Kants point on privately obeying authorities and how it puts restriction on free speech. Mills points on bigotry and prejudice can lead to persecutions and how this goes against how all speech should be free.

Kant–WhatIsEnlightenment Mill Mill_1

First, argue whether you think Kant’s point that we must (privately) “obey” authorities and (consented) social roles is too much a restriction on free thinking. Next, discuss why the Athenian’s demand for Melian “obedience” is something more/different than Kant’s point. Then, consider that in Ch. 2 Mill points out that “bigotry” and “prejudice” in belief can lead to “persecution” (the treatment of Socrates, and Muslims in the British Empire, are presented as cases to the point). Discuss, why this raises a difficulty against his point that all speech should be free, and how the very concern for maintaining the liberty of each to participate in a free debating public may be the value that could argue for certain limits on speech. Use references from the readings in the files.

An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment?[1]
IMMANUEL KANT

(1784)
Translated by Ted Humphrey

Hackett Publishing, 1992

1. Enlightenment is man’s emergence from his self-imposed immaturity.[2] Immaturity is
the inability to use one’s understanding without guidance from another. This immaturity
is self-imposed when its cause lies not in lack of understanding, but in lack of resolve and
courage to use it without guidance from another. Sapere Aude![3] “Have courage to use
your own understanding!”–that is the motto of enlightenment.

2. Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why so great a proportion of men, long after
nature has released them from alien guidance (natura-liter maiorennes),[4] nonetheless
gladly remain in lifelong immaturity, and why it is so easy for others to establish
themselves as their guardians. It is so easy to be immature. If I have a book to serve as
my understanding, a pastor to serve as my conscience, a physician to determine my diet
for me, and so on, I need not exert myself at all. I need not think, if only I can pay: others
will readily undertake the irksome work for me. The guardians who have so benevolently
taken over the supervision of men have carefully seen to it that the far greatest part of
them (including the entire fair sex) regard taking the step to maturity as very dangerous,
not to mention difficult. Having first made their domestic livestock dumb, and having
carefully made sure that these docile creatures will not take a single step without the go-
cart to which they are harnessed, these guardians then show them the danger that
threatens them, should they attempt to walk alone. Now this danger is not actually so
great, for after falling a few times they would in the end certainly learn to walk; but an
example of this kind makes men timid and usually frightens them out of all further
attempts.

3. Thus, it is difficult for any individual man to work himself out of the immaturity that
has all but become his nature. He has even become fond of this state and for the time
being is actually incapable of using his own understanding, for no one has ever allowed
him to attempt it. Rules and formulas, those mechanical aids to the rational use, or rather
misuse, of his natural gifts, are the shackles of a permanent immaturity. Whoever threw
them off would still make only an uncertain leap over the smallest ditch, since he is
unaccustomed to this kind of free movement. Consequently, only a few have succeeded,
by cultivating their own minds, in freeing themselves from immaturity and pursuing a
secure course.

4. But that the public should enlighten itself is more likely; indeed, if it is only allowed
freedom, enlightenment is almost inevitable. For even among the entrenched guardians
of the great masses a few will always think for themselves, a few who, after having
themselves thrown off the yoke of immaturity, will spread the spirit of a rational
appreciation for both their own worth and for each person’s calling to think for himself.
But it should be particularly noted that if a public that was first placed in this yoke by

the guardians is suitably aroused by some of those who are altogether incapable of
enlightenment, it may force the guardians themselves to remain under the yoke–so
pernicious is it to instill prejudices, for they finally take revenge upon their originators, or
on their descendants. Thus a public can only attain enlightenment slowly. Perhaps a
revolution can overthrow autocratic despotism and profiteering or power-grabbing
oppression, but it can never truly reform a manner of thinking;[5] instead, new prejudices,
just like the old ones they replace, will serve as a leash for the great unthinking mass.

5. Nothing is required for this enlightenment, however, except freedom; and the freedom
in question is the least harmful of all, namely, the freedom to use reason publicly in all
matters. But on all sides I hear: “Do not argue!” The officer says, “Do not argue, drill!”
The tax man says, “Do not argue, pay!” The pastor says, “Do not argue, believe!” (Only
one ruler in the world[6] says, “Argue as much as you want and about what you want, but
obey!”) In this we have [examples of] pervasive restrictions on freedom. But which
restriction hinders enlightenment and which does not, but instead actually advances it? I
reply: The public use of one’s reason must always be free, and it alone can bring about
enlightenment among mankind; the private use of reason may, however, often be very
narrowly restricted, without otherwise hindering the progress of enlightenment. By the
public use of one’s own reason I understand the use that anyone as a scholar makes of
reason before the entire literate world. I call the private use of reason that which a person
may make in a civic post or office that has been entrusted to him.[7] Now in many affairs
conducted in the interests of a community, a certain mechanism is required by means of
which some of its members must conduct themselves in an entirely passive manner so
that through an artificial unanimity the government may guide them toward public ends,
or at least prevent them from destroying such ends. Here one certainly must not argue,
instead one must obey. However, insofar as this part of the machine also regards himself
as a member of the community as a whole, or even of the world community, and as a
consequence addresses the public in the role of a scholar, in the proper sense of that term,
he can most certainly argue, without thereby harming the affairs for which as a passive
member he is partly responsible. Thus it would be disastrous if an officer on duty who
was given a command by his superior were to question the appropriateness or utility of
the order. He must obey. But as a scholar he cannot be justly constrained from making
comments about errors in military service, or from placing them before the public for its
judgment. The citizen cannot refuse to pay the taxes imposed on him; indeed,
impertinent criticism of such levies, when they should be paid by him, can be punished as
a scandal (since it can lead to widespread insubordination). But the same person does not
act contrary to civic duty when, as a scholar, he publicly expresses his thoughts regarding
the impropriety or even injustice of such taxes. Likewise a pastor is bound to instruct his
catecumens and congregation in accordance with the symbol of the church he serves, for
he was appointed on that condition. But as a scholar he has complete freedom, indeed
even the calling, to impart to the public all of his carefully considered and well-
intentioned thoughts concerning mistaken aspects of that symbol,[8] as well as his
suggestions for the better arrangement of religious and church matters. Nothing in this
can weigh on his conscience. What he teaches in consequence of his office as a servant of
the church he sets out as something with regard to which he has no discretion to teach in
accord with his own lights; rather, he offers it under the direction and in the name of

another. He will say, “Our church teaches this or that and these are the demonstrations it
uses.” He thereby extracts for his congregation all practical uses from precepts to which
he would not himself subscribe with complete conviction, but whose presentation he can
nonetheless undertake, since it is not entirely impossible that truth lies hidden in them,
and, in any case, nothing contrary to the very nature of religion is to be found in them. If
he believed he could find anything of the latter sort in them, he could not in good
conscience serve in his position; he would have to resign. Thus an appointed teacher’s
use of his reason for the sake of his congregation is merely private, because, however
large the congregation is, this use is always only domestic; in this regard, as a priest, he is
not free and cannot be such because he is acting under instructions from someone else.
By contrast, the cleric–as a scholar who speaks through his writings to the public as such,
i.e., the world–enjoys in this public use of reason an unrestricted freedom to use his own
rational capacities and to speak his own mind. For that the (spiritual) guardians of a
people should themselves be immature is an absurdity that would insure the perpetuation
of absurdities.

6. But would a society of pastors, perhaps a church assembly or venerable presbytery (as
those among the Dutch call themselves), not be justified in binding itself by oath to a
certain unalterable symbol in order to secure a constant guardianship over each of its
members and through them over the people, and this for all time: I say that this is wholly
impossible. Such a contract, whose intention is to preclude forever all further
enlightenment of the human race, is absolutely null and void, even if it should be ratified
by the supreme power, by parliaments, and by the most solemn peace treaties. One age
cannot bind itself, and thus conspire, to place a succeeding one in a condition whereby it
would be impossible for the later age to expand its knowledge (particularly where it is so
very important), to rid itself of errors, and generally to increase its enlightenment. That
would be a crime against human nature, whose essential destiny lies precisely in such
progress; subsequent generations are thus completely justified in dismissing such
agreements as unauthorized and criminal. The criterion of everything that can be agreed
upon as a law by a people lies in this question: Can a people impose such a law on
itself?[9] Now it might be possible, in anticipation of a better state of affairs, to introduce
a provisional order for a specific, short time, all the while giving all citizens, especially
clergy, in their role as scholars, the freedom to comment publicly, i.e., in writing, on the
present institution’s shortcomings. The provisional order might last until insight into the
nature of these matters had become so widespread and obvious that the combined (if not
unanimous) voices of the populace could propose to the crown that it take under its
protection those congregations that, in accord with their newly gained insight, had
organized themselves under altered religious institutions, but without interfering with
those wishing to allow matters to remain as before. However, it is absolutely forbidden
that they unite into a religious organization that nobody may for the duration of a man’s
lifetime publicly question, for so doing would deny, render fruitless, and make
detrimental to succeeding generations an era in man’s progress toward improvement. A
man may put off enlightenment with regard to what he ought to know, though only for a
short time and for his own person; but to renounce it for himself, or, even more, for
subsequent generations, is to violate and trample man’s divine rights underfoot. And what
a people may not decree for itself may still less be imposed on it by a monarch, for his

lawgiving authority rests on his unification of the people’s collective will in his own. If he
only sees to it that all genuine or purported improvement is consonant with civil order, he
can allow his subjects to do what they find necessary to their spiritual well-being, which
is not his affair. However, he must prevent anyone from forcibly interfering with
another’s working as best he can to determine and promote his well-being. It detracts
from his own majesty when he interferes in these matters, since the writings in which his
subjects attempt to clarify their insights lend value to his conception of governance. This
holds whether he acts from his own highest insight–whereby he calls upon himself the
reproach, “Caesar non eat supra grammaticos”[10]—as well as, indeed even more,
when he despoils his highest authority by supporting the spiritual despotism of some
tyrants in his state over his other subjects.

7. If it is now asked, “Do we presently live in an enlightened age?” the answer is, “No,
but we do live in an age of enlightenment.” As matters now stand, a great deal is still
lacking in order for men as a whole to be, or even to put themselves into a position to be
able without external guidance to apply understanding confidently to religious
issues. But we do have clear indications that the way is now being opened for men to
proceed freely in this direction and that the obstacles to general enlightenment–to their
release from their self-imposed immaturity—are gradually diminishing. In this regard,
this age is the age of enlightenment, the century of Frederick.[11]

8. A prince who does not find it beneath him to say that he takes it to be his duty to
prescribe nothing, but rather to allow men complete freedom in religious matters—who
thereby renounces the arrogant title of tolerance—is himself enlightened and deserves to
be praised by a grateful present and by posterity as the first, at least where the
government is concerned, to release the human race from immaturity and to leave
everyone free to use his own reason in all matters of conscience. Under his rule,
venerable pastors, in their role as scholars and without prejudice to their official duties,
may freely and openly set out for the world’s scrutiny their judgments and views, even
where these occasionally differ from the accepted symbol. Still greater freedom is
afforded to those who are not restricted by an official post. This spirit of freedom is
expanding even where it must struggle against the external obstacles of governments that
misunderstand their own function. Such governments are illuminated by the example
that the existence of freedom need not give cause for the least concern regarding public
order and harmony in the commonwealth. If only they refrain from inventing artifices to
keep themselves in it, men will gradually raise themselves from barbarism.

9. I have focused on religious matters in setting out my main point concerning
enlightenment, i.e., man’s emergence from self-imposed immaturity, first because our
rulers have no interest in assuming the role of their subjects’ guardians with respect to the
arts and sciences, and secondly because that form of immaturity is both the most
pernicious and disgraceful of all. But the manner of thinking of a head of state who
favors religious enlightenment goes even further, for he realizes that there is no danger to
his legislation in allowing his subjects to use reason publicly and to set before the world
their thoughts concerning better formulations of his laws, even if this involves frank
criticism of legislation currently in effect. We have before us a shining example, with

respect to which no monarch surpasses the one whom we honor.

10. But only a ruler who is himself enlightened and has no dread of shadows, yet who
likewise has a well-disciplined, numerous army to guarantee public peace, can say what
no republic[12] may dare, namely: “Argue as much as you want and about what you want,
but obey!” Here as elsewhere, when things are considered in broad perspective, a strange,
unexpected pattern in human affairs reveals itself, one in which almost everything is
paradoxical. A greater degree of civil freedom seems advantageous to a people’s
spiritual freedom; yet the former established impassable boundaries for the latter;
conversely, a lesser degree of civil freedom provides enough room for all fully to expand
their abilities. Thus, once nature has removed the hard shell from this kernel for which
she has most fondly cared, namely, the inclination to and vocation for free thinking, the
kernel gradually reacts on a people’s mentality (whereby they become increasingly able
to act freely), and it finally even influences the principles of government, which finds that
it can profit by treating men, who are now more than machines, in accord with their
dignity.*

Immanuel Kant, Konigsberg in Prussia,
30 September 1784

*Today I read in Büsching’s Wöchentliche Nachtrichten for September 13th a notice
concerning this month’s Berlinischen Monatsschift that mentions Mendelssohn’s answer
to this same question. I have not yet seen this journal, otherwise I would have withheld
the foregoing reflections, which I now set out in order to see to what extent two persons
thoughts may coincidentally agree.

[1] A. A., VIII, 33-42. This essay first appeared in the Berlinische Monatsschrift,
December, 1784.

[2] The German is Unmündigkeit, which quite literally means “minority,” where one is
referring to the inability to make decisions for oneself. Kant’s point in the essay is that
by virtue of understanding and reason men have the inherent right and ability to make all
intellectual, political and religious decisions for themselves. That they do not is a
function of certain, perhaps implicit, choices they make in regard to exercising rights and
developing capacities.

[3] “Dare to Know!” (Horace, Epodes, 1, 2, 40.). This motto was adopted by the Society
of the Friends of Truth, an important circle of the German Enlightenment.

[4] “Those who have come of age by virtue of nature.”

[5] The term Kant uses here and later, on p. 41, is Denkungsart; it occurs in the second
edition preface to the Critique of Pure Reason, where he works out his famous analogy of
the Copernican Revolution in philosophy, which he refers to as a revolution in the
method of thought (B vii-xxiv). The term refers to one’s characteristic pattern of thought,
whether it is marked by systematic, rational procedures or by prejudice and superstition,
criticism or dogmatism.

[6] Frederick II (the Great) of Prussia.

