International Archives of the History of Ideas 219

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Edoardo Tortarolo

The
Invention of
Free Press
Writers and Censorship in Eighteenth
Century Europe
The Invention of Free Press
 INTERNATIONAL ARCHIVES OF THE HISTORY OF IDEAS

ARCHIVES INTERNATIONALES D’HISTOIRE DES IDÉES

219

THE INVENTION OF
FREE PRESS

Edoardo Tortarolo

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Edoardo Tortarolo

The Invention of Free Press

Writers and Censorship in Eighteenth
Century Europe
Edoardo Tortarolo
Department of the Humanities
University of Eastern Piedmont
Vercelli, Italy

ISSN 0066-6610 ISSN 2215-0307 (electronic)

International Archives of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d'histoire des idées
ISBN 978-94-017-7345-4 ISBN 978-94-017-7346-1 (eBook)
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Preface

This book had its origin at the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton, in 2006. Its
Italian version, which was published with Carocci in 2011, took shape during my
stay there as a member, thanks to the kind invitation from the School of Historical
Studies and Jonathan Israel in particular: for 6 months he was a constant source of
intellectual stimulus and support. I reworked the text and turned it into English dur-
ing my time as a Fulbright Distinguished Lecturer at Northwestern University,
Evanston, in 2011. For their warm hospitality I am deeply grateful to Regina
Schwarz, Bill Davis and Edward Muir. Melissa Wittmeier, Fergus Robson and
Martin Thom have been immensely helpful at different stages of the re-writing pro-
cess, which took longer than originally anticipated and was achieved in 2014.
During troubled times I owe to M., A., D. more than words can ever express.

Torino, May 2015

v
Contents

1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable? ...................................................... 1

Two Models of Thought .............................................................................. 1
The Dream of Perfect Control..................................................................... 6
Internal Cracks ............................................................................................ 13
2 The English Paradigm .............................................................................. 21
From Censorship to Freedom of the Press .................................................. 21
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint .................... 33
3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship
and the French Enlightenment ................................................................ 51
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” ......................... 51
Montesquieu’s Paradox ............................................................................... 64
Practice and Theory of the Press ................................................................. 69
Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom ........................................ 76
Rousseau: The Introjection of Censorship .................................................. 87
Condorcet and a Radical View of Public Interest ....................................... 95
4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press ................. 99
Malesherbes and the Reform of the Librairie ............................................. 99
In the World of the Royal Censors .............................................................. 106
Dialogue and Censorship ............................................................................ 120
“Freedom to Think and Write” and Economic Progress............................. 128
5 Equivocations and New Meanings ........................................................... 135
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe ......................................................... 135
The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity
and Participatory Freedom .......................................................................... 154

vii
viii Contents

Bibliography .................................................................................................... 165

Primary Source ............................................................................................. 165
Secondary Source ......................................................................................... 175

Index ................................................................................................................. 195

Abbreviations

BL British Library, London

BnF, MS fr. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris, Manuscrits français
DBI Dizionario biografico degli italiani. Roma: Enciclopedia Italiana
Treccani 1960–2012
HJ The Historical Journal
JMH Journal of Modern History
PMLA Publications of the Modern Languages Association
RSI Rivista Storica Italiana
SVEC Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth-Century

ix
Introduction

Internalist Censorship, Externalist Censorship

One of the most powerful and imaginative metaphors used to describe the develop-
ment of modern European history is Max Weber’s “iron cage”. By “iron cage” we
understand the process of rational bureaucratisation that takes possession of all
forms of life to be inevitable. According to Max Weber, humankind will end up liv-
ing a life of “congealed spirit” in a thoroughly rationalized capitalist world.
Ironically, we are now aware that this metaphor was not really Max Weber’s, but
rather Talcott Parsons’s creation; and that what Weber called the “stahlhartes
Gehäuse” should be translated into English as “a shell as hard as steel”. This expres-
sion refers to the deeply penetrating process of metamorphosis that transforms man
in the era of rational modernity. The contrasting implications are clear: it is perhaps
possible to break out of a cage, but it is much more difficult to shed a carapace that
adheres to our bodies and dictates all our movements, affecting eventually even our
thoughts.1 A detailed analysis of Max Weber’s historical sociology, especially in the
Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, is not directly relevant to a history of
censorship institutions, but the main thrust of his argument is, given the crucial role
of censorship in constraining the spiritual and intellectual development of Europeans
in the early modern period.2
My research on censorship in the eighteenth century is in fact intended to illus-
trate the general idea that early modern European history can profitably be described
in terms of the building up of a variety of systems of control, and likewise in terms
of the legitimizing or questioning of their scope, range and efficacy. In Weberian
terms, therefore, at a certain point along this development it seemed possible, desir-
able and even necessary that “a shell as hard as steel” be created and adjusted to the
inner life of men and women, encompassing all possible forms of written commu-
nication and rendering the oral transmission of thoughts, ideas, and emotions a

1
Ghosh 1994; Baehr 2002; Ghosh 2008.
2
Weber 2011.

xi
xii Introduction

sometimes dangerous enterprise. In pursuing this control of written and oral expres-
sion, European institutions, secular and ecclesiastical, were inspired by the prece-
dents of the Greek and Latin cultures, where freedom of expression was a serious
issue albeit under very different technical conditions.
This book does not claim that Europe has yet another hidden secret to be ashamed
of. As a matter of fact, the opposite might well be true. It might indeed be argued
that exerting control over the communication of thoughts and observations was not
what was new and historically significant, but rather that despite the indeed high
levels of physical and symbolic violence inherent in the everyday life of early mod-
ern European society, control was challenged by authors, printers, and in many
cases members of the governing elites themselves. Those involved strove to achieve
a balance between authority and individualism that placed more weight on the latter.
As a result, forms of control, and especially pre-publication agencies, were forced
to compromise and meet the needs of civil society, instead of disrupting it through
recurrent outbursts of violence and haphazard repression. The Greek literary canon
that became popular among the educated elites after Humanism featured both the
poles: violent repression and consensual limitation of the boundaries of the freedom
of speech. The example of Ulysses ostentatiously beating Thersites in the midst of
an assembly set a paradigm that framed the early modern approach to the question
of freedom of expression: the principle that freedom of speech must be coupled with
a sense of respect for authority was widely accepted. The contrast between “Men
[who] sat calmly in their places” and “a single man [who] kept on yelling out
abuse – scurrilous Thersites, expert in various insults, vulgar terms for inappropriate
attacks on kings” has remained as a constant point of reference enabling us to visu-
alize the conduct of those who abused their freedom to speak. Freedom of speech
did not mean being at liberty to say anything whatsoever in any and every place.3
Some centuries after the Homeric poem, the historian Thucydides provided a
sophisticated example of the workings of freedom of speech within the framework
of political freedom. When it became associated with democratic government in
fifth-century Athens, freedom of speech was granted to Athenian citizens as a com-
ponent of newly won political freedoms, but it did not include the right to slander
individuals or to repudiate the gods of the city, as Socrates discovered to his cost.
The most telling example of this understanding of freedom of speech was the ora-
tion Thucydides wrote for Cleon and Diodotus. Here frankness was acceptable
because their mutual trust limited the import of their potential dissension, both citi-
zens being committed to furthering the best interests of the Athenian republic and
having pledged neither to slander their opponent nor to cast doubts on his loyalty.4
George Bernard Shaw may have been right when he affirmed that assassination
is the extreme form of censorship. If so, then it is remarkable that as a way to deal
with opponents, murder was delegitimized and the right to preserve one’s life came
to be central to Enlightenment thought; censorship and pre-publication censorship
in particular must be seen, ironically, as a phase of what Norbert Elias called the

3
Homer 1924.
4
Thucydides 1920. Book 3.
Introduction xiii

Process of Civilization.5 The practice of censorship might be viewed as a particular

form of limited toleration compared to the brutal repression of dissenting voices:
nonetheless, an increasing uneasiness with the principle of pre-publication censor-
ship emerged in the eighteenth century and paved the way for a revision of the
notion of both control and freedom of the press.
Censorship is elusive in a peculiar fashion. As it is concerned with the suppres-
sion or transformation of ideas, expressed in discourses, either written or spoken, in
paintings and pictures, and in various forms of conduct, censorship as we now
understand it can encompass virtually all possible manifestations of human life in a
society upon which some form of power, direct and indirect, can be exercised. It has
been rightly argued by David McKitterick that “visual but non-verbal texts, as well
as oral ones” were important in the predominantly non-literate or pre-literate soci-
ety of early modern Europe.6 David Freeberg, for his part, has suggested that cen-
sorship in the widest sense of the term was strict when applied to etchings and
engravings: it was figurative culture that disseminated the most inappropriate
thoughts of social as well sexual emancipation from hierarchical control.7 Any
statement can be censored, at least theoretically, and a positive doctrine of the
boundaries of the permissible is unthinkable.8 The temptation for the historian to
investigate all possible forms of censorship is great: it is advisable to resist this
temptation, however, and to focus on the historicity of censorship, on aspects that
reflect the specificity of an epoch, of a milieu, of a constellation of world outlooks
and, whenever the sources allow us to do so, of individual choices and activities.
It is hardly debatable that in the history of European culture, printed material
brought a crucial change that in the long run fundamentally shaped how Europeans
thought of politics, religion and culture in general.9 The invention of the printing
press with moveable type prompted a general awareness that systematic control of
communication was becoming necessary and that governments had to devise agen-
cies charged primarily with this task: not only the many Indices librorum prohibito-
rum and the Holy Office set up by the Popes of the Counter-Reformation, but the
whole array of power centres established during the age of religious warfare from
the 1550s onwards bear witness to this. It seems fair to say that by the late seven-
teenth century a system of control was established throughout most of continental
Europe with similar features and that thenceforth it was gradually delegitimized,
adjusted and eventually rendered ineffective until the French Revolution elaborated
a new approach, which it, in turn, disseminated throughout Europe. One of the
definitive consequences of this revolutionary upheaval was the exclusion of religious
institutions from the censorship apparatus. In the post-Napoleonic era, the confronta-

5
Elias 1939; Elias 1982.
6
McKitterick 2003: 39.
7
Freeberg 1989. Chapter Senses and censorship: 345–77.
8
Benrekassa 1980. Chapter Savoir politique et connaissance historique à l’aube des lumières:
31–52.
9
Despite their obvious shortcomings two books are still relevant in this context: Eisenstein 1979
and Ong 1982.
xiv Introduction

tion between the censorship machinery, now exclusively state-run, and public opin-
ion took centre stage as an integral aspect of nineteenth-century politics.10
In fact, developments in both state structure and political thinking during the late
eighteenth century and the Napoleonic era substantially remodelled the pattern and
forms of control in all of Europe, so much so, indeed, that its previous incarnations
were rendered all but incomprehensible. A satirical poster from the final decades of
the nineteenth century shows the head-on confrontation that became typical of the
modern and liberal understanding of censorship.11 A rally is led by a mole, the head
of a censor is a pair of scissors, little children follow. The comment goes: “Süsse
heilige Censur, / Lass uns gehn auf deiner Spur; / Leite uns an deiner Hand / Kindern
gleich, am Gängelband!”.12 (Sweet saint censorship, / Let’s follow your footprints;/
Take us by the hand/ Like small children, /Keep us in leading-strings!).
Censorship had indeed become central to political struggle in the nineteenth cen-
tury, concerned as it was with the question of who controls what, as well as with the
public debate that dealt with the question of why we have to accept that somebody
controls somebody else at all. The liberal movement focused on protecting the press
from any encroachments and elevated the principle of freedom of the press to a
principle embedded in the constitutional charters. The sensitivity of liberal culture
in the West has had a twofold and strikingly divergent outcome as to the function
and meaning attributed to censorship that had and still has an impact on historians’
understanding of its role and relevance. It is, therefore, necessary to look just for a
moment beyond the boundaries set by the gatekeepers of the historical profession.
The meaning of censorship as a notion has widened to an unprecedented degree. In
fact, it has got out of control. The main reason for this expansion of the discursive
field around censorship is in all likelihood to be found in the Freudian emphasis
upon its role. Indeed, Freud gave censorship a central function in his psychoanalyti-
cal research.
Censorship is a key function of conscious life in that it diverts excessive stimuli,
unacceptable thoughts, to the unconscious, where they reemerge as distorted mani-
festations of the psychic life. The political analogy was clear to Freud. In The
Interpretation of Dreams, where Freud presented a full-fledged version of his cen-
sorship theory, the dream-thought has to tackle in the psyche of the dreamer the
same problem as “the political writer who has disagreeable truths to tell those in
authority”. Freud presents censorship as a necessary feature of society. His descrip-
tion of the impact of censorship on the writer is realistic. “If he presents [truth]
undisguised, the authorities will suppress his words – after they have been spoken,
if this pronouncement was an oral one, but beforehand, if he had intended to make
it in print. A writer must be aware of censorship, and to account for it he must soften
and distort the expression of his opinion. According to the strength and sensitive-
ness of the censorship he finds himself compelled either merely to refrain from
certain forms of attack, or to speak in allusions instead of direct references, or he

10
The Power of the Pen 2010.
11
Censorship and Silencing 1998.
12
Der Zensur zum Trotz 1991: 28; Clemens 2013.
Introduction xv

must conceal his objectionable pronouncement beneath some apparently innocent

disguise: for instance, he may describe a dispute between two mandarins in the
Middle Kingdom, when the people he has in mind are officials in his own country.
The stricter the censorship, the more far-reaching the disguise and the more inge-
nious too may be the means employed to alert the reader to the true meaning”.13
Freud did not envisage a society without controlling agencies: the people and the
ruler must be as juxtaposed as the two contending psychic forces at work in the
production of dreams; political censorship and dream-distortion are similarly deter-
mined. “One of these forces constructs the wish which is expressed by the dream,
while the other exercises a censorship upon this dream-wish and by the use of cen-
sorship, forcibly brings about a distortion in the expression of the wish”.14 The prac-
tice of censorship provided the model that inspired his description of the structural
filtering out of intolerable wishes.15 In Freud’s day, pre-publication censorship had
been abolished in Austria as a consequence of the political reforms of 1862, but the
memory of its working from 1851 to 1862 and the ruthless Russian censorship pro-
vided examples of real and successful censorship.16 Besides, in the political crisis of
1897 the censor had confiscated two issues of the liberal daily newspaper Neue
Freie Presse and proved to be a political factor in the building of public opinion.17
Far from suppressing the life of the emotions and the intellect, censorship, in Freud’s
theory, acts as a balancing factor that allows wishes to be expressed without disrupt-
ing the personality. Censorship promotes an adaptive strategy and capabilities that
make political and cultural life possible and productive.
This crucial role has been further expanded in Lacan’s influential writings: to
him censorship is constitutive of meaning and subjectivity itself, and the access to
meaning and subjectivity becomes possible only through the practice of self-
censorship. This broadening of the meaning and role of censorship has had an
impact on the sociology of knowledge.18 Bourdieu’s notion of censorship is based
on an interest in linguistics rather than in psychoanalysis, but he reaches a similar
conclusion to Freud as to the pervasiveness of censorship, in its regulation of the
field where both form and content are expressed. According to Bourdieu, censor-
ship is perfect when it is invisible, as it is inherent in all forms of perception and
expression that make the circulation of discourses within a specific field possible. In
reality, structural censorship is total and omnipresent self-censorship. The censor

13
Freud 1953. Vol. 4: 142.
14
Freud 1953. Vol. 4: 143.
15
See Schorske 1980: 187–8.
16
“Deliria are the work of a censorship which no longer takes the trouble to conceal its operation;
instead of collaborating in producing a new version that shall be unobjectionable, it ruthlessly
deletes whatever it disapproves of, so that what remains becomes quite disconnected. This censor-
ship acts exactly like the censorship of newspapers at the Russian frontier, which allows foreign
journals to fall into the hands of the readers whom it is its business to protect only after a quantity
of passages have been blacked out” (Freud 1953. Vol. 5: 529). On censorship in nineteenth century
Austria see Bachleitner 1997; Olechowski 2004.
17
McGrath 1986: 249.
18
Lacan 1977. See Mellard 1998.
xvi Introduction

dissolves in the mechanisms of power and in the formulation of the expression.19

Like Lacan and Bourdieu, Foucault has frequently employed the concept of censor-
ship while transforming its meaning. For Foucault, censorship expresses itself most
perfectly, not negatively, in explicit prohibition, but positively in the formulation of
discourses through which power, dispersed across the whole of the society, is prac-
tised. This holds true even for societies where complete freedom of thought is pro-
claimed. What was initially achieved through the occasional suppression of speech
acts can be more thoroughly achieved through a “technology of power” that incor-
porates the production of discourse and knowledge.20 The impact of this reorienta-
tion of the idea of censorship has been notable among certain schools of historians.
The “New Censorship” theorists stress that censorship is pervasive and unavoid-
able. For them, the very notion of a sociopolitical context fades into the background,
while the production of texts is emphasized, irrespective of the intentions of the
individuals involved in their elaboration and of the actual workings of formalized
institutions of control.21 In consequence, the author’s original intention and intended
meaning no longer constituted the central topic of analysis. As a matter of fact, the
notion of original authorial intention, at the core of any philological approach to the
facts of the past, appears, in this light, to be irrelevant. The notion of a damaging
censorship, interfering with the creative act of an author, is integral to the idea of the
emergence of the canon and the collective development of accepted paradigms. This
can be called an internalist approach as it highlights the structural features of the
censorship systems while rendering the actual confrontation between individuals
less relevant (not all authors were glad to be included in a canon they did not want
to have any part in) and better delineating the links between censorship and other
forms of coercion. According to Richard Dutton, the Master of the Revels was a
friend as much as a master to the licensed actors of Tudor England.22 Annabel
Patterson has defined “censorship as a code, as a tacit contract between writers and
the authorities”,23 and stressed that it was largely unwritten and unpredictable, based
as it was on the ability of both parties, power and writers, to guess where the limit
of the unspeakable was, and avoid the “equivocations shared by authors and
authorities”.24 Contemporary to Ben Johnson, in the early seventeenth century “the
critic and the censor were complicit rather than opposed: censors operated as critics,
and critics legitimated particular kinds of censorship”.25 Francis Bacon’s New
Atlantis has recently been singled out as a metaphor of “how openness, freedom
from obligation, and textual originality remain inseparable from the forms of
censorship, regulation and restraint that in fact produce them. The borders between

19
Bourdieu 1982. Bourdieu’s theory has inspired Biermann 1988.
20
Foucault 1976.
21
Müller 2004. A similar point is made in Rosenfeld 2001: 129. For a juridical approach see
Schauer 1998.
22
Dutton 1991.
23
Patterson 1984: 63.
24
Patterson 1984: 74–5.
25
Burt 1993: 30.
Introduction xvii

freedom and prohibition, knowledge and censorship, inside and outside, are radi-
cally unstable within the space and vision of the institution, collapsing these opposed
oppositions into more complex and indeterminate formations, characterized by, for
example, the non-self-identical doubleness, the uncanny twinning, of Europe-
Bensalem”.26 When the application of the internalist approach is extended beyond
the analysis of individual texts, and into the network created by their reception in
different cultures, translation can be equated to censorship because “both censor-
ship and translation are strategies to control meaning that are unavoidably insuffi-
cient”. “To be for or against censorship as such is to assume a freedom no one has.
Censorship is. One can only discriminate among its more and less repressive
effects”.27
Parallel to these developments in debates about the issue of freedom of the press
and censorship, political and cultural events of the twentieth century tell a different
story: censorship is associated with oppressive governments as distinct from liberal
or democratic governments, freedom of speech and the press are portrayed as desir-
able and attainable ends, and European history is narrated as a progression from
censorship towards unimpeded self-expression.28 Overviews of the history of news-
papers are especially prone to adhere to a master narrative that emphasizes the lib-
erating power of the market over state intervention. Censorship is considered to be
a powerful but inherently transient hindrance on the way to complete intellectual
and political emancipation.29 Censorship is located in a specific agency, which
works to control individuals. These individual writers are taken to be historical
actors who operate exclusively on their free will when unhindered by the censors.
The judiciary, administrators, legislators enacting decrees and laws, and executors
of political power all play important roles in the establishment of conditions that
allow or restrict critiques of civil and religious government and the founding values
of a society. Censorship can therefore at best be depicted as the clash of two com-
peting intellects, which represent coherent and contending worldviews. Its very
existence morally sanctions those who act as censors as well as allowing censored
writers to identify strongly as victims of an oppressive power. Where no censorship
is evident, it is often assumed that the text corresponds to the intention of the
author30; where this is not the case, interference from alternative agents can, in the-
ory, be detected and filtered out. Whether it is reasonable or tyrannical, censorship
comes from outside and intrudes upon the intentions of individuals. It is necessarily
something alien and extrinsic. Leo Strauss’ Persecution and the Art of Writing is the
most intense, if not necessarily historically accurate, use of this approach, as this
research will show. From his perspective the intellectual history of the West is
viewed as a constant confrontation between writers and censors taking on different

26
Wortham 2002: 196.
27
Holquist 1994: 109, 18, 16.
28
Censorship 2001.
29
The following books by Heinrich Hubert Houben exemplify the dichotomic approach to censor-
ship: Houben 1918; Houben 1926; Houben 1928.
30
See Firpo 1961.
xviii Introduction

forms, from classical antiquity to the Arab Middle Ages to early modern Europe.
Writers and censors are intrinsically at odds. Their contest is played out in the read-
ers’ minds. “Writing between the lines” is seen as the only technique that effectually
removes the damage inflicted by censors, because in doing so, the author “can per-
form the miracle of speaking in a publication to a minority, while being silent to the
majority of his readers”.31 The perceived outcome of this struggle between censors
and authors is obvious and foregone. “A careful writer of normal intelligence is
more intelligent than the most intelligent censor, as such. For the burden of proof
rests with the prosecutor. It is he, or the public prosecutor, who must prove that the
author holds or has uttered heterodox views. In order to do so he must show that
certain literary deficiencies of the work are not due to chance, but that the author
used a given ambiguous expression deliberately, or that he constructed a certain
sentence badly on purpose. That is to say, the censor must prove not only that the
author is intelligent and a good writer in general, for a man who intentionally blun-
ders in writing must possess the art of writing, but above all that he was on the usual
level of his abilities when writing the incriminating words. But how can that be
proved, if even Homer nods from time to time?”.32 The writer’s struggle with cen-
sors is so central and crucial that the Enlightenment project to do away with censor-
ship per se and make all texts accessible to all mankind provokes serious misgivings
on Strauss’ part. Delegitimizing the censors’ raison d’être was part and parcel of the
version of Enlightenment that Strauss so strenuously opposed. Censors belong to an
order where knowledge is reserved to a small community of readers who are able to
grasp the real meaning of the texts: in this conception censors are as hideous as they
are necessary to the working of a just society.
Strauss’ essay has not, until recently, been widely incorporated into the historical
research,33 but it is representative of an understanding of censorship that stresses the
clear distinction between the censors and censored, while accentuating the opposi-
tion between those who wield power, be they civil or ecclesiastical, and those who
must endure its effects and have their freedom curtailed.34 Writers and readers are
heroes struggling to affirm the truth, which is in jeopardy.
Analyses of the Roman Inquisition, which was accomplished at devising forms
of strict censorship, have often painted censors and authors as contending wills.
This black-and-white picture has its own Pantheon, a showcase of forbidden, muti-
lated, expurgated and burnt books: from the writings of Martin Luther and John
Calvin to Descartes’, from Galileo Galilei’s Dialogo sopra i due massimi sistemi del
mondo (Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems) to the newspapers
reporting on the French Revolution and Kant’s late writings on religion. Historians
of censorship, and intellectual life in general, tend to emphasize censorship as an
impediment to political and intellectual progress; this “externalist” approach how-

31
Strauss 1980: 22–38, 25. The first version was published in Strauss 1941. See also Van Den
Abbeele 1997; Kochin 2002.
32
Strauss 1980: 26.
33
Jaffro, Frydman, Cattin, Petit 2001. See Paganini 2005: 11–5.
34
For the tension between canon and censorship see Assmann, Assmann 1987: 11.
Introduction xix

ever can be subverted by those opposed to the principle of freedom of the press and
speech. The same Pantheon would then display the portraits of the hundreds of cen-
sors who struggled valiantly to save Europe from the horrors wrought by the print-
ing press.
The flaws of both approaches are now clear. The internalist interpretation, par-
ticularly in vogue in the last two decades, has correctly demonstrated the overly
dichotomic underpinnings of the externalist idea of censorship and has called atten-
tion to the more pervasive forms of censorship that go beyond pre-publication and
post-publication controls of the press. The extension of the conceptual framework
of censorship has helped to deepen the understanding of freedom of speech and of
the press in early modern Europe. However, in their conceptual expansion of the
meaning of censorship, internalist approaches tend to lose sight of the specific con-
texts and individuals involved in the process of significantly altering or suppressing,
texts and images, while their insistence on the ubiquity of censorship does not fit
easily into an historical analysis that stresses the nexus between impersonal prac-
tices and personal, highly individualized choices by all parties to the process.
On the other hand, the externalist approach has unduly valorized both the censors
and the censored so that the common understanding that made the operation of cen-
sorship possible is excluded from the picture. Censors are portrayed as all-powerful
agents committed to the imposition of state and church orthodoxy on writers and
engaged in a relentless struggle with the forces of progress. It has exaggerated the
censors’ efficacy, functionality, and possibly their integrity, as well as authors’ com-
mitment to unrestrained freedom of self-expression. It has also underrated, among
other things, the importance of practical issues such as copyright protection and the
promotion of the local printing industry, which both demanded a certain toleration
for morally objectionable but bestselling books. Moreover, the externalist approach
necessitates a teleological progression, since it envisages total freedom of expres-
sion as the necessary and logical, if possibly distant outcome of the recurring clash
between censors and censored.
The approach to censorship theory and practice, proposed here, tries to avoid the
pitfalls inherent in both the internalist and externalist approaches, in that it charts
the development of control institutions and the behaviour of censors throughout
Europe in the early modern age. The time span extends from the invention of the
printing press and the ensuing establishment of a system of control until the prin-
ciple of the freedom of the press was proclaimed and finally integrated into constitu-
tions at the end of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century. The European
framework is especially valuable as it shows the common features of the control
systems as well as the potential for autonomous developments that took place over
the course of three centuries and which resulted in a highly differentiated array of
censorship legislations and practices. The different attitudes to the dangers inherent
in the circulation of ideas reflected the sensitivity of governing elites to local situa-
tions, but also the underlying notion that among governments’ duties, control of the
circulation of discourses was vital and that the principle of a free press had to face
limits and qualifications in practice. The early modern age experimented with
control and freedom of the press to an extent that only a comparative investigation
xx Introduction

can put in perspective and do justice to. Its final outcome, the declaration of the
freedom of the press as an inalienable right of man, inaugurated a new phase in this
long process of experimentation and negotiation: it did not do away with the prob-
lem of control but the revolutionary assault on ancien regime censorship fundamen-
tally delegitimized a system of censorship that had prevailed for three centuries.
Although it came in many forms, of varying degrees of efficacy and thoroughness,
censorship was invariably a component of the production of printed texts.
How did it arise that throughout Europe a system of control was dismantled?
Did, as Venturi has suggested, a common pace of change in political culture and
reform influence the way the printing press was managed?35 The censorship system
was, in fact, part of a more comprehensive judicial system which informed many of
its features. A writer or printer who circumvented censorship offended not only
their fellow citizens but the divinely ordained society and polity embodied in the
monarch. As such the monarch had the right to prevent the publication of certain
words and discourses. Not just plainly subversive but implicitly disruptive voices
had to be silenced. Their eventual acceptance means that a fundamental shift had
taken place beyond the institutional framework.

Europe and Asia: To What Extent Were They Different?

In the following pages an attempt will be made to reconstruct the main features of
the process through which a system of control of the press was created as a response
to the invention of movable type. Unsystematically at first, in the early sixteenth
century, but with increasing consistency (but never perfectly coherently), censors
had to grapple with conditions wherein the spread of printed texts generated as
many positive opportunities for their authors and producers as it did potential dan-
gers to the status quo. The growth of a network of printing houses catering to new
social and intellectual groups could hardly be completely controlled. The unstable
balance between the burgeoning productive activities of writing and publication and
the secular and ecclesiastical agencies of control in pre-revolutionary Europe was
challenged repeatedly and adapted to new circumstances and governmental demands
during the Enlightenment. The system of censorship eventually collapsed and dis-
appeared, if only temporarily and partially, during the revolutionary crisis at the end
of the eighteenth century. In the following argument the concept of censorship will
generally be employed in its broadest sense, as a means of exerting a preventive
check on pre-publication texts by institutions which had outlived their functional
efficacy in the eighteenth century.36 While the present argument necessitates the
sketching of a broad view of the workings of early modern European censors, it by

35
Venturi 1971.
36
There has been a recent scholarly interest in the neo-classical notion of censorship as the appro-
priate instrument to stop forms of behaviour that harm society but cannot be sanctioned by law.
Examples of this understanding of censorship range from Bodin and Althusius to Filangieri and the
Introduction xxi

no means coheres with the overly teleological analysis of the inevitability of the
abolition of preventative censorship under the contradictions of an unstable balance
of control and production. The objective of this reconstruction is rather to show how
the tension between the different components of intellectual production was man-
aged. Each component was experimenting in its own domain with how best to deal
with the practical and intellectual consequences of the evident expansion of per-
sonal autonomy. Each component was confronted with an incipient reconfiguration
of the fundamental values of society (particularly dreaded by conservatives) and
with the threat of the social and political cost that a systematic repression of illegal
forms of expression would have entailed, as well as with the possibility that society
could be emancipated from pre-publication control of printed texts and that authors
and printers would be able to self-regulate. The constant flux of these tensions and
the never ending process of adjustment to the political, institutional and intellectual
developments can be interpreted as an argument for the vitality of the absolutist
approach to censorship rather than as evidence of its impending end. Freedom of the
press came to be considered an inalienable human right as the consequence of a
variety of intersecting developments to be analyzed in the context of a simple ques-
tion: how was it possible that a crucial pillar of the early-modern European societal
equilibrium was radically de-legitimitized and eventually dismantled (albeit tempo-
rarily) in a relatively short time span?
Before turning to the theory and practice of censorship in early modern Europe
and to its demise in the eighteenth century, it might be useful to stress one point that
is rarely mentioned in the historiography on censorship and freedom of the press. In
exerting strict pre-publication surveillance upon texts intended for the wider public,
European institutions were not acting significantly differently from non-European
political organizations confronted with complex intellectual and political settings.
During what is conventionally known as the early modern period in Europe, other
governments, while obviously unaware of the practice and theory of censorship in
Catholic and reformed countries, faced the same problem of controlling the spread
of texts that might jeopardize the political, religious and social status quo. A fully-
fledged comparative history of regulatory decisions from a global perspective
remains elusive but a few remarks on the regulation of the printing press and the
circulation of published texts in the Chinese Empire and in Japan from the sixteenth
through the eighteenth centuries allow the essential features of the European experi-
ence to be seen in perspective.37
When the Manchu, Qing dynasty conquered Beijing in 1644 and gradually con-
solidated its control of Chinese territory, there was a widespread fear that those who
remained loyal to the defeated Ming dynasty could disseminate legitimist discourses
through their writings by praising Han nationalism against all foreigners, which
implicitly included the new Manchu rulers. In 1661 a new edition of an old Ming
history was considered to be insulting to the new Qing emperor: its author’s bones

deputy at the Convention Piqué (1793). This neo-classical notion will not be treated here. See
Bianchin 2005a, 2010.
37
See Darnton 1995a, 2005; Landi 2011b; La censura nel secolo dei lumi 2011.
xxii Introduction

were exhumed and publicly burnt, while the surviving members of his family and
all those involved in the publication, including engravers, printers, book sellers, the
authors of different prefaces and all those who had purchased copies, were either
traded as slaves or beheaded. Under the emperor Kangxi (1662–1722), later under
his successor Yongzheng (1723–1735) and above all under Qianlong (1736–1796)
control was tightened, despite the increasing stability and acceptance of the Manchu
dynasty, and culminated in an attempt to strictly regulate all aspects of intellectual
life.38 One consequence of this control project was the 1724 prohibition to profess a
Christian faith. Christianity was considered a sect, founded by a rebel to legitimate
authority, which would inevitably stir up revolts in China. Moreover, according to
the Qing authorities, Christian confessions resembled the rites of the sect of the
white lotus and the Jesuits were suspected of carrying out alchemical experiments.
The Catholic printing press was very active from the 1650s thanks to Xu Guangqi,
whose life was narrated by the Jesuit Couplet in an edifying biography in 1688, but
was henceforth repressed and annihilated.39 The prohibition of mentioning or allud-
ing to politically relevant questions even extended to taboo words that were inad-
missible in printed texts. In particular the names of the living emperor could not be
reproduced and the authors had to leave a blank space or use another character or a
character that was purposely modified or incomplete. Usually texts that violated this
rule were not destroyed and the character was simply replaced. Nonetheless, these
were cases of lèse-majesté, a crime against the dignity of the emperor which could
also trigger dramatic and unpredictable reactions. This is true also for those texts
that might be read as offensive to the emperor. Unlike European writings, ideo-
grams can suggest allusions both through their sound and through the shape of the
ideogram. In 1726, one line in a text submitted in an examination to enter the
bureaucracy meant: “where the people are resting”. If one dash above the first char-
acter and one below the last were deleted the meaning would be: “the emperor is
beheaded”. The author-suspect in this case died during his interrogation and his text
was destroyed. Traditionally, no controls were exerted on erotic texts. Sex was not
a taboo subject, but increasingly in the eighteenth century official attitudes towards
erotic literature became more rigid and in 1738 a decree was issued forbidding own-
ers of bookshops to provide short-term loans of what were considered to be obscene
books. More generally, the literate elites looked upon popular literature with con-
tempt and stressed the value of works conceived as props for morality and which
sustained social values. Pornographic books or ghost stories were forbidden but
remained preserved in private libraries. A distinctive trait of Confucian culture,
unlike Buddhist culture, is that images are disdained and text is exalted as the mean-
ingful core of the book.
Three features of press control and book diffusion in imperial China stand out
from a comparative perspective. The first feature relates to the history of xylographic
printing by means of engraved wooden blocks which made the circulation of publi-

38
Mote 1998; For a comprehensive review essay focusing on works in Mandarin see Brockaw
2007.
39
Mungello 1999: 42–5.
Introduction xxiii

cations so pervasive that untargeted prohibitions were bound to fail. Proscriptive

measures were aimed at political works produced for the literate elite. Control of the
printing press did not therefore impact negatively upon book production, which
remained quite strong. Under both the Ming and Qing dynasties, the imperial gov-
ernment supported printing shops at provincial and county levels, where authorized
editions of the classics, histories, dictionaries and medical books were produced for
use in schools and academies.
The second salient characteristic pertains to the concept of censorship itself. In
imperial China, censorship could only be a post-publication operation because
xylographic printing required neither specialized skills nor sophisticated instru-
ments so that the reproduction of texts was easy which rendered prohibition largely
ineffective. Hence no attempt was made to set up a system of pre-publication manu-
script control. An imperial decree of 1778, which charged provincial directors with
the control of manuscripts, remained a dead-letter.40 A list of forbidden books was
drawn up only after their publication which reflected the criteria that authors were
expected to meet. The absence of a grass-roots system of preventive control led to a
repressive approach that was unpredictably ferocious but unsystematic.41 Extensive
self-censorship ensued and increasingly replaced the Confucian principle that one
should speak frankly to the emperor. The third feature is the exclusively political
nature of the control of the printing press. The notion of order was crucial, while
religious eclecticism was accepted, the occasional attack on Taoism and Buddhism
notwithstanding. The book as an artifact attracted great respect in imperial China: it
was prized as a contribution to stability in the universe as it was evidence that man
is different from animals. This deference for books inspired the creation of an asso-
ciation devoted to the cult of printed books. Its members collected and ritually
burned all fragments of printed paper they could gather. As late as 1886, a
Presbyterian missionary in Suzhou, DuBose, insisted on the ancient origins of this
cult and interpreted it as an aspect of Chinese devotion for the “written character”
and knowledge expressed in a sacrificial religious rite to the letters, to Confucius, to
the god of literature. Such an attitude to books was intertwined with the desire to
regulate the printing sector. Associations similar to the one described by DuBose
supported the government’s efforts to enforce the prohibition of obscene literature
by destroying the wooden blocks engraved with the offensive or offending text. The
real aim of these associations was the purification of society and individuals, the
preservation of the dignity of the written word and deference for literature and the
rejection of commodification.42
In Japan, the development of the system which controlled the circulation of texts
was markedly different. Until the end of the sixteenth century, Buddhist monasteries
enjoyed an exclusive monopoly over the printing press. The production of printed
texts for the general public began in Kyoto in the early seventeenth century, when

40
Brokaw 2005: 18 highlights that authorities used to crack down on books they considered to be
dangerous.
41
See Brook 2004: 127.
42
McDermott 2006.
xxiv Introduction

temporarily, the printing press with movable type replaced xylographic technology.
The latter in turn prevailed and after the mid-seventeenth century successfully sup-
plied a booming market.43
Here, repression of printed literature was occasioned by the anti-Christian cam-
paign and began with the 1630 decree that banned the importation of books from
China, including 32 works by Matteo Ricci. The ban was renewed and reinforced in
1676 when a catalogue was drawn up of Christian books not to be imported. In the
late seventeenth century, a magistrate in Nagasaki was appointed with the task of
stopping Chinese books about Christianity from entering Japan. Pressure mounted
with demands for the regulation of production of printed texts by rigorist Confucian
sects, especially poems and historical narrations which could easily be used to lead
people astray.44 The ban was later lifted in order to allow scientific literature from
Europe, particularly Holland to be imported. Domestic circulation of printed texts
was the responsibility of the guild of book traders, which was officially incorpo-
rated between 1716 and 1723. The shogun government only interfered with the
circulation of books under exceptional circumstances, the prohibition of books
favourable to the Togukawa dynasty’s rivals, for instance.
As soon as the ability of the guild of book traders to manage the increasing quan-
tity of books on the market was proven, decrees were issued inventorizing unaccept-
able books. In particular, publications critical of the authorities and which ‘spread
gossip’ were targeted. The inventories however were largely ignored by both pro-
ducers and traders. The situation changed following the edicts of 1721 and 1722
which forbade the publication of new books, with the exception of medical text-
books, poems and religious, non-Christian works, such as Shinto, Buddhist and
Confucian texts. Even if a new text seemed worthy of publication, an official autho-
rization was required before printing could proceed. The frontispiece of the book
had to include both the author’s and printer’s names. This preventive censorship was
carried out by the guild of book traders. Many of the texts that were deemed unlikely
to pass the censor’s assessment would be sold on the clandestine market of illegal
books or handwritten and circulated in manuscript form.45 At the end of the eigh-
teenth century, the bans were renewed and multiplied, indicating that they went
unheeded. At the same time, readers’ numbers increased: more and more Japanese
purchased books and subscribed to bookshops that lent publications for a monthly
fee. (There were around 800 such circulating libraries in Edo in the late-eighteenth
century).46 Legal prints had to display the seal of the censor who had cleared the text
for publication. Authors and printers who did not observe this procedure, dating
from 1721 to 1722, were persecuted. As in China, calendars and astrological fore-
casts were forbidden, as they might justify rebellions. Since calendars could prove
the harmony of the universe with the government, the government aspired to control
their production. Pre-publication censorship and post-publication repression were

43
Cambridge History of Japan 1991: 726.
44
See Maruyama 1974: 38; Akinari 2009: 13.
45
Kornicki 2001.
46
Cambridge History of Japan 1989: 68.
Introduction xxv

intended to insulate Japan from contact with Western culture and prevent public
criticism of the government. Following a similar trajectory to many European states
in the post-Napoleonic period, responsibility for the application of preventive cen-
sorship was transferred, from the guild of book traders to the members of the Bakufu
Academy in 1842. In consequence, both procedure and criteria were tightened and
censorship became even more meticulous and effective under the Meiji.47
China and Japan exhibit a variety of combinations where violent and sometimes
ruthless repression alternated, or was coupled with, various forms of pressure on
writers and printers to exercise the virtues of prudence and self-control.
Seen from this perspective, the history of censorship institutions in these political
systems demonstrates that many of the elements which played a major role in early
modern Europe were also central to the process in China and Japan. In particular,
the creation of a systematic Index of forbidden books in Catholic countries was
meant to address the need to regulate the public’s reading that the Japanese hierar-
chy also considered crucial. The semi-public functions performed by the Japanese
book traders’ guild is also reminiscent of similar arrangements in Ancien Régime
France to impose discipline in the production and circulation of legal books.
It may be argued therefore that the variety of forms of control, adjusted to social
and political settings and to the technical specificities of book production, devised
in Europe and Asia were broadly similar in form, timing and their anxiety about the
negative effects of the unrestrained articulation and circulation of thoughts in print.
This empirical evidence raises the question of how and why some European coun-
tries during the early modern era considered it inevitable, or useful, or appropriate
to give up the traditional forms of control on the press. As a first approximation, it
may be claimed that the tension within the control institutions themselves between
contrasting interests and agendas was a source of debate as to the fairness and effi-
cacy of prepublication authorization. Debates around the legal intricacies of censor-
ship lent themselves to discussion of the legitimacy or illegitimacy of control. When
it was proven that the attempt to put “a shell as hard as steel” on printing and publi-
cation stifled rather than protected or regulated it, when it ground down intellectual
and scientific activity rather than sustaining it, significant portions of European
societies came to agree that the harm to the commonwealth and the violation of
individual rights which resulted from preventative censorship were unacceptable.
For a short time at the end of the eighteenth century public institutions had to adapt
and conform to dramatic new intellectual and political circumstances.48 The follow-
ing pages will present and analyze a number of examples of how the control system
was put under scrutiny and eventually dismantled and of how European govern-
ments groped towards a compromise between censors’ control and free expression.

