John stuart mill

no moral evil, and does not affect the worth of the opinions, regarded in their

influence on the character. The fact, however, is, that not only the grounds of

the opinion are forgotten in the absence of discussion, but too often the

meaning of the opinion itself. The words which convey it, cease to suggest

ideas, or suggest only a small portion of those they were originally employed to

communicate. Instead of a vivid conception and a living belief, there remain

only a few phrases retained by rote; or, if any part, the shell and husk only of

the meaning is retained, the finer essence being lost. The great chapter in

human history which this fact occupies and fills, cannot be too earnestly

studied and meditated on.

It is illustrated in the experience of almost all ethical doctrines and

religious creeds. They are all full of meaning and vitality to those who

originate them, and to the direct disciples of the originators. Their meaning

continues to be felt in undiminished strength, and is perhaps brought out into

even fuller consciousness, so long as the struggle lasts to give the doctrine or

creed an ascendency over other creeds. At last it either prevails, and becomes

the general opinion, or its progress stops; it keeps possession of the ground it

has gained, but ceases to spread further. When either of these results has

become apparent, controversy on the subject flags, and gradually dies away. The

doctrine has taken its place, if not as a received opinion, as one of the

admitted sects or divisions of opinion: those who hold it have generally

inherited, not adopted it; and conversion from one of these doctrines to

another, being now an exceptional fact, occupies little place in the thoughts of

their professors. Instead of being, as at first, constantly on the alert either

to defend themselves against the world, or to bring the world over to them, they

have subsided into acquiescence, and neither listen, when they can help it, to

arguments against their creed, nor trouble dissentients (if there be such) with

arguments in its favor. From this time may usually be dated the decline in the

living power of the doctrine. We often hear the teachers of all creeds lamenting

the difficulty of keeping up in the minds of believers a lively apprehension of

the truth which they nominally recognize, so that it may penetrate the feelings,

and acquire a real mastery over the conduct. No such difficulty is complained of

while the creed is still fighting for its existence: even the weaker combatants

then know and feel what they are fighting for, and the difference between it and

other doctrines; and in that period of every creed's existence, not a few

persons may be found, who have realized its fundamental principles in all the

forms of thought, have weighed and considered them in all their important

bearings, and have experienced the full effect on the character, which belief in

that creed ought to produce in a mind thoroughly imbued with it. But when it has

come to be an hereditary creed, and to be received passively, not actively —

when the mind is no longer compelled, in the same degree as at first, to

exercise its vital powers on the questions which its belief presents to it,

there is a progressive tendency to forget all of the belief except the

formularies, or to give it a dull and torpid assent, as if accepting it on trust

dispensed with the necessity of realizing it in consciousness, or testing it by

personal experience; until it almost ceases to connect itself at all with the

inner life of the human being. Then are seen the cases, so frequent in this age

of the world as almost to form the majority, in which the creed remains as it

were outside the mind, encrusting and petrifying it against all other influences

addressed to the higher parts of our nature; manifesting its power by not

suffering any fresh and living conviction to get in, but itself doing nothing

for the mind or heart, except standing sentinel over them to keep them vacant.

To what an extent doctrines intrinsically fitted to make the deepest impression

upon the mind may remain in it as dead beliefs, without being ever realized in

the imagination, the feelings, or the understanding, is exemplified by the

manner in which the majority of believers hold the doctrines of Christianity. By

Christianity I here mean what is accounted such by all churches and sects — the

maxims and precepts contained in the New Testament. These are considered sacred,

and accepted as laws, by all professing Christians. Yet it is scarcely too much

to say that not one Christian in a thousand guides or tests his individual

conduct by reference to those laws. The standard to which he does refer it, is

the custom of his nation, his class, or his religious profession. He has thus,

on the one hand, a collection of ethical maxims, which he believes to have been

vouchsafed to him by infallible wisdom as rules for his government; and on the

other, a set of every-day judgments and practices, which go a certain length

with some of those maxims, not so great a length with others, stand in direct

opposition to some, and are, on the whole, a compromise between the Christian

creed and the interests and suggestions of worldly life. To the first of these

standards he gives his homage; to the other his real allegiance. All Christians

believe that the blessed are the poor and humble, and those who are ill-used by

the world; that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle

than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven; that they should judge not,

lest they be judged; that they should swear not at all; that they should love

their neighbor as themselves; that if one take their cloak, they should give him

their coat also; that they should take no thought for the morrow; that if they

would be perfect, they should sell all that they have and give it to the poor.

