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by Henry David Thoreau

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Title: On the Duty of Civil Disobedience

Author: Henry David Thoreau
Release Date: 12 June 2004 [EBook #71]
[Last updated: May 3, 2011]
Language: English

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DISOBEDIENCE ***
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On the Duty of Civil Disobedience

by Henry David Thoreau
[1849, original title: Resistance to Civil Goverment]
I heartily accept the motto, "That government is best which governs least"; and I should like to
see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which
also I believe—"That government is best which governs not at all"; and when men are prepared
for it, that will be the kind of government which they will have. Government is at best but an
expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient.
The objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they are many and
weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be brought against a standing government. The
standing army is only an arm of the standing government. The government itself, which is only
the mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally liable to be abused and
perverted before the people can act through it. Witness the present Mexican war, the work of
comparatively a few individuals using the standing government as their tool; for in the outset, the
people would not have consented to this measure.
This American government—what is it but a tradition, though a recent one, endeavoring to
transmit itself unimpaired to posterity, but each instant losing some of its integrity? It has not the
vitality and force of a single living man; for a single man can bend it to his will. It is a sort of
wooden gun to the people themselves. But it is not the less necessary for this; for the people must
have some complicated machinery or other, and hear its din, to satisfy that idea of government
which they have. Governments show thus how successfully men can be imposed upon, even
impose on themselves, for their own advantage. It is excellent, we must all allow. Yet this
government never of itself furthered any enterprise, but by the alacrity with which it got out of its
way. It does not keep the country free. It does not settle the West. It does not educate. The
character inherent in the American people has done all that has been accomplished; and it would
have done somewhat more, if the government had not sometimes got in its way. For government
is an expedient, by which men would fain succeed in letting one another alone; and, as has been
said, when it is most expedient, the governed are most let alone by it. Trade and commerce, if
they were not made of india-rubber, would never manage to bounce over obstacles which
legislators are continually putting in their way; and if one were to judge these men wholly by the
effects of their actions and not partly by their intentions, they would deserve to be classed and
punished with those mischievious persons who put obstructions on the railroads.
But, to speak practically and as a citizen, unlike those who call themselves no-government men, I
ask for, not at once no government, but at once a better government. Let every man make known
what kind of government would command his respect, and that will be one step toward obtaining
it.
After all, the practical reason why, when the power is once in the hands of the people, a majority
are permitted, and for a long period continue, to rule is not because they are most likely to be in
the right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they are physically the
strongest. But a government in which the majority rule in all cases can not be based on justice,
even as far as men understand it. Can there not be a government in which the majorities do not
virtually decide right and wrong, but conscience?—in which majorities decide only those
questions to which the rule of expediency is applicable? Must the citizen ever for a moment, or
in the least degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a conscience
then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects afterward. It is not desirable to cultivate a
respect for the law, so much as for the right. The only obligation which I have a right to assume
is to do at any time what I think right. It is truly enough said that a corporation has no
conscience; but a corporation of conscientious men is a corporation with a conscience. Law
never made men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the well-disposed
are daily made the agents on injustice. A common and natural result of an undue respect for the
law is, that you may see a file of soldiers, colonel, captain, corporal, privates, powder-monkeys,
and all, marching in admirable order over hill and dale to the wars, against their wills, ay, against
their common sense and consciences, which makes it very steep marching indeed, and produces
a palpitation of the heart. They have no doubt that it is a damnable business in which they are
concerned; they are all peaceably inclined. Now, what are they? Men at all? or small movable
forts and magazines, at the service of some unscrupulous man in power? Visit the Navy Yard,
and behold a marine, such a man as an American government can make, or such as it can make a
man with its black arts—a mere shadow and reminiscence of humanity, a man laid out alive and
standing, and already, as one may say, buried under arms with funeral accompaniment, though it
may be,
"Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corpse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried."
The mass of men serve the state thus, not as men mainly, but as machines, with their bodies.
They are the standing army, and the militia, jailers, constables, posse comitatus, etc. In most
cases there is no free exercise whatever of the judgement or of the moral sense; but they put
themselves on a level with wood and earth and stones; and wooden men can perhaps be
manufactured that will serve the purpose as well. Such command no more respect than men of
straw or a lump of dirt. They have the same sort of worth only as horses and dogs. Yet such as
these even are commonly esteemed good citizens. Others—as most legislators, politicians,
lawyers, ministers, and office-holders—serve the state chiefly with their heads; and, as they
rarely make any moral distinctions, they are as likely to serve the devil, without intending it, as
God. A very few—as heroes, patriots, martyrs, reformers in the great sense, and men—serve the
state with their consciences also, and so necessarily resist it for the most part; and they are
commonly treated as enemies by it. A wise man will only be useful as a man, and will not submit
to be "clay," and "stop a hole to keep the wind away," but leave that office to his dust at least:
"I am too high born to be propertied,
To be a second at control,
Or useful serving-man and instrument
To any sovereign state throughout the world."
