IDEA OF LIBERTY.
"He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever
Can be between the cradle and the grave,
Crowned him the King of Life. O vain endeavour,
If on his own high will, a willing slave,
He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor!
What if earth can clothe and feed
Amplest millions at their need,
And power in thought be as the tree within the seed?
Or what if Art, an ardent intercessor,
Diving on fiery wings to Nature's throne,
Checks the great mother stooping to caress her,
And cries, Give me, thy child, dominion
Over all height and depth? If Life can breed
New wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan
Rend of thy gifts and her's a thousandfold for one."
_Shelley._
The same rule--of observing Things in preference to relying upon the
Discourse of persons--holds good in the task of ascertaining the Idea of
Liberty entertained and realized by any society. The Things to be
observed for this purpose are those which follow.
The most obvious consideration of all is the amount of feudal
arrangements which remain,--so obvious as to require only a bare
mention. If people are satisfied to obey the will of a lord of the soil,
to go out to hunt or to fight at his bidding, to require his consent to
marriages among his dependants, and to hold whatever they have at his
permission, their case is clear. They are destitute of any idea of
liberty, and can be considered at best only half-civilized.--It matters
little whether all this subservience is yielded to the owner of an
estate, or the sovereign of the country, represented by his police or
soldiery. Blind, ignorant obedience to any ruling power which the
subjects had no hand in constituting, on the one part, and the
enforcement of that obedience on the other, is the feudal temper.
A sleek Austrian of the middle ranks stood, of late, smoking at his
door. A practical joker, who had a mind to see how far the man's
deference for the police would carry him, drew towards him, and
whispered in his ear, "You must dance." The Austrian stared. "Dance, I
say!" repeated the stranger, with an air of authority. "Why must I
dance?" asked the Austrian, when he had removed the pipe from his mouth.
"Because I, an agent of the police, insist upon it." The Austrian
instantly began capering, and continued his exercise till desired to
stand still, assured that he had satisfied the police.--In the United
States, the contrast is amusing. On occasions of public assembly, the
appeal is made to the democratic sentiment of the people to preserve
order. If an orator is to hold forth on an anniversary, the soldiers
(most citizen-like militia) may be seen putting their arms round the
necks of newly arrived listeners, in supplication that they will leave
seats vacant for the band. If a piece of plate is to be presented to a
statesman, and twice as many people throng to the theatre as the
building will hold, harangues may be heard from the neighbouring
balconies,--appeals to the gallantry and kindliness of the crowd,--which
are found quite as effectual in controlling the movements of the
assemblage as any number of bayonets or constables' staves could be.
This leads to the mention of the Police of a country as a sure sign of
the idea of liberty existing within it. Where the soldiery are the
guards of social order, it makes all the difference whether they are
royal troops,--a destructive machinery organized against the people,--or
a National Guard, springing up when needed from among the people, for
the people's sake,--or a militia, like the American, mentioned
above,--virtually stewards of the meeting, and nothing more. Whatever
may be thought of the comparative ease of proceeding, on any given
occasion, between a police like that of Paris, and a constabulary like
that of the American cities, (a mockery to European rulers,) it is a
striking fact that order has been generally preserved for half a
century, in a country where public meetings are a hundred times as
numerous as in any kingdom in Europe, by means which would in Europe be
no means at all. It is clear that the idea of liberty must be elevated,
and the love of social order intelligent and strong, where the peace has
been kept through unanimity of will. With the exception of outrages
growing out of the institution of slavery, (which require a deeper
treatment than any species of constabulary can practise,) the United
States, with opportunities of disturbance which have been as a hundred
to one, have exhibited fewer instances of a breach of public order than
any other country in the same space of time; and this order has been
preserved by the popular will, in the full knowledge on all hands that
no power existed to control this will. This is a fact which speaks
volumes in favour of the principles, if not the policy, of the American
people.
In the United States, the traveller may proceed a thousand miles in any
direction, or live ten years in one place, without the idea of control,
beyond that of social convenience, being once presented to his mind.
Paul Louis Courier gives us the experience of an acquaintance of his.