47
On the long-term effects on book trade during the Tokugawa period see Mitchell 1983.
48
For a comprehensive bibliography see Grundfreiheiten Menschenrechte 1500–1850. 1992. Vol.
4, chapter 8: Meinungs- und Pressefreiheit – Freiheit der Forschung und der Lehre: 257–338; May
2010.
Chapter 1
Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

Two Models of Thought

In the middle of the seventeenth century, a few years apart, the two pre-eminent
political philosophers in Europe worked out opposing theories of the proper course
of action for political power-holders in their dealings with the written word. Thomas
Hobbes and Baruch Spinoza held contrasting views of the nature of communication
between human beings which were based on starkly different analyses of society
and the civil power. In fact their shared assumption that in the state of nature there
could be neither morality nor legality, developed in divergent directions.1
Before explaining how control institutions were founded and run in practice in
post-Gutenberg Europe, a presentation of Hobbes’ and Spinoza’s ideas on the nature
of communication and control will help to outline the intellectual options available
to the authorities faced with balancing freedom and control in the period before the
revolutionary upheavals of the eighteenth century.
In the Leviathan, Hobbes collected all the arguments militating against freedom
of the press and thereby created a repertoire of topoi to justify restrictions on free
communication. The experience of the English civil war, expounded in Behemoth,
showed that books instil a love for democratic government and stir up sedition.2 The
contrast with Francis Bacon’s earlier argument is evident.
Francis Bacon had displayed a tolerant attitude towards political critique under
the Stuart monarchy and had argued that the prudent discourses of writers and a
judicious course of action by the sovereign would together generate a condition of
general peace.3 Unlike Bacon, Hobbes claimed that the social contract handed all

1
See Curley 1991: 318 on freedom of the press.
2
Hobbes 1839–1845b. Behemoth: 20, 4.
3
“Libels and licentious discourses against the state, when they are frequent and open; and in like
sort, false news often running up and down, to the disadvantage of the state, and hastily embraced;
are amongst the signs of troubles. Virgil, giving the pedigree of Fame, saith, she was sister to the

© Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016 1

E. Tortarolo, The Invention of Free Press, International Archives
of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 219,
DOI 10.1007/978-94-017-7346-1_1
2 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

the rights that human beings had enjoyed in the state of nature, to the sovereign.
Hobbes, however, could not countenance the claim that a diversity of opinions
would not hinder the exercise of political power; the right to differ from the sover-
eign and to criticize his decisions was among those rights which men had renounced
upon entering into the social contract and which belonged exclusively to the sover-
eign: if the political authority cannot force anyone to believe, it can force everyone
to obey.4
Moreover, in Chap. 18 of the Leviathan, Hobbes listed the “Rights of sovereigns
by institution” and argued explicitly that
it is annexed to the sovereignty to be judge of what opinions and doctrines are averse, and
what conducing to peace; and consequently, on what occasions, how far, and what men are
to be trusted withal in speaking to multitudes of people; and who shall examine the doc-
trines of all books before they be published. For the actions of men proceed from their
opinions, and in the well governing of opinions consisteth the well governing of men’s
actions in order to their peace and concord. And though in matter of doctrine nothing to be
regarded but the truth, yet this is not repugnant to regulating of the same by peace. For
doctrine repugnant to peace can no more be true, than peace and concord can be against the
law of nature. It is true that in a Commonwealth, where by the negligence or unskillfulness
of governors and teachers false doctrines are by time generally received, the contrary truths
may be generally offensive: yet the most sudden and rough bustling in of a new truth that
can be does never break the peace, but only sometimes awake the war. For those men that
are so remissly governed that they dare take up arms to defend or introduce an opinion are
still in war; and their condition, not peace, but only a cessation of arms for fear of one
another; and they live, as it were, in the precincts of battle continually. It belonged therefore
to him that hath the sovereign power to be judge, or constitute all judges of opinions and
doctrines, as a thing necessary to peace; thereby to prevent discord and civil war.5

Preventative censorship is inherent in the political and social conditions created

by the social contract. The same logic held for religious doctrines found to be
incompatible with official church teachings: these were unacceptable as they would
hinder the operations of the only legitimate power. Since toleration for dissenting
confessions was not admissible, the public expression of their doctrines was bound
to be repressed. The consequence of Hobbes’ political philosophy was the outright

Giants: Illam Terra parens, ira irritata deorum, Extremam (ut perhibent) Coeo Enceladoque soro-
rem Progenuit. As if fames were the relics of seditions past; but they are no less, indeed, the pre-
ludes of seditions to come. Howsoever he noteth it right, that seditious tumults, and seditious
fames, differ no more but as brother and sister, masculine and feminine; especially if it come to
that, that the best actions of a state, and the most plausible, and which ought to give greatest con-
tentment, are taken in ill sense, and traduced: for that shows the envy great, as Tacitus saith; con-
flata magna invidia, seu bene seu male gesta premunt. Neither doth it follow, that because these
fames are a sign of troubles, that the suppressing of them with too much severity, should be a
remedy of troubles. For the despising of them, many times checks them best; and the going about
to stop them, doth but make a wonder long-lived” (Of Seditions and Troubles. In Bacon 1857:
124–5). This essay was added to the 1625 edition of the Essays, when Charles I ascended to the
throne following the death of his father James I. It might be interpreted as calling for more atten-
tion to be paid to the elite at court.
4
For this point see Goldsmith 1966: 214–15; Collins 2007.
5
Hobbes 1839–1845a. Leviathan: 164.
Two Models of Thought 3

prohibition of free expression. This was informed by his analysis of the function and
operation of discourse and communication. Censorship was more than a necessary
function of the absolute rule of the sovereign: it played a crucial role in intellectual
life.
Hobbes’ analysis of language and discourse was in fact logically consistent with
his notion that the absolutist state was entitled to control knowledge and imagina-
tion. To Hobbes, the press itself did not need to be controlled specifically. The point
of friction was that language was God-given to man at Creation but had become so
ambiguous and confusing as to seriously threaten social cohesion.
But all this language gotten, and augmented by Adam and his posterity, was again lost at the
tower of Babel, when by the hand of God, every man was stricken for his rebellion, with an
oblivion of his former language. And being hereby forced to disperse themselves into sev-
erall parts of the world, it must needs be, that the diversity of Tongues that now is, pro-
ceeded by degrees from them, in such manner, as need (the mother of all inventions) taught
them; and in tract of time grew every where more copious.

All languages share common elements and fulfil the same functions: “the first
use of names, is to serve for Markes, or Notes of remembrance” that refer to thoughts
and objects. The second use is “to signifie (by their connexion and order) one to
another, what they conceive, or think of each matter; and also what they desire,
feare, or have any other passion for, and for this use they are called Signes”. Words
must relate exactly to their objects, no matter if they are “Proper, and singular to one
onely thing” or if they are “called an Universall […] imposed on many things, for
their similitude in some quality, or other accident”.
Language is inherent in civilized society but its abuses are disruptive.
Speciall uses of Speech are these; First, to Register, what by cogitation, we find to be the
cause of any thing, present or past; and what we find things present or past may produce, or
effect: which in summe, is acquiring of Arts. Secondly, to shew to others that knowledge
which we have attained; which is, to Counsell, and Teach one another. Thirdly, to make
known to others our wills, and purposes, that we may have the mutuall help of one another.
Fourthly, to please and delight our selves, and others, by playing with our words, for plea-
sure or ornament, innocently.
To these Uses, there are also foure correspondent Abuses. First, when men register their
thoughts wrong, by the inconstancy of the signification of their words; by which they regis-
ter for their conceptions, that which they never conceived; and so deceive themselves.
Secondly, when they use words metaphorically; that is, in other sense than that they are
ordained for; and thereby deceive others. Thirdly, when by words they declare that to be
their will, which is not. Fourthly, when they use them to grieve one another: for seeing
nature hath armed living creatures, some with teeth, some with horns, and some with hands,
to grieve an enemy, it is but an abuse of Speech, to grieve him with the tongue, unlesse it be
one whom we are obliged to govern; and then it is not to grieve, but to correct and amend.6

6
Hobbes 1839–1845a. Leviathan: 19–20. For the analysis of the tension between words and power
see Pettit 2008. On Hobbes as a translator of Thucydides in his role as a critic of the degeneration
of language, see Grafton 2007: 138.
4 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

To state the truth “consisteth in the right ordering of names in our affirmations”
and there can only one such “ordering of names”. Filtering out ambiguities from
language is a crucial task. Hobbes was very clear about the negative consequences
of a lack in strictness in using language properly.
The Light of humane minds is Perspicuous Words, but by exact definitions first snuffed, and
purged from ambiguity; Reason is the Pace; Encrease of Science, the Way; and the Benefit
of man-kind, the End. And on the contrary, Metaphors, and senslesse and ambiguous words,
are like Ignes Fatui; and reasoning upon them, is wandering amongst innumerable absurdi-
ties; and their end, contention, and sedition, or contempt.7

More than just controlling the printing sector and stopping seditious books and
gazettes, governments had to attend to the use of words. It was their responsibility
to shape the language and principles of those sciences to be practised in the univer-
sities, from whence these would spread throughout society thanks to the “younge
men” educated therein.8
The scope of government based on the social contract was therefore much
broader than that implied by a purely repressive censorship policy. The prohibition
of books that constituted a threat to social peace was just one element of the active
strategy of the sovereign to shape the circulation of ideas through educational insti-
tutions and to thereby influence the formation of both language and the printing
sector. There was a logical connection between this understanding of language and
the censorship exercised by the sovereign power. This connection became the
implicit premise of absolutist theories on the control of communication.
Spinoza developed an argument in favour of freedom of speech and of the press
that provided a clear alternative to the Hobbesian model. He claimed that language
was an instrument to accomplish the aim of the state, which is not peace, as Hobbes
argued, but liberty. Spinoza was convinced that every individual had a right to their
own opinion even after society was established under the social contract. From this
he concluded that the government had no legitimate way to check opinions, nor in
fact, could it exercise any control over thoughts; the futility of censorship was self-
evident.9 The final chapter of the Tractatus theologico-politicus maintained that
freedom is intrinsic to the communication of thoughts and that the state has an inter-
est in protecting freedom of expression. The disagreement with Hobbes is plain, and
derived from their opposed understandings of anthropology and their distinct
notions of collective organization. For Spinoza opinions are not intrinsically unsta-
ble: on the contrary, they express the very essence of what it is to be human. The
proper meaning of words can be elucidated, as the Tractatus theologico-politicus
shows, despite the assertions to the contrary by political and religious power-
holders. It could not be otherwise, since the capacity and the right to make judge-
ments is inalienable.

7
Hobbes 1839–1845a. Leviathan: 37.
8
Skinner 1996: 301.
9
Cooper 2006.
Two Models of Thought 5

Since, therefore, no one can abdicate his freedom of judgement and feeling;
since every man is, by indefeasible natural right, the master of his own thoughts: it
follows that men thinking in diverse and contradictory fashions cannot, without
disastrous results, be compelled to speak only according to the dictates of the
supreme power.10
All attempts by government to control the meaning of words and therefore their
citizens’ discourses were bound to fail since their hypothetical success would
undermine the essence of the republic. In fact, given that government could enforce
a certain control, citizens had to either use language ambiguously and with ingenu-
ity or to incur penalties up to and including capital punishment, if they wished to
hold and express their own ideas. Faced with this choice a generalised rejection
would ensue: for, whereas restraining citizens’ actions is a legitimate government
duty, restraining their words and thoughts is an insupportable abrogation of power.
History, Spinoza claimed, has proven this principle beyond any possible doubt.11
At the core of Spinoza’s argument lies a respect for the individual and for all
humans’ innate potential for rationality. This attitude resonated in many writings by
those who agreed with Spinoza’s argument in the Tractatus theologico-politicus,
together with his warning that a lack of constraints implies “some inconveniences”.
Spinoza was obviously well aware that his own system was incompatible with that
of Hobbes: as he wrote in a letter to his friend Jelles, in his own philosophy “natural
right” is preserved “in its integrity” and cannot be surrendered as part of a compact.
This principle applies, too, to the right to judge and communicate thoughts. In this
letter to Jelles, Spinoza nonetheless acknowledged again, somewhat grudgingly,
that “the most ignorant are ever the most audacious and the most ready to rush into
print” and that booksellers are more likely to favour bad books.12
The conservative development of Spinoza’s political thought in the aftermath of
the downfall of the Pensionnaire of Holland, Jan de Witt, in 1672 did not affect his
attitude towards the principle of the fundamental liberty to formulate and communi-
cate ideas.13 Ironically, when the Tractatus theologico-politicus was formally pro-
hibited on 19 July 1674, the decree condemned both the Tractatus, arguing for the
freedom of speech and communication, and Hobbes’ Leviathan, rejecting it
(Lodevijk Mejer’s Philosophia Sacrae Scripturae interpretes was the third work
included in the list).14
The diffusion of Spinoza’s writings was remarkable and does not appear to have
been much hindered by censorship institutions, which unanimously considered his
works and the Tractatus in particular to be a dangerous threat to political and reli-
gious order.15

10
Spinoza 1891: 258.
11
See Rosenthal 2008.
12
Spinoza 2007: 1420–1.
13
Prokhovnik 2002: 201–20.
14
Malcolm 2002: 380–1.
15
Israel 2001: 284–5 and 302–7.
6 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

The Dream of Perfect Control

Hobbes’ and Spinoza’s thoughts on freedom of expression were explicit, straight-

forward and reflected contrasting visions of political conduct in the mid-seventeenth
century. They did not however reflect the realities of the diverse institutional con-
figurations crystallized since the invention and spread of printing and the
Reformation and the ensuing religious schism in Europe. Between the Council of
Trent and the late seventeenth century, European states undertook to establish sys-
tems of preventative control for the press and had used these to reinforce their con-
fessional and political homogeneity and counter the influence of rival faiths or
rulers. Control over printed matter would allow a more stringent oversight of what
was taught in schools, in academies and in seminaries. These in turn influenced the
content of sermons which, since Europe was largely illiterate, were the most impor-
tant concern. In this, it is worth emphasizing that the strategies pursued by the gov-
ernments of Catholic, Lutheran and Calvinist states, did not differ fundamentally.16
In no territory, however, did the institutional framework conform completely to the
highly idealised control models that culminated in Hobbes’ Leviathan.
Recent scholarship has demonstrated that the emergence of early modern print
culture did not completely supplant the practice of circulating handwritten texts.
These were easier to produce and distribute without the civil and religious authori-
ties taking notice and were overall a relatively safer way to express unconventional
ideas. It was this circulation of manuscripts that allowed for the creation of a corpus
of “clandestine texts”, handwritten and exchanged among private individuals with a
view to developing critical discussion within a socially restricted group in the upper
echelons of society.17 Moreover, the circulation of manuscript texts allowed their
authors to retain greater control over their thoughts, which they surrendered when a
text was sent to the censors for legitimate publication. They also avoided the altera-
tions likely to occur during the different phases of typographic production, as long
as the author and the scribe were in agreement.18 It is nonetheless evident that the
printing press and the profound changes to which it gave rise, in the production,
distribution and reception of all sorts of texts marked a sharp break in literate elite
attitudes towards the circulation of knowledge in general. An early response came
from the Catholic Church, whose policies from the first decades of the sixteenth
century onwards, offered a model for European governments. The technical limita-
tions on censorship during the early modern period meant that comprehensive pre-
ventative control of the press was an unlikely outcome but one that most governments
aspired to nonetheless.
The contradiction between the need for a systematic strategy of control and its
limited efficacy remained a lasting feature of the history of censorship in Europe.
The gap between goals and achievements notwithstanding, the papal hierarchy was

16
Reinhard 1989: 392.
17
Benítez 2003.
18
Love 1993; Chartier 2005: 76, 117–18.
The Dream of Perfect Control 7

remarkably successful in gradually setting up institutions the main task of which

was to monitor all texts submitted for publication and preventatively filter out the
inadmissible, while also elaborating a theory of the necessity of control over the
printing press not long after its invention and dissemination.19
In 1478 Niccolò Perotti, bishop of Siponto and a humanist with ties to Lorenzo
Valla, urged Pope Paul III to monitor printers in order to guarantee high quality
scholarly publications. Such an opportunity was afforded by the publication of the
Natural History (Historia Naturalis) by Pliny the Elder: Perotti firmly believed that
printed texts would soon replace the illuminated codices produced by careful,
skilled and well-trained scribes. Printed texts were prone to perpetuate philological
inaccuracies and even blatant errors if no preventative measures were taken. At first,
however, his concern fell on deaf ears.20 In 1487 Pope Innocent VIII issued the bull
Inter multiplices with the first ever regulation of the printing press: it was addressed
to the whole of Christianity but promulgated only in the German city of Cologne,
where the university, under the supervision of the archbishop, was assigned to over-
see all printers.
With the proliferation of printing shops in German and Italian cities, bishops
increasingly tried, with the help of theology lecturers, members of the monastic
orders and pious lay individuals, to exercise control over the output of printed
works. In 1501 Pope Alexander VI aimed to centralise control but to no avail.
Before the Reformation forced Rome to take an aggressive stance in order to bolster
the organizational effort against Protestantism, civil institutions set out to control
printing activity out of fear that dangerous books were being produced. Far from
effective in practice, in theory the bull Inter solicitudines, promulgated by Pope Leo
X in 1515, forbade printers to publish books without prior authorization.
The development of the printing press and the increasing diffusion of printed
books spurred the authorities to try to limit their consequences. In Paris, the
Sorbonne and the Parlement collaborated from 1521 onwards to inspect, with a
view to limiting the circulation of, humanistic texts advocating ecclesiastical
reform.21
In 1531 officials from these two institutions began searching booksellers’ shops
for texts that were considered theologically unacceptable. Around the same time the
monarchy set out to prevent the publication of texts challenging its authority, par-
ticularly those which argued for papal prerogatives and privileges. The publication
of the Index of forbidden books (Index des livres interdits) in 1544 was an indica-
tion of the increasingly systematic and comprehensive control of printing. Ever
tighter restrictions failed to stop the circulation, Europe-wide, of prohibited books,
as the spread of Erasmus’ works testifies. Nonetheless, in some fields control was

19
Thomas Werner has argued that the invention of the moveable-type printing press had a crucial
impact on the nature of book control (Werner 2007: 24–46, 529).
20
Monfasani 1988; Frajese 2006; Wolf 2006: 13–45.
21
Higman 1979: 83.
8 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

more effective: the publication of vernacular Bibles was banned in 1525 and
remained in place until 1565.22
In Catholic Europe, governments consistently employed indexes of forbidden
books as a means of control: these provided the means to curb the circulation of
forbidden books while eschewing, for the time being, the creation of a complex and
expensive system of preventative censorship. The explosion of book production,
“printed books, that are sold now for the price of a loaf of bread”, opened up new
fields of interaction between religious and civil authorities, for example, increasing
competition over the right to control the population as well as collaboration in sup-
pressing undesirable ideas or conduct.23
Initially civil institutions led the charge to index banned books. In Milan and
Madrid in 1538, in Gand in 1546, in Venice in 1549, in Valencia in 1551, local
authorities issued indexes of works they saw as a threat. These indexes lacked
homogeneity, were not coordinated and no corresponding attempt was made to reg-
ulate book production, all such shortcomings serving to limit their efficacy.24
The example of the Republic of Venice, among the Italian states, is particularly
instructive. Here, control of the press was the prerogative of the Council of Ten from
1527 onwards. In 1543 and again in 1547 its members decried the printers who
ignored their orders and lamented the production of books and engravings that
offended God’s honour and the Christian faith. Since blasphemy was seen as a
threat to the foundation of the Republic, the Council of Ten placed the Executors
against Blasphemy in charge of monitoring printers, and entrusted surveillance of
both ancient and modern texts to its recent creation, the Reformers of the Studio of
Padua (Riformatori dello Studio di Padova), a body of censors associated with the
University in Padua.25
The creation of the Congregations of the Holy Office and the Index in 1542 and
1571, demonstrates the Catholic hierarchy’s prevailing suspicion of books and view
of the printing press as a threat to religious orthodoxy. This view demanded that
both civil and religious authorities institute preventative censorship of new manu-
scripts alongside careful censorship of already existing texts. The Congregation of
the Holy Office was a manifestation of the theoretical right of the church to regulate
book production on the intellectual as well as the commercial level. The creation of
such a system, underpinned by Counter-Reformation orthodoxy, was not so straight-
forward a task as it might have appeared on paper.
The compilation of indexes of prohibited books in 1559, 1564 and (after tortu-
ous, acrimonious and protracted negotiations) 1596, demonstrates the organic
development of sometimes overlapping control strategies. A similarly contradictory

22
Soman 1976; Farge 1996; Farge 2008. For the circulation of the Geneva Bible in France in the
1570s see Zemon Davis 1975. Chapter Printing and the People: 85.
23
Libri manoscritti e a stampa 1982: 190.
24
de Bujanda 1984–1996. For a comparative overview see de Bujanda 2003.
25
Jacoviello 1993; Witcombe 2004: 59–68.
The Dream of Perfect Control 9

overlap was also apparent in the divergent and inconsistent assessment and restric-
tion of Erasmus’ writings.26
The consequences of this regulatory effort, from the compilation of indexes to
the impossible undertaking of erasing all traces of non-Christian belief from exist-
ing human knowledge, have been significant and long-lasting. Expurgation was a
chimera which exposed the far-fetched and implausible papal intentions and strate-
gies, the impact of repeated attempts to realize it was, however, very real, and
purged books remained, at best, inaccessible for sometimes very long periods.27 The
Counter-Reformation ecclesiastical hierarchies insisted that no books should be left
to readers without direct or indirect clerical supervision, as books were viewed as
foci of heretical infection.28
Unsurprisingly the papal contention that the Catholic Church had the right to
intervene in the political arena through control of the press was opposed by the
protestant churches which stressed civil authorities’ exclusive prerogative to man-
age censorship agencies.29 In Lisbon, the Portuguese Inquisition published a series
of Catholic indexes in 1551, 1564, 1581 and 1624, that were adapted to local condi-
tions; each one further enlarged the canon of forbidden literature while similarly
tailored indexes appeared in Liège in 1569, Antwerp in 1570 and Munich in 1569
and 1582.
Clear-cut and unequivocal criteria to establish the orthodoxy or heterodoxy of an
individual work could never really be defined, which in practice meant that the
scope of admissible literature was severely limited. Even the practice of granting
individual permissions to read forbidden books was increasingly restricted in the
course of the sixteenth century. The Jesuit scholar, Petrus Canisius, asked the papal
hierarchy for greater flexibility in dealing with prohibited books in confessionally
mixed territories of the Holy Roman Empire, where he was active as a teacher. The
constant interaction between Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists seemed to require
a more flexible approach and Canisius recommended that two indexes be issued, the
first listing all forbidden books, the second indicating those that could be used in the
Jesuit colleges in the German territories. The Holy Office rejected Canisius’ pro-
posal in its entirety in 1559. Other, similar requests were met with the same hard
line. In 1573 the papal nuncio in Vienna forwarded the request of a prominent per-
sonality at the Habsburg Court to be formally allowed to read non-religious books
by protestant authors. The Secretary of State, Tolomeo Galli, flatly replied that “His
Holiness is reluctant to concede permissions to read forbidden books, and he is in
fact contemplating revoking those already granted, as experience shows that they
are cause more harm than they do good, as many were not capable of extricating
themselves from the teachings of similar books”.30

26
Seidel Menchi 1988.
27
Rebellato 2008a; Frajese 2006: 93–137.
28
Prosperi 1996.
29
Richter 1566: 54. For a survey on expurgation see Fragnito, Gigliola 2000; Church, Censorship
and Culture 2001 (in particular Donati 2001); Zedelmaier 2003.
30
Both episodes are described in Bietenholz 1996.
10 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

This episode sums up a more general trend in the Counter-Reformation. The

prohibition of vernacular Bibles in Italian territories reflected and reinforced mis-
trust towards printed books, while also maintaining clerical control over the inter-
pretation of the fundamental source of Christian beliefs.31
Various Catholic indexes of forbidden books were issued by a range of different
church agencies, official indexes such the Sixto-Clementine Index of 1593 and the
Alexandrine Index of 1664 alongside unofficial lists of locally forbidden books,
listed in syllabi that were sometimes acknowledged by Rome. Paradoxically, their
spread further blurred the constantly shifting distinction between licit and illicit
texts, under the pressure of ever harsher prohibitions.32
The Counter-Reformation Church’s attempts to control printing was evident in
the repression of printers and booksellers who produced or imported protestant lit-
erature, but also publishers of texts in Hebrew. The burning (auto da fé) of copies of
the Talmud in Rome and Venice in 1553 and again in Venice in 1568 illustrates the
economic and entrepreneurial consequences of the long-term decision to enforce an
exclusively Catholic discourse.33 Knowledge of Hebrew in educated circles in Italy
was circumscribed by the scarcity of books and Italian Hebraists were marginalized
so far as the European debate was concerned.34 Instead Latin was used to communi-
cate thoughts and ideas that were deemed unsuitable for even the literate public and
was reserved, according to the Inquisitor of Genoa in 1597, “for insightful and wise
persons”.35
Religious concerns were indeed central to all regulation of the book trade. The
Spanish Monarchy attempted to enforce tight control over the press by having the
Council of Castile collaborate with the Inquisition. The Council of Castile was
charged with preventative inspection of manuscripts, while the inquisitorial agen-
cies sought to prevent the diffusion and import of unorthodox prints and unauthor-
ized books. In 1558 and 1559 Philip II tightened the control criteria and promoted
closer cooperation between universities, religious orders and the Inquisition with a
view to establishing a more pervasive surveillance as well as issuing the first of
several Indexes of prohibited books. This two-tier arrangement was particularly
effective in preventing the spread of foreign publications in the kingdom until the
reformist reign of Charles III, who acted to check and narrow the scope of

31
Fragnito 1997; Fragnito 2005.
32
Rebellato 2008b: 89.
33
Grendler 1977; Bethencourt 1995: 215–39 (criticizing Grendler). A telling example of the effi-
cacy of the Inquisition is provided by the Italian Jew Leon di Modena, who learned in 1637 that a
text on Jewish rites he had written 20 years earlier was going to be published outside Venice. He
requested to be interrogated by the Inquisition (Pullan 1983: 85). According to Amnon Raz-
Krakotzkin (Raz-Krakotzkin 2004) the growing self-control of Jewish authors accounts for the
transformation, modernization and development of Jewish culture.
34
Burnett 2012: 241–2.
35
Letter to Agostino Valier, 12 April 1597, cited in Gotor 2002: 238. See, in general, Waquet 1998.
The Dream of Perfect Control 11

inquisitorial jurisdiction and encouraged the publication of books supportive of

independent and sovereign royal power.36
Control of the production and circulation of books was perceived similarly in
protestant and Calvinist territories and led to the creation of institutions charged
with the supervision of printing and publishing. In Geneva measures were taken
immediately following the proclamation of the Reformation. In 1539, a decree of
the Petit Conseil proclaimed that the Conseil itself must explicitly approve every
manuscript before its publication and required printers to deposit a legal copy (a
requirement with which printers seldom complied). Since 1682 the right to inspect
manuscripts, called droit de regard, was limited to books with a religious content
and it was held by the city magistrates who oversaw the Academy. Tight control of
reading habits and the prohibition on the printing or sale of papisticquez, lascifz ou
impudiquez (popish, lascivious or shameless) books were seen as crucial for the
maintenance of order and morality in the city. These were all the more important
since Geneva was a major centre for both the spread of Calvinism and printing for
the French market.37
In the Holy Roman Empire, the Habsburg administration, the free cities and
individual sovereigns took steps to set up a coherent system of preventative censor-
ship in the 1530s.38 In 1559 the new Queen of England, Elizabeth I, confirmed and
reinforced the measures her predecessor, Queen Mary had taken 2 years earlier
regulating printing and publishing. These included, among other things, the require-
ment to obtain permission to print, as stated in the Royal Injunction, which renewed
the printing monopoly of the London Stationers’ Company. Elizabeth’s proclama-
tion of the sovereign’s complete control over printed texts was an integral aspect of
her drive to soothe the religious discord which followed the Act of Supremacy. The
strict regulation of printing and brutal repression of troublesome authors were also
involved.39
The gap however, between censorship legislation and its enforcement remained
remarkably wide. Officials were aware of it. Referring to the Italian states, where
the impact of censorial control was actually at its most effective, in 1575 an assistant
of the Master of the Sacred Apostolic Palace, who oversaw the press in Rome,
acknowledged dryly that the Church would have had to ensure that quite a few years
passed without a single book being published if it were to purge the states of
heresy.40 Even had the church somehow managed to bring book production and
importation to a halt, which was hardly a realistic proposition, it would nonetheless
have still needed to continue its raids on private collections to locate and confiscate
forbidden works. During his Inquisition, Menocchio, a miller in the Fiuli, confessed

36
Pinto Crespo 1983; Pardo 1991, showing conclusively that the Spanish Inquisition controlled the
importation of foreign scientific scholarship very effectively; Conde Naranjo 2006; Sciuti Russi
2009: 3–125; Torres Puga 2010: 207–10.
37
Santchi 1987: 22; Jostock 2007.
38
The most complete survey is offered in Einsenhardt 1970.
39
Clegg 1997; Clegg and Goldie 2009.
40
Cited in Rotondò 1973: 1403.
12 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

to owning and reading a copy of the Bible in the vernacular the publication of which
had long been forbidden.41 In fact, diplomatic relationships and economic concerns
interfered with the church authorities’ theologically informed guidelines.
Machiavelli’s writings were strictly forbidden by the Holy Office. Nonetheless, the
Congregation of the Index found itself under serious pressure, given its duty on the
one hand to enforce orthodoxy, and the countervailing wish of the Florentine gov-
ernment and printers to publish a number of his works.42 Moreover, the Congregation
of the Holy Office and of the Index both knew that the redactions they ordered were
sometimes utterly ineffective. When Bartolomeo Concini redacted the 1561–1564
edition of the Storia d’Italia (History of Italy) by Francesco Guicciardini he deleted
a passage on the origins of the temporal power of the popes. This was, however,
printed and made available to all European readers in the Latin edition of 1569
edited by Pietro Perna and in the Italian edition published by Soer in Geneva in
1621 and 1636.43 The Congregation of the Index did not even have the manpower
necessary to read and redact all the books in print. After its reorganization in 1587,
it had a staff of about 40 full-time consultores. In order to carry out its expurgatory
duties, the involvement of the clergy was also required. The illusory implication
was that the whole res publica Christiana would take part in revision under the
guidance and surveillance of the papal hierarchies.44 Just 10 years after the reorga-
nization of the Congregation it became clear that priorities must be set: “the expur-
gation of books of philosophy and medicine, subjects of great import” must come
first as these were considered most useful.45 For other genres, the expurgation and
the ensuing adjustment to Counter-Reformation criteria, were postponed indefi-
nitely. This de facto adjournment of redaction for an already large and ever-
increasing number of works of uncertain status, contributed to a general confusion
as to the distinction between legal and illegal books and eventually “conjured up a
shadow of demonization” around the mere fact of possessing a book in the
vernacular.46
Against this background, a common culture developed: controlling what printing
houses produced became a concern shared by secular and ecclesiastical agencies,
and the asymmetric symbiosis between writers and censors was acknowledged as a
part of the process of producing the text with which readers were eventually

41
Ginzburg 1980: 29; Del Col 1990: 52.
42
Procacci 1995; Godman 1998b. The Congregation of the Holy Office prohibited the works by
Machiavelli outright (“omnino”), while the Congregation of the Index was expurgating them. The
expurgation, however, was undertaken but never completed (Godman 1998a: 303–33). For an
overview of Machiavelli and the Countereformation see Prosperi 2003: 368–72.
43
Guicciardini 1953–1954.
44
Godman 2000: 73–9; Censura ecclesiastica e cultura politica 2001; Caravale 2003.
45
Agostino Valier, letter to the Inquisitor in Padua, 26 December 1597, cited in Fragnito 1999: 134,
footnote 62.
46
Braida 2009: 290.
Internal Cracks 13

presented. As such the responsibility of civil authorities to check the diffusion of

books was integrated into understandings of what constituted good governance.47
The widespread mistrust of books engendered and informed new ideals of intel-
lectual conduct. The humanistic dialogue about the prudence necessary in the pro-
duction of books (De cautione adhibenda in edendis libris) was written by the
Venetian cardinal and bishop of Verona, Agostino Valier, in 1593 but remained
unpublished until 1719. This personal document, influenced by his close friendship
with another senior clergyman, Silvio Antoniano, reflected Valier’s confrontation
with the Counter-Reformation’s predicament.
Valier was uncompromising about banning the printing of books that might cor-
rupt mores and result in readers owning books purely for pleasure, “so that the read-
ing of bad or just useless books does not impede the reading of good writers”. It was
imperative to enforce compliance with the decrees of the Congregation of the Index
not only in Rome but “in all towns where there are presses”.48 The quantity of books
permitted for sale was to be limited as much as possible. Throughout the dialogue,
Valier sketched the ideal of the perfect censor: an experienced and knowledgeable
reader, he must be alert to implications and sensitive to allusions in the text. But the
ideal censor was not expected to be an author himself. Valier understood that shar-
ing the doubts, pangs and elation of the creative process would generate an inap-
propriate connivance between the censor and the author under review.
Valier’s text provides yet more evidence that at the end of the sixteenth century
there existed a widespread and inter-confessional consensus that the printing pro-
cess required constant control at every step. Both preventative censorship, and the
ex-post facto surveillance of the works circulated by printers, booksellers and pri-
vate authors, were affected by this approach.