He who gives himself entirely to his fellow men appears to them useless and selfish; but he who
gives himself partially to them is pronounced a benefactor and philanthropist.
How does it become a man to behave toward the American government today? I answer, that he
cannot without disgrace be associated with it. I cannot for an instant recognize that political
organization as my government which is the slave's government also.
All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist,
the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. But almost all
say that such is not the case now. But such was the case, they think, in the Revolution of '75. If
one were to tell me that this was a bad government because it taxed certain foreign commodities
brought to its ports, it is most probable that I should not make an ado about it, for I can do
without them. All machines have their friction; and possibly this does enough good to counter-
balance the evil. At any rate, it is a great evil to make a stir about it. But when the friction comes
to have its machine, and oppression and robbery are organized, I say, let us not have such a
machine any longer. In other words, when a sixth of the population of a nation which has
undertaken to be the refuge of liberty are slaves, and a whole country is unjustly overrun and
conquered by a foreign army, and subjected to military law, I think that it is not too soon for
honest men to rebel and revolutionize. What makes this duty the more urgent is that fact that the
country so overrun is not our own, but ours is the invading army.
Paley, a common authority with many on moral questions, in his chapter on the "Duty of
Submission to Civil Government," resolves all civil obligation into expediency; and he proceeds
to say that "so long as the interest of the whole society requires it, that is, so long as the
established government cannot be resisted or changed without public inconvenience, it is the will
of God . . . that the established government be obeyed—and no longer. This principle being
admitted, the justice of every particular case of resistance is reduced to a computation of the
quantity of the danger and grievance on the one side, and of the probability and expense of
redressing it on the other." Of this, he says, every man shall judge for himself. But Paley appears
never to have contemplated those cases to which the rule of expediency does not apply, in which
a people, as well as an individual, must do justice, cost what it may. If I have unjustly wrested a
plank from a drowning man, I must restore it to him though I drown myself. This, according to
Paley, would be inconvenient. But he that would save his life, in such a case, shall lose it. This
people must cease to hold slaves, and to make war on Mexico, though it cost them their existence
as a people.
In their practice, nations agree with Paley; but does anyone think that Massachusetts does exactly
what is right at the present crisis?
"A drab of stat,
a cloth-o'-silver slut,
To have her train borne up,
and her soul trail in the dirt."
Practically speaking, the opponents to a reform in Massachusetts are not a hundred thousand
politicians at the South, but a hundred thousand merchants and farmers here, who are more
interested in commerce and agriculture than they are in humanity, and are not prepared to do
justice to the slave and to Mexico, cost what it may. I quarrel not with far-off foes, but with those
who, near at home, co-operate with, and do the bidding of, those far away, and without whom the
latter would be harmless. We are accustomed to say, that the mass of men are unprepared; but
improvement is slow, because the few are not as materially wiser or better than the many. It is
not so important that many should be good as you, as that there be some absolute goodness
somewhere; for that will leaven the whole lump. There are thousands who are in
opinion opposed to slavery and to the war, who yet in effect do nothing to put an end to them;
who, esteeming themselves children of Washington and Franklin, sit down with their hands in
their pockets, and say that they know not what to do, and do nothing; who even postpone the
question of freedom to the question of free trade, and quietly read the prices-current along with
the latest advices from Mexico, after dinner, and, it may be, fall asleep over them both. What is
the price-current of an honest man and patriot today? They hesitate, and they regret, and
sometimes they petition; but they do nothing in earnest and with effect. They will wait, well
disposed, for others to remedy the evil, that they may no longer have it to regret. At most, they
give up only a cheap vote, and a feeble countenance and Godspeed, to the right, as it goes by
them. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine patrons of virtue to one virtuous man. But it is
easier to deal with the real possessor of a thing than with the temporary guardian of it.
All voting is a sort of gaming, like checkers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it, a
playing with right and wrong, with moral questions; and betting naturally accompanies it. The
character of the voters is not staked. I cast my vote, perchance, as I think right; but I am not
vitally concerned that that right should prevail. I am willing to leave it to the majority. Its
obligation, therefore, never exceeds that of expediency. Even voting for the
right is doing nothing for it. It is only expressing to men feebly your desire that it should prevail.
A wise man will not leave the right to the mercy of chance, nor wish it to prevail through the
power of the majority. There is but little virtue in the action of masses of men. When the
majority shall at length vote for the abolition of slavery, it will be because they are indifferent to
slavery, or because there is but little slavery left to be abolished by their vote. They will then be
the only slaves. Only his vote can hasten the abolition of slavery who asserts his own freedom by
his vote.