[7] See On the Proverb: That May be True in Theory, But Is of No Practical Use:
“According to [Hobbes] (de Cive, Chapter 7, section 14) the nation’s ruler is not
contractually obligated to the people and cannot wrong the citizens (no matter how he
might dispose of them.)—This proposition would be entirely correct, if by “wrong”
[Unrecht] one understood an injury [Läsion] (Kant’s point here seems to be that if by
“wrong” Hobbes means physical injury, his view can be accepted; but if it includes
violation of rights, it must certainly be incorrect.) that gave the injured party a coercive
right against the one who had wronged him; but stated so generally, the proposition is
terrifying.
The cooperative subject must be able to assume that his ruler does not want to
wrong him. Consequently on this assumption—because every man has inalienable rights
that he cannot give up even if he wanted to and in regard to which he has the authority to
be his own judge—the wrong that in his view befalls him occurs only as a function of
error, or from ignorance of certain of the consequences of the supreme power’s
laws. Thus, regarding whatever in the ruler’s decrees seem to wrong the commonwealth,
the citizen must retain the authority to his opinions publicly known, and this authority
must receive the ruler’s approval. For to assume that the ruler cannot ever err or that he
cannot be ignorant of something would be to portray him as blessed with divine
inspiration and as elevated above the rest of humanity. Hence freedom of the pen—
within the bounds of respect and love for the constitution one lives under, respect and
love that are maintained by the subjects’ liberal manner of thought [Denkungsart], a way
of thinking instilled in them by that very constitution (and to which way of thinking the

pens restrict one another so as not to lose their freedom)—is the sole protector of the
people’s rights. To want to deprive citizens of this right is not only tantamount to
depriving them of all claim to rights in relation to the supreme commander (according to
Hobbes), but it also denies him, whose will commands subjects as citizens only because it
represents the general will of the people, all knowledge of such matters as he would
himself change if he knew about them; and denying such freedom places the commander
in a self-contradictory position. Encouraging the leader to suspect that unrest might be
aroused by men thinking out loud and for themselves is to awaken in him both distrust in
his own power and hate for his people.
The general principle by which a people may judge, though merely negatively, as
to whether the supreme legislature has not decreed with the best of intentions is contained
in this proposition: Whatever a people cannot decree for itself cannot be decreed for it by
the legislator.

[8] Kant distinguishes between two classes of concepts, those that we can schematize, i.e.,
directly represent in experience (intuition), and those that we must symbolize, i.e.,
indirectly represent in experience (intuition). Symbolized concepts, such as the one we
have of God, are those for which no experience can provide adequate content;
consequently, experience can only be used to indicate the content we intend. All
religious concepts have this character. By symbol in this context, then, Kant means those
beliefs and practices in which a group expresses the content of this concept of the divine
(Critique of Judgment, 351-54).

[9] This would seem a peculiarly political expression of the Categorical Imperative,
particularly as it is expressed in Groundings, 428-29.

[10] “Caesar is not above the grammarians.” See Perpetual Peace, 368 f.

[11] Frederick II (the Great), King of Prussia.

[12] The term Kant uses here is Freistaat, which is idiomatically translated
“republic.” However, Kant never again uses the Germanic rooted word in the essays
included in this volume (Hackett’s Perpetual Peace and Other Essays). In all the other
essays he uses the Latin loan word Republic. I point this out because what Kant says here
about a Freistaat is inconsistent with what he says elsewhere about a Republic.

Liberty

John Stuart Mill

[Brackets] enclose editorial explanations. Small ·dots· enclose material that has been added, but can be read as
though it were part of the original text. Occasional •bullets, and also indenting of passages that are not quotations,
are meant as aids to grasping the structure of a sentence or a thought. Every four-point ellipsis . . . . indicates the
omission of a brief passage that seems to present more difficulty than it is worth. Longer omissions are reported
between square brackets in normal-sized type.

First launched: March

Last amended: April 200

Contents

Chapter 1: Introduction

Chapter 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

Chapter

: Individuality—one of the elements of well-being 3

Chapter

: The limits to the authority of society over the individual 4

Chapter 5: Applications 61
·Free trade· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
·Selling poisons· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
·Selling alcohol· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
·Prostitution and gambling· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
·Dissuasion· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
·Contracts—slavery· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67

Liberty John Stuart Mill

·Contracts—marriage· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
·Power of husbands over wives· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
·Bringing up children· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
·Having children· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
·Size of government· . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

Chapter 1: Introduction

The subject of this essay is not the so-called ‘liberty of the
will’ that is unfortunately opposed to the misnamed doctrine
of philosophical necessity; ·i.e. I shan’t be writing about
anything like the issue between free-will and determinism·.
My topic is

•civil or •social liberty—the nature and limits of the
power that society can legitimately exercise over the
individual.

This question is seldom posed, and almost never discussed,
in general terms. Yet it lurks behind many of the practical
controversies of our day, profoundly influencing them, and is
likely soon to make itself recognized as the vital question of
the future. This isn’t a new issue; indeed, it has in a certain
sense divided mankind almost from the remotest ages; but
in the stage of progress into which the more civilized parts
of humanity have now entered, it comes up under new
conditions and needs a different and more fundamental
treatment.

The struggle between liberty and authority is the most
conspicuous feature of the parts of history of which we
have the oldest records, particularly in the histories of
Greece, Rome, and England. But in olden times this con-
test was between subjects (or some classes of them) and
the government. By ‘liberty’ was meant protection against
the tyranny of the political rulers. Except in some of the
democratic governments of Greece, the rulers were seen
as inevitably being antagonists of the people whom they
ruled. The rulers consisted of a single governing person or
a governing tribe or caste •who derived their authority from
inheritance or conquest, or at any rate didn’t have it through
the consent of the governed, and •whose supremacy men

didn’t risk challenging (and perhaps didn’t want to challenge),
whatever precautions might be taken against its being used
oppressively. Their power was regarded as necessary, but
also as highly dangerous because it was a weapon that they
would try to use against their subjects as much as against
external enemies. To prevent the weaker members of the
community from being preyed on by innumerable vultures,
there needed to be a predator stronger than the rest, whose
job was to keep the vultures down. But as the •king of the
vultures would be just as intent on preying on the flock as
would any of the •minor predators, the subjects had to be in
a perpetual attitude of defence against his beak and claws.
So the aim of patriots was to set •limits to the power that the
ruler should be allowed to have over the community; and this
•limitation was what they meant by ‘liberty’. They tried to
get it in two ways. •First, by getting certain political ‘liberties’
or ‘rights’ to be recognized; if the ruler were to infringe
these, that would be regarded as a breach of duty, and
specific resistance or general rebellion would be regarded as
justifiable. •A second procedure—generally a later one—was
to establish constitutional checks according to which some
of the governing power’s more important acts required the
consent of the community or of a body of some sort supposed
to represent the community’s interests. In most European
countries the ruling power was compelled, more or less,
to submit to •the first of these kinds of limitation. Not so
with •the second; and the principal objective of the lovers
of liberty everywhere came to be getting this ·constitutional
limit on the rulers’ power· or, when they already had it to
some extent, achieving it more completely. And so long as
mankind were content to fight off one enemy with help from

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

another ·enemy·, and to be ruled by a master on condition
that they had a fairly effective guarantee against his tyranny,
they didn’t try for anything more than this.

But a time came in the progress of human affairs when
men stopped thinking it to be a necessity of nature that their
governors should be an independent power with interests
opposed to their own. It appeared to them much better that
the various officers of the state should be their appointees,
their delegates, who could be called back from office at the
people’s pleasure. Only in that way, it seemed, could people
be completely assured that the powers of government would
never be misused to their disadvantage. This new demand
to have •rulers who were elected and temporary became the
prominent aim of the democratic party, wherever any such
party existed, and to a large extent it replaced the previous
efforts to limit the power of rulers. As the struggle proceeded
for making the ruling power come from the periodical choice
of the ruled, some people started to think that too much
importance had been attached to limiting the power itself.
The thought was this:

Limitations on the power of government is something
to be used against rulers whose interests are habit-
ually opposed to those of the people. What we now
want is for the rulers to be identified with the people,
for their interests and decisions to be the interests
and decisions of the nation. The nation doesn’t need
to be protected against its own will! There is no fear
of its tyrannizing over itself. As long as the rulers are
responsible to the nation and easily removable by it,
it can afford to trust them with power. . . . The rulers’
power is simply the nation’s own power, concentrated
and in a form convenient for use.

This way of thinking, or perhaps rather of feeling, was
common among the last generation of European liberal-

ism, and apparently it still predominates in Europe outside
Britain. Those who admit any limit to what may be done
by a government (setting aside governments that they think
oughtn’t to exist) stand out as brilliant exceptions among the
political thinkers of continental Europe. A similar attitude
might by now have been prevalent in our own country, if the
circumstances that for a time encouraged it hadn’t changed.

But in political and philosophical theories, as well as
in persons, success reveals faults and weaknesses that
failure might have hidden from view. The notion that the
people needn’t limit their power over themselves might seem
axiomatic at a time when democratic government was only
dreamed of, or read about as having existed in the distant
past. And that notion wasn’t inevitably disturbed by such
temporary aberrations as those of the French Revolution,
the worst of which were the work of a few usurpers—·people
who grabbed power without being entitled to it·—and which
in any case didn’t come from the permanent working of
institutions among the people but from a sudden explosion
against monarchical and aristocratic despotism. In time,
however, a democratic republic came to occupy a large part
of the earth’s surface, and made itself felt as one of the most
powerful members of the community of nations; and elected
and responsible government became subject to the scrutiny
and criticisms that any great existing fact is likely to draw on
itself. It was now seen that such phrases as ‘self-government’,
and ‘the people’s power over themselves’ don’t express the
true state of the case. The ‘people’ who exercise the power
aren’t always the ones over whom it is exercised, and the
‘self-government’ spoken of is the government not of •each
by himself but of •each by all the rest. The will of the people
in practice means the will of

the •most numerous or the •most active part of the
people;

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

that is,
the •majority, or •those who get themselves to be
accepted as the majority.

So ‘the people’ may desire to oppress some of their number;
and precautions are as much needed against this as against
any other abuse of power. Thus, the limitation of govern-
ment’s power of over individuals loses none of its importance
when the holders of power are regularly accountable to
the community, i.e. to the strongest party in it. This view
of things recommends itself equally to •the intelligence of
thinkers and to •the desires of the important groups in Euro-
pean society to whose real or supposed interests democracy
is adverse; so it has had no difficulty in establishing itself,
and in political theorizing ‘the tyranny of the majority’ is now
generally included among the evils that society should guard
against.

Like other tyrannies, the tyranny of the majority was
at first feared primarily as something that would operate
through the acts of the public authorities, and this is how
the man in the street still sees it. But thoughtful people
saw that •society itself can be the tyrant—society collectively
tyrannizing over individuals within it—and that •this kind
of tyranny isn’t restricted to what society can do through
the acts of its political government. Society can and does
enforce its own commands; and if it issues wrong commands
instead of right, or any commands on matters that it oughtn’t
to meddle with at all, it practises a social tyranny that is
more formidable than many kinds of political oppression.
Although it isn’t usually upheld by such extreme penalties,
it leaves fewer means of escape, penetrating much more
deeply into the details of life and enslaving the soul itself. So
protection against the tyranny of government isn’t enough;
there needs to be protection also against the tyranny of
prevailing opinion and feeling; against the tendency of society

to turn its own ideas and practices into rules of conduct,
and impose them—by means other than legal penalties—on
those who dissent from them; to hamper the development
and if possible to prevent the formation of any individuality
that isn’t in harmony with its ways. . . . There is a limit
to how far collective opinion can legitimately interfere
with individual independence; and finding and defending
that limit is as indispensable to a good condition of human
affairs as is protection against political despotism.

But though this proposition isn’t likely to be disputed in
general terms, the practical question of where to place the
limit—how to make the right adjustment between individual
independence and social control—is a subject on which
nearly all the work remains to be done. Everything that
makes life worth living for anyone depends on restraints
being put on the actions of other people. So some rules of
conduct must be imposed—in the first place by law, and
secondarily by ·public· opinion on many things that aren’t
fit subjects for law to work on. What should these rules
be? That is the principal question in human affairs; but
with a few obvious exceptions it is one of the questions that
least progress has been made in resolving. It hasn’t been
answered in the same way in any two historical periods, and
hardly ever in two countries ·in the same period·; and the
answer of one period or country is a source of amazement
to another. Yet the people in any given country at any
given time don’t see any problem here; it’s as though they
believed that mankind had always been agreed on what the
rules should be. The rules that hold in their society appear
to them to be self-evident and self-justifying. This almost
universal illusion is one example of the magical influence of
custom. . . . The effect of custom in preventing any doubts
concerning the rules of conduct that mankind impose on
one another is made all the more complete by the fact that

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

this isn’t something that is generally considered to call for
reasons—whether to be given by one person to others or
by a person to himself. People are accustomed to believe
that on topics like this their feelings are better than reasons,
and make it unnecessary to have reasons. (And some who
like to think of themselves as philosophers have encouraged
them in this.) The practical principle that leads them to their
opinions on how human beings should behave is the feeling
in each person’s mind that everybody should be required
to act as he, and those who feel as he does, would like
them to act. Of course no-one admits to himself that his
standard of judgment is what he likes; but when an opinion
on how people should behave isn’t supported by reasons, it
can count only as one person’s preference; and if ‘reasons’
are given, and turn out to be a mere appeal to a similar
preference felt by other people, it is still only many people’s
liking instead of one person’s. To an ordinary man, however,
his own preference (with other people sharing it) is not only a
perfectly satisfactory reason but is the only reason he has for
most of his notions of morality, taste, or propriety—except
for notions that are explicitly written in his religious creed,
and even that is something he interprets mainly in the light
of his personal preferences.

So men’s opinions about what is praiseworthy or blam-
able are affected by all the various causes that influence
•their wishes concerning the conduct of others, and these
causes are as numerous as those that influence •their wishes
on any other subject. It may be any of these:

their reason,
their prejudices or superstitions,
their social feelings,
their antisocial feelings—envy or jealousy, arrogance or

contempt,
their desires or fears for themselves—their legitimate or

illegitimate self-interest.

The last of these is the commonest.
In any country that has a dominant class, a large portion

of the morality of the country emanates from that class—from
its interests and its feelings of class superiority. The morality
between Spartans and slave-warriors, between planters and
negroes, between monarchs and subjects, between nobles
and peasants, between men and women, has mostly been
created by these class interests and feelings: and the sen-
timents thus generated react back on the moral feelings
of the members of the dominant class in their relations
among themselves. [In Mill’s time, ‘sentiment’ could mean ‘feeling’
or ‘opinion’.] On the other hand, where a class has lost its
dominant position, or where its dominance is unpopular, the
prevailing moral sentiments frequently show the marks of
an impatient dislike of superiority.

Rules of conduct—both •positive and •negative—that have
been enforced by law or opinion have also been influenced
by mankind’s servile attitude towards the supposed •likes
or •dislikes of their worldly masters or of their gods. This
servility is essentially selfish, but it isn’t hypocrisy: it gives
rise to perfectly genuine sentiments of abhorrence, such as
have made men burn magicians and heretics.

Along with so many baser influences, the general and
obvious interests of society have of course had a share—a
large share—in the direction of the moral sentiments. But
they have played this role not so much

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

by serving directly as reasons ·for this or that moral
view·

as by
causing various likes and dislikes ·which lead to this
or that moral view·.

And other likes and dislikes—ones having little or nothing to
do with the interests of society—have made themselves felt
in the establishment of moralities with quite as much force
as the former ones.

