Book V, Chapter I, 15

“Most of the arts and professions in a state,” says by far the most illustrious philosopher and historian of the present age, “are such that, while advancing society's interests, they are also useful or agreeable to particular individuals. In such cases, the magistrate's consistent policy, except perhaps when an art is first introduced, is to leave the profession to itself and rely for its encouragement on the people who benefit from it. Artisans, finding that their profits rise with their customers' favor, increase their skill and industry as much as possible; and when matters are not disturbed by ill-judged interference, the supply of the commodity is always nearly proportionate to demand.

“But some callings, though useful and even necessary to a state, bring no advantage or pleasure to any individual. The supreme authority must treat those who pursue them differently. It must give them public support for their subsistence, and guard against the negligence to which they will naturally be prone, whether by attaching particular honors to their profession, establishing a long hierarchy of ranks and strict dependence, or adopting some other measure. People employed in finance, fleets, and the magistracy belong to this class.

“At first sight, one might naturally think that clergy belong to the first class, and that their support, like that of lawyers and physicians, can safely be entrusted to the generosity of individuals attached to their doctrines and finding benefit or consolation in their spiritual ministry and assistance. Such an additional incentive will undoubtedly sharpen their industry and vigilance; and their growing practice, study, and attention must daily increase their professional skill and their ability to govern people's minds.

“But look more closely, and we find that this self-interested diligence among the clergy is precisely what every wise legislator will try to prevent. In every religion but the true one it is highly pernicious, and it even tends naturally to corrupt the truth by infusing a strong mixture of superstition, folly, and delusion. To make himself more precious and sacred in the eyes of his followers, every spiritual practitioner will inspire in them the most violent hatred of all other sects and constantly seek, by some novelty, to rouse his audience's flagging devotion. The doctrines he teaches will show no regard for truth, morality, or decency. Every tenet that best appeals to the disorderly passions of human nature will be adopted. By fresh industry and ingenuity in working on the people's passions and credulity, each congregation will attract new customers. Ultimately the civil magistrate will discover that he has paid dearly for the economy he intended when he saved the cost of a fixed establishment for priests. The most decent and advantageous bargain he can really make with spiritual guides is to buy their indolence: assign their profession fixed salaries, so they need do no more than keep their flocks from straying in search of new pastors. Thus ecclesiastical establishments, though generally founded at first for religious reasons, prove in the end advantageous to society's political interests.”

Yet whatever good or bad effects an independent provision for the clergy may have had, it has perhaps very rarely been granted with those effects in mind. Periods of violent religious controversy have generally also been periods of violent political faction. On such occasions every political party has found it—or imagined it—to its advantage to ally itself with one of the rival religious sects. It could do so only by adopting, or at least favoring, that sect's tenets. The sect fortunate enough to ally with the victorious party necessarily shared its ally's victory; under that party's favor and protection, it soon gained the power to silence and subdue its opponents to some degree. Those opponents had generally allied themselves with the victorious party's enemies and were therefore its enemies too. Having thus become complete masters of the field, with their influence and authority over the people at its height, the clergy of the favored sect were powerful enough to overawe their own party's chiefs and leaders and compel the civil magistrate to respect their views and wishes. Their first demand was usually that he silence and subdue all their opponents; their second, that he provide them with independent support. Since they had generally contributed a good deal to victory, it seemed reasonable that they should share in the spoils. They were also tired of courting the people and depending on their whims for a livelihood. Thus in making this demand they looked to their own ease and comfort, without considering what it might do in later times to their order's influence and authority. The civil magistrate could meet their demand only by giving them something he would much rather have taken or kept for himself, and so was seldom eager to grant it. Necessity, however, always forced him to yield at last, though often only after many delays, evasions, and feigned excuses.

But if politics had never enlisted religion's aid—if the victorious party, after its triumph, had never adopted one sect's tenets in preference to another's—it would probably have treated all the sects equally and impartially, allowing every man to choose his own priest and religion as he saw fit. There would no doubt have been a great many religious sects. Almost every separate congregation might have formed a small sect of its own or held some distinctive tenets. Every teacher would undoubtedly have felt compelled to make the greatest effort and use every art to preserve and increase the number of his disciples. But since every other teacher would have felt the same compulsion, no single teacher or group of teachers could have achieved very great success. The active, self-interested zeal of religious teachers can become dangerous and troublesome only when society tolerates just one sect, or when a large society is divided among two or three major sects whose teachers act together under a regular discipline and hierarchy. That zeal must be entirely harmless where society is divided into two or three hundred, or perhaps as many thousand, small sects, none large enough to disturb public peace. The teachers of each sect, finding themselves surrounded by more opponents than friends, would have to learn the candor and moderation so seldom found among teachers of great sects, whose doctrines, supported by the civil magistrate, are revered by almost everyone in extensive kingdoms and empires, and who therefore see around them only followers, disciples, and humble admirers. Finding themselves nearly alone, the teachers of each small sect would have to respect those of nearly every other sect. Their mutual concessions, which they would find both convenient and agreeable, might in time bring the doctrines of most of them toward the pure, rational religion free of absurdity, imposture, and fanaticism that wise people in every age have wished to see established. Yet positive law has perhaps never established such a religion in any country and probably never will: in religious matters positive law always has been, and probably always will be, influenced to some degree by popular superstition and fanaticism. This plan of ecclesiastical government—or more properly, of no ecclesiastical government—was what the sect called Independents, undoubtedly a sect of very wild enthusiasts, proposed to establish in England near the end of the civil war. Had it been established, despite its very unphilosophical origins, it would probably by now have produced the most philosophical good temper and moderation toward religious principles of every sort. It has been established in Pennsylvania. Although Quakers happen to be the most numerous there, the law in reality favors no sect over another; and this philosophical good temper and moderation is said to have resulted.