I hear of a convention to be held at Baltimore, or elsewhere, for the selection of a candidate for
the Presidency, made up chiefly of editors, and men who are politicians by profession; but I
think, what is it to any independent, intelligent, and respectable man what decision they may
come to? Shall we not have the advantage of this wisdom and honesty, nevertheless? Can we not
count upon some independent votes? Are there not many individuals in the country who do not
attend conventions? But no: I find that the respectable man, so called, has immediately drifted
from his position, and despairs of his country, when his country has more reasons to despair of
him. He forthwith adopts one of the candidates thus selected as the only available one, thus
proving that he is himself available for any purposes of the demagogue. His vote is of no more
worth than that of any unprincipled foreigner or hireling native, who may have been bought. O
for a man who is a man, and, as my neighbor says, has a bone in his back which you cannot pass
your hand through! Our statistics are at fault: the population has been returned too large. How
many men are there to a square thousand miles in the country? Hardly one. Does not America
offer any inducement for men to settle here? The American has dwindled into an Odd Fellow—
one who may be known by the development of his organ of gregariousness, and a manifest lack
of intellect and cheerful self-reliance; whose first and chief concern, on coming into the world, is
to see that the almshouses are in good repair; and, before yet he has lawfully donned the virile
garb, to collect a fund to the support of the widows and orphans that may be; who, in short,
ventures to live only by the aid of the Mutual Insurance company, which has promised to bury
him decently.
It is not a man's duty, as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even to
most enormous wrong; he may still properly have other concerns to engage him; but it is his
duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and, if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it
practically his support. If I devote myself to other pursuits and contemplations, I must first see, at
least, that I do not pursue them sitting upon another man's shoulders. I must get off him first, that
he may pursue his contemplations too. See what gross inconsistency is tolerated. I have heard
some of my townsmen say, "I should like to have them order me out to help put down an
insurrection of the slaves, or to march to Mexico—see if I would go"; and yet these very men
have each, directly by their allegiance, and so indirectly, at least, by their money, furnished a
substitute. The soldier is applauded who refuses to serve in an unjust war by those who do not
refuse to sustain the unjust government which makes the war; is applauded by those whose own
act and authority he disregards and sets at naught; as if the state were penitent to that degree that
it hired one to scourge it while it sinned, but not to that degree that it left off sinning for a
moment. Thus, under the name of Order and Civil Government, we are all made at last to pay
homage to and support our own meanness. After the first blush of sin comes its indifference; and
from immoral it becomes, as it were, unmoral, and not quite unnecessary to that life which we
have made.
The broadest and most prevalent error requires the most disinterested virtue to sustain it. The
slight reproach to which the virtue of patriotism is commonly liable, the noble are most likely to
incur. Those who, while they disapprove of the character and measures of a government, yield to
it their allegiance and support are undoubtedly its most conscientious supporters, and so
frequently the most serious obstacles to reform. Some are petitioning the State to dissolve the
Union, to disregard the requisitions of the President. Why do they not dissolve it themselves—
the union between themselves and the State—and refuse to pay their quota into its treasury? Do
not they stand in same relation to the State that the State does to the Union? And have not the
same reasons prevented the State from resisting the Union which have prevented them from
resisting the State?
How can a man be satisfied to entertain an opinion merely, and enjoy it? Is there any enjoyment
in it, if his opinion is that he is aggrieved? If you are cheated out of a single dollar by your
neighbor, you do not rest satisfied with knowing you are cheated, or with saying that you are
cheated, or even with petitioning him to pay you your due; but you take effectual steps at once to
obtain the full amount, and see to it that you are never cheated again. Action from principle, the
perception and the performance of right, changes things and relations; it is essentially
revolutionary, and does not consist wholly with anything which was. It not only divided States
and churches, it divides families; ay, it divides the individual, separating the diabolical in him
from the divine.
Unjust laws exist: shall we be content to obey them, or shall we endeavor to amend them, and
obey them until we have succeeded, or shall we transgress them at once? Men, generally, under
such a government as this, think that they ought to wait until they have persuaded the majority to
alter them. They think that, if they should resist, the remedy would be worse than the evil. But it
is the fault of the government itself that the remedy is worse than the evil. It makes it worse.
Why is it not more apt to anticipate and provide for reform? Why does it not cherish its wise
minority? Why does it cry and resist before it is hurt? Why does it not encourage its citizens to
put out its faults, and do better than it would have them? Why does it always crucify Christ and
excommunicate Copernicus and Luther, and pronounce Washington and Franklin rebels?
One would think, that a deliberate and practical denial of its authority was the only offense never
contemplated by its government; else, why has it not assigned its definite, its suitable and
proportionate, penalty? If a man who has no property refuses but once to earn nine shillings for
the State, he is put in prison for a period unlimited by any law that I know, and determined only
by the discretion of those who put him there; but if he should steal ninety times nine shillings
from the State, he is soon permitted to go at large again.