The likes and dislikes of society, or of some powerful part
of it, are thus the main thing that has in practice determined
the rules that societies have laid down for general observance
under the penalties of law or opinion. And those who have
been ahead of society in thought and feeling have generally
not attacked this state of things in •principle, however much
they may have clashed with some of its •details. They have
been busier inquiring into what things society ought to like
or dislike than in questioning whether society’s likes or
dislikes should be a law for individuals. They have tried
to alter the feelings of mankind on the particular points on
which they were themselves heretical—·i.e. out of step with
society·—rather than making common cause in defence of
freedom with heretics generally.

The only case in which the higher ground has been •taken
on principle and •maintained with consistency by more than
a few individuals is that of religious belief. And this is
instructive in many ways, partly because it provides a most
striking instance of the fallibility of what is called the ‘moral
sense’. ·It really is the moral sense that is involved·, for the
religious hatred felt by a sincere bigot is one of the most
unambiguous cases of moral feeling. Those who first broke
the yoke of what called itself the ‘universal church’ were
in general no more willing to permit difference of religious

opinion than was that church itself. [This refers to the first
protestants and to the Roman Catholic Church.] But when the heat
of the conflict was over, without giving a complete victory to
any party, and each church or sect saw that the most it could
hope for was to keep possession of the ground it already
occupied, minorities were compelled to plead to those whom
they could not convert for permission to differ; they had to do
this because they saw that they had no chance of becoming
majorities. So it is on this battle-field, and hardly anywhere
else, that the rights of the individual against society have
been asserted on broad grounds of principle, with the claim
of society to exercise authority over dissentients being openly
challenged. The great writers to whom the world owes what
religious liberty it possesses have mostly asserted freedom
of conscience as a right that can’t be taken away, and totally
denied that a human being is accountable to others for his
religious belief. Yet so natural to mankind is intolerance in
whatever they really care about that religious freedom has
hardly anywhere existed in practice, except where religious
indifference—which dislikes having its peace disturbed by
theological quarrels—has added its weight to the scale ·on
the side of tolerance·. In the minds of almost all religious
persons, even in the most tolerant countries, the duty of
toleration is admitted with unspoken reservations:

•One person will put up with dissent in matters of
church government, but not of dogma.

•Another can tolerate anyone except a Roman catholic
or a unitarian.

•A third tolerates everyone who believes in revealed
religion ·but not those whose religious beliefs are
based on arguments and evidence rather than on
revelation·.

•A few extend their charity a little further, but won’t
tolerate those who don’t believe in a God and in a

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

future state.
Wherever the sentiment of the majority is still genuine and
intense, it is found not to have weakened much its claim to
be obeyed.

Because of the peculiar circumstances of English political
history, though the yoke of •opinion here may be heavier
than it is in most other countries of Europe, our yoke of
•law is lighter . Here there is considerable resentment of
direct interference with private conduct by the legislative or
the executive power; though this comes not so much from
any •proper respect for the independence of the individual
as from the lingering habit of •seeing the government as
representing an opposite interest to that of the public. The
majority haven’t yet learned to feel the power of the gov-
ernment as being their power, or its opinions as being their
opinions. When they do so, individual liberty will probably be
as vulnerable to invasion from the government as it already
is from public opinion. But up to now there has been a
considerable amount of feeling ready to be brought into
action against any attempt by the law to control individuals
in respects in which they haven’t been controlled by it in the
past. This happens with very little careful thought about
whether or not the matter is within the legitimate sphere
of legal control; so that the feeling against government
interference, highly beneficial as it is on the whole, may be
quite as often misplaced as well grounded in the particular
instances of its application.

There is, in fact, no recognized principle that is gen-
erally used to decide whether a given item of government
interference is proper. People decide ·in individual cases·
according to their personal preferences. Some, whenever
they see any good to be done or evil to be remedied, are
willing for the government to do something about it, while
others would rather put up with almost any amount of social

evil than add one to the areas of human life that are subject
to governmental control. And men align themselves on one
side or the other in any particular case according to

•this general direction (·for or against governmental
control·) of their sentiments, or to
•how much they feel their own interests to be involved
in the matter in question, or to
•whether they think that the government would settle
the matter in the way they prefer;

but very rarely on the basis of
•any firm, considered opinion concerning what things
are fit to be done by a government.

And it seems to me that because of this absence of rule
or principle, one side is wrong as often as the other; the
interference of government is with about equal frequency
improperly supported and improperly condemned.

The object of this Essay is to assert one very simple
principle and to argue that it should absolutely govern how
society deals with its individual members in matters involving
compulsion and control, whether through physical force in
the form of legal penalties or through the moral coercion of
public opinion. The principle is this:

The only end for which people are entitled, individually
or collectively, to interfere with the liberty of action
of any of their number is self-protection. The only
purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised
over any member of a civilized community, against his
will, is to prevent harm to others.

The person’s own good, whether physical or moral, isn’t a
sufficient ground ·for interference with his conduct·. He
cannot rightfully be compelled to do (not do) something
because doing it (not doing it) •would be better for him,
•would make him happier, •would be wise (in the opinions
of others), or •would be right. These are good reasons for

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

protesting to him, reasoning with him, persuading him, or
begging him, but not for compelling him or giving him a
hard time if he acts otherwise. To justify that—·i.e. to justify
compulsion or punishment·—the conduct from which it is
desired to deter him must be likely to bring harm to someone
else. The only part of anyone’s conduct for which he is
answerable to society is the part that concerns others. In the
part that concerns himself alone he is entitled to absolute
independence. Over himself, over his own body and mind,
the individual is sovereign.

I hardly need say that this doctrine is meant to apply
only to human beings when they have reached the age
of maturity. We aren’t speaking of children, or of young
persons below the age that the law fixes as that of manhood
or womanhood. Those who still need to be taken care of
by others must be protected against their own actions as
well as against external injury. For the same reason, we
may leave out of consideration those backward states of
society in which the race itself may be considered as not
yet adult. The early difficulties in the way of spontaneous
progress are so great that there is seldom any choice of
means for overcoming them; and a ruler full of the spirit
of improvement may legitimately use any means that will
attain an end that perhaps can’t be reached otherwise.
Despotism is a legitimate form of government in dealing
with barbarians, provided that •it aims at improving things
and •it uses means that actually do bring improvement.
Liberty, as a principle, doesn’t apply to any state of affairs
before mankind have become capable of being improved by
free and equal discussion. Until then, there is nothing for
them but implicit obedience to an Akbar or a Charlemagne, if
they are so fortunate as to find one—·i.e. to find a despot so
wise·. But in all the nations with which we need to concern
ourselves here, the people long ago became able to be guided

to self-improvement by conviction or persuasion; and once
that stage has been reached, compulsion—whether direct
physical compulsion or compulsion through penalties for
non-compliance—is no longer admissible as a means to their
own good, and is justifiable only for the security of others.

It might seem easier for me to defend my position if I took
this stance:

‘It is just objectively abstractly right that people
should be free; never mind what the consequences of
their freedom are.’

But I don’t argue in that way, because I hold that the
ultimate appeal on all ethical questions is to utility—i.e. to
‘what the consequences are’. However, it must be utility
in the broadest sense, based on the permanent interests
of man as a progressive being. Those interests, I contend,
make it all right to subject individual spontaneity to external
control only in respect to those actions of each individual
that concern the interests of other people. If anyone does
something harmful to others, there is a prima facie case for
punishing him—either by law or, where legal penalties are
not safely applicable, by general disapproval. There are also
many positive acts for the benefit of others that an individual
may rightfully be compelled to perform:

to give evidence in a court of justice,
to do his fair share in the defence of his country, or
any other joint work necessary to the interests of the

society whose protection he enjoys;
and to perform certain acts of individual beneficence. For
example, a man may rightfully be held to account by society
for not saving a fellow-creature’s life, or not protecting a
defenceless person against ill-treatment, in situations where
it was obviously his duty to do this. A person may cause
harm to others not only by his •actions but by his •inaction,
and either way he is justly accountable to them for the harm.

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

The •latter case, it is true, requires a much more cautious
exercise of compulsion than the •former. To make someone
answerable for doing harm to others is the rule; to make him
answerable for not preventing harm is, comparatively speak-
ing, the exception. Yet there are many cases clear enough
and serious enough to justify that exception. In everything
concerning the external relations of the individual, he is
legally answerable to those whose interests are concerned,
and if necessary to society as their protector. There are often
good reasons for not holding him to that responsibility; but
these reasons must arise from special features of the case:
either

•it is a kind of case where he is likely to act better when
left to himself than when controlled in any way that
society could control him; or

•the attempt to exercise control would have bad effects
greater than those that it would prevent.

When such reasons as these rule out the enforcement of
responsibility, the person’s own conscience should move
into the vacant judgment-seat and protect those interests of
others that have no external protection; judging himself all
the more severely because the case doesn’t admit of his being
made accountable to the judgment of his fellow-creatures.

But there is a sphere of action in which the interests of
society, as distinct from those of the individual, are involved
only indirectly if they are involved at all: it is the sphere
containing all the part of the individual’s life and conduct
that affects only himself, or affects others but only with their
free, voluntary, and undeceived consent and participation.
When I say ‘affects only himself’ I am talking about the
direct and immediate effects of his conduct. ·This has
to be stipulated·, for whatever affects himself may affect
others through himself. (Conduct may be objected to on that
ground; I’ll consider this later.)

So this is the appropriate region of human liberty. ·I map
it as containing three provinces·. (1) The inward domain
of consciousness, demanding •liberty of conscience in the
broadest sense, •liberty of thought and feeling, absolute
•freedom of opinion and sentiment on all subjects, practical
or theoretical, scientific, moral, or theological, and •liberty of
expressing and publishing opinions. This last may seem to
belong under a different principle, since it involves conduct
of an individual that affects other people; but it can’t in
practice be separated from the liberty of thought—it is almost
as important as the latter and rests in great part on the same
reasons. (2) Liberty of •tastes and pursuits, of •shaping our
life to suit our own character, of •doing what we like. . . .—all
this without hindrance from our fellow-creatures, so long as
what we do doesn’t harm them even though they may think
our conduct foolish, perverse, or wrong. (3) Following from
the first two domains of liberty, there is the liberty, within the
same limits, •of individuals to come together, their freedom to
unite for any purpose not involving harm to others—always
supposing that the people in question are of full age and
aren’t being forced or deceived.

No society in which these liberties are not •mainly re-
spected is free, whatever form of government it has; and
none is completely free in which they don’t exist •absolute
and unqualified. The only freedom that deserves the name
is the freedom to pursue our own good in our own way, so
long as we don’t try to deprive others of their good or hinder
their efforts to obtain it. Each is the proper guardian of his
own health of body, mind, and spirit. Mankind gain more
from allowing each other to live in the way that seems good
to themselves than they would from compelling each to live
in the way that seems good to the rest.

This doctrine is far from new, and it may strike some as
a mere truism; but in fact there is no doctrine that stands

Liberty John Stuart Mill 1: Introduction

more directly opposed to the general tendency of existing
opinion and practice! Society has put as much effort into
trying (according to its lights) to compel people to conform to
its notions of •personal excellence as into trying to compel
them to conform to its notions of •social excellence. The an-
cient commonwealths thought (and the ancient philosophers
agreed) that every part of private conduct could rightly be
regulated by public authority, on the ground that the state’s
welfare involved the whole bodily and mental discipline of
every one of its citizens. This way of thinking may have
been admissible in small republics surrounded by powerful
enemies, in constant peril of being pulled down by foreign
attack or internal upheavals, so that even a short period
of relaxation and leaving the people to themselves might
easily be fatal—so easily that they couldn’t afford to wait for
the beneficial permanent effects of freedom. In the modern
world two factors have prevented the law from interfering
so greatly in the details of private life: •the greater size of
political communities, and above all •the separation between
the spiritual and temporal authority, ·i.e. between church
and state·, which placed the direction of men’s consciences
in other hands than those that controlled their worldly
affairs. But the engines of moral ·as distinct from political·
repression that have been wielded against divergence from
the prevailing opinion ·and attitudes· have put less energy
into this with regard to •social matters than with regard to
•·personal, private·, self-regarding conduct. A reason for this
is that religion, which is the most powerful of the elements
that have contributed to forming moral feeling, has almost
always been governed either by •the ambition of a hierarchy,
seeking control over every department of human conduct,
or by the •spirit of puritanism. ·But that isn’t the whole
story, for· some of the modern reformers who have placed
themselves in strongest opposition to the religions of the

past have been right up there with the churches and sects in
their assertion of the right to spiritual domination. A prime
example is M. Comte, whose social system as set out in his
Système de Politique Positive aims at establishing (though by
moral more than by legal pressures) a despotism of society
over the individual that surpasses anything contemplated in
the political ideal of the most rigid disciplinarian among the
ancient philosophers!

Apart from the special views of individual thinkers, there
is also in the world at large an increasing inclination to
stretch unduly the powers of society over the individual,
both through the force of opinion and even through that
of legislation; and because the tendency of all the changes
taking place in the world is to strengthen society and lessen
the power of the individual, this encroachment isn’t one of
the evils that tend spontaneously to disappear, but on the
contrary is one of the evils that tend to grow more and more
formidable. Mankind have some disposition, whether as
rulers or as fellow-citizens, to impose their own opinions and
inclinations as a rule of conduct on others; this disposition is
so energetically supported by some of the best and by some of
the worst feelings in human nature that it is hardly ever kept
under restraint by anything except lack of power; and the
power ·of societies· is not declining but growing; so unless
a strong barrier of moral conviction can be raised against
the mischief ·of unwarranted interference with individual
liberty·, we must expect—given the way the world is—to see
it increase.

It will be convenient for the argument, if instead of
plunging immediately into the general thesis we confine
ourselves at first to a single branch of it—a branch on
which the ·general· principle here stated is to some extent
recognized by current opinions. This one branch is the liberty
of thought, from which it is impossible to separate the related

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

liberty of speaking and of writing. These liberties form a
considerable part of the political morality of all countries
that profess religious toleration and free institutions, but
the philosophical and practical grounds on which they rest
are perhaps not as familiar to people in general, or as
thoroughly grasped even by many of the leaders of opinion,
as might have been expected. Those grounds, when rightly

understood, also apply to other divisions of our subject, and
a thorough consideration of this part of the question will be
found to be the best introduction to the remainder. So I hope
you’ll forgive me if nothing that I am about to say is new to
you, as I embark on yet one more discussion of something
that has often been discussed over the past three centuries.

Chapter 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

It is to be hoped that there is no longer any need to defend
the ‘liberty of the press’ as one of the protections against
corrupt or tyrannical government. No argument, we may
suppose, can now be needed for this:

No legislature or executive whose interests aren’t
exactly the same as the people’s should be allowed •to
tell them what to believe or •to decide what doctrines
or arguments they shall be allowed to hear.

