Part II: Chapter V, 2

But dominion cannot monopolize commerce, which makes the idea still more deceptive. Commerce cannot remain in confined channels: it necessarily escapes by lawful or unlawful routes that defeat the attempt. Success would be worse still. Since the Revolution, France has cared less about foreign possessions, and other nations will do likewise when they examine their relation to commerce.

To the cost of dominion we must add the cost of navies. Subtract both from commercial profits and it becomes clear that what is called the balance of trade, even if it exists, is not enjoyed by the nation but swallowed by its government.

The notion that navies protect commerce is an illusion. It offers instruments of destruction as instruments of protection. Commerce needs no safeguard beyond the mutual interest every nation has in sustaining it. It is a common fund, sustained by a balance of advantages for all. Its only obstruction is the present uncivilized condition of governments, which all nations have a common interest in reforming.*26

Leaving this subject, I turn to other matters. Since any prospect of general reform must include England, we should examine the defects of its government. Only when each nation reforms its own government can the whole be improved and reform's full benefits enjoyed. Partial reforms yield only partial benefits.

France and England are the only two European countries in which governmental reform could have begun successfully. One, secured by the ocean, and the other, by the immensity of its strength at home, could defy the hostility of foreign despots. But revolutions resemble commerce: as they spread, their benefits grow, giving each country twice what it would gain alone.

As a new system comes into the world's view, Europe's courts plot to defeat it. Alliances contrary to every former pattern are being discussed, and a common interest of courts is gathering against humanity's common interest. This coalition draws a dividing line across Europe and presents a cause so new that past circumstances offer no measure for it. When despotism fought despotism, ordinary people had no stake in the contest. But in a cause joining soldier to citizen and nation to nation, the despotism of courts senses the danger and plans revenge, yet fears to strike.

No question recorded in history has borne more weight than the present one. The question is not whether one party or another will hold office, whether Whig or Tory, high or low, will prevail. It is whether humanity will inherit its rights and universal civilization will take root; whether people will enjoy the fruits of their labor or see them consumed by governments' profligacy; whether robbery will be driven from courts and misery from nations.

When we see old people sent to the workhouse and young people to the gallows in supposedly civilized countries, something must be wrong with their governments. Outwardly those countries may look entirely happy. But hidden from common sight lies a mass of misery with scarcely any prospect but to die in poverty or disgrace. The moment these people enter life foretells their fate; until that is remedied, punishment is futile.

Civil government does not consist in executions. It consists in providing young people with education and old people with support, so that vice is kept as far as possible from the young and despair from the old. Instead, a country's resources are lavished on kings, courts, hirelings, impostors, and prostitutes. Even the poor, burdened by all their wants, are forced to support the fraud that oppresses them.

Why are almost none but poor people executed? That fact is evidence, among other things, of the misery of their condition. Raised without moral instruction and cast into the world without prospects, they are exposed as sacrifices to vice and legal barbarity. The millions needlessly squandered on governments would more than suffice to correct these evils and improve the condition of everyone in a nation outside the precincts of a court. I hope to demonstrate this as the work proceeds.

Compassion naturally stands beside misfortune. In undertaking this subject I seek no reward and fear no consequence. Fortified by the proud integrity that scorns both triumph and surrender, I will defend the Rights of Man.

I have the advantage of having served an apprenticeship to life. I know the worth of moral instruction, and I have seen the danger of its absence.

When I was young—little more than sixteen, inexperienced, adventurous, and inflamed by the false heroism of a master*27 who had served aboard a warship—I set out to carve my own fortune and joined the Terrible Privateer under Captain Death. The affectionate, principled objections of a good father happily prevented me from pursuing this venture. A Quaker by the habits of his life, he must have begun to regard me as lost. But powerful as his warning was at the time, its impression began to fade. I later joined the King of Prussia Privateer under Captain Mendez and sailed with her. Yet despite that beginning and every disadvantage of my early life, I am proud to say that through perseverance undaunted by difficulties and disinterested conduct that commanded respect, I have helped establish a new empire in the world, founded on a new system of government. I have also attained an eminence in political writing—the hardest of all fields in which to succeed and excel—that aristocracy, with every aid at its disposal, has failed to reach or rival.*28

Knowing my own heart, and feeling myself now above every party skirmish and the rancor of self-interested or misguided opponents, I do not answer falsehood or abuse. I turn instead to the defects of the English Government.

