ESSAYS
By
DAVID HUME
_With Biographical Introduction_
by
Hannaford Bennett
LONDON
JOHN LONG LTD
Contents
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION
OF THE DELICACY OF TASTE AND PASSION
OF THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS
THAT POLITICS MAY BE REDUCED TO A SCIENCE
OF THE FIRST PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT
OF THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT
OF THE INDEPENDENCY OF PARLIAMENT
WHETHER THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT INCLINES MORETO ABSOLUTE MONARCHY OR
TO A REPUBLIC
OF PARTIES IN GENERAL
OF THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN
OF SUPERSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM
OF THE DIGNITY OR MEANNESS OF HUMAN NATURE
OF CIVIL LIBERTY
OF ELOQUENCE
Biographical Introduction
The material facts in Hume's life are to be found in the autobiography
which he prefixed to his _History of England_. _My Own Life_, as he
calls it, is but a brief exposition, but it is sufficient for its
purpose, and the longer biographies of him do little more than amplify
the information which he gives us himself. The Humes, it appears, were a
remote branch of the family of Lord Hume of Douglas. Hume's father was
Joseph Hume, of Ninewells, a minor Scotch laird, who died when his son
was an infant. David Hume was born at Edinburgh on April 26th, 1711,
during a visit of his parents to the Scotch capital. Hume tells us that
his father passed for a man of parts, and that his mother, who herself
came of good Scottish family, "was a woman of singular merit; though
young and handsome, she devoted herself entirely to the rearing and
educating of her children." At school Hume won no special distinction.
He matriculated in the class of Greek at the Edinburgh University when
he was twelve years old, and, he says "passed through the ordinary
course of education with success"; but "our college education in
Scotland," he remarks in one of his works, "extending little further
than the languages, ends commonly when we are about fourteen or fifteen
years of age." During his youth, Mrs. Hume does not appear to have
maintained any too flattering opinion of her son's abilities; she
considered him a good-natured but "uncommon weak-minded" creature.
Possibly her judgment underwent a change in course of time, since she
lived to see the beginnings of his literary fame; but his worldly
success was long in the making, and he was a middle-aged man before his
meagre fortune was converted into anything like a decent maintenance.
It may have been Hume's apparent vacillation in choosing a career that
made this "shrewd Scots wife" hold her son in such small esteem. At
first the family tried to launch him into the profession of the law, but
"while they fancied I was poring over Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and
Virgil were the authors I was secretly devouring." For six years Hume
remained at Ninewells and then made "a feeble trial for entering on a
more active scene of life." Commerce, this time, was the chosen
instrument, but the result was not more successful. "In 1734 I went to
Bristol with some recommendations to eminent merchants, but in a few
months found that scene totally unsuitable for me." At length--in the
middle of 1736 when Hume was twenty-three years of age and without any
profession or means of earning a livelihood--he went over to France. He
settled first at Rheims, and afterwards at La Flêche in Anjou, and
"there I laid that plan of life which I have steadily and successfully
pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency
of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every
object as contemptible except the improvement of my talents in
literature." At La Flêche Hume lived in frequent intercourse with the
Jesuits at the famous college in which Descartes was educated, and he
composed his first book, the _Treatise of Human Nature_. According to
himself "it fell dead-born from the press, without reaching such
distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots." But this work
which was planned before the author was twenty-one and written before he
was twenty-five, in the opinion of Professor Huxley, is probably the
most remarkable philosophical work, both intrinsically and in its
effects upon the course of thought, that has ever been written. Three
years later Hume published anonymously, at Edinburgh, the first volume
of _Essays, Moral and Political_, which was followed in 1742 by the
second volume. The _Essays_, he says, were favourably received and soon
made me entirely forget my former disappointments.
In 1745 Hume became tutor to a young nobleman, the Marquis of Annandale,
who was mentally affected, but he did not endure the engagement for
long. Next year General St. Clair, who had been appointed to command an
expedition in the War of the Pragmatic Sanction, invited him to be his
secretary, an office to which that of judge-advocate was afterwards
added. The expedition was a failure, but General St. Clair, who was
afterwards entrusted with embassies to Turin and Vienna, and upon whom
Hume seems to have created a favourable impression, insisted that he
should accompany him in the same capacity as secretary; he further made
him one of his _aides-de-camp_. Thus Hume had to attire his portly
figure in a "scarlet military uniform," and Lord Charlemont who met him
in Turin says that he wore his uniform "like a grocer of the
train-bands." At Vienna the Empress-Dowager excused him on ceremonial
occasions from walking backwards, a concession which was much
appreciated by "my companions who were desperately afraid of my falling
on them and crushing them." Hume returned to London in 1749. "These
years," he says, "were almost the only interruptions my studies have
received during the course of my life. I passed them agreeably and in
good company, and my appointments, with my frugality, had made me reach
a fortune which I called independent, though most of my friends were
inclined to smile when I said so; in short, I was now master of near a
thousand pounds."