"Un homme que j'ai vu arrive d'Amérique. Il y est resté trois ans sans
entendre parler de ce que nous appelons ici l'autorité. Il a vécu trois
ans sans être gouverné, s'ennuyant à périr."--In France, he cannot go in
search of the site of the Bastille without finding himself surrounded by
watchers before he has stood five minutes.--In Italy, his trunks are
opened to examine the books he carries, and compare them with the list
of proscribed works.--In Spain, he can say nothing in public that is not
likely to be known to the authorities before the day is out; or in
private that is not in possession of some priest after the next period
of confession.--In Switzerland, he finds that he is free to do any thing
but make inquiries about the condition of the country. If he asks, as
the Emperor Joseph did before him, "Quels sont les revenues de votre
république?" he may receive the same answer, "Ils excedent nos
dépenses."--In Germany, his case is like that of the inhabitants of the
cities;--his course is open and agreeable as long as he pursues inferior
objects, but it is made extremely inconvenient to him to gratify his
interest in politics.--In Poland, evidences of authority will meet his
observation in every direction, while he will rarely hear the name of
its head.--In Russia, he will find the people speaking of their despot
as their father, and will perceive that it is more offensive to allude
to the mortality of emperors than to talk lightly to children of the
death of their parents. A gentleman in the suite of an English
ambassador inquired, after having been conducted over the imperial
palace at St. Petersburgh, which of the rooms he had seen was that in
which the Emperor Paul was killed. No answer was returned to his
question, nor to his repetition of it. He imprudently persisted till
some reply was necessary. His guide whispered, with white lips, "Paul
was not killed. Emperors do not die; they transpire out of life."
Such are some of the relations of the people to authority which will
strike the observation of the traveller in the most civilized of foreign
countries. These will be further illustrated by the smallest
circumstances which meet his eye that can in any way indicate what are
the functions of the police, and where it has most or least authority.
The Emperor Paul issued an ukase about shoestrings, which it was highly
penal to disobey. His son has lately ordained the precise measurement of
whiskers, and cut of the hair behind, to be observed by the officers of
the army. In some regions, all men go armed: in others, it is penal to
wear arms: in others, people may do as they please. In some countries,
there are costumes of classes enforced by law: in others, by opinion:
while fashion is the only dictator in a third. In some societies
citizens must obtain leave from the authorities to move from place to
place: in others, strangers alone are plagued with passports: in
others, there is perfect freedom of locomotion for all.--In his
observation of the workings of authority, as embodied in a police, his
own experience of restraint or liberty will afford him ample material
for thought, and ground of inference.
Such restraint as exists derives its character chiefly from its origin.
It makes a wide difference whether the police are the creatures of a
despotic sovereign who treats his subjects as property; or whether they
are the agents of a representative government, appointed by responsible
rulers for the public good; or whether they are the servants of a
self-governing people, chosen by those among whom their work lies. It
makes a wide difference whether they are in the secret pay of an
irresponsible individual, or appointed by command of a parliament, or
elected by a concourse of citizens. In any case, their existence and
their function testify to the absence or presence of a general idea of
liberty among the people; and to its nature, if present.
* * * * *
It is taken for granted that the traveller is informed, before he sets
out, respecting the form of Government and general course of Legislation
of the nation he studies. He will watch both, attending upon the
administration as well as the formation of laws,--visiting, where it is
allowed, the courts of justice as well as the halls of parliament. But
he must remember that neither the composition of the government, nor the
body of the laws, nor the administration of them, is an evidence of
what the idea of liberty at present is among the people, except in a
democratic republic, where the acts of the government are the result of
the last expression of the national will. Every other representative
system is too partial for its legislative acts to be more than the
expression of the will of a party; and the great body of laws is
everywhere, except in America, the work of preceding ages. Though,
therefore, the observer will allow no great legislative and
administrative acts to pass without his notice, he will apply himself to
other sets of circumstances to ascertain what is the existing idea of
liberty prevalent among the people. He will observe, from certain facts
of their position, what this idea must be; and, from certain classes of
their own deeds, what it actually is.
