VIII.

_ON THE VALUE, AS A SOCIOLOGICAL PRINCIPLE, OF THE RULE TO MIND ONE'S

OWN BUSINESS._

The passion for dealing with social questions is one of the marks of

our time. Every man gets some experience of, and makes some

observations on social affairs. Except matters of health, probably none

have such general interest as matters of society. Except matters of

health, none are so much afflicted by dogmatism and crude speculation

as those which appertain to society. The amateurs in social science

always ask: What shall we do? What shall we do with Neighbor A? What

shall we do for Neighbor B? What shall we make Neighbor A do for

Neighbor B? It is a fine thing to be planning and discussing broad and

general theories of wide application. The amateurs always plan to use

the individual for some constructive and inferential social purpose, or

to use the society for some constructive and inferential individual

purpose. For A to sit down and think, What shall I do? is commonplace;

but to think what B ought to do is interesting, romantic, moral,

self-flattering, and public-spirited all at once. It satisfies a great

number of human weaknesses at once. To go on and plan what a whole

class of people ought to do is to feel one's self a power on earth, to

win a public position, to clothe one's self in dignity. Hence we have

an unlimited supply of reformers, philanthropists, humanitarians, and

would-be managers-in-general of society.

Every man and woman in society has one big duty. That is, to take care

of his or her own self. This is a social duty. For, fortunately, the

matter stands so that the duty of making the best of one's self

individually is not a separate thing from the duty of filling one's

place in society, but the two are one, and the latter is accomplished

when the former is done. The common notion, however, seems to be that

one has a duty to society, as a special and separate thing, and that

this duty consists in considering and deciding what other people ought

to do. Now, the man who can do anything for or about anybody else than

himself is fit to be head of a family; and when he becomes head of a

family he has duties to his wife and his children, in addition to the

former big duty. Then, again, any man who can take care of himself and

his family is in a very exceptional position, if he does not find in

his immediate surroundings people who need his care and have some sort

of a personal claim upon him. If, now, he is able to fulfill all this,

and to take care of anybody outside his family and his dependents, he

must have a surplus of energy, wisdom, and moral virtue beyond what he

needs for his own business. No man has this; for a family is a charge

which is capable of infinite development, and no man could suffice to

the full measure of duty for which a family may draw upon him. Neither

can a man give to society so advantageous an employment of his

services, whatever they are, in any other way as by spending them on

his family. Upon this, however, I will not insist. I recur to the

observation that a man who proposes to take care of other people must

have himself and his family taken care of, after some sort of a

fashion, and must have an as yet unexhausted store of energy.

The danger of minding other people's business is twofold. First, there

is the danger that a man may leave his own business unattended to; and,

second, there is the danger of an impertinent interference with

another's affairs. The "friends of humanity" almost always run into

both dangers. I am one of humanity, and I do not want any volunteer

friends. I regard friendship as mutual, and I want to have my say about

it. I suppose that other components of humanity feel in the same way

about it. If so, they must regard any one who assumes the _rôle_ of a

friend of humanity as impertinent. The reference to the friend of

humanity back to his own business is obviously the next step.

Yet we are constantly annoyed, and the legislatures are kept

constantly busy, by the people who have made up their minds that it is

wise and conducive to happiness to live in a certain way, and who want

to compel everybody else to live in their way. Some people have decided

to spend Sunday in a certain way, and they want laws passed to make

other people spend Sunday in the same way. Some people have resolved to

be teetotalers, and they want a law passed to make everybody else a

teetotaler. Some people have resolved to eschew luxury, and they want

taxes laid to make others eschew luxury. The taxing power is especially

something after which the reformer's finger always itches. Sometimes

there is an element of self-interest in the proposed reformation, as

when a publisher wanted a duty imposed on books, to keep Americans from

reading books which would unsettle their Americanisms; and when artists

wanted a tax laid on pictures, to save Americans from buying bad

paintings.

I make no reference here to the giving and taking of counsel and aid

between man and man: of that I shall say something in the last chapter.

The very sacredness of the relation in which two men stand to one

another when one of them rescues the other from vice separates that

relation from any connection with the work of the social busybody, the

professional philanthropist, and the empirical legislator.

The amateur social doctors are like the amateur physicians--they always

begin with the question of _remedies_, and they go at this without any

diagnosis or any knowledge of the anatomy or physiology of society.

They never have any doubt of the efficacy of their remedies. They never

take account of any ulterior effects which may be apprehended from the

remedy itself. It generally troubles them not a whit that their remedy

implies a complete reconstruction of society, or even a reconstitution

of human nature. Against all such social quackery the obvious

injunction to the quacks is, to mind their own business.