Internal Cracks

This consensus on the urgent need to control the press could not however, provide a
set of shared criteria or guide coordinated action to effectively supervise the pub-
lishing sector. Substantial divergences existed between different agencies and civil
and religious officials’ perspectives varied considerably due to their conflicting
agendas. The control institutions intermittently came into conflict and interfered
with each other. The occasional stalemate unwittingly allowed printed texts to
appear, be it legally or illegally, which kept a growing literate public abreast of
political, religious and military news. This development was supported by transfor-
mations in typographic production. The growing quantity of books churned out by
the printing presses corresponded to the emergence of new forms of published

47
Wolf 2004.
48
Valier 1719: 5–6, 54 (reprinted in the appendix to Cipriani 2009: 202, 262). In 1598, Valier was
the prefect of the Congregation of the Index and requested that the library catalogues of all Italian
convents and monasteries be turned in so that Valier could assess their orthodoxy (De Maio 1973).
14 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

communication: books on current affairs in lighter format attracted the interest of

readers along with a booming production of pamphlets, broadsheets, gazettes and
flysheets addressed to new “communities of readers”.49 Censorship agencies proved
unable to cope with the proliferation of innovative forms of communication.
Controlling their production was arduous and, once produced, they eluded most
attempts to check their dissemination. The literate would often share what they had
read with the illiterate population in market places, taverns and other public spaces.
A better way to assess the efficacy of censorial control in the seventeenth century,
given that comparative analysis is unreliable due to organizational differences, is
offered by moments of crisis and systemic collapse of censorship apparatuses in
response to political changes. In such periods polemical discourses might emerge
and opinions on the proper duties of control agencies and the responsibilities of
authors were expressed more candidly.
The 1606–1607 dispute on the Interdict was one such moment in which the dip-
lomatic confrontation between the Republic of Venice and the Holy See in Rome
brought collaboration in preventative censorship between civil authorities and
ecclesiastical agencies to a halt. The conflict’s escalation illustrated starkly the
extent to which the reading public wanted to be provided with reliable information
about, and to openly discuss, the contrasting positions taken by censorship bodies.50
The dispute had its origins in Venetian ambitions to limit the political and economic
power of the Church in the Republic. While during the clash Venetian authorities
had allowed criticism of Roman interference to be voiced, they reasserted control
over the public sphere in the aftermath, demonstrating their commitment to censor-
ship. When Sarpi turned his attention to the crisis in 1615, he made it clear that the
crucial element was the scope of civil control. The dispute had demonstrated that
the Church could influence the conduct of Venetian printers and therefore also the
opinions and actions of Venetians. Sarpi argued for more effective secular censor-
ship as the best means of preserving the Republic. Writings which slandered the
“good name” of the States demanded repression because they undermined the sub-
ject’s trust in the government’s competence.51 Reinforcing state censorship also
engendered a more active role for civil agencies in controlling and limiting the
production and diffusion of news among the populace, which could not, under any
circumstances, be permitted to learn of the arcana imperii, or state secrets. The
Inquisition was to be marginalised as much as possible but not completely sup-
pressed. The Inquisition would still, for example, be allowed to maintain its prohibi-
tion of Copernicus’ works.

49
Chartier 1994.
50
De Vivo 2007. The classic narrative is Bouwsma 1984: 339–416.
51
Sarpi 1958. For a comment see Dooley 1996. A similar point in defence of an absolutist concep-
tion of the state was made in Sarpi’s History of the Inquisition: “The matter of books seems to be
a thing of small moment, because it treats of words, but through these words come opinions into
the world, which cause partialities, seditions and finally wars. They are words, it is true, but such
as in consequence draw after them hosts of armed men” (cited in Wootton 2002: 134).
Internal Cracks 15

such [Copernican] doctrines do not touch in any way the power of the princes nor do they
support it, and the temporal authority cannot derive any benefit from their spread […] there-
fore I would think that granting the prohibition and suspending the sale of these three books
could not cause any public harm.52

Elsewhere too, revolutionary upheavals caused sudden collapses of the censor-

ship institutions that the absolutist monarchies were then establishing. When insti-
tutions were weakened, control of the press was one of the first casualties, whereas
when civil power was re-established, one of the foremost priorities was the rein-
statement of censorship. France and England provide two cases in point. Under the
Richelieu ministry French censorship institutions made significant advances in con-
trolling book and pamphlet production as well as preventing the production of
assorted ephemera which had expanded with the weakening of the state in the final
stages of the wars of religion. The reorganization of the Compagnie des Libraires
(Guild of printers) in 1618 offered the established printers a welcome opportunity
to collaborate with the authorities and remove the threat from unlicensed competi-
tors. No matter how distasteful to accredited printers, the creation of the state
monopoly of periodicals, above all the Gazette de France that Théophraste Renaudot
directed from 1631, proved that the monarchy was serious about curbing public
intellectual debates and excluding politics from the public sphere. The turmoil of
the Fronde had a critical impact on these attempts to implement monarchical con-
trol. The printing press was freed almost entirely and flourished unimpeded between
1648 and 1653. During this period around 5200 texts were published. It is debatable
whether this sudden increase in the number of publications was the expression of an
already existing mid-seventeenth century public opinion which advocated non-
absolutist forms of government to the reading public,53 or whether it merely articu-
lated an internal conflict within French political elites that did not involve the rest of
the population.54
What is evident, though, is the fact of the monarchy acting swiftly and efficiently
to reclaim its prerogatives. The creation of a comprehensive system for monitoring
the publishing industry began immediately after Louis XIV had ostentatiously inau-
gurated his personal rule. The re-establishment of the royal prerogative encom-
passed both the pre-publication submission of all manuscripts and the strict control
of the number of people involved in the various phases of typographical production.
This was intended to pre-empt the negative effects of the prohibition of single books
and pamphlets. The downsizing process was swift. In 1644 only 4 printers had 4 or
more printing presses and 76 printer’s shops housed 183 printing presses. By 1686
the revision of the Guild’s by-laws was complete. The new regulations limited the
number of printing shops to 36, which had two important implications. It became
easier both to prevent printers from producing politically and religiously controver-
sial texts and to protect legal publications issued by Guild members from piracy. A
structural, double safeguard was therefore created which lasted until the end of the

52
Sarpi 1969: 604–5. This passage is discussed in De Vivo 2007: 250–1.
53
Carrier 1989.
54
Jouhaud 1985.
16 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

ancien régime.55 As Hobbes perceived during the English wars and in Leviathan, the
civil authorities’ regulation of the public sphere required more than repression of
illegal typographic production, it also demanded regulation of intellectual life as a
potential threat to the monarchy. The foundation of the Journal des Sçavants in
1665 preceded the reorganization of press control under the newly appointed lieu-
tenant de police la Reynie in 1667.56 The French monarchy’s policies were hugely
significant in defining the interaction between the conception and operation of cen-
sorship and literary life under the supervision of monarchical institutions.
In 1640s England the control agencies’ collapse was as abrupt as it was short-
lived. Paradoxically and unlike the French case, its long-term effect was not the
reinforcement of mutual support between the monarchy, eager to control public
debates, and the corporation of printers, who wished to consolidate their privileged
access to the market. Rather, it led to Parliament abdicating responsibility for decid-
ing whether a manuscript was acceptable or not. It could in fact be argued that the
temporary lapse of control over the press allowed the principle of freedom of speech
to be extended and applied to published texts as well. Like his rival Francis Bacon,
Edward Coke insisted that the right to free speech during Parliamentary sittings
should be protected, it being the legitimate expression of the representative of the
Commons. The Institutes of the Laws of England, published from 1628 to 1644,
mentioned “freedom of speech” for the first time and sanctioned the practice by
which at the beginning of each session of Parliament, the commons would ask the
King to be granted the privilege of free debate, without any fear of being punished
for what they said.57 Freedom of speech, however, did not imply freedom of the
press, which was limited and hemmed in even, in the reporting of debates in
Parliament. In the English debate during the civil war classical values were fre-
quently and energetically recalled: among them parrhesia, or the freedom to speak
frankly and sincerely, this representing a way to contribute positively to the life of
the community – which was bound to profit from the expression of its members’
most deeply held beliefs.58
During the English civil war, freedom of expression was frequently associated
with freedom of the press, as the Long Parliament repeatedly attempted to discipline
authors and printers. The attempt to revive a system of preventative censorship, the
increase in confiscations and public burning of illegal books alongside punitive
fines for printers and authors, were all eventually unsuccessful. In fact radical
groups argued that freedom to communicate religious convictions in speech or in
print was central to the vision of society they were striving to achieve. In 1648 John
Lilburne summed up the conclusions arising from a broad discussion and accordingly

55
Sonenscher 1989: 14–15.
56
Fogel 1989; Burke 1994.
57
Stoner 2003: 48; Colclough 2005.
58
Parrhesia could be considered the virtue of frankness and honesty as well as the vice of indiscre-
tion and loquacity: see Saxonhouse 2006; Momigliano 1971; Momigliano 1973; Momigliano
1996: 75 (where he argued that parrhesia was necessary for freedom to flourish, while freedom
itself without the law was impossible); Foucault 2001, 2008.
Internal Cracks 17

rejected the principle that authorities could authorize or deny the right to publish a
book, which meant that the licensing system in itself was despotic.
That you will open the press, whereby all treacherous and tyrannical designs may be the
easier discovered and so prevented, which is a liberty of greatest concernment to the com-
monwealth, and which such only as intend a tyranny are engaged to prohibit: the mouths of
adversaries being best stopped by the sensible good which the people receive from the
actions of such as are in authority.59

In 1644 John Milton’s Areopagitica articulated the most resounding and compre-
hensive rejection of the principle of licensing of all the writings produced in the
course of that decade. The argument was framed as a speech to Parliament in reac-
tion to its decision on 14 June 1643 to reintroduce in theory most of the preventative
censorship exercised by the Star Chamber since 1637 under Charles I, that had been
weakened and then de facto rendered null and void by the conflict between
Parliament and monarchy.60 In Areopagitica Milton combined several important tra-
ditions in a rhetorically powerful tour de force. The appeal to the Greek legacy was
evoked in the title, which echoed Isocrates’ speech to the Athenian assembly, and in
a reference to Euripides’ image of Athens as a polity where all free males could
speak freely when debating public issues. The Roman tradition of virile masculinity
and straightforward expression of opinions was also evoked by Milton alongside the
rights of the individual conscience established by Christian doctrine.61
The Members of Parliament were, however, not particularly impressed by
Milton’s text, and its impact on the policy of the Long Parliament was negligeable.
Nonetheless, Areopagitica enjoyed a long-lasting popularity in the eighteenth cen-
tury thanks to numerous paraphrases, reprints and annotated translations.62 The
heart of Milton’s text was a passionate and emotional argument against licensing
and preventative censorship in the name of a concept of truth as the expression of a
deep individual readiness to be persuaded forged through the juxtaposition and
comparison of different ideas and convictions. Milton elaborated his argument
within a Christian perspective but used the metaphor of trade to contend that infal-
libility, the monopoly of truth claimed by the Catholic hierarchy (and implicitly
claimed by Parliament), would only hinder the universal enrichment which would
arise from the unimpeded exchange of views and opinions. If truth is arrived at
through the process of comparison between jarring ideas, then this essential dyna-
mism should be guaranteed by the government, since it represents a modern and
positive form of virtue.63 Books were therefore depicted by Milton as the embodiment

59
Lilburn (1648) f. 15. The classical discussion is still Hill 1986 (to be used with some caution).
60
According to Mendle 1995: 309, the control system collapsed very rapidly during the winter of
1640–1641.
61
Hoxby 2009.
62
See for instance Mirabeau 1788, reprinted in 1789 (Londres), 1792 (Paris: Lejay) and 1814
(Paris: Chaumerot). See Tournu 2002; Shawcross 2007; Tortarolo 2003: 166.
63
As Michael Braddick has remarked, Milton excepted royalists and Roman Catholics from gen-
eral freedom, but “these exceptions reflected the purpose of free speech – the promotion of virtue
in society” (Braddick 2008: 343).
18 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

of the human effort to attain truth, thereby acquiring such symbolic power that they
should be afforded greater respect even than human life itself. Freedom of the press
was linked intrinsically to political virtue and the use of reason. To Milton engaging
with the errors in bad books was the only way to increase their readers’ virtue.
Without the experience of confronting the many vices exposed in malicious publica-
tions, adult men would not be able to fortify the republic as they would not have had
these opportunities to exercise their reason, their discernment and their
self-discipline.
Milton was a master at fashioning evocative metaphors. He also excelled in
devising arguments that called into question the legitimacy, decency and practical
usefulness of the licensing system. He argued that the censors would ensure that the
whole population remained in a state of intellectual minority, unable to make appro-
priate or responsible decisions. On the other hand, full individual autonomy would
more than compensate for the threat posed by the uniformity of opinions enforced
by censorship. Bad books would act as a spur for men to search for truth individu-
ally. In Areopagitica Milton entrusted government with the responsibility to protect
the inner space of individual consciences, which he contrasted with the encroach-
ments upon the same inherent in preventative censorship. He saw the negative con-
sequences of the licensing system for society as a whole as empirically observable.
The systems of pre-publication control in operation in Catholic countries deprived
their inhabitants of protection from the tyranny and oppression engendered by unre-
strained application of civil and religious censorship.
When complaints are freely heard, deeply consider’d and speedily reform’d, then is the
utmost bound of civill liberty attain’d, that wise men looke for.64

The complex web of political allusions, historical and scriptural references, and
personal insights was a direct plea for a new attitude to freedom of expression, but
it did not amount to a wholesale rejection of a government’s right and duty to sup-
press texts that violated the law and were plainly unacceptable. For Milton, preach-
ing and education were a far more effective means of leading future generations to
virtue and truth than the prohibition and suppression of scandalous books. He did
not deny the right of civil and political agencies to intervene but limited this to the
post-publication repression of exceptionally dangerous books. Like other contem-
porary thinkers, such as Pufendorf, Milton believed that all human beings had the
duty and therefore the natural right to freely conceive of and share their unique
perspective on the world.65 Milton was aware of the practical repercussions of the
moral right and duty to be sincere and straightforward, for the issue of copyright.
While writing his 1649 Eikonoklastes, which the Commonwealth government had
asked him to write in order to refute the immensely popular Eikon basilike (alleg-
edly written by Charles I and published on the day of his burial, but most probably
authored by his chaplain John Gauden), Milton discovered that the author had pla-
giarised the prayer uttered by the pagan Pamela in Sir Philip Sydney’s Arcadia.

64
Milton 1999: 4.
65
Haakonssen 1991: 49.
Internal Cracks 19

This, according to Milton, made the theft “a trespass also more then usual against
human right, which commands that every Author should have the property of his
own work reservd to him after death as well as living. Many Princes have bin rigor-
ous in laying taxes on their Subjects by the head, but of any King heretofore that
made a levy upon their wit, and seized it as his own legitimate, I have not whom
beside to instance”.66
In both the Areopagitica and the Eikonoklastes Milton extrapolated upon com-
plementary aspects of the intricate theoretical and practical issues relating to free-
dom of the press. Their unsystematic nature notwithstanding, his reflections were
path-breaking and his intellectual expansiveness and awareness of empirical reali-
ties make him unique in the seventeenth-century debate on the freedom of the press.
Like the reflections of various Italian authors of political treatises on “reason of
State”, or those of Gabriel Naudé and Gregorio Leti on “the liberty of everybody to
talk of things political and of State matters”, Milton’s Areopagitica underscored a
shared trait of most early modern European societies, namely, the fact that all civil
governments and religious institutions believed pre-publication supervision and
extensive censorial powers to be necessary for the maintenance of peace and order
in society. This trait was itself a reaction to the twin seventeenth-century century
developments of barely abated religious contentiousness, its spasms of ferocious
violence and the relentless diffusion of publications which probed the limits of the
arcana imperii and generated new fields of public interest and discussion.67 Theories
of the state deriving from natural law approaches such as those advanced by Leibniz
and Christian Wolff were underpinned by the principle that advance oversight by
government institutions of what the publishing presses were providing to readers,
was wholly legitimate.68 Even the critics of pre-publication controls had no choice
but to acknowledge this prevailing attitude.
The abolition of preventative censorship and establishment of a free press in the
large monarchies seemed increasingly unlikely in the late seventeenth century. On
the contrary, it appeared more likely that the criteria of supervision would become
more stringent and effective. As the opportunities for religious, diplomatic and mili-
tary conflict escalated in the aftermath of the Edict of Fontainebleau in 1685 and the
Glorious Revolution in 1688–1689, Pierre Bayle acknowledged the danger of
Catholic and Reformed intolerance and detailed his suggestions for fellow writers
to avoid the pressure of preventative censorship.69 Bayle was aware that the degree
of freedom that writers enjoyed in the United Provinces was unparalleled in Europe,
indeed in the preface to the Nouvelles de la république des lettres he wrote that,

66
Cited in Zwicker 1996: 56–7.
67
Dooley 1999; Infelise 2002.
68
See Kunisch 1997.
69
Bayle believed that in an age of persecution, both for Catholics and for Protestants, silence in
private correspondence was advisable: “God preserve us from the Protestant Inquisition; another
five or six years or so and it will have become so terrible that people will be longing to have the
Roman one back again, as something to be thankful for” (Bayle 1727–1737. Vol. 4, 671b, letter to
Silvestre, 17 December 1691). See Bost 2009.
20 1 Was Control of the Press Inevitable?

“had Milton lived in these provinces, he would not had thought it appropriate to
issue a book de Typographia liberanda [the Areopagitica], because he would not
have felt that things were enslaved in that respect. Our printing presses are the ref-
uge of Catholics and Reformed alike”.70 He also knew that Dutch toleration and the
“honest freedom of the press” were unrealistic propositions elsewhere in Europe
and that writers and printers were better advised to look for ways to freely express
their views that avoided confrontation with governments and censorship appara-
tuses. Accepting the reality of control was the inescapable premise for most writers.
In commenting on the controversial fame of Pierre Charron and reconstructing the
complicated story of the publication of his De la sagesse [Of Wisdom] from the first
edition in 1601 to the second, in 1604 (the work was placed on the Index in 1605),
Bayle made a more fundamental point inspired by Charron’s contentions. Prudence
and constant self-scrutiny would protect freedom of opinion:
Strike out some words that look too crude, use others that mean the same thing but are less
offensive, and you will shed your reputation for being an heretic and will be embraced as a
true believer: the publication of your work will not be prohibited any more and its sale will
be permitted.71

In the entry Lucrèce, Bayle dealt with this suggestion again but with a note of
pessimism which originated in the comparison of the toleration of academic specu-
lation in the Athenian republic with the intolerance he saw raging all over Europe.
Epicurus chose to adjust to the public cult and to avoid conflict with the priests who
in turn exercised a form of toleration by accepting certain double standards on his
account. Preaching atheism in school was accepted, provided that atheist beliefs
would not influence what “was said on the streets and in the temples” and would not
call into question the faith in divine providence that constituted the core of reli-
gion.72 Similarly Jean Le Clerc expressed his preference for a limited freedom of the
press, on condition that nothing be said against the laws of civil society and that
atheist books be banned.73
The distinction between private and public communication, between verbal and
printed exchange of ideas, between daring but candid and deliberatively provocative
statements was crucial to Bayle as it was to so many authors who desired a broader
public sphere for their intellectual activity. The distinction was, however, intrinsi-
cally blurred, fluid and unstable. Civil and religious authorities, printers and writers
came to take part in an ongoing confrontation throughout the eighteenth century to
determine the contours of equilibrium between these competing concerns.

70
Bayle 1684. Preface: Mois de Mars 1684.
71
Bayle referred to the changes forced upon Charron in the second edition of De la Sagesse in 1604
(Bayle 1740. Charron. Vol. 3, 147, footnote O): “Take away some words which seem too harsh and
make use of others which signify the same thing, but are not quite so rough, and instead of being
reputed an heretic you will pass for a true believer: the impression of your work will be no longer
prohibited and the sale of it will be allowed”. See Gregory 1992: 87–8.
72
Bayle 1740. Lucrèce. Vol. 3, 216.
73
Bibliothèque choisie 1708. Vol. 15: 393; Bibliothèque choisie 1706. Vol. 10.
Chapter 2
The English Paradigm

From Censorship to Freedom of the Press

The act of Parliament of 1643 that incensed Milton and the radicals and inspired the
reformulation of arguments in favour of freedom of the press, also reinforced the alliance
between the Anglican Church, the Stationers’ Company and the Long Parliament. An act
of 1649 forbade printing outside of London, Oxford and Cambridge; a printing authori-
zation had to be requested and placed in the book alongside the name of the author and of
the censor. Moreover, as a guarantee of their good behaviour, printers had to deposit 300
pounds with the censorship authorities. In 1655, clandestine and opposition publications
thrived despite these tight restrictions: to combat this Oliver Cromwell further increased
control, particularly over newspapers. Only the official press survived: “The Public
Intelligencer” and the “Mercurius Britannicus”. In the latter half of Cromwell’s rule, the
pressure was so great that the opposition press was effectively muzzled.
After the Restoration, the control system was reestablished largely as it had been
before the civil war, with one decisive difference. With the abolition of the Star
Chamber in 1641, the power to control the press had been transferred to Parliament.
Charles II and James II made serious efforts to regain control over the authorization
process for manuscripts, but despite their best efforts, the transfer of competence to
Parliament proved irreversible.
Books that successfully passed the censors’ scrutiny exhibited a similar formu-
laic approval to that found throughout Europe: the censor stated that the book then
in the hands of the reader did not contain anything “contrary to the Christian faith
or the doctrine and the discipline of the Church of England or against the State or
government of this realm or contrary to good life or good manners”.1

1
Auchter 2001: XIX. See the list of books forbidden in England, Ireland, Scotland and the colonies
from 1641 to 1700: Robertson 2010. It includes 2665 items on a variety of different topics.
According to Robertson, this accounts for 3 % of the total book production. See also Robertson
2009; McElligott 2007: 193.

© Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016 21

E. Tortarolo, The Invention of Free Press, International Archives
of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 219,
DOI 10.1007/978-94-017-7346-1_2
22 2 The English Paradigm

The English tradition of press control was deeply ingrained in the production
process of books, pamphlets and periodicals. Licensors were essential components
of the pre- and post-civil war patronage system. Patrons required that licensors fol-
low carefully the principles that underpinned their literary, confessional or political
faction, under the nobleman’s guidance. The job of the licensors demanded, there-
fore, that they had an intimate understanding of the structure of English society as
well as clear insights into the diverse elite intellectual orientations and into the
entrepreneurial elements which made clandestine publishing risky but alluringly
profitable.2 Samuel Pepys’s diaries vividly describe readers’ hunger for texts,
printed or in manuscript, that defied conventional morality or that were frankly
erotic and sometimes pornographic. They also testify to the widespread interest in
forbidden literature during the Restoration and the concern it caused Charles II and
his supporters. The founding text of modern pornography, the Ecole des filles that
Pepys bought as a manuscript in 1668, was eventually published and banned in
1680.3 At around the same time, James Harrington’s Oceana reiterated the enduring
mistrust towards any widening of public debate to include new social groups: the
republics in which the people are a political actor with the right to speak freely, are
doomed to vanish rapidly.4
Roger L’Estrange was in charge of the licensing system for a long time, from
1662 to 1680 and was a model and energetic manager of the literary world. He
could, and did, prevent the publication of books and especially of printed news
because “it makes the multitude too familiar with the actions and counsels of their
superiors, too pragmatical and censorious, and gives them not only an itch but a
kind of colourable right and license to be meddling with the government”.5 He
could shape public debate in its content and contours both by forcing printers to

2
Milton 1998.
3
Cfr. Pepys 1970–1983. On the purchase of L’Ecole des filles (1655), a best-seller of early-modern
pornography, on 8 February 1668 and on its cultural context see Laqueur 2003: 181. L’Ecole des
filles shaped the modern notion of the obscene: it was translated from French into English and
published in 1680. It was forbidden as a civil offence (DeJean 2002: 56–83). For its literary and
political background see Hume 2005.
4
“It is affirmed by Cicero in his oration for Flaccus that the commonwealths of Greece were all
shaken or ruined by the intemperance of their comitia, or assemblies of the people. The truth is, if
good heed in this point be not taken, a commonwealth will have bad legs. But all the world knows
he should have excepted Lacedaemon, where the people (as hath been shown by the oracle) had no
power at all of debate, nor (till after Lysander, whose avarice opened a gulf that was not long ere it
swallowed up his country) came it ever to be exercised by them. Whence that commonwealth stood
largest and firmest of any other but this, in our days, of Venice, which having underlaid herself with
the like institution, owes a great part in not the greatest part of her steadiness unto the same prin-
ciple; the great council, which is with her the people, by the authority of my Lord Epimonus, never
speaking a word. Nor shall any commonwealth where the people in their political capacity is
talkative ever see half the days of these, but being carried away by vainglorious men (that, as
Overbury says, piss more than they drink) swim down the sink; as did Athens, the most prating of
those dames, when that same ranting fellow Alcibiades fell on demagoguing for the Sicilian war”
(Harrington 1977: 267–8).
5
Quoted in Kitchin 1913: 143.
From Censorship to Freedom of the Press 23

implement changes in texts submitted for publication and by promoting the publica-
tion of gazettes and books that were intended to influence public discussion. In his
role as Surveyor of the Press, L’Estrange was an active regulator of the public space
on both levels of his sphere of action.6
L’Estrange had no qualms about getting personally involved in the repression of
unlicensed and undesirable book printing. In 1664, he led the search that brought to
trial John Twyn, who was eventually sentenced to death by quartering and decapita-
tion for printing and disseminating an anti-monarchical tract. During the hearing,
the case was made that “the dispersing of Seditious Books is of great offence against
the Kingdom; false Rumours, they are the main incentives that stir up the people to
Sedition and Rebellion, that raise discontentments among the people, and then pres-
ently they are up in Arms. Dispersing seditious Books is very near a-kin to raising
of Tumults, they are as like as Brother and Sister; Raising of Tumults is the more
Masculine, and Printing and Dispersing Seditious books, is the Feminine part of
every Rebellion”.7 According to L’Estrange England badly needed a system of pre-
publication censorship. In 1681, when the licensing Act had expired and the
Parliament had not yet re-enacted it, he complained about the threat posed by
reprints of anti-monarchical pamphlets from the Cromwellian period. The King, the
Parliament and the City Council were apparently in serious danger because of this
“freedom of press”. According to the Surveyor of the Press’s sources, 30,000 reams
of paper had been used to print seditious literature: unmistakable evidence that a
conspiracy was being concocted to renew the tragedy of the Civil War and unleash
religious fanaticism once again.8 To L’Estrange, allowing the unrestrained printing
of all texts would lead to the disruption of the post-revolutionary political stability
achieved through the Restoration king and polity.
The final crisis of the English system of pre-publication censorship was not pro-
voked by the departure of James II in Autumn 1688 nor by the subsequent agree-
ment between the monarchy and the Parliament in February 1689 articulated in the
Bill of Rights.9 In fact, during the first years of the dual monarchs, Queen Mary and
William of Orange, every effort was made to keep the press under the tutelage of the
executive. Edmund Bohun, one of the last licensors to perform the task, was keenly
aware of the challenges of his role in the 1680s and 1690s, as personal enmities
coincided with ideological confrontations. The continuity of personnel despite
dynastic change demonstrates how deeply implanted the licensing system was in
political and literary life under the monarchy. Under Charles II, Bohun was a well
known, passionate supporter of royalist doctrines10: he nonetheless became a trust-
worthy servant of King William and Queen Mary and ended his career as a Crown
magistrate in the colony of South Carolina. In his autobiography, Bohun claimed

6
Zaret 2000: 141; Hinds 2010: 8–9, 36–37 (on L’Estrange’s notion of how to “regulate” the press).
7
An Exact Narrative of the Tryal and Condemnation of John Twyn. 1634: 50. Twyn was “hanged
until half-dead, emasculated, disembowelled, beheaded and quartered”.
8
L’Estrange 1681.
9
See Kraus 2006.
10
Goldie 1977: 573.
24 2 The English Paradigm

that he took the job of censor at the suggestion of his patron, the duke of Nottingham,
in 1692, when he was in dire financial straits. Licensing proved to be much more
than a sinecure, however, since it demanded personal choices as well as a sense for
ambiguities and hidden meanings. In 1684, Bohun wrote a rejoinder to Algernon
Sidney in which he sided with Sir Robert Filmer on the vexed question of the patri-
archal origins of kingship and on the limits of monarchical rule. On that occasion,
Bohun had complained that “the age in which we live permits a licentious Liberty
to all, Rara Temporum faelicitate, ubi sentire quae velis, & quae sentias dicere licet,
to think what they please, and to speak (almost) whatever they think, at least I
believe this Rare Felicity, was never more abused, than in the Age in which we
live”.11 To Bohun, the suppression of seditious books was a self-evident necessity.
Bohun’s autobiography consisted of much self-justificatory, ex post facto rational-
ization of his work and opinions. He claimed that he had intended to carry out his
job in collaboration with the printers and hoped to ease the tensions which had
mounted under his Whiggish predecessor, Fraser.12 Bohun was not granted time to
prove the seriousness of his intent. The circumstances surrounding his dismissal
show that controlling ideas in a period of rapid change was an uncertain undertaking
that could put the censor himself on the wrong side (and in jeopardy). On 11 January
1693, after careful consideration, Bohun licensed a manuscript entitled King William
and Queen Mary Conquerors. According to Bohun, the book’s argument “could
only please many of those who are non-swearers”: namely, those subjects who had
failed to pledge their allegiance to the new sovereign, in the aftermath of William of
Orange’s victory. Its author claimed that William of Orange, a rightful sovereign,
had defeated James II, who had threatened the rights of the English people. In
Bohun’s political and religious conception of the kingdom, neither rebellion, nor
innovation had occurred, matters had merely been put right.13
From Bohun’s perspective, it was simply obvious that the book’s contention fit-
ted with his own view of the nature of monarchies and chimed with his own recon-
struction of the conquest by William of Orange in the History of the Desertion of
1689. None had objected to his Hobbesian approach upon the publication of that
tract.14
Nonetheless, because he was supposedly too busy at work, Bohun failed to real-
ize that the debate taking place in Parliament had fundamentally altered the issue.15
When King William and Queen Mary Conquerors was seized and publicly burnt,

11
Bohun 1684: 3–4.
12
Bohun 1853: 98, 115–116.
13
Bohun 1853, 101. Bohun referred to King William and Queen Mary Conquerors 1693. See
Goldie 1977: 584–5, Goldie 2006: 44. Randy Robertson has suggested that Charles Blount was the
author of King William and Queen Mary Conquerors (Robertson 2004. See also Siebert 1965:
260–1).
14
The History of the Desertion 1689. Its Hobbesian character is stressed by Goldie 2006: 45.
15
“I was bound to read 6 or 8 h in a day; and had few acquaintances in the house; and so, when I
was doing the king’s business in my chamber, lost the opportunity of looking to my own security;
and trusting too much to the innocency of my intentions and the principles of loyalty and securing
the present government, I fell into a mistake, which brought trouble upon me” (Bohun 1853: 110).
From Censorship to Freedom of the Press 25

Bohun was dumbfounded. Parliament called for a public hearing that turned into a
humiliating ritual preliminary to his dismissal. On 25 January 1693, the House of
Lords and the House of Commons declared the claim that conquest was a justifica-
tion to be “highly Injurious to Their Majesties Rightful Title to the Crown of this
Realme, inconsistent with the Principles upon which this government is Founded,
and tending to the Subversion of the Rights of the People”.16 Parliament ousted
Bohun from his position as licensor because he had not grasped the changing atti-
tudes and discourses which rendered texts newly sensitive (a serious failing for a
censor), but as a writer, while he no doubt lost a measure of credibility, his History
of the Desertion remained in print and uncensored.
The last licensor to hold the post was also confronted with the vagaries of high
politics: in 1694, Daniel Poplar allowed the publication of An Account of Denmark,
an outspoken history of the Danish constitutional reform of 1660, which argued that
absolutism had been established by stealth in Denmark. The Danish ambassador at
Saint James objected vigorously to its publication and Poplar was threatened with
prosecution.17
The Licensing Act expired on May 3, 1695. The decision not to renew it marked
a new approach to the press and the system that was meant to control it. It did not
represent, however, the triumph of a coherent set of values which rejected the prin-
ciple of preventive censorship and extolled the virtues of unhindered self-expression.
It arose in fact from Parliament’s decision not to approve the proposals of the ad hoc
Committee, of which John Locke was a member from 1 November 1695 until
March 1696. From 1696 onwards, attempts were made in the House of Lords and in
the House of Commons to pass legislation that would reintroduce the licensing sys-
tem for books and newspapers: however in neither house did the draft bill reach the
required third reading. This might suggest that disagreement among members of
Parliament weighed more heavily on the outcome than objections to the licensing
system on the basis that it was cumbersome, costly and inefficient.18 From a con-
temporary perspective, there was nothing extraordinary in the situation from May
1695 until early 1696, as such lapses in press management had occurred previously.
The Printing Act of 1662 set the number of legal printing presses and master print-
ers at 20 and 40 respectively. It was renewed in 1664, and again in 1665. It expired
in 1679 and was reenacted as late as 1685 and again in 1693.19 Trials before the Old
Bailey from 1679 to 1685 show that when the licensing system was inactive, the
number of prosecutions actually increased for crimes such as offences against the
monarchy, irreligion and seditious libelling. In most of these cases, writing, printing
and disseminating books was part of the charge. Numerous verdicts also detailed
crimes committed by Catholics, many of whose books were forfeited and burnt,

16
The Parliamentary History of England, vol. 5, 756, as cited in Goldie 1977: 574.
17
Walker 1974: 696. On the Account of Denmark as it was in the Year 1692. 1694. London and on
Richard Molesworth see Worden 1994: 176; Champion 2011.
18
Lords Journals, vol. 15, 545–6, Commons Journals, vol. 11, 340, 354, as cited in Sirluck 1960.
19
Siebert 1965: 237–8, 260–3; Astbury 1978.
26 2 The English Paradigm

amply demonstrating the continued repression of the book trade even during hia-
tuses in the legal framing of such questions.20
In 1696, however, the lapse of the licensing system turned out to be irreversible,
yet a stringent control was maintained over works produced for the stage. In 1695,
contemporaries could not possibly have anticipated the upcoming development, nor
was there any systematic endeavour to abolish the licensing system in the name of
a free press.
The reflections of those concerned with the operation and control of publishing,
provide the historian with examples of a variety of approaches. The economic con-
sequences of the control system were stark and inspired criticism of the link between
the Stationers’ Company’s monopoly and the ideological supervision of the con-
tents of books. In 1692, the anonymous author of a 4-page text criticized the monop-
oly granted to the Stationers’ Company and other privileged printers. He blamed the
increase in sales prices on the monopoly and lamented that even the most wide-
spread and essential texts such as the Bible and the classics of ancient Greek and
Roman literature could only be printed if provided with a privilege. It was no won-
der that the Dutch printers would export books illegally to England and undersell
their English competitors.
[…] If the Manufacture of Printing were left free, as other Trades, it would employ above
double the number of Printers that are in England, and that on Lawful Work too. For, since
the Year 1662 (when the Act was made) there have more English Bibles, and other English
Books, been printed in Holland, by one Athias a Jew (among many other Printers there)
than have been printed by any four Printers in England in that Time; which Holland-printed
English Books have been merchandized to us, and to the King’s Subjects in our Plantations
abroad, which might have been so done from hence, had they been afforded here at the same
reasonable Rates: Which they might have been had the Trade been free. Freedom of Printing
here would soon produce a Manufacture to export as well to our Plantations as to those very
Countries who now furnish us and them […].