While Hume was away with General St. Clair his _Inquiry Concerning Human
Understanding_ was published, but it was not more successful than the
original _Treatise_ of a portion of which it was a recasting. A new
edition of _Moral and Political Essays_ met with no better fate, but
these disappointments, he says, "made little or no impression" on him.
In 1749 Hume returned to Ninewells, and lived for a while with his
brothers. Afterwards he took a flat of his own at Edinburgh, with his
sister to keep house for him. At this period the _Political Discourses_
and the _Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals_ were published. Of
the _Inquiry_ Hume held the opinion, an opinion, however, which was not
shared by the critics, that "it is of all my writings--historical,
philosophical, or literary incomparably the best." Slowly and surely his
publications were growing in reputation. In 1752 the Faculty of
Advocates elected Hume their librarian, an office which was valuable to
him, not so much for the emolument as for the extensive library which
enabled him to pursue the historical studies upon which he had for some
time been engaged. For the next nine years he was occupied with his
_History of England_. The first volume was published in 1754, and the
second volume, which met with a better reception than the first, in
1756. Only forty-five copies of the first volume were sold in a
twelvemonth; but the subsequent volumes made rapid headway, and raised a
great clamour, for in the words of Macaulay, Hume's historical picture,
though drawn by a master hand, has all the lights Tory and all the
shades Whig. In 1757 one of his most remarkable works, the _Natural
History of Religion_, appeared. The book was attacked--not wholly to
Hume's dissatisfaction, for he appreciated fame as well as
success--"with all the illiberal petulance, arrogance, and scurrility
which distinguish the Warburtonian school."
Hume remained in Edinburgh superintending the publication of the
_History_ until 1763 when Lord Hertford, who had been appointed
ambassador to France, offered him office in the embassy, with the
promise of the secretaryship later on. The appointment was the more
honourable, inasmuch as Hume was not personally acquainted with Lord
Hertford, who had a reputation for virtue and piety, whilst Hume's views
about religion had rendered him one of the best abused men of his time.
In France Hume's reputation stood higher than it was in England; several
of his works had been translated into French; and he had corresponded
with Montesquieu, Helvetius and Rousseau. Thus he was received in French
society with every mark of distinction. In a letter to Adam Smith in
October 1763, he wrote: "I have been three days at Paris and two at
Fontainebleau, and have everywhere met with the most extraordinary
honours, which the most exorbitant vanity could wish or desire." Great
nobles fêted him, and great ladies struggled for the presence of the
"_gros_ David" at their receptions or in their boxes at the theatre. "At
the opera his broad unmeaning face was usually to be seen _entre deux
joli minois_," says Lord Charlemont. Hume took his honours with
satisfaction, but with becoming good sense, and he did not allow these
flatteries to turn his head.
In 1767 Hume was back in London, and for the next two years held office
as Under-Secretary of State. It is not necessary to dwell upon this
period of his life, or to go into the details of his quarrel with
Rousseau. In 1769 he returned to Edinburgh "very opulent" in the
possession of £1,000 a year, and determined to take the rest of his life
easily and pleasantly. He built himself a house in Edinburgh, and for
the next six years it was the centre of the most accomplished society in
the city. In 1755 Hume's health began to fail, and he knew that his
illness must be fatal. Thus he made his will and wrote _My Own Life_,
which ends simply in these words:
"I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very
little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange have,
notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a
moment's abatement of spirits; insomuch that were I to name the
period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I
might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same
ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company; I
consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off
only a few years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of
my literary reputation's breaking out at last with additional
lustre, I know that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is
difficult to be more detached from life than I am at present.
"To conclude historically with my own character, I am, or rather
was (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself); I
was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of
an open, social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but
little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my
passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never
soured my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My
company was not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as
to the studious and literary; and as I took a particular pleasure
in the company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeased
with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men
any wise eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never
was touched or even attacked by her baleful tooth; and though I
wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious
factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted
fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one
circumstance of my character and conduct; not but that the zealots,
we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate
any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which
they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say there
is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope
it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is
easily cleared and ascertained."
Hume died in Edinburgh on August 25th, 1776, and a few days later was
buried in a spot selected by himself on the Carlton Hill.
