Again，even minds that are not commonplace are affected for the worse by the same spirit. They are aware of the existence of the great speculative subjects and of their importance，but the pressure of the political spirit on such men makes them afraid of the conclusions to which free inquiry might bring them. Accordingly they abstain from inquiry，and dread nothing so much as making up their minds. They see reasons for thinking that，if they applied themselves seriously to the formation of true opinions in this or that department，they would come to conclusions which，though likely to make their way in the course of some centuries，are wholly unpopular now，and which might ruin the influence of anybody suspected of accepting，or even of so much as leaning towards，them. Life，they reflect，is short; missionaries do not pass for a very agreeable class，nor martyrs for a very sensible class; one can only do a trifling amount of good in the world，at best; it is moral suicide to throw away any chance of achieving even that trifle; and therefore it is best not only not to express，but not to take the trouble to acquire，right views in this quarter or that，and to draw clear away from such or such a region of thought，for the sake of keeping peace on earth and superficial good will among men.
It would be too harsh to stigmatise such a train of thought as self-seeking and hypocritical. It is the natural product of the political spirit，which is incessantly thinking of present consequences and the immediately feasible. There is nothing in the mere dread of losing it，to hinder influence from being well employed，so far as it goes. But one can hardly overrate the ill consequences of this particular kind of management，this unspoken bargaining with the little circle of his fellows which constitutes the world of a man. If he may retain his place among them as preacher or teacher，he is willing to forego his birthright of free explanation; he consents to be blind to the duty which attaches to every intelligent man of having some clear ideas，even though only provisional ones，upon the greatest subjects of human interest，and of deliberately preferring these，whatever they may be，to their opposites. Either an individual or a community is fatally dwarfed by any such limitation of the field in which one is free to use his mind. For it is a limitation，not prescribed by absorption in one set of subjects rather than another，nor by insufficient preparation for the discussion of certain subjects，nor by indolence nor incuriousness，but solely by apprehension of the conclusions to which such use of the mind might bring the too courageous seeker. If there were no other ill effect，this kind of limitation would at least have the radical disadvantage of dulling the edge of responsibility，of deadening the sharp sense of personal answerableness either to a God，or to society，or to a man's own conscience and intellectual self-respect.
How momentous a disadvantage this is，we can best know by contemplating the characters which have sometimes lighted up the old times. Men were then devoutly persuaded that their eternal salvation depended on their having true beliefs. Any slackness in finding out which beliefs are the true ones would have to be answered for before the throne of Almighty God，at the sure risk and peril of everlasting damnation. To what quarter in the large historic firmament can we turn our eyes with such certainty of being stirred and elevated，of thinking better of human life and the worth of those who have been most deeply penetrated by its seriousness，as to the annals of the intrepid spirits whom the protestant doctrine of indefeasible personal responsibility brought to the front in Germany in the sixteenth century，and in England and Scotland in the seventeenth? It is not their fanaticism，still less is it their theology，which makes the great Puritan chiefs of England and the stern Covenanters of Scotland so heroic in our sight. It is the fact that they sought truth and ensued it，not thinking of the practicable nor cautiously counting majorities and minorities，but each man pondering and searching so 'as ever in the great Taskmaster's eye.'
It is no adequate answer to urge that this awful consciousness of a divine presence and supervision has ceased to be the living fact it once was. That partly explains，but it certainly does not justify，our present lassitude. For the ever-wakeful eye of celestial power is not the only conceivable stimulus to responsibility. To pass from those grim heroes of protestantism to the French philosophers of the last century is a wide leap in a hundred respects，yet they too were pricked by the oestrus of intellectual responsibility. Their doctrine was dismally insufficient，and sometimes，as the present writer has often pointed out，it was directly vicious. Their daily lives were surrounded by much shabbiness and many meannesses. But，after all，no temptation and no menace，no pains or penalties for thinking about certain subjects，and no rewards for turning to think about something else，could divert such men as Voltaire and Diderot from their alert and strenuous search after such truth as could be vouchsafed to their imperfect lights. A catastrophe followed，it is true，but the misfortunes which attended it were due more to the champions of tradition and authority than to the soldiers of emancipation. Even in the case of the latter，they were due to an inadequate doctrine，and not at all either to their sense of the necessity of free speculation and inquiry，or to the intrepidity with which they obeyed the promptings of that ennobling sense.
Perhaps the latest attempt of a considerable kind to suppress the political spirit in non-political concerns was the famous movement which had its birth a generation ago among the gray quadrangles and ancient gardens of Oxford，'the sweet city with her dreaming spires,' where there has ever been so much detachment from the world，alongside of the coarsest and fiercest hunt after the grosser prizes of the world. No one has much less sympathy with the direction of the tractarian revival than the present writer，in whose Oxford days the star of Newman had set，and the sun of Mill had risen in its stead. And it is needful to distinguish the fervid and strong spirits with whom the revival began from the mimics of our later day. No doubt the mere occasion of tractarianism was political. Its leaders were alarmed at the designs imputed to the newly reformed parliament of disestablishing the Anglican Church. They asked themselves the question，which I will put in their own words (Tract i.)—'Should the government of the country so far forget their God as to cut off the Church，to deprive it of its temporal honours and substance，on what will you rest the claims to respect and attention which you make upon your flock? In answering this question they speedily found themselves，as might have been expected，at the opposite pole of thought from things political. The whole strength of their appeal to members of the Church lay in men's weariness of the high and dry optimism，which presents the existing order of things as the noblest possible，and the undisturbed way of the majority as the way of salvation. Apostolical succession and Sacramentalism may not have been in themselves progressive ideas. The spirit which welcomed them had at least the virtue of taking away from Caesar the things that are not Caesar's.
Glaring as were the intellectual faults of the Oxford movement，it was at any rate a recognition in a very forcible way of the doctrine that spiritual matters are not to be settled by the dicta of a political council. It acknowledged that a man is answerable at his own peril for having found or lost the truth. It was a warning that he must reckon with a judge who will not account the status quo，nor the convenience of a cabinet，a good plea for indolent acquiescence in theological error. It ended，in the case of its most vigorous champions，in a final and deliberate putting out of the eyes of the understanding. The last act of assertion of personal responsibility was a headlong acceptance of the responsibility of tradition and the Church. This was deplorable enough. But apart from other advantages incidental to the tractarian movement，such as the attention which it was the means of drawing to history and the organic connection between present and past，it had，we repeat，the merit of being an effective protest against what may be called the House of Commons' view of human life a view excellent in its place，but most blighting and dwarfing out of it. It was，what every sincere uprising of the better spirit in men and women must always be，an effective protest against the leaden tyranny of the man of the world and the so-called practical person. The man of the world despises catholics for taking their religious opinions on trust and being the slaves of tradition. As if he had himself formed his own most important opinions either in religion or anything else. He laughs at them for their superstitious awe of the Church. As if his own inward awe of the Greater Number were one whit less of a superstition. He mocks their deference for the past. As if his own absorbing deference to the present were one tittle better bottomed or a jot more respectable. The modern emancipation will profit us very little if the status quo is to be fastened round our necks with the despotic authority of a heavenly dispensation，and if in the stead of ancient Scriptures we are to accept the plenary inspiration of Majorities.
It may be urged that if，as it is the object of the present chapter to state，there are opinions which a man should form for himself，and which it may yet be expedient that he should not only be slow to attempt to realise in practical life，but sometimes even slow to express,—then we are demanding from him the performance of a troublesome duty，while we are taking from him the only motives which could really induce him to perform it. If，it may be asked，I am not to carry my notions into practice，nor try to induce others to accept them，nor even boldly publish them，why in the name of all economy of force should I take so much pains in forming opinions which are，after all，on these conditions so very likely to come to naught? The answer to this is that opinions do not come to naught，even if the man who holds them should never think fit to publish them. For one thing，as we shall see in our next division，the conditions which make against frank declaration of our convictions are of rare occurrence. And，apart from this，convictions may well exert a most decisive influence over our conduct，even if reasons exist，or seem to exist，for not pressing them on others. Though themselves invisible to the outer world，they may yet operate with magnetic force both upon other parts of our belief which the outer world does see，and upon the whole of our dealings with it. Whether we are good or bad，it is only a broken and incoherent fragment of our whole personality that even those who are intimate with us，much less the common world，can ever come into contact with. The important thing is that the personality itself should be as little as possible broken，incoherent，and fragmentary; that reasoned and consistent opinions should back a firm will，and independent convictions inspire the intellectual self-respect and strenuous self-possession which the clamour of majorities and the silent yet ever-pressing force of the status quo are equally powerless to shake.
Character is doubtless of far more importance than mere intellectual opinion. We only too often see highly rationalised convictions in persons of weak purpose or low motives. But while fully recognising this，and the sort of possible reality which lies at the root of such a phrase as 'godless intellect' or 'intellectual devils'—though the phrase has no reality when it is used by self-seeking politicians or prelates—yet it is well to remember the very obvious truth that opinions are at least an extremely important part of character. As it is sometimes put，what we think has a prodigiously close connection with what we are. The consciousness of having reflected seriously and conclusively on important questions，whether social or spiritual，augments dignity while it does not lessen humility. In this sense，taking thought can and does add a cubit to our stature. Opinions which we may not feel bound or even permitted to press on other people，are not the less forces for being latent. They shape ideals，and it is ideals that inspire conduct. They do this，though from afar，and though he who possesses them may not presume to take the world into his confidence. Finally，unless a man follows out ideas to their full conclusion without fear what the conclusion may be，whether he thinks it expedient to make his thought and its goal fully known or not，it is impossible that he should acquire a commanding grasp of principles. And a commanding grasp of principles，whether they are public or not，is at the very root of coherency of character. It raises mediocrity near to a level with the highest talents，if those talents are in company with a disposition that allows the little prudences of the hour incessantly to obscure the persistent laws of things. These persistencies，if a man has once satisfied himself of their direction and mastered their bearings and application，are just as cogent and valuable a guide to conduct，whether he publishes them ad urbem et orbem，or esteems them too strong meat for people who have，through indurated use and wont，lost the courage of facing unexpected truths.
One conspicuous result of the failure to see that our opinions have roots to them，independently of the feelings which either majorities or other portions of the people around us may entertain about them，is that neither political matters nor any other serious branches of opinion，engage us in their loftiest or most deep-reaching forms. The advocate of a given theory of government or society is so misled by a wrong understanding of the practice of just and wise compromise in applying it，as to forget the noblest and most inspiring shape which his theory can be made to assume. It is the worst of political blunders to insist on carrying an ideal set of principles into execution，where others have rights of dissent，and those others persons whose assent is as indispensable to success，as it is impossible to attain. But to be afraid or ashamed of holding such an ideal set of principles in one's mind in their highest and most abstract expression，does more than any one other cause to stunt or petrify those elements in character to which life should owe most of its savour.
If a man happens to be a Conservative，for instance，it is pitiful that he should think so much more of what other people on his side or the other think，than of the widest and highest of the ideas on which a conservative philosophy of life and human society reposes. Such ideas are these，—that the social union is the express creation and ordering of the Deity: that its movements follow his mysterious and fixed dispensation: that the church and the state are convertible terms，and each citizen of the latter is an incorporated member of the former: that conscience，if perversely and misguidedly self-asserting，has no rights against the decrees of the conscience of the nation: that it is the most detestable of crimes to perturb the pacific order of society either by active agitation or speculative restlessness; that descent from a long line of ancestors in great station adds an element of dignity to life，and imposes many high obligations. We do not say that these and the rest of the propositions which make up the true theoretic basis of a conservative creed，are proper for the hustings，or expedient in an election address or a speech in parliament. We do say that if these high and not unintelligible principles，which alone can give to reactionary professions any worth or significance，were present in the minds of men who speak reactionary language，the country would be spared the ignominy of seeing certain real truths of society degraded at the hands of aristocratic adventurers and plutocratic parasites into some miserable process of 'dishing Whigs.'