If the injustice is part of the necessary friction of the machine of government, let it go, let it go:
perchance it will wear smooth—certainly the machine will wear out. If the injustice has a spring,
or a pulley, or a rope, or a crank, exclusively for itself, then perhaps you may consider whether
the remedy will not be worse than the evil; but if it is of such a nature that it requires you to be
the agent of injustice to another, then I say, break the law. Let your life be a counter-friction to
stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong
which I condemn.
As for adopting the ways which the State has provided for remedying the evil, I know not of
such ways. They take too much time, and a man's life will be gone. I have other affairs to attend
to. I came into this world, not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, be it
good or bad. A man has not everything to do, but something; and because he cannot
do everything, it is not necessary that he should be doing something wrong. It is not my business
to be petitioning the Governor or the Legislature any more than it is theirs to petition me; and if
they should not hear my petition, what should I do then? But in this case the State has provided
no way: its very Constitution is the evil. This may seem to be harsh and stubborn and
unconcilliatory; but it is to treat with the utmost kindness and consideration the only spirit that
can appreciate or deserves it. So is all change for the better, like birth and death, which convulse
the body.
I do not hesitate to say, that those who call themselves Abolitionists should at once effectually
withdraw their support, both in person and property, from the government of Massachusetts, and
not wait till they constitute a majority of one, before they suffer the right to prevail through them.
I think that it is enough if they have God on their side, without waiting for that other one.
Moreover, any man more right than his neighbors constitutes a majority of one already.
I meet this American government, or its representative, the State government, directly, and face
to face, once a year—no more—in the person of its tax-gatherer; this is the only mode in which a
man situated as I am necessarily meets it; and it then says distinctly, Recognize me; and the
simplest, the most effectual, and, in the present posture of affairs, the indispensablest mode of
treating with it on this head, of expressing your little satisfaction with and love for it, is to deny it
then. My civil neighbor, the tax-gatherer, is the very man I have to deal with—for it is, after all,
with men and not with parchment that I quarrel—and he has voluntarily chosen to be an agent of
the government. How shall he ever know well that he is and does as an officer of the
government, or as a man, until he is obliged to consider whether he will treat me, his neighbor,
for whom he has respect, as a neighbor and well-disposed man, or as a maniac and disturber of
the peace, and see if he can get over this obstruction to his neighborlines without a ruder and
more impetuous thought or speech corresponding with his action. I know this well, that if one
thousand, if one hundred, if ten men whom I could name—if ten honest men only—ay,
if one HONEST man, in this State of Massachusetts, ceasing to hold slaves, were actually to
withdraw from this co-partnership, and be locked up in the county jail therefor, it would be the
abolition of slavery in America. For it matters not how small the beginning may seem to be: what
is once well done is done forever. But we love better to talk about it: that we say is our mission.
Reform keeps many scores of newspapers in its service, but not one man. If my esteemed
neighbor, the State's ambassador, who will devote his days to the settlement of the question of
human rights in the Council Chamber, instead of being threatened with the prisons of Carolina,
were to sit down the prisoner of Massachusetts, that State which is so anxious to foist the sin of
slavery upon her sister—though at present she can discover only an act of inhospitality to be the
ground of a quarrel with her—the Legislature would not wholly waive the subject of the
following winter.
Under a government which imprisons unjustly, the true place for a just man is also a prison. The
proper place today, the only place which Massachusetts has provided for her freer and less
despondent spirits, is in her prisons, to be put out and locked out of the State by her own act, as
they have already put themselves out by their principles. It is there that the fugitive slave, and the
Mexican prisoner on parole, and the Indian come to plead the wrongs of his race should find
them; on that separate but more free and honorable ground, where the State places those who are
not with her, but against her—the only house in a slave State in which a free man can abide with
honor. If any think that their influence would be lost there, and their voices no longer afflict the
ear of the State, that they would not be as an enemy within its walls, they do not know by how
much truth is stronger than error, nor how much more eloquently and effectively he can combat
injustice who has experienced a little in his own person. Cast your whole vote, not a strip of
paper merely, but your whole influence. A minority is powerless while it conforms to the
majority; it is not even a minority then; but it is irresistible when it clogs by its whole weight. If
the alternative is to keep all just men in prison, or give up war and slavery, the State will not
hesitate which to choose. If a thousand men were not to pay their tax bills this year, that would
not be a violent and bloody measure, as it would be to pay them, and enable the State to commit
violence and shed innocent blood. This is, in fact, the definition of a peaceable revolution, if any
such is possible. If the tax-gatherer, or any other public officer, asks me, as one has done, "But
what shall I do?" my answer is, "If you really wish to do anything, resign your office." When the
subject has refused allegiance, and the officer has resigned from office, then the revolution is
accomplished. But even suppose blood should flow. Is there not a sort of blood shed when the
conscience is wounded? Through this wound a man's real manhood and immortality flow out,
and he bleeds to an everlasting death. I see this blood flowing now.