HANNAFORD BENNETT
Essays
OF THE DELICACY OF TASTE AND PASSION
Some people are subject to a certain _delicacy_ of _passion_, which
makes them extremely sensible to all the accidents of life, and gives
them a lively joy upon every prosperous event, as well as a piercing
grief when they meet with misfortune and adversity. Favours and good
offices easily engage their friendship, while the smallest injury
provokes their resentment. Any honour or mark of distinction elevates
them above measure, but they are sensibly touched with contempt. People
of this character have, no doubt, more lively enjoyments, as well as
more pungent sorrows, than men of cool and sedate tempers. But, I
believe, when every thing is balanced, there is no one who would not
rather be of the latter character, were he entirely master of his own
disposition. Good or ill fortune is very little at our disposal; and
when a person that has this sensibility of temper meets with any
misfortune, his sorrow or resentment takes entire possession of him, and
deprives him of all relish in the common occurrences of life, the right
enjoyment of which forms the chief part of our happiness. Great
pleasures are much less frequent than great pains, so that a sensible
temper must meet with, fewer trials in the former way than in the
latter. Not to mention, that men of such lively passions are apt to be
transported beyond all bounds of prudence and discretion, and to take
false steps in the conduct of life, which are often irretrievable.
There is a _delicacy_ of _taste_ observable in some men, which very much
resembles this _delicacy_ of _passion_, and produces the same
sensibility to beauty and deformity of every kind, as that does to
prosperity and adversity, obligations and injuries. When you present a
poem or a picture to a man possessed of this talent, the delicacy of his
feeling makes him be sensibly touched with every part of it; nor are the
masterly strokes perceived with more exquisite relish and satisfaction,
than the negligences or absurdities with disgust and uneasiness. A
polite and judicious conversation affords him the highest entertainment;
rudeness or impertinence is as great punishment to him. In short,
delicacy of taste has the same effect as delicacy of passion. It
enlarges the sphere both of our happiness and misery, and makes us
sensible to pains as well as pleasures which escape the rest of mankind.
I believe, however, every one will agree with me, that notwithstanding
this resemblance, delicacy of taste is as much to be desired and
cultivated, as delicacy of passion is to be lamented, and to be
remedied, if possible. The good or ill accidents of life are very little
at our disposal; but we are pretty much masters what books we shall
read, what diversions we shall partake of, and what company we shall
keep. Philosophers have endeavoured to render happiness entirely
independent of every thing external. The degree of perfection is
impossible to be _attained_; but every wise man will endeavour to place
his happiness on such objects chiefly as depend upon himself; and _that_
is not to be _attained_ so much by any other means as by this delicacy
of sentiment. When a man is possessed of that talent, he is more happy
by what pleases his taste, than by what gratifies his appetites, and
receives more enjoyment from a poem, or a piece of reasoning, than the
most expensive luxury can afford.
Whatever connection there may be originally between these two species of
delicacy, I am persuaded that nothing is so proper to cure us of this
delicacy of passion, as the cultivating of that higher and more refined
taste, which enables us to judge of the characters of men, of the
compositions of genius, and of the productions of the nobler arts. A
greater or less relish for those obvious beauties which strike the
senses, depends entirely upon the greater or less sensibility of the
temper; but with regard to the sciences and liberal arts, a fine taste
is, in some measure, the same with strong sense, or at least depends so
much upon it that they are inseparable. In order to judge aright of a
composition of genius, there are so many views to be taken in, so many
circumstances to be compared, and such a knowledge of human nature
requisite, that no man, who is not possessed of the soundest judgment,
will ever make a tolerable critic in such performances. And this is a
new reason for cultivating a relish in the liberal arts. Our judgment
will strengthen by this exercise. We shall form juster notions of life.
Many things which please or afflict others, will appear to us too
frivolous to engage our attention; and we shall lose by degrees that
sensibility and delicacy of passion which is so incommodious.
But perhaps I have gone too far, in saying that a cultivated taste for
the polite arts extinguishes the passions, and renders us indifferent to
those objects which are so fondly pursued by the rest of mankind. On
further reflection, I find, that it rather improves our sensibility for
all the tender and agreeable passions; at the same time that it renders
the mind incapable of the rougher and more boisterous emotions.
Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes,
Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.
For this, I think, there may be assigned two very natural reasons. In
the _first_ place, nothing is so improving to the temper as the study of
the beauties either of poetry, eloquence, music, or painting. They give
a certain elegance of sentiment to which the rest of mankind are
strangers. The emotions which they excite are soft and tender. They draw
off the mind from the hurry of business and interest; cherish
reflection; dispose to tranquillity; and produce an agreeable
melancholy, which, of all dispositions of the mind, is the best suited
to love and friendship.
