Book IV, Chapter VII, 11

To propose that Great Britain voluntarily surrender all authority over her colonies and leave them to choose their own magistrates, enact their own laws, and decide on peace and war as they see fit would be to propose a measure no nation in the world has ever adopted or ever will. No nation has voluntarily given up dominion over any province, however troublesome its government and however small the revenue it brings in relation to its cost. Such sacrifices, though frequently in a nation's interest, always wound its pride. More importantly, perhaps, they always run counter to the private interests of its governing class, which would lose control of many offices of trust and profit, and many opportunities to acquire wealth and distinction, afforded even by the most turbulent province, however unprofitable it is to the great body of the people. Even the wildest dreamer could scarcely propose such a measure with any serious hope of its adoption. If it were adopted, however, Great Britain would at once be relieved of the entire annual expense of the colonies' peacetime establishment. She could also negotiate with them a commercial treaty securing free trade, more advantageous to the great body of the people, though less advantageous to merchants, than her present monopoly. By parting as friends, we would soon rekindle the colonies' natural affection for the mother country, which our recent disputes have perhaps nearly extinguished. That affection might lead them not only to honor our commercial treaty for centuries after our parting but also to favor us in war as well as in trade, becoming our most faithful, affectionate, and generous allies instead of turbulent and factious subjects. Between Great Britain and her colonies there might revive the same parental affection on one side and filial respect on the other that once existed between the colonies of ancient Greece and the mother cities from which they sprang.

For a province to benefit the empire to which it belongs, it should provide the public, in peacetime, with enough revenue not only to meet the entire cost of its own peacetime establishment but also to contribute its share to the support of the empire's general government. Every province necessarily adds something to that general government's expenses. If a province fails to pay its share of those expenses, an unequal burden must fall on some other part of the empire. By the same reasoning, the extraordinary revenue each province provides to the public in wartime should bear the same proportion to the empire's total extraordinary revenue as its ordinary revenue does in peacetime. It will readily be admitted that neither the ordinary nor the extraordinary revenue Great Britain obtains from her colonies bears this proportion to the total revenue of the British empire. The monopoly, it has been supposed, makes up for the shortfall in colonial public revenue by increasing the private revenue of the British people and thereby enabling them to pay higher taxes. But I have tried to show that this monopoly, though a severe tax on the colonies and a possible source of greater revenue for one particular group in Great Britain, reduces rather than increases the revenue of the great body of the people, and consequently reduces rather than increases their ability to pay taxes. The men whose revenue it does increase form a particular group that it is quite impossible to tax more heavily in proportion than other groups, and extremely unwise even to try to tax more heavily, as I shall try to show in the following book. No special resource, then, can be drawn from this particular group.

The colonies may be taxed either by their own assemblies or by the parliament of Great Britain.

It seems highly unlikely that the colonial assemblies could ever be managed so as to levy from their constituents enough public revenue both to maintain their own civil and military establishments at all times and to pay their proper share of the British empire's general governmental expenses. Even the parliament of England, though directly under the sovereign's eye, took a long time to be brought under a system of management that would induce it to grant enough to support its own country's civil and military establishments. Such a system could be established even for the parliament of England only by distributing among individual members a large share of the offices associated with those establishments, or of the power to appoint people to them. Managing the colonial assemblies in the same way would be very difficult because of their distance from the sovereign's eye, their number, their scattered locations, and their different constitutions—even if the sovereign had the same means of doing so, which he does not. It would be altogether impossible to distribute among all the leading members of all the colonial assemblies a sufficient share of offices arising from the general government of the British empire, or of the power to appoint to them, to persuade those members to sacrifice their popularity at home and tax their constituents to support a general government whose benefits would go almost entirely to strangers. Furthermore, the administration could not avoid being ignorant of the relative importance of the members of these different assemblies. The offenses it would often cause and the mistakes it would constantly make in attempting to manage them in this fashion appear to make such a system altogether impracticable.