This pamphlet rejected the argument that censorship was necessary to suppress
seditious books, which anyway, could easily be imported “by stealth”. The author
held that heavy fines would be a more effective check on the diffusion of scandalous
and rebellious books. Not without a touch of irony, he remarked that “if Books
Mechanical, Mathematical, Trade, Cookery, Husbandry, Phisick, Surgery,
Geography, and the like, were not required to be Licensed, the Bishops Chaplains
would be so much the less disturbed from their Studies; and it is humbly presumed
the Government can scarcely be harmed thereby”.21
Economic concerns were not the only reasons people objected to the Licensing
Act. A number of religious texts, often emanating from dissenting groups, argued
that communication, as one of God’s gifts, should be cherished and not overly regu-
lated by human governments. The aim of speech was the advancement of God’s
glory or the well-being of humanity: and in every man, said the anonymously
authored Lay-man’s Religion, “God hath placed […] a inward Check, as a rein upon
his Tongue”. Self-restraint was recommended as “the prudent management of the

20
See the proceedings under www.oldbaileyonline.org. See Crist 1979.
21
Reasons humbly offered to be considered 1692: 3–4.
From Censorship to Freedom of the Press 27

Tongue, Hath in all Ages been accounted the most excellent Part of Humane
Perfection”.22
From 1679 to 1682, when the Licensing Act had not been renewed, similar argu-
ments had been formulated. William Denton, the translator of Paolo Sarpi into
English and doctor at the court of Charles I and Charles II, maintained that Holy
Scripture should be examined freely, because the “light of Reason or of Conscience”
differentiated humans “from bruits”, and that “God’s Precepts were not given to
Popes, Prelates, priests, Councils, Synods or particular Churches, or to great Clerks
only, but to every Individual”.23 In a short appendix to the Jus Caesaris et Ecclesiae,
An Apology for the Liberty of the Press, Denton turned his criticism of pre-
publication censorship against Catholic institutions. His two-pronged argument was
a defence of both the natural right to free inquiry in religious matters and the gov-
ernment’s prerogative to suppress books and punish authors in contravention of the
law even when faced with ecclesiastical resistance. Denton maintained that “to pad-
lock the Press is but a new Trick of Tyranny, rather devised by those whom for
shame we cannot own for pious in their Lives, or orthodox in their Doctrines, and
indeed, whom it is a reproach to imitate”.24
Nonetheless, despite the criticisms it attracted, the licensing system represented
stability and continuity with monarchical rule, whereas the absence of pre-
publication control would recall the memory of the civil war.25
Fruitful discussion of freedom of the press became possible once preventative
control ceased and intervention was manifested, for the most part, as post-publication
suppression by civil or religious authorities. In the late 1690s and early 1700s, this
became the norm and the debate adjusted to the changed legal context.
Locke’s contractual thought has often been cited as the starting point for the his-
tory of freedom of the press.26 His conception of men as “by nature, all free, equal,
and independent”, implied that they rightfully use their own intelligence and com-
municate their thoughts.27 In fact, when confronted with practical issues, Locke
acted more ambiguously than his principles might suggest. Not only was he explicit
that, as regards freedom of expression, “people do not have natural rights to unlim-
ited liberty or any specified quantum of liberty”, but he also stressed the difference
between liberty and license.28
When called upon during the debate around renewing the Licensing Act, Locke
wrote,
I know not why a man should not have liberty to print what ever he would speake and to be
answerable for the one just as he is for the other if he transgresses the law in either. But
gagging a man for fear he should talk heresie or sedition has noe other ground then such as

22
The Lay-Man’s Religion 1690: 32–3.
23
Denton 1681: preface.
24
Apology for the Liberty of the Press is part of Denton 1681: 1.
25
See Woolf 2003: 341.
26
See Siebert, Peterson, Schramm 1956.
27
Locke 1967 § 95.
28
Waldron 2002: 144.
28 2 The English Paradigm

will make gyves necessary for fear a man should use violence if his hands were free and
must at last end in the imprisonment of all whom you will suspect may be guilty of Treason,
or misdemeanour.

Locke chose, however, not to argue in favour of the principle of freedom of the
press. His critique of the Licensing Act referred rather to three basic claims.
According to Locke, the Licensing Act unjustifiably sustained the Stationers’
Company monopoly and resulted in the low quality and high prices of English-
produced books. Second, the act acknowledged the superiority of the ecclesiastical
laws that “seldom favour trade”. Third, it encroached on the rights of Englishmen as
it granted the unlimited power “to search all houses” on “the suspition of haveing
unlicensed books” and thereby was a violation of property rights.29
Locke’s denunciations chimed with the earlier campaign to reform the Licensing
Act. They also followed from the core assumptions of the Epistola de tolerantia,
written in late 1685 and published in Gouda in 1689, in which Locke argued for the
separation of civil and ecclesiastical power and conceived of the church as a private
society but denied toleration to Catholics and atheists.30 It is obvious that Locke was
conversant with Milton’s appeal in Areopagitica. Moreover, in Autumn 1695 he
unconditionally praised Limborch’s Historia Inquisitionis, a chapter of which lam-
basted pre-publication censorship as the main element of Roman Catholic oppres-
sion of freedom of opinion.31 When the committee of which Locke was a member
submitted its conclusions to Parliament, their recommendation to renew the act was
rejected by MPs. The replacement draft was supported by Locke but did not include
his aforementioned arguments, nor did it envisage pre-publication censorship but
instead legislated for strict, ex post facto control.
The name of the author and the printer had to appear on the frontispiece and cop-
ies of the book had to be submitted to civil or ecclesiastical authorities, depending
on the subject it treated. Most importantly, the magistrates could authorise
any person or persons from time to time and at all times to enter into and search any printing
house or place where any printing press is kept and the rooms Warehouses and Cellars
thereunto belonging or which are employd by any printer or at any other place where they
shall be informd upon oath that there is any private printing press and to Seize and take
away all or any Coppys or prints of any Treasonable Seditious Atheisticall or hereticall
Book pamphlet or paper.32

The emphasis on ex post facto surveillance of the printing presses matched

Locke’s concern for the balance between freedom and control that he had discussed
in the Epistola de tolerantia. The civil magistrates were not entitled to establish
articles of faith or forms of devotion by the use of force, nor could they suppress the

29
Documents Relating to the Termination of the Licensing Act, 1695. 1979: letters n. 1702–2198:
785–96, 785–6.
30
Locke 2006 (see also Locke 1983: 1–117).
31
The Correpondence of John Locke. 1976–1989, vol. 5, 204–8 (letter from Limborch to Locke, in
which Limborch mentioned that his book was banned “ejusque lectio severissime prohibita sub
poenis in indice librorum prohibitorum contenis”, 205).
32
Documents Relating to the Termination of the Licensing Act, 1695. 1979, 794.
From Censorship to Freedom of the Press 29

supporting texts. Nonetheless, “No Opinions contrary to human Society, or to those

moral Rules which are necessary to the preservation of Civil Society, are to be toler-
ated by the Magistrate”.33
Locke’s correspondence from that time shows that the committee members’ pre-
vailing concern was that the government should be “sufficiently secured by it”.
Open and unimpeded public discussion was not the foremost priority. However,
John Freke and Edward Clarke, members of the committee, were relieved that her-
esy was defined in such a way as to make its use in court highly unlikely.34
The new and highly unusual situation wherein licensing was discontinued and
printers were no longer subject to tight controls, engendered significantly greater
freedom to publish, and was a result of Parliament’s rejection of the committee’s
proposal in March 1695.
The MPs believed that they disposed of more efficient means of controlling the
press than traditional preventative censorship. However, even after numerous failed
attempts in Parliament to reintroduce pre-publication licensing, the limits of authors’
and printers’ newly acquired freedom remained uncertain. The lack of preventative
censorship was easily offset by post-publication intervention by the executive and
judiciary, the nature and extent of which could not be foreseen.
The English book market was unique in Europe, in the strong domestic demand
for works critical of the established church and political affairs. Even in the United
Provinces, remarked Bernard des Maizeaux in 1700, the reading public was less
“libertine” than in England, where demand stimulated the publication of signifi-
cantly more critical works.35
Foreigners praised or condemned English freedom of the press, according to
their individual stance on the matter but none doubted its substantial role in English
politics and religion. In England the debate focused on both the damage wrought to
state power by the abolition of preventative censorship as well as the impending
threats to freedom of the press. The Crown and the government did their utmost to
limit the leeway accorded to the press in order to contain opposition. The critical
voices that the Licensing Act had managed to partially suppress, grew louder and
could now easily reach the market. Catholic conspiracies, atheistic literature and
satiric publications lampooning the authorities all caused official anxiety in the
unprecedented situation of zero structural, formal control. Thenceforth, the
authorities had to round up published texts, printers and authors if they wished to
prove their immorality, irreligion or seditious aims. While pre-publication censorship
had clearly become abhorrent to much of the public and many authors, nonetheless
many procedural initiatives were undertaken to intimidate, influence and steer

33
Locke 1983: 276–8.
34
The Correspondence of John Locke 1976–1989. Letter n. 1860 (John Freke and Edward Clarke
to John Locke, 14 March 1695); n. 1862 (John Freke and Edward Clarke to John Locke, 21 March
1695): 291–2 and 294–5.
35
Jacques Bernard to Pierre Des Maizeaux, 10/20 May 1700, BL, Add. MS 4281, f. 86. On the
Parliamentary Act against anti-Trinitarians (1698) see Israel 2006: 116–117. Between late 1695
and 1770 some 180 books were banished and often publicly burnt (Robertson 2009: 203).
30 2 The English Paradigm

authors’ arguments towards loyalty to the Crown. The religious sphere in particular
was deemed a crucial area for government control over the printing industry. The
judicial framework was revised in light of this. In 1696 Parliament issued a new
statute limiting the courts’ ability to try authors for treason. The use of statutes of
Scandalum magnatum, which made libel against magistrates and high functionaries
a criminal offence, became largely untenable.36
The Crown used the Law of Seditious Libel to try to perpetuate control once the
Licensing Act had lapsed. Even after 1695, the magistrates in the Old Bailey con-
tinued to prosecute insults to the King under the Law of Seditious Libel; this, as the
trial records demonstrate, applied serious pressure to authors.
Catholic texts, both open and implicit, were particularly targeted as the fear of
the Jacobite threat shaped the contours of what was deemed acceptable in the pub-
lishing sector. In 1696, David Edwards “was Indicted for a Misdemeanor, for
Printing a most Scandalous label, called, An Anti Curse, which, upon search, was
found under the Press; and Mr. Stephens the Messenger did declare that he had
taken him several times for such Crimes, and it always proved to be Popish Work
that he did Print”. The following year, Edward Morgan was similarly “indicted for
a Misdemeanour, for getting and procuring great quantities of King James’s
Declarations, and another Seditious Pamphlet, called The Depredations of the
Dutch”. The latter print was evidently Jacobite in inspiration. Published anony-
mously in late 1695, it conspicuously attacked William of Orange and the Dutch
party at court. In concluding his treatise, the author, possibly Robert Ferguson,
acknowledged “the Acrimony of some Expressions which will be found to occur in
the foregoing Leaves” and blamed it on his adversaries: “all the Language I have
used is either consecrated by the Tongues or Pens of your Williamite Divines, in
their Pulpit Invectives against King James, and the King of France; or else it is all
authorised by the Licenced Pamphlets, published in way of Elogie upon the present
Government, and Satyr upon the last”.37 In 1699, Thomas Moore was fined for writ-
ing and printing a Clavis Aurea, or, A Golden Key, which rejected free will.38
On many occasions since 1696 the King’s Bench had attempted to widen the
scope of its jurisdiction and restrain the press whenever this seemed to be advisable.
Chief Justice John Holt firmly believed that seditious libel was a crime because it
implied an unacceptable criticism of government as such. Furthermore, he viewed
ironic pamphlets as dangerous and therefore punishable and he encouraged juries to
“read between the lines” to divine the real meaning of suspicious texts. Holt was
well aware that permitting irony could open the door to a new barrage of withering
criticism.39 On 15 February 1698, the Commons committee established to consider
a bill against the Socinians, opined that it was necessary to suppress “all pernicious
books and pamphlets which contain in them impious doctrines against the Holy
Trinity, and other fundamental articles of our faith, tending to the subversion of the

36
Hamburger 1984–1985: 661–765.
37
A brief Account of some of the late Incroachments and Depredations of the Dutch [1695]: 70–71.
38
Old Bailey Proceedings Online (www.oldbaileyonline.org).
39
Hamburger 1984–1985: 735–8.
From Censorship to Freedom of the Press 31

Christian religion”.40 No decision was made to re-establish pre-publication censor-

ship, but harsher penalties were requested for irreligious books, while authors and
printers of controversial texts were to be brought to trial. In 1702 and 1703 the
archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Tenison, attempted to push through a number of
bills that would limit freedom of the press.41 In the years following the lapse of the
Licensing Act, Parliament repeatedly acted to investigate and punish violations of
High Church doctrine expressed in printed texts on scientific as well as religious
matters. MPs were convinced that such scientific and religious inquiry had political
implications and they acted accordingly.42 From 1703 to 1707 and again from 1710
to 1714, the Tory ministers wanted the Paliament to comply with the requests made
by Queen Mary to enact acts reestablishing preventative control. The final attempt
came on 17 January 1711 after the publication of A Tale of a Tub by Jonathan Swift:
“This Evil [of anti-government publications] seems too strong for the Laws now in
force: [I]t is therefore recommended to you to find a Remedy equal to the Mischief”.43
Ambitions to restore preventative censorship did not however die there. An unnamed
“Tory Author” (in fact Joseph Addison) spoke for many when he wrote: “I believe
all we mean by Restraining the Press, is to hinder the Printing of any Seditious,
Schismatical, Heretical or Antimonarchical pamphlets”.44 Senior figures within the
Church of England expressed concerns about the effects of the unfiltered printing of
books and pamphlets addressing religious affairs: “The Books containing the Errors
and Impieties above mention’d have been the more easily publish’d and dispersed
since the Expiration of the Act for restraining the Press; and thro’ the greater Liberty
of Printing, which thereon ensu’d, have the Vicious and profane had more
Opportunities to scatter their papers for corrupting the manners of Men”.45 A “young
gentleman of the Temple” was probably inspired by de Bignon’s innovations in
France when he suggested that preventative censorship be reintroduced so that “any
Book or paper” be licensed and print the license as follows: “I Have read all and
every Part of this Book, &c. and find Nothing in it that, in my Opinion, tends to
Heresy, Sedition, Treason, Prophaness, or any Immorality; and therefore I judge it
fit to be Printed. Witness my Hand, N.N. and let it be Attested by two or more
Witnesses”.46 Jonathan Swift came to support the calls for tighter censorship in a
short 1709 piece entitled Project for the Advancement of Religion, and the
Reformation of Manners. In a Machiavellian vein, with the aim to “reduce Things
[…] to their first principles”, he proposed an “Office of Censors” to monitor public

40
Thomson 2008: 36.
41
Thompson 2008: 37–8.
42
See Champion 1992.
43
As cited in Hamburger 1984–1985: 750. In 1710 Swift revised his book, originally printed in
1704.
44
Addison 1712: 1.
45
A Representation of the present state of religion 1711: 24.
46
Arguments relating to a restraint upon the press 1712: 48–9.
32 2 The English Paradigm

conduct, a closer scrutiny of the stage, and a “Law […] for Limiting the Press”.47
Free press, contended the author of a poem on the Queen’s message to Parliament
in 1712, sapped the foundations of the commonwealth and fomented factional strife
among parties, “still wet with Royal-Blood, and reeking from the Wound”.48 Even
those whose language was more restrained were undeniably disconcerted by the
freedom to criticize ideas and individuals in print, particularly through the burgeon-
ing medium of periodicals, which expanded massively in the first half of the eigh-
teenth century.49
Religious and political debates contributed to a renewed campaign to restrain the
press. The publication between 1709 and 1712 of books that claimed to treat medi-
cal and erotic topics, which critics viewed as barely concealed pornography, added
to this pressure. In 1709, the Gonosologium Novum; or, A new system of all the
secret infirmities and diseases natural, accidental, and venereal in men and women
was first published and was brought before the Queen’s Bench as pornography,
albeit without a successful prosecution. In 1712, the best-selling, path-breaking and
extremely influential Onania, by John Marten, was published.50
Political and moral order, for which the government and the Church of England
had a common responsibility, appeared threatened by the free press and a preventa-
tive control (or alternatively, a heavy stamp duty) was called for to check the unruly
creativity unleashed since 1695. The defenders of the principle of a free press did so
with a variety of arguments, some of which appealed to the religious need for free-
dom of expression. John Asgill elaborated a defence of a free press underpinned by
the “miracle” performed by the invention of moveable type printing. Printed books
imitated the wonder of glossolalia as they allowed religious truth to spread all over
the earth. He maintained that limiting its diffusion would entail the risk of remain-
ing ignorant of new truths for fear of the missteps inevitable in pursuit of these.
Asgill was confident that the obligation to put the name of the author on the frontis-
piece was adequate to restrain mischievous authors.51
Asgill was an unpredictable type: a highly regarded economist and a controver-
sial theologian, he was expelled from the Parliament of Ireland for maintaining that
the death of Christ permitted humanity to make the transition from life on earth to
life in heaven without experiencing death. His theological defence of unlicensed
printing however, was an interesting echo of the Miltonian approach.
The printing press proved much more resilient than the stage, to attempts at
restraining and silencing oppositional opinions. The case of The Gotham Election

47
A Project For the Advancement of Religion, and the Reformation of Manners. Written in the Year,
1709. To the Countess of Berkeley, was published in Swift 1711: 229.
48
The Press Restain’d 1712: 12.
49
See Bullard 2009.
50
Laqueur 2003: 29. Gonosologium Novum; or, A new system of all the secret infirmities and dis-
eases natural, accidental, and venereal in men and women was printed in 1709 and was accused
of pornography. The case was brought before the Queen’s Bench and dismissed. In 1712 the best-
selling Onania was published.
51
Argill 1712.
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 33

by Susanna Centlivre, upholds this general point. Charles Killigrew, who was
Master of the Revels from 1677 to 1725 and therefore responsible for permitting or
forbidding works in the theatre, denied it approval when the text was submitted. The
Gotham Election was never performed on stage, but in 1715 Centlivre was allowed
to print the play. In the preface, she denied that “this farce was a most impudent
notorious Libel upon her Late Majesty”, Queen Ann, and that its plot might offend
either party. The preface proved nonetheless to be an opportunity to highlight her
support for the link between “our religion and Liberty” and her commitment against
“Tyranny and popish Superstition”. The Tory government was criticized for its con-
duct of the war under “the traitorous Management of late Ministry” and in favour of
the “Popish Faction”.52 Since the forbidden stage performance would have used
non-verbal methods to influence the audience and make its political point, the print
version had to achieve the same ends with more explicit instructions, directions and
preface.
In the early eighteenth century, the English experiment with freedom of the press
remained open to all solutions. The absence of pre-publication controls could
unleash political and theological passions in a still unstable society, in which the
post-1689 “ferocity of party strife” continued to rage until stabilized through the
Septennial Act of 1716 and the preservation of a free press.53

From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint

Despite the controversy which followed the lapse of the Licensing Act in 1695, the
advocates of a free press formulated a set of arguments designed to rebut those who
objected to, and feared the liberty accorded to authors and printers. The main points
of this defence could be taken from Milton’s Areopagitica. Wrenched from their
severely puritanical context, they were deployed in a new intellectual and political
framework. Instead they supported a vision of society in which freedom of the press
would contribute to the refinement of mores and to the progress of civilization and
therefore to the development of a rational religion. The procedural elements of a
free press were further underlined as a crucial aspect of the political settlement. The
judiciary and its supposed prerogative to restrain and intimidate authors and printers
was thus viewed as an attempt to impede the search for truth, in the political as well
as in the religious sphere. The use of a procedural argument was aimed at the
monopoly of truth claimed by the Church of England. The collective and universal
search for truth could only benefit the Commonwealth and diminish the unjustified
privilege of the establishment. This approach was developed in particular in free-
thinking circles, where freedom of the press was adopted as an integral aspect of
their vision of society. In A Letter to a Member of Parliament, John Toland made it
clear that

52
The Gotham Election 1715. See Kinservik 2002: 47.
53
See Plumb 1967: 157.
34 2 The English Paradigm

Men when they are left themselves without any Clergy at all, are more likely not only to
judge for themselves, but to make a truer and a more impartial Judgment, than when they
are permitted to know the Sentiments of the Clergy but of one Sect, who then may impose
on them what ever out of Interest they think fit […] Whosoever therefore endeavours to
hinder Men from communicating their Thoughts (as they notoriously do that are for
restraining the Press) invade the natural Rights of Mankind, and destroy the common Ties
of Humanity.54

The pretended right to license publication, wrote Toland, afforded excessive

power in regulating public discussion to those who exercised the said right. Licensors
would necessarily influence the selection of the men entrusted to carry out public
charges. Moreover, criticism of, and complaints against officials in situ would not
be allowed to appear in print and would not be effective.55 In 1698, Toland advo-
cated total freedom of the press while acknowledging that “without Licensers,
Atheism, Profaneness, and Immorality as well as Sedition and Treason, may be
published”. While he conceded this obvious point, he also focused on the threats
coming from “the Pulpit”, from the Church of England: the Commonwealth should
punish them “severely”.56 Toland aligned himself with the minimal requirement of
placing the name of the printer on the frontispiece as the surest means of preventing
inappropriate use of the press. This touch of pragmatic realism surfaced in a text the
dominant tone of which was set by the republican rhetoric around the incompatibil-
ity of a free press with tyranny and slavery. Toland was confronted with the dilemma
that would be present in the discussion on freedom of the press for the rest of the
eighteenth century. As a procedural value, freedom of the press would eventually
favour progress and truth but by its very nature could be misused. Toland was aware
that Jacobite propaganda would have free rein to disrupt the Commonwealth. In
Anglia Libera (1701), Toland proclaimed his loyalty to the Church of England but
expressed his disapproval of its monopolistic powers, which were, he claimed,
incompatible with the principle of toleration.
I do not think it a Doctrine of this Church to persecute or disturb those of another religion
which does not teach or practice any Thing that’s cruel, immoral, or profane […] [W]here
there is no Liberty of Conscience there can be no civil liberty, […] no possibility of Men’s
freely informing themselves concerning the true Religion, nor any Refuge or Protection for
the Distresst, which is the greatest Glory of free Governments.57

In 1717, Toland wrote a Proposal for regulating the news-papers58 and pleaded
for a regulated liberty, insisting that licentiousness played into the hands of papists
and anti-Hanoverians. The balance between liberty and licentiousness could only be
maintained through self-discipline enforced by ex post facto controls. The Miltonian
component in Toland’s thought contributed to the formulation of a vision of freedom

54
Toland 1698: 6–7. The case for Toland’s authorship is argued in Champion 2003: 244 (on the
thematic similarity between the Toland’s Letter and Milton’s Areopagitica).
55
Champion 2003: 25.
56
Champion 2003: 18.
57
Toland 1701: 99–100. See Shapin 1981.
58
Champion 2003: 246.
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 35

of the press in which self-restraint was a prominent element. The strand which con-
nected Milton and Toland was Charles Blount. In his essay of 1679, Blount took
advantage of a period of legal inefficacy of the Licensing Act and stressed that the
authors of “Libels against the King, the Church, the State and Private Men”59 should
be punished according to the already existing laws, without recourse to ad hoc licen-
sors. Penalties for the authors of irreligious texts were to be only of a religious
nature: if “any Audacious Villain […] publishes any Atheism, Heresie and Schism,
he is liable to an Excommunication, and to be proceeded against accordingly in the
Spiritual Court”.60 Blount echoed the arguments formulated by Milton in
Areopagitica, and the reprint of his pamphlet in 1694 constituted an element of the
strategy favouring a radical revision of the Licensing Act.
After 1696, the correlation between control of the press and tyranny was increas-
ingly seen as fundamental. In 1704, Matthew Tindal adopted both the thrust and
phrasing of Blount’s and Toland’s assertions. He stressed that freedom of the press
was conducive to the establishment of a literary culture as a more effective instru-
ment of defining truth in place of oral inquiry and learning. Tindal stated explicitly
that the government had to enter the arena of public discussion to prove the sound-
ness of its measures on the same footing as its critics, by engaging in an exchange
of written arguments.61 In a text written in 1699 and reprinted in 1704, An Essay on
the Regulation of the Press, Defoe argued for freedom of the press in unambiguous
terms, clearly expressing the view that “the Press’s restriction” through pre-
publication censorship is an attribute of arbitrary power, as “a Government regu-
lated by Laws, and Govern’d according to such Regulations, never willingly put it
into the power of any Inferior Officer to Tyrannize over his fellow Subjects”.62 The
pamphlet containing Defoe’s vindication of freedom of the press was certainly pub-
lished in agreement with his patron Robert Harley. Harley organized a far-reaching
campaign in the press to influence public opinion and strove to guarantee the right
of both supporters and opponents of the government to express themselves freely.63
The Essay on the Regulation of the Press resonated with Defoe’s personal experi-
ence and struck a chord which echoed for many years.64 According to Defoe, the
legislature should clearly define the boundaries within which writers could act

59
Blount 1695: 22.
60
Blount 1695: 23.
61
“As the chief Happiness as well as Dignity of rational Creatures, consists in having the liberty of
thinking on what Subjects they please, and of as freely communicating their Thoughts: so all good
Governments that have allow’d this Freedom, were so far from suffering by it, that it wonderfully
endear’d them to their people. And no Ministry can be hurt by the Liberty of the Press, since they
have a number of Dependents, ready upon all occasions to write in justification of their Conduct.
[…] The liberty of the Press must keep a Ministry within some tolerable Bounds, by exposing their
ill Designs to the people, with whom if they once lose their Credit, they will be very unfit Tools for
a Court to work with” (Tindal 1704: 13).
62
Defoe 1704: 5.
63
Downie 1979: 100.
64
Defoe stood in the pillory and served 3 months at Newgate prison in 1703 for writing and pub-
lishing The Shortest Way with the Dissenters (Backscheider 1988).
36 2 The English Paradigm

freely. “Such a Law would be a sufficient restraint to the Exorbitance of the Press,
for then the Crime would be plain, and Men would be afraid of committing it”.65
Pre-publication censorship would have damaged the Dissenters’ cause, which
Defoe supported, but he recognized the disruption an unbridled and irresponsible
press could cause. This concern chimed with the widespread belief that moral con-
trol of published communication was necessary. Censorship retained a certain moral
authority, not only in the correction of excessive or dangerous statements, but as a
vector of freedom. Reference to neoclassical political theories strengthened the
claim that censorship, if properly undertaken, was not inherently repressive. Steele
praised the title of censor in 1710. “In a Nation of Liberty, there is hardly a Person
in the whole Mass of the People more absolutely necessary than a Censor” in order
to regulate the conduct of those who do “not fall within the Cognizance of real
Authority”.66 As Governor of Drury Lane, he had the practical means to pursue his
understanding of the compatibility of freedom and good order. Steele consistently
opposed libel: he maintained that personal attacks were unacceptable but encour-
aged satire as a correction to general vice.
The Lockean idea of intellectual property as the fruit of individual exertion,
which ought to be safe from the licensors’ interference, did not figure prominently
in the aforementioned texts. Rather, they stressed the positive contribution to the
search for truth and the defense of liberty as a collective endeavour, appropriate in a
protestant country. Liberty gave rise to the conditions necessary for the pursuit of
truth, and its beneficial influence refined human skills and tamed the passions that
might jeopardize society. Shaftesbury’s 1699 Characteristics pleaded for free
debate and for the creation of a “public world of critical discussion”,67 and demanded
the refinement of those passions which agitate society, and the education of critical
judgment. Toleration and respect were as necessary for free discussion as laughter
and ridicule: these were all ways to express criticism without impeding communica-
tion. Therefore, not only was pre-publication censorship to be rejected, but accord-
ing to Collins, who elaborated on this topic in 1729, any prosecution by the
Magistrates would be unnecessary.68 In that same year 1729, Thomas Woolston was
sentenced to serve 1 year in jail and pay an exorbitant penalty (which he could not
pay: he died in prison in 1733) for publishing works which denied miracles and
Christ’s resurrection.69
While he resolutely opposed any form of pre-publication censorship, Shaftesbury
especially maintained the connection between liberty and politeness: “All politeness
is owing to liberty. We polish one another, and rub off our corners and rough sides
by a sort of amicable collision. To restrain this, is inevitably to bring a rust upon

65
Defoe 1704: 15, 18.
66
The Tatler 1710. 144: 11 March, 2: 318–19, as cited in Kinservik 2002: 52–3.
67
Hampsher-Monk 2002: 92. See Klein 1994.
68
Collins 1729: 21–22.
69
Israel 2001: 98.
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 37

men’s understandings”.70 But while conversation among peers was to follow shared
rules of self-regulation which ensured the preservation of liberty and avoided giving
offense, Shaftesbury carefully defined the policy which should guide an author in
publishing his thoughts. Introspection and self-control were essential while sponta-
neity was frowned upon, and what Shaftesbury called “private exercise, which con-
sists chiefly in control” was extolled. “But where instead of control, debate, or
argument, the chief exercise of the wit consists in uncontrollable harangues and
reasonings, which must neither be questioned nor contradicted, there is great danger
lest the party, through this habit, should suffer much by crudities, indigestions, cho-
ler, bile, and particularly by a certain tumor or flatulency, which renders him of all
men the least able to apply the wholesome regimen of self-practice”.71 In general,
Shaftesbury was irritated by unrestrained, unchecked, “unpolite” forms of commu-
nication. He was adamant that government should refrain from intervening in
authors’ work. “The only danger is, the laying an embargo. The same thing happens
here, as in the case of trade. Impositions and restrictions reduce it to a low ebb.
Nothing is so advantageous to it as a free port”.72 English writers were free, more so
than in any other European country, but this made their self-restraint and the critics’
task all the more crucial to the production of enduring and useful works. Censorship
had been abolished but the need for some form of control seemed more urgent than
ever.
This paradigm of literary production as subject only to authors’ self-control was
projected back on to the very beginnings of the English printing trade. Caxton, the
first successful English printer, was praised as a free entrepreneur whose loyalty to
King Edward VI was born of respect and gratitude. Above all he was seen as “an
honest, modest Man; greatly industrious to do good to his Country, to the best of his
Abilities, by spreading among the People such Books as he thought useful to reli-
gion and good Manners […]”.73 There was less room for men like Caxton in
eighteenth-century English printing: the commercialization of publishing had cre-
ated niche markets, resistant to governmental or judicial interference and patronage
was, for the most part, superseded by an economic, market- based nexus between
readers and authors.
Nonetheless, the deference owed to social superiors was maintained by eliminat-
ing passages from posthumously published works which criticized living persons of
high standing.74 A case in point was Bishop Burnet’s posthumous history of England
from the Revolution to 1705. The text was significantly altered by Delafaye before

70
Ashley Cooper, 3rd Earl of Shaftesbury Anthony. 1999. Vol. 1, 39–40. See also the following
passage: “’Tis only in a free Nation, such as ours, that Imposture has no Privilege; and that neither
the Credit of a Court, the Power of a Nobility, nor the Awefulness of a Church can give her
Protection, or hinder her from being arraign’d in every Shape and Appearance.” (10).
71
Ashley Cooper 1999: 85–8.
72
Ashley Cooper 1999: 39.
73
Middleton 1735: 20.
74
Pocock 1976.
38 2 The English Paradigm

it could be granted royal privilege. Ironically, the redaction of passages which

accused Stouppe of being a “frantic” Deist, and which criticized Louis XIV as too
pusillanimous to be regarded as a courageous sovereign, was insufficient to avert
biting criticism.75 Townsend and Walpole’s letters from 1723, concerning Burnet’s
manuscript, show that permission to dedicate a work to the king and obtain royal
privilege were valued by many authors and literary figures. They also demonstrate
that the resentment of Burnet’s caustic turn of phrase on the part of influential men
at court and in Parliament could prevail over the ambition to print the complete
text.76
The lapse of the Licensing Act shifted the burden of editorial responsibility
entirely to the printers. This affected their relationships with political and judicial
power-holders and changed the printers’ view of the market. The statute of Anne in
1709 constituted a further step towards authorial independence.
From this resulted the modern notions of copyright and the principle of authorial
literary property. The specific terms of this act limited printers’ rights over texts they

75
“Fo. 65 l. 12 after appearance: “but he was more a frantic Deist, than either protestant or
Christian”, ff. 16–17; “fo. 322 l. 12 distance; where he took the care that he has always done, to
preserve himself”, 30. Here are further passages that were deleted. “Fo. 26 line 20. For he
[Spotswood] was a frequent player at Cards, & used to eat often in Taverns; besides that, all his
Livings were scandalously exposed to Sale by his Servants”. On Conde: “fo. 72 l. 5 à fine: as an
impious & immoral man”. On the Dutch: “fo. 207, l. 18: that way. It was true, there seem’d to be
among them too much coldness and indifference in this matters of Religion: But I imputed that to
their phlegmatic tempers, that were not apt to take fire, rather than to the Liberty they enjoy’d” (f.
24). On Charles I: “fo 298, l. 30: anger. And this I owe to truth to say, that, by many indications that
lay before me in those letters, I could not admire either the Judgment, the Understanding or the
Temper of that unfortunate Prince. He had little regard to Law, & seemed to think he was not bound
to observe Promises or Concessions that were extorted from him by the Necessity of his Affairs.
He had little Tenderness in his Nature; & probably his Government would have been severe, if he
had got the better in the War. His Ministers had a hard time under him. He loved violent Counsels,
but conducted them so ill, that they saw they must all perish with him. Those who observed this, &
advised him to make up matters with his Parliament by concessions, rather than venture on a War,
were hated by him; even when the Extremities to which he was driven made him follow their
Advices; tho’ generally too late, & with so ill a Grace that he lost the Merit of his Concessions in
the awkward way of granting them. This was truly D. Hamilton’s fate, who in the beginning of the
Troubles went in warmly enough into acceptable Counsels. But when he saw how unhappy the
King was in his conduct, he was ever after that ag.t [against] the King’s venturing on a War, which
he always believed would be fatal to him in conclusion” (ff. 27–28). On Oates: “fo. 424 l. ult.
Conversed much with Socinians, & he had been” (f. 35) (BL, Add. MS 36270, ff. 11–47). The final
and expurgated version was printed as History of my own Time. 1724–34. London. Burnet had
conversations with Jean-Baptiste Stouppe: on Stouppe see Popkin 1991: 175 footnote 26.
76
See in particular the letter from Whitehall by Sir Robert Walpole to Lord Townsend, 13 August
1723: “I am very much solicited to recommend to his Majesty the Licensing the first Volume of the
late Bishop of Salisbury’s Works, & likewise to ask his Majesty’s leave to dedicate the Work to
him. I should acquaint your Lordship that they would license this work, but the most discreet
among us did care to set their names to the Work of an Author whose Indiscretion they had some
apprehension about, & were not quite sure what personal Reflections might be scattered in such a
piece, but I am very much importuned by Mr West & Mr Burnet to recommend this Request of
theirs, & it seems the License amounts to no more than the property in the sole printing” (BL, Add
MSS 36270, f. 9).
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 39

acquired to 14 and 21 years for living and dead authors respectively, renewable only
once. Parliament had thereby voided the traditional transfer of ownership from
author to printer and consecrated authorial intellectual property. In doing so,
Parliament also helped to cultivate the feeling that censorial intervention in the pro-
duction of a text was likewise unacceptable.77 A crucial corollary to this more
straightforward relationship between author and text amplified the author’s respon-
sibility in all respects. This included the use of a text in unexpected contexts, for
which the author could now be called to account.78 Therefore the statute of Anne
must be understood as an innovative check on unhindered authorial autonomy.
The set of regulations (and lack thereof) that defined the status of printers and
writers in early eighteenth- century England was unique in Europe.79 Even in
England, however, the government kept a watchful eye on theatrical performances.
When, in 1737, Parliament passed Walpole’s Stage Licensing Act, freedom of
expression in theatre was severely restricted. Non-patent theatres were outlawed
and all new plays had to be reviewed by the Lord Chamberlain prior to their perfor-
mance. Moreover and most importantly, the Lord Chamberlain’s power was virtu-
ally unbounded as the Stage Licensing Act stated that he could prohibit any play
whenever “he shall think fit”.80 Opposition writers were deeply concerned that the
Stage Licensing Act was just the first step in Walpole’s plan to crack down on civil
liberties. Fielding denounced it as “an Infringement on British Liberty” as soon as
news of the impending act circulated.81 In fact, while attacks against Walpole and on
the prerogatives of the Examiner of Plays continued, new ways to circumvent theat-
rical censorship were invented. One of these was the creation of a new genre com-
bining sung recitatives and spoken declamations that fell outside the accepted
definition of drama and was not subject to the preventive control of the Examiner of
Plays.82
Walpole did not conceal his deep distaste for what he perceived as the violent and
licentious nature of the English press.83 The tight grip on the content of theatrical
performances was not enough to cast any doubt on the fundamental independence
of English literary life in general. However it did highlight the differentiated impacts
of oral discourses delivered directly to the audience and the printed word, since the
latter necessarily implied reflection and thence moderation. In 1742, an “Independent
Briton” urged that theatres be allowed to stage pieces freely and claimed that free-
dom of the press be secured, as “The Liberty of the Press is at present very precari-
ous, and that which is urged to prove it otherwise, will, when duly weigh’d, shew it
to be precarious”.