They are not insincere when they say that they believe these things. They do

believe them, as people believe what they have always heard lauded and never

discussed. But in the sense of that living belief which regulates conduct, they

believe these doctrines just up to the point to which it is usual to act upon

them. The doctrines in their integrity are serviceable to pelt adversaries with;

and it is understood that they are to be put forward (when possible) as the

reasons for whatever people do that they think laudable. But any one who

reminded them that the maxims require an infinity of things which they never

even think of doing would gain nothing but to be classed among those very

unpopular characters who affect to be better than other people. The doctrines

have no hold on ordinary believers — are not a power in their minds. They have

an habitual respect for the sound of them, but no feeling which spreads from the

words to the things signified, and forces the mind to take them in, and make

them conform to the formula. Whenever conduct is concerned, they look round for

Mr. A and B to direct them how far to go in obeying Christ.

Now we may be well assured that the case was not thus, but far otherwise, with

the early Christians. Had it been thus, Christianity never would have expanded

from an obscure sect of the despised Hebrews into the religion of the Roman

empire. When their enemies said, "See how these Christians love one another" (a

remark not likely to be made by anybody now), they assuredly had a much livelier

feeling of the meaning of their creed than they have ever had since. And to this

cause, probably, it is chiefly owing that Christianity now makes so little

progress in extending its domain, and after eighteen centuries, is still nearly

confined to Europeans and the descendants of Europeans. Even with the strictly

religious, who are much in earnest about their doctrines, and attach a greater

amount of meaning to many of them than people in general, it commonly happens

that the part which is thus comparatively active in their minds is that which

was made by Calvin, or Knox, or some such person much nearer in character to

themselves. The sayings of Christ coexist passively in their minds, producing

hardly any effect beyond what is caused by mere listening to words so amiable

and bland. There are many reasons, doubtless, why doctrines which are the badge

of a sect retain more of their vitality than those common to all recognized

sects, and why more pains are taken by teachers to keep their meaning alive; but

one reason certainly is, that the peculiar doctrines are more questioned, and

have to be oftener defended against open gainsayers. Both teachers and learners

go to sleep at their post, as soon as there is no enemy in the field.

The same thing holds true, generally speaking, of all traditional doctrines —

those of prudence and knowledge of life, as well as of morals or religion. All

languages and literatures are full of general observations on life, both as to

what it is, and how to conduct oneself in it; observations which everybody

knows, which everybody repeats, or hears with acquiescence, which are received

as truisms, yet of which most people first truly learn the meaning, when

experience, generally of a painful kind, has made it a reality to them. How

often, when smarting under some unforeseen misfortune or disappointment, does a

person call to mind some proverb or common saying familiar to him all his life,

the meaning of which, if he had ever before felt it as he does now, would have

saved him from the calamity. There are indeed reasons for this, other than the

absence of discussion: there are many truths of which the full meaning cannot be

realized, until personal experience has brought it home. But much more of the

meaning even of these would have been understood, and what was understood would

have been far more deeply impressed on the mind, if the man had been accustomed

to hear it argued pro and con by people who did understand it. The fatal

tendency of mankind to leave off thinking about a thing when it is no longer

doubtful, is the cause of half their errors. A contemporary author has well

spoken of "the deep slumber of a decided opinion."

But what! (it may be asked) Is the absence of unanimity an indispensable

condition of true knowledge? Is it necessary that some part of mankind should

persist in error, to enable any to realize the truth? Does a belief cease to be

real and vital as soon as it is generally received — and is a proposition never

thoroughly understood and felt unless some doubt of it remains? As soon as

mankind have unanimously accepted a truth, does the truth perish within them?

The highest aim and best result of improved intelligence, it has hitherto been

thought, is to unite mankind more and more in the acknowledgment of all

important truths: and does the intelligence only last as long as it has not

achieved its object? Do the fruits of conquest perish by the very completeness

of the victory?