In the _second_ place, a delicacy of taste is favourable to love and
friendship, by confining our choice to few people, and making us
indifferent to the company and conversation of the greater part of men.
You will seldom find that mere men of the world, whatever strong sense
they may be endowed with, are very nice in distinguishing characters, or
in marking those insensible differences and gradations, which make one
man preferable to another. Any one that has competent sense is
sufficient for their entertainment. They talk to him of their pleasures
and affairs, with the same frankness that they would to another; and
finding many who are fit to supply his place, they never feel any
vacancy or want in his absence. But to make use of the allusion of a
celebrated French[1] author, the judgment may be compared to a clock or
watch, where the most ordinary machine is sufficient to tell the hours;
but the most elaborate alone can point out the minutes and seconds, and
distinguish the smallest differences of time. One that has well digested
his knowledge both of books and men, has little enjoyment but in the
company of a few select companions. He feels too sensibly, how much all
the rest of mankind fall short of the notions which he has entertained.
And, his affections being thus confined within a narrow circle, no
wonder he carries them further than if they were more general and
undistinguished. The gaiety and frolic of a bottle companion improves
with him into a solid friendship; and the ardours of a youthful appetite
become an elegant passion.
[1] Mons. Fontenelle, Pluralité des Mondes, Soir 6.
OF THE LIBERTY OF THE PRESS
Nothing is more apt to surprise a foreigner, than the extreme liberty
which we enjoy in this country of communicating whatever we please to
the public and of openly censuring every measure entered into by the
king or his ministers. If the administration resolve upon war, it is
affirmed, that, either wilfully or ignorantly, they mistake the
interests of the nation; and that peace, in the present situation of
affairs, is infinitely preferable. If the passion of the ministers lie
towards peace, our political writers breathe nothing but war and
devastation, and represent the specific conduct of the government as
mean and pusillanimous. As this liberty is not indulged in any other
government, either republican or monarchical; in Holland and Venice,
more than in France or Spain; it may very naturally give occasion to the
question, _How it happens that Great Britain alone enjoys this peculiar
privilege?_
The reason why the laws indulge us in such a liberty, seems to be
derived from our mixed form of government, which is neither wholly
monarchical, nor wholly republican. It will be found, if I mistake not,
a true observation in politics, that the two extremes in government,
liberty and slavery, commonly approach nearest to each other; and that,
as you depart from the extremes, and mix a little of monarchy with
liberty, the government becomes always the more free; and, on the other
hand, when you mix a little of liberty with monarchy, the yoke becomes
always the more grievous and intolerable. In a government, such as that
of France, which is absolute, and where law, custom, and religion
concur, all of them, to make the people fully satisfied with their
condition, the monarch cannot entertain any _jealousy_ against his
subjects, and therefore is apt to indulge them in great _liberties_,
both of speech and action. In a government altogether republican, such
as that of Holland, where there is no magistrate so eminent as to give
_jealousy_ to the state, there is no danger in intrusting the
magistrates with large discretionary powers; and though many advantages
result from such powers, in preserving peace and order, yet they lay a
considerable restraint on men's actions, and make every private citizen
pay a great respect to the government. Thus it seems evident, that the
two extremes of absolute monarchy and of a republic, approach near to
each other in some material circumstances. In the _first_, the
magistrate has no jealousy of the people; in the _second_, the people
have none of the magistrate: which want of jealousy begets a mutual
confidence and trust in both cases, and produces a species of liberty in
monarchies, and of arbitrary power in republics.
To justify the other part of the foregoing observation, that, in every
government, the means are most wide of each other, and that the mixtures
of monarchy and liberty render the yoke either more grievous; I must
take notice of a remark in Tacitus with regard to the Romans under the
Emperors, that they neither could bear total slavery nor total liberty,
_Nec totam servitutem, nec totam libertatem pati possunt._ This remark a
celebrated poet has translated and applied to the English, in his lively
description of Queen Elizabeth's policy and government.
Et fit aimer son joug à l'Anglois indompté,
Qui ne peut ni servir, ni vivre en liberté.
HENRIADE, liv. i.
According to these remarks, we are to consider the Roman government
under the Emperors as a mixture of despotism and liberty, where the
despotism prevailed; and the English government as a mixture of the same
kind, where the liberty predominates. The consequences are conformable
to the foregoing observation, and such as may be expected from those
mixed forms of government, which beget a mutual watchfulness and
jealousy. The Roman emperors were, many of them, the most frightful
tyrants that ever disgraced human nature; and it is evident, that their
cruelty was chiefly excited by their _jealousy_, and by their observing
that all the great men of Rome bore with impatience the dominion of a
family, which, but a little before, was nowise superior to their own. On
the other hand, as the republican part of the government prevails in
England, though with a great mixture of monarchy, it is obliged, for its
own preservation, to maintain a watchful _jealousy_ over the
magistrates, to remove all discretionary powers, and to secure every
one's life and fortune by general and inflexible laws. No action must be
deemed a crime but what the law has plainly determined to be such: no
crime must be imputed to a man but from a legal proof before his judges;
and even these judges must be his fellow-subjects, who are obliged, by
their own interest, to have a watchful eye over the encroachments and
violence of the ministers. From these causes it proceeds, that there is
as much liberty, and even perhaps licentiousness, in Great Britain, as
there were formerly slavery and tyranny in Rome.