One of the most important circumstances is, whether the population is
thinly sprinkled over the face of the country, or whether it is
collected into neighbourly societies. This all-important condition has
been alluded to so often already that it is only necessary to remind the
observer never to lose sight of it. "Plus un peuple nombreux se
rapproche," says Rousseau, "moins le gouvernement peut usurper sur le
souverain. L'avantage d'un gouvernement tyrannique est donc en ceci,
d'agir à grandes distances. A l'aide des points d'appui qu'il se donne,
sa force augmente au loin, comme celle des léviers. Celle du peuple, au
contraire, n'agit que concentrée: elle s'évapore et se perd en
s'étendant, comme l'effet de la poudre éparse à terre, et qui ne prend
feu que grain à grain. Les pays les moins peuplés sont ainsi les plus
propres à la tyrannie. Les bêtes féroces ne règnent que dans les
déserts."
It is obvious enough that the Idea of Liberty, which can originate only
in the intercourse of many minds, as the liberty itself can be wrought
out only by the labours of many united hands, is not to be looked for
where the people live apart, and are destitute of any knowledge of the
interests and desires of the community at large.
* * * * *
Whether the society is divided into Two Classes, or whether there is a
Gradation, is another important consideration. Where there are only two,
proprietors and labourers, the Idea of Liberty is deficient or absent.
The proprietory class can have no other desires on the subject than to
repress the encroachments of the sovereign above them, or of the servile
class below them: and in the servile class the conception of liberty is
yet unformed. Only in barbarous countries, in countries where slavery
subsists, and in some few strongholds of feudalism, is this decided
division of society into two classes now to be found. Everywhere else
there is more or less gradation; and in the most advanced countries the
classes are least distinguishable. Below those members who, in European
societies, are distinguished by birth, there is class beneath class of
capitalists, though it is usual to comprehend them all, for convenience
of speech, under the name of the middle class. Thus society in Great
Britain, France, and Germany is commonly spoken of as consisting of
three classes; while the divisions of the middle class are, in fact,
very numerous. The small shopkeeper is not of the same class with the
landowner, or wealthy banker, or professional man; while their views of
life, their political principles, and their social aspirations, are as
different as those of the peer and the mechanic.
There are two pledges of the advancement of the idea of liberty in a
community:--the one is the mingling of the functions of proprietor and
labourer throughout the whole of a society ruled by a representative
government; the other is the graduation of ranks by some other principle
than hereditary succession.
In ancient times most men were proprietors and labourers too; but under
despotic rule. Societies which have once come under the representative
principle are not likely to retrograde to this state; while there are
influences ever at work to exalt the function of labour, and to extend
that of proprietorship. Wherever this mixture of functions has gone the
furthest,--wherever the mechanic classes are becoming capitalists, and
proprietors are liable to sink down from their ancient honour, unless
they can secure respect by personal qualifications, the idea of liberty
is, to a considerable degree, confirmed and elevated. In such a case, it
is clear that both the power and the desire of encroachment on the part
of the upper class must be lessened, and that of resistance on the part
of the lower increased.--The other improvement follows upon this.
Proprietorship, with its feudal influences, having lost caste (though it
has gained in true dignity), some other ground of distinction must
succeed. If we may judge by what is before our eyes in the Western
world, talent is likely to be the next successor. It is to be hoped that
talent will, in its turn, give way to moral worth,--the higher degrees
of which imply, however, superiority of mental power. The preference of
personal qualifications to those of external endowment has already begun
in the world, and is fast making its way. Such distinction of ranks as
there is in America originates in mental qualifications. Statesmen, who
rise by their own power, rank highest; and then authors. The wealthiest
capitalist gives place, in the estimation of all, to a popular orator, a
successful author, or an eminent clergyman.--In France, the honours of
the peerage and the offices of the state are given to men of science,
philosophy, and literature. The same is the case in some parts of
Germany: and, even in aristocratic England, the younger members of her
Upper House are unsatisfied with being merely peers, and are anxious to
push their way in literature, as well as in politics.--The traveller
must give earnest heed to symptoms like these, knowing that as the
barriers of ranks are thrown down, and personal obtain the ascendant
over hereditary qualifications, social coercion must be relaxed, and the
sentiment of liberty exalted.