Even if such equal treatment failed to produce good temper and moderation in all, or even most, of a country's religious sects, so long as those sects were numerous enough that each was too small to disturb public peace, the excessive zeal of each for its own tenets could scarcely have very harmful effects, but would have several beneficial ones. And if the government were firmly determined both to leave them all alone and to require each to leave the others alone, there would be little risk that they would fail to subdivide rapidly enough of their own accord to become sufficiently numerous.

In every civilized society, once distinctions of rank are fully established, two different systems of morality have always circulated at the same time. One may be called the strict or austere system; the other the liberal or, if you prefer, the lax system. The first is generally admired and revered by ordinary people; the second is usually preferred and adopted by fashionable society. The principal difference between them seems to lie in how severely we should condemn the vices of levity—those that tend to arise from great prosperity and excessive gaiety and good humor. In the liberal or lax system, luxury, wanton or even riotous merriment, the pursuit of pleasure to the point of some intemperance, and breaches of chastity, at least by one of the two sexes, etc., are generally treated with considerable indulgence and readily excused or pardoned altogether, provided they involve no gross indecency and lead to neither falsehood nor injustice. The austere system, by contrast, regards these excesses with the utmost abhorrence and detestation. Vices of levity always ruin ordinary people: a single week of thoughtlessness and dissipation is often enough to undo a poor workman forever and drive him in despair to commit the most terrible crimes. The wiser and better sort of ordinary people therefore detest and abhor these excesses, knowing from experience how immediately fatal they are to people in their position. Several years of disorder and extravagance, by contrast, will not always ruin a fashionable person. People of that rank tend to regard the ability to indulge in some excess as an advantage of their wealth, and freedom to do so without censure or reproach as a privilege of their station. They therefore disapprove little of such excesses among their own rank, and censure them slightly or not at all.

Almost all religious sects have begun among ordinary people, from whom they have generally won their earliest and most numerous converts. These sects have consequently adopted the austere system of morality almost without exception, though there have been some exceptions. It was the system best suited to recommending them to the people whom they first hoped to persuade to adopt their proposed reform of the established order. Many of them, perhaps most, have even sought esteem by refining this austere system to the point of folly and extravagance; and this excessive rigor has often done more than anything else to win them the respect and veneration of ordinary people.

By his position, a man of standing and wealth is a conspicuous member of a large society that watches every part of his conduct and thereby obliges him to watch it himself. His authority and standing depend greatly on that society's respect. He dare do nothing that would disgrace or discredit him in it, and must observe very strictly whatever form of morals, liberal or austere, its general consent prescribes for people of his rank and wealth. A man of humble condition, by contrast, is not a conspicuous member of any large society. As long as he lives in a country village, people may pay attention to his conduct, and he may have to pay attention to it himself. There, and only there, he may have what is called a reputation to lose. But once he moves to a great city, he disappears into obscurity. Nobody observes his conduct or pays attention to it, and he is therefore very likely to neglect it himself and surrender to every kind of petty vice and depravity. Nothing brings him out of that obscurity so effectively, or draws a respectable community's attention so strongly to his conduct, as joining a small religious sect. At once he gains a degree of standing he never had before. For the sect's reputation, all his fellow members have an interest in watching his conduct, and if he causes scandal or strays far from the austere morals they almost always demand of each other, they punish him with what is always a very severe penalty, even when it has no further harmful consequences: expulsion or excommunication from the sect. Accordingly, the morals of ordinary people in small religious sects have nearly always been remarkably regular and orderly, generally much more so than in the established church. Indeed, the morals of these small sects have often been unpleasantly rigorous and unsociable.

There are, however, two very simple and effective remedies whose combined operation would allow the state to correct, without force, whatever was unsociable or unpleasantly rigorous in the morals of all the small sects into which the country was divided.