I have contemplated the imprisonment of the offender, rather than the seizure of his goods—
though both will serve the same purpose—because they who assert the purest right, and
consequently are most dangerous to a corrupt State, commonly have not spent much time in
accumulating property. To such the State renders comparatively small service, and a slight tax is
wont to appear exorbitant, particularly if they are obliged to earn it by special labor with their
hands. If there were one who lived wholly without the use of money, the State itself would
hesitate to demand it of him. But the rich man—not to make any invidious comparison—is
always sold to the institution which makes him rich. Absolutely speaking, the more money, the
less virtue; for money comes between a man and his objects, and obtains them for him; it was
certainly no great virtue to obtain it. It puts to rest many questions which he would otherwise be
taxed to answer; while the only new question which it puts is the hard but superfluous one, how
to spend it. Thus his moral ground is taken from under his feet. The opportunities of living are
diminished in proportion as that are called the "means" are increased. The best thing a man can
do for his culture when he is rich is to endeavor to carry out those schemes which he entertained
when he was poor. Christ answered the Herodians according to their condition. "Show me the
tribute-money," said he—and one took a penny out of his pocket—if you use money which has
the image of Caesar on it, and which he has made current and valuable, that is, if you are men of
the State, and gladly enjoy the advantages of Caesar's government, then pay him back some of
his own when he demands it. "Render therefore to Caesar that which is Caesar's and to God those
things which are God's"—leaving them no wiser than before as to which was which; for they did
not wish to know.
When I converse with the freest of my neighbors, I perceive that, whatever they may say about
the magnitude and seriousness of the question, and their regard for the public tranquillity, the
long and the short of the matter is, that they cannot spare the protection of the existing
government, and they dread the consequences to their property and families of disobedience to it.
For my own part, I should not like to think that I ever rely on the protection of the State. But, if I
deny the authority of the State when it presents its tax bill, it will soon take and waste all my
property, and so harass me and my children without end. This is hard. This makes it impossible
for a man to live honestly, and at the same time comfortably, in outward respects. It will not be
worth the while to accumulate property; that would be sure to go again. You must hire or squat
somewhere, and raise but a small crop, and eat that soon. You must live within yourself, and
depend upon yourself always tucked up and ready for a start, and not have many affairs. A man
may grow rich in Turkey even, if he will be in all respects a good subject of the Turkish
government. Confucius said: "If a state is governed by the principles of reason, poverty and
misery are subjects of shame; if a state is not governed by the principles of reason, riches and
honors are subjects of shame." No: until I want the protection of Massachusetts to be extended to
me in some distant Southern port, where my liberty is endangered, or until I am bent solely on
building up an estate at home by peaceful enterprise, I can afford to refuse allegiance to
Massachusetts, and her right to my property and life. It costs me less in every sense to incur the
penalty of disobedience to the State than it would to obey. I should feel as if I were worth less in
that case.
Some years ago, the State met me in behalf of the Church, and commanded me to pay a certain
sum toward the support of a clergyman whose preaching my father attended, but never I myself.
"Pay," it said, "or be locked up in the jail." I declined to pay. But, unfortunately, another man
saw fit to pay it. I did not see why the schoolmaster should be taxed to support the priest, and not
the priest the schoolmaster; for I was not the State's schoolmaster, but I supported myself by
voluntary subscription. I did not see why the lyceum should not present its tax bill, and have the
State to back its demand, as well as the Church. However, at the request of the selectmen, I
condescended to make some such statement as this in writing: "Know all men by these presents,
that I, Henry Thoreau, do not wish to be regarded as a member of any incorporated society which
I have not joined." This I gave to the town clerk; and he has it. The State, having thus learned
that I did not wish to be regarded as a member of that church, has never made a like demand on
me since; though it said that it must adhere to its original presumption that time. If I had known
how to name them, I should then have signed off in detail from all the societies which I never
signed on to; but I did not know where to find such a complete list.
I have paid no poll tax for six years. I was put into a jail once on this account, for one night; and,
as I stood considering the walls of solid stone, two or three feet thick, the door of wood and iron,
a foot thick, and the iron grating which strained the light, I could not help being struck with the
foolishness of that institution which treated me as if I were mere flesh and blood and bones, to be
locked up. I wondered that it should have concluded at length that this was the best use it could
put me to, and had never thought to avail itself of my services in some way. I saw that, if there
was a wall of stone between me and my townsmen, there was a still more difficult one to climb
or break through before they could get to be as free as I was. I did nor for a moment feel
confined, and the walls seemed a great waste of stone and mortar. I felt as if I alone of all my
townsmen had paid my tax. They plainly did not know how to treat me, but behaved like persons
who are underbred. In every threat and in every compliment there was a blunder; for they
thought that my chief desire was to stand the other side of that stone wall. I could not but smile
to see how industriously they locked the door on my meditations, which followed them out again
without let or hindrance, and they were really all that was dangerous. As they could not reach
me, they had resolved to punish my body; just as boys, if they cannot come at some person
against whom they have a spite, will abuse his dog. I saw that the State was half-witted, that it
was timid as a lone woman with her silver spoons, and that it did not know its friends from its
foes, and I lost all my remaining respect for it, and pitied it.