* * * * *
In close connexion with this, he must observe the condition of Servants.
The treatment and conduct of domestics depend on causes which lie far
deeper than the principles and tempers of particular servants and
masters, as may be seen by a glance at domestic service in England,
Scotland, and Ireland. In England, the old Saxon and Norman feud
smoulders, (however unconscious the parties may be of the fact,) in the
relation of master and servant. Domestics who never heard of either
Norman or Saxon entertain a deep-rooted conviction of their masters'
interests and their own being directly opposed, and are subject to a
strong sense of injury. Masters who never bestow a thought on the
transactions of the twelfth century, complain of a doggedness,
selfishness, and case-hardened indifference in the class of domestics,
which kindness cannot penetrate, or penetrates only to pervert. The
relation is therefore a painful one in England. There is little
satisfaction to be obtained between the extremes of servility and
defiance, by which the conduct of servants is almost as distinctly
marked now as when the nation was younger by seven centuries. The
English housewives complain that confidence only makes their maid
servants conceited, and that indulgence spoils them.--In Ireland, the
case is of the same nature, but much aggravated. The injury of having an
aristocracy of foreigners forced on the country, to whom the natives are
to render service, is more recent, and the impression more consciously
retained. The servants are ill-treated, and they yield bad service in
return. It is mournful to see the arrangement of Dublin houses. The
drawing-rooms are palace-like, while the servants' apartments are dark
and damp dungeons. It is wearisome to hear the complaints of the dirt,
falsehood, and faithlessness of Irish servants,--complaints which their
mistresses have ever ready for the ear of the stranger; and it is
disgusting to witness the effects in the household. It is equally sad
and ludicrous to see the mistress of some families enter the breakfast
room, with a loaf of bread under her arm, the butter-plate in one hand,
and a bunch of keys in the other;--to see her cut from the loaf the
number of slices required, and send them down to be toasted,--explaining
that she is obliged to lock up the very bread from the thievery of her
servants, and informing against them as if she expected them to be
worthy of trust, while she daily insults them with the refusal of all
trust,--even to the care of the bread-pan. In Scotland, the case is
widely different. Servitude and clanship are there connected, instead of
servitude and conquest. The service is willing in proportion; and the
faults of domestics are not those common to the oppressed, but rather
those proceeding from pride and self-will. The Scotch domestic has still
the pride in the chief of the name which cherishes the self-respect of
every member of a clan; and in the service of the chief there is
scarcely any exertion which the humblest of his name would not make. The
results are obvious. There is a better understanding between the two
classes than in the other divisions of the kingdom: and Scotch masters
and mistresses obtain a satisfaction from their domestics which no
degree of justice and kindness in English and Irish housekeepers can
secure. The dregs of an oppression of centuries cannot be purged away by
the action of individual tempers, be they of the best. The causes of
misunderstanding, as we have said, lie deep.
The principles which regulate the condition of domestic servants in
every country form thus a deep and wide subject for the traveller's
inquiries. In America, he will hear frequent complaints from the ladies
of the pride of their maid servants, and of the difficulty of settling
them, while he sees that some are the most intimate friends of the
families they serve; and that not a few collect books, and attend
courses of scientific lectures. The fact is that, in America, a conflict
is going on between opposite principles, and the consequences of the
struggle show themselves chiefly in the relation between master and
servant. The old European notions of the degradation of servitude
survive in the minds of their American descendants, and are nourished by
the presence of slavery on the same continent, and by the importation of
labourers from Europe which is perpetually going on. In conflict with
these notions are the democratic ideas of the honourableness of
voluntary service by contract. It is found difficult, at first, to
settle the bounds of the contract; and masters are liable to sin, from
long habit, on the side of imperiousness, and the servants on that of
captiousness and jealousy of their own rights. Such are the
inconveniences of a transition state;--a state, however, upon which it
should be remembered that other societies have yet to enter. In an Irish
country-house, the guest sometimes finds himself desired to keep his
wardrobe locked up.--In England, he perceives a restraint in the address
of each class to the class above it.--In France, a washerwoman speaks
with as much ease to a duchess as a duchess to a washerwoman.--In
Holland, the domestics have chambers as scrupulously neat as their
masters'.--In Ireland, they sleep in underground closets.--In New York,
they can command their own accommodation.--In Cuba they sleep, like
dogs, in the passages of the family dwellings. These are some of the
facts from which the observer is to draw his inferences, rather than
from the manners of some individuals of the class whom he may meet. In
his conclusions from such facts he can hardly be wrong, though he may
chance to become acquainted with a footman of the true heroic order in
Dublin, and a master in Cuba who respects his own servants, and a
cringing lackey in New York.
