John stuart mill

entreating him, but not for compelling him, or visiting him with any evil, in

case he do otherwise. To justify that, the conduct from which it is desired to

deter him must be calculated to produce evil to some one else. The only part of

the conduct of any one, for which he is amenable to society, is that which

concerns others. In the part which merely concerns himself, his independence is,

of right, absolute. Over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is

sovereign.

It is, perhaps, hardly necessary to say that this doctrine is meant to apply

only to human beings in the maturity of their faculties. We are not speaking of

children, or of young persons below the age which the law may fix as that of

manhood or womanhood. Those who are still in a state to require being taken care

of by others, must be protected against their own actions as well as against

external injury. For the same reason, we may leave out of consideration those

backward states of society in which the race itself may be considered as in its

nonage. The early difficulties in the way of spontaneous progress are so great,

that there is seldom any choice of means for overcoming them; and a ruler full

of the spirit of improvement is warranted in the use of any expedients that will

attain an end, perhaps otherwise unattainable. Despotism is a legitimate mode of

government in dealing with barbarians, provided the end be their improvement,

and the means justified by actually effecting that end. Liberty, as a principle,

has no application to any state of things anterior to the time when mankind have

become capable of being improved by free and equal discussion. Until then, there

is nothing for them but implicit obedience to an Akbar or a Charlemagne, if they

are so fortunate as to find one. But as soon as mankind have attained the

capacity of being guided to their own improvement by conviction or persuasion (a

period long since reached in all nations with whom we need here concern

ourselves), compulsion, either in the direct form or in that of pains and

penalties for non-compliance, is no longer admissible as a means to their own

good, and justifiable only for the security of others.

It is proper to state that I forego any advantage which could be derived to my

argument from the idea of abstract right as a thing independent of utility. I

regard utility as the ultimate appeal on all ethical questions; but it must be

utility in the largest sense, grounded on the permanent interests of man as a

progressive being. Those interests, I contend, authorize the subjection of

individual spontaneity to external control, only in respect to those actions of

each, which concern the interest of other people. If any one does an act hurtful

to others, there is a prima facie case for punishing him, by law, or, where

legal penalties are not safely applicable, by general disapprobation. There are

also many positive acts for the benefit of others, which he may rightfully be

compelled to perform; such as, to give evidence in a court of justice; to bear

his fair share in the common defence, or in any other joint work necessary to

the interest of the society of which he enjoys the protection; and to perform

certain acts of individual beneficence, such as saving a fellow-creature's life,

or interposing to protect the defenceless against ill-usage, things which

whenever it is obviously a man's duty to do, he may rightfully be made

responsible to society for not doing. A person may cause evil to others not only

by his actions but by his inaction, and in neither case he is justly accountable

to them for the injury. The latter case, it is true, requires a much more

cautious exercise of compulsion than the former. To make any one answerable for

doing evil to others, is the rule; to make him answerable for not preventing

evil, is, comparatively speaking, the exception. Yet there are many cases clear

enough and grave enough to justify that exception. In all things which regard

the external relations of the individual, he is de jure amenable to those whose

interests are concerned, and if need be, to society as their protector. There

are often good reasons for not holding him to the responsibility; but these

reasons must arise from the special expediencies of the case: either because it

is a kind of case in which he is on the whole likely to act better, when left to

his own discretion, than when controlled in any way in which society have it in

their power to control him; or because the attempt to exercise control would

produce other evils, greater than those which it would prevent. When such

reasons as these preclude the enforcement of responsibility, the conscience of

the agent himself should step into the vacant judgment-seat, and protect those

interests of others which have no external protection; judging himself all the

more rigidly, because the case does not admit of his being made accountable to

the judgment of his fellow-creatures.