These principles account for the great liberty of the press in these
kingdoms, beyond what is indulged in any other government. It is
apprehended that arbitrary power would steal in upon us, were we not
careful to prevent its progress, and were there not any easy method of
conveying the alarm from one end of the kingdom to the other. The spirit
of the people must frequently be roused, in order to curb the ambition
of the court; and the dread of rousing this spirit must be employed to
prevent that ambition. Nothing so effectual to this purpose as the
liberty of the press; by which all the learning, wit, and genius of the
nation, may be employed on the side of freedom, and every one be
animated to its defence. As long, therefore, as the republican part of
our government can maintain itself against the monarchical, it will
naturally be careful to keep the press open, as of importance to its own
preservation.[1]
It must however be allowed, that the unbounded liberty of the press,
though it be difficult, perhaps impossible, to propose a suitable remedy
for it, is one of the evils attending those mixed forms of government.
[1] Since, therefore, the liberty of the press is so essential to the
support of our mixed government, this sufficiently decides the second
question, _Whether this liberty be advantageous or prejudicial,_ there
being nothing of greater importance in every state than the preservation
of the ancient government, especially if it be a free one. But I would
fain go a step further, and assert, that such a liberty is attended with
so few inconveniences, that it may be claimed as the common right of
mankind, and ought to be indulged them almost in every government except
the ecclesiastical, to which, indeed, it would be fatal. We need not
dread from this liberty any such ill consequences as followed from the
harangues of the popular demagogues of Athens and Tribunes of Rome. A
man reads a book or pamphlet alone and coolly. There is none present
from whom he can catch the passion by contagion. He is not hurried away
by the force and energy of action. And should he be wrought up to never
so seditious a humour, there is no violent resolution presented to him
by which he can immediately vent his passion. The liberty of the press,
therefore, however abused, can scarce ever excite popular tumults or
rebellion. And as to those murmurs or secret discontents it may
occasion, it is better they should get vent in words, that they may come
to the knowledge of the magistrate before it be too late, in order to
his providing a remedy against them. Mankind, it is true, have always a
greater propension to believe what is said to the disadvantage of their
governors than the contrary; but this inclination is inseparable from
them whether they have liberty or not. A whisper may fly as quick, and
be as pernicious as a pamphlet. Nay, it will be more pernicious, where
men are not accustomed to think freely, or distinguish betwixt truth and
falsehood.
It has also been found, as the experience of mankind increases, that the
_people_ are no such dangerous monsters as they have been represented,
and that it is in every respect better to guide them like rational
creatures than to lead or drive them like brute beasts. Before the
United Provinces set the example, toleration was deemed incompatible
with good government; and it was thought impossible that a number of
religious sects could live together in harmony and peace, and have all
of them an equal affection to their common country and to each other.
_England_ has set a like example of civil liberty; and though this
liberty seems to occasion some small ferment at present, it has not as
yet produced any pernicious effects; and it is to be hoped that men,
being every day more accustomed to the free discussion of public
affairs, will improve in their judgment of them, and be with greater
difficulty seduced by every idle rumour and popular clamour.
It is a very comfortable reflection to the lovers of liberty, that this
peculiar privilege of _Britain_ is of a kind that cannot easily be
wrested from us, and must last as long as our government remains in any
degree free and independent. It is seldom that liberty of any kind is
lost all at once. Slavery has so frightful an aspect to men accustomed
to freedom, that it must steal in upon them by degrees, and must
disguise itself in a thousand shapes in order to be received. But if the
liberty of the press ever be lost, it must be lost at once. The general
laws against sedition and libelling are at present as strong as they
possibly can be made. Nothing can impose a further restraint but either
the clapping an imprimatur upon the press, or the giving very large
discretionary powers to the court to punish whatever displeases them.
But these concessions would be such a barefaced violation of liberty,
that they will probably be the last efforts of a despotic government. We
may conclude that the liberty of _Britain_ is gone for ever when these
attempts shall succeed.