I begin with charters and corporations.

To say a charter gives rights is to turn language upside down. Its effect is the opposite: it takes rights away. Rights belong inherently to every inhabitant. But charters cancel the rights of the majority, leaving the right to a few through exclusion. If a charter stated plainly, “Every inhabitant who is not a member of a corporation shall be denied the right to vote,” its face would reveal it as a charter of exclusion, not rights. Its present form has the same effect: the only people it acts upon are those it excludes. Those whose rights it supposedly guarantees, by leaving them untouched, exercise no rights beyond those they possess as members of the community without any charter. Every charter therefore acts only by an indirect negation. It does not grant A rights: it favors A by depriving B of a right, and thus becomes an instrument of injustice.

But charters and corporations do harm beyond elections. They produce endless quarrels wherever they exist and diminish the common rights of the national community. Under their operation, a person born in England is not fully an Englishman. He is not free to move throughout the nation as a Frenchman is throughout France or an American throughout America. His rights are limited to his town and, in some cases, the parish where he was born; the rest of his native country might as well be foreign territory. To take up residence there, he must purchase a kind of local naturalization, or face exclusion or expulsion. This form of feudalism persists to enrich corporations at the expense of towns; its effects are plain.

Most corporation towns languish in lonely decline, saved from further ruin only by some advantage of location, such as a navigable river or fertile country nearby. Population is a chief source of wealth—for without it even land has no value. Anything that checks population must therefore reduce property values. Corporations do more than tend to check it: they actually do, and cannot help doing harm. If we rejected the general freedom of every person to settle wherever he wished, as in France or America, it would make better policy to welcome newcomers than to bar their admission by charging them fees.*29

The inhabitants of corporation towns have the most immediate stake in abolishing corporations. Manchester, Birmingham, and Sheffield show by contrast how these Gothic institutions injure property and commerce. There are a few exceptions, such as London, whose natural and commercial advantage from its position on the Thames can withstand the political evils of a corporation. In almost every other case the damage is too obvious to question or deny.

Though falling property values in corporation towns affect their inhabitants most directly, the whole nation shares the consequences. Lower property values reduce the volume of national commerce. Every person buys according to his means; because all parts of a nation trade with one another, harm to one part necessarily spreads to the whole.

One house of the English Parliament is largely elected through these corporations. A pure stream cannot naturally flow from a polluted spring; the house's vices continue those of its source. A person of moral honor and sound political principles cannot submit to the degrading toil and dishonorable devices by which such elections are won. To succeed as a candidate he must lack the very qualities of a just legislator. Having been schooled in corruption as the price of entering Parliament, he cannot be expected to become a better representative than he was a man.

Speaking of English representation, Mr. Burke has issued a challenge as bold as any from the age of chivalry. “Our representation,” he says, “has been found perfectly adequate to all the purposes for which a representation of the people can be desired or devised.” He goes on: “I defy the enemies of our constitution to show the contrary.” This pronouncement is extraordinary from a man who, apart from a year or two, has spent his whole political life opposing every measure of parliament. Compare Burke with Burke, and only two possibilities remain: either as a member he acted against his judgment, or as an author he has spoken against it.

The defects do not lie in representation alone. I turn next to the aristocracy.

What is called the House of Peers rests on a principle against which the law is directed in other cases: it amounts to a combination of people sharing one interest. There is no better reason to compose a legislative house wholly of men whose occupation is renting out land than to compose one of those who rent it, or of brewers, bakers, or any other distinct class. Mr. Burke calls the house “the great ground and pillar of security to the landed interest.” Let us consider that claim.

Why should landed interests require a pillar of security that other interests lack? What right have they to representation separate from the general interests of the nation? The only use of this power, and its constant use, is to divert taxes from landowners onto goods consumed by the public, where landowners feel them least.

The history of taxation in England shows that this is the result, and always will be the result, of founding governments on combinations of special interests.

Although taxes on every article of common consumption have increased and multiplied, the land tax, which bears particularly on this “pillar,” has declined. In 1778 the land tax amounted to L1,950,000, half a million less than its yield nearly a hundred years earlier,*30 although rents have in many cases doubled since then.