But there is a sphere of action in which society, as distinguished from the

individual, has, if any, only an indirect interest; comprehending all that

portion of a person's life and conduct which affects only himself, or, if it

also affects others, only with their free, voluntary, and undeceived consent and

participation. When I say only himself, I mean directly, and in the first

instance: for whatever affects himself, may affect others through himself; and

the objection which may be grounded on this contingency, will receive

consideration in the sequel. This, then, is the appropriate region of human

liberty. It comprises, first, the inward domain of consciousness; demanding

liberty of conscience, in the most comprehensive sense; liberty of thought and

feeling; absolute freedom of opinion and sentiment on all subjects, practical or

speculative, scientific, moral, or theological. The liberty of expressing and

publishing opinions may seem to fall under a different principle, since it

belongs to that part of the conduct of an individual which concerns other

people; but, being almost of as much importance as the liberty of thought

itself, and resting in great part on the same reasons, is practically

inseparable from it. Secondly, the principle requires liberty of tastes and

pursuits; of framing the plan of our life to suit our own character; of doing as

we like, subject to such consequences as may follow; without impediment from our

fellow-creatures, so long as what we do does not harm them even though they

should think our conduct foolish, perverse, or wrong. Thirdly, from this liberty

of each individual, follows the liberty, within the same limits, of combination

among individuals; freedom to unite, for any purpose not involving harm to

others: the persons combining being supposed to be of full age, and not forced

or deceived.

No society in which these liberties are not, on the whole, respected, is free,

whatever may be its form of government; and none is completely free in which

they do not exist absolute and unqualified. The only freedom which deserves the

name, is that of pursuing our own good in our own way, so long as we do not

attempt to deprive others of theirs, or impede their efforts to obtain it. Each

is the proper guardian of his own health, whether bodily, or mental or

spiritual. Mankind are greater gainers by suffering each other to live as seems

good to themselves, than by compelling each to live as seems good to the rest.

Though this doctrine is anything but new, and, to some persons, may have the air

of a truism, there is no doctrine which stands more directly opposed to the

general tendency of existing opinion and practice. Society has expended fully as

much effort in the attempt (according to its lights) to compel people to conform

to its notions of personal, as of social excellence. The ancient commonwealths

thought themselves entitled to practise, and the ancient philosophers

countenanced, the regulation of every part of private conduct by public

authority, on the ground that the State had a deep interest in the whole bodily

and mental discipline of every one of its citizens, a mode of thinking which may

have been admissible in small republics surrounded by powerful enemies, in

constant peril of being subverted by foreign attack or internal commotion, and

to which even a short interval of relaxed energy and self-command might so

easily be fatal, that they could not afford to wait for the salutary permanent

effects of freedom. In the modern world, the greater size of political

communities, and above all, the separation between the spiritual and temporal

authority (which placed the direction of men's consciences in other hands than

those which controlled their worldly affairs), prevented so great an

interference by law in the details of private life; but the engines of moral

repression have been wielded more strenuously against divergence from the

reigning opinion in self-regarding, than even in social matters; religion, the

most powerful of the elements which have entered into the formation of moral

feeling, having almost always been governed either by the ambition of a

hierarchy, seeking control over every department of human conduct, or by the

spirit of Puritanism. And some of those modern reformers who have placed

themselves in strongest opposition to the religions of the past, have been noway

behind either churches or sects in their assertion of the right of spiritual

domination: M. Comte, in particular, whose social system, as unfolded in his

Traite de Politique Positive, aims at establishing (though by moral more than by

legal appliances) a despotism of society over the individual, surpassing

anything contemplated in the political ideal of the most rigid disciplinarian

among the ancient philosophers.

Apart from the peculiar tenets of individual thinkers, there is also in the

world at large an increasing inclination to stretch unduly the powers of society

over the individual, both by the force of opinion and even by that of

legislation: and as the tendency of all the changes taking place in the world is

to strengthen society, and diminish the power of the individual, this

encroachment is not one of the evils which tend spontaneously to disappear, but,

on the contrary, to grow more and more formidable. The disposition of mankind,

whether as rulers or as fellow-citizens, to impose their own opinions and

inclinations as a rule of conduct on others, is so energetically supported by

some of the best and by some of the worst feelings incident to human nature,

that it is hardly ever kept under restraint by anything but want of power; and

as the power is not declining, but growing, unless a strong barrier of moral

conviction can be raised against the mischief, we must expect, in the present

circumstances of the world, to see it increase.