THAT POLITICS MAY BE REDUCED TO A SCIENCE
It is a question with several, whether there be any essential difference
between one form of government and another? and, whether every form may
not become good or bad, according as it is well or ill administered?[1]
Were it once admitted, that all governments are alike, and that the only
difference consists in the character and conduct of the governors, most
political disputes would be at an end, and all _Zeal_ for one
constitution above another must be esteemed mere bigotry and folly. But,
though a friend to moderation, I cannot forbear condemning this
sentiment, and should be sorry to think, that human affairs admit of no
greater stability, than what they receive from the casual humours and
characters of particular men.
It is true, those who maintain that the goodness of all government
consists in the goodness of the administration, may cite many particular
instances in history, where the very same government, in different
hands, has varied suddenly into the two opposite extremes of good and
bad. Compare the French government under Henry III and under Henry IV.
Oppression, levity, artifice, on the part of the rulers; faction,
sedition, treachery, rebellion, disloyalty on the part of the subjects:
these compose the character of the former miserable era. But when the
patriot and heroic prince, who succeeded, was once firmly seated on the
throne, the government, the people, every thing, seemed to be totally
changed; and all from the difference of the temper and conduct of these
two sovereigns.[2] Instances of this kind may be multiplied, almost
without number, from ancient as well as modern history, foreign as well
as domestic.
But here it may be proper to make a distinction. All absolute
governments must very much depend on the administration; and this is one
of the great inconveniences attending that form of government. But a
republican and free government would be an obvious absurdity, if the
particular checks and controls, provided by the constitution had really
no influence, and made it not the interest, even of bad men, to act for
the public good. Such is the intention of these forms of government, and
such is their real effect, where they are wisely constituted: as, on the
other hand, they are the source of all disorder, and of the blackest
crimes, where either skill or honesty has been wanting in their original
frame and institution.
So great is the force of laws, and of particular forms of government,
and so little dependence have they on the humours and tempers of men,
that consequences almost as general and certain may sometimes be deduced
from them, as any which the mathematical sciences afford us.
The constitution of the Roman republic gave the whole legislative power
to the people, without allowing a negative voice either to the nobility
or consuls. This unbounded power they possessed in a collective, not in
a representative body. The consequences were: when the people, by
success and conquest, had become very numerous, and had spread
themselves to a great distance from the capital, the city tribes, though
the most contemptible, carried almost every vote: they were, therefore,
most cajoled by every one that affected popularity: they were supported
in idleness by the general distribution of corn, and by particular
bribes, which they received from almost every candidate: by this means,
they became every day more licentious, and the Campus Martius was a
perpetual scene of tumult and sedition: armed slaves were introduced
among these rascally citizens, so that the whole government fell into
anarchy; and the greatest happiness which the Romans could look for, was
the despotic power of the Cæsars. Such are the effects of democracy
without a representative.
A Nobility may possess the whole, or any part of the legislative power
of a state, in two different ways. Either every nobleman shares the
power as a part of the whole body, or the whole body enjoys the power as
composed of parts, which have each a distinct power and authority. The
Venetian aristocracy is an instance of the first kind of government; the
Polish, of the second. In the Venetian government the whole body of
nobility possesses the whole power, and no nobleman has any authority
which he receives not from the whole. In the Polish government every
nobleman, by means of his fiefs, has a distinct hereditary authority
over his vassals, and the whole body has no authority but what it
receives from the concurrence of its parts. The different operations and
tendencies of these two species of government might be made apparent
even _a priori_. A Venetian nobility is preferable to a Polish, let the
humours and education of men be ever so much varied. A nobility, who
possess their power in common, will preserve peace and order, both among
themselves, and their subjects; and no member can have authority enough
to control the laws for a moment. The nobles will preserve their
authority over the people, but without any grievous tyranny, or any
breach of private property; because such a tyrannical government
promotes not the interests of the whole body, however it may that of
some individuals. There will be a distinction of rank between the
nobility and people, but this will be the only distinction in the state.
The whole nobility will form one body, and the whole people another,
without any of those private feuds and animosities, which spread ruin
and desolation everywhere. It is easy to see the disadvantages of a
Polish nobility in every one of these particulars.