The first remedy is the study of science and philosophy, which the state could make almost universal among people of middle or higher rank and wealth. It could do this not by paying teachers salaries and thereby making them idle and negligent, but by instituting some form of examination, even in the higher and more difficult sciences, that every person would have to pass before practicing any learned profession or becoming a candidate for any honorable office of trust or profit. If the state required people of this class to learn, it would not need to trouble itself with finding them suitable teachers. They would soon find better teachers for themselves than the state could supply. Science is the great antidote to the poison of fanaticism and superstition; and if all the higher ranks were protected from that poison, the lower ranks could not be much exposed to it.

“Most trades and professions in a state,” says by far the most distinguished philosopher and historian of our age, “help society while also benefiting or pleasing particular people. In such cases, except perhaps when a trade is first introduced, the government's usual policy is to leave it alone and let the people who benefit support it. Craftspeople find that pleasing customers raises their profit, so they improve their skills and work as hard as they can. If no one interferes unwisely, the supply of their goods will always closely match demand.

“But some occupations, though useful and even necessary to the state, bring no benefit or pleasure to any individual. The highest authority must treat their workers differently. It must give them public support so they can live, and guard against the neglect to which they will naturally be prone. It can attach special honors to their profession, create a long chain of ranks with strict dependence on superiors, or use some other means. People employed in finance, the navy, and the courts are examples.

“At first sight, one might reasonably think religious teachers belong to the first group. Like lawyers and physicians, they could safely depend on gifts from individuals devoted to their teachings and helped or comforted by their spiritual services. This added incentive would certainly sharpen their effort and watchfulness. As they practiced, studied, and paid attention, they would improve each day both at their profession and at influencing people's minds.

“But on closer examination, every wise lawmaker will want to prevent this self-interested effort by the clergy. In every religion except the true one, it is highly harmful. Even in the true one it naturally tends to corrupt the truth by mixing it heavily with superstition, folly, and deception. To appear more valuable and holy to his followers, each spiritual practitioner will fill them with intense hatred of all other sects. He will constantly try some new idea to stir his audience's fading devotion. The doctrines taught will show no concern for truth, morality, or decency. Every belief that best appeals to people's unruly feelings will be adopted. By skillfully and energetically exploiting ordinary people's emotions and readiness to believe, each congregation will attract customers. In the end, the civil authorities will find that avoiding fixed support for priests has cost them dearly. In fact, the best and most favorable bargain they can make with spiritual guides is to pay them regular salaries to make idleness attractive. Then they need do no more than keep their flocks from wandering off to find new pastors. In this way established churches, though usually founded for religious reasons, eventually benefit society's political interests.”

Whatever the good or bad results of giving clergy an independent income, it has probably rarely been given to them with those results in mind. Periods of fierce religious dispute have usually also been periods of fierce political conflict. At such times each political party has found, or thought it found, an advantage in joining forces with one of the rival religious sects. To do that it had to adopt, or at least favor, that sect's beliefs. The sect allied with the winning party shared in its victory. With its ally's favor and protection, it could soon silence and defeat its opponents to some extent. Those opponents had usually allied with the losing party and were therefore enemies of the winners. The clergy of the victorious sect now controlled the field completely. Their authority among the people was at its strongest, and they were powerful enough to intimidate their own party's leaders and force the civil authorities to respect their views and wishes. Their first demand was generally that the authorities silence and defeat all their opponents. Their second was an independent income for themselves. Because they had often contributed substantially to victory, a share of the spoils seemed reasonable. They were also tired of pleasing people and relying on people's changing preferences for a living. They made this demand for their own comfort, without worrying about what it might eventually do to the authority of the clergy. The civil authorities were rarely eager to grant it, because meeting the demand meant giving away something they would rather take or keep themselves. In the end, however, necessity always forced them to give in, often after much delay, evasion, and excuses made for show.