This aspect of the ‘liberty’ issue has been so often and so
triumphantly enforced by previous writers that there is no
need for me to make a special point of it here. Though the law
of England regarding the press is as servile today as it was
three hundred years ago, there is little danger of its being
actually enforced against political discussion, except during
some temporary panic when fear of revolt drives ministers
and judges from their proper course.1 Generally speaking, it

1 These words had hardly been written when the Government’s Press Prosecutions of

58 took place—as though intended to emphatically contradict
me. Still, that ill-judged interference with the liberty of public discussion hasn’t induced me to alter a single word in the text, nor has it at all
weakened my conviction that except in moments of panic the era of pains and penalties for political discussion has in our own country passed away.
For one thing, the prosecutions were not persisted in; for another, they were never strictly speaking political prosecutions. The offence charged was
not that of •criticizing institutions or rulers or their acts, but rather of •circulating what was deemed an immoral doctrine, namely the lawfulness of
tyrannicide.

If the arguments of my present chapter have any validity, there ought to exist the fullest liberty of proclaiming and discussing—as a matter of ethical
conviction—any doctrine, however immoral it may be considered. So it isn’t relevant here to consider whether the doctrine of tyrannicide is immoral.
I shall content myself with ·making three points·. (1) This subject has always been one of the open questions of morals. (2) When a private citizen
strikes down a criminal who has raised himself above the law and thus placed himself beyond the reach of legal punishment or control, this has been
regarded by whole nations and by some of the best and wisest of men not as a crime but as an act of exalted virtue. (3) Such an act, whether it be
right or wrong, is not of the nature of •assassination but rather of •civil war. In a particular case, it may be proper to punish someone for inciting
others else to it, but only if an overt act has followed, and at least a probable connection can be established between the act and the incitement. Even
then the only government entitled to punish such attacks is the one that has been attacked.

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

isn’t likely that the government in a constitutional country,
whether or not it is completely answerable to the people,
will often try to control the expression of opinion—except
when by doing so it expresses the general intolerance of the
public. Let us suppose, therefore, that the government is
entirely in harmony with the people, and never thinks of
coercing anyone except in ways that it thinks the people
want. But I deny the right of the people to exercise such
coercion, whether directly or through their government. The
power ·of coercion· itself is illegitimate. The best government
has no more right to it than the worst. It is at least as
noxious when exerted •in accordance with public opinion as
when it is exerted •in opposition to it. If all mankind minus
one were of one opinion, and that one had the contrary
opinion, mankind would be no more justified in silencing
that one person than he would be in silencing them if he
could. ·You might think that silencing only one couldn’t be
so very wrong, but that is mistaken, and here is why·. If
an opinion were a personal possession of no value except
to the person who has it, so that being obstructed in the
enjoyment of it was simply a private injury, it would make
some difference whether the harm was inflicted on only a few
persons or on many. But the special wrongness of silencing
the expression of an opinion is that it is robbing

•·not one individual, but· the human race,
•posterity as well as the present generation,
•those who dissent from the opinion as well as those
who hold it.

Indeed, those who dissent are wronged more than those who
agree. •If the opinion in question is right, they are robbed
of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth; and •if it
is wrong, they lose a benefit that is almost as great, namely
the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth that
would come from its collision with error.

We need to consider these two cases separately; each has
a distinct branch of the argument corresponding to it. We
can never be sure that the opinion we are trying to suppress
is false; and even if we were sure of its falsity it would still
be wrong to suppress it. [The first branch is dealt with right away;
discussion of the second starts on page

First: the opinion the authorities are trying to suppress
may be true. Those who want to suppress it will deny its
truth, of course; but they aren’t infallible. They have no
authority to decide the question for all mankind, and exclude
every other person from the means of judging. To refuse a
hearing to an opinion because they are sure that it is false is
to assume that their certainty is the same thing as absolute
certainty—·i.e. that their being sure that P is the same as
its being certainly true that P·. All silencing of discussion is
an assumption of infallibility, which is a good argument for
condemning it; many people have used this argument, but
it’s none the worse for that.

Unfortunately for the good sense of mankind, the fact
that people are fallible doesn’t carry nearly as much weight
in practice as it is allowed to carry in theory. Everyone
knows perfectly well that he is fallible, but few •think it
necessary to take any precautions against their own falli-
bility, or •allow that the errors to which they admit they
are liable might include some opinion of which they feel
very certain. Absolute monarchs, or others accustomed to
unlimited deference, usually feel this complete confidence in
their own opinions on nearly all subjects. People who lack
the disadvantages of monarchs and thus sometimes hear
their opinions disputed, and have some experience of being
set right when they are wrong, have the same unbounded
confidence only in such of their opinions as are shared by
all around them, or by those to whom they habitually defer.
For the less confidence someone has in his own individual

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

judgment, the more he relies, with complete trust, on the
infallibility of ‘the world’ in general. And •the world, to each
individual, means •the part of it that he comes into contact
with: his party, his sect, his church, his class of society.
By comparison ·with most people·, a man may be called
almost liberal and large-minded if to him ‘the world’ ·on
which he bases his most confident opinions· is anything as
comprehensive as his own country or the times in which he
lives. The faith he has in this collective authority isn’t at all
shaken by his being aware that other ages, countries, sects,
churches, classes, and parties have thought—and even now
think—the exact reverse of what he does. He bestows on his
own ‘world’ the responsibility for being in the right against
the dissentient ‘worlds’ of other people. It doesn’t bother him
that mere accident has decided which of these numerous
‘worlds’ is the one he relies on: that the causes that make
him an Anglican in London would have made him a Buddhist
or a Confucian in Peking. Yet it is as evident in itself as any
amount of argument can make it that ages are no more
infallible than individuals, because every age has held many
opinions that subsequent ages deemed to be not only false
but absurd; and it is as certain that many opinions •now
generally accepted •will be rejected by future ages as it is that
many that •have been generally accepted are •now rejected.

An objection that is likely to be made to this argument
runs somewhat as follows:

There is no greater assumption of infallibility in forbid-
ding the propagation of error than there is in anything
else done by public authority on its own judgment
and responsibility. Judgment is given to men to be
used. Because it may be used erroneously, are men to
be told that they oughtn’t to use it at all? To prohibit
something they think to be pernicious is not •to claim
exemption from error, but •to perform their duty to

act, fallible though they are, on their conscientious
convictions. If we were never to act on our opinions
because they may be wrong, we would leave all our
interests uncared for and all our duties unperformed.
An objection that applies to all conduct can’t be a
valid objection to any conduct in particular.
Governments and individuals have a duty to form
the truest opinions they can; to form them carefully,
and never impose them on others unless they are
quite sure of being right. But when they are sure,
it is not conscientiousness but cowardice to shrink
from acting on their opinions, and to allow doctrines
that they honestly think dangerous to the welfare
of mankind—either in this life or in another—to be
scattered abroad without restraint, just because other
people in less enlightened times have persecuted
opinions that are now believed to be true! Let us take
care not to make the same mistake; but governments
and nations have made mistakes in other things that
are not denied to be fit subjects for the exercise of
authority, such as imposing bad taxes and making
unjust wars. Ought we therefore to impose no taxes,
and whatever the provocation to make no wars? Men
and governments must act to the best of their ability.
There’s no such thing as absolute certainty, but there
is assurance sufficient for the purposes of human life.
We may—we must—assume our opinion to be true
for the guidance of our own conduct; and that’s all
we are assuming when we forbid bad men to pervert
society by spreading opinions that we regard as false
and pernicious.

I answer: No, it is assuming very much more than
that. There is the greatest difference between •presuming
an opinion to be true because, with every opportunity for

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

contesting it, it hasn’t been refuted, and •assuming its
truth as a basis for not permitting its refutation. Complete
liberty of contradicting and disproving our opinion is the very
condition that justifies us in assuming its truth for purposes
of action; and on no other terms can a human being have
any rational assurance of being right.

Look at the history of •what people have believed; or look
at the ordinary •conduct of human life. Why are each of
these no worse than they are? It is certainly not because of
the inherent force of the human understanding! Take any
proposition that isn’t self-evident: for every person who is
capable of judging it, there are ninety-nine others who aren’t;
and the ‘capability’ of that one person is only comparative;
for the majority of the eminent men of every past generation
held many opinions now known to be erroneous, and did or
approved many things that no-one would now defend. Well,
then, why is it that there is on the whole a preponderance
among mankind of •rational opinions and •rational conduct?
If there really is this preponderance—and there must be,
unless human affairs are and always were in an almost
desperate state—it is owing to the fact that the errors of the
human mind can be corrected. This quality of the human
mind is the source of everything worthy of respect in man,
whether as a thinking or as a moral being. He is capable of
correcting his mistakes by discussion and experience. Not
by experience alone: there must be discussion, to show
how experience is to be interpreted. Wrong opinions and
practices gradually give way to fact and argument; but facts
and arguments can’t have any effect on the mind unless they
are brought before it. Very few facts are able to tell their
own story, without comments to bring out their meaning. So:
because the whole strength and value of human judgment
depends on a single property, namely that it can be set right
when it is wrong, it can be relied on only when the means

of setting it right are kept constantly at hand. Consider
someone whose judgment really is deserving of confidence—
how has it become so? Through his conducting himself as
follows:

•He has kept his mind open to criticism of his opinions
and conduct.

•He has made it his practice to listen to all that could
be said against him, to profit by as much of it as was
sound, and expound to himself—and sometimes to
others—the fallacy of what was fallacious.

•He has felt that the only way for a human to approach
knowing the whole of a subject is by hearing what can
be said about it by persons of every variety of opinion,
and studying all the ways in which it can be looked at
by every kind of mind.

No wise man ever acquired his wisdom in any way but this;
and the human intellect isn’t built to become wise in any
other manner. The steady habit of correcting and completing
his own opinion by comparing it with those of others, so far
from causing doubt and hesitation in acting on the opinion,
is the only stable foundation for a sound reliance on it.
Knowing everything that can, at least obviously, be said
against him, and having taken up his position against those
who disagree, knowing that he has looked for objections
and difficulties instead of avoiding them, and has shut
out no light that can be thrown on the subject from any
direction—he has a right to think his judgment better than
that of any person or crowd of them that hasn’t gone through
a similar process.

It is not too much to require that what the wisest of
mankind, those who are best entitled to trust their own
judgment, find necessary to warrant their relying on it,
should be submitted to by that miscellaneous collection
of a few wise and many foolish individuals called ‘the public’.

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

[That sentence is exactly as Mill wrote it.] The most intolerant of
churches, the Roman Catholic church, even at the canon-
ization of a saint, admits and patiently listens to a ‘devil’s
advocate’. The holiest of men, it seems, can’t be admitted to
posthumous honours until all that the devil could say against
him is known and weighed. Even Newton’s physics—if we
weren’t permitted to question it, mankind couldn’t feel as
completely sure of its truth as they now do. The beliefs that
we have most justification for have as their only safeguard a
standing invitation to the whole world to ·try to· prove them
unfounded. If that challenge isn’t accepted, or is accepted
and the attempt fails, we are still far from certainty; but we
have done the best that the existing state of human reason
admits of; we have neglected nothing that could give the
truth a chance of reaching us. If the challenge continues to
stand, we can hope that if there is a better truth it will be
found when the human mind is capable of receiving it; and
in the meantime we may rely on having attained as close an
approach to truth as is possible in our own day. That is how
much certainty a fallible being can get, and that is the only
way to get it.

It’s strange that men should admit the validity of the
arguments for free discussion, but object to their being
‘pushed to an extreme’, not seeing that unless the reasons
are good for an extreme case they aren’t good for any case.
Strange that they should imagine that they aren’t assuming
infallibility when they acknowledge •that there should be free
discussion on all subjects that can possibly be doubtful, but
think •that some particular principle or doctrine—·this being
the ‘extreme’ case·—ought not to be questioned because it
is so certain (meaning that it is certain because they are
certain!). If we call any proposition certain while there is
anyone who would deny its certainty if permitted (but who
isn’t permitted), we’re assuming that we and those who agree

with us are the judges of certainty—judges who don’t hear
the other side.

In the present age—which has been described as ‘desti-
tute of faith, but terrified of scepticism’—people feel sure not
so much that •their opinions are true as that •they wouldn’t
know what to do without them. So the claims of an opinion
to be protected from public attack are based less on its truth
than on its importance to society. This is alleged:

Some beliefs are so useful, indeed indispensable, to
our well-being that governments have as much of a
duty to uphold them as to protect any other of the
interests of society. With that kind of necessity, on
matters that are directly in the government’s line of
duty, something less than infallibility may permit and
even oblige governments to act on their own opinion,
confirmed by the general opinion of mankind.

Something else that is also often argued, and still oftener
thought, is this:

Only bad men would want to weaken these beneficial
beliefs; and there can’t be anything wrong in restrain-
ing bad men, and in prohibiting something that only
bad men would want to do.

This way of thinking tries to justify restraints on discus-
sion not through the •truth of doctrines but through their
•usefulness; and it hopes in that way to avoid having to
claim to be an infallible judge of opinions. But those who
are content with this don’t see that they have merely shifted
the assumption of infallibility from one point to another. The
usefulness of an opinion is itself a matter of opinion, and is
as disputable—as open to discussion and as much in need
of it—as is the opinion itself. Deciding that an opinion is
dangerous, just like deciding that it is false, requires an
infallible judge of opinions unless the condemned opinion
has a full opportunity to defend itself. ‘Well, the heretic

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

may be allowed to maintain that his opinion is useful, or
harmless, though he is forbidden to maintain its truth.’
That won’t do, because the truth of an opinion is part of
its usefulness. If we want to know whether it is desirable
that a proposition be believed, can we possibly exclude the
question of whether it is true? No belief that is contrary to
truth can be really useful: this is the opinion not of bad men
but of the best men. When a good man is accused of denying
some doctrine that he is told is useful but which he believes
is false, can he be prevented from urging that false doctrines
can never be useful? Those who are on the side of publicly
accepted opinions never fail to take advantage of this plea;
you don’t find them handling the question of utility as if it
could be completely sifted out from the question of truth; on
the contrary, they hold that the doctrine ·they are protecting·
is indispensable precisely because it is ‘the truth’. There can
be no fair discussion of usefulness if such a vital argument
can be employed on one side of the debate but not on the
other. And in practice when law or public feeling doesn’t
permit the •truth of an opinion to be disputed, it is just as
intolerant of a denial of its •usefulness. . . .

In order to illustrate more fully the badness of denying
a hearing to opinions because we have condemned them,
I should tie the discussion to a concrete case; and I freely
choose the cases that are least favourable to me—ones where
the argument against freedom of opinion, both on the score
of truth and on that of utility, is considered the strongest.
Let the opinions in question be •the belief in a God and in
life after death, or •any of the commonly accepted doctrines
of morality. Fighting the battle on that ground gives a great
advantage to an unfair opponent, who will be sure to say:

Are these the doctrines that you regard as not certain
enough to deserve be taken under the protection
of law? Is the belief in a God one of the opinions

that (according to you) one can’t feel sure of without
assuming that one is infallible?