It will be convenient for the argument, if, instead of at once entering upon the

general thesis, we confine ourselves in the first instance to a single branch of

it, on which the principle here stated is, if not fully, yet to a certain point,

recognized by the current opinions. This one branch is the Liberty of Thought:

from which it is impossible to separate the cognate liberty of speaking and of

writing. Although these liberties, to some considerable amount, form part of the

political morality of all countries which profess religious toleration and free

institutions, the grounds, both philosophical and practical, on which they rest,

are perhaps not so familiar to the general mind, nor so thoroughly appreciated

by many even of the leaders of opinion, as might have been expected. Those

grounds, when rightly understood, are of much wider application than to only one

division of the subject, and a thorough consideration of this part of the

question will be found the best introduction to the remainder. Those to whom

nothing which I am about to say will be new, may therefore, I hope, excuse me,

if on a subject which for now three centuries has been so often discussed, I

venture on one discussion more.

CHAPTER II

OF THE LIBERTY OF THOUGHT AND DISCUSSION

THE time, it is to be hoped, is gone by when any defence would be necessary of

the "liberty of the press" as one of the securities against corrupt or

tyrannical government. No argument, we may suppose, can now be needed, against

permitting a legislature or an executive, not identified in interest with the

people, to prescribe opinions to them, and determine what doctrines or what

arguments they shall be allowed to hear. This aspect of the question, besides,

has been so often and so triumphantly enforced by preceding writers, that it

needs not be specially insisted on in this place. Though the law of England, on

the subject of the press, is as servile to this day as it was in the time of the

Tudors, there is little danger of its being actually put in force against

political discussion, except during some temporary panic, when fear of

insurrection drives ministers and judges from their propriety;[1] and, speaking

generally, it is not, in constitutional countries, to be apprehended that the

government, whether completely responsible to the people or not, will often

attempt to control the expression of opinion, except when in doing so it makes

itself the organ of the general intolerance of the public. Let us suppose,

therefore, that the government is entirely at one with the people, and never

thinks of exerting any power of coercion unless in agreement with what it

conceives to be their voice. But I deny the right of the people to exercise such

coercion, either by themselves or by their government. The power itself is

illegitimate. The best government has no more title to it than the worst. It is

as noxious, or more noxious, when exerted in accordance with public opinion,

than when in opposition to it. If all mankind minus one, were of one opinion,

and only one person were of the contrary opinion, mankind would be no more

justified in silencing that one person, than he, if he had the power, would be

justified in silencing mankind. Were an opinion a personal possession of no

value except to the owner; if to be obstructed in the enjoyment of it were

simply a private injury, it would make some difference whether the injury was

inflicted only on a few persons or on many. But the peculiar evil of silencing

the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race; posterity as

well as the existing generation; those who dissent from the opinion, still more

than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the

opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose, what is almost

as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth,

produced by its collision with error.

It is necessary to consider separately these two hypotheses, each of which has a

distinct branch of the argument corresponding to it. We can never be sure that

the opinion we are endeavouring to stifle is a false opinion; and if we were

sure, stifling it would be an evil still.

First the opinion which it is attempted to suppress by authority may possibly be

true. Those who desire to suppress it, of course deny its truth; but they are

not infallible. They have no authority to decide the question for all mankind,

and exclude every other person from the means of judging. To refuse a hearing to

an opinion, because they are sure that it is false, is to assume that their

certainty is the same thing as absolute certainty. All silencing of discussion

is an assumption of infallibility. Its condemnation may be allowed to rest on

this common argument, not the worse for being common.

Unfortunately for the good sense of mankind, the fact of their fallibility is

far from carrying the weight in their practical judgment, which is always

allowed to it in theory; for while every one well knows himself to be fallible,

few think it necessary to take any precautions against their own fallibility, or

admit the supposition that any opinion of which they feel very certain, may be

one of the examples of the error to which they acknowledge themselves to be

liable. Absolute princes, or others who are accustomed to unlimited deference,

usually feel this complete confidence in their own opinions on nearly all

subjects. People more happily situated, who sometimes hear their opinions

disputed, and are not wholly unused to be set right when they are wrong, place

the same unbounded reliance only on such of their opinions as are shared by all

who surround them, or to whom they habitually defer: for in proportion to a

man's want of confidence in his own solitary judgment, does he usually repose,

with implicit trust, on the infallibility of "the world" in general. And the

world, to each individual, means the part of it with which he comes in contact;