Suppose politics had never sought religion's help, and the victorious party had not favored one sect's beliefs over another's. It would probably have treated all sects fairly and allowed every man to choose his own priest and religion. Then there would certainly have been a great many religious sects. Nearly every congregation might have formed its own small sect or held some distinctive beliefs. Each teacher would have had to work as hard as possible and use every available method to keep and gain followers. But every other teacher would face the same pressure, so no teacher or group of teachers could gain very great success. The self-interested zeal of religious teachers becomes dangerous and disruptive only when a society tolerates just one sect, or when a large society is divided among two or three big sects whose teachers act together under an organized chain of command. That zeal would be entirely harmless if society were divided into two or three hundred, or perhaps two or three thousand, small sects. None would be large enough to threaten public peace. Surrounded by more opponents than friends, each sect's teachers would have to learn openness and moderation. These qualities are rarely found among the teachers of large sects supported by the government, revered throughout extensive kingdoms and empires, and surrounded by followers and admirers. The teachers of each little sect, finding themselves nearly alone, would have to respect those of almost every other sect. Over time, the concessions they would find both useful and agreeable to make to one another might bring most of their teachings closer to the pure, reasonable religion that wise people throughout history have wanted: free of absurdity, fraud, and fanaticism. Laws have perhaps never established such a religion in any country and probably never will. Religious laws have always been, and probably always will be, influenced to some extent by popular superstition and fervor. The sect called Independents—undoubtedly a group of very wild enthusiasts—proposed this system of church government, or rather the absence of church government, in England near the end of the civil war. Though it arose from ideas that were hardly philosophical, if adopted it would probably have led by now to the most thoughtful tolerance and moderation toward every kind of religious belief. It has been adopted in Pennsylvania. Though quakers are the largest group there, the law does not actually favor them over any other sect, and this tolerant and moderate spirit is said to be the result.

Equal treatment might not produce tolerance and moderation in all, or even most, of a country's sects. But if there were enough sects that each was too small to threaten public peace, extreme zeal for each sect's beliefs could hardly cause much harm and might bring several benefits. And if the government firmly chose to leave every sect alone while requiring them to leave one another alone, there is little danger that they would fail to split into enough smaller groups on their own, and quickly.

Every civilized society with firmly established differences in social rank has two systems of morality at the same time. One may be called strict or severe; the other permissive, or even lax. Ordinary people generally admire and respect the strict system. Fashionable people tend to prefer and follow the permissive one. The main difference seems to be how strongly we should condemn careless vices: those that arise from great prosperity and excessive cheerfulness and high spirits. Under the permissive system, luxury, uncontrolled or even unruly revelry, pleasure pursued to the point of some excess, and sexual unfaithfulness, at least by one of the two sexes, etc., are treated leniently and readily excused or forgiven altogether, provided they involve no gross indecency and lead to no dishonesty or injustice. The strict system, by contrast, regards these excesses with intense disgust and hatred. Careless vices always ruin ordinary people. A single week of reckless spending and pleasure can destroy a poor worker's prospects forever and drive him in despair to commit the gravest crimes. The wiser and better ordinary people therefore hate these excesses, because experience shows how quickly they ruin people in their position. By contrast, years of wasteful and unruly living do not always ruin a fashionable man. People in his position often see the ability to enjoy some excess as a benefit of their wealth, and freedom from criticism for doing so as a privilege of their rank. They thus condemn such excesses very mildly, if at all, among people of their own standing.

Nearly all religious sects have started among ordinary people, who have usually supplied their first and largest numbers of converts. Accordingly, almost all sects have adopted the strict system of morality, though there have been a few exceptions. It was the best way to appeal to the people whose established ways they first proposed to reform. Many sects, perhaps most, have sought approval by making this strict system still stricter, sometimes to a foolish and extreme degree. This excessive severity has often done more than anything else to win ordinary people's respect and admiration.

A wealthy man of rank stands out in a large social circle. Others watch every part of his behavior, making him watch it himself. His standing and influence depend heavily on their respect. He does not dare do anything that would disgrace him in their eyes. He must carefully observe the kind of morality, strict or permissive, that this circle generally requires of people of his rank and wealth. A poor man, by contrast, does not stand out in any large circle. In a country village, people may watch his behavior, making him watch it too. Only there may he have a reputation to lose. Once he enters a large city, he disappears into anonymity. Nobody watches his behavior, and he is therefore very likely to stop watching it himself and fall into every kind of petty vice and dissolute behavior. Nothing brings him out of anonymity so effectively, or puts his behavior under the eyes of a respectable community so fully, as joining a small religious sect. At once he gains standing that he never had before. For the sect's reputation, his fellow members have an interest in watching him. If he causes a scandal or seriously departs from the strict morality they almost always require of one another, they punish him by expulsion or excommunication. That is always a severe punishment even when it brings no further harm. The behavior of ordinary people in small religious sects has therefore almost always been notably disciplined and orderly, generally much more so than in the established church. The morality of these small sects, however, has often been unpleasantly severe and unfriendly.

Two fairly simple and effective remedies, working together, could let the state correct whatever is unfriendly or unpleasantly severe in the morality of the many small sects, without using force.

The first is the study of science and philosophy. The state could make this study almost universal among people of middle or higher rank and wealth. It should not pay teachers salaries that make them careless and idle. Instead, it could require every person to pass some kind of examination, even in the higher and harder sciences, before practicing a learned profession or applying for an honorable office carrying trust or income. If the state required these people to learn, it would not need to find them good teachers. They would soon find better ones for themselves than the state could provide. Science is the great antidote to the poison of religious fervor and superstition. If the upper ranks were protected from it, the lower ranks could not be much exposed to it.