Nor can the colonial assemblies be regarded as competent judges of what is needed to defend and support the whole empire. That responsibility has not been entrusted to them. It is not their business, and they have no regular means of informing themselves about it. Like a parish vestry, a provincial assembly may judge the affairs of its own district very well, but it has no suitable means of judging the affairs of the whole empire. It cannot even judge properly how its province compares with the empire as a whole, or assess its relative wealth and importance beside other provinces, because those other provinces are not subject to its inspection and supervision. Only the assembly that oversees the affairs of the whole empire can judge what is needed for its defense and support, and what share each part should contribute.

Accordingly, a proposal has been made to tax the colonies by requisition: the British parliament would determine the sum each colony should pay, and its provincial assembly would assess and collect that sum in the way best suited to local circumstances. Matters concerning the whole empire would thus be decided by the assembly that oversees its affairs, while each colony's provincial affairs could still be regulated by its own assembly. Even if the colonies had no representatives in the British parliament under this arrangement, experience gives us no reason to expect that parliament's requisitions would be unreasonable. The parliament of England has never shown the slightest inclination to overburden parts of the empire unrepresented in parliament. The islands of Guernsey and Jersey, though they have no means of resisting parliamentary authority, are taxed more lightly than any part of Great Britain. In trying to exercise its supposed right to tax the colonies, whether that right is sound or not, parliament has never demanded anything approaching their fair share of what their fellow subjects at home pay. Moreover, if the colonies' contributions rose and fell with the land-tax, parliament could not tax them without at the same time taxing its own constituents. In that case the colonies might be regarded as virtually represented in parliament.

There are examples of empires in which the provinces are not all taxed, if I may put it this way, in one mass. Instead, the sovereign sets the sum each province should pay, assessing and collecting it himself as he thinks fit in some provinces, while leaving assessment and collection in others to their respective provincial states. In some provinces of France, the king not only imposes whatever taxes he chooses but also assesses and collects them in whatever way he chooses. From others he demands a certain sum but lets their states decide how to assess and collect it. Under the proposed system of taxation by requisition, the British parliament would stand in much the same relation to the colonial assemblies as the king of France does to the states of those French provinces that still have the privilege of their own states—the provinces of France thought to be best governed.

But although this proposal would give the colonies no just cause to fear that their share of public burdens would ever exceed their proper proportion compared with that of their fellow citizens at home, Great Britain might have good reason to fear that it would never reach that proportion. The British parliament has for some time lacked the settled authority in the colonies that the French king possesses in the French provinces still privileged to have their own states. Unless the colonial assemblies were favorably disposed—and unless managed more skillfully than ever before, they are unlikely to be so—they might still find many pretexts for evading or rejecting even parliament's most reasonable requisitions. Suppose a war with France breaks out and ten millions must immediately be raised to defend the seat of the empire. The sum must be borrowed on the credit of a parliamentary fund pledged to pay its interest. Parliament proposes to raise part of that fund through a tax in Great Britain and part through requisitions from the various colonial assemblies in America and the West Indies. Would lenders readily advance money against a fund partly dependent on the goodwill of all those assemblies, far from the scene of the war and perhaps at times believing they had little stake in its outcome? Probably no more money could be raised against such a fund than the tax levied in Great Britain alone could be expected to cover. The whole burden of the war debt would therefore fall, as it always has before, on Great Britain: on one part of the empire, not on the whole. Great Britain is perhaps the only state since the world began that, in enlarging its empire, has increased its expenses without once adding to its resources. Other states have generally shifted to their subject and subordinate provinces the greater part of the expense of defending the empire. Great Britain has so far allowed her subject and subordinate provinces to shift almost all that expense onto her. To put Great Britain on an equal footing with her own colonies, which the law has hitherto treated as subject and subordinate, parliament would, under the proposed system of taxation by requisition, need some way to make its requisitions effective at once if the colonial assemblies tried to evade or reject them. It is not easy to imagine what that way might be, and none has yet been explained.