his party, his sect, his church, his class of society: the man may be called, by

comparison, almost liberal and large-minded to whom it means anything so

comprehensive as his own country or his own age. Nor is his faith in this

collective authority at all shaken by his being aware that other ages,

countries, sects, churches, classes, and parties have thought, and even now

think, the exact reverse. He devolves upon his own world the responsibility of

being in the right against the dissentient worlds of other people; and it never

troubles him that mere accident has decided which of these numerous worlds is

the object of his reliance, and that the same causes which make him a Churchman

in London, would have made him a Buddhist or a Confucian in Pekin. Yet it is as

evident in itself as any amount of argument can make it, that ages are no more

infallible than individuals; every age having held many opinions which

subsequent ages have deemed not only false but absurd; and it is as certain that

many opinions, now general, will be rejected by future ages, as it is that many,

once general, are rejected by the present.

The objection likely to be made to this argument, would probably take some such

form as the following. There is no greater assumption of infallibility in

forbidding the propagation of error, than in any other thing which is done by

public authority on its own judgment and responsibility. Judgment is given to

men that they may use it. Because it may be used erroneously, are men to be told

that they ought not to use it at all? To prohibit what they think pernicious, is

not claiming exemption from error, but fulfilling the duty incumbent on them,

although fallible, of acting on their conscientious conviction. If we were never

to act on our opinions, because those opinions may be wrong, we should leave all

our interests uncared for, and all our duties unperformed. An objection which

applies to all conduct can be no valid objection to any conduct in particular.

It is the duty of governments, and of individuals, to form the truest opinions

they can; to form them carefully, and never impose them upon others unless they

are quite sure of being right. But when they are sure (such reasoners may say),

it is not conscientiousness but cowardice to shrink from acting on their

opinions, and allow doctrines which they honestly think dangerous to the welfare

of mankind, either in this life or in another, to be scattered abroad without

restraint, because other people, in less enlightened times, have persecuted

opinions now believed to be true. Let us take care, it may be said, not to make

the same mistake: but governments and nations have made mistakes in other

things, which are not denied to be fit subjects for the exercise of authority:

they have laid on bad taxes, made unjust wars. Ought we therefore to lay on no

taxes, and, under whatever provocation, make no wars? Men, and governments, must

act to the best of their ability. There is no such thing as absolute certainty,

but there is assurance sufficient for the purposes of human life. We may, and

must, assume our opinion to be true for the guidance of our own conduct: and it

is assuming no more when we forbid bad men to pervert society by the propagation

of opinions which we regard as false and pernicious.

I answer, that it is assuming very much more. There is the greatest difference

between presuming an opinion to be true, because, with every opportunity for

contesting it, it has not been refuted, and assuming its truth for the purpose

of not permitting its refutation. Complete liberty of contradicting and

disproving our opinion, is the very condition which justifies us in assuming its

truth for purposes of action; and on no other terms can a being with human

faculties have any rational assurance of being right.

When we consider either the history of opinion, or the ordinary conduct of human

life, to what is it to be ascribed that the one and the other are no worse than

they are? Not certainly to the inherent force of the human understanding; for,

on any matter not self-evident, there are ninety-nine persons totally incapable

of judging of it, for one who is capable; and the capacity of the hundredth

person is only comparative; for the majority of the eminent men of every past

generation held many opinions now known to be erroneous, and did or approved

numerous things which no one will now justify. Why is it, then, that there is on

the whole a preponderance among mankind of rational opinions and rational

conduct? If there really is this preponderance — which there must be, unless

human affairs are, and have always been, in an almost desperate state — it is

owing to a quality of the human mind, the source of everything respectable in

man, either as an intellectual or as a moral being, namely, that his errors are

corrigible. He is capable of rectifying his mistakes by discussion and

experience. Not by experience alone. There must be discussion, to show how

experience is to be interpreted. Wrong opinions and practices gradually yield to

fact and argument: but facts and arguments, to produce any effect on the mind,

must be brought before it. Very few facts are able to tell their own story,