(Indeed, many who have no desire to be unfair will say
this internally.) Allow me to point out that what I call an
‘assumption of infallibility’ is not •feeling sure of a doctrine
but rather •undertaking to decide that question for others,
without letting them hear what can be said on the contrary
side. And I denounce and deplore this claim just as much if
it is put forth on the side of my own most solemn convictions.
However sure someone is not only of the •falsity of an opinion
but also of its •pernicious consequences, and even (to adopt
expressions that I altogether condemn) of its •immorality
and impiety, if that private judgment leads him to prevent
the opinion from being heard to defend itself he assumes
infallibility—even if his judgment is backed by the public
judgment of his country or his contemporaries. And so far
from •the assumption ·of infallibility· being less objectionable
or less dangerous because the opinion is called immoral
or impious, it is precisely with those opinions that the
assumption is most fatal. It is on exactly those matters that
the men of one generation commit the dreadful mistakes that
arouse astonishment and horror in later generations. It is
among them that we find the memorable historical instances
where the arm of the law has been employed to root out
the •best men and the •noblest doctrines; with deplorable
success as regards the •men, though some of the •doctrines
survived and (ironically) were later invoked in defence of
similar conduct towards those who dissented from them or
from their accepted interpretation.

Mankind can hardly be too often reminded that there was
once a man named Socrates who came into a memorable
collision with the legal authorities and public opinion of his
time ·and place·. Born in an age and country abounding in
individual greatness, this man has been reported to us. by

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

those who best knew both him and his times, as the most
virtuous man then alive. And we know him as the head and
exemplary model for all subsequent teachers of virtue, the
source of the lofty inspiration of •Plato and of the judicious
utilitarianism of •Aristotle (‘the master of those who know’,
·as Dante called him·), the •two sources of ethical and of
all other philosophy. This acknowledged master of all the
eminent thinkers who have since lived—a man whose fame,
still growing after more than two thousand years, nearly
outweighs all the other names that make his native city
illustrious—was judicially convicted and put to death by his
countrymen for impiety and immorality. •Impiety in denying
the gods recognized by the state (indeed his accuser said that
Socrates didn’t believe in any gods). •Immorality in being,
through his doctrines and instructions, a ‘corrupter of youth’.
We have every ground for believing that the tribunal honestly
found him guilty, and condemned to death as a criminal the
man who was probably the best man who had ever lived up
to that time.

After the condemnation of Socrates, mention of most
other instances of ‘justice’ gone wrong would be an anti-
climax, the one exception being the event that took place
on Calvary rather more than eighteen hundred years ago.
The man who left on the memory of those who witnessed
his life and conversation such an impression of his moral
grandeur that eighteen subsequent centuries have done
homage to him as God in person was ignominiously put
to death. . . as what? As a blasphemer! Men didn’t merely
mistake their benefactor; they mistook him for the exact
opposite of what he was, treating him as that monster of
impiety that they are now held to be because of how they
treated him. The feelings that mankind now have regarding
these lamentable dealings ·with Socrates and with Jesus·,
especially the latter of the two, make them extremely unjust

in their judgment of those who put the two death. These
seem not to have been bad men—not worse than men most
commonly are, but rather the contrary; men who possessed
a full or perhaps over-full measure of the religious, moral,
and patriotic feelings of their time and people; just the
kind of men who at any time—ours included—have every
chance of passing through life blameless and respected. [In
the background of the next bit is this from Matthew

: 64-5: ‘Jesus

said. . . . “Hereafter shall ye see the son of man sitting on the right hand

of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.” Then the high priest

tore his clothes, saying: “He hath spoken blasphemy; what further need

have we of witnesses?” ’.] The high-priest who tore his garments
when he heard the words that according to all the ideas of
his country constituted the blackest guilt was probably quite
as sincere in his horror and indignation as are the general
run of respectable and pious men now in the religious and
moral sentiments they proclaim; and most of those who now
shudder at the high-priest’s conduct, if they had lived in
his time and been born Jews, would have acted precisely as
he did. Orthodox Christians who are tempted to think that
those who stoned to death the first martyrs must have been
worse men than they themselves are ought to remember that
one of those persecutors was St. Paul.

Let me add one more example, the most striking of all, if
the •impressiveness of an error is measured by the •wisdom
and virtue of the person who falls into it! If anyone in a
position of power ever had grounds for thinking himself
the best and most enlightened among his contemporaries
it was the Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Absolute monarch
of the whole civilized world, he preserved through life not
only the most untainted justice but also—less to be expected
from his Stoic upbringing—the tenderest heart. The few
failings that are attributed to him were all on the side of
leniency; and his writings, the highest ethical product of the

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

ancient mind, differ little if at all from the most characteristic
teachings of Christ. This man, a better Christian than almost
any of the ostensibly Christian sovereigns who have since
reigned, persecuted Christianity. (In calling Marcus Aurelius
‘Christian’, I mean that in every sense of the word except
the one having to do with the acceptance of dogmas.) Placed
at the summit of all the previous attainments of humanity,
with an open and free intellect and a character that led
him to embody in his moral writings the Christian ideal,
he nevertheless failed to see that Christianity was going to
be a good and not an evil to the world. . . . He knew that
existing society was in a deplorable state. But such as it
was, he saw or thought he saw that it was held together
and prevented from being worse by belief in and reverence
for the accepted gods. As a ruler of mankind, with a deep
sense of his duty to the world, he thought it his duty not
to allow society to fall to pieces; and he didn’t see how, if
its existing ties were removed, any others could be formed
to pull it back together. The new religion openly aimed at
dissolving the existing ties; so it seemed to him that either
it was his duty to adopt that religion or it was his duty to
suppress it. Well, then, •the theology of Christianity didn’t
appear to him true or of divine origin, •this strange history
of a crucified God was not credible to him, and •a system
that purported to be based on something he found so wholly
unbelievable couldn’t be foreseen to be an agency for renewal
(which is what it has turned out to be, on balance). For
these reasons this gentlest and most lovable of philosophers
and rulers, acting on a solemn sense of duty, authorized
the persecution of Christianity. To my mind this is one of
the most tragic facts in all history. It is bitter to think of
how different the Christianity of the world might have been
if the Christian faith had been adopted as the religion of
the ·Roman· empire under the auspices of Marcus Aurelius

instead of those of Constantine. But in fairness to him and
to the truth it must be admitted that any plea that can
be urged for punishing anti-Christian teaching ·today· was
available to Marcus Aurelius for punishing the propagation of
Christianity. No Christian more firmly believes that atheism
is false and tends to the dissolution of society than Marcus
Aurelius believed the same things of Christianity—he who
might have been thought more capable of appreciating it
than anyone else then alive. To anyone who approves of
punishment for spreading opinions, I say:

Unless you flatter yourself that you are a wiser and
better man than Marcus Aurelius , more deeply in-
formed about the wisdom of your time and more
elevated in your intellect above it, more earnest in
your search for truth, or more single-minded in your
devotion to it when you find it—you should abstain
from that assumption of the joint infallibility of your-
self and the multitude which the great Antoninus [=
Marcus Aurelius] made with such unfortunate results.

Some of the enemies of religious freedom are aware that
they can’t defend the use of punishment for restraining
irreligious opinions by any argument that won’t also justify
Marcus Antoninus; and when they are hard pressed they
accept this consequence and say, with Dr. Johnson, that
the persecutors of Christianity were in the right. They say
that persecution is an ordeal through which truth ought to
pass, and always passes successfully, legal penalties being
ultimately •powerless against truth but sometimes benefi-
cially •effective against mischievous errors. This form of the
argument for religious intolerance is remarkable enough to
deserve scrutiny.

A theory that maintains that truth may justifiably be
persecuted because persecution can’t possibly do it any harm
cannot be accused of deliberate hostility to the reception of

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

•new truths; but we can’t congratulate it on the generosity of
its treatment of the •persons through whom such truths have
been brought to mankind! To reveal to the world something
that deeply concerns it and that it didn’t previously know,
to show the world that it had been mistaken on some vital
point of worldly or spiritual concern, is as important a service
as a human being can render to his fellow-creatures; and
in certain cases, such as in those of the early Christians
and of the leaders of the Reformation, Dr. Johnson and
his fellow-believers think it to have been the most precious
gift that could be bestowed on mankind. That the authors
of such splendid benefits should be repaid by martyrdom,
that they should be ‘rewarded’ by being treated as the vilest
of criminals, is not on this theory a deplorable error and
misfortune for which humanity should mourn in sackcloth
and ashes, but rather is the normal and justifiable state of
things. According to this doctrine, the propounder of a new
truth should stand (like the proposer of a new law in the
legislature of ancient Locris) with a halter around his neck,
to be instantly tightened if the public assembly, after hear-
ing his reasons, doesn’t immediately adopt his proposition.
People who defend this way of treating benefactors evidently
don’t set much value on the benefit! I think that this view
of the subject is mostly confined to the sort of persons who
think that new truths may have been desirable once but that
we have had enough of them now!

Anyway, the dictum that truth always triumphs over per-
secution is one of those pleasant falsehoods that men repeat
after one another until they become ‘common knowledge’, but
which all experience refutes. History teems with instances
of truth put down by persecution. Even if not suppressed
forever, it can be thrown back for centuries. To speak only
of religious opinions: the Reformation broke out at least
twenty times before Luther, and was put down. [Mill names

seven reformist individuals or groups before Luther, all ‘put
down’.] Even after the era of Luther, wherever persecution
was persisted in it was successful. In Spain, Italy, Flanders,
the Austrian empire, protestantism was rooted out; and it
would probably have been rooted out in England too if Queen
Mary had lived ·longer· or Queen Elizabeth had died ·sooner·.
Persecution has always succeeded except where the heretics
were too strong a party to be effectively persecuted. No
reasonable person can doubt that Christianity could have
been wiped out in the Roman empire. It spread and became
predominant because the persecutions were intermittent,
lasting for only a short time and separated by long intervals of
almost undisturbed ·Christian· propagandizing. It is a piece
of idle sentimentality that truth as such has an inherent
power, lacked by error, of prevailing against the dungeon
and the stake. Men are not more zealous for truth than they
often are for error, and a sufficient application of legal or
even of social penalties will generally succeed in stopping
the propagation of either. The real advantage that truth has
is just this: when an opinion is true, it may be extinguished
once or many times, but through the centuries there will
generally be found persons to rediscover it, until some one
of its reappearances comes at a time when circumstances
are favourable to its escaping persecution until it has made
enough headway to withstand all subsequent attempts to
suppress it.

This will be said: ‘We don’t now put to death the introduc-
ers of new opinions; we aren’t like our ancestors who slew
the prophets; we even build monuments to them.’ It is true
that we no longer put heretics to death; and even against the
most obnoxious opinions modern feeling probably wouldn’t
tolerate punishments severe enough to wipe them out. But
let us not flatter ourselves that we are now free from the
stain even of legal persecution. Penalties for opinions, or

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

at least for expressing them, still exist by law; and even
today their enforcement is not so rare as to make it at
all incredible that they may some day be revived in full
force. In the year 1857—·only two years before this Essay
was first published·—an unfortunate man was sentenced to
twenty-one months imprisonment for uttering and writing on
a gate some offensive words concerning Christianity. (This
happened at the summer assizes of the county of Cornwall.
The man is said to be of unexceptionable conduct in every
aspect of life.) [Mill gives the name and date for this and each of the
other three cases he next mentions.] Less than a month later, at
the Old Bailey, two people on two separate occasions were
rejected as jurymen, and one of them was grossly insulted by
the judge and by one of the lawyers, because they honestly
declared that they had no theological beliefs. A third person,
a foreigner, was for the same reason denied justice against a
thief. This refusal of remedy was based on the legal doctrine
that a person cannot be allowed to give evidence in a court
of justice if he doesn’t proclaim a belief in a god (any god will
do) and in a life after death. This doctrine is equivalent to
declaring such a person to be an outlaw, someone excluded
from the protection of the courts; it implies not only that
•he may be robbed or assaulted with impunity if no-one
but himself or people who think as he does are present,
but also that •anyone else may be robbed or assaulted with
impunity if the proof of the crime depends on his evidence.
The underlying assumption here is that someone’s oath is
worthless if he doesn’t believe in a life after death. Someone
who believes this must be very ignorant of history, since it is
historically true that a large proportion of unbelievers in all
ages have been people of distinguished integrity and honour.
This proposition wouldn’t be maintained by anyone who had
the slightest conception how many of those persons who
stand in greatest repute with the world, both for virtues and

for attainments, are well known (at least to their intimates)
to be unbelievers. Furthermore, the rule is suicidal! It cuts
away its own foundation: on the claim that atheists must
be liars, it accepts the testimony of all •atheists who are
willing to lie, and rejects only •those who brave the disgrace
of publicly owning to a detested creed rather than affirming
a falsehood. A rule thus self-convicted of absurdity so far
as regards its professed purpose can be kept in force only
as a badge of hatred, a relic of persecution. And it is a
very strange persecution, because what qualifies one for
undergoing it is clearly proving that one doesn’t deserve it!
The rule and the theory behind it are almost as insulting to
believers as to unbelievers. For if he who doesn’t believe in
a future state necessarily lies, it follows that those who do
believe are prevented from lying—if indeed they are—only by
the fear of hell. . . .

These, indeed, are merely rags and remnants of persecu-
tion, and may be thought to be not so much •an indication
of the wish to persecute as •an example of that very frequent
infirmity of English minds, which makes them take a pre-
posterous pleasure in the assertion of a bad principle when
they are no longer bad enough to want to carry it really into
practice. But unfortunately the state of the public mind
doesn’t give us a guarantee that the suspension of worse
forms of legal persecution, which has lasted for about one
generation, will continue. At this time the quiet surface of
routine is ruffled as often by attempts to revive past evils as
it is by attempts to introduce new benefits. What is boasted
of at the present time as the •revival of religion is always, in
narrow and undeveloped minds, at least as much the •revival
of bigotry; and where there is the strongest permanent leaven
of intolerance in the feelings of a people—as there always is
in the middle classes of this country—it doesn’t take much to
provoke them into actively persecuting those whom they have

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

never ceased to regard as proper objects of persecution.2

For it is this—it is •men’s opinions and feelings concern-
ing those who disown the beliefs •they deem important—that
stops this country from being a place of freedom of thought.
For a long time past, the chief harm done by legal penalties
has been ·merely· to strengthen the social stigma. It is the
social stigma that is really effective. It is so effective that in
England people are less likely to profess opinions that are
under the ban of •society than are people in other countries
to profess opinions that involve a risk of •judicial punishment.
For those who aren’t wealthy enough to do without the good
will of other people, social pressures are as effective as law
in suppressing unpopular opinions; being imprisoned is no
worse than being excluded from the means of earning a
living. Those who have a secure income—enough to live
on—and who don’t want any favours from men in power,
or from bodies of men, or from the public, have nothing to
fear from openly declaring their opinions except being ill
thought of and ill spoken of—and they don’t have to be very
heroic to be able to bear that! There is no room for any
appeal for pity on behalf of such people. But though we
don’t now inflict as much harm as we used to on those who

think differently from us, it may be that we do ourselves as
much harm as ever by our treatment of them. Socrates
was put to death, but the Socratic philosophy rose like
the sun in the skies and spread its illumination over the
whole intellectual firmament. Christians were thrown to the
lions, but the Christian Church grew up as a stately and
spreading tree, towering over the older and less vigorous
growths and stifling them by its shade. Our merely social
intolerance doesn’t kill anyone, and doesn’t root out any
opinions; but it does induce men to disguise their opinions
or to abstain from actively trying to spread them. With us,
heretical opinions don’t noticeably gain or lose ground in
each decade or generation; they never blaze out far and wide,
but continue to smoulder in the narrow circles of thoughtful
and studious people among whom they originate, without
ever spreading any light—whether true or deceptive—on
the general affairs of mankind. This maintains a state of
affairs that is very satisfactory to some minds, because it
keeps all prevailing opinions outwardly undisturbed, without
the unpleasant process of fining or imprisoning anybody,
and without absolutely forbidding the exercise of reason by
dissentients who are afflicted with the malady of thought!