77
Rose 1998.
78
See the Foucaultian approach in Greene 2005.
79
Langford 2000: 267–275.
80
Kinservik 2002: 95.
81
Craftsman 1737. 18 May, as cited in Kinservik 2002: 92.
82
Worrall 2006: 10.
83
Plumb 1956: 149.
40 2 The English Paradigm

Our Creator has left our Thoughts free, and placed them out of the Reach of Restraint from
others, which he is all wise, that no kind of Restriction on Sentiment, is necessary to serve
good Purposes. If Men write Falsities against the Government, they may be refuted either
in a legal or in a rational Way, and I am not against either of these Methods. But if a Thing
cannot be proved either false or mischievous, I do not think that publishing of it ought to be
criminal.84

During Walpole’s time in office, the literate public was kept abreast of any min-
isterial interference with the constitutional status of the free press, by a combative
and jealous slew of periodical publications. An Apology for the Liberty of the Press
was published in the “Old England Journal” on 2 April 1743. It argued that the
Walpole government as well as the English constitutional equilibrium, were sus-
tained by freedom of the press (which underpinned freedom as understood in the
English context). It was precisely because the people’s prerogatives were “actively
confined to Deliberative and prudential considerations and to a periodical Election
of those who are to judge for them” that the function of the free press was crucial.
The executive power of the Government here, being absolutely independant [sic] of the
people in every sense, and the legislative power being but partially and mediately dependant
[sic] on them, the people of England without the Liberty of the Press to inform them of the
Fitness and Unfitness of measures, approv’d or condemn’d by those whom they have
trusted, and whom they may trust again, would be in as blind a state of subjection, as if they
lived under the most arbitrary and inquisitorial Government.85

This and similar statements amply demonstrate that the lapse of the Licensing
Act in 1695 and the ensuing changes had redefined public consciousness in English
political culture and practice. By the mid-eighteenth century, the literate public was
privileged with an unprecedented range and diversity of news and opinion, up to and
including religious discussion. This vast change reflected the brave new world of
free printing and particularly the expansion and proliferation of periodicals.86 In
1770 Jean-Louis de Lolme, a Genevan political refugee who had resided in London
since 1768, codified and analysed the fragile equilibrium within the English literary,
political and political systems in order to understand its operation and ascertain its
possible utility as a model for Republican civic institutions in Europe. De Lolme’s
analysis failed to take account of the internal contradictions which affected both the
operation of, and the debate around the English system of a free press. Despite his
insightful framing of the role of a free press within a constitutional, parliamentary
monarchy, his analysis ignored the ambiguous effects of an uncensored press driven
by commercial concerns. For de Lolme, the key achievement of the Glorious
Revolution of 1688–1689 and the cornerstone of its relevance to republican institu-
tions was freedom of the press: it was this constitutional principle which enabled the
particular variety of English liberty to thrive.87

84
The Independent Briton 1742: 15, 13.
85
As cited in Harris 1993: 31–2.
86
Colley 2005: 40–2. See Speck 1977: 92.
87
De Lolme 1853: 50. An Essay on the Liberty of the Press 1755: 6–7 argues that freedom of the
press is among those natural rights that civil society has not suppressed. On De Lolme see
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 41

De Lolme used an argument that was widely accepted in the eighteenth-century

debate. He did not reject the right to impose some form of censorship on the press,
but instead shifted this right from individual censors to the innumerable and anony-
mous individuals who constituted the free and unobstructed members of the reading
public. He viewed readers as impartial censors whose approbation or otherwise of
texts necessitated total freedom and unmoderated information. This de-
individualization of the task of censorship inverted the traditional understanding of
its role in society and turned censorship into a vital and collective function. According
to this understanding, all magistrates were accountable for their decisions:
Every subject in England has not only a right to present petitions to the king, or to the
houses of parliament, but he has a right also to lay his complaints and observations before
the public, by means of an open press: a formidable right this, to those who rule mankind;
and which, continually dispelling the cloud of majesty by which they are surrounded, brings
them to a level with the rest of the people, and strikes at the very being of their authority.
[…] Is it a liberty left to every one to publish any thing that comes into his head? to calumni-
ate, to blacken, whomsoever he pleases? No; the same laws that protect the person and the
property of the individual, do also protect his reputation; and they decree against libels,
when really so, punishments of much the same kind as are established in other countries.88

De Lolme’s analytic configuration of the English constitution placed press free-

dom at the very core of the arrangement, presuming political practice to be process-
driven and emphasizing its procedural nature. In fact, “the liberty of the press […]
enables the people effectually to exert those means which the constitution has
bestowed on them, of influencing the motions of the government […] Time, and a
more favourable situation, are therefore the only things wanting to the people; and
the freedom of the press affords the remedy to these advantages. Through its assis-
tance every individual may, at his leisure and retirement, inform himself of every
thing that relates to the questions on which he is to take a resolution. Through its
assistance, a whole nation as it were holds a council, and deliberates, slowly indeed
(for a nation cannot be informed like an assembly of judges), but after a regular
manner, and with certainty. Through its assistance, all matters of fact are at length
made clear; and through the conflict of the different answers and replies, nothing at
last remains but the sound part of the arguments”.89
The decisions taken by Parliament were in their turn, submitted to the scrutiny of
the free press. This was exceptional and set England apart from the absolute monar-
chies on the continent.90 Alongside trial by jury, freedom of the press guaranteed
this modern expression of democracy. Juries and a free press were seen as the foun-
dations of the nation, its people and of the “continual sense of their security”.91

Whatmore 2012: 112–133 (on freedom of the press 123); Kraus 2006: 186–93; Michelon 1969
Surprisingly, the most recent (and very accurate) essay on De Lolme by Iain McDaniel does not
refer to freedom of the press at all (McDaniel 2012).
88
De Lolme 1853: 200–201.
89
De Lolme 1853: 209.
90
De Lolme 1853: 274–5.
91
De Lolme 1853: 276. This point is raised in Libermann 2006: 340.
42 2 The English Paradigm

De Lolme’s work essentially constitutionalized freedom of the press, which

became an integral and necessary element of the political workings of the English
parliamentary monarchy. This constitutional vista however merely underlined the
uneasy relationship between Parliament and a free press, the former being at least in
theory subject to a public opinion which itself existed only by virtue of the latter.92
De Lolme developed a paradigm that strongly emphasized the role of the press
and which influenced the understanding of this issue on the Continent. He elabo-
rated a highly idealized image of the English political system that ignored a com-
plex and fluid balance of forces at work. He also disregarded the more cautious
attitude of the leading authority in English jurisprudence, William Blackstone, who
viewed the core of English liberty as lying in the accomodation of political liberty
with parliamentary sovereignty.93
Blackstone dealt with the limits of freedom of the press in his influential
Commentaries on the Laws of England, published between 1765 and 1769. In the
eleventh chapter of Book IV, devoted to the “Offences against the Public Peace”, he
stated that “The liberty of the press is indeed essential to the nature of a free state:
but this consists in laying no previous restraints upon publications, and not in free-
dom from censure for criminal matter when published”.94 Libel of any sort was
considered to be a personal offence the range of expressions of which was extremely
broad and inclusive: “Of a nature very similar to challenges are libels, libelli famosi,
which taken in their largest and most extensive sense, signify any writings, pictures
or the like, of an immoral or illegal tendency; but in the sense under which we are
now to consider them, are malicious defamations of any person, and especially a
magistrate, made public by either printing, writing, signs, or pictures, in order to
provoke him to wrath, or expose him to public hatred, contempt, and ridicule. The
direct tendency of these libels is the breach of the public peace, by stirring up the
objects of them to revenge, and perhaps to bloodshed”.95
Blackstone drew two relevant consequences from this definition. The first one
regarded the criminal nature of all libellous statements, even if they were uttered in
private. The second consequence related to the truth or otherwise of the facts sup-
porting the libellous statements. “The communication of a libel to any one person is
a publication in the eye of the law: and therefore the sending an abusive letter to a
man is as much a libel as if it were openly printed, for it equally tends to a breach of
the peace. For the same reason it is immaterial with respect to the essence of a libel,
whether the matter of it be true or false; since the provocation, and not the falsity, is
the thing to be punished criminally: though, doubtless, the falsehood of it may
aggravate its guilt, and enhance its punishment”.96
Unlike civil actions, the focus of a criminal prosecution was on the public impact
of a given text, while its truth or falsity was irrelevant. Blackstone conceded that

92
For a different approach see Wootton 1994.
93
Lubert 2010.
94
Blackstone 1979: 151.
95
Blackstone 1979: 150.
96
Blackstone 1979: 150.
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 43

capital punishment for libellers as given in the Roman Twelve Tables was exceed-
ingly harsh. A consideration for “liberty, learning, and humanity” inspired English
law. Nonetheless, “Blasphemous, immoral, treasonable, schismatical, seditious, or
scandalous libels are punished by the English law, some with a greater, others with
a less degree of severity; the liberty of press, properly understood, is by no means
infringed or violated”.97 In this understanding of freedom of the press, one which
was regarded as wholly proper by contemporaries, preventative licensing was not
permissible. Traces of Milton’s arguments can be discerned in Blackstone’s conten-
tion that licensors had been granted exorbitant power, in their ability “to subject all
freedom of sentiment to the prejudices of one man, and make him the arbitrary and
infallible judge of all controverted points in learning, religion, and government”.
Since “the preservation of peace and good order, of government and religion, the
only solid foundations of civil liberty,” was to be actively pursued as an overriding
priority, the magistrates’ task was the prompt persecution of any infringement of the
law. Quoting a well-known Swiftian dictum, that “a man may be allowed to keep
Poisons in his Closet, but not to vend them about as Cordials”, Blackstone under-
lined the importance of repressive power as a guarantor of the measured develop-
ment of a fundamentally free society. The said society was to strike the perfect
balance between unrestrained public debate and the safeguarding of public order
founded on unreserved obedience to the law.98
Throughout his successful career as a philosopher and historian, David Hume
reflected on the consequences of a free press without reaching a definitive conclu-
sion as to its nature. Overall, he prized freedom of the press as the freedom to criti-
cize political measures taken by the government: as such, freedom of the press
constituted an element of a more general English notion of civil liberty. Echoing
European perceptions of English politics, Hume was glad to stress that “Nothing is
more apt to surprize a foreigner, than the extreme liberty, which we enjoy in this
country, of communicating whatever we please to the public, and of openly censur-
ing every measure, entered into by the king or his ministers”.99 For the sake of his
own argument, Hume downplayed the extent of the freedom that the press enjoyed
in the United Provinces. He claimed that freedom of the press was a consequence of
the mixed form of government existing in England “which beget a mutual watchful-
ness and jealousy”.100 It could be viewed, therefore, as a component of the specifi-
cally English constitutional balance and as a precondition of the peculiar balance
between monarchy and republic that was nurtured by the prevailing distrust between
citizens. In his conception this was similar to the way in which the division of parts
of Europe into small and free states was favourable to the rise of the arts and
sciences.101 In order to survive as a mixed monarchy, England “is obliged, for its

97
Blackstone 1979: 151.
98
See Swift 2010: 143.
99
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 94. See Forbes 1975: 183–6; Hanvelt 2012.
100
Hume, David. 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press, vol. 3: 96.
101
“Reputation is often as great a fascination upon men as sovereignty, and is equally destructive
to the freedom of thought and examination. But where a number of neighbouring states have a
44 2 The English Paradigm

own preservation, to maintain a watchful jealousy over the magistrates, to remove

all discretionary powers, and to secure every one’s life and fortune by general and
inflexible laws”.102 A free press prevented ministerial despotism or encroachments
on men’s rights as it stirred up “the spirit of the people”, “in order to curb the ambi-
tion of the court; and the dread of rousing this spirit must be employed to prevent
that ambition”.103 In the different editions of his Essays from 1740 to 1770, Hume
developed this point into an argument to demonstrate that freedom of the press was
“the common right of mankind” as it was “attended with so few inconveniences”
that it could prove injurious only to an ecclesiastical government.104 From being a
peculiarly English means of checking the power of magistrates, freedom of the
press became the essential feature of good government. Hume shared the distinction
between orality and written texts put forward by Rousseau in his Lettres de la
montagne105:
A man reads a book or pamphlet alone and coolly. There is none present from whom he can
catch the passion by contagion. He is not hurried away by the force and energy of action.
And should he be wrought up to ever so seditious a humour, there is no violent resolution
presented to him, by which he can immediately vent his passion. The liberty of the press,
therefore, however abused, can scarce ever excite popular tumults or rebellion.

Hume praised and defended freedom of the press through his argument that it
was bound to accustom the people “to think freely” but that it was also inherently
harmless. “And it is to be hoped, that men, being every day more accustomed to the
free discussion of public affairs, will improve in the judgment of them, and be with
greater difficulty seduced by every idle rumour and popular clamour”. In the devel-
opment of his original argument, the parallel with Holland underpinned Hume’s
contention that historical contingencies could lead to the uncovering of fundamental
truths.
Before the United Provinces set the example, toleration was deemed incompatible with
good government; and it was thought impossible that a number of religious sects could live
together in harmony and peace, and have all of them an equal affection to their common
country, and to each other. England has set a like example of civil liberty.106

A return to the licensing system or steps such as “giving to the court very large
discretionary powers to punish whatever displeases them” were tantamount to

great intercourse of arts and commerce, their mutual jealousy keeps them from receiving too
lightly the law from each other, in matters of taste and of reasoning, and makes them examine
every work of art with the greatest care and accuracy” (Hume, David. 1882. The Rise of Arts and
Sciences. Vol. 3: 182).
102
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 96.
103
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 97.
104
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 97.
105
The Athenian democracy found it necessary to devise ways to control “the entire liberty of
speech” granted to all members of the popular assembly (Hume 1882. Of Some Remarkable
Customs. Vol. 3: 376).
106
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 97.
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 45

turning a free government into “a despotic government”.107 Yet, in the 1770 edition
of his Essays, Hume’s glowing justification of freedom of the press as a signal
achievement of modern civilization was replaced with the gloomy characterization
of the “unbounded liberty of the press” as a necessary, if lesser evil which afflicted
mixed forms of government.108 The political turmoils of London in the late 1760s
may have been the main reason why Hume’s opinions on liberty of the press devel-
oped in this way.109 However, he never became an advocate of pre-publication cen-
sorship and maintained that only free governments were conducive to excellence in
the arts and sciences.110 Those who inquired into the science of politics contribute to
“public utility”, provided that they were “free from party-rage and party-
prejudices”111: Hume implied (in this case as in others), that an unrestrained debate
was necessary to the advancement of such knowledge, the importance of which, he
insisted, could not be underestimated. However in a private letter to Turgot in 1768,
on the turbulence surrounding Wilkes, he acknowledged that “the Abuse of Liberty,
chiefly the Liberty of the Press” was the main cause of the said popular upheavals.112
In the “Wilkes and Liberty” movement, Hume determined that the lack of self-
restraint was a fundamental aspect of a free press. The Wilkes crisis led him to
believe that written texts could, in fact, have the same effect as the spoken word in
stirring a mob to violence.
An investigation of the course of English history led Hume to consider that the
“unbounded liberty of the press” was indeed a danger, but should not be contained
by legislation, but by the considerate behaviour of all those who enjoy it as a means
to check the encroachments of the magistrates upon the rights of Englishmen.
Tension between parties and principles was inherent in English politics after 1688–
1689 and provided the distinct, dynamic balance between court and country.
Freedom of the press was practiced in England precisely because it maintained
civil order; however, the need for order rendered any abuse of such freedom unac-
ceptable. He insisted that no restraints should be placed on the freedom to reason
“with regard to religion, and politics, and consequently metaphysics and morals”.
Hume was aware that monarchies are intrinsically prone to discourage critical
inquiry into the “superstitious reverence to priests and princes”.113 The section “Of
Miracles” in the Inquiry Concerning Human Understanding and his Natural
History of Religion bear witness that Hume did not shy away from public contro-
versy and was willing to expose himself to personal disputes in order to publicly
expose superstitions and lies.
As an essential component of civil liberty, freedom of expression guaranteed that
liberty would prevail over the ideological challenges aired by a free press. Similarly

107
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 98.
108
Hume 1882. Of the Liberty of the Press. Vol. 3: 98.
109
Brewer 1976.
110
Hume 1882. The Rise of Arts and Sciences. Vol. 3: 180.
111
Hume 1882. Of Civil Liberty. Vol. 3: 157.
112
David 1932. Letter to Turgot, 16 June 1768, n. 41.Vol. 2: 180–181.
113
Hume 1882. The Rise of Arts and Sciences. Vol. 3: 187.
46 2 The English Paradigm

to toleration, a free press was the best approach to the technological and cultural
innovations of the period in all cases excepting grave threats to public safety.114
Personal slander was a case in point,115 addressed by Adam Smith, who included
written defamation among the offenses against natural rights since these included
the right to maintain one’s good name.116 In a retrospective survey of his career in
1768, Hume congratulated himself that in his writings, he had always avoided
“Licentiousness, or rather the frenzy of liberty”, while nonetheless admitting that
this was a “tempting extreme”.117 Two years later, the revision of his History of
England offered the opportunity to self-censor his earlier opinions and to “either
soften or expunge many villainous seditious Whig Strokes, which had crept into
it”.118
Hume admired England’s peculiar constitution, based as it was, on a consensus
reached after generations of domestic strife. He saw the free circulation of ideas as
part of this, but insisted that it should not be allowed to erode popular support of the
constitution and therefore destroy its legitimacy and foundation.119 English history
informed Hume’s understanding of what freedom of the press really meant and in
what respect it differed from licentiousness. In his Discourses on Government,
Algernon Sidney
had maintained principles, favourable indeed to liberty, but such as the best and most dutiful
subjects in all ages have been known to embrace; the original contract, the source of power
from a consent of the people, the lawfulness of resisting tyrants, the preference of liberty to
the government of a single person.

Stuart despotism was apparent to Hume, not only in the illegal sentence pro-
nounced against Sidney, but also in the prohibition that these thoughts be “published
[…] to the world”.120 The fact that at the same time “Sir Samuel Barnadiston was
fined ten thousand pounds; because in some private letters which had been inter-
cepted, he had reflected on the government” was taken by Hume as another reason
to condemn Stuart despotism, since “private friendship and correspondence”
belonged to the sphere of absolute freedom, inviolable to the government.121

114
This point is raised in Jordan 2002: 705, in an analysis of Hume’s historical works.
115
In a letter to William Strahan on 25 June 1771 Hume deplored that under Lord North “all Laws
against Libels [are] annihilated”, letter to William Strahan, 25 June 1771, n. 456 (Hume 1932. Vol.
2: 245).
116
Haakonsen 1981: 118.
117
“Licentiousness, or rather the frenzy of liberty, has taken possession of us, and is throwing
everything into confusion. How happy do I esteem it, that in all my writings I have always kept at
a proper distance from that tempting extreme, and have maintained a due regard to magistracy and
established government, suitably to the character of an historian and a philosopher!” (Letter to the
Comtesse de Boufflers, 23 December 1768, n. 423, Hume 1932. Vol. 2: 191).
118
Letter to Sir Gilbert Elliott of Minto, 21 February 1770, n. 439, Hume 1932. Vol. 2: 216.
119
Stewart 1992: 251.
120
Hume 1983. Vol. 6: 342.
121
Hume 1983. Vol. 6: 344.
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 47

Radical philosophical skepticism might result in the discovery of truths with

unsettling implications that Hume could not state publicly without the risk of jeop-
ardizing public peace. It has been emphasized that his arguments against the immor-
tality of the soul and the possibility of miracles did not lead Hume to atheism or to
the logical conclusion that religious beliefs were, per se, untenable.122 It is plausible
to claim that he considered atheism incompatible with a consistent, skeptical mode
of thought. It is also evident that he preferred to allow his readers to reach a thor-
ough understanding of his opinions through sympathetic inference and interaction
rather than through any explicit statement of these. Self-restraint in no way contra-
dicted freedom of the press as Hume understood it. This is demonstrated by his
reluctance to avail himself fully of freedom of the press when he published his
reflections on suicide. He was convinced that suicide was morally legitimate and
that strong arguments militated against the immortality of the soul. However he
eventually declined to publish his essays, having first submitted the manuscript to a
printer only to withdraw the printed copies in 1755. In 1772 Hume was informed
that his essays on suicide and the immortality of the soul might nonetheless reach
the marketplace. While “not extremely alarmd at this Event”, all the same he was
ready to exert all possible means to prevent publication, to prevent these essays
from reaching the public.123 In Hume’s conception, concealing, rather than sup-
pressing a text, was a tribute both to prudence and to truth. Printing a text could not
in itself guarantee that humankind would escape superstition and ignorance, as he
maintained against Turgot’s view to the contrary.124
Gibbon expressed himself similarly when the first instalment of the Decline and
Fall of the Roman Empire appeared in 1776. Had he foreseen the harshness of pub-
lic reactions to the 15th and 16th chapters on Christianity, he would have revised
their content accordingly, in order to spare himself many enemies in exchange for a
handful of new friends.125 For Hume and Gibbon alike, this was the pragmatic con-
sequence of Adam Smith’s observation in the Theory of Moral Sentiments, that one
must be honest but know too where the limit lies between the respect for truth and
its degeneration into “petulance or rudeness”.126
By the second half of the eighteenth century, freedom of the press had become a
central tenet of English politics and was widely but not uncritically accepted as
inevitable and self-evident. This acceptance did not mean that its limits had become

122
Gaskin 1993: 321.
123
Letter to William Strahan, 25 June 1772, n. 465. Hume 1932. Vol. 2: 252–254.
124
“I know you are one of those, who entertain the agreeable and laudable, if not sanguine hope,
that human Society is capable of perpetual Progress towards Perfection, that the Encrease of
Knowledge will still prove favourable to good Government, and that since the Discovery of
Printing we need no longer Dread the usual Returns of Barbarism and Ignorance” (Letter to Turgot,
16 June 1768, n. 417. Hume 1932. Vol. 2: 180).
125
“Had I believed that the majority of English readers were so fondly attached even to the name
and shadow of Christianity; had I foreseen that the pious, the timid, and the prudent would feel, or
affect to feel, with such exquisite sensibility; I might, perhaps, have softened the two invidious
chapters, which would create many enemies, and conciliate few friends” (Gibbon 1896: 316).
126
Smith 1976: 214–5.
48 2 The English Paradigm

clearly delineated and the hostility aroused by certain works inspired continued
debate on its relevance, and potential threats to liberty in general.
Samuel Johnson had a strong personal dislike for David Hume but shared some
of his fundamental views on the nature of society, including its non-contractual
origin. Unlike Hume, he was consistently skeptical that freedom of the press was
the crux of the English system of political liberty. Even Johnson, however, reacted
to the contingencies of political events when reflecting on the function of the press
and its proper limits. In 1739, he criticized Walpole’s policy against opposition writ-
ers in A Complete Vindication of the Licensors of the Stage. In 1756, at the outset of
the 7 Years War, he defended the right of the English people to be fully informed of
national affairs.127 Later, in the 1760s and 1770s during the troubles surrounding
Wilkes, he maintained that the “unbounded” liberty of the press was one of the
causes of the crisis. Ironically, it was in his biography of Milton that he questioned
the core value of Areopagitica, that writers should always be free to publish their
thoughts, stipulating that they be punished if their works should result in any dam-
age to society.
[Milton] published at about the same time as his Areopagitica, a Speech of Mr. John Milton
for the liberty of unlicensed Printing.
The danger of such unbounded liberty, and the danger of bounding it have produced a
problem in the science of Government, which human understandings seems hitherto unable
to solve. If nothing may be published but what civil authority shall have previously
approved, power must always be the standard of truth; if every dreamer of innovations may
propagate his projects, there can be no settlement; if every murmurer at government may
diffuse discontent, there can be no peace; and if every sceptick in theology may teach his
follies, there can be no religion. The remedy against these evils is to punish the authors; for
it is yet allowed that every society may punish, though not prevent, the publication of opin-
ions, which that society shall think pernicious: but this punishment, though it may crush the
author, promotes the book; and it seems not more reasonable to leave the right of printing
unrestrained, because writers may be afterwards censured, than it would be to sleep with
doors unbolted, because by our laws we can hang a thief.128

In his conversations with James Boswell, Johnson returned to the issue of free-
dom of the press with the aim of downplaying its bearing on the English political
balance. He claimed that a limitation of freedom of the press would not in fact
interfere with the real object of government, the protection of the “private happiness
of the nation”.129 Despite Johnson’s objections, the constitutionalization of the free
press, described and theorized by de Lolme in the 1760s was integral to the self-

127
Greene 1989: 144.
128
Johnson 1972. Vol. 1: 77. See Rees 2010.
129
“They make a rout about UNIVERSAL liberty, without considering that all that is to be valued,
or indeed can be enjoyed by individuals, is PRIVATE liberty. Political liberty is good only so far as
it produces private liberty. Now, Sir, there is the liberty of the press, which you know is a constant
topick. Suppose you and I and two hundred more were restrained from printing our thoughts: what
then? What proportion would that restraint upon us bear to the private happiness of the nation?”
(Boswell 1832. Vol. 2: 250).
From Freedom of the Press to the Principle of Self-Restraint 49

conception of English politics and society and in consequence, it had survived the
recurring appeals for regulation. Even the dramatic revolutionary crisis of the 1790s,
which added a repressive tinge to political perspectives, could not turn the clock
back to the uneasy coexistence of licensors, authors and printers. In fact, the notion
of freedom of the press was extended to include the right to criticize not only the
government and Parliament but the very constitution of England itself.130

130
Hellmuth 2007.
Chapter 3
The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship
and the French Enlightenment

“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail”

In 1769, the French translation of a major investigation of the Ottoman Empire was
printed in Paris with the place of publication falsely given as London. The following
year, Observations on the Religion, Law, Government and Manners of the Turks by
the English ambassador in Istanbul, James Porter, were republished in Neuchâtel.1
The translator was probably Claude-François Bergier and in all likelihood it was he
who inserted a note summing up the enlightened critique of the unacceptable forms
of control over thoughts and words inherent in despotism: “Every nation in which
freedom to think and to speak will be hampered through laws or fear, will be forever
ignorant, hopelessly biased, a slave to superstition, led by fanaticism”.2 Bergier, or
whoever authored the note, did not claim that communication should be uncondi-
tionally free, unconstrained by civil laws or unmoderated by the discipline imposed
through careful consideration of consequences. This position actually reflected the
prevailing sentiment among Enlightenment thinkers who held a variety of often
substantially differentiated approaches to the issue of printed expression. A detailed
analysis of their writings will show that the genealogy of modern freedom of the
press is highly complex, the full comprehension of which requires attention to indi-
vidual nuances.
Forbidden literature has long attracted the attention of historians of eighteenth-
century French political thought and cultural forms, which has more recently been
applied to other European countries. The analytical investigation of texts illegally
imported into France and the detailed reconstruction of their production and circula-
tion has brought out the importance of clandestine networks. The emphasis placed

1
Porter 1768.
2
Porter 1770: 14. Claude-Francois Bergier was a lawyer and translated a number of English works
into French. It was probably Bergier whom Diderot targeted in a vitriolic remark in the Neveu de
Rameau (Diderot 1994. Vol. 12: 92). See also Minuti 2006: 124.

© Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016 51

E. Tortarolo, The Invention of Free Press, International Archives
of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 219,
DOI 10.1007/978-94-017-7346-1_3
52 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

upon this part of the publication process has overshadowed the importance of the
legal process. This consisted of assessment of manuscripts and the permitting of
publication, with a privilege that protected printers from pirated editions threatening
profitability. Furthermore this process ensured that texts conformed to the basic
tenets of monarchical political culture.3
The extent and depth of dissent within the French monarchy and the struggle to
express it have been clearly outlined. The repressive apparatus operated by the
Gallican church, the Parlements and royal institutions, with its shifting internal bal-
ance between efficacy and symbolic demonstrations of authority, has been exten-
sively studied with a view to penetrating the varieties of oppositional discourses.4
Between these two fields of research lies the as yet inadequately addressed issue of
uncertainty on the part of authors and printers as to what was publishable or not.
This constituted the main focus of writers but also of the censors, whose decisions
shaped the legal book market on a case-by-case basis. Texts which slandered or
blackmailed members of the social elite, books which exposed the arcana imperii
to public scrutiny, livres philosophiques that contained pornography, unchristian
beliefs or forms of materialism, were not liable for a royal privilege and conse-
quently were not submitted to the censors, not even for an informal permission
tacite. Their entire life cycle occurred outside the institutions which governed the
book trade and they therefore had to adapt to the different standards of that alterna-
tive set of rules governing the publication of books which were illegal from the very
beginning.5 The nouvelles à la main, handwritten collections of news produced in a
proto-industrial manner, similarly eluded the requirement for preventative permis-
sion from royal censors and instead were subjected to ex post facto repressive con-
trol.6 The authors of these various literary products knew that they could not fit into
the paradigm created by the French monarchy. Their refusal to test the limits of
royal censorship demonstrates that for these authors the rules of acceptability were
clear enough: challenging them would, without exception, entail dangerous reper-
cussions. This was not the case, however, for the authors who preferred to remain
within permissible culture and strove to enjoy the protection of monarchical institu-
tions afforded by a royal privilege. Even for such authors, obtaining permission to
publish from the royal censors or the Directeur de la Librairie himself, carried a
certain risk and was not entirely straightforward.

3
See Darnton 1991; Darnton 1995b; Darnton 1995c (which lists the 720 forbidden books that were
best-sellers in France after 1769). Darnton’s approach and conclusions are discussed and ques-
tioned in The Darnton Debate 1998. An excellent overview of the forbidden literature is Gersmann
1993. Simon Burrows has focused on the forbidden literature written by French authors in London,
arguing (unlike Darnton) that it did not intend to attack the culture of the Bourbon monarchy per
se and that it was rather one of the ways in which monarchical culture expressed itself (Burrows
2006). See also Israel 2001: 97–118.
4
See in particular de Negroni 1995.
5
Pornographic literature has been investigated in de Baecque 1989; Goulemot 1991 and more
generally in the essays collected in The Invention of Pornography 1993.
6
See De bonne main 1993; L’information à l’époque moderne 2005.
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” 53

Writers and publishers who declined to publish illegally, preferring to operate

within the legal system, were faced with a framework which was much less clear-
cut than it appeared. The supposed juxtaposition of permissible and impermissible
that theoretically dictated writers’ and censors’ decisions did not hold true in prac-
tice and was frequently reconfigured. A fluid and often unpredictable negotiation
among the different parties involved persuasion and power, prestige and cunning,
which were deployed formally and informally, before texts could be published,
altered or definitively forbidden. An overview of the theories of censorship prevail-
ing during the eighteenth century and the resultant major cases of repressive inter-
vention against unacceptable texts will reveal where conflicts occurred and why the
censorship apparatus required reforms to meet the expectations of both censors and
writers. The increasing ambiguity of both the criteria and the practice of censorship
had become intolerable to both censors and authors, and changes to the status quo
were plainly required. For the greater part of the eighteenth century the French
monarchy was understood to have the most effective control over its territory of all
the states in Europe. The diffusion of French as the continent’s common language
facilitated printing entrepreneurs in the establishment of publishing houses in
Switzerland, the German states and the United Provinces. These produced books,
journals and pamphlets intended for sometimes legal but mostly illegal circulation,
with France as the main market. When they penetrated France, these printed prod-
ucts competed with those privileged by the Librairie, and put the censorship appa-
ratus under intense pressure. They did so by posing questions as to its efficacy as a
repressive agency, which had to simultaneously collaborate with the printers’ guild
and delineate respective boundaries in the control of literary circulation with eccle-
siastical institutions. These different institutions all had their own interests which
impacted on the overall capacity to control the distribution of printed matter.7
In contrast to other European Catholic states, the French monarchy employed a
secularized system of control. Neither the Assembly of Clergy nor the Archbishop
of Paris nor the Faculty of Theology of the Sorbonne could directly intervene in
granting a permission to publish a work. The censors charged with theological texts
were appointed by and were subject to the Directeur de la Librairie. Indirectly,
however, the religious implications of all texts in circulation in France were care-
fully assessed, before publication for legal works and after if imported clandes-
tinely. The papal bull Unigenitus Dei filius, promulgated by Pope Clement XI in
1713 to combat Jansenism, was the most resounding instance since it sparked off a
conflict between the monarchy and the sovereign courts which smouldered for
much of the century. It was “first and foremost a problem of censorship”, exacer-
bated by the role of the Archbishop of Paris, the cardinal de Noailles, who was a
covert supporter of the Jansenist movement.8 De Noailles’ appeal to an ecumenical

7
The functioning of censorship in eighteenth-century France is best described in two essays by
Daniel Roche (Roche 1990). Less well-known but extremely informative are Cerf 1967 and Mass
1981. Chapter Die Kontrolle der Literatur im Ancien Regime: 5–32. They have not been super-
seded by Minois 1995.
8
de Negroni 1995: 106.
54 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

council to redress the condemnation of Jansenist tenets, was rejected by the Pope.
The cardinal’s correspondent, Beauvois, privately reported to Pierre Des Maizeaux
that the unauthorized publication of a Papal text which was harshly critical of the
Jansenists, had unleashed a wave of symbolically charged public rites that were stir-
ring up popular passions. According to Beauvois, this consisted of the public burn-
ing of a letter by the Jesuits in support of the Papal text, and by a pledge to celebrate
a mass every year in an attempt to divert divine rage over the public burning of this
anti-parliamentarian writing. The illegal publication revived political and theologi-
cal conflicts that seriously threatened the stability of monarchical institutions
already weakened during the Regency and confronted with a resurgent parliamen-
tary opposition.9 Morals and political loyalty were expressed in terms of religious
devotion to the protector of the Catholic faith, the only officially permitted faith in
the kingdom since the edict of Fontainebleau of 1685 repealing the 1598 edict of
Nantes which had established a form of religious toleration.
The royal censors were the King’s representatives and drew their power from
him through the Librairie, the institution charged with overseeing the book trade.
The monarchy was successful in rejecting the attempted encroachment upon French
sovereignty by the papal congregation of the Holy Office. In the absence of a perva-
sive ecclesiastical bureaucracy monitoring the production and consumption of
books, the French monarchy experimented with a variety of instruments to control
public communication. While not always successful, the strategy of control focused
consistently on the lieutenant de police in Paris, whose duties included the supervi-
sion of authors and printers. The Librairie was formally assigned the monopoly of
pre-publication control. However, it was in fact a configuration consisting of three
powers of varying efficacy that decided upon the publication of a text. These were:
the royal censors, who had the last word (or assumed they had) on a publication, the
Faculty of Theology and the Archbishop of Paris, and the Parliament of Paris. These
ecclesiastical and judicial powers could take the initiative of requesting the suppres-
sion of books already authorized or circulating semi-officially: their probable

9
Beauvois to Pierre Des Maizeaux, Paris, 21 March 1717/1718, BL, Add. Mss. 4281: “Some briefs
from Rome arrived last Sunday with the censures of the inquisition of that place. The 1. condemn-
ing the appeal as heretical, & ignominous to the Holy See. The 2. condemning Cardinal de
Noailles’s appeal as tending to heresy, & injurious to the Holy See. Some copies of these censures
being early spread ahead, the Parliament of Paris put out an Arrest against the publication of these
censures, & enjoyning any farther altercation relating to the Constitution [Unigenitus]. This Arrest
oblig’d the curates, or rather rectors of Paris to wait in a body upon their Archbishop […], & to
obtain from the Regent, that they might have the Liberty to repell the objections, & calomnies of
their antagonists the Molinists; but his Em.ce did not receive them very graciously. The Archbishop
of Reims having publish’d a letter against the protesting bishops, this letter was ordered by the
Parliament to be publicly burnt. Whereupon Monsieur de Rheims hath put out a very warm letter.
Wherein he insults the parliament in these 2. instances. 1. He declares that he will have this arrest
register’d in his officiality as a standing monument of the injustice of his adversaries; 2. That he
hath settled a mass to be celebrated yearly in his chappel on the day that his letter was burnt to avert
God’s judgments on those that have order’d his letter to be burnt. Time will discover how the
Parliament here will relish these proceedings”. See Alamagor 1989. See the overview of the whole
question in Van Kley 1996: 85–7 and Doyle 2000. Jansenism: 50.
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” 55

reaction to the publication of any book was taken into consideration when the royal
censors were assessing a manuscript for approval. Each of them, the Librairie,
ecclesiastical and judiciary institutions, tried to gain a position of power that would
legitimize its judgment as the most authoritative, the most loyal to the principles of
the monarchy and the firmest bulwark of a morality which might be undermined by
the publication of a dangerous book. The printers’ guild, which acted as an instru-
ment of control and self-control, was at the same time the victim of intimidation and
the target of repressive procedures. It also represented a crucial factor in economic
life, especially in Paris where its political influence was substantial, particularly
because of the importance of big publishers who could invest significant capital in
publishing ventures which were resented by smaller and financially less secure
publishers.
By the eighteenth century, the makeup of the censorship system reflected the
gradual development of absolutist monarchical institutions in France since the early
seventeenth century. It was therefore a multilayered structure, in which the royal
censors came to prevail after a series of reshuffles as the importance of public com-
munication, journals and books increased. Despite the challenges they faced, the
royal censors emerged as one of the most important and effective censorship instru-
ments of the French monarchy. Under Richelieu’s guidance, the development of
absolutist institutions laid the foundation for a system that aimed to concentrate the
control of all forms of communication in the hands of the monarchy and its repre-
sentatives. A bureaucratic approach supplemented the established practice of pun-
ishing individual enemies, such as the pamphleteer Mathieu de Morgues, who was
convicted by the Chambre de l’Arsenal in 1635 “for writing ‘impious letters’ against
the glory of God [and] the respect due to the head of His Church, for cabals against
the King and for fomenting attempts on the life of Cardinal Richelieu”.10 The impo-
sition of a monopoly of control in the hands of royal institutions was begun, but not
fully realized in the seventeenth century. Attempts were made to use the newly
founded Académie Française as a royal instrument to grant or refuse permission to
publish. These failed in the face of stiff resistance by the Parliament of Paris, which
remained resolute in its claim to participate in the assessment of manuscripts for
publication.11 Under Richelieu and then during the eighteenth century, the monar-
chy’s purely repressive approach was complemented by a consistent strategy of
active intervention in the literary field. Writers and printers favourable to the mon-
archy received preferential treatment, their enterprises were protected as the monar-
chy closed the domestic market, intellectually and economically, to outside
influences. The generous distribution of sinecures, in particular, was used to encour-
age the emergence of a well-disposed periodical press.12 It would clearly have been
inadequate to regulate the production of texts by relying exclusively on pre-
publication control of manuscripts. A potentially more efficient way to infuse intel-
lectual creativity with the monarchy’s values included, among other things, fostering