I affirm no such thing. As mankind improve, the number of doctrines which are no

longer disputed or doubted will be constantly on the increase: and the

well-being of mankind may almost be measured by the number and gravity of the

truths which have reached the point of being uncontested. The cessation, on one

question after another, of serious controversy, is one of the necessary

incidents of the consolidation of opinion; a consolidation as salutary in the

case of true opinions, as it is dangerous and noxious when the opinions are

erroneous. But though this gradual narrowing of the bounds of diversity of

opinion is necessary in both senses of the term, being at once inevitable and

indispensable, we are not therefore obliged to conclude that all its

consequences must be beneficial. The loss of so important an aid to the

intelligent and living apprehension of a truth, as is afforded by the necessity

of explaining it to, or defending it against, opponents, though not sufficient

to outweigh, is no trifling drawback from, the benefit of its universal

recognition. Where this advantage can no longer be had, I confess I should like

to see the teachers of mankind endeavoring to provide a substitute for it; some

contrivance for making the difficulties of the question as present to the

learner's consciousness, as if they were pressed upon him by a dissentient

champion, eager for his conversion.

But instead of seeking contrivances for this purpose, they have lost those they

formerly had. The Socratic dialectics, so magnificently exemplified in the

dialogues of Plato, were a contrivance of this description. They were

essentially a negative discussion of the great questions of philosophy and life,

directed with consummate skill to the purpose of convincing any one who had

merely adopted the commonplaces of received opinion, that he did not understand

the subject — that he as yet attached no definite meaning to the doctrines he

professed; in order that, becoming aware of his ignorance, he might be put in

the way to attain a stable belief, resting on a clear apprehension both of the

meaning of doctrines and of their evidence. The school disputations of the

Middle Ages had a somewhat similar object. They were intended to make sure that

the pupil understood his own opinion, and (by necessary correlation) the opinion

opposed to it, and could enforce the grounds of the one and confute those of the

other. These last-mentioned contests had indeed the incurable defect, that the

premises appealed to were taken from authority, not from reason; and, as a

discipline to the mind, they were in every respect inferior to the powerful

dialectics which formed the intellects of the "Socratici viri:" but the modern

mind owes far more to both than it is generally willing to admit, and the

present modes of education contain nothing which in the smallest degree supplies

the place either of the one or of the other. A person who derives all his

instruction from teachers or books, even if he escape the besetting temptation

of contenting himself with cram, is under no compulsion to hear both sides;

accordingly it is far from a frequent accomplishment, even among thinkers, to

know both sides; and the weakest part of what everybody says in defence of his

opinion, is what he intends as a reply to antagonists. It is the fashion of the

present time to disparage negative logic — that which points out weaknesses in

theory or errors in practice, without establishing positive truths. Such

negative criticism would indeed be poor enough as an ultimate result; but as a

means to attaining any positive knowledge or conviction worthy the name, it

cannot be valued too highly; and until people are again systematically trained

to it, there will be few great thinkers, and a low general average of intellect,

in any but the mathematical and physical departments of speculation. On any

other subject no one's opinions deserve the name of knowledge, except so far as

he has either had forced upon him by others, or gone through of himself, the

same mental process which would have been required of him in carrying on an

active controversy with opponents. That, therefore, which when absent, it is so

indispensable, but so difficult, to create, how worse than absurd is it to

forego, when spontaneously offering itself! If there are any persons who contest

a received opinion, or who will do so if law or opinion will let them, let us

thank them for it, open our minds to listen to them, and rejoice that there is

some one to do for us what we otherwise ought, if we have any regard for either

the certainty or the vitality of our convictions, to do with much greater labor

for ourselves.

It still remains to speak of one of the principal causes which make diversity of

opinion advantageous, and will continue to do so until mankind shall have

entered a stage of intellectual advancement which at present seems at an

incalculable distance. We have hitherto considered only two possibilities: that

the received opinion may be false, and some other opinion, consequently, true;