It is possible so to constitute a free government, as that a single
person, call him a doge, prince, or king, shall possess a large share of
power, and shall form a proper balance or counterpoise to the other
parts of the legislature. This chief magistrate may be either _elective_
or _hereditary_, and though the former institution may, to a superficial
view, appear the most advantageous; yet a more accurate inspection will
discover in it greater inconveniences than in the latter, and such as
are founded on causes and principles eternal and immutable. The filling
of the throne, in such a government, is a point of too great and too
general interest, not to divide the whole people into factions, whence a
civil war, the greatest of ills, may be apprehended, almost with
certainty, upon every vacancy. The prince elected must be either a
_Foreigner_ or a _Native_: the former will be ignorant of the people
whom he is to govern; suspicious of his new subjects, and suspected by
them; giving his confidence entirely to strangers, who will have no
other care but of enriching themselves in the quickest manner, while
their master's favour and authority are able to support them. A native
will carry into the throne all his private animosities and friendships,
and will never be viewed in his elevation without exciting the sentiment
of envy in those who formerly considered him as their equal. Not to
mention that a crown is too high a reward ever to be given to merit
alone, and will always induce the candidates to employ force, or money,
or intrigue, to procure the votes of the electors: so that such an
election will give no better chance for superior merit in the prince,
than if the state had trusted to birth alone for determining the
sovereign.
It may, therefore, be pronounced as an universal axiom in politics,
_That an hereditary prince, a nobility without vassals, and a people
voting by their representatives, form the best_ MONARCHY, ARISTOCRACY,
_and_ DEMOCRACY. But in order to prove more fully, that politics admit
of general truths, which are invariable by the humour or education
either of subject or sovereign, it may not be amiss to observe some
other principles of this science, which may seem to deserve that
character.
It may easily be observed, that though free governments have been
commonly the most happy for those who partake of their freedom; yet are
they the most ruinous and oppressive to their provinces: and this
observation may, I believe, be fixed as a maxim of the kind we are here
speaking of. When a monarch extends his dominions by conquest, he soon
learns to consider his old and his new subjects as on the same footing;
because, in reality, all his subjects are to him the same, except the
few friends and favourites with whom he is personally acquainted. He
does not, therefore, make any distinction between them in his _general_
laws; and, at the same time, is careful to prevent all _particular_ acts
of oppression on the one as well as the other. But a free state
necessarily makes a great distinction, and must always do so till men
learn to love their neighbours as well as themselves. The conquerors, in
such a government, are all legislators, and will be sure to contrive
matters, by restrictions on trade, and by taxes, so as to draw some
private, as well as public advantage from their conquests. Provincial
governors have also a better chance, in a republic, to escape with their
plunder, by means of bribery or intrigue; and their fellow-citizens, who
find their own state to be enriched by the spoils of the subject
provinces, will be the more inclined to tolerate such abuses. Not to
mention, that it is a necessary precaution in a free state to change the
governors frequently, which obliges these temporary tyrants to be more
expeditious and rapacious, that they may accumulate sufficient wealth
before they give place to their successors. What cruel tyrants were the
Romans over the world during the time of their commonwealth! It is true,
they had laws to prevent oppression in their provincial magistrates; but
Cicero informs us, that the Romans could not better consult the
interests of the provinces than by repealing these very laws. For, in
that case, says he, our magistrates, having entire impunity, would
plunder no more than would satisfy their own rapaciousness; whereas, at
present, they must also satisfy that of their judges, and of all the
great men in Rome, of whose protection they stand in need. Who can read
of the cruelties and oppressions of Verres without horror and
astonishment? And who is not touched with indignation to hear, that,
after Cicero had exhausted on that abandoned criminal all the thunders
of his eloquence, and had prevailed so far as to get him condemned to
the utmost extent of the laws, yet that cruel tyrant lived peaceably to
old age, in opulence and ease, and, thirty years afterwards, was put
into the proscription by Mark Antony, on account of his exorbitant
wealth, where he fell with Cicero himself, and all the most virtuous men
of Rome? After the dissolution of the commonwealth, the Roman yoke
became easier upon the provinces, as Tacitus informs us; and it may be
observed, that many of the worst emperors, Domitian, for instance, were
careful to prevent all oppression on the provinces. In Tiberius's time,
Gaul was esteemed richer than Italy itself: nor do I find, during the
whole time of the Roman monarchy, that the empire became less rich or
populous in any of its provinces; though indeed its valour and military
discipline were always upon the decline. The oppression and tyranny of
the Carthaginians over their subject states in Africa went so far, as we
learn from Polybius, that, not content with exacting the half of all the
produce of the land, which of itself was a very high rent, they also
loaded them with many other taxes. If we pass from ancient to modern
times, we shall still find the observation to hold. The provinces of
absolute monarchies are always better treated than those of free states.
Compare the _Pais conquis_ of France with Ireland, and you will be
convinced of this truth; though this latter kingdom, being in a good
measure peopled from England, possesses so many rights and privileges as
should naturally make it challenge better treatment than that of a
conquered province. Corsica is also an obvious instance to the same
purpose.