The social doctors enjoy the satisfaction of feeling themselves to be

more moral or more enlightened than their fellow-men. They are able to

see what other men ought to do when the other men do not see it. An

examination of the work of the social doctors, however, shows that they

are only more ignorant and more presumptuous than other people. We have

a great many social difficulties and hardships to contend with.

Poverty, pain, disease, and misfortune surround our existence. We fight

against them all the time. The individual is a centre of hopes,

affections, desires, and sufferings. When he dies, life changes its

form, but does not cease. That means that the person--the centre of all

the hopes, affections, etc.--after struggling as long as he can, is

sure to succumb at last. We would, therefore, as far as the hardships

of the human lot are concerned, go on struggling to the best of our

ability against them but for the social doctors, and we would endure

what we could not cure. But we have inherited a vast number of social

ills which never came from Nature. They are the complicated products of

all the tinkering, muddling, and blundering of social doctors in the

past. These products of social quackery are now buttressed by habit,

fashion, prejudice, platitudinarian thinking, and new quackery in

political economy and social science. It is a fact worth noticing, just

when there seems to be a revival of faith in legislative agencies, that

our States are generally providing against the experienced evils of

over-legislation by ordering that the Legislature shall sit only every

other year. During the hard times, when Congress had a real chance to

make or mar the public welfare, the final adjournment of that body was

hailed year after year with cries of relief from a great anxiety. The

greatest reforms which could now be accomplished would consist in

undoing the work of statesmen in the past, and the greatest difficulty

in the way of reform is to find out how to undo their work without

injury to what is natural and sound. All this mischief has been done

by men who sat down to consider the problem (as I heard an apprentice

of theirs once express it), What kind of a society do we want to make?

When they had settled this question _a priori_ to their satisfaction,

they set to work to make their ideal society, and today we suffer the

consequences. Human society tries hard to adapt itself to any

conditions in which it finds itself, and we have been warped and

distorted until we have got used to it, as the foot adapts itself to an

ill-made boot. Next, we have come to think that that is the right way

for things to be; and it is true that a change to a sound and normal

condition would for a time hurt us, as a man whose foot has been

distorted would suffer if he tried to wear a well-shaped boot. Finally,

we have produced a lot of economists and social philosophers who have

invented sophisms for fitting our thinking to the distorted facts.

Society, therefore, does not need any care or supervision. If we can

acquire a science of society, based on observation of phenomena and

study of forces, we may hope to gain some ground slowly toward the

elimination of old errors and the re-establishment of a sound and

natural social order. Whatever we gain that way will be by growth,

never in the world by any reconstruction of society on the plan of

some enthusiastic social architect. The latter is only repeating the

old error over again, and postponing all our chances of real

improvement. Society needs first of all to be freed from these

meddlers--that is, to be let alone. Here we are, then, once more back

at the old doctrine--_Laissez faire_. Let us translate it into blunt

English, and it will read, Mind your own business. It is nothing but

the doctrine of liberty. Let every man be happy in his own way. If his

sphere of action and interest impinges on that of any other man, there

will have to be compromise and adjustment. Wait for the occasion. Do

not attempt to generalize those interferences or to plan for them _a

priori_. We have a body of laws and institutions which have grown up as

occasion has occurred for adjusting rights. Let the same process go on.

Practise the utmost reserve possible in your interferences even of this

kind, and by no means seize occasion for interfering with natural

adjustments. Try first long and patiently whether the natural

adjustment will not come about through the play of interests and the

voluntary concessions of the parties.

I have said that we have an empirical political economy and social

science to fit the distortions of our society. The test of empiricism

in this matter is the attitude which one takes up toward _laissez

faire_. It no doubt wounds the vanity of a philosopher who is just

ready with a new solution of the universe to be told to mind his own

business. So he goes on to tell us that if we think that we shall, by

being let alone, attain a perfect happiness on earth, we are mistaken.

The half-way men--the professional socialists--join him. They solemnly

shake their heads, and tell us that he is right--that letting us alone

will never secure us perfect happiness. Under all this lies the

familiar logical fallacy, never expressed, but really the point of the

whole, that we _shall_ get perfect happiness if we put ourselves in the

hands of the world-reformer. We never supposed that _laissez faire_

would give us perfect happiness. We have left perfect happiness

entirely out of our account. If the social doctors will mind their own

business, we shall have no troubles but what belong to Nature. Those we

will endure or combat as we can. What we desire is, that the friends of

humanity should cease to add to them. Our disposition toward the ills

which our fellow-man inflicts on us through malice or meddling is quite

different from our disposition toward the ills which are inherent in

the conditions of human life.

To mind one's own business is a purely negative and unproductive

injunction, but, taking social matters as they are just now, it is a

sociological principle of the first importance. There might be

developed a grand philosophy on the basis of minding one's own

business.

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