Thus the state never intentionally confronts a man's sense, intellectual or moral, but only his
body, his senses. It is not armed with superior wit or honesty, but with superior physical strength.
I was not born to be forced. I will breathe after my own fashion. Let us see who is the strongest.
What force has a multitude? They only can force me who obey a higher law than I. They force
me to become like themselves. I do not hear of men being forced to live this way or that by
masses of men. What sort of life were that to live? When I meet a government which says to me,
"Your money or your life," why should I be in haste to give it my money? It may be in a great
strait, and not know what to do: I cannot help that. It must help itself; do as I do. It is not worth
the while to snivel about it. I am not responsible for the successful working of the machinery of
society. I am not the son of the engineer. I perceive that, when an acorn and a chestnut fall side
by side, the one does not remain inert to make way for the other, but both obey their own laws,
and spring and grow and flourish as best they can, till one, perchance, overshadows and destroys
the other. If a plant cannot live according to nature, it dies; and so a man.
The night in prison was novel and interesting enough. The prisoners in their shirtsleeves were
enjoying a chat and the evening air in the doorway, when I entered. But the jailer said, "Come,
boys, it is time to lock up"; and so they dispersed, and I heard the sound of their steps returning
into the hollow apartments. My room-mate was introduced to me by the jailer as "a first-rate
fellow and clever man." When the door was locked, he showed me where to hang my hat, and
how he managed matters there. The rooms were whitewashed once a month; and this one, at
least, was the whitest, most simply furnished, and probably neatest apartment in town. He
naturally wanted to know where I came from, and what brought me there; and, when I had told
him, I asked him in my turn how he came there, presuming him to be an honest man, of course;
and as the world goes, I believe he was. "Why," said he, "they accuse me of burning a barn; but I
never did it." As near as I could discover, he had probably gone to bed in a barn when drunk, and
smoked his pipe there; and so a barn was burnt. He had the reputation of being a clever man, had
been there some three months waiting for his trial to come on, and would have to wait as much
longer; but he was quite domesticated and contented, since he got his board for nothing, and
thought that he was well treated.
He occupied one window, and I the other; and I saw that if one stayed there long, his principal
business would be to look out the window. I had soon read all the tracts that were left there, and
examined where former prisoners had broken out, and where a grate had been sawed off, and
heard the history of the various occupants of that room; for I found that even there there was a
history and a gossip which never circulated beyond the walls of the jail. Probably this is the only
house in the town where verses are composed, which are afterward printed in a circular form, but
not published. I was shown quite a long list of young men who had been detected in an attempt
to escape, who avenged themselves by singing them.
I pumped my fellow-prisoner as dry as I could, for fear I should never see him again; but at
length he showed me which was my bed, and left me to blow out the lamp.
It was like travelling into a far country, such as I had never expected to behold, to lie there for
one night. It seemed to me that I never had heard the town clock strike before, not the evening
sounds of the village; for we slept with the windows open, which were inside the grating. It was
to see my native village in the light of the Middle Ages, and our Concord was turned into a
Rhine stream, and visions of knights and castles passed before me. They were the voices of old
burghers that I heard in the streets. I was an involuntary spectator and auditor of whatever was
done and said in the kitchen of the adjacent village inn—a wholly new and rare experience to
me. It was a closer view of my native town. I was fairly inside of it. I never had seen its
institutions before. This is one of its peculiar institutions; for it is a shire town. I began to
comprehend what its inhabitants were about.
In the morning, our breakfasts were put through the hole in the door, in small oblong-square tin
pans, made to fit, and holding a pint of chocolate, with brown bread, and an iron spoon. When
they called for the vessels again, I was green enough to return what bread I had left, but my
comrade seized it, and said that I should lay that up for lunch or dinner. Soon after he was let out
to work at haying in a neighboring field, whither he went every day, and would not be back till
noon; so he bade me good day, saying that he doubted if he should see me again.
When I came out of prison—for some one interfered, and paid that tax—I did not perceive that
great changes had taken place on the common, such as he observed who went in a youth and
emerged a gray-headed man; and yet a change had come to my eyes come over the scene—the
town, and State, and country, greater than any that mere time could effect. I saw yet more
distinctly the State in which I lived. I saw to what extent the people among whom I lived could
be trusted as good neighbors and friends; that their friendship was for summer weather only; that
they did not greatly propose to do right; that they were a distinct race from me by their prejudices
and superstitions, as the Chinamen and Malays are; that in their sacrifices to humanity they ran
no risks, not even to their property; that after all they were not so noble but they treated the thief
as he had treated them, and hoped, by a certain outward observance and a few prayers, and by
walking in a particular straight though useless path from time to time, to save their souls. This
may be to judge my neighbors harshly; for I believe that many of them are not aware that they
have such an institution as the jail in their village.