10
As quoted in Kitchens 1982: 346.
11
Martin 1969. Vol. 1: 439.
12
See in general Censer 1994.
56 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

networks on a daily basis, exerting informal pressure on writers, playwrights and

theologians, the meticulous granting and retracting of privileges, and mediating per-
sonal antipathies and jealousies. These tactics opened up wider fields for royal inter-
ference but blurred the criteria that authors were expected to follow and eventually
shifted perceptions of the boundaries between permissible and impermissible.
Interference by powerful royal agents could be resented as inappropriate, and raised
questions about the whole system of patronage within the educated elite. Since its
inception, the control system contained the potential for functional ambiguity that
grew throughout the eighteenth century and challenged the dichotomy between licit
and illicit texts.
The system developed by the French monarchy remained unpredictable when the
institutions were involved in conflicts with authors or among themselves, while
issues at various levels of the publishing process were open to interference as insti-
tutions jockeyed for influence.13 This was exacerbated when authors preferred to
avoid coming into conflict with royal, religious or judicial institutions, since the
resultant and often repeated prohibitions could undermine the credibility of authori-
ties and authors. In such instances continued disputes might well be bitter and yet
nonetheless end undramatically if not in a manner that left all parties unruffled. In
1679 Isaac La Peyrère twice rewrote Des Juifs élus, rejétés et rapelés, as he strove
to meet the censors’ demands. By the time of his death, Peyrère’s text had not been
granted publication permission and was preserved only as a manuscript.14 Between
1676 and 1678, the well-known scholar, Pierre-Daniel Huet, became involved in a
lengthy confrontation with Bossuet about the orthodoxy of the Demonstratio evan-
gelica. Their dispute was only resolved when the manuscript was examined by four
bishops and a royal censor and was eventually published with a privilege.15
A few years later, the case of Richard Simon showed how such disputes could
escalate dramatically. The censors’ reactions in this case proved unpredictable and
exasperating and testified to the inadequacy of the repressive system in its total sup-
pression of a text deemed unacceptable. The alleged harshness was complemented
by structural inefficacy. In April 1678 Simon’s Histoire du Vieux Testament, a path-
breaking inquiry into biblical criticism, was ready for publication. Simon, as mem-
ber of the Oratorians, received the approbation of Esmé Pirot, syndic of the Sorbonne
and official censor of theology books, and of the Père de Sainte Marthe, general of
the Oratory, as requested.16 Despite his absence in Flanders commanding the French
military expedition, King Louis XIV was expected to accept the dedication shortly,
which would have legitimized the publication and authority of Simon’s scholarly
undertaking. The dedication would be bound in to the 1300 copies that were already
in store and ready for distribution. At this point, Simon had fulfilled the formal

13
André Cheviller made an interesting attempt to reconstruct the role of the university in the con-
trol system based on the collaboration between the monarchy, the Faculty of Theology and the
Compagnie des libraries: Chevillier 1694.
14
Popkin 1987: 19.
15
Shelford 2006.
16
Le Brun 1975.
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” 57

requirements known to him and usually demanded of authors. It was, once more,
Bossuet who intervened successfully in the publication process. His examination of
the table of contents and preface to the three volumes convinced Bossuet that Simon
was underhandedly advocating libertinism and he pushed for the privilege to be
revoked. Accordingly the Histoire du Vieux Testament was forbidden and Simon
expelled from the Oratory. Between 18 and 22 July 1678, all but 20 copies were
forfeited and pulped. Some of the remaining 20 copies would appear to have been
shipped to London, Rotterdam and Amsterdam. In the 1680s English and Dutch
printers produced a number of editions that proceeded to spread throughout
Europe.17 Bossuet’s personal intervention against Simon and the subsequent pub-
lishing history of the Histoire du Vieux Testament lent the text a critical, unorthodox
slant that had not been intended by its author. As has been pointed out, Simon actu-
ally “disparaged Dutch freedom of expression as corrupt and unprincipled”.18 In this
instance, the functional ambiguity inherent in the French system was glaringly obvi-
ous. By successfully accusing Simon of undermining Catholic orthodoxy Bossuet
had exerted his political and intellectual power and actually prefigured a later dis-
cussion of the book that was heavily biased. He could not however completely stifle
Simon’s thought or its echo. Bossuet manipulated the functional ambiguity of the
French system but despite the overwhelming power his position afforded him, he
was conditioned by that same ambiguity that did not allow for total control.
The quarter century preceding the death of Louis XIV witnessed the consolida-
tion of this functional ambiguity. Texts dealing with a variety of disciplines, from
religion and theology to morals and fiscal policy, such as the Réflexions morales sur
le Nouveau Testament by Quesnel, were published with the censor’s privilege, only
to be retroactively forbidden, confiscated and subjected to practical and symbolic
persecution after their initial, legal public availability.19 Loopholes in the control of
the book trade were filled haphazardly, and both lay and ecclesiastical communities
endured the unwelcome consequences of the confiscation of valuable but forbidden
books, imported from abroad.20
The reorganization of the censorship system begun by the Chancellor Louis II
Phélypeaux de Pontchartrain was continued by his nephew, the abbé Jean-Paul
Bignon. In his capacity as director of the Librairie, he acknowledged that from the
perspective of the absolutist monarchy, functional ambiguity was the major source
of the control system’s apparent weakness. To remedy this, his reorganization
focused on the establishment of specialized censors, of whom there were 56 between
1699 and 1704, and on the professionalization of their role and responsibility by

17
Lacombe 1985.
18
Simon, Richard. Lettres choisies: 47 and 59 as quoted in Israel 2001: 100. In fact Simon had
worked for the Roman Congregation of the Index on the controversy between Isaac Vossius and
Georg Horn about the biblical chronology (Cavarzere 2011: 168).
19
Birn 1983.
20
Cfr. Gay 1876; Sauvy 1972 (based on the detailed analysis of the papers in BnF, MSS fr., 21930)
and Israel 2001: 101–3, that focuses on the forfeiture of Dutch books owned by the librarian
Joseph Huchet and the booksellers brothers Cocquaire.
58 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

defining their duties and guidelines more precisely. The main features of Bignon’s
reorganization took root in 1700 and lasted until the revolution of 1789.21 In 1702,
Phélypeaux de Pontchartrain issued a series of decrees that excluded ecclesiastical
institutions and the Parliament of Paris from any role in preventative censorship and
centralized the control institutions charged with overseeing book production and
trade in Paris. The repression of illegal commerce in Rouen, Champagne and Lyon
was harsh and intended to demonstrate the regime’s resolve.22 Under Pontchartrain
and Bignon a conscious effort was made to improve the censors’ intellectual qual-
ity: outstanding writers and scientists such as Bernard Fontenelle, Gilles Filleau des
Billettes and Pierre Bourdalot were summoned to serve as royal censors. In addi-
tion, Bignon strengthened the links between pre-publication control, state-sponsored
academies, in particular the Académie des Inscriptions, and the privileged periodi-
cal press, particularly the Journal des Sçavants, whose editor, collaborators and
censors were appointed by Bignon in 1702. Bignon himself supervised closely the
activity of the collaborators of the Journal des Sçavants23 Authors, academics, and
privileged journalists, all had to collaborate with the monarchy and be familiar with
its cultural guidelines if they wished to remain influential.
Bignon was keenly aware that his function in the literary world was to support
the monarchy, and he reflected at length on the consequences of censorship (or lack
thereof) on social mores. In a letter to Des Maizeaux, Bignon proudly sketched the
positive meaning of preventative censorship as practiced in France and described
the multiple levels where censors were required.
We live in a country where license does not prevail as in some neighbouring states. It is
absolutely not left to the caprice or passions of the authors to spread among the public
whatever they wish. We are careful to prevent the press from falling into the hands of
exceedingly shallow and quarrelsome persons whose writings could damage the principles
of faith, or the tenets of morals or the reputation of individuals. Given these principles You
will see that the Satyre sur l’Equivoque would never be admitted here under the seal of
public authority.

Bignon was referring to the prohibition on the publication of a new posthumous

edition of the works of Boileau, who had died in 1711. This edition was to include
the satire XII Sur l’Equivoque against bad critics that Bignon considered unworthy
of its author.
Given the reputation of [Boileau], I wished this piece had disappeared with him. His
advanced age had drained him; he was no longer the same as in the prime of his produc-
tions. He should have given up poetry. At least he would not have shown so little precision
and too much passion in this last work of his. Is it possible to present a satire on equivoca-

21
Martin 1969. Vol. 2: 764–9; Hanley 1980.
22
Birn 2007: 42–6. On the reform of 1702 see Woodbridge 1976; Dictionnaire des Journaux. Vol.
2: 650; Van Damme 2005: 103–24.
23
Clarke 1973. On Bignon see Bléchet 1991b.
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” 59

tion hinging exclusively on misunderstandings, in which the public approves only of insults
that a philosopher would have rightfully refrained from uttering?24

Boileau’s satire was forbidden and stripped of privilege to avoid displeasing the
Jesuits (whom Boileau in fact attacked), but an anonymous (and clandestine) ver-
sion appeared in 1711. In the preface, Boileau stated his right to appeal to the public
directly: it is only the public, he wrote, that is entitled to say if an author has suc-
ceeded or not in his endeavour.25 It was precisely this trust in the reading public as
the ultimate arbiter of merit and utility, that clashed with Bignon’s absolutist
approach to public communication. Writing to Le Clerc in 1709, Bignon rephrased
his conception and acknowledged that “quarrels among men of letters can be very
useful. One only has to wish that, in their disputes, they are pursuing exclusively the
interests of society and that, while objecting to opinions, they respect the persons”.26
The “Republic of letters” was the framework within which the literati could, follow-
ing widely understood and freely accepted rules, discuss the limits and extent of
censorial control.
Boileau appealed to a vision of the relationship between authors and readers that
the Librairie fully intended to discourage. It pursued this objective through the
methodical elimination of functional ambiguity in the control system, wherever
possible.
The Bureau de la Librairie focused on whether the texts under consideration
were in accordance with the set of beliefs supported by the monarchy as well as on
their literary form, which was expected to be respectful, sober and self-controlled
and excluded what Boileau called “la rage poétique”. Since they saw themselves as
part of the world of literary production, the royal censors regarded it as their respon-
sibility to protect ‘decent’ forms of expression that qualified authors as full-fledged
members of the literary elite.27 By the same token, scientific censors were expected
to allow the publication of books that supported prevailing theories. From the out-
set, de Pontchartrain’s reforms paid special attention to books for popular audiences
as potentially dangerous.
The relationship between censorship and the Académie française, the Académie
des inscriptions, the Académie des sciences, the Journal des Sçavants, was apparent
to many of the censors, including de Vertot and Dacier.28 Bignon himself was both
a censor, involved in restraining and suppressing the circulation of texts he consid-
ered unacceptable, and a member of the literary elite, engaged in promoting the

24
BL, Add. Mss. 4281, ff. 215–6, letter 14 June 1714.
25
Boileau 1711: 8. See Moriarty 1994; Braider 2012. Chapter Des mots sans fin: Meaning and the
End(s) of History in Boileau’s Satire XII, ‘Sur l’Equivoque’: 201–242.
26
Bignon to Le Clerc, Paris, 25 February 1709, Universitaetsbibliothek Amsterdam, C19c, as
quoted in Goldgar 1995: 207.
27
Russo 2007.
28
Martin 1969. Vol. 2: 765.
60 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

circulation of original thoughts within the republic of letters.29 The fundamental

functional ambiguity in the French system was based on the unstable coexistence of
two elements that in retrospect may seem to have been irreconcilable but which
actually strove – in vain – to strike a durable balance. The exclusion of Catholic
institutions (especially of the Congregation of the Holy Office) from active partici-
pation in pre-publication assessment turned the Librairie into a tool in the hands of
the monarchy. However it also provided writers of different genres, scholars and
natural scientists with a degree of autonomy. This was contingent upon their recog-
nition of the absolute monarchy, its institutions and the King’s implicit acknowl-
edgement of their skills, via his appointed arbiters of the public sphere, the Directeur
de la Librairie and the royal censors.
The duplicity inherent in maintaining both intellectual autonomy and obedience
to monarchical institutions was manifest in this arrangement. Bernard le Bovier de
Fontenelle, whose Histoire des oracles proved theologically controversial, was a
censor under Bignon and supported de Pontchartrain’s repression of the Rouen
printers despite having previously had to fight for the publication of his own subtly
heterodox writings. Fontenelle saw nothing to be ashamed of in such double stan-
dards. He believed that a conscientious censor could prevent indecent writings from
being published, because he saw “man as an animal guided by passions who has to
be ruled, and restrained if necessary by philosophy”.30 This was why Fontenelle did
his utmost to stop the publication of the Count of Gramont’s memoirs, written by
Gramont’s brother-in-law Anthony Hamilton, since he deemed them indecent and
unfitting as their author narrated erotic intrigues at the court of Charles II. His ideal
royal censor would ensure that a mighty aristocrat had to show to be possessed of a
moral sense and to uphold the standards needed for the stability of society. Ironically,
Gramont prevailed over Fontenelle’s moral qualms and his prohibition: the
Mémoires were published in 1713.31 Nonetheless, being a royal censor lent the
officeholder a certain amount of leeway for independent decisions which Fontenelle
took advantage of to overcome the obstacles preventing the publication of contro-
versial works such as Les Amazones by Madame du Boccage and La Vie de Molière
by Voltaire, in 1739.32
Since the manuscripts were usually destroyed after the censor’s approbation and
the publication of a book, we are rarely able to assess the logic and the efficacy of
the censor’s intervention through an analysis of his handwritten comments. A sig-
nificant exception to this is the manuscript of Essays by Lord Bacon that the pub-
lisher Emery submitted to the censor Jean-François Du Resnel du Bellay in 1734.
The handwritten translation by the Abbé Goujet is preserved at the Bibliothèque de

29
His correspondence with Des Maizeaux deals with issues of censorship and book trade: BL, Add.
Mss. 4281. See also Bléchet 1991a and Bléchet 1990. In 1718 the Regent authorized Bignon to
acquire for the Royal Library all books from Holland without the permission of the Chambre syn-
dicale (Bléchet 1992: 35).
30
Adkins 2000.
31
Mémoires de la vie du Comte de Gramont 1713. Philibert, count of Gramont, died in 1707.
32
Voltaire 1877–1885. Vol. 23: 87–126.
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” 61

l’Arsenal. It allows us to catch a glimpse of the ideal case of a censor-scholar work-

ing on a manuscript. Du Resnel himself was an esteemed scholar patronized by the
Prince of Orléans, and his knowledge of the English language and literature made
him ideally suited to this task. He carried out his assignment with exactitude. He
approved every single page with his signature and ensured that no blank space
remained, in which the printer could insert any unapproved text. When he was done
with his work, Du Resnel wrote a formal note of approval: “J’ay lu par l’ordre de
Monseigneur Le Garde des Sceaux un manuscript intitulé essays du chevalier Bacon
et j’ay cru qu’on pourroit en permettre l’impression à Paris ce quatorze aout mil
septe cent trente quatre. Du Resnel”.
Despite having facilitated its publication, Du Resnel du Bellay was not happy
with Bacon’s book. A devout member of the Oratorian order and the translator of
Alexander Pope’s writings, Du Resnel did his best to expunge from the French ver-
sion all passages that he thought contrasted with the official beliefs of the Church
and did not hesitate to rewrite sentences and insert orthodoxies into Bacon’s origi-
nal.33 Du Resnel deleted gnomic quotations from Machiavelli and cast a veil over
dramatic and controversial passages from French history, like the Wars of Religion,
which the authorities would prefer French readers to forget. Du Resnel took particu-
lar care to delete passages that argued for the merits of atheism over superstition,
such as Chap. 17, which was entirely devoted to the discussion of the effects of
superstitious opinions. Only two pages survived intact: the rest was mercilessly
redacted. Similar treatment was meted out to much of the preceding chapter on
atheism, not forgetting a few lines in the chapter on death, expressing admiration
and empathy for great figures of antiquity who took their own lives.34 Du Resnel

33
Bacon 1734. Avec approbation et privilege du Roy. See Candler Hayes 2009.
34
The censor deleted the following section: “IT WERE better to have no opinion of God at all, than
such an opinion, as is unworthy of him. For the one is unbelief, the other is contumely; and cer-
tainly superstition is the reproach of the Deity. Plutarch saith well to that purpose: Surely (saith he)
I had rather a great deal, men should say, there was no such man at all, as Plutarch, than that they
should say, that there was one Plutarch, that would eat his children as soon as they were born; as
the poets speak of Saturn. And as the contumely is greater towards God, so the danger is greater
towards men. Atheism leaves a man to sense, to philosophy, to natural piety, to laws, to reputation;
all which may be guides to an outward moral virtue, though religion were not; but superstition
dismounts all these, and erecteth an absolute monarchy, in the minds of men. Therefore theism did
never perturb states; for it makes men wary of themselves, as looking no further: and we see the
times inclined to atheism (as the time of Augustus Caesar) were civil times. But superstition hath
been the confusion of many states, and bringeth in a new primum mobile, that ravisheth all the
spheres of government. The master of superstition, is the people; and in all superstition, wise men
follow fools; and arguments are fitted to practice, in a reversed order. It was gravely said by some
of the prelates in the Council of Trent, where the doctrine of the Schoolmen bare great sway, that
the Schoolmen were like astronomers, which did feign eccentrics and epicycles, and such engines
of orbs, to save the phenomena; though they knew there were no such things; and in like manner,
that the Schoolmen had framed a number of subtle and intricate axioms, and theorems, to save the
practice of the church. The causes of superstition are: pleasing and sensual rites and ceremonies;
excess of outward and pharisaical holiness; overgreat reverence of traditions, which cannot but
load the church; the stratagems of prelates, for their own ambition and lucre; the favoring too much
of good intentions, which openeth the gate to conceits and novelties; the taking an aim at divine
62 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

wanted to dissociate dangerous thoughts on morals and religion from the prestige
surrounding Chancellor Bacon. The pages in which Bacon suggested that religious
dissension, the scandalous lives and conduct of the clergy and even economic pros-
perity, all encourage atheism could not be printed.35 The translation, published with
a royal privilege, was an improvement on Jean Baudoin’s very selective rendering
from the early seventeenth century, with the title Les Essays politiques et moraux de
messire François Bacon (1619), but remained incomplete, reflecting Du Resnel’s
concern for Catholic orthodoxy. Nonetheless, Du Resnel explicitly approved the
preface inserted by the publisher, Hémery. This was remarkable because of the pub-
lisher’s reference to censorship in his account of the shortcomings of the first French
version. In fact, the preface stressed that Bayle rightfully held Bacon’s essays in
high esteem, but also acknowledged that some “reductions” were necessary on the
advice of “a man of some discernment” (quite clearly the censor himself) “to adjust
[Bacon’s text] to our customs and the laws valid in the kingdom”. “Freedom of
thought is tolerated in France as it is in England: but here it is contained within the
limits of wisdom and restraint, whereas it is taken to a shameful excess in England;
and the most judicious Englishmen are inclined to acknowledge and wish that our
prudence and our forethought were imitated”.36
The principles established by the monarchy encompassed dual perspectives to
which Du Resnel du Bellay had to adhere. The Code de la Librairie was enacted in
1723 for Paris and extended to the rest of the kingdom in 1744. It formally distin-
guished between legal books, printed with the royal privilege that came with the
Librairie’s approval, and clandestine books, which had either not been submitted
for, or not been granted authorization. The Code recognized that the royal censors’
duty to repress the circulation of pirated editions, usually for a period of 10 years,
was integral to the privilege and was a crucial protection of the economic interests

matters, by human, which cannot but breed mixture of imaginations: and, lastly, barbarous times,
especially joined with calamities and disasters. Superstition, without a veil, is a deformed thing;
for, as it addeth deformity to an ape, to be so like a man, so the similitude of superstition to religion,
makes it the more deformed. And as wholesome meat corrupteth to little worms, so good forms
and orders corrupt, into a number of petty observances. There is a superstition in avoiding supersti-
tion, when men think to do best, if they go furthest from the superstition, formerly received; there-
fore care would be had that (as it fareth in ill purgings) the good be not taken away with the bad;
which commonly is done, when the people is the reformer”.
35
Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 2865, f. 184. Les causes de l’Atheisme sont les divisions dans la
religion. J’entends qu’il y en a plusieurs. Car une seule donne du zèle aux deux parties, mais
plusieurs introduisent l’Atheisme. Le scandale que donnent les prestres en est encore une cause,
lorsqu’il est au poinct dont parle S. Bernard. Non est jam dicere ut populus sic sacerdos, quia nec
sit populus ut sacerdos. Une troisième est la coutume profane de plaisanter sur les choses saintes,
qui a détruit peu à peu la réverence due à la religion. Enfin en temps savant, la paix et l’abondance
jointe ensemble. Car les troubles et l’adversité rament l’esprit de la religion.
36
“Il est vrai que nous avons fait quelques retranchemens dans la traduction que nous publions;
mais outre qu’ils sont en très petit nombre, nous ne les avons faits que sur l’avis d’un homme
d’esprit qui les a jugé nécessaires pour se conformer à nos mœurs et aux loix reçues dans le roy-
aume; et par respect pour la vérité qui s’y trouvoit blessée. La liberté de penser est soufferte en
France comme en Angleterre: mais ici elle est resserrée dans les bornes de la sagesse et de la
modération, au lieu que l’on n’ignore pas qu’elle est souvent portée à un excès condamnable en
Angleterre; et les Anglois les plus judicieux ne font pas difficulté d’en convenir, et de souhaiter que
l’on imitat à cet égard notre prudence et notre reserve” (Bacon 1734: xiii–xiv).
“We Live in a Country Where License Does Not Prevail” 63

of the publishers and by extension, the authors. The Code also stated that the royal
censors should prevent the publication of texts that were “against religion, service
to the king, the good of the state, the purity of customs, the honour and reputation
of families and of individuals”.37 Du Resnel du Bellay complied thoroughly with
these guidelines in reviewing the implications of Bacon’s book for philosophy and
religion. He also addressed the monarchy’s second concern, as expressed in the
Code, namely that the economic interests attached to the printing trade be properly
considered. Du Resnel du Bellay, like other censors, was keenly aware that his deci-
sions had important economic consequences. Deleting unacceptable opinions and
occasionally rewriting original sentences, as with Bacon’s Essays, could render a
text both compatible with the existing ideological system and profitable to the legal
printing industry. Moderate censorship was intended to impede foreign publishers
and their imports as well as to promote legal, domestic printers. Much as in the case
of permissions tacites that were granted increasingly frequently as the century wore
on, Du Resnel du Bellay’s approach reflected the ambiguity of the system, caught
between pragmatism and ideology. Despite his elaborate intervention in 1734, how-
ever, Bacon’s work did become a source of inspiration for the defiant philosophie of
the 1740s and 1750s.
The censorship system established by the French monarchy continued to be used
right up until 1789. It shared some key features with the control mechanisms of
other European states. A difference was evident, however, which made the Librairie
model a paradigm to be imitated by Catholic monarchies where censorship institu-
tions were dominated by and represented the Church. As a formally monarchical
and secular institution, the Librairie represented the most sophisticated attempt to
modernize and centralize censorship. As with other European institutions, the
Librairie relied heavily on semi-legal publication permissions in the form of per-
missions simples and tacites, granted on behalf of the Directeur de la Librairie. The
handful of periodicals which enjoyed a royal privilege actually provided the reviews
which informed the public about such decisions and played an important role in the
growing availability of books that were not perfectly legal.38 In quite a few cases
repressing non-authorized publications seemed undesirable and the Librairie did
not seriously attempt it.
In fact, the close relationship between the personnel of the Librairie and the
authors willing to submit to and profit from the privileging procedure meant it was
difficult to elaborate an explicit call for freedom of the press based on the abolition
of pre-publication censorship.39 All those writers who viewed the absolute monar-
chy as a potential ally in the struggle against superstition and obscurantism regarded
some form of enlightened control of the press as a useful tool, not to be renounced
lightly.

37
Saugrain 1744: 341. Barbara de Negroni has emphasized that French censorship was predomi-
nantly applied to the Jansenist literature (de Negroni 1995). In fact the guidelines provided by the
Code de la Librairie were enforced haphazardly, according to Thierry Rigogne, who claims that
the Code de la Librairie failed its objective (Rigogne 2007: 47–64).
38
See the excellent overview in Infelise 2009. Diderot’s and Condillac’s works published with a
permission tacite were reviewed in the official periodicals: see Moureau 2006: 303.
39
Freedom of Speech 2012.
64 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

Even some clandestine literature, printed abroad and intentionally subversive

though it no doubt was, contained a paradoxical defence of pre-publication censor-
ship. Jean-Baptiste Boyer, marquis d’Argens, published the Lettres juives in the
United Provinces between 1738 and 1742 in full knowledge that a request for a
printing privilege was pointless. The Lettres juives were publicly burnt in Rome by
the Inquisition for promoting deism; their dissemination was forbidden in France
and d’Argens settled in Potsdam at the court of the king of Prussia Frederick II.40
Far from pleading for a liberal approach to publishing and censorship, the Lettres
juives blamed seditious libels for the assassination of Henry IV in 1610, suggesting
that the monarchy should monitor subversive writings carefully. Ironically, d’Argens
wrote of an Englishman who criticized the unbounded liberty to spread outrageous
satires and obscene literature. In his mind, printers and readers were generally able
to elude the regulations aimed at suppressing what were seen as abusive and decep-
tive books liable to mislead the common people. D’Argens argued ambiguously that
“the truly wise men” were morally obliged to stop obnoxious literature: eschewing
any regulative function was tantamount to actively harming the common good, as
though one was forgetting “what we owe to ourselves and to our fellow creatures”.41

Montesquieu’s Paradox

The functional ambiguity typical of French preventative censorship could actually

prove very attractive to writers who were offered the opportunity to collaborate in
the process of promoting and shaping the public sphere and to minimize if not
eliminate conflict with the absolute monarchy. The figure who was the most consis-
tent exception to this attitude was Montesquieu, whose seminal Esprit des lois was
first and foremost an anti-absolutist tract.
In the Esprit des lois readers could find one of the most unabashed justifications
for freedom of speech and of the press; although scattered throughout his oeuvre,
there is in his greatest work a constant concern to protect the right of free men to
communicate their thoughts. Montesquieu applied three arguments to the question
of the free communication of ideas: the nature of communication; the advantages
accruing from free speech and the consequences of freedom of communication. His
underlying assumption was that verbal and written communication demarcated the
free public sphere where free governments could not by rights encroach. While he
conceded that written texts were slightly more permanent and durable than spoken
words, Montesquieu’s skepticism led him to insist that both oral and written com-
munication were subject to a variety of conditions that made it ultimately impossi-
ble to determine whether an opinion had led to civil disorder. He seriously questioned
whether speech could have a decisive impact on social events, as befits an episte-
mology based on the complexity of factors which shaped human experience and

40
Delpiano 2007: 81; Weil 1999: 19.
41
d’Argens 1766. Vol. 7: 93. The campaign against the king Henry IV is described in Vol. 1: 144.
Montesquieu’s Paradox 65

which rejected monocausality. His interpretation of the consequences of public dis-

course was such that the death penalty, even for extreme cases such as lèse-majesté,
could not be justified as punishment since words in themselves are not dangerous.
In book 12, Chap. 13 of Esprit des lois he supported his point using historical exam-
ples. Roman liberty was doomed once Augustus and Tiberius had elevated satirical
words to being a crime of lèse-majesté and punishable accordingly.42 Montesquieu
poked fun at the prohibition on predictions of the king’s death, since such predic-
tions were commonplace in the almanacs read by the lower classes.43 According to
Montesquieu, the context of a discourse affects its meaning to such an extent that no
two of them ever conveyed precisely the same sense; furthermore, silence could be
more telling than words. He insisted that the difference between indiscretion and
malice was remarkable but amounted to very little upon consideration of the expres-
sions actually used. Demagogues fomenting civil unrest through discourses would
be persecuted because of the civil unrest following their words, not because of the
words themselves. While he acknowledged that words might indicate criminal
actions he insisted that they were not in themselves criminal but that: “[they] remain
only in idea” (“elles ne restent que dans l’idée”).44 Only the actions which followed
them could reveal the meaning of the words. He denied that discourses about reli-
gion were the business of civil government, which implied that blasphemy should
not be punishable by law. According to the principle that the nature of the crime
should determine the nature of the punishment, attacks on religious opinions could
not be punished by government. Readers could easily follow Montesquieu’s argu-
ment to its logical conclusion and, with sound logic, argue that pre-publication cen-
sorship was illegitimate.45 His second broad argument was that governments could
profit from freedom of speech. They should not only tolerate but encourage lively
communication among men as a necessary component of a free society which toler-
ated and encouraged diversity and variety over stultifying uniformity.46 England,
Montesquieu maintained, proved this assumption; in general, a government was
free if it encouraged the people to think for themselves regardless of the value of

42
Montesquieu 1762. Vol. 1, 212 (see Montesquieu 1989: 199; Montesquieu 2011).
43
Montesquieu 1762. Book 12, Chap. 10 (“There was a law passed in England under Henry VIII
by which whosoever predicted the king’s death, was declared guilty of high treason. This law was
very indeterminate; the terror of despotic power is so great it even turns against those who exercise
it. In this king’s last illness, the physicians would not venture to say he was in danger; and surely
they acted very rightly”. Vol. 1: 210; for a slightly different translation see Montesquieu 1989:
197).
44
Montesquieu 1762. Book 12, Chap. 12. Vol. 1, 210. The 1989 translation reads: “Speech does not
form a corpus delicti: it remains only an idea” (198).
45
Montesquieu 1762. Book 12, Chap. 4. Vol. 1, 201–204 (“In things that prejudice the tranquillity
of the state, secret actions are subject to human jurisdiction. But in those which offend the Deity,
where there is no public action, there can be no criminal matter; the whole passes betwixt man and
God, who knows the measure and time of his vengeance”, 202).
46
Montesquieu 1762. Book 29, Chap. 18. Vol. 2, 280 («And does not a greatness of genius consist
rather in distinguishing between those cases in which uniformity is requisite, and those in which
there is a necessity for differences?»). On Montesquieu’s dread of uniformity see Tomaselli 2006:
28–31.
66 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

their thoughts. He deemed satires of men in high places to be the essence of demo-
cratic governments; though prohibited under monarchies, they were not really con-
sidered to be crimes there. Satirical texts helped subjects to accept their fate and
provided a peaceful outlet for their misery which did not seriously threaten the
government. In despotic states the absence of satire gave evidence of inhumane
moral destitution. He blamed the moral pettiness of magistrates for rendering satire
so intolerable to aristocratic governments. At the opposite end of the political spec-
trum, England showed conclusively that free speech and a free press were among
the most fundamental liberties. Such freedoms improved the citizens’ ability to
think for themselves and aided the clergy where unjustified civil privileges were
denied.47 Montesquieu’s third argument was that freedom of speech was beneficial
to governments because their existence and stability were determined by their sub-
jects’ opinion of the government. He proposed that being free (and therefore con-
senting to be governed without overt resistance) depended on the impression of
being free.48 Montesquieu’s broader idea of the “spirit of the nation” requires the
citizenry to be “possessed of judgment, and a facility in communicating their
thoughts” (“une facilité à communiquer ses pensées”), a crucial factor in the peo-
ple’s good character, which free governments must value and preserve.49
More clearly and unequivocally than other thinkers of the French Enlightenment,
Montesquieu argued for full freedom of speech. His experience of persecution over
the Lettres persanes and his realistic expectation of trouble from the Roman
Inquisition and French censorship, might have discouraged Montesquieu from
pleading openly for complete freedom of speech and publication but instead seem
to have inspired him. The crux of his argument was clear, and all the more so if
viewed as a part of an oeuvre that advocated a more humane and equitable judicial
system to replace the status quo. Montesquieu’s arguments would have rendered
any involvement in state censorship utterly incongruous. He rejected absolutist
claims to control literary life and saw these as a step towards tyranny.
Montesquieu had, however, been very cautious in his treatment of the ecclesiasti-
cal and state institutions responsible for assessing his books. Twice he underwent
the requisite procedure for grant of a royal privilege for his Le Temple de Gnide in
1725. He complied adequately for the censor Blanchard de la Valette to finally con-
cede, while in 1734 Lancelot granted approval for his Considérations sur les
Romains. Montesquieu had first-hand experience of the difficulties an anonymous
and unauthorized publication like the Lettres persanes could create for an author.
When he decided that it was high time to publish L’Esprit des lois, he was resolved

47
Montesquieu 1762. Book 19, Chap. 27. Vol. 1: 343 (“The clergy not being able to protect reli-
gion, nor to be protected by it, not having power to constrain, seek only to persuade: their pens,
therefore, furnish us with excellent works in proof of a revelation, and of the providence, of a
supreme being”).
48
Cambier 2010: 206–12 on the “superbe puissance d’opiner”, that is the function that opinion
performs in creating a social reality, no matter how unstable, as its perception is an inherent part of
reality itself.
49
Montesquieu 1762. Book 19, Chap. 5. Vol. 1: 322.
Montesquieu’s Paradox 67

to eschew any negotiations with the royal censors. After an unsuccessful attempt to
have it printed in the United Provinces, he turned to Jacques Barrillot, originally
from Lyon, who had set up a small printing shop in Geneva, and to Jacob Vernet, an
instructor in the humanities at the Academy in Geneva, to whom he entrusted the
publication of his magnum opus. Montesquieu’s relationship with Vernet was par-
ticularly complex since the latter was not content with supervising publication but
intended, paradoxically, to act as an editor who, like some royal censors, paid atten-
tion to the content and style of the text in order to facilitate and influence the entire
publication process.50 Montesquieu had cancels (cartons) inserted to replace pages
that Barrillot had already printed and went to some lengths to rephrase or delete
passages that might excite controversy and hinder the circulation of the work.
Montesquieu changed a passage in book 2, Chap. 4 on the nature of the monarchical
system, which states that only one person rules. In the final version, Montesquieu
added that the intermediate powers, which distinguish monarchy from despotism,
are “subordinate” and “dependent” and that “in effect, in the monarchy, the prince
is the source of all power political and civil”. The epithet “subordinate” was added
in the manuscript version, while “dependent” and the following sentence were
inserted in cartons after the printing process had begun.51 Montesquieu had, later
statements reveal, resolved to eliminate a whole chapter on the lettres de cachet,
despite Vernet’s opposition: “The topic was delicate. Montesquieu hesitated for a
long time whether he should have this chapter published, but, after due reflection,
he concluded that neither the ministers of the French king nor the public were ready
to listen to the great truths that he was bound to say on that subject”.52 The publica-
tion of L’Esprit des lois was achieved under the constant supervision of Montesquieu
through Vernet, with a view to defending the author’s originality and creativity
while anticipating and neutralizing hostile reactions. In 1748 Champeux, the French
resident of Geneva, wrote a note to the French Chancellor d’Aguesseau, stressing
Montesquieu’s wise self-restraint: “Full of refined, just and deep perspectives,
expressed with appropriate perspicuity and concision”. Champeux was sympathetic
to Montesquieu’s decision to publish abroad, as it was common among the most
prestigious scholars to refuse, as Champeux pointed out, “to submit to the redun-
dant formalities that are complied with in France”. Nothing, continued Champeux,
in l’Esprit des lois would “besmirch” the monarchy.53 The outcome of Champeux’s
report, combined with support from Montesquieu’s friends, was that in 1749, despite
some doubts, d’Aguesseau granted a permission tacite that allowed publication in
Paris and Lyons albeit with a false location given. The care Montesquieu took to
dodge a head-on confrontation could not prevent attacks from the Jesuits, the

50
Gargett 1994: 81 underlines Vernet’s strong personality, while Catherine Volpilhac emphasises
his ungrounded claim to have edited Montesquieu’s work (Volpilhac 1991: 124–46).
51
Shackleton 1961: 279, brings evidence that Montesquieu changed his text at the very last
moment. A more detailed analysis is in Shackleton 1976 and in Derathé 2011: xiii–xiv. See
Montesquieu 1762. Book 2, Chap. 4. Vol. 1: 16 (Montesquieu 1989: 17).
52
Saladin, Mémoire historique, as quoted in Gargett 1994: 86.
53
Desgraves 1986: 344; Desgraves 2002.
68 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

general assembly of the clergy, and the Sorbonne, all of which examined the work
in 1750 and 1751 and detected 13 passages to be condemned. However he avoided
the worst consequences without recanting his deepest convictions thanks to his con-
ciliatory responses to criticism.54 In Rome, in 1752, the French ambassador
Nivernais tried in vain to avert condemnation by the Congregation of the Index.55
Montesquieu’s strategic moves throughout his career show that avoiding a clash
with ecclesiastical and civil authorities was a serious concern for many scholars.
These men had to be ready to pay the price of self-restraint in order to ensure the
diffusion of their works, and they were willing to view their own texts from the
perspective of a hostile reader. In the 1740s, examples abounded of writers who
ostentatiously disregarded the precautions taken by Montesquieu. In 1749, Diderot
spent 3 months in prison at Vincennes for publishing the Lettre sur les aveugles à
l’usage de ceux qui voient, and Lamettrie had to leave France for heedlessly defying
the censorship institutions as well as the prevailing opinion in the Republic of
Letters.56 The unstable balance in French censorship and the demand stimulated by
Parisian intellectual life meant that publication opportunities, with or without for-
mal approbation, were legion as long as authors took the minimum precautions and
exploited the system’s ambiguities to fend off attacks on their work. Buffon set the
example in 1749 with a decidedly innovative interpretation of man’s place in the
cosmos and its history, including controversial issues like the world’s eternity and
the formation of the planets. Crucial to this was Buffon’s high standing in the hier-
archy of French scientific and social networks, which gave him great latitude to
express himself. The publication of the first three volumes of the Histoire naturelle
with the Imprimerie royale and at royal expense was therefore possible because
Buffon was since 1739 the intendant du Jardin du Roi. He was helped by his mem-
bership of the Academy of the sciences, which in theory exempted him from official
censorship (but not from inspection of his text by his colleagues at the academy).
However, the protection afforded him by Maurepas and d’Argenson was his real
safeguard. Even so, after the theologians of the Sorbonne accused him of 14 suspi-
cious propositions, Buffon, possibly an atheist for much of his life, took care to
shield his bold assertions beneath pious remarks.57 Like Montesquieu, Buffon was
aware that attacks from ecclesiastical institutions would harm the reputation and
limit the scientific impact of his works. He was deliberately duplicitous by hinting
at innovation without explicitly engaging in a full-blown exposure of the errors sup-
ported by theologians. Attentive readers would compare the official and theologi-
cally accepted, dualistic view of matter and soul portrayed in book 2 (published in
1749), with the clearly materialist description of the vital functions of carnivores (a
category that obviously included by default all human beings) presented in book 7
and with the cosmological sketch in the Supplément to book 5 (published in 1778),

