THE most singular portion of _Political Justice_ is that which deals with
Population, and some notice of it, by way of postscript, may be pardoned,
for it cannot be neglected in our estimate of Godwin, and it is a curious
instance of the futility of attempting to comprehend character without
searching into corners and examination of facts which, judged by external
bulk, are small. These small facts may contain principles which are
constituent of the man. The chapter on Population occupies a few pages
at the end of the second volume of the _Political Justice_.
Godwin would like to see property equalised, or common, and he tries to
answer the argument that excessive population would ensue. He quotes
(ii. 862) a reported conjecture of Franklin’s that ‘mind will one day
become omnipotent over matter.’ If over matter, which is outside us,
thinks Godwin, why not over our own bodies, ‘in a word, why may not man
be one day immortal’ (ii. 862). He points out that the mind already has
great power over the body, that it can conquer pain, assist in the cure
of disease, and successfully resist old age.
‘Why is it that a mature man soon loses that elasticity of limb which
characterises the heedless gaiety of youth? Because he desists from
youthful habits. He assumes an air of dignity incompatible with the
lightness of childish sallies. He is visited and vexed with all the
cares that rise out of our mistaken institutions, and his heart is no
longer satisfied and gay. Hence his limbs become stiff and unwieldy.
This is the forerunner of old age and death’ (ii. 863–64). ‘Medicine may
reasonably be stated to consist of two branches, the animal and
intellectual. The latter of these has been infinitely too much
neglected’ (ii. 869). We may look forward to a time when we shall be
‘indifferent to the gratifications of sense. They please at present by
their novelty, that is because we know not how to estimate them. They
decay in the decline of life indirectly because the system refuses them,
but directly and principally because they no longer excite the ardour and
passion of mind . . . The gratifications of sense please at present by
their imposture. We soon learn to despise the mere animal function,
which, apart from the delusions of intellect, would be nearly the same in
all cases; and to value it, only as it happens to be relieved by personal
charms or mental excellence. We absurdly imagine that no better road can
be found to the sympathy and intercourse of minds. But a very slight
degree of attention might convince us that this is a false road, full of
danger and deception. Why should I esteem another, or by another be
esteemed? For this reason only, because esteem is due, and only so far
as it is due.
‘The men therefore who exist when the earth shall refuse itself to a more
extended population will cease to propagate, for they will no longer have
any motive, either of error or duty, to induce them. In addition to this
they will perhaps be immortal. The whole will be a people of men, and
not of children. Generation will not succeed generation, nor truth have
in a certain degree to recommence her career at the end of every thirty
years. There will be no war, no crimes, no administration of justice as
it is called, and no government. These latter articles are at no great
distance; and it is not impossible that some of the present race of men
may live to see them in part accomplished. But, besides this, there will
be no disease, no anguish, no melancholy, and no resentment. Every man
will seek with ineffable ardour the good of all’ (ii. 870–72).
A very curious vein, not golden indeed but copper, let us say, is hidden
away in the earthy mass of Godwin. The dull, heavy-featured creature
sees an apocalyptic vision and becomes poetical. It is partly absurd,
but not because it is ideal, and there are lineaments in it of the true
Utopia. Godwin probably would have denounced the Revelation of St. John
the Divine as superstitious nonsense, but he saw before him a kind of
misty, distorted reflection of the New Jerusalem, in which there shall be
no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any
more pain, where there shall be no more curse, no night, no candle, no
light of the sun. It might have been thought that it was impossible to
establish a connection between Patmos and Skinner Street, but the first
postulate of Euclid’s elements holds good universally, ‘that a straight
line may be drawn from any one point to any other point.’