If the British parliament's right to tax the colonies without the consent of their own assemblies were ever fully established, the importance of those assemblies would immediately disappear, and with it the importance of all the leading men of British America. People seek a share in managing public affairs chiefly because of the importance it gives them. The stability and endurance of every system of free government depend on the ability of most leading men—the natural aristocracy of every country—to preserve or defend their own importance. Their continual attacks on one another's importance, and the defense of their own, constitute the whole play of domestic faction and ambition. America's leading men, like those everywhere, wish to preserve their importance. They feel, or imagine, that if their assemblies, which they like to call parliaments and regard as equal in authority to the British parliament, were reduced to the humble agents and executive officers of that parliament, most of their own importance would vanish. They have therefore rejected the proposal to be taxed by parliamentary requisition and, like other ambitious and high-spirited men, have chosen instead to take up arms in defense of their own importance.

Proposing that Britain willingly give up all authority over its colonies would mean letting them choose their own officials, make their own laws, and decide for themselves on peace and war. No nation in the world has ever accepted such a proposal, and none ever will. No nation has willingly given up control of a province, however troublesome it was to govern and however little revenue it brought in compared with its costs. Giving it up might often serve a nation's interests, but would always wound its pride. Perhaps more important, it would always go against the private interests of its rulers. They would lose control over many trusted and profitable offices and many chances to gain wealth and status. Even the most unruly province, one that brings almost no benefit to most people, seldom fails to provide such opportunities. Even the most unrealistic enthusiast would hardly propose giving up a province with any serious hope of success. But if Britain did so, it would immediately be free of all the colonies' annual peacetime costs. It could also negotiate a trade treaty with them securing free trade. That would be better for most people, though less profitable for merchants, than the present monopoly. By parting as friends, the colonies' natural affection for the mother country might quickly return, though our recent disputes have nearly destroyed it. They might honor our trade treaty for centuries and favor us in war as well as in trade. Instead of rebellious, divided subjects, they could become our most faithful, affectionate, and generous allies. The parental affection on Britain's side and the filial respect on theirs might return, as they once existed between the colonies of ancient Greece and their mother cities.

To benefit the empire it belongs to, a province should provide enough public revenue in peacetime to cover its entire peacetime establishment and pay its share of the empire's general government. Every province adds something to the expense of that government. If a province fails to pay its share, another part of the empire bears an unfair burden. By the same reasoning, the extra public revenue each province provides in wartime should have the same proportion to the empire's total extra wartime revenue as its ordinary peacetime revenue has to the ordinary total. Britain clearly receives neither ordinary nor extraordinary revenue from its colonies in those proportions. Some suppose that the monopoly makes up for the colonies' lack of public revenue. They think it raises the private revenue of British people and lets them pay more tax. But I have tried to show that the monopoly, while imposing a heavy tax on the colonies and perhaps enriching one particular group in Britain, reduces rather than raises the revenue of most British people. It therefore reduces rather than increases their ability to pay tax. Those whose revenue it increases form a particular group. As I will try to show in the following book, it is absolutely impossible to tax them more heavily in proportion than other groups, and extremely unwise even to try. This group can therefore provide no special source of revenue.

The colonies could be taxed either by their own assemblies or by the parliament of Great Britain.

It seems unlikely that colony assemblies could ever be persuaded to raise enough public revenue from their constituents both to maintain their own civil and military establishments at all times and to pay their proper share of the cost of governing the British empire. Even England's parliament, under the sovereign's direct observation, took a long time to become willing to grant enough money to support its own country's civil and military establishments. That system could be established there only by distributing many of the offices, or control over appointing people to them, among individual members of parliament. Colony assemblies are distant from the sovereign, numerous, scattered, and differently organized. Managing them the same way would be very difficult even if the sovereign had the means available in England; those means are lacking. It would be impossible to distribute enough offices, or enough power to appoint their holders, from the empire's general government among the leading members of all the colonial assemblies. They would not give up their popularity at home to tax their constituents in support of a general government whose rewards went almost entirely to strangers. The administration also cannot avoid ignorance about the relative importance of members of these different assemblies. Trying to manage them this way would constantly lead to blunders and often cause offense. Such a system seems completely unworkable for them.

Besides, colonial assemblies cannot be expected to judge what is needed to defend and support the whole empire. They have not been entrusted with that responsibility. It is not their business, and they have no regular means of learning about it. A provincial assembly, like a parish council, can judge the affairs of its own area well, but it cannot properly judge the affairs of the whole empire. It cannot even properly judge its own province's share of the empire or its wealth and importance compared with other provinces. Those other provinces do not come under its observation and oversight. Only the assembly that observes and oversees the whole empire can judge what the empire needs for defense and support and what share each part should pay.

One proposal, then, is to tax colonies through requisitions. Britain's parliament would decide how much each colony must pay, and each provincial assembly would assess and collect that amount in the way best suited to its province. The assembly overseeing the empire would decide matters affecting the empire as a whole, while each colony's own assembly would still manage provincial affairs. The colonies would have no representatives in the British parliament. But experience gives no reason to think that parliament's demands would be unreasonable. England's parliament has never shown the slightest wish to burden the empire's unrepresented parts excessively. Guernsey and Jersey cannot resist parliament's authority, yet they pay less tax than any part of Britain. When parliament has tried to exercise its supposed right to tax the colonies, whether that right is valid or not, it has never asked for anything close to their fair share compared with what their fellow subjects at home pay. Besides, if colonial contributions rose and fell with the land-tax, parliament could not tax the colonies without taxing its own voters at the same time. In that case, one might regard the colonies as virtually represented in parliament.

Some empires do not tax all their provinces together as one body. Instead, the sovereign decides the amount each province must pay. In some provinces he assesses and collects it as he chooses, while in others he lets the provincial states decide how to assess and collect it. In some French provinces, the king chooses the taxes, then assesses and collects them as he wishes. From others he requests a set amount but leaves its assessment and collection to the provincial states. Under the proposed requisition system, Britain's parliament would have much the same relationship to colonial assemblies as the French king has to the states of French provinces that still retain their own states. Those French provinces are considered the best governed.

Under this plan, colonies would have no good reason to fear paying more than their fair share compared with their fellow citizens at home. But Britain might well fear that they would never pay their full share. For some time, Britain's parliament has lacked the established authority in the colonies that the French king has in those provinces with their own states. Unless colonial assemblies were more skillfully managed than they have been so far, they would probably not be very cooperative. They could find many excuses to evade or reject even parliament's most reasonable demands. Suppose a war with France begins. Ten millions must immediately be raised to defend the seat of the empire. The money must be borrowed against a parliamentary fund pledged to pay the interest. Parliament plans to fund part of it with a tax collected in Britain and the rest by demanding payments from all the colonial assemblies in America and the West Indies. Would lenders readily advance money against a fund partly dependent on the willingness of all those assemblies? They are far from the war's center and might sometimes think its outcome matters little to them. Lenders would probably advance no more than the British tax alone could cover. Britain would then bear all the resulting war debt, as it has done so far. One part of the empire, not the whole, would pay. Britain may be the only state since the world began whose expenses have grown as its empire has expanded, without any corresponding increase in resources. Other states have generally shifted much of the cost of defending their empires to their dependent provinces. Britain has allowed its dependent provinces to shift almost all that cost onto her. To put Britain on an equal footing with colonies that the law has so far treated as dependent, parliament would need a way to enforce its demands immediately if the assemblies tried to evade or reject them. It is hard to see what that way could be, and no one has explained it yet.

Suppose, instead, that Britain's parliament firmly establishes its right to tax the colonies without their assemblies' consent. Those assemblies, and all the leading men of British America, would immediately lose their importance. Men want a role in public affairs mainly because it makes them important. Every system of free government depends for its stability and endurance on the ability of most leading men—the natural aristocracy of each country—to keep or defend their standing. Their continual attacks on each other's standing, and their defense of their own, are the whole play of domestic faction and ambition. America's leading men, like those elsewhere, want to keep their importance. They feel, or imagine, that if their assemblies were reduced to humble agents carrying out Britain's parliament's orders, most of their own standing would vanish. They like to call those assemblies parliaments and regard them as equal in authority to Britain's parliament. So they have rejected the proposal to be taxed by parliamentary requisition. Like other ambitious and proud men, they have chosen instead to take up arms to defend their own importance.