2 Ample warning can be drawn from the way in which, on the occasion of the Sepoy insurrection ·in India·, the general display of the worst parts
of our national character included a large infusion of the passions of a persecutor. The ravings of fanatics or charlatans from the pulpit may be
unworthy of notice; but the heads of the Evangelical party have announced as their principle for the government of Hindus and Moslems that only
schools in which the bible is taught should be supported by public money , implying that public employment should be given only to real or pretended
Christians. An Under-Secretary of State, in a speech delivered to his constituents. . . .in 1857, is reported to have said:

The British Government’s toleration of the Indians’ faith, the superstition that they called ‘religion’, has had the effect of holding back the
ascendancy of the British name, and preventing the salutary growth of Christianity. . . . Toleration is the great corner-stone of the religious
liberties of this country; but don’t let them abuse that precious word toleration. As I understand it, it means the complete liberty to all,
freedom of worship, among Christians who worship on the same foundation. It means toleration of all sects and denominations of Christians
who believe in the one mediation, ·that is, in the mediating role of Jesus Christ·.

The ‘superstition’ in question is the faith of a hundred million British subjects! I want to call attention to the fact that a man who has been deemed
fit to fill a high office in the government of this country. . . .maintains that those who don’t believe in the divinity of Christ are all beyond the pale of
toleration. Who, after this imbecilic display, can go on thinking that religious persecution has passed away, never to return?

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

This is a convenient plan for having peace in the intellectual
world, and keeping things ticking along in very much the way
they do already. But the price paid for this sort of intellectual
pacification is the sacrifice of the entire moral courage of the
human mind. A state of affairs in which

a large portion of the most active and inquiring in-
tellects find it advisable to keep to themselves the
genuine principles and grounds of their convictions,
and try in their public statements to fit as much as
they can of their own conclusions to premises that
they have silently rejected,

can’t send forth people with the open fearless characters and
logical consistent intellects that once adorned the thinking
world. The sort of men it can be expected to produce are ei-
ther mere conformers to commonplace ideas or time-servers
[roughly = ‘crowd-pleasers’] for truth whose arguments on all
great subjects are meant for their hearers and are not the
arguments that convinced them. Those who avoid both of
these roles do so by narrowing their thoughts and interests
•to things that can be spoken of without getting into the
territory of principles—i.e. •to small practical matters that
would come right by themselves if only the minds of mankind
were strengthened and enlarged, and won’t ever be made
really right until that happens. ·The irony of this is that· in
behaving like that they abandon the very thing that would
strengthen and enlarge men’s minds, namely free and daring
intellectual inquiry into the highest subjects.

If you regard this reticence on the part of heretics as no
bad thing, consider this:

A consequence of their reticence is that there is never
any fair and thorough discussion of heretical opinions;
and ones that couldn’t survive such a discussion,
though they may be prevented from spreading, don’t
disappear.

But the worst harm done by banning all inquiry that doesn’t
end in orthodox conclusions is not •to the minds of heretics
but •to those who aren’t heretics, and whose whole mental
development is cramped, and their reason intimidated, by
the fear of ·coming to accept what turns out to be· heresy.
Who can calculate what the world loses in the multitude of
promising intellects combined with timid characters—people
who don’t dare to follow out any bold, vigorous, indepen-
dent train of thought for fear that it will land them in
something that might be thought irreligious or immoral?
Among them we may occasionally see some man of deep
conscientiousness, and subtle and refined understanding,
who spends his life fine-tuning his faith with an intellect that
he can’t silence, exhausting the resources of ingenuity in an
attempt to reconcile the promptings of •his conscience and
reason with •orthodoxy, perhaps never succeeding in doing
so. No-one can be a great thinker if he doesn’t recognize
that his first duty as a thinker is to follow his intellect to
whatever conclusions it may lead to. Someone who with
due study and preparation thinks for himself does more to
advance the truth, even in his errors, than is done by the
true opinions of those who hold them only because they don’t
allow themselves to think. Not that it is primarily—let alone
solely—•to form great thinkers that freedom of thought is
required. On the contrary, it is even more indispensable for
enabling average human beings to reach the highest mental
level they are capable of. There have been, and may again
be, great •individual thinkers in a general atmosphere of
mental slavery. But there never was and never will be, in
that atmosphere, an intellectually active •people. Where
any people—·the populace of any country·—has temporarily
moved towards being intellectually active, that has been
because the fear of unorthodox theorizing was temporarily
suspended. Where ·on the other hand· there is a silent

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

understanding that principles aren’t to be disputed—where
the discussion of the greatest questions that can occupy
humanity is considered to be closed—we can’t hope to find
the generally high level of mental activity that has made
some periods of history so remarkable. Whenever the big
subjects—the ones large and important enough to kindle
enthusiasm—were protected from controversy, the mind of
the populace wasn’t stirred up from its foundations, with
even persons of the most ordinary intellect being pushed
into something of the dignity of thinking beings. We had
an example ·of such a push· in the condition of Europe in
the period immediately following the Reformation; another,
though limited to continental Europe and to a more culti-
vated class, in the theorizing movement of the second half of
the eighteenth century; and a third, of still briefer duration,
in the intellectual fermentation of Germany during the period
influenced by Goethe and Fichte. These periods differed
widely in what particular opinions they developed; but they
had this in common: during all three the yoke of authority
was broken. In each period, an old mental despotism had
been thrown off and no new one had yet taken its place. The
push given at these three periods has made Europe what
it now is. Every single improvement that has taken place
in the human mind or in human institutions can be clearly
traced back to one or other of them. For some time now it
has seemed that all three of those pushes are just about
exhausted; and we can’t expect a fresh start until we again
assert our mental freedom.

Let us now pass to the second branch of the argument
[this refers to the dichotomy mentioned on page 11.] Dismissing the
thought of falsehood in the publicly accepted opinions, let
us assume them to be true; and ·on that basis· let us look
into the value of how they are likely to be held, given that
their truth is not freely and openly discussed, pro and con.

However unwilling a person who has a strong opinion may
be to admit that his opinion might be false, he ought to be
moved by this thought: however true it may be, if it isn’t
fully, frequently and fearlessly discussed, it will be held as a
dead dogma rather than as a living truth.

There are people (fortunately not quite as many as there
used to be) who will be satisfied if you assent undoubtingly
to something that they think is true, even if you have no
knowledge whatever of the grounds for the belief in question
and couldn’t defend it decently against the most superficial
objections. When such people get their creed to be taught
as authoritative, they naturally think that no good and some
harm will come from allowing it to be questioned. Where
their influence is dominant, they make it nearly impossible
for the publicly accepted opinion to be rejected •wisely and
considerately. It may still be rejected •rashly and ignorantly;
for it is seldom possible to shut off discussion entirely, and
once discussion gets started, beliefs that are held as creeds
rather than being based on reasons are apt to give way
before the slightest semblance of an argument. Set aside
that possibility, and take the case where the true opinion
remains in the person’s mind, but sits there as a prejudice,
a belief that owes nothing to argument and isn’t vulnerable
to argument—this isn’t the way truth ought to be held
by a rational being! This is not knowing the truth. Truth
when accepted in that way is merely one more superstition,
accidentally clinging to words that enunciate a ·genuine·
truth.

Protestants at least don’t deny that the intellect and
judgment of mankind ought to be cultivated [= ‘helped to grow
and flourish’]. If this is to be done, what more appropriate
method is there than for the person to employ his intellect
and judgment on the things that concern him so much that
it is considered necessary for him to hold opinions on them?

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

If the cultivation of the understanding consists in one thing
more than in another, it is surely in learning the grounds of
one’s own opinions. When people believe •something on a
topic on which it is highly important to believe rightly, they
ought to be able to defend •it at least against the common
objections. This may be said:

Let them be taught what the grounds are for their
opinions. Just because they never hear the opin-
ions being disputed it doesn’t follow that they are
merely parroting them. Persons who learn geometry
don’t simply commit the theorems to memory, but
understand and remember the demonstrations; and it
would be absurd to say that they remain ignorant of
the grounds of geometrical truths because they never
hear anyone deny them and try to disprove them.

Undoubtedly; and such teaching suffices in a subject like
mathematics, where there is nothing at all to be said on
the wrong side of the question. That’s what is special about
the evidentness of mathematical truths: all the argument
is on one side. There are no objections, and no answers
to objections. But on every subject on which difference of
opinion is possible, the truth depends on a balance to be
struck between two sets of conflicting reasons. Even in nat-
ural science there is always some other explanation possible
of the same facts; some theory with •the earth at the centre
instead of the sun, some theory explaining combustion in
terms of •phlogiston rather than of oxygen; and it has to be
shown why •that other theory can’t be the true one. Until this
is shown and we know how it is shown, we don’t understand
the grounds for accepting the theory that we do accept. But
when we turn to infinitely more complicated subjects—to
morals, religion, politics, social relations, and the business of
life—three quarters of the arguments for every controversial
opinion consist in dispelling the appearances that favour

some opinion different from it. The second-greatest of the
ancient orators has left it on record that he always studied
his adversary’s case as intensely as he did his own, if not
even more so. What Cicero (·the orator in question·) practised
as the means of success in the law courts should be imitated
by anyone who studies any subject in order to arrive at
the truth. He who knows only his own side of the case
doesn’t know much about it. His reasons may be good,
and no-one may have been able to refute them; but if he is
equally unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side,
and doesn’t even know what they are, he has no ground
for preferring either opinion. The rational position for him
would be to suspend judgment, and if he doesn’t settle for
that, he is either •being led by authority or •doing what most
people do, which is to adopt the side to which he feels most
strongly drawn. It isn’t enough that he should hear the
arguments of opponents from his own teachers, presented in
their way and accompanied by what they offer as refutations.
That isn’t the way to do justice to the ·opposing· arguments,
or to bring them into real contact with his own mind. He
must be able to hear them from people who actually believe
them, defend them in earnest, and do their very best for
them. If he doesn’t know them in their most plausible and
persuasive form, and doesn’t feel the whole force of the
difficulty that the true view of the subject—·his view·—has
to encounter and dispose of, he will never really possess
the portion of truth that meets and removes that difficulty.
Ninety-nine per cent of what are called ‘educated’ men are
in this condition, even of those who can argue fluently for
their opinions. Perhaps their conclusion is true, but it might
be false for all they know ·to the contrary·. They haven’t
put themselves in the mental position of those who think
differently from them, and considered what such opponents
may have to say; and consequently they don’t in any proper

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

sense of the word know the doctrine that they themselves
proclaim. They don’t know the parts of it that explain and
justify the rest. They don’t know the considerations showing
that an apparent theoretical conflict can be reconciled, or
that of two apparently strong reasons one and not the other
ought to be preferred. They are strangers to all •that part of
the truth that tips the balance and decides how a completely
informed mind should judge; and •that won’t ever be really
known except by those who have attended equally and
impartially to both sides, and tried to see the reasons for
both in the strongest light. This discipline is essential to a
real understanding of moral and human subjects—so much
so that if any important truth doesn’t have any opponents
we must imagine them and supply them with the strongest
arguments that the most skillful prosecutor can come up
with.

To lessen the force of these considerations, an enemy of
free discussion might say this:

There is no need for mankind in general to know and
understand all that can be said against or for their
opinions by philosophers and theologians. There is no
need for common people to be able to expose all the
misstatements or fallacies of an ingenious opponent.
It is enough if there is always somebody capable of
answering them, so that anything that is likely to
mislead uneducated persons will be refuted. Simple
minds, having been taught the obvious grounds of
the truths they have learned, may trust to authority
for the rest. They are aware that they have neither
knowledge nor talent to resolve every difficulty that
can be raised, and can feel secure in the thought that
all the difficulties that have been •raised have been (or
can be) •answered by those who are specially trained
for that task.

What I am up against here are people who don’t demand
that •belief in a truth should be accompanied by much
•understanding of it. Well, for purposes of argument I shall
concede to them that the above line of thought is right—I’ll let
them have as much of it as they could possibly claim. Even
with that much conceded, the argument for free discussion
is in no way weakened. For even this doctrine acknowledges
that mankind ought to have a rational assurance that all
objections have been satisfactorily answered; and how can
they be answered if they haven’t been uttered? Also, how
can an answer be known to be satisfactory if the objectors
have no opportunity to show that it is not? If not •the
public, then at least •the philosophers and theologians
who are to resolve the difficulties must become familiar
with them in their most challenging form; and this can’t
happen unless the difficulties are freely stated and placed
in the most advantageous light that they are capable of.
The Catholic Church has its own way of dealing with this
embarrassing problem. It makes a sweeping distinction
between •those who can be permitted to receive its doctrines
through becoming convinced of them and •those who must
take them on trust. Neither group is allowed any choice as to
what they will accept; but the clergy—or such of them as can
be fully trusted—are allowed and even encouraged to make
themselves acquainted with the arguments of opponents,
in order to answer them; so they are permitted to read
heretical books. Lay people may not do this without special
permission, which is hard to obtain. This system recognizes
that it is beneficial for •teachers to know the enemy’s case,
but finds a way of combining this with a denial of such
knowledge to •the rest of the world—thus giving to the élite
more mental culture than it allows to the mass, though not
more mental freedom! By this device it succeeds in obtaining
the kind of mental superiority that its purposes require; for

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

although culture without freedom never made a large and
liberal mind, it can make a clever advocate of a cause. But
in protestant countries this resource isn’t available, because
protestants hold, at least in theory, that the responsibility
for the choice of a religion must be borne by each person
for himself, and can’t be passed off onto teachers. Besides,
in the present state of the world, it is practically impossible
that writings that are read by the instructed can be kept
from the uninstructed. If mankind’s teachers are to know
all that they ought to know, everything must be free to be
written and published without restraint.