54
Lynch 1977.
55
Lauriol 2005.
56
Thomson 1981.
57
Roger 1962: LXXIII–LXXV and XCVIII–XCIX; Roger 1989: 115–7; Loveland 2001: 13.
Practice and Theory of the Press 69

which depicted man created in the fifth epoch from the “revolutions or constant
movement of successive variations” of organic molecules.58

Practice and Theory of the Press

The functional ambiguity of the French censorship system produced margins,

niches and opportunities where heterodox and unconventional ideas could circulate.
It also allowed for unexpected clashes between authors and authorities, civil and
ecclesiastical institutions, and between formal and informal authorities. The case of
the Encyclopédie demonstrates a few instances of this.
The Encyclopédie was subject to formal censorship from its inception, since it
was due to be published with the royal privilege.59 Subterfuge was necessary to
make certain points, as Diderot explained in the article Encyclopédie for the fifth
volume, and rhetorical strategies were consciously adopted to circumvent the cen-
sors’ attention. This is apparent in the article Approbation, in the first volume, where
preventative censorship was historicized as an invention that had developed since
the advent of the printing industry, which implied that it was not necessarily inher-
ent in publication.60 Support within the court and the first two volumes’ commercial
success, strengthened the editors’ position against the censors, after they had
endured post-publication attacks from the Jesuit party over articles like Collège,
written by d’Alembert. The editors Diderot and d’Alembert were protected by
Malesherbes, who went so far as to forbid the publication of the article Constitution
[Unigenitus], forced upon the editors by the Bishop of Mirepoix, Boyer.61
Malesherbes commissioned an anti-Jesuit version of the article under the title
Constitution Unigenitus and finally decided not to publish any article on the contro-
versial papal bull. A different outcome befell the article Gomaristes, written by
Morellet for the seventh volume. His allusions to the dissensions between Jansenists
and Molinists did not escape the ecclesiastical censor, Tamponnet, who despite
Diderot’s and d’Alembert’s remonstrances forbade its publication.62
Malesherbes intervened on more than one occasion. In 1754, he overruled the
royal censors and perused and eventually cleared for publication the Essai sur la
formation des corps organisés by Maupertuis. This was a particularly awkward

58
Quintili 2009: 265–6.
59
See Venturi 1963 and Proust 1962 are still very reliable and have not been superseded by Blom
2004.
60
Encyclopédie. In Encyclopédie 1751–1765. Vol. 5: 641. In Vol. 13, published in 1765 after the
suppression of the printing privilege, the editors inserted the entry Presse (droit publique), written
by de Jaucourt, highlighting that freedom of the press is extremely important in “all States based
on liberty” (320) and that books do not instigate rebellions.
61
Gordon and Torrey 1947: 17, 35.
62
Cfr. Schwab 1971 Annexe B: 127–48 and Annexe D: 184–8. See also Weil 1987: 416–8 and
Moureau 2006: 238. The interpretation given in Bazin 1995: 99–100, is misleading.
70 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

decision to make, as the Latin version had already circulated widely and its author
had begun to earn a reputation as a materialist and spinozist philosopher.63 In 1757,
Malesherbes prevailed over the censor Gabriel-Henri Gaillard, and prevented the
publication in Paris of a text by Jean-Jacques Garnier criticizing (to Malesherbes
“discrediting”) Diderot as a playwright.64 From its inception until the dramatic
break in 1759 when it lost its royal privilege, Malesherbes had protected the
Encyclopédie. Helvétius’s De l’Esprit, however, provoked the authorities’ ire and
was formally condemned, changing the rules of the game that the editors, Diderot
and d’Alembert, had to play. Thenceforth they had to navigate the formal censor-
ship of the monarchical Librairie under Malesherbes as well as the various ecclesi-
astical forces at court, in the Gallican Church and in French monarchical institutions
without causing further ructions or sacrificing precious content. His familiarity with
power relations within the French ruling elite allowed d’Alembert to expand public
discussion in a liberal vein. As a censor appointed by d’Argenson, he approved the
Mahomet by Voltaire, a theatrical plea for religious toleration, in 1751. Many years
later, Condorcet praised d’Alembert’s decision to intervene on Voltaire’s behalf as
courageous defiance of the great philosophe’s personal foes in both the Republic of
Letters and the devout party, and hailed him as a servant of friendship and promoter
of reason.65 Revealingly his praise was delivered in terms that echoed the self-
representation of many royal censors. D’Alembert’s willingness to broaden the
sphere of enlightened exchange is evident in his attitude when called upon to assess
Rousseau’s sharp and polemical attack, Lettre à M. d’Alembert. He approved it and
recommended that Malesherbes speed up the granting of a permission tacite neces-
sary for the importing of copies from Holland and for its unimpeded circulation.66
In 1759 the unstable and fragile balance regulating the control of published
books collapsed when the contradiction between pre-publication practice and post-
publication criticism became unmanageable in the case of the Encyclopédie. Diderot
inherited sole responsibility for the secret editing of the collective work. The project
was stripped of its royal privilege and while emancipated from the control of the
royal censors it nonetheless had to operate within a new and uncertain framework.
Diderot committed himself to continue the Encyclopédie until its completion to
fulfil the obligation to its subscribers. He was supposed to ensure that the
Encyclopédie was tolerated for the time being, and avoid provoking any reaction
from the powers opposed to its very existence. This was uncharted territory for
Diderot and the printers: the former was responsible for the content, the latter
ensured that it was a profitable investment. As it turned out, the publisher, le Breton,
and his typesetter acted as censors, imposing criteria (without Diderot’s knowledge)
that replaced the formal and informal pre-publication negotiations usually practiced

63
See the letter written by the censor Trublet to Maupertuis, 24 January 1754, in Terrall 2002: 327,
footnotes 54 and 55. In 1749 Maupertuis’ Essai de philosophie morale was published in Berlin,
without his consent, and made his materialism unmistakable (Quintili 2009: 270).
64
Garnier 1757. See Moureau 2006: 247–8.
65
Condorcet 1791. Vol. 1: 72.
66
Birn 2001: 16.
Practice and Theory of the Press 71

under Malesherbes. Diderot only realized that his articles had been severely muti-
lated many years after 1765, when the rest of the volumes of the Encyclopédie were
finally printed and distributed to the subscribers. On reading the printed version of
his own article Pyrrhonienne ou sceptique, philosophie, he was shocked that le
Breton had changed the text quite substantially without alerting him. The original
version of the article contained extensive praise of Bayle’s life and philosophy
which le Breton had excised. Another passage missing from the published version
was where Diderot wrote that “the good truths” are outlawed only in those countries
where the relationship between political and religious systems is distorted. The sen-
tence “If I had the evidence for some great truth, evidence strong enough for any
man of good faith to reject it, I would immediately publish it, without paying atten-
tion to how uncomfortable it could be given the time and place where I am […]”
was also deleted.67
This unintended experiment in emancipation from royal censorship and in self-
restraint failed. Le Breton so feared displeasing the civil and religious authorities
and risking financial profits that he forsook the negotiating approach of the Librairie
and practiced a top-down and unilateral approach which gave the author no leeway
whatsoever. This censorship, dictated ultimately by economic considerations,
proved more intractable and uncooperative than the royal censors themselves under
Malesherbes and, from 1763, under Sartine.
In the volumes printed in 1765, Diderot resorted to the usual stratagems to
engage the sympathetic reader in an active interaction so as together to elude the
attention of hostile examiners. The article Liberté de penser appeared in the ninth
volume supposedly authored by the Abbé Mallet, a theologian who had sided with
the Jesuits, was patronized by Boyer and had died in 1755.68 It is highly unlikely
that the Abbé Mallet was the real author of this crucial article. Much more likely is
that Diderot himself modified or wrote from scratch this pivotal contribution to the
Encyclopédie. A careful analysis shows that it argues for the validity of critical
rationalism in theology and religious toleration in a way that was entirely at odds
with Mallet’s earlier writings and his background as a member of the clergy. The
article praised the role of the “unconvinced” (les inconvaincus), that is, that of the
philosophes, in terms that Mallet would not have accepted. In the contention that the
inconvaincus “have contributed immensely to establish the sacred spirit of peace
and toleration among men” Diderot concealed his own thought under the cover of
Mallet’s name in order to convey the gist of his principles using a form of self-
censorship and self-disguise.69
After 1757, both self-censorship and self-disguise became urgent for those writ-
ers who published in France and sought some form of legitimacy. Damiens’ attempt
on Louis XV’s life in January of that year was a crucial moment when the responsi-
bilities of royal censors and authors were redefined. Immediately after the failed
regicide, on 16 April, Louis XV issued a royal decree which ordered the death

67
Gordon and Torrey 1947: 76–7.
68
Encyclopédie 1751–1765. Vol. 9: 472–4.
69
Cfr. Rex 2001.
72 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

sentence as punishment for those involved in writing and printing texts that attacked
religion, stirred up the minds of Frenchmen, damaged the king’s authority and dis-
turbed order and peace in the monarchy. The notion that the monarchy rightfully
monopolized public discourse was powerfully and publicly reinforced by the sym-
bolic idea of the desecration of the king’s body, which allowed the authorities to
equate criticism with physical aggression.70 Individuals and institutions vehemently
opposed to the Enlightenment could also exploit the functional ambiguity of the
Librairie system. The reaction to the 1758 publication of Helvétius’s De l’Esprit
saw it condemned, alongside an array of works which included the Encyclopédie, as
an impious and dangerous book deserving of destruction. The order led to its being
burned publicly on 10 February 1759. Unlike Diderot, Helvétius imposed no self-
censorship and relied totally on the censor’s formal approval. As well connected at
the court as he was, Helvétius judged that his social skills and prestige would enable
him to escape scot-free from the devout party’s reaction when his book was pub-
lished complete with royal privilege. The unhappy outcome for De l’Esprit demon-
strated that compliance with the formal requirements of state censorship was not
enough to protect a book from actual persecution. It became clear that authors had
to foresee, as far as possible, their text’s impact, even after formal approbation had
been secured. Helvétius’s miscalculation in this respect turned out to have long-
term and devastating consequences. Following the advice of his acquaintance,
Leroy, and a long established practice, he was confident that an overworked part-
time censor like Jean-Pierre Tercier would be the perfect choice to assess his text.
Tercier had a job in the department of foreign affairs and enjoyed the confidence of
the king for his correspondance secrète. As a token of his literary qualifications,
Tercier could boast of being a member of the Académie des inscriptions et belles
lettres, but he had no philosophical training. As a member of the Bourbon diplo-
matic cadre and of a royal academy, Tercier met Helvétius’s requirements of a reli-
able censor. All the more so once Tercier was talked into believing that De l’Esprit
was a text of ethics rather than a treatise of philosophical epistemology.71 Helvétius
cunningly manipulated Tercier as soon as he accepted the assignment. The censor
was given only scattered sections of the manuscript, was put under time constraints,
and discussed De l’Esprit in interviews and dinners with Helvétius, where the lat-
ter’s social superiority was all too apparent.72 Contrary to the rules for censors set by
the Librairie, Tercier never read the book in its entirety and was clearly intimidated
by Helvétius’s social standing and influential network. Tercier ended up demanding
minor changes, which included eliminating the names of Voltaire and Hume, but
which did not alter its philosophical substance. He finally approved the galley proofs
without checking them against the manuscript, as the Librairie urged censors to do.
De l’Esprit duly received “the approbation and the privilege of the king” which

70
Barber 1966 and Isambert 1821–1833. Vol. 23: 273. On the consequences of the attempted kill-
ing of Louis XV on French public opinion see L’attentat de Damiens 1979: 145–96.
71
Ozanam 1955; Correspondance secrète 1956. Vol. 1 (1756–1766); Kates 1995.
72
Smith 1965: 11–27; Correspondance générale d’Helvétius 1981–1998. Vol. 2: 10 (letter, 22 June
1757), 22 (letter, 16 February 1758). See also de Negroni 1995: 201–12.
Practice and Theory of the Press 73

placed the book under the sovereign’s protection. The content was declared to con-
form to the tone of accepted public discourse and in exchange for this alleged adher-
ence to the tenets of Bourbon absolutism, De l’Esprit gained formal protection from
pirated editions for 10 years.73
There is more than a hint of irony in this story of Helvétius’s temporary victory
over anti-Enlightenment forces who opposed not only him but the Librairie and its
director Malesherbes. Helvétius’s misfortunes, which included being forced, in
1759, to recant the ideas expressed in the book, excited less sympathy among his
fellow philosophes in Paris than might have been expected, at least in part because
his defiant behaviour was interpreted as being in part to blame for as a cause for the
subsequent antiphilosophique offensive. His dry and unattractive style, moreover,
alienated contemporary readers, and historians too, who have rarely, even in general
histories of the Enlightenment, analyzed his writings carefully.74 This constitutes an
unfortunate oversight in the historiography of French enlightened thought on cen-
sorship and freedom of the press. Helvétius’s approach was more theoretically radi-
cal than most of his contemporaries, especially in his scrutiny of the interaction
between the formation of ideas in individuals and the political agencies which influ-
enced the circulation of knowledge. He conceived the activity of human communi-
cation in such a way that nothing less than general freedom of expression could be
accepted. Helvétius’s sensationalist theory was uncompromising: he firmly believed
that all human beings were born devoid of innate ideas and that knowledge and
skills depended entirely on education and more generally on the environment in
which men happened to be born. Driven by self-interest and in search of happiness,
man, he maintained, was shaped decisively by his essentially passive mind. For
Helvétius, the sensations experienced from birth and the imperative of physical
well-being explain the choices made by individuals over the course of their lives. In
devising an ungendered epistemology, Helvétius departed from the more subtle
Lockean sensationalism, distinguishing himself from philosophes like d’Holbach
and Diderot who maintained that human beings were innately different as regards
talents, characters and biologically determined sex. To Helvétius, the endless diver-
sity of individual ideas and opinions was the consequence of the infinite variety of
individual experiences. Truth, according to Helvétius’s epistemology, was always
simple but it was imperative that it overcame human passions. It could be pursued
only through the clash and fermentation of competing ideas and opinions which, for
Helvétius, demonstrated the unavoidable intertwining of epistemology and politics.
Freedom of communication was thus the fundamental basis for any political system
consistent with man’s search for truth. Despite his care when stating his most con-
troversial ideas, Helvétius had already made this point forcefully in De l’Esprit.
Vanity and indolence, he wrote, are the two powerful causes of man’s behaviour that

73
“J’ai lu par ordre de monseigneur le Chancelier un manuscrit qui a pour titre De l’Esprit, dans le
quel je n’ai rien trouvé qui m’ai paru devoir en empecher l’impression. Fait à Versailles, ce 27 mars
1758. Terrier”. This statement was placed on the last page of the volume. It was the standard for-
mula that all books with approbation and privileges must print.
74
An exception is Wootton 2000.
74 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

most impede his admiration for superior knowledge and the more noble virtues, and
they render a balanced assessment of a stranger’s merit almost impossible. Only
those who truly desire self-improvement will be able to overcome their indolence
and make a strenuous effort to genuinely respect “opinions much contrary to ours”.75
Furthermore, he recognized that the vast majority of men did not have the leisure to
refine their education: prejudices therefore prevailed in every social stratum and
readers instinctively gravitated towards authors who expressed familiar, unthreaten-
ing ideas. The logical consequences of this were that a diversity of judgments pre-
vailed over enlightened accord, while original, challenging ideas were commonly
rejected.
All authors who communicate new ideas to the public can expect to be held in high esteem
only by two sorts of men: either young people who as yet have no opinions but still have the
desire and the leisure to improve themselves, or those whose minds, friends to truth and
similar to the author’s, already assume the existence of those ideas they are confronted with.
The number of these men is always very small; this slows down the progress of the human
mind and explains why it always takes so long for any truth to become visible.76

The existence of a preventative censorship ran counter to the interest of human-

kind as it impeded the advancement of knowledge in general. It was embraced,
however, because it facilitated individuals’ inevitable belief in their always being
right and their spontaneous desires to silence people and suppress books that dis-
agree with conventional wisdom.77 An advocate of republican government, Helvétius
maintained that the form of government influenced the degree of liberty enjoyed by
writers. In acknowledging that monarchies are often opposed to “grand ideas”,
Helvétius suggested that readers should reinterpret texts written under monarchical
rule, as their authors were “often” compelled “to enervate the strength [of their
thoughts] by being ambiguous and enigmatic and by emasculating their
expressions”.78 He also denounced the regulative function exercised by small social
groupings like academies and salons, as indicative of a parochial attitude that stifled
the search for truth.
Recanting the arguments of De l’Esprit in 1759 was humiliating but saved
Helvétius from unpredictable and certainly undesirable consequences. His journey
to England in 1764 reinforced his persuasion that a commendable government could
only arise from a balance of opposing forces and the free interaction of men’s pas-
sions.79 The same topics are elaborated upon in De l’Homme, published posthu-
mously in 1771. The 1758–1759 crisis left an enduring imprint on his vision. Since
De l’homme was exempt from any censorial control, Helvétius could openly express
his certitude that despotism was rampant and that France held little hope for political

75
Helvétius 1777a. De l’Esprit. Vol. 1: 88.
76
Helvétius 1777a. De l’Esprit. Vol. 1: 87.
77
Helvétius 1777a. De l’Esprit. Vol. 1: 88, footnote 1.
78
Helvétius 1777a. De l’Esprit. Discourse 4, Chap. 4: “De l’esprit fin, de l’esprit fort”. Vol. 2:
240–59.
79
Correspondance générale d’Helvétius 1981–1998. Vol. 3: 150 (letter to Joseph Michel Antoine
Serva, 19 December 1764).
Practice and Theory of the Press 75

and intellectual regeneration. To Helvétius, his arguments for freedom of communi-

cation were sound and furthermore had been confirmed by recent experience.
The suppression of ideas had allowed the country to slip into despotism and
political impotence. Assessing the history of mankind, Helvétius compared politics
and morals to the natural sciences and saw the same logic in operation: sciences and
knowledge advance only through contradiction. Without liberty of the press, mis-
takes were bound to endure in morals and policy-making. Although knowledge
might slowly expand, the best possible conditions had to be created for it to defeat
ignorance and superstition. A corollary to this was that the press had to be free if
society accepted the principle that supporting reason is in mankind’s best interest.
In concise and pointed sentences, Helvétius dignified freedom of the press as the
pivot of his ‘new society’: “Truth has no enemies but the enemies of the public (bien
public): bad men alone oppose its promulgation”.80 While in De l’Esprit Helvétius
emphasized how illogical censorship was from the point of view of the dissemina-
tion of useful truths, in De l’homme he could not conceal his disillusionment. He
was confronted with the fact that freedom of communication appeared ineffective in
comparison to the ruthless power of violence, deviousness and chance that prevailed
so often over reason and truth, and shaped public opinion. Censorship had contrib-
uted hugely to this highly negative situation in France. The suppression of De
l’Esprit and his forced recantation were still very much present in his mind.
Unsurprisingly, Helvétius flatly stated that outstanding and original work was rec-
ognized as such in Europe but was proscribed in France: “such are those of Voltaire,
Marmontel, Rousseau, Montesquieu and so on. In France the censor’s approbation
is for an author always a certificate of stupidity It announces a book without ene-
mies, which at first will be received with approbation, because no one troubles him-
self about it, because it does not excite envy, nor wound any one’s pride; and
contains nothing but what all the world knows. The general eulogy of the moment
of publication almost always excludes that of futurity.”81 Despite his gloomy assess-
ment of the current state of affairs, in De l’homme he reiterated the core of the
Miltonic plea for unobstructed freedom for writers of all types. He did not differen-
tiate between good and bad writers, right and wrong ideas. Instead he espoused the
view that the total suppression of regulative mechanisms would effectively dispel all
the mistakes and fanatical claims that might rise to the surface with a free press.
Faced with increasing pessimism, he placed his hope in promoting free discussion.
In an attempt to draw attention to the hidden and unspoken interests of the enemies
of a free press, Helvétius praised freedom of the press and the abolition of censor-
ship as the basis of sound government. The enemies of a free press challenged the
right to write and think; prominent among these were the magistrates. “Now, it is of
little importance to a nation, that an author publishes absurdities; so much the worse
for him: but it is of great importance that the minister do not make them, for if he
do, so much the worse for them. The liberty of the press is in no sort contrary to the

80
Helvétius 1777a. De l’homme. Vol. 5: 54–6 (Helvétius 1777b. Vol. 2: 322).
81
Helvétius 1777a. De l’homme. Vol. 3: 76 (Helvétius 1777b. Vol. 1: 75).
76 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

general interest; that liberty is to a people the support of emulation. Who are they
that should maintain this emulation? The people in power”.82

Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom

Helvétius’s untrammelled notion of liberty stands out as the most outspoken argu-
ment in favour of freedom of the press to be found within the European Enlightenment.
Its breadth and analytic implications become all the more evident when Helvétius’s
argument is compared to the conception elaborated by d’Holbach. D’Holbach pub-
lished abroad, thereby avoiding the constraints of French censorship. It is most
probable that his writings accurately reflected his views, as he did not have to enter
into potentially compromising negotiations with the royal censors. In spite of this,
an analysis of his notion of freedom of the press shows that it is less straightforward
and more conditional than that of Helvétius. In La politique naturelle and Le sys-
tème social, both published in 1773, d’Holbach praised freedom of communication
as a right that must be enjoyed for a government to qualify as just. Freedom of com-
munication was useful as a tool to integrate morals and politics and foster virtue,
both of which were prominent objectives of d’Holbach’s vision of politics.
D’Holbach was unquestionably among those who stressed the utility of the right to
scrutinize ideas freely. Like Helvétius, he was confident that libel would be ineffec-
tive and therefore not a real risk, in a well-governed country. Reality would always
prevail and defeat its misrepresentations, no matter how deviously propagated.83 In
the Ethocratie, produced by Rey in Amsterdam in 1776, d’Holbach reiterated his
appeal for the “freedom to think, write and publish”84: he weakened its force, how-
ever, by claiming that despotism was ultimately powerless against books that criti-
cized tyrants and their sycophants, and especially by discussing the limits within
which freedom of the press ought to operate.85 Instead of maintaining its universal
value, d’Holbach stressed that a well-intentioned government would allow men of
letters to be free, since their responsibility was to contribute to the advancement of
virtue, which such a government could not but support. According to d’Holbach
writers did not lose the right to free expression if they forgot their duty to virtue,
good customs and their fellow citizens.86 He allowed for legal penalties, albeit mild
ones, against libelers, the intentionally dishonest and those “dangerous men whose
dirty writings leave lasting traces in the hearts of the youth”.87 Pornography, in

82
Helvétius 1777a. De l’homme. Vol. 3: 347 (Helvétius 1777b. Vol. 1: 324–5).
83
d’Holbach 1773a. Part 2, discourse 6; d’Holbach 1773b. Book 2, Chap. 5: De la liberté de
penser.
84
d’Holbach 1776: 161.
85
d’Holbach 1776: 163–4.
86
d’Holbach 1776: 161.
87
d’Holbach 1776: 160. See also 35: “Laws must punish impostors, shameless libellers, who for no
other reason than personal hatred or hidden passions, will sow mistrust between the prince and his
Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom 77

d’Holbach’s conception, should not benefit from freedom of the press. While
Helvétius stressed the shared, and open-ended search for truth, d’Holbach would
rely on experts who were to persuade fellow writers of their errors. In his model, a
discussion within the circle of one’s peers should replace heavy-handed repression
by censors but would nonetheless be asymmetric. “Punishing those who are wrong
is an injustice, the consequence of which would be to stop truth from being known,
the useful from revealing itself, sciences and arts from becoming perfect”.88 A tribu-
nal to judge morality and a system of incentives for wise and morally impeccable
writers, would curb the tendency to engage in personal feuds and pointless bicker-
ing. The focus on virtue and justice as the end of all government implied that liberty
was distinct from unrestrained license, but also that liberty was necessary for men
of letters to spread reason among the mass of the population. This did not extend to
conceiving of unregulated debate as a way of arriving at useful truths; rather,
d’Holbach meant that the censors would become benevolent advisors and benign
correctors, working in collaboration with authors, with similarities to how Diderot
treated the contributors to the Encyclopédie.
This idea of censorship may explain why the côterie d’holbachique reacted so
unfavourably and bitterly to the condemnation of De l’Esprit and blamed Helvétius
for unleashing the devout party at the royal court, the Parlement and the Gallican
Church against the philosophes. Helvétius presumed to manipulate the censorship
system, obtain a privilege and print a manifestly heterodox book. In the eyes of
many philosophes this strategy failed and backfired, impairing the prospects of suc-
cess for the whole rationalist movement.
Ferdinando Galiani, the Italian economist attaché to the Neapolitan embassy in
Paris and a regular at the meetings at d’Holbach’s residence, clearly articulated the
sense that freedom is valuable and vulnerable, suggesting that freedom of expres-
sion and the progress of civilization depended on peace, harmony and tolerance
rather than the other way around. In other words, it was politics that created the
public sphere in which free expression was possible.89 D’Holbach’s notion of the
limits of freedom of the press and the role of censors was in line with the practice
followed by some of his closest friends who approached the Librairie to have their
works published in France. Conditions in the 1770s were perceived to be markedly
worse for the philosophes who, as d’Holbach put it, “can hardly utter even the
smallest truths”.90 Contentious exchanges between authors and censors continued
unabated. Jean-Baptiste-Antoine Suard became a censor and aided Diderot at least
once in obtaining a permission tacite.91 Diderot himself was requested to provide an

collaborators. It is indeed a crime worth harsh punishment of those coward slanderers whom envy
spur against men in power”.
88
d’Holbach 1776: 162.
89
Galiani 1770: 238.
90
d’Holbach to Paolo Frisi, 1 December 1771: “Depuis quelque tems la presse est si gênée chez
nous qu’il est presque impossible de dire les moindres vérités; nous sommes réduits à jouir de
celles que nous viennent des pays étrangers”, in Venturi 1956: 286.
91
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 15: 243. See Kors 1976: 221.
78 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

opinion by Sartine, who succeeded Malesherbes as the Directeur de la Librairie in

1763, concerning the permission of publication for a book against the philosophes.
Diderot agreed that the satire was so gross that no harm could be done to them since
it lacked any serious argument, thus adopting a similar attitude to that taken by
d’Alembert in relation to Rousseau.92
It seems fair to argue that Helvétius’s perspective on censorship and freedom of
the press was too extreme to be acceptable to the French monarchy. Unlike Helvétius,
d’Holbach’s perception of a widening field of tolerance for writers, based on a com-
mon commitment to reason and enlightened self-regulation, corresponded more
closely to the changing situation in the literary sphere and the self-perceptions of
writers, censors, and publishers. While a number of the royal censors were more
likely to allow publication of “modern” texts which nurtured public debate,
Malesherbes in his role of Directeur de la Librairie in the 1750s and early 1760s
was unequivocal that censorship would be retained but with a more nuanced and
flexible set of criteria, better suited to promoting the intellectual modernization of
France. His idea of liberty of the press did not demand the suppression of the cen-
sors, but rather envisaged the principle that they were to regulate public discussion.
After the conclusion of the Helvétius affair, he described his approach in a letter to
Le Roy: his idea of freedom of the press led him “to disapprove of [the] extravagant
persecution inflicted on M. Helvétius, but to allow the literary attacks. Thus, besides
being unable to halt the ranting of the authors supported by the united forces of all
parties, I would act against my own principles were I to make an attempt to do so”.93
In response to Madame Helvétius, who had urged Malesherbes to prevent the pub-
lication of Trublet’s critique of De l’Esprit in the Journal Chrétien, he maintained
that: “I cannot shut the mouth of those authors who believe they must vindicate
religion and good mores”.94
Diderot was among those who criticized Helvétius because of his role in the
affairs of 1758–1759; the latter’s defiant approach to Tercier and his subsequent
disavowal upset Diderot for many years to come. Despite his own unhappy experi-
ence with the Encyclopédie, Diderot was in favour of what he called freedom of the
press and some sort of preventative control. He was definitively and uncompromis-
ingly against the interference of monarchical and ecclesiastical agencies in intel-
lectual activity and demanded autonomy for scholars and philosophers. Yet in none
of his works was unrestrained legal printing in France mentioned as a feasible and
desirable goal. Rather, Diderot pleaded for a careful and sensible treatment of texts
submitted to the censors, and for a realistic acknowledgement of the existence of a
censorship system which might rein in the exaggerated and odious power of the
Church. At the height of Voltaire’s (and Diderot’s) effort to maintain unity among
the philosophes and repel the attacks of orthodox writers, Diderot called Voltaire’s
strategy “courageous”: “despising our enemies, hunting them down and taking

92
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 10: 72–5.
93
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 2: 264.
94
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 2: 262.
Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom 79

advantage, as we have done, of the weakness of our censors”.95 In this he agreed

with d’Holbach’s approach and did not differ radically from Malesherbes. Despite
his obvious wish for wider freedom of expression under the protection of the law,
Diderot was acutely aware of the instability of the balance between oppression and
license which characterized France. He also knew from first-hand experience, that
the presence of spies in search of illegal books and manuscripts was pervasive and
unlikely to be eluded.
In principle, Diderot was convinced that writing and publishing were forms of
refinement which implied a commitment to truth and virtue. Seen from the perspec-
tive of the philosophy of history, these human activities were meant to police the
readers after the authors had undergone a process of refinement and correction
themselves. This presupposition disqualifies any form of communication that
rejected this fundamental commitment. Travelling back from Russia in 1774,
Diderot wrote in his scattered thoughts, possibly echoing Montesquieu, that “the
liberty to write and speak with impunity proves either that the prince is exceedingly
good-natured or that the people are totally enslaved, because they are allowed to
speak only if they have no power”.96 In this reflection, and bearing in mind his deep
dislike for Frederick II, king of Prussia, Diderot expressed his interest in determin-
ing the criteria that differentiated lies from personal offence, since texts meant for
publication were bound to have an impact.97 On a few occasions he even advocated
government intervention to suppress forms of communication that he considered
unacceptable. When a painting by Pierre-Antoine Baudouin was displayed in the
1767 Salon, Diderot could not help protesting forcefully. It was a gouache entitled
Le Coucher de la mariée [Bedtime for the Bride] that alluded – according to Diderot
quite explicitly – to female homosexuality. He requested that the virtue of the
younger generation be protected and that the painting be removed from the public
exhibition: Beaudouin represented a number of women lasciviously preparing the
half-naked bride for the first night of marriage in a way that Diderot decoded as
plain pornography, which aroused the illicit desire of lesbian love.98 Diderot
denounced Beaudouin’s painting as obscene and went a step further, reflecting on
the import and the deeper sense of his denunciation:
I am aware that he who suppresses a bad book or a voluptuous statue resembles an idiot who
fears to piss in the river for fear that a man may drown in it [… But] I cannot ignore that a
bad book, an indecent engraving which my daughter might happen to see would be enough
to make her dream and lead her astray.99

95
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 2: 38 (letter to Voltaire, 19 February 1758).
96
Diderot 1875. Principes de politique des souverains, n. 217. Vol. 2: 461–502, 501. See
Montesquieu 1762. Book 12, Chap. 27. Vol. 1: 222.
97
Cfr. Volpilhac 1994.
98
Rand 1992; Sheriff 2008: 85–124.
99
Diderot 1875. Salon de 1767. Vol. 16: 286–90, 289. The reaction of Louis-Sébastien Mercier to
the engravings of Boucher and Beaudouin was very similar. He considered Beaudouin “a cynical
painter who surpassed [Boucher] in licentiousness”: more than the “philosophical books, that a
small number of men read and that the crowd is not able to understand”, lascivious images should
be taken away from the eyes of women (Mercier 1994. Vol. 1: 1324).
80 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

To Diderot regulating the activity of reading was necessary to regulate behaviour

in general: the empiricist psychology he derived from Condillac understood the
impact of books and visual images on psychic reactions to be quite direct. The
effects of reading on women were seen as especially dangerous. In his novel La
Religieuse Diderot explained the nun’s insanity as the effect of a book that was
unwisely made available to her.100
Texts could be dangerous or inappropriate for different kinds of readers. This
attitude fitted with Diderot’s personal experience as the author of an explicitly erotic
tale, the Bijoux indiscrets, which was written for the underground market for forbid-
den literature. It also fitted with his decision to be particularly explicit in describing
the effects of sensuality only in texts not intended for public circulation. In the
Neveu de Rameau Diderot openly conveyed the strength of sensual pleasure to the
reader: “I don’t disparage the pleasures of the senses. […] I have a heart and eyes,
and I like to see a beautiful woman. I like to have my hands feel the firmness and the
roundness of her breasts, to press her lips against mine, to soak up rapture from her
looks, and to die in her arms”.101 In another non-commercial work, Jacques le fatali-
ste, as an experiment he described the effect the act of reading had on the reader’s
imagination and fine-tuned the wording to the expectations of the individual read-
er.102 In the version prepared for Meister’s manuscript gazette, he revised the pas-
sages where he teasingly discussed the etymology of the proper name Bigre
(alluding to bougre, a derogatory term for homosexual) and of the verb foutre (a
vulgar term for sexual intercourse), which was replaced with the less offending
aimer in the manuscript sent to his protector, Catherine II, empress of Russia.103
The problem of immoral and offensive texts was a challenging one to handle. In
the Essai sur les règnes de Claude et de Néron Diderot even projected elements of
himself on to the character of a censor. While he maintained that modesty and self-
restraint were the prime virtues of any censor, he nonetheless reminded the reader
that “defaming a citizen” should not be permitted.104 He was also probably only
partly reacting with tongue-in-cheek in his response to the anonymous Lettres sur
l’esprit du siècle (Diderot never knew that Dom Deschamps was the author), sug-
gesting to Sartine that physical punishment was the appropriate fate for the author
but eventually conceding that tolerance demanded mercy for the faults of the

100
On Condillac and his Traité des sensations, see O’Neal 1996.
101
Diderot 1972: 67.
102
A number of examples are provided by Goulemot 1991 and Laqueur 2004.
103
Jacot-Grapa 2009.
104
Diderot 1782. Vol. 2: 237. “A la place du censeur, plus je m’estimerais excellent dans mon
métier, plus je tacherais d’être modeste. Puis m’adressant à l’approbateur de son pamphlet, je lui
demanderai si quelqu’un a le privilège d’injurier un citoyen, & si un homme honnete peut laisser
dire d’un autre ce qu’il serait faché qu’on dit de lui?”. On 25 November 1778 the Essai was
approved by the censor Charles-Georges Coqueley de Chaussepierre, himself a playwright and
author of theatre pastiches, who was a good friend of Diderot’s (see Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 15:
125). On Coqueley de Chaussepierre see de Rougemont 2002.
Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom 81

careless.105 Diderot was definitely serious when, in June 1770, he suggested that
Sartine should forbid the performance of the anonymous antiphilosophical play
Satyrique ou L’homme dangereux (authored by Palissot). His letter stressed the
common ground between Sartine and the philosophes, as participants in a common
enterprise for which future generations would be grateful, thereby extolling Sartine’s
role from the perspective of the advancement of civilization. Diderot also indirectly
reminded Sartine that the philosophes deserved his consideration and, more force-
fully, that the “impartial public” would rather side with them than with the lieuten-
ant de police, who had the last word on the diffusion of the play.106
His personal acquaintance with the powerful Sartine was the best possible guar-
antee that Diderot could fully exploit the limits of the French form of freedom of the
press while enjoying the protection of the law. Diderot’s correspondence provides
ample evidence that he frequently visited Sartine’s home. Diderot often stressed that
after many years of familiarity, a friendship and a peer-to-peer relationship with the
Directeur de la Librairie had replaced the hierarchical relationship.107 Through
Sartine, as had been the case with Malesherbes, it was possible to expect a measure
of tolerance from the royal censors. Sartine himself was considered to be more will-
ing to protect writers than publishing tycoons like Panckoucke. Diderot seems to
have been deft at establishing good working relationships with the censors, who
knew that they could rely on his self-restraint and disponibilité. This flexibility was
evident when Diderot supervised the publication of the Dialogues sur le commerce
des blés by Galiani, after the author left for Naples. Diderot’s private correspon-
dence from 1769 contains vivid descriptions of the stages the manuscript of the
Dialogues had to go through in order to be published legally. His letters also men-
tion his successful attempt to persuade the censor to restore a substantial portion of
the first dialogue, which had been expunged by an unknown censor.108
Diderot also played a part in getting the final version of Galiani’s volume pub-
lished. The most important break for Galiani’s book, however, came in December
1769, when Terray, as vehemently opposed to the liberalization of the grain trade as
Galiani himself, replaced the pro-physiocrat Maynon d’Invau as Contrôleur Général
des Finances.109 Diderot accepted Sartine’s invitation to act as censor for Morellet’s
critical response to Galiani, which was itself commissioned by Trudaine de

105
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 9: 107–9 (A Monsieur de Sartine, August 1769). This letter was passed
to Grimm for circulation, but Grimm withdrew it.
106
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 10: 72–5 (June 1770).
107
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 5: 36 (20 May 1765); Vol. 10: 240 (28 December 1769). See Venturi
1960: 57 for Diderot’s efforts to go around the censorship.
108
In the letters to his daughter Sophie Volland Diderot blamed the unknown capuchin monk who
was charged with censoring the manuscript. Diderot wrote “four or five times to the sublime mag-
istrate” (Sartine) to complain of the monk’s hostility to Galiani: Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 9: 139
(21 September 1769).
109
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 9: 144 (20 September 1769). On Maynon d’Invau see Stone 1994:
103–4. On Galiani and the publication of the Dialogues see Goodman 1994: 212–3. The Dialogues
sur le commerce des bleds were published in Paris with a permission tacite, with the place of pub-
lication falsely given as London. The censor objected to the first dialogue, that suggests that the
82 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

Montigny with a view to promoting the doctrine of free-trade in the grain market. In
fact it turned out that Morellet’s La Réfutation de l’ouvrage qui a pour titre Dialogue
sur le commerce des blés, ready for publication in January 1770, was forbidden by
Sartine and was eventually published only in 1774. Diderot was deeply enmeshed
in the functional ambiguity of the French censorship system. He wrote to Sartine
that, as a censor, he thought that Morellet’s Réfutation was acceptable; as a writer,
however, he considered it to be “stiff, dry, capricious, unintelligent”.110 Ties of per-
sonal friendship and long-term visions of social transformation were hard to disen-
tangle in the everyday business of Parisian life. Diderot did not hesitate to take
advantage of his prestige and manipulate his friends. By the same token, in 1781 he
asked Suard to hasten the approbation of the second edition of the Essai sur
Sénèque,111 which he wanted to appear legally in France.
Mutual respect and trust in the rationality of his readers were the basis of
Diderot’s understanding of freedom of the press. This vision endowed both parties
with certain responsibilities. The censors had to have some sympathy for the prog-
ress of reason and the writers in turn had to show respect for both their readers and
the government. Given the conservative nature of French cultural discourse, ten-
sions were frequent and glaring. When it came to a confrontation with the institu-
tions of the monarchy, the philosophes had to stand up for texts expressing their
profoundly held opinions and pursue their mission as interpreters of reason. Failing
to do so, as Helvétius had done, meant that as writers they were not up to their task.
Diderot was all too aware that censors were not authors’ ideal collaborators. He
faced a choice between eluding censorship and having his texts printed abroad or
circulating them in manuscript form, as he did frequently after 1759, or maintaining
good relations with those censors, like Suard, who could be prevailed upon to grant
permissions to publish or issue favourable judgments.
In presuming that the French monarchy could allow for a very limited but slowly
expanding freedom of the press, Diderot expressed a vision of domestic reform of
censorship. From this point of view this Lettre sur le commerce des livres, addressed
to Sartine in 1763 on behalf of the Compagnie des libraires, is neither surprising nor
damaging to Diderot’s posthumous reputation, as has been recently argued.112 In
fact it is consistent with his perspective on a widening public discourse in which
reason could be promoted without falling prey to the enemies of progress, intent for
their part on spreading errors and misconceptions. Diderot practiced and pleaded for
an increase in the use of permissions tacites: they would not radically alter the bal-
ance of the “book economy” and would be welcomed by both parties actively
engaged in the production of knowledge, authors and printers. Through permissions
tacites the king could meet his commitment to promote the progress of civilization,
and the philosophes would be encouraged to disseminate texts which favoured

Holy See is incapable of managing the famine crises due to its inefficiency (Galiani 1770: 1–19).
On Diderot’s effort to circumvent censorship see also Galiani 1968: 296–7.
110
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 10: 32. Cfr. Davison 1985: 72, 80.
111
Diderot 1955–1970. Vol. 15: 243 (10 June 1781).
112
See Duflo 2009: 124.
Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom 83

rational morality. A good “book politics” would, in this conception, profit from a
more extensive use of permissions tacites.
I think therefore that it is useful for literature and for the book trade to augment indefinitely
the permissions tacites, posing as the sole condition for the publication and circulation of a
book only an approbation that gratifies the narrowest minds. An author is sued, the laws
prohibit the book, the sentence is made public, the volume is pulped and burnt, and 2
months later it is sold on the street. It is an evident disdain of the laws which is
intolerable.