There is an observation of Machiavel, with regard to the conquests of
Alexander the Great, which, I think, may be regarded as one of those
eternal political truths, which no time nor accidents can vary. It may
seem strange, says that politician, that such sudden conquests, as those
of Alexander, should be possessed so peaceably by his successors, and
that the Persians, during all the confusions and civil wars among the
Greeks, never made the smallest effort towards the recovery of their
former independent government. To satisfy us concerning the cause of
this remarkable event, we may consider, that a monarch may govern his
subjects in two different ways. He may either follow the maxims of the
Eastern princes, and stretch his authority so far as to leave no
distinction of rank among his subjects, but what proceeds immediately
from himself; no advantages of birth; no hereditary honours and
possessions; and, in a word, no credit among the people, except from his
commission alone. Or a monarch may exert his power after a milder
manner, like other European princes; and leave other sources of honour,
beside his smile and favour; birth, titles, possessions, valour,
integrity, knowledge, or great and fortunate achievements. In the former
species of government, after a conquest, it is impossible ever to shake
off the yoke; since no one possesses, among the people, so much personal
credit and authority as to begin such an enterprise: whereas, in the
latter, the least misfortune, or discord among the victors, will
encourage the vanquished to take arms, who have leaders ready to prompt
and conduct them in every undertaking.[3]
Such is the reasoning of Machiavel, which seems solid and conclusive;
though I wish he had not mixed falsehood with truth, in asserting that
monarchies, governed according to Eastern policy, though more easily
kept when once subdued, yet are the most difficult to subdue; since they
cannot contain any powerful subject, whose discontent and faction may
facilitate the enterprises of an enemy. For, besides, that such a
tyrannical government enervates the courage of men, and renders them
indifferent towards the fortunes of their sovereigns; besides this, I
say, we find by experience, that even the temporary and delegated
authority of the generals and magistrates, being always, in such
governments, as absolute within its sphere as that of the prince
himself, is able, with barbarians accustomed to a blind submission, to
produce the most dangerous and fatal revolutions. So that in every
respect, a gentle government is preferable, and gives the greatest
security to the sovereign as well as to the subject.
Legislators, therefore, ought not to trust the future government of a
state entirely to chance, but ought to provide a system of laws to
regulate the administration of public affairs to the latest posterity.
Effects will always correspond to causes; and wise regulations, in any
commonwealth, are the most valuable legacy that can be left to future
ages. In the smallest court or office, the stated forms and methods by
which business must be conducted, are found to be a considerable check
on the natural depravity of mankind. Why should not the case be the same
in public affairs? Can we ascribe the stability and wisdom of the
Venetian government, through so many ages, to any thing but the form of
government? And is it not easy to point out those defects in the
original constitution, which produced the tumultuous governments of
Athens and Rome, and ended at last in the ruin of these two famous
republics? And so little dependence has this affair on the humours and
education of particular men, that one part of the same republic may be
wisely conducted, and another weakly, by the very same men, merely on
account of the differences of the forms and institutions by which these
parts are regulated. Historians inform us that this was actually the
case with Genoa. For while the state was always full of sedition, and
tumult, and disorder, the bank of St. George, which had become a
considerable part of the people, was conducted, for several ages, with
the utmost integrity and wisdom.
The ages of greatest public spirit are not always most eminent for
private virtue. Good laws may beget order and moderation in the
government, where the manners and customs have instilled little humanity
or justice into the tempers of men. The most illustrious period of the
Roman history, considered in a political view, is that between the
beginning of the first and end of the last Punic war; the due balance
between the nobility and people being then fixed by the contests of the
tribunes, and not being yet lost by the extent of conquests. Yet at this
very time, the horrid practice of poisoning was so common, that, during
part of the season, a _Prætor_ punished capitally for this crime above
three thousand persons in a part of Italy; and found informations of
this nature still multiplying upon him. There is a similar, or rather a
worse instance, in the more early times of the commonwealth; so depraved
in private life were that people, whom in their histories we so much
admire. I doubt not but they were really more virtuous during the time
of the two _Triumvirates_, when they were tearing their common country
to pieces, and spreading slaughter and desolation over the face of the
earth, merely for the choice of tyrants.
Here, then, is a sufficient inducement to maintain, with the utmost
zeal, in every free state, those forms and institutions by which liberty
is secured, the public good consulted, and the avarice or ambition of
particular men restrained and punished. Nothing does more honour to
human nature, than to see it susceptible of so noble a passion; as
nothing can be a greater indication of meanness of heart in any man than
to see him destitute of it. A man who loves only himself, without regard
to friendship and desert, merits the severest blame; and a man, who is
only susceptible of friendship, without public spirit, or a regard to
the community, is deficient in the most material part of virtue.