _production_ and _distribution_, not, as is usual with
writers on this science, the production, distribution, and _consumption_.
For we contend that Political Economy, as conceived by those very
writers, has nothing to do with the consumption of wealth, further than
as the consideration of it is inseparable from that of production, or
from that of distribution. We know not of any _laws_ of the _consumption_
of wealth as the subject of a distinct science: they can be no other
than the laws of human enjoyment. Political economists have never treated
of consumption on its own account, but always for the purpose of the
inquiry in what manner different kinds of consumption affect the production
and distribution of wealth. Under the head of Consumption, in professed
treatises on the science, the following are the subjects treated of: 1st,
The distinction between _productive_ and _unproductive_ consumption; 2nd,
The inquiry whether it is possible for _too much_ wealth to be _produced_,
and for too great a portion of what has been produced to be applied to the
purpose of further _production_; 3rd, The theory of taxation, that is to
say, the following two questions--by whom each particular tax is paid
(a question of _distribution_), and in what manner particular taxes affect
_production_.
[9] The physical laws of the production of useful objects are all
equally presupposed by the science of Political Economy: most of them,
however, it presupposes in the gross, seeming to say nothing about them.
A few (such, for instance, as the decreasing ratio in which the produce
of the soil is increased by an increased application of labour) it is
obliged particularly to specify, and thus seems to borrow those truths
from the physical sciences to which they properly belong, and include
them among its own.
[10] The _science_ of legislation is an incorrect and misleading
expression. Legislation is _making laws_. We do not talk of the
_science_ of _making_ anything. Even the _science of government_ would
be an objectionable expression, were it not that _government_ is often
loosely taken to signify, not the act of governing, but the state or
condition of _being governed_, or of living under a government. A
preferable expression would be, the science of _political society_; a
principal branch of the more extensive science of society, characterized
in the text.