But controlling foreign lands cannot give a country a monopoly on commerce, so the idea is even more mistaken. Trade cannot be kept within restricted channels. It finds a way out, legally or illegally, and defeats the attempt to confine it. Succeeding would be worse still. Since the Revolution, France has cared less about foreign possessions. Other nations will feel the same when they examine how those possessions affect commerce.

The cost of navies must be added to the cost of foreign rule. Subtract both from the profits of commerce, and what is called the balance of trade—even if it exists—is not enjoyed by the nation. The government uses it up.

The idea that navies protect commerce is misleading. It treats a means of destruction as a means of protection. Commerce needs no protection beyond every nation's shared interest in keeping it going. It is a common resource, sustained because everyone gains from it. The only thing that interrupts it is the present uncivilized state of governments, which it is in everyone's interest to reform.*26

I will leave commerce now and turn to other matters. England must be part of any general reform, so we should examine what is wrong with its government. The whole can improve, and everyone can enjoy the full benefit of reform, only if each nation reforms its own government. Partial reforms bring only partial benefits.

France and England are the only two countries in Europe where government reform could have successfully begun. The ocean protected England, while France's vast internal strength protected it. Both could withstand the hostility of foreign despots. Revolutions resemble commerce in this respect: their benefits grow when they spread. If both countries take part, each gains twice what it would gain alone.

A new system is now coming into view, and the courts of Europe are plotting against it. They are considering alliances unlike any before. The courts are uniting around their own interests against the interests of humanity. This alliance draws a dividing line across Europe. It presents a situation so new that earlier circumstances cannot tell us what will happen. When despots fought other despots, ordinary people had no stake in the contest. But this cause unites soldiers with civilians and nations with other nations. The courts fear the danger and plan revenge, yet they are afraid to strike.

No issue recorded in history has been as important as this one. It is not about whether one party or another holds office, or whether Whig or Tory, high or low, wins. It is about whether people will enjoy their rights and civilization will reach everyone. Will people enjoy the fruits of their own labor, or will wasteful governments use them up? Will robbery leave the courts and misery leave the countries?

When countries called civilized send the old to the workhouse and the young to the gallows, something is wrong with government. From the outside, those countries may look happy. But beneath what most people see lies widespread misery. Those who suffer often have little chance of anything but dying poor or disgraced. The signs of that fate appear as soon as they enter life. Until we put this right, punishment is pointless.

Civil government is not about executions. It is about providing education for the young and support for the old, so that the young are kept from reckless misconduct and the old from despair as far as possible. Instead, a country's resources are squandered on kings, courts, paid followers, frauds, and prostitutes. Even poor people, despite their own needs, are forced to pay for the fraud that oppresses them.

Why are almost all those executed poor? That fact is one sign of the misery of their situation. They grow up without moral guidance and face the world without prospects. This leaves them exposed to vice and the cruelty of the law. The millions wasted unnecessarily on governments would more than pay to correct these evils and improve the condition of everyone in a country who is outside the court's circle. I hope to show this as the work continues.

Compassion naturally draws us toward people in trouble. I take up this subject without seeking a reward or fearing the consequences. With the integrity to refuse either an easy victory or surrender, I will defend the Rights of Man.

I have benefited from learning about life firsthand. I know how valuable moral instruction is, and I have seen the danger when it is missing.

When I was little more than sixteen years old, inexperienced, adventurous, and fired up by the false heroism of a master*27 who had served on a warship, I set out to make my own fortune. I joined the Terrible Privateer under Captain Death. My good father stopped me through loving appeals to my sense of right and wrong. Given his way of life as a Quaker, he must have thought I was lost. His warning affected me deeply at first, but its effect began to fade. Later I joined the King of Prussia Privateer under Captain Mendez and went to sea. Despite that start and all the obstacles of my early life, I am proud of what followed. With persistence that difficulties could not defeat, and a concern for others that earned respect, I helped found a new empire in the world based on a new system of government. I also gained a standing in political writing—one of the hardest fields in which to succeed—that the aristocracy, with all its advantages, has not been able to match.*28

I know my own heart. I now feel above party quarrels and the stubborn hostility of opponents who act from self-interest or misunderstanding. I will not respond to lies or abuse. I will turn instead to the faults of the English government.