In the Lettre, Diderot flatly rejected the abolition of royal censorship, as was the
case with the English model. Instead he suggested a reduced pool of censors,
employing only the most skilled and insightful individuals capable of carrying out
this delicate and demanding task.
It is mandatory to get rid of three fourths of those persons who have judged our achieve-
ments in the sciences and in the arts, while a precious nothing is known on their titles to
fame, and to keep the small number of the rest who are capable of giving the author good
advice on his work and putting them in working conditions approximately appropriate to
their functions.113

Diderot acknowledged the guild system to be a durable feature of the monarchy

and a necessary link between all legal publishers and the royal censorship. He
devised a scheme to pay for manuscripts submitted for approval: 18 livres for a
volume in 12°, one Louis for an 8°, 36 livres for an in 4°, 48 livres for an in-folio.
“It is nothing, if the work succeeds. It is a very negligible loss, if it fails. And more-
over, it will be paid only if the work is thought susceptible of obtaining the privilege
or the permission tacite”.114
His discussions, in 1769, with the physiocrats provided Diderot with the oppor-
tunity to articulate this outlook in more general terms. While he disagreed with
them on the extent to which deregulation of the free grain trade was advisable, he
nonetheless conceded that they had a crucial role to play in encouraging, “in the
long run, the police, the court, and the magistrates […] to heed all manner of ideas
and the authors to speak out more boldly. Little by little the nation will grow accus-
tomed to the issues of finance, trade, agriculture, legislation, politics”.115 This bal-
ance was consistently unstable: freedom of expression was achievable only as long
as censors were educated to be reasonable instruments of the absolute monarchy
and writers were reminded of their responsibility towards the public.
In such a conception both censors and writers had to tread carefully to maintain
free expression. The commitment to free investigation was consistent in principle
with collaboration with royal censorship and was the prized, guiding principle of
philosophie. Writers, in any case, ought not to be afraid of freedom, and appeals
made by men of letters to enforce more stringent controls were to be disregarded.

113
Diderot 1976. Lettre historique et politique à un magistrat sur le commerce de la librairie. Vol.
8: 465–567, 558. The most insightful analysis is Chartier 2002. See also De Marte 2008 and
Rideau 2008.
114
Diderot 1976. Lettre historique et politique. Vol. 8: 559.
115
Diderot 1875. Vol. 4: 83.
84 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

To his own surprise, Diderot was confronted with the paradox of a philosopher
attacking freedom of investigation when he penned a commentary on Frans
Hemsterhuis’s Lettre sur l’homme et ses rapports, published in 1772. His comment
was not available to the general public during his lifetime and was intended for
private circulation only, like many other works by Diderot after 1759. A Dutch pla-
tonizing philosopher, tolerant but opposed to the materialist philosophy of the
esprits forts, Hemsterhuis decried what he called the evils of freedom of the press.
In the United Provinces this meant the absence of pre-publication censorship and
the inefficacy of post-publication repression. Diderot claimed ignorance of “these
damages done to morals by freedom of the press. We are not worse than 30 years
ago. The changes that occur in national customs have causes that are different from
questions of metaphysics”.116 The contrary was actually closer to reality: limitations
upon freedom forced the philosophes to articulate their views with exceeding cir-
cumspection. Diderot himself was forced to “dress philosophy up in Harlequin’s
clothes”. And other philosophes had to camouflage themselves similarly.
In some phrases Buffon expounds all the principles of the materialists, in others he upholds
propositions that are exactly the opposite […]. What can one say of Voltaire, who follows
Locke in arguing that matter can think, Toland in claiming that the world is perpetual,
Tindal in assuming that freedom is a fallacy, and who acknowledges the existence of a
vengeful and rewarding God? Was he inconsistent? Or did he fear the doctors of the
Sorbonne?

The expression of very personal emotions casts some light on how Diderot saw
himself confronted with pre-publication censorship: “Speaking of myself, I went
through unscathed, thanks to the most ironic and heedless tone I could come up
with, to generic, laconic and obscure statements”. Just one Frenchman (Diderot
probably meant Dom Deschamps) had always spoken with total freedom: the price
he had to pay was nothing less than ignominy.117 Diderot and the côterie holbachique
were faced with a dilemma. It was clear that they and, by extension, lumières had
suffered serious setbacks in their dealings with royal institutions, which by the same
token illustrated the necessity of cultivating and calibrating their relations with cen-
sorial authorities if they wished to publish legally for the French market.118 It was
also evident that if they chose to publish clandestinely or abroad, their works would
suffer from a more constrained circulation than those legally published, while man-
uscript texts by their nature reached a significantly smaller if more influential
audience. Their response to this dilemma was to elaborate a conception of freedom
of the press which required that all those involved in production, communication,
control, and consumption of knowledge and ideas, be significantly better educated
as to their roles.
Voltaire’s understanding and practice of freedom of the press should also be
assessed from this perspective. While more recently he has been juxtaposed to
d’Holbach and Diderot, as a defender of a markedly moderate strand of Enlightenment

116
Hemsterhuis 1964: 450.
117
Hemsterhuis 1964: 513.
118
Goodman 1994: 201–3.
Respect for Truth as a Precondition of Freedom 85

thought, Voltaire has also been characterized as an eminent victim of ecclesiastical

and monarchical censorship.119 According to this literature on Voltaire, his creative
impetus was constantly checked by the interference of short-sighted censors at the
service of a parochial political elite uninterested in promoting progress in any
sphere.120 Considering Voltaire’s unmatched fame and prestige in France and abroad,
this view seems unsatisfactory.121 It goes without saying that publication of his
works was impeded and seriously threatened by the Gallican Church, the Holy
Office, Geneva’s Consistory, the Parlement of Paris and influential factions at the
royal court in Versailles. Nonetheless his works and information on their composi-
tion, together with reports and allusions in his vast and sprawling correspondence,
show that Voltaire was astute and skilful at dodging official censorship. He had
numerous methods and was adept at presenting this persecution in ways that rein-
forced his position in the publishing market and his standing and credibility in
European public opinion.
Voltaire understood perfectly well how the different elements of the “book econ-
omy” worked. His vision of freedom of the press reflected this familiarity with the
logic and practice of press control. While he pleaded for greater freedom and open-
ness, Voltaire was no partisan of a totally unrestricted and unregulated publishing
system. If the Catholic Church inspired or commissioned publications which under-
mined the monarch, the extent of the harm to the body politic required “the sover-
eign” to react vigorously.122 Public authority was responsible for ensuring that good
writings circulated and bad were suppressed. Temporal authorities were responsible
for encouraging the circulation of useful works and were obliged to impede the
publication of those which might harm society. Throughout his lucrative and
extremely successful career as a writer, Voltaire insisted on the power of good books
to contribute to the progress of humankind and ostentatiously denounced libels and
periodical publications which expressed “an intolerable spirit of banditry”.123
Voltaire’s declarations of support for an indulged “freedom of the press”, must be
interpreted within this context. In his 1746, Lettre à un premier commis he addressed
the controversial issue of economic reforms and wrote that “forbidding publication
is reminiscent of Turkish despotism and hindering it amounts to forbidding it”.124
Twenty years later, in the Lettres républicaines and A.B.C., when he was particu-
larly interested in the republican model as a viable framework for civil government,
he stated that in republics, the freedom to think and publish is “a natural right of the
citizens” which presupposes all other forms of liberty.125 He reiterated this principle

119
On Voltaire as a ‘mainstream’ thinker see Israel 2010.
120
At the opposite ends of the interpretive spectrum are Gay 1959 and Himmelfarb 2004: 159, 170.
121
Rosenfeld 2001; Cronk 2003.
122
Voltaire 1777: 100.
123
Voltaire 1877–1885. Vol. 13: 28.
124
Voltaire 1968–2011. Lettre à un premier commis. Vol. 9: 320.
125
See Voltaire 1877–1885. A.B.C., Neuvième entretien. Des esprits serfs. In Œuvres de Voltaire.
Vol. 27: 360: “[…] Il faut punir le séditieux téméraire; mais, parce que les hommes peuvent abuser
de l’écriture, faut-il leur en interdire l’usage? J’aimerais autant qu’on vous rendît muet pour vous
86 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

in very general terms in numerous entries of the Dictionnaire philosophique.

Voltaire also touched on the subject of the possible social consequences of this
notion of freedom of the press and assured his readers that no social revolution was
the consequence of printed texts: even the Protestant Reformation, the most shock-
ing of the upheavals in recent European history, was the consequence of listening to
preachers rather than of reading books.126
When the prime minister of the Danish Kingdom, Struensee, abolished preventa-
tive censorship on 4 September 1770, Voltaire publicly welcomed it as the extension
of the English model to the rest of Europe.127 When he contemplated the state of
affairs in France, however, he depicted the English model as unique. When focusing
on the French monarchy, Voltaire believed that the royal regime should exert its
influence on public debate through academic institutions. Furthermore, libels and
personal slanders, superstitious and subversive books should be banned in a civi-
lized society. According to Voltaire, an equitable government should take responsi-
bility for ensuring that such things were eliminated. He wrote that “bad books”
(mauvais livres) attacking the French opera and theatre, usually written by the
superstitious clergy, should be publicly burnt.128 His awareness of the constraints
imposed on writers by the court, the Parliaments and the Gallican Church through
the Librairie, meant that Voltaire ceaselessly deployed and cultivated his network of
correspondents. He did so both to ensure favourable censors for manuscripts he
hoped to publish legally in France and to bring to the attention of the royal censors,
pamphlets that he deemed to be offensive, in the hope of preventing their
publication.
Interacting with (and thereby acknowledging the role of) royal censors was part
of his long-term strategy to direct and motivate French public opinion and carve out
an influential role for himself and the philosophes. The ability to determine the
selection of censors and influence their decisions, was in Voltaire’s view a way of
assisting the monarchy to move towards a civilized society resting on sound moral
and scientific foundations. One example of this strategy is found in the complex
negotiations conducted by Voltaire himself to obtain a royal privilege for the French
edition of his Éléments de la philosophie newtonienne. In June 1737, he sent a copy
to the censor, while two more censors were also involved in the procedure as super-
visors. Their assessments were positive but they were all overruled by the Chancellor

empêcher de faire de mauvais arguments. On vole dans les rues, faut-il pour cela défendre d’y
marcher? On dit des sottises et des injures, faut-il défendre de parler? Chacun peut écrire chez nous
ce qu’il pense, à ses risques et à ses périls; c’est la seule manière de parler à sa nation. Si elle trouve
que vous avez parlé ridiculement, elle vous siffle; si séditieusement, elle vous punit; si sagement et
noblement, elle vous aime et vous récompense. La liberté de parler aux hommes avec la plume est
établie en Angleterre comme en Pologne; elle l’est dans les Provinces-Unies; elle l’est enfin dans
là Suède, qui nous imite; elle doit l’être dans la Suisse, sans quoi la Suisse n’est pas digne d’être
libre. Point de liberté chez les hommes sans celle d’expliquer sa pensée”.
126
Voltaire 1877–1885. Liberté de penser and Liberté d’imprimer (Dictionnaire philosophique).
Vol. 19: 583–9.
127
Voltaire. 1877–1885. Lettre au roi de Danemark. Vol. 10: 421–7.
128
Voltaire 1761: 50–1.
Rousseau: The Introjection of Censorship 87

d’Aguesseau, who objected to Voltaire’s anti-Cartesian approach and to Newton’s

religious opinions. In this case the functional ambiguity of the French censorship
system backfired on Voltaire: he had to give up on publishing his work legally and,
more importantly, he forfeited the opportunity to present his version of Newtonian
philosophy as the new enlightened philosophy, complete with royal privilege, to the
educated public in France.129 D’Aguesseau’s decision to reject the elements of
Newtonian philosophy was momentous as it indicated that it was Voltaire’s interpre-
tation of these that was problematic. The same year, 1738, d’Aguesseau had autho-
rised the publication of another version of Newtonian natural philosophy,
Newtonianisme pour les dames by the Italian Francesco Algarotti. Voltaire did pro-
mote, within the confines of censorial oversight, the diffusion of books which enun-
ciated Enlightenment values and ideas. However, his idea of “publishing freedom”,
or liberté d’imprimer, while it envisaged a loosening of the Librairie’s grip on the
book trade, did not amount to an unrestrained or unqualified commitment to free-
dom of the press. Besides, Voltaire was skeptical as to the efficacy of books as
vehicles of social and cultural change. Books “never changed the world”, not even
the most shocking among them, Spinoza’s Ethics, the impact of which upon readers
was minimal. Voltaire’s skeptical attitude towards the real impact of books on the
general public was at the core of his arguments in favour of greater press freedom:
but this was a weak argument. Unlike other campaigns which Voltaire promoted
vigorously and relentlessly, freedom of the press occupied a limited place in his
reform agenda and at no point consisted of an appeal to a general freedom of expres-
sion, as was the case with the freedom of religion.

Rousseau: The Introjection of Censorship

Of all the French thinkers of the second half of the eighteenth century, Rousseau
was the most ambiguous and paradoxical. His notion of censorship, and control in
general, was nonetheless the result of an accurate perception of both the reality of
literary control in the ancien regime and of the actual room to manoeuvre enjoyed
by writers under the French monarchy.
Rousseau worked out a systematic and complex idea of control in the literary
sphere,130 based on his first-hand experiences and on his interpretation of literary
property centred on the author.131 Rousseau’s contribution to the emergence of ideas

129
Shank 2008: 369.
130
Kelly 1997. In an otherwise brilliant paper of 2003, published in 2005 in the “Studies on Voltaire
and the Eighteenth Century”, Raymond Birn argued – mistakenly, I suggest – that “on the subject
of censorship Rousseau was not a deep thinker” (Birn 2005). A brief analysis is in Meier 1984:
LXVIII–LXXXV (Meier missed the point of the French functional ambiguity by stating that “cen-
sorship was a relatively low hurdle for authors during the ancient regime”, LXXVIII).
131
Birn 2001: 2. The notion of a literary field, idealized by Rousseau and perceived, at the same
time, “in its denseness and opacity, as a sphere controlled by agents” who were prone to misunder-
standing Rousseau’s intention, is discussed in Turnovsky 2003: 403.
88 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

around authorial independence, autonomy, originality, and the consequent right to

control his creations, was crucial.132 Nonetheless, he did not reject the principle that
the legitimacy of a manuscript ought to be verified before its publication. Rousseau
suffered a fair number of clashes with censorship institutions in the course of his
career. He saw the Encyclopédie come under attack twice, he saw the Archbishop
and Parlement of Paris prevail over the Librairie in the case of Helvétius’s De
l’Esprit and force its author to recant, he visited his then friend Diderot in prison for
publishing the Lettre sur les aveugles in 1749. Indeed, he had had first-hand knowl-
edge of French censorship practices and institutions since the start of his literary
career, and he knew the rules, explicit and implicit, that regulated the business of
publishing in France. His first experience was a happy one, when the Dissertation
sur la musique moderne, was published in 1743 with a royal privilege.
Rousseau moved beyond the compromise position of selecting acceptable works
to be published through the Librairie system and clandestinely publishing works the
monarchy would object to. Rousseau agreed that some sort of control on printing
was necessary to check the corruption that menaced modern society and the cen-
trifugal forces generated by the contemporary form of unbridled individualism. His
Lettre à d’Alembert of 1758, was above all else a defence of the right to self-
protection by filtering out dangerous ideas and through the repression of those that
were unacceptable in a free, small and happily poor society as Rousseau imagined
Geneva to be. He viewed the idea of theatre as entertainment with great suspicion,
“and if it is true that amusements are necessary to man, you will at least admit that
they are only permissible as they are necessary, and that every useless amusement is
an evil for a Being whose life is so short and whose time is so precious”.133 In the
1740s and 1750s Rousseau consistently complied with French laws on preventative
censorship and sought Malesherbes’ protection when the latter became the director
of the Librairie and a supporter of the philosophes. Rousseau’s relationship with
Malesherbes came to define his understanding of literary activity and of the nature
of freedom of the press. The most telling example of Rousseau’s emotional and
intellectual investment in his dealings with Malesherbes can be seen in the events
surrounding the publication of the Nouvelle Héloïse. His epistolary novel, after a
long gestation, was finally ready for publication in April 1760. Rousseau’s corre-
spondence shows that the negotiations had left room for uncertainty and misunder-
standing on all sides. His publisher, Marc-Michel Rey, in Amsterdam and his
protector, Malesherbes, in Paris endeavoured to attain unobstructed and legal access
to the lucrative French market, for the Nouvelle Héloïse. A legal reprint of the
Nouvelle Héloïse by the Parisian publishers Robin and Grange was intended to curb
the threat of the pirated editions which Rousseau feared would flood the market.
Malesherbes’ intervention led, in January 1761, to the publication of a text that
claimed to be the same as the 1760 edition by Rey, itself the product of a consider-
able financial investment. The consignment with the Rey edition was held up in the

132
Hesse 1990.
133
Rousseau 2004: 262 (see Rousseau 1959–1995. J.-J. Rousseau citoyen de Genève, à Monsieur
d’Alembert. Vol. 5: 15).
Rousseau: The Introjection of Censorship 89

Chambre syndicale to allow the Robin and Grange reprint to hit the market and
share the profits from this much anticipated novel between the publishers. As soon
as Rousseau actually read the Parisian edition he was dumbfounded and offended
by what he saw.
“The work has been so disfigured by non-sequiturs and major typographical
errors that I no longer recognize my manuscript. My intention is to disavow this
edition publicly, even in journals and gazettes. It is not ethical to dare to publish
such a misshapen monster, such a mutilated book, under my name”.134 As a matter
of fact, the text revised by the censor contains an appalling number of typos, not to
mention cuts which amounted to around 25 printed pages from the 1976 in the
Amsterdam edition that Rousseau had supervised.135 Rousseau’s tirade implies that
while he did not object to censorial intervention as such, he was utterly infuriated
that they had been carried out without his consent and even more so because they
had damaged and detracted from his work. After all, Rousseau had sent the manu-
script of the Nouvelle Héloïse to Malesherbes for approbation. Rousseau wanted
Malesherbes to be directly involved in the revision and publication process of the
Nouvelle Héloïse. Rousseau acknowledged that the book should be examined by the
director of the Librairie as he was the magistrate responsible for approving it.136
Faced with Malesherbes’ hesitations, Rousseau insisted that he read the proofs. In a
passage from a letter that Rousseau wrote to Malesherbes, he brought his concerns
to a point but did not go so far in the version he eventually sent to the Director of the
Librairie:
It is a very unpleasant embarrassment all this sending back and forth of proof sheets. I fully
realized this when you kindly took this burden upon yourself: and I should be much grati-
fied to spare you and myself this inconvenience in the future. I learned from my personal
experience and more recent evidence that in similar cases I might hope to receive from you
all the favour that a friend of truth can expect from an enlightened and judicious magistrate:
but, Monsieur, I really wish not to be impeded in being free to say what I think, neither am
I ready to run the danger of regretting having said what I thought.137

Rousseau’s dilemma was all too real. Malesherbes eased the complicated pub-
lishing process of Rousseau’s text but he shied away from direct involvement.
Following a commonly used practice, Malesherbes sought a second reading and
passed the manuscript to a more junior censor, Christophe Picquet.138 It was Picquet,
a very active and on the whole quite tolerant censor, who was clearly intimidated

134
Rousseau 1965–1989. J.-J. Rousseau citoyen de Genève, à Monsieur d’Alembert. In Vol. 8: 29
(26 January 1761).
135
Rousseau and Malesherbes 1991; McEachern 1992.
136
Grosclaude 1960: 22.
137
The letter, both in the version Rousseau actually sent to Malesherbes and in the longer version,
is in Grosclaude 1960: 23–4.
138
Relying solely on Rousseau’s narrative of Malesherbes’s intervention in Confessions, book 10,
Patterson misunderstands the implications of the publication of La Nouvelle Heloise (Patterson
1984: 238).
90 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

and over-zealously expurgated certain passages.139 Piquet was concerned that allu-
sions and hidden references would elude him, and was afraid, among other things,
that the outspoken atheist, Wolmar, would gain the readers’ sympathy. It is evident
that Rousseau could not put up with this specific case of pre-publication censorship
because it was particularly clumsy and brutal. It is undeniable, though, that he
accepted the rules of the game, including bargaining with the publishers in Paris,
lobbying the director of the Librairie, and printing his work outside of France, all at
the same time. In this light it is worth noting that Rousseau did accept a change,
which was strongly suggested by the censor, Duclos, to his Extrait du projet de paix
perpetuelle in December 1760.140 However, worse was to come, when some months
later he published Emile, his pedagogical novel, with his name on the frontispiece.
Emile was condemned by the Archbishop and the Parlement of Paris to be burnt; the
council of Geneva, Rousseau’s home town, and the Prussian government, did the
same. Thanks to Malesherbes Rousseau was forewarned and fled France to avoid a
worse fate, one symbolised by his being burnt in effigy.141
This wave of persecution prompted Rousseau to scrutinise writers’ attitudes
towards control of the press and the meaning and social function of their texts. At
the outset of his philosophical endeavours, in the Discours sur les arts et les sci-
ences, Rousseau famously recounted the evil consequences of the press as follows:
If we consider the horrible disorders that printing has already produced in Europe, and if we
judge the future in light of the progress this evil makes every day, we can easily predict that
sovereigns will not delay in making as much effort to banish this awful art from their states
as they made to establish it. The Sultan Achmet, yielding to the insistent demands of certain
supposed people of taste, had agreed to establish a printing press in Constantinople. But the
press had barely begun to function when people felt obliged to destroy it and throw its
machinery into a well.142

In volume four of the Contrat social, Rousseau referred favourably to Roman

censorship as an informal institution which expressed public opinion. To Rousseau
it was the magistrates’ responsibility to correct the people’s opinions and thereby
purify their customs, whereas censorship could only hope to preserve morality.
Reform men’s opinions and their mores will be purified by themselves. People always like
what is becoming or what they judge to be so; but it is in this judgment that they make
mistakes; the question, then, is to guide their judgment. He who judges of mores judges of
honour; and he who judges of honour takes his law from opinion.143

139
On Piquet, who died in 1779 after censoring 283 books and granting 128 permissions tacites,
see Birn 2007: 140.
140
Rousseau 1959–1995. Vol. 3: 1544, footnote 2. Rousseau referred to Christianity as a sect. See
Rousseau’s letter to Duclos, 8 December 1760 (Rousseau 1965–1989. Vol. 7: 342–3). The critical
edition provided by Bruno Bernardi and Gabriella Silvestrini highlights the passage in which
Rousseau refused to accept the change requested by the censor (Rousseau 2008). Duclos received
a copy of the galleys of La Nouvelle Heloise, it seems, as a friend, not as a royal censor (Rousseau
1965–1989. Vol. 7: 317, 17 November 1760).
141
Whatmore 2012: 54–97.
142
Rousseau 2002b: 65.
143
Rousseau 2002a: 244.
Rousseau: The Introjection of Censorship 91

There was clearly a contradiction in Rousseau’s approach to the issue of limita-

tions upon freedom of the press. How could he claim that the persecution of books
in general, and of his books in particular, was illegal and unjust, given his acknowl-
edgement of the right and duty of the magistrate to intervene? In other words, how
could Rousseau define the boundary between the freedom of saying and writing
what is considered to be true and just and the right of the magistrate to intervene?
Especially if his authority was not exercised as wisely and sensibly as Malesherbes
had done. The fifth of the Lettres écrites de la montagne addresses these very ques-
tions.144 It does so in a subtle way, with two overlapping sets of problems: the juridi-
cal questions linked to the control of the press in Geneva and by extension in France
and in continental Europe in general, and the responsibility and actual behaviour of
contemporary authors. Rousseau was obsessed with his own individual existence,
but his remarks, while deeply idiosyncratic, make a general case about how both
governments and writers should act. His point of departure was that writers have to
comply with the laws. There is no subversive aim in Rousseau’s ideas, at least no
plainly subversive aim, as to the juridical framework which regulated the “book
economy”. He agreed that governments have a right to control the dissemination of
ideas among the people. However he also made the crucial distinction that this rule
applies to all those who speak: orality was a menace, written words were not. On the
other hand, dogmatizing (dogmatiser) in schools, in churches and in public spaces
in towns and villages, could lead to turmoil, excite the passions of the rabble and
jeopardize social peace. Teachers and preachers should be subject to control, while
self-appointed public orators must be banned.145 These strictures did not apply to the
authors of printed texts. Books cannot of themselves rouse a mob. They do not con-
vene readers together in ebullient crowds, nor do they spur them onto act. On the
contrary, books allow readers plenty of time to reflect and reply analytically. What
is more, books were not intended for the lower strata of the population who posed
the only real danger. Rousseau pointed out a fundamental difference between oral
communication and printed books. As talking is an ongoing activity, it can only be
stopped by preventing the teacher, preacher or orator from coming into contact with
their audience. “As long as a man dogmatizes, he does evil continuously; until he
has fallen into line this man is to be feared; his very liberty is an evil, because he
uses it to do evil, to continue to dogmatize”. Thus incarceration was an adequate
counter-measure for them, whereas it could not be for writers: imprisoning a writer
was a useless act, as books that are allegedly bad will be disseminated nonetheless,
possibly more than before their prohibition.146 More importantly than that, Rousseau
joined Diderot in emphasizing that books were a medium for expressing thoughts,
not for attacking the honour of individuals. Raisonner was the proper objective and
content of books, and reasoning cannot cause offence to anybody.147

144
Rousseau 2002a: 200–28 (see Rousseau 2012: 336–88).
145
Athens was not a democracy, Rousseau maintained in Sur l’économie politique (Rousseau
1959–1995. Vol. 3: 246), rather an aristocracy led by the learned and the orators.
146
Rousseau 2002a: 212 (Rousseau 2012: 350).
147
Rousseau 2002a: 230 (Rousseau 2012: 368).
92 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

Rousseau argued that writers have the right to be free in their work, especially so
if they acknowledge their opinions by putting their name on the title-page. In this
way author and book became the same entity and had to be respected as such. Books
which discussed religious questions were no exception, provided that they did not
offend anybody’s religious practice. It is understandable that Rousseau did not men-
tion pre-publication censorship, which he resented and deemed odious, in this Lettre
écrite de la montagne. He did however mention what he referred to as an inappro-
priate usage, “a poorly understood practice” (un usage malentendu) of the press.
What he meant by this, and he felt that it applied to the majority of authors, was
when ambition and self-interest, rather than integrity and truth, drove authors’ exer-
tions.148 The law, in this conception, ought to encourage and defend the transpar-
ency and sincerity of authors. Thus Rousseau believed strongly in the writer’s
responsibility to be true to himself and free in his pursuit of goodness and truth. For
such endeavours to come to fruition, the protection of the law was necessary. By the
same token, Rousseau condemned those writers who misunderstood or failed to
appreciate the value and responsibility which came with their freedom to express
themselves, and who instead strayed from the path of sincerity and objective inquiry
which he advocated.
In this light it is necessary to ascertain how Rousseau reacted when confronted
with censorship. In fact his responses were varied. In the case of La Nouvelle
Héloïse he relied on Malesherbes to obtain a permission tacite for the Amsterdam
edition and in consequence was wrong-footed. When Malesherbes suggested that
he should accept the changes indicated for a more gently censored third edition of
his book,149 Rousseau’s reaction was complex. On the one hand, however reluc-
tantly, he acquiesced and justified his work to Malesherbes, and in quite a few
instances he complied with the changes demanded by the censor as long as the main
argument was clearly expressed and stylistic harmony was preserved. On the other
hand, crucial religious opinions were non-negotiable, because, whether right or
wrong, Rousseau claimed to have searched for truth, with a preference for what he
deemed useful truths.150 In his letters to Malesherbes, moreover, Rousseau
underscored his need to be “attached […] passionately to the truth”151 and emphati-
cally stressed his self-restraint in order to assuage Malesherbes’ fears.152
No matter how humiliating these external interferences were for Rousseau, they
did not impinge on the success of the Paris editions of the Nouvelle Héloïse. Those
who read the heavily censored version could, it appears, read between the lines and
at least one instance of this is cited in his general correspondence; the Nouvelle

148
Rousseau 2002a: 218 (Rousseau 2012: 360).
149
Rousseau 1965–1989. Vol. 8: 1327 (26 February 1761).
150
“Jusqu’ici j’ai cherché de bonne foi la vérité, préférant cependant des vérités utiles”, Rousseau
1965–1989. Vol. 8: 237 (March 1761).
151
Rousseau 1965–1989. Vol. 10: 26 (12 February 1762).
152
Rousseau 1965–1989. Vol. 7: 297–301 (5 November 1760).
Rousseau: The Introjection of Censorship 93

Héloïse did provoke the deep emotional impact that Rousseau had anticipated. In
this instance, the complex relationship between writer and reader was successfully
and skilfully contoured by Rousseau, who conveyed an image of himself as a per-
fectly candid and intimately and emotionally good, human being who offered him-
self up to the gaze and judgment of his readers.153 Neither the changes imposed on
his texts, nor the corrections and typos which occurred during the publishing pro-
cess, seriously threatened Rousseau’s approach, based as it was, above all, on an
innovative conception of the author. Even in his negotiations with Malesherbes,
Rousseau was convinced that his freedom from unjust authority was the result of his
own thoroughgoing dedication to the common good that necessitated a careful
selection of the ideas to be discussed in the published text and an effort to connect
with empathy with his readers’ deepest feelings.154
Max Weber’s metaphor of “a shell as hard as steel” can be profitably applied to
Rousseau’s paradoxical notion that freedom could be granted only to those who
adhered to the requirements of a free, transparent and stable society. In this light, the
carapace is flexible yet also constrictive and regulatory.155 In a letter to Abbé
Perdriau in 1754, Rousseau wrote that he was going to be his own – and only –
censor,156 and he maintained this commitment. By internalizing the responsibility to
use the press appropriately, Rousseau thought that he saw a means to avoid govern-
ment persecution while still allowing him access to “rational” public opinion, which
was slowly becoming the impartial tribunal of taste and values. In the Confessions,
Rousseau mentioned an anecdote from his early life as evidence that self-restraint
was both possible and virtuous. Recounting the tale of La Tribu, a Genevan woman
who circulated erotic books and how he constantly rejected these, he recalled:
Though my taste had not preserved me from silly unmeaning books, by good fortune I was
a stranger to licentious or obscene ones; not that La Tribu (who was very accommodating)
had any scruple of lending these, on the contrary, to enhance their worth she spoke of them
with an air of mystery; this produced an effect she had not foreseen, for both shame and
disgust made me constantly refuse them. Chance so well seconded my bashful disposition
that I was past the age of thirty before I saw any of those dangerous compositions.157

By insisting on the internalization of control, Rousseau merged his perception of

the role of censorship and literary life with the broader framework of his ideas of
order in the cosmos and a regenerated society. In Emile the teacher completes
nature’s work by supporting and enhancing his pupil’s inclination towards moral
goodness. Thus self-control was required of the educator, who ought only to employ
anecdotes and examples conducive to morality. For Rousseau, it was crucial that the

153
Darnton 1984. Chapter Readers Respond to Rousseau: The Fabrication of Romantic Sensitivity:
214–56; Labrosse 1985; Fournier 2007.
154
Turnovsky 2003.
155
See above Introduction.
156
“Mon expérience m’a donc fait prendre la ferme résolution d’être désormais mon unique
Censeur”, Rousseau 1965–1989. Vol. 3: 59 (28 November 1754).
157
Rousseau 1959–1995. Confessions. Vol. 1: 40.
94 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

educator made “good use of his freedom” (par le bon usage de ma liberté), to attain
harmony with the highest order of nature. The central tenet of the La Profession de
foi du vicaire savoyard was that the proper use of personal freedom was,
simultaneously, an attribute and a prize.158 Similarly, as it was imperative for writers
to fulfil their pedagogical function in society, this responsibility implied both free-
dom of action and an awareness of its ramifications. In Rousseau juge de Jean-
Jacques. Dialogues, written later in his career between 1772 and 1776, he implicitly
referred to the disdain for the printing press expressed in the Discours sur les arts et
les sciences. He claimed that isolated passages, but also the whole substance of a
book, can conceal sentiments and ideas which could be dangerous to society. He
also, by forcing himself to read, as a reader not an author, was able to point out the
great benefits of close and candid reading. His highly personal experience of reread-
ing his own writings made him “more humane, more just, better than he was before”.
He maintained that anyone who approached his work impartially would receive the
same benefits.159
Rousseau’s interiorization of control had two consequences. First, he rejected de
facto the legitimacy of his works being banned and he ignored the prohibitions in
order to symbolically resist them. Second, in doing so, he could come to view
authors as free and independent creators, who should never be subjected to any
external constraint. In general, Rousseau’s publishing decisions disconcerted his
contemporaries. His insistence on acknowledging his authorship of books which
were bound to be banned was an explicit challenge to all governments. Turgot held
Rousseau in high esteem, but reproached him for his defiant behaviour: Rousseau
had publicly declared himself the author of Emile and had chosen not to hide “for
two or three months”, which would have allowed him to avoid the ensuing storm.160
There could be not be a more open disavowal of the functional ambiguity of French
censorship. Helvétius and Rousseau, from different perspectives, had been willing
outsiders in the censorship game: they had both eschewed the easy alternative
between full compliance with the rules of official censorship and publishing abroad,
and chose instead to challenge the logic of censorship once circumstances ceased to
favour them. Helvétius was crushed by the prohibition of De l’esprit. Humiliated as
he was, he took refuge in the silent radicalism that led to the posthumous publica-
tion of De l’homme. Far from renouncing the public sphere, Rousseau emerged as
the prototypical hero of a new era of existential sincerity and depth, at once ostenta-
tiously tormented and candid. Both ended up on the margins of the network of phi-
losophes, administrators and censors around Malesherbes and later Sartine, