into a bad one, by the violence of their factions.1
At the same time, Hume had a more general purpose, to convince his readers that it was important to frame laws carefully, that the welfare of a country depended on more than the virtue of its rulers. His contemporaries, being inclined to emphasize persons rather than institutions, were reluctant to use their critical powers on the laws. To encourage more attention to institutions, Hume emphasized that some kinds of laws and constitutions had more desirable effects than others, whatever the character of the ruler. So he declared it a universal maxim in politics, “That an hereditary prince, a nobility without vassals, and a people voting by their representatives, form the best monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy.”2 Quite regularly, also, free governments made their own citizens happier than any other, but in their colonies were more ruinous and oppressive than monarchies. Hume reviewed a number of different constitutions, and in each case pointed out the connection between the laws and the conditions of the country—Venice was stable, Athens and Rome were tumultuous, all because of the differences in their laws. It was therefore of first importance to devise laws carefully, for “effects will always correspond to causes; and wise regulations in any commonwealth are the most valuable legacy that can be left to future ages.”3
By insisting that there were better and worse constitutions, Hume was not, however, supporting any particular form of government. Although he gave one essay the ambitious tide of “The Ideal Commonwealth,” it contains merely some innocuous observations on an administrative machine, representative and republican in form. Nothing Hume says there could inspire revolutionaries. His models are not, he makes it plain, Plato or More: “The idea … of a perfect and immortal commonwealth will always be found as chimerical as that of perfect and immortal man.”4 It was amusing to see if one could sketch a better model than Harrington’s. Perhaps it might even prove useful one day. But forms of government were not like engines, which could be tried out and discarded when found useless. Although one could imagine a republic superior to the British constitution, what guarantee was there that it would actually be established once the monarchy was dissolved? Any man able to destroy the existing constitution must have the power of an absolute monarch, and history had shown the folly of expecting such a man ever to relinquish his power.1
To tamper, therefore, in this affair, or try experiments merely upon the credit of supposed argument and philosophy, can never be the part of a wise magistrate, who will bear a reverence to what carries the marks of age; and though he may attempt some improvement for the public good, yet will he adjust his innovations as much as possible, to the ancient fabric, and preserve entire the chief pillars and supports of the constitution.2
Anyway, there was much less difference between forms of government than it seemed. In an absolute government, the monarch may be so confident of his power that he permits a number of liberties. In a republican government, where there is little distrust of the chief magistrate, he may be granted very broad discretionary powers, which become greater than those of an absolute ruler. So there may be “a species of liberty in monarchies, and of arbitrary power in republics,” which make the two governments strongly resemble each other. Similar results may thus be produced by governments seemingly very different. Besides, all governments tend to move toward the same equilibrium: “In monarchical government there is a source of improvement, in popular government, a source of degeneracy which in time will bring these species of civil polity still nearer equality.”3
But even in their pure state, the drawbacks of the different governments, Hume felt, may easily be in balance. Free and absolute governments were, history showed, equally hospitable to art and science, but commerce tended to decay under absolute government because in a monarchy birth, tide, and place are esteemed above industry and riches.4 Neither one was clearly superior even on purely political grounds. The elaborate checks in a mixed government made it less vulnerable to abuse. On the other hand, as Hume reminded Montesquieu, mixed governments, like all complicated machines, are more subject to disturbances arising from the contrast and opposition of the parts.1 In the case of the British monarchy, the danger from the monarchical part was more imminent, but the threat from the popular part was more terrible. While Hume was not in the least inclined to denigrate England’s mixed government, under other circumstances he might equally wed have accepted a republic. Glorious consequences were not to be expected from any form of government. All that ready mattered was whether power was distributed among the various social orders and governing bodies so as to make an unchecked concentration of power impossible:
When there offers, therefore, to our censure and examination, any plan of government, real or imaginary, where the power is distributed among several courts, and several orders of men, we should always consider the separate interest of each court, and each order; and if we find that, by the skilful division of power this interest must necessarily in its operation, concur with the public, we may pronounce that government to be wise and happy.2
This could be achieved, Hume was convinced, in more than one way and under different sorts of government.
In short, in politics as in morals, merit does not lie in outward conformity to a general standard. No one form of government is necessarily preferable. What counts is how well the dangers potential in every government, whatever its form, are guarded against. Just as in the good man the passions are in balance, so in the good government, the various powers and interests are arranged to prevent any one from becoming excessive. The moral is: do not seek an ideal polity, but seek to safeguard the existing form of government against the weaknesses inherent in it.
In the realm of economics, however, Hume approved of more substantive general observations. He made a number of definite recommendations, along the lines developed later by his friend, Adam Smith. Not the quantity of money, but men and commodities, he insisted, determined the strength of a community. Its economic condition benefited more from a love of refinements than from simple living. He denied that the lowness of the interest rate indicated that the country was flourishing; he opposed the notion that a balance of trade had to be maintained; he argued against a large public debt, and warned that it would go on growing because it enabled a minister to make a great figure without antagonizing the public. He defended free trade against protectionism, and condemned those who urged a “narrow and malignant” politics for trying to destroy the productive powers of colonies.1 He urged the magistrate in general to trust the encouragement of an art or profession to those who would benefit from it, opposed restrictions on the internal market, and cautioned against high taxes. Such general observations on economics were valid, Hume explained, because in that realm the public good “depends on a concurrence of a multitude of causes.” Economics was very different from foreign affairs, for instance, where it was folly to make such general recommendations, because foreign politics depended “on accidents and chance and the caprices of a few persons.”2 It was equally inappropriate to try to account in general terms for phenomena like the rise of learning. But it was proper to speak generally on the rise and progress of commerce, because the desire for gain operated more uniformly than the desire for learning.3 In economic affairs, the same causes operated in much the same way on a multitude, and not merely on odd individuals; they were gross and stubborn causes, not readily affected by private whim and fancy, and therefore amenable to generalization.
Yet even these “general reasonings,” or as Hume sometimes said, his reasonings on “general subjects,” were regarded by him simply as observations that comprehended a great number of individuals. They were merely “general facts,” or descriptions of “the general course of things.” They were concerned with probabilities not necessities, and had the logical status of maxims (a term often used by Hume) not laws. They were statements about what is likely to happen because it usually happens, and although for practical purposes they might be assumed to hold always, they could not be proved. This meant that Hume was always conscious of the possibility that his general conclusions “may fad in particular cases,”4 and exceptions invariably occurred to him. When he showed that the greatness of a state and the happiness of its subjects were “inseparable