Here is something that might be thought:
When the publicly accepted opinions are true, if the
harm done by the absence of free discussion of them
were merely that men are left ignorant of the grounds
of those opinions, this may be an intellectual evil
but it isn’t a moral one; it doesn’t affect the value of
the opinions so far as their influence on character is
concerned.

In fact, however, the absence of discussion leads men to
forget not only the •grounds for an opinion but too often also
its •meaning. The words in which it is expressed cease to
suggest ideas, or suggest only a small portion of the ideas
they were originally used to communicate. Instead of a
vivid conception and a living belief, there remain only a few
phrases learned by heart; or if any part of the meaning is
retained it is only the shell and husk of it, the finer essence
being lost. This fact fills a great chapter in human history—
one that 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 their imme-
diate disciples. As long as a doctrine or creed is struggling
for ascendancy over other creeds, its meaning continues

to be felt as strongly as—and perhaps even more strongly
than—it was at the outset. Eventually either •it prevails and
becomes the general opinion or •its progress stops, in which
case it keeps possession of the ground it has gained but
doesn’t spread any further. When either of these results has
become apparent, controversy about the doctrine slackens
and gradually dies away. The doctrine has taken its place as
a publicly accepted opinion or as one of the recognized sects
or divisions of opinion; most of its present adherents have
inherited it rather than being convinced of it by reasons, and
they don’t give much thought to the idea of anyone’s being
converted from their doctrine to some other, because such
conversions happen so rarely. At first they were constantly
on the alert, either to defend themselves against the world
or to bring the world over to their side; but now they have
subsided into a passive state in which they •don’t (if they
can help it) listen to arguments against their creed, and
•don’t trouble dissentients (if there are any) with arguments
in its favour. It is usually at about this stage in its history
that the doctrine starts to lose its living power. We often
hear the teachers of all creeds lamenting the difficulty of
keeping up in the minds of believers a lively awareness of
the truth to which they pay lip-service, so that the truth
may penetrate their feelings and acquire a real mastery over
their conduct. No such difficulty is complained of while the
creed is still fighting for its existence; at that stage even the
weaker combatants know and feel •what they are fighting for
and •how it differs from other doctrines. And at that same
stage in any creed’s existence, a good many people may be
found who have brought its fundamental principles to bear
on all the forms of thought, have weighed and considered
them in all their important bearings, and have experienced
the full effect on their characters which belief in that creed
ought to produce in a mind thoroughly saturated with it.

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

But when the creed has come to be hereditary, and to be
accepted passively rather than actively—when the mind is
no longer as compelled as it once was to exercise its vital
powers on the questions that its belief presents to it—there’s
a progressive tendency to forget all of the belief except the
words expressing it, or to give it a dull and lethargic assent,
as though by taking it on trust one freed oneself from any
need to make it real in one’s mind, or to test it by personal
experience; until it comes to have almost no connection with
the person’s inner life. Then there are the cases, so frequent
these days as almost to form the majority, in which the
creed remains as it were outside the mind, like a hard shell
protecting it against anything else that might be directed to
the higher parts of our nature; manifesting its power by not
letting any fresh and living conviction get in, but itself doing
nothing for the mind or heart except standing guard over
them to keep them vacant.

Doctrines that are intrinsically fitted to make the deepest
impression on the mind can remain in it as dead beliefs,
without being ever becoming real in the imagination, the
feelings, or the understanding; and an example of the extent
to which this can happen is provided by the manner in which
the majority of believers hold the doctrines of Christianity.
By ‘Christianity’ I here mean what is counted as such by all
churches and sects—the maxims and injunctions contained
in the New Testament. These are regarded as sacred and
accepted as laws by all professing Christians, and yet hardly
one Christian in a thousand guides or tests his individual
conduct by reference to them. The standard to which he
(·the typical Christian·) does refer his conduct is the custom
of his nation, his class, or the members of his church. So he
has on one hand

a collection of ethical maxims which he believes to
have been delivered to him by infallible wisdom as

rules for him to govern himself by,
and on the other

a set of everyday judgments and practices, which
•go a certain distance with some of those maxims,
•go a shorter distance with others, •stand in direct
opposition to some, and •are—at the bottom line—a
compromise between the Christian creed and the
interests and suggestions of worldly life.

He pays lip-service to the first of these standards, but the
one he actually steers by is the second. 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 not judge lest they be
judged; •that they should never swear; •that they should love
their neighbour as themselves; •that if someone takes their
cloak they should give him their coat also; •that they should
take no thought for what the next day will bring; •that if they
want to be perfect they should sell all their belongings and
give the proceeds of the sale to the poor. They aren’t insincere
when they say they believe these things. They do believe
them in the way that people ‘believe’ what they have always
heard praised and never heard discussed. But in the sense
of ‘belief’ that refers to the living belief that regulates conduct,
they believe these doctrines up to the point where it is usual
to act on them, and no further. The doctrines—taken whole,
as undivided lumps—·have two recognised uses·: •to throw
at opponents, and •to put forward (when possible) as the
reasons for things people do that they think are praiseworthy.
But if you reminded them (·i.e. typical Christians·) that the
maxims require an infinity of things that they never even
think of doing, all you would achieve is being classified with
those very unpopular characters who claim to be better
than other people. The doctrines have no hold on ordinary

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

believers—they aren’t a power in their minds. The believers
•have an habitual respect for the sound of them, but •have
no feeling that spreads from the words to the meanings,
forcing the mind to take them in and make the believer’s
conduct conform to the formula. When it’s a question of how
to behave, the believer looks around for Mr. A and Mr. B to
tell him how far to go in obeying Christ.

We can be sure that with the early Christians the situation
was very different from this. If it had then been the way
it is now, Christianity would never 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 sense of the meaning of their creed than they have
ever had since. This ·lack of lively inner conviction on the
part of most Christians· is probably the main reason why
Christianity now makes so little progress in extending its
domain, and after eighteen centuries is still mostly confined
to Europeans and the descendants of Europeans. Even
with strictly religious people who are much in earnest about
their doctrines and attach much more meaning to them
than do people in general, it commonly happens that this
comparatively active religious component in their minds
comes from •Calvin or •Knox or some such person much
nearer in character to themselves. The sayings of •Christ sit
passively in their minds, producing hardly any effect beyond
what is caused by merely listening to such amiable and bland
words. No doubt there are •many reasons why doctrines that
are the badge of one particular sect retain more of their
vitality than do ones that are common to all recognized sects,
and why teachers take more trouble to keep the meaning of
the former alive; but •one reason certainly is that a doctrine
that is special to one particular sect is more questioned, and

has to be oftener defended against open opponents. Both
teachers and learners go to sleep at their post when there is
no enemy to be guarded against.

The same thing holds true, generally speaking, of all
traditional doctrines—not just those of morals and religion,
but also doctrines about what it is prudent to do and how
to go about living your life. All languages and literatures are
full of general observations on life—what it is, and how to
live it—observations that everybody knows, that everybody
repeats or hears and agrees to, that are accepted as truisms,
but which most people don’t really know the meaning of until
experience, generally of a painful kind, makes it a reality
to them. It often happens that someone suffering from an
unforeseen misfortune or disappointment calls to mind some
proverb or common saying that has been familiar to him all
his life, and that would have saved him from the calamity if
he had ever felt its meaning as he does now. There are indeed
reasons for this other than the absence of discussion: there
are many truths whose full meaning can’t be realized—·made
real in the mind·—until personal experience has brought it
home. But even with these, much more of the meaning 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 give
up thinking about something 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’.

You might ask:
Is the absence of unanimity required for •true knowl-
edge? Is it the case that for any part of mankind
to realize the truth some other part must persist in
error? Does a belief stop being real and living as
soon as it is generally accepted—and is a proposition

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

never thoroughly understood and felt unless some
doubt about it remains? As soon as mankind have
unanimously accepted a truth, does the truth perish
within them? It has always been thought that the
highest aim and best result of improved intelligence is
to unite mankind increasingly in the acknowledgment
of all important truths; does this intelligence last only
as long as it hasn’t achieved its aim? Do the fruits of
conquest perish because of the very completeness of
the victory?

I affirm no such thing. As mankind improve, the number
of doctrines that are no longer disputed or doubted will be
constantly on the increase; and the well-being of mankind
could almost be measured by the number and importance of
the truths that have reached the point of being uncontested.
The ending of serious controversy on one question after
another is a necessary aspect of the consolidation of opinion;
and such consolidation is as healthy in the case of true
opinions as it is dangerous and poisonous when the opinions
are wrong. But although this gradual lessening of the area
of diversity of opinion is ‘necessary’ in both senses of the
term—being at once inevitable and absolutely needed—it
doesn’t follow that all its consequences are beneficial. The
need to explain a truth to its opponents or to defend it against
them is an important aid to the intelligent and living grasp
of it; and the loss of that aid is a disadvantage in its being
universally recognized ·and thus having no opponents·. It
isn’t enough to outweigh the benefit of universal recognition
of a truth, but still it’s a real drawback. Where this advantage
can no longer be had, I would like to see the teachers of
mankind trying to provide a substitute for it—some device for
making the difficulties of the question as vivid in the learner’s
consciousness as if they were being urged by someone trying
hard to convert him to an opposing position.

But instead of looking for ways to do this, the teachers
have lost the instructive devices they formerly had. The So-
cratic dialectics [= inquiry through argument and counter-argument],
so splendidly exemplified in the dialogues of Plato, were a
device of the sort I am recommending. They were essentially
a negative discussion of the great questions of philosophy
and life, directed with enormous skill to convincing someone
who had merely •adopted the commonplaces of publicly
accepted opinion that he didn’t •understand the subject,
and didn’t yet attach any definite meaning to the doctrines
he proclaimed; so that in becoming aware of his ignorance
the pupil might be put on the way to attaining a stable belief,
resting on a clear grasp both of the meaning of doctrines
and of the grounds for them. The formal debates in the
universities of the middle ages had a somewhat similar
purpose. They were intended to ensure that the pupil
understood his own opinion and the opinion opposed to
it, and could enforce the grounds of the one and refute those
of the other. (The two understandings—of the two opposing
opinions—of course go hand in hand.) These •mediaeval
debates had indeed an incurable defect, namely that the
premises appealed to were taken from authority and not
from reason; and they were nothing like as good a discipline
for the mind as were •the powerful dialectics that shaped
the intellects of Socrates’ companions; but the modern mind
owes far more to •both than it is generally willing to admit,
and the present methods of education contain nothing that
replaces either of them in the slightest. A person who gets
all his instruction from teachers or books, even if he resists
the continual temptation to settle for cramming [= ‘intensive
unreflective last-minute study in preparation for an exam’], is under
no compulsion to hear both sides; with the result that it is
quite unusual, even among thinkers, for someone to know
both sides; and the weakest part of what everybody says

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

in defence of his own opinion is what he has prepared
as a reply to opponents. It is currently fashionable to
belittle negative logic—the kind that points out weaknesses
in theory or errors in practice, without establishing positive
truths. Such negative criticism would indeed be a pretty
poor •final result, but as a •means to attaining any positive
knowledge or belief worthy of the name it is enormously
valuable; and until people are again systematically trained
in it there will be few great thinkers, and a low average
level of intellect, in all branches of learning and research
except mathematics and the physical sciences. On any other
subject a person’s opinions deserve the name of ‘knowledge’
only to the extent that he has—either on his own initiative
or forced to it by others—gone through the same mental
process that would have been required of him in carrying
on an active controversy with opponents. When we don’t
have controversy, it is sorely missed and difficult to create
artificially; so how absurd it is—how worse than absurd—to
deprive oneself of it when it occurs spontaneously! If there
are people who dispute a publicly accepted opinion, or who
will dispute it if not prevented by law or social pressure,
let us thank them for it, open our minds to listen to them,
and rejoice that someone will do for us what we otherwise
would have to do for ourselves, with much greater labour.
(Or, anyway, what we otherwise ought to do if we have any
regard for the certainty or the vitality of our convictions.)

There is yet another powerful reason why diversity of
opinion can be advantageous—a reason that will hold good
until mankind advances to an intellectual level that at
present seems incalculably far off. We have so far considered
only two possibilities: that •the publicly accepted opinion
is false, and therefore some other opinion is true; and that
•the publicly accepted opinion is true, but a conflict with
the opposite error is essential to a clear grasp and deep

feeling of its truth. However, there is a commoner case than
either of these, namely: •the conflicting doctrines. . . .share
the truth between them, and the minority opinion is needed
to provide the remainder of the truth, of which the publicly
accepted doctrine captures only a part. On matters other
than plain empirical fact, popular opinions are often true
but are seldom or never the whole truth. They are a part of
the truth—sometimes a large part, sometimes a small—but
exaggerated, distorted, and torn apart from other truths that
ought to accompany them and set limits to them. Minority
opinions, on the other hand, are generally some of these
suppressed and neglected truths, bursting the bonds that
kept them down and either •seeking reconciliation with the
truth contained in the common opinion or •confronting it as
enemies and setting themselves up as the whole truth. The
latter case has always been the most frequent, because 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 [the comparison is with the setting and rising of the sun in the
daily •revolutions of the earth]. Even progress, which ought to
add truth to truth, usually only substitutes one partial and
incomplete truth for another; and any improvement this
brings comes mainly from the fact that the new fragment
of truth is more wanted, better suited to the needs of the
time, than was the one it displaces. Even when a prevailing
opinion is basically true, it will be so partial that every ·rival·
opinion that embodies some part of the truth that the other
omits ought to be considered precious, no matter how much
error and confusion it blends in with its portion of truth.
No reasonable person will be indignant because those who
force on our notice truths that we would otherwise have
overlooked do themselves overlook some of the truths that
we see. Rather, a reasonable person will think that so long as

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

popular truth is one-sided, it is more desirable than regret-
table that unpopular truth should have one-sided defenders
too, because they—the one-sided ones—are usually the most
energetic and the most likely to compel reluctant attention
to the fragment of wisdom that they proclaim as if it were
the whole.

Consider how things stood in the eighteenth century:
Nearly all educated people and all the uneducated
people who were led by them were lost in admiration
of what is called ‘civilization’, and of the marvels of
modern science, literature, and philosophy. Greatly
exaggerating the unlikeness between the men of mod-
ern times and those of ancient times, they cherished
the belief that the differences were entirely in their
favour.

What a salutary shock they received when the paradoxes
of Rousseau exploded like bombshells in their midst!
Rousseau’s views broke up the compact mass of one-sided
opinion, and forced its elements to recombine in a better form
and with additional ingredients. It’s not that the generally
accepted opinions were on the whole further from the truth
than Rousseau’s were; on the contrary, they were nearer to
it, containing more positive truth and very much less error.
Nevertheless Rousseau’s doctrine contained a considerable
amount of exactly those truths that were lacking from the
general opinion; these truths floated down the stream of
opinion, and are the deposit that was left behind when the
flood subsided. •The superior worth of simplicity of life,
•the enervating and demoralizing effect of the constraints
and clutter and hypocrisies of artificial society, are •ideas
that have never been entirely absent from cultivated minds
since Rousseau wrote; and in time they will produce their
due effect, though at present they have as much need to be
asserted as they ever did—and asserted by deeds, because

words on this subject have nearly exhausted their power.
Another example: In politics it is almost a commonplace

that a healthy state of political life requires that there be a
party of •order or stability and a party of •progress or reform,
until one or other of them enlarges its mental grasp enough
to become a party equally of •order and of •progress, knowing
what is fit to be preserved and what ought to be swept away.
Each of these ways of thinking

gets its usefulness from the deficiencies of the other,
but also to a great extent

is kept sane and reasonable by the opposition of the
other.