It was formerly the custom in our village, when a poor debtor came out of jail, for his
acquaintances to salute him, looking through their fingers, which were crossed to represent the
jail window, "How do ye do?" My neighbors did not thus salute me, but first looked at me, and
then at one another, as if I had returned from a long journey. I was put into jail as I was going to
the shoemaker's to get a shoe which was mended. When I was let out the next morning, I
proceeded to finish my errand, and, having put on my mended shoe, joined a huckleberry party,
who were impatient to put themselves under my conduct; and in half an hour—for the horse was
soon tackled—was in the midst of a huckleberry field, on one of our highest hills, two miles off,
and then the State was nowhere to be seen.
This is the whole history of "My Prisons."
I have never declined paying the highway tax, because I am as desirous of being a good neighbor
as I am of being a bad subject; and as for supporting schools, I am doing my part to educate my
fellow countrymen now. It is for no particular item in the tax bill that I refuse to pay it. I simply
wish to refuse allegiance to the State, to withdraw and stand aloof from it effectually. I do not
care to trace the course of my dollar, if I could, till it buys a man or a musket to shoot one with—
the dollar is innocent—but I am concerned to trace the effects of my allegiance. In fact, I quietly
declare war with the State, after my fashion, though I will still make use and get what advantages
of her I can, as is usual in such cases.
If others pay the tax which is demanded of me, from a sympathy with the State, they do but what
they have already done in their own case, or rather they abet injustice to a greater extent than the
State requires. If they pay the tax from a mistaken interest in the individual taxed, to save his
property, or prevent his going to jail, it is because they have not considered wisely how far they
let their private feelings interfere with the public good.
This, then, is my position at present. But one cannot be too much on his guard in such a case, lest
his actions be biased by obstinacy or an undue regard for the opinions of men. Let him see that
he does only what belongs to himself and to the hour.
I think sometimes, Why, this people mean well, they are only ignorant; they would do better if
they knew how: why give your neighbors this pain to treat you as they are not inclined to? But I
think again, This is no reason why I should do as they do, or permit others to suffer much greater
pain of a different kind. Again, I sometimes say to myself, When many millions of men, without
heat, without ill will, without personal feelings of any kind, demand of you a few shillings only,
without the possibility, such is their constitution, of retracting or altering their present demand,
and without the possibility, on your side, of appeal to any other millions, why expose yourself to
this overwhelming brute force? You do not resist cold and hunger, the winds and the waves, thus
obstinately; you quietly submit to a thousand similar necessities. You do not put your head into
the fire. But just in proportion as I regard this as not wholly a brute force, but partly a human
force, and consider that I have relations to those millions as to so many millions of men, and not
of mere brute or inanimate things, I see that appeal is possible, first and instantaneously, from
them to the Maker of them, and, secondly, from them to themselves. But if I put my head
deliberately into the fire, there is no appeal to fire or to the Maker of fire, and I have only myself
to blame. If I could convince myself that I have any right to be satisfied with men as they are,
and to treat them accordingly, and not according, in some respects, to my requisitions and
expectations of what they and I ought to be, then, like a good Mussulman and fatalist, I should
endeavor to be satisfied with things as they are, and say it is the will of God. And, above all,
there is this difference between resisting this and a purely brute or natural force, that I can resist
this with some effect; but I cannot expect, like Orpheus, to change the nature of the rocks and
trees and beasts.
I do not wish to quarrel with any man or nation. I do not wish to split hairs, to make fine
distinctions, or set myself up as better than my neighbors. I seek rather, I may say, even an
excuse for conforming to the laws of the land. I am but too ready to conform to them. Indeed, I
have reason to suspect myself on this head; and each year, as the tax-gatherer comes round, I
find myself disposed to review the acts and position of the general and State governments, and
the spirit of the people to discover a pretext for conformity.
"We must affect our country as our parents,
And if at any time we alienate
Out love of industry from doing it honor,
We must respect effects and teach the soul
Matter of conscience and religion,
And not desire of rule or benefit."
I believe that the State will soon be able to take all my work of this sort out of my hands, and
then I shall be no better patriot than my fellow-countrymen. Seen from a lower point of view, the
Constitution, with all its faults, is very good; the law and the courts are very respectable; even
this State and this American government are, in many respects, very admirable, and rare things,
to be thankful for, such as a great many have described them; seen from a higher still, and the
highest, who shall say what they are, or that they are worth looking at or thinking of at all?
However, the government does not concern me much, and I shall bestow the fewest possible
thoughts on it. It is not many moments that I live under a government, even in this world. If a
man is thought-free, fancy-free, imagination-free, that which is not never for a long time
appearing to be to him, unwise rulers or reformers cannot fatally interrupt him.
I know that most men think differently from myself; but those whose lives are by profession
devoted to the study of these or kindred subjects content me as little as any. Statesmen and
legislators, standing so completely within the institution, never distinctly and nakedly behold it.
They speak of moving society, but have no resting-place without it. They may be men of a
certain experience and discrimination, and have no doubt invented ingenious and even useful
systems, for which we sincerely thank them; but all their wit and usefulness lie within certain not
very wide limits. They are wont to forget that the world is not governed by policy and
expediency. Webster never goes behind government, and so cannot speak with authority about it.
His words are wisdom to those legislators who contemplate no essential reform in the existing
government; but for thinkers, and those who legislate for all time, he never once glances at the
subject. I know of those whose serene and wise speculations on this theme would soon reveal the
limits of his mind's range and hospitality. Yet, compared with the cheap professions of most
reformers, and the still cheaper wisdom an eloquence of politicians in general, his are almost the
only sensible and valuable words, and we thank Heaven for him. Comparatively, he is always
strong, original, and, above all, practical. Still, his quality is not wisdom, but prudence. The
lawyer's truth is not Truth, but consistency or a consistent expediency. Truth is always in
harmony with herself, and is not concerned chiefly to reveal the justice that may consist with
wrong-doing. He well deserves to be called, as he has been called, the Defender of the
Constitution. There are really no blows to be given him but defensive ones. He is not a leader,
but a follower. His leaders are the men of '87. "I have never made an effort," he says, "and never
propose to make an effort; I have never countenanced an effort, and never mean to countenance
an effort, to disturb the arrangement as originally made, by which various States came into the
Union." Still thinking of the sanction which the Constitution gives to slavery, he says, "Because
it was part of the original compact—let it stand." Notwithstanding his special acuteness and
ability, he is unable to take a fact out of its merely political relations, and behold it as it lies
absolutely to be disposed of by the intellect—what, for instance, it behooves a man to do here in
American today with regard to slavery—but ventures, or is driven, to make some such desperate
answer to the following, while professing to speak absolutely, and as a private man—from which
what new and singular of social duties might be inferred? "The manner," says he, "in which the
governments of the States where slavery exists are to regulate it is for their own consideration,
under the responsibility to their constituents, to the general laws of propriety, humanity, and
justice, and to God. Associations formed elsewhere, springing from a feeling of humanity, or any
other cause, have nothing whatever to do with it. They have never received any encouragement
from me and they never will." [These extracts have been inserted since the lecture was read -
HDT]
They who know of no purer sources of truth, who have traced up its stream no higher, stand, and
wisely stand, by the Bible and the Constitution, and drink at it there with reverence and
humanity; but they who behold where it comes trickling into this lake or that pool, gird up their
loins once more, and continue their pilgrimage toward its fountainhead.
No man with a genius for legislation has appeared in America. They are rare in the history of the
world. There are orators, politicians, and eloquent men, by the thousand; but the speaker has not
yet opened his mouth to speak who is capable of settling the much-vexed questions of the day.
We love eloquence for its own sake, and not for any truth which it may utter, or any heroism it
may inspire. Our legislators have not yet learned the comparative value of free trade and of
freedom, of union, and of rectitude, to a nation. They have no genius or talent for comparatively
humble questions of taxation and finance, commerce and manufactures and agriculture. If we
were left solely to the wordy wit of legislators in Congress for our guidance, uncorrected by the
seasonable experience and the effectual complaints of the people, America would not long retain
her rank among the nations. For eighteen hundred years, though perchance I have no right to say
it, the New Testament has been written; yet where is the legislator who has wisdom and practical
talent enough to avail himself of the light which it sheds on the science of legislation.
The authority of government, even such as I am willing to submit to—for I will cheerfully obey
those who know and can do better than I, and in many things even those who neither know nor
can do so well—is still an impure one: to be strictly just, it must have the sanction and consent of
the governed. It can have no pure right over my person and property but what I concede to it.
The progress from an absolute to a limited monarchy, from a limited monarchy to a democracy,
is a progress toward a true respect for the individual. Even the Chinese philosopher was wise
enough to regard the individual as the basis of the empire. Is a democracy, such as we know it,
the last improvement possible in government? Is it not possible to take a step further towards
recognizing and organizing the rights of man? There will never be a really free and enlightened
State until the State comes to recognize the individual as a higher and independent power, from
which all its own power and authority are derived, and treats him accordingly. I please myself
with imagining a State at last which can afford to be just to all men, and to treat the individual
with respect as a neighbor; which even would not think it inconsistent with its own repose if a
few were to live aloof from it, not meddling with it, nor embraced by it, who fulfilled all the
duties of neighbors and fellow men. A State which bore this kind of fruit, and suffered it to drop
off as fast as it ripened, would prepare the way for a still more perfect and glorious State, which I
have also imagined, but not yet anywhere seen.