* * * * *
A point of some importance is whether the provincial inhabitants depend
upon the management and imitate the modes of life of the metropolis, or
have principles and manners of their own. Where there is least freedom
and the least desire of it, everything centres in the metropolis. Where
there is most freedom, each "city, town, and vill," thinks and acts for
itself. In despotic countries, the principle of centralization actuates
everything. Orders are issued from the central authorities, and the
minds of the provinces are saved all trouble of thinking for themselves.
Where self-government is permitted to each assemblage of citizens, they
are stimulated to improve their idea and practice of liberty, and are
almost independent of metropolitan usages. The traveller will find that
"Paris is France," as everybody has heard, and that the government of
France is carried on in half-a-dozen apartments in the capital, with
little reference to the unrepresented thousands who are living some
hundreds of miles off: while, if he casts a glance over Norway, he may
see the people on the shores of the fiords, or in the valleys between
the pine-steeps, quietly making their arrangements for controlling the
central authority, even abolishing the institution of hereditary
nobility in opposition to the will of the king; but legally, peaceably,
and in all the simplicity of determined independence,--the result of a
matured idea of liberty. The observer will note whether the pursuits and
amusements of the provincial inhabitants originate in the circumstances
of the locality, or whether they are copies from those of the
metropolis; whether the great city be spoken of with reverence, scorn,
or indifference, or not spoken of at all: whether, as in a Pennsylvanian
village, the society could go on if the capital were swallowed up by an
earthquake; or whether, as in Prussia, the favour of the central power
is as the breath of the nostrils of the people.
* * * * *
Newspapers are a strong evidence of the political ideas of a
people;--not individual newspapers; for no two, perhaps, fully agree in
principles and sentiment, and it is to be feared that none are
positively honest. Not by individual newspapers must the traveller form
his judgment, but by the freedom of discussion which he may find to be
permitted, or the restraints upon discussion imposed. The idea of
liberty must be low and feeble among a people who permit the government
to maintain a severe censorship; and it must be powerful and effectual
in a society which can make all its complaints through a newspaper,--be
the reports of the newspapers upon the state of social affairs as dismal
as they may. Whatever revilings of a tyrannical president, or of a
servile congress, a traveller may meet with in any number of American
journals, he may fairly conclude that both the one and the other must
be nearly harmless if they are discussed in a newspaper. The very
existence of the newspapers he sees testifies to the prevalence of a
habit of reading, and consequently of education--to the wide diffusion
of political power--and to the probable safety and permanence of a
government which is founded on so broad a basis, and can afford to
indulge so large a licence. Whatever he may be told of the patriotism of
a sovereign, let him give it to the winds if he finds a space in a
newspaper made blank by the pen of a censor. The tameness of the
Austrian journals tells as plain a tale as if no censor had ever
suppressed a syllable;--as much so as the small size of a New Orleans
paper compared with one of New York, or as the fiercest bluster of a
Cincinnati Daily or Weekly, on the eve of the election of a president.
* * * * *
In countries where there is any Free Education, the traveller must
observe its nature; and especially whether the subjects of it are
distinguished by any sort of badge. The practice of badging, otherwise
than by mutual consent, is usually bad: it is always suspicious. The
traveller will note whether free education is conferred by charitable
bequest, (a practice originating in times when the doctrine of expiation
was prevalent, and continued to this day by its union with charity,) or
whether it is framed at the will of the sovereign, that his young
subjects may be trained to his own purposes,--as in the case of the
Emperor of Russia and his young Polish victims; or whether it arises
from the union of such a desire with a more enlightened object,--as may
be witnessed in Prussia; or whether it is provided by the sovereign
people,--by universal consent, as the right of every individual born
into the community, and as the necessary qualification for the enjoyment
of social privileges,--as in the United States. The English Christ
Hospital boys are badged: Napoleon's Polytechnic pupils were badged; so
are the Czar's orphan charge. Wherever the meddling or ostentatious
charity of antique times is in existence,--times when the idea of
liberty was low and confined,--this badging is to be looked for; and
also wherever it is necessary to the purposes of the potentate to keep a
register of the young subjects who may become his instruments or his
foes:--but where education is absolutely universal, where any citizen
has a right to put every child, not otherwise educated, into the
school-house of his township, and where the rising generation are
destined to take care of themselves, and legislate after their own will,
no badging will be found. This apparently trifling fact is worth the
attention of the observer.
The extent of popular education is a fact of the deepest significance.
Under despotisms there will be the smallest amount of it; and in
proportion to the national idea of the dignity and importance of
man,--idea of liberty, in short,--will be its extent, both in regard to
the number it comprehends, and to the enlargement of their studies. The
universality of education is inseparably connected with a lofty idea of
liberty; and till the idea is realized in a constantly expanding system
of national education, the observer may profitably note for reflection
the facts whether he is surrounded on a frontier by a crowd of whining
young beggars, or whether he sees a parade of charity scholars,--these
all in blue caps and yellow stockings, and those all in white tippets
and green aprons; or whether he falls in with an annual or quarterly
assembly of teachers, met to confer on the best principles and methods
of carrying on an education which is itself a matter of course.
In countries where there is any popular Idea of Liberty, the
universities are considered its stronghold, from their being the places
where the young, active, hopeful, and aspiring meet,--the youths who are
soon to be citizens, and who have here the means of daily communication
of their ideas, for many years together. It would be an interesting
inquiry how many revolutions, warlike or bloodless, have issued from
seats of learning; and yet more, how many have been planned for which
the existing powers, or the habits of society, have been too strong. If
the universities are not so constituted as to admit of this fostering of
free principles, they are pretty sure to retain the antique notions in
accordance with which they were instituted, and to fall into the rear of
society in morals and manners. It is the traveller's business to observe
the characteristics of these institutions, and to reflect whether they
are likely to aid or to retard the progress of the nation in which they
stand.
There are universities in almost every country; but they are as little
like one another as the costumes that are found in Switzerland and
India; and the one speak as plainly of morals and manners as the other
of climate. It is needless to point out that countries which contain
only aristocratic halls of learning, or schools otherwise devoid of an
elastic principle, must be in a state of comparative barbarism; because,
in such a case, learning (so called there) must be confined to a few,
and probably to the few who can make the least practical use of it.
Where the universities are on such a plan as that, preserving their
primary form, they can admit increasing numbers, the state of intellect
is likely to be a more advanced one. But a more favourable symptom is
where seats of learning are multiplied as society enlarges, modified in
their principles as new departments of knowledge open, and as new
classes arise who wish to learn. That country is in a state of
transition--of progression--where the ancient universities are honoured
for as much as they can give, while new schools arise to supply their
deficiencies, and Mechanics' Institutes, or some kindred establishments,
flourish by the side of both. This state of things, this variety in the
pursuit of knowledge, can exist only where there is a freedom of
thought, and consequent diversity of opinion, which argues a vigorous
idea of liberty.
The observer must not, however, rest satisfied with ascertaining the
proportion of the means of education to the people who have to be
educated. He must mark the objects for which learning is pursued. The
two most strongly contrasted cases which can be found are probably those
of Germany and (once more) the United States. In the United States, it
is well known, a provision of university education is made as ample as
that of schools for an earlier stage; yet no one pretends that a highly
finished education is to be looked for in that country. The cause is
obvious. In a young nation, the great common objects of life are entered
upon earlier, and every preparatory process is gone through in a more
superficial manner. Seats of learning are numerous and fully attended,
both in Germany and America, and they testify in each to a pervading
desire of knowledge. Here the agreement ends. The German student may,
without being singular, remain within the walls of his college till time
silvers his hairs; or he has even been known to pass eighteen years
among his books, without once crossing the threshold of his study. The
young American, meanwhile, satisfied at the end of three years that he
knows as much as his neighbours, settles in a home, engages in farming
or commerce, and plunges into what alone he considers the business of
life. Each of these pursues his appropriate objects: each is right in
his own way: but the difference of pursuit indicates a wider difference
of sentiment between the two countries than the abundance of the means
of learning in each indicates a resemblance. The observer must therefore
mark, not only what and how many are the seats of learning, but who
frequent them; whether there are many, past the season of youth, who
make study the business of their lives; or whether all are of that class
who regard study merely as a part of the preparation which they are
ordained to make for the accomplishment of the commonest aims of life.
He can scarcely take his evening walk in the precincts of a university
without observing a difference so wide as this.
The great importance of the fact lies in this,--that increase of
knowledge is necessary to the secure enlargement of freedom. Germany may
not, it is true, require learning in her youth for political purposes,
but because learning has become the taste, the characteristic honour of
the nation; but this knowledge will infallibly work out, sooner or
later, her political regeneration. America requires knowledge in her
sons because her political existence itself depends upon their mental
competency. The two countries will probably approximate gradually
towards a sympathy which is at present out of the question. As America
becomes more fully peopled, a literature will grow up within her, and
study will assume its place among the chief objects of life. The great
ideas which are the employment of the best minds of Germany must work
their way out into action; and new and immediately practical kinds of
knowledge will mingle themselves, more and more largely, with those to
which she has been, in times past, devoted. The two countries may thus
fall into a sympathetic correspondence on the mighty subjects of human
government and human learning, and the grand idea of liberty may be made
more manifest in the one, and disciplined and enriched in the other.
* * * * *
One great subject of observation and speculation remains--the objects
and form of Persecution for Opinion in each country. Persecution for
opinion is always going on among a people enlightened enough to
entertain any opinions at all. There must always be, in such a nation,
some who have gone further in research than others, and who, in making
such an advance, have overstepped the boundaries of popular sympathy.
The existence and sufferings of such are not to be denied because there
are no fires at the stake, and no organized and authorized Inquisition,
and because formal excommunication is gone out of fashion. Persecution
puts on other forms as ages elapse; but it is not extinct. It can be
inflicted out of the province of law, as well as through it; by a
neighbourhood as well as from the Vatican. A wise and honest man may be
wounded through his social affections, and in his domestic relations, as
effectually as by flames, fetters, and public ignominy. There are wise
and good persons in every civilized country, who are undergoing
persecution in one form or another every day.
Is it for precocity in science? or for certain opinions in politics? or
for a peculiar mode of belief in the Christian religion, or unbelief of
it? or for championship of an oppressed class? or for new views in
morals? or, for fresh inventions in the arts, apparently interfering
with old-established interests? or for bold philosophical speculation?
Who suffers arbitrary infliction, in short, and how, for any mode of
thinking, and of faithful action upon thought? An observer would reject
whatever he might be told of the paternal government of a prince, if he
saw upon a height a fortress in which men were suffering _carcere duro_
for political opinions. In like manner, whatever a nation may tell him
of its love of liberty should go for little if he sees a virtuous man's
children taken from him on the ground of his holding an unusual
religious belief; or citizens mobbed for asserting the rights of
negroes; or moralists treated with public scorn for carrying out allowed
principles to their ultimate issues; or scholars oppressed for throwing
new light into the sacred text; or philosophers denounced for bringing
fresh facts to the surface of human knowledge, whether they seem to
agree or not with long-established suppositions.
The kind and degree of infliction for opinion which is possible, and is
practised in the time and place, will indicate to the observer the
degree of imperfection in the popular idea of liberty. This is a kind of
fact easy to ascertain, and worthy of all attention.