Consider the standing antagonisms of practical life, includ-
ing: democracy vs. aristocracy, property vs. equality,
co-operation vs. competition, luxury vs. abstinence, so-
ciality vs. individuality, liberty vs. discipline, and so on.
Unless opinions favourable to each side of each of these are
expressed with equal freedom and pressed and defended
with equal talent and energy, there is no chance of both
the conflicting elements obtaining their due; one scale is
sure to go up and the other down. In the great practical
concerns of life, truth is very much a matter of reconciling
and combining opposites—so much so that few people have
minds that are capacious and impartial enough to make
the adjustment anything like correctly, so that it has to be
made by the rough process of a struggle between combatants
fighting under hostile banners. With any of the great open
questions I have listed, if either of the two rival opinions has
a better claim than the other to be (not merely tolerated but)
encouraged and countenanced, it is the one that happens
to be the minority opinion at a given time and place. That
is the one that for the time being represents the neglected
interests, the aspect of human well-being that is in danger of
obtaining less than its share. I am aware that in this country

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

now there is no intolerance of differences of opinion on most
of these topics. I bring them forward just as unquestionable
examples of the universal fact that in the existing state of the
human intellect the only chance of fair play for all sides of the
truth is through diversity of opinion. Even when the world
is almost unanimous on some subject and is right about it,
people who disagree—if there are any to be found—probably
have something to say for themselves that is worth hearing,
and truth would lose something by their silence.

It may be objected:
But some publicly accepted principles, especially on
the highest and most vital subjects, are more than
half-truths. Christian morality, for instance, is the
whole truth on that subject and anyone who teaches
a morality that varies from it is wholly in error.

This is in practice the most important of all the cases, so
none can be better for testing the general maxim. But before
pronouncing on what Christian morality is or is not, it would
be desirable to decide what ‘Christian morality’ means. If it
means the morality of the New Testament, I am surprised
that anyone who knows about it from the book itself can
suppose that it was announced or intended as a complete
doctrine of morals. The gospel always refers to a pre-existing
morality, and confines its precepts to matters in respect of
which that morality was to be corrected or superseded by
a wider and higher one. Also, these precepts are expressed
in extremely general terms, and often can’t possibly be
interpreted literally; they have the impressiveness of poetry
or eloquence rather than the precision of legislation. It has
never been possible to extract a body of ethical doctrine from
this without eking it out from •the Old Testament, that is,
from •a system that is elaborate enough but in many respects
barbarous, and intended only for a barbarous people. St.
Paul, a declared enemy to this Judaic mode of interpreting

the doctrine of his master and of filling in the gaps in it,
also assumes a pre-existing morality ·but a different one·,
namely that of the Greeks and Romans; and his advice to
Christians is largely a system of coming to terms with that,
even to the extent of seeming to endorse slavery. What
is called ‘Christian morality’, but should rather be termed
‘theological morality’, was not the work of Christ or the
apostles, but is of much later origin. It was gradually built
up by the Catholic Church of the first five centuries, and
though moderns and protestants don’t automatically accept
it as authoritative, they have modified it much less than
might have been expected. For the most part, indeed, they
have contented themselves with •cutting off the parts that
had been added to it in the middle ages and •replacing those
by fresh additions selected according to the character and
tendencies of the sect in question. I would be the last person
to deny that mankind owes a great debt to this morality
and to its early teachers; but I don’t hesitate to say that in
many important respects it is incomplete and one-sided, and
that human affairs would have been in a worse condition
than they now are if it hadn’t been that ideas and feelings
from outside this morality contributed to the formation of
European life and character. Christian morality (so called)
has all the marks of a reaction; it is to a large extent protest
against paganism. Its ideal is

•innocence rather than nobleness, and
•abstinence from evil rather than energetic pursuit of
good.

And this means that its ideal is
•negative rather than positive, and
•passive rather than active.

It has been well said that in its precepts ‘thou shalt not’
predominates unduly over ‘thou shalt’. In its horror of
the pleasures of the senses it made an idol of asceticism,

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

which has been gradually trimmed down into a mere idol
of rule-following. In holding out the hope of heaven and
the threat of hell as the official and appropriate motives for
a virtuous life, this morality falls far below the best of the
ancients, and does what it can to make human morality
essentially selfish, by disconnecting each man’s feelings of
duty from the •interests of his fellow-creatures except so
far as a •self-interested inducement is offered to him for
attending to them. It is essentially a doctrine of passive obe-
dience; it teaches obedience to all established governmental
authorities; not that they are to be actively obeyed when they
command something that •religion forbids, but they aren’t
to be resisted—let alone rebelled against—for any amount
of wrong to •ourselves. And while in the morality of the
best pagan nations there’s a place for •duty to the state—a
disproportionate place, even, infringing on the just liberty
of the individual—in purely Christian ethics •that grand
department of duty is scarcely noticed or acknowledged.
[Mill’s point is that Christian ethics enjoins obedience to the state, but
not self-directed positive service to the state.] It is in the Koran,
not the New Testament, that we read the maxim ‘A ruler
who appoints any man to an office when there is in his
dominions another man better qualified for it sins against
God and against the state.’ What little recognition the idea
of •obligation to the public obtains in modern morality is
derived from Greek and Roman sources, not from Christian
ones; just as in the morality of private life whatever there
is in the way of magnanimity, high-mindedness, personal
dignity, even the sense of honour, is derived from the purely
human and not the religious part of our education, and never
could have grown out of a standard of ethics in which the
only officially recognized value is that of obedience.

I fully concede that there could be forms of Christian
ethics that were free of these defects, and that Christian

ethics could be made consistent with the many requisites of a
complete moral doctrine that it doesn’t actually contain. And
I would say this even more strenuously about the doctrines
and precepts of Christ himself. I believe that the sayings
of Christ •are everything they were apparently •intended
to be; that they can be reconciled with anything that a
comprehensive morality requires; that everything that is
excellent in ethics can be brought within their scope with
no more violence to their language than has been done to
it by all who have tried to deduce from them any practical
system of conduct whatever. But it is quite consistent with
this to believe that the sayings of Christ contain only a part
of the truth and weren’t meant to contain more; that many
essential elements of the highest morality

•aren’t provided for (or intended to be provided for) in
the recorded sayings of the founder of Christianity,
and

•have been entirely thrown aside in the system of ethics
that the Christian church has erected on the basis of
those sayings.

So I think it a great error to persist in trying to find in
Christian doctrine the complete rule for our guidance which
its author intended that doctrine to •endorse and •enforce
but only partially to •provide. I also believe that this narrow
theory is becoming a grave practical evil, detracting greatly
from the value of the moral training and instruction that
so many well-meaning people are now at last working to
promote. These people try to form minds on an exclusively
religious pattern, discarding those non-religious standards
that used to coexist with and supplement Christian ethics,
receiving some of its spirit and giving it some of theirs. I
greatly fear that this will result—that it is now resulting—in
a low, abject, servile type of character, one that may submit
itself to what it thinks is the Supreme Will but can’t •rise to

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

or •feel for the conception of Supreme Goodness. The moral
regeneration of mankind, I believe, will require that Christian
ethics exist side by side with other ethical principles that
can’t be developed from exclusively Christian sources. The
Christian system is no exception to the rule that in an imper-
fect state of the human mind the interests of truth require
a diversity of opinions. It isn’t necessary that in starting
to attend to moral truths not contained in Christianity men
should ignore any of the ones it does contain. Such prejudice
or oversight, when it occurs, is altogether bad. Still, we can’t
hope to avoid it altogether, and it must be regarded as the
price to be paid for an incalculable good. When one part
of the truth is claimed to be the whole of it, this must and
ought to be protested against; and if the protestors’ sense of
the unfairness of this makes them unjust in their turn, this
one-sidedness may be lamented just as the other was. But
it must be tolerated. If Christians want to teach unbelievers
to be fair to Christianity, they should themselves be fair
to unbelief. Much of the noblest and most valuable moral
teaching has been the work not only of men who didn’t know
the Christian faith but also of men who knew and rejected
it; anyone who has the most ordinary acquaintance with
literary history knows this; running away from it can’t do
the truth any service.

I don’t claim that the most unlimited use of freedom in
expressing all possible opinions would put an end to the
evils of religious or philosophical sectarianism. Every truth
that men with limited minds are in earnest about is sure
to be •asserted, •taught, and in many ways even •acted on
as if no other truth existed in the world, or anyway none
that could limit or restrict the first. All opinions tend to
become sectarian, and I admit that very free discussion
is not a cure for this. Indeed, discussion heightens and
worsens sectarianism; truth that ought to be seen may be

rejected all the more violently because it is proclaimed by
people regarded ·by the sectarians· as opponents. But it is
not on the impassioned partisan, but rather on the calmer
and more disinterested [= ‘not self -interested’] bystander, that
this collision of opinions has a healthy effect. The really
threatening evil is not •the violent conflict between parts of
the truth, but •the quiet suppression of half of it. When
people are forced to listen to both sides, there are grounds
for hope; it’s when they attend to only one side that errors
harden into prejudices, and truth itself stops acting like
truth because it comes to be exaggerated into falsehood.
Very few people have the mental capacity to

sit in intelligent judgment between two sides of a
question, of which only one is represented by an
advocate.

·Because of the scarcity of people with that skill·, truth has
no chance except to the extent that every side of it, every
opinion that embodies any fraction of it, has advocates who
can get themselves listened to.

I have argued that freedom of opinion, and freedom of the
expression of opinion, are needed for the mental well-being
of mankind (on which all other kinds of well-being depend).
I now briefly repeat my four distinct reasons for this view. 1
An opinion that is compelled to silence may, for all we can
certainly know, be true. To deny this is to assume our own
infallibility. 2 Even when the silenced opinion is an error, it
can and very commonly does contain a portion of the truth;
and since the general or prevailing opinion on any topic is
rarely if ever the whole truth ·about it·, it is only through
the collision of conflicting opinions that the remainder of the
truth has any chance of being supplied. Thirdly, even if the
publicly accepted opinion is not only true but is the whole
truth ·on the subject in question·, unless it is vigorously and
earnestly disputed most of those who accept it will have it

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

in the manner ·merely· of a prejudice, with little grasp or
sense of what its rational grounds are. And also (this being
my fourth argument), the meaning of the doctrine itself will
be in danger of being lost or weakened, and deprived of its
vital effect on character and conduct. It will become a mere
formal pronouncement, effective not in doing any good but
only in cluttering up the ground and preventing the growth
of any real and heartfelt conviction from reason or personal
experience.

Before leaving the topic of freedom of opinion, I should
discuss the view that the free expression of all opinions
should be permitted on condition that the expression is
temperate and doesn’t exceed the bounds of fair discussion.
How are these supposed bounds to be fixed? Is the cri-
terion that the bounds have been passed if those whose
opinion is attacked are offended? ·That would be useless,
because· experience shows that offence is given whenever
the attack is telling and powerful, and that every opponent
who pushes them hard and whom they find it difficult to
answer appears to them (if he shows any strong feeling on
the subject) to be an intemperate opponent. This fixing
of the boundaries to temperateness could be discussed at
length, and it is an important consideration from a practical
point of view; but ·I shan’t pursue it any further on its
own, because· it merges into a more fundamental objection
·to the demand for temperateness in debate·. Undoubtedly
the manner of asserting an opinion, even a true one, may
be very objectionable and may rightly be severely criticized.
But the principal offences of this kind—·i.e. offences in the
manner of conducting a debate·—are such that it is usually
impossible to convict the offender unless he accidentally
gives himself away. The most serious of them is to argue
invalidly, to suppress facts or arguments, to misstate the
elements of the case, or misrepresent the opposite opinion.

But all this is continually done—often to an extreme—in
perfect good faith by people who aren’t regarded as ignorant
or incompetent (and in many other respects may not be
ignorant or incompetent); so that there are seldom adequate
grounds for a conscientious accusation of morally culpable
misrepresentation; and still less could the law presume to
interfere with this kind of misconduct in controversy. As
for what is commonly meant by ‘intemperate’ discussion,
namely invective, sarcasm, personal insults, and the like:
the denunciation of these weapons ·of debate· would deserve
more sympathy if it were ever proposed to forbid them equally
to both sides; but ·in practice· it is desired to restrain the
use of them only against the prevailing opinion. Against
the unprevailing opinion they may not only be used without
general disapproval but will be likely to lead to the person’s
being praised for his honest zeal and righteous indignation.
Yet the harm that is done by these ·weapons of debate·
is greatest when they are used against the comparatively
defenceless; and whatever unfair advantage an opinion can
get from being defended in this way goes almost exclusively
to publicly accepted opinions. The worst offence of this
kind that can be committed by a controversialist is to brand
those who hold the contrary opinion as bad and immoral
men. Those who hold some unpopular opinion are especially
vulnerable to slander of this sort, because usually they are
few and uninfluential, and nobody else feels much interest in
seeing justice done to them. But from the nature of the case
they can’t use this weapon against defenders of a prevailing
opinion: it wouldn’t be safe for them to use it, and anyway it
wouldn’t achieve anything for them and would merely reflect
back on their own cause. In general, opinions contrary to
those that are commonly accepted can obtain a hearing
only by carefully moderate language and the most cautious
avoidance of unnecessary offence, from which they hardly

Liberty John Stuart Mill 2: Liberty of thought and discussion

ever deviate even slightly without losing ground; whereas
unmeasured abuse employed on the side of the prevailing
opinion really does deter people from proclaiming contrary
opinions and from listening to those who proclaim them. In
the interests of truth and justice, therefore, it is far more im-
portant to restrain this employment of abusive language than
the other; for example, if we had to choose, there would be
much more need to discourage offensive attacks on unbelief
than offensive attacks on religion. But it is obvious that •law
and •authority have no business restraining either of them.
And here is what •opinion should do, ·i.e. what we should
all do·. We ought to base our verdict on the circumstances
of the individual case, condemning anyone—on either side

of the argument—whose mode of advocacy shows lack of
candour, or malignity, bigotry or intolerance of feeling. But
we shouldn’t infer these vices from the side that a person
takes ·in the debate·, even if it is the opposite side to our own.
And we should give deserved honour to everyone, whatever
opinion he may hold, who has the •calmness to see and
the •honesty to state what his opponents and their opinions
really are, exaggerating nothing to their discredit and keeping
back nothing that might be thought to count in their favour.
This is the real morality of public discussion; and even if it
is often violated, I am happy to think that there are many
controversialists who to a great extent observe it and even
more who conscientiously try to do so.