I begin with charters and corporations.

To say that a charter gives people rights turns the meaning of the words upside down. A charter actually takes rights away. All inhabitants have rights by their nature. But charters cancel those rights for the majority and leave them to a few by excluding everyone else. Imagine a charter stating openly, "that every inhabitant, who is not a member of a corporation, shall not exercise the right of voting." It would plainly be a charter of exclusion, not of rights. Existing charters have the same effect. They act only on the people they exclude. The people whose rights remain intact exercise no more than the rights they already have as members of the community, without any charter. Charters therefore work only indirectly, by denying rights. They do not give A a right. They favor A by taking B's right away, and are therefore tools of injustice.

Charters and corporations do harm beyond elections. They cause endless disputes wherever they exist and reduce people's common rights across the country. Under these charters and corporations, someone born in England cannot be called fully English. He is not free to live throughout the country as a Frenchman is in France or an American in America. His rights are restricted to his hometown or sometimes even to the parish where he was born. The rest of his own country is like foreign territory to him. To settle elsewhere, he must buy local permission to be treated as a resident. Otherwise he can be barred or expelled. This feudal practice is maintained to increase the power of corporations, at the towns' expense. Its effects are plain.

Most corporation towns are slowly decaying on their own. Only features such as a navigable river or productive surrounding farmland keep them from declining further. Population is a main source of wealth: without people, even land has no value. Anything that keeps people from moving in must lower the value of property. Corporations do exactly that, so they must cause harm. The best policy is to let everyone settle wherever they choose, as in France or America. But if there must be a different policy, it would make more sense to encourage newcomers than to charge them for admission and keep them out.*29

The people who would benefit most directly from abolishing corporations are those living in corporation towns. Compare these places with Manchester, Birmingham, and Sheffield. These cities show how much the old-fashioned institutions hurt property and trade. London is one possible exception. Its position on the Thames gives it enough natural and commercial advantages to withstand the political damage done by its corporation. But in almost every other case, the harm is too clear to doubt or deny.

The decline in property values in corporation towns affects their own residents most directly, but the whole nation feels its effects. As property loses value, national trade shrinks. A person's ability to buy determines how much that person can spend. Every part of a country trades with every other part, so harm to one spreads to all.

One of the Houses of the English Parliament is largely elected by these corporations. A clean stream cannot naturally come from a dirty source, so the House carries forward the faults of those elections. A person with integrity and sound political principles cannot take part in the degrading work and dishonest tactics needed to win them. A successful candidate must lack the qualities of a fair lawmaker. Once the election process has trained a person in corruption, we cannot expect that person to behave better as a representative.

Mr. Burke has issued a bold challenge about England's representation, like a knight in a story. "Our representation," he says, "has been found perfectly adequate to all the purposes for which a representation of the people can be desired or devised." He goes on: "I defy the enemies of our constitution to show the contrary." This is an extraordinary claim from someone who, except for a year or two, has opposed every parliamentary measure throughout his political career. His record leaves only two possibilities: either he acted against his own judgment as a member of Parliament, or he wrote against his own judgment as an author.

Representation is not the only problem. I turn next to the aristocracy.

The body called the House of Peers is built on the same kind of arrangement that the law opposes in other cases: a group of people joining forces to serve one shared interest. There is no better reason to fill a legislative house entirely with people who rent out land than to fill one with people who rent it, brewers, bakers, or any other single group. Mr. Burke calls this house "the great ground and pillar of security to the landed interest." Let us examine that claim.

Why does the landed interest need a pillar of protection more than any other interest? What gives it a right to separate representation apart from the nation's general interest? This power has just one use, and it has always been used for it: to keep taxes off landowners and place the burden on goods they consume less than other people do.

The history of England's taxes shows that this is what happens, and will always happen, when governments are built around groups protecting their own interests.

Taxes on every common consumer good have grown and multiplied, but the land tax, which particularly affects Burke's "pillar," has fallen. In 1778 it brought in L1,950,000. That was half-a-million less than it had brought in almost a hundred years earlier,*30 even though rents have doubled in many cases since then.