or that, the received opinion being true, a conflict with the opposite error is

essential to a clear apprehension and deep feeling of its truth. But there is a

commoner case than either of these; when the conflicting doctrines, instead of

being one true and the other false, share the truth between them; and the

nonconforming opinion is needed to supply the remainder of the truth, of which

the received doctrine embodies only a part. Popular opinions, on subjects not

palpable to sense, are often true, but seldom or never the whole truth. They are

a part of the truth; sometimes a greater, sometimes a smaller part, but

exaggerated, distorted, and disjoined from the truths by which they ought to be

accompanied and limited. Heretical opinions, on the other hand, are generally

some of these suppressed and neglected truths, bursting the bonds which kept

them down, and either seeking reconciliation with the truth contained in the

common opinion, or fronting it as enemies, and setting themselves up, with

similar exclusiveness, as the whole truth. The latter case is hitherto the most

frequent, as, in the human mind, one-sidedness has always been the rule, and

many-sidedness the exception. Hence, even in revolutions of opinion, one part of

the truth usually sets while another rises. Even progress, which ought to

superadd, for the most part only substitutes one partial and incomplete truth

for another; improvement consisting chiefly in this, that the new fragment of

truth is more wanted, more adapted to the needs of the time, than that which it

displaces. Such being the partial character of prevailing opinions, even when

resting on a true foundation; every opinion which embodies somewhat of the

portion of truth which the common opinion omits, ought to be considered

precious, with whatever amount of error and confusion that truth may be blended.

No sober judge of human affairs will feel bound to be indignant because those

who force on our notice truths which we should otherwise have overlooked,

overlook some of those which we see. Rather, he will think that so long as

popular truth is one-sided, it is more desirable than otherwise that unpopular

truth should have one-sided asserters too; such being usually the most

energetic, and the most likely to compel reluctant attention to the fragment of

wisdom which they proclaim as if it were the whole.

Thus, in the eighteenth century, when nearly all the instructed, and all those

of the uninstructed who were led by them, were lost in admiration of what is

called civilization, and of the marvels of modern science, literature, and

philosophy, and while greatly overrating the amount of unlikeness between the

men of modern and those of ancient times, indulged the belief that the whole of

the difference was in their own favor; with what a salutary shock did the

paradoxes of Rousseau explode like bombshells in the midst, dislocating the

compact mass of one-sided opinion, and forcing its elements to recombine in a

better form and with additional ingredients. Not that the current opinions were

on the whole farther from the truth than Rousseau's were; on the contrary, they

were nearer to it; they contained more of positive truth, and very much less of

error. Nevertheless there lay in Rousseau's doctrine, and has floated down the

stream of opinion along with it, a considerable amount of exactly those truths

which the popular opinion wanted; and these are the deposit which was left

behind when the flood subsided. The superior worth of simplicity of life, the

enervating and demoralizing effect of the trammels and hypocrisies of artificial

society, are ideas which have never been entirely absent from cultivated minds

since Rousseau wrote; and they will in time produce their due effect, though at

present needing to be asserted as much as ever, and to be asserted by deeds, for

words, on this subject, have nearly exhausted their power.

In politics, again, it is almost a commonplace, that a party of order or

stability, and a party of progress or reform, are both necessary elements of a

healthy state of political life; until the one or the other shall have so

enlarged its mental grasp as to be a party equally of order and of progress,

knowing and distinguishing what is fit to be preserved from what ought to be

swept away. Each of these modes of thinking derives its utility from the

deficiencies of the other; but it is in a great measure the opposition of the

other that keeps each within the limits of reason and sanity. Unless opinions

favorable to democracy and to aristocracy, to property and to equality, to

co-operation and to competition, to luxury and to abstinence, to sociality and

individuality, to liberty and discipline, and all the other standing antagonisms

of practical life, are expressed with equal freedom, and enforced and defended

with equal talent and energy, there is no chance of both elements obtaining

their due; one scale is sure to go up, and the other down. Truth, in the great

practical concerns of life, is so much a question of the reconciling and

combining of opposites, that very few have minds sufficiently capacious and

impartial to make the adjustment with an approach to correctness, and it has to

be made by the rough process of a struggle between combatants fighting under

hostile banners. On any of the great open questions just enumerated, if either

of the two opinions has a better claim than the other, not merely to be

tolerated, but to be encouraged and countenanced, it is the one which happens at

the particular time and place to be in a minority. That is the opinion which,

for the time being, represents the neglected interests, the side of human

well-being which is in danger of obtaining less than its share. I am aware that

there is not, in this country, any intolerance of differences of opinion on most

of these topics. They are adduced to show, by admitted and multiplied examples,

the universality of the fact, that only through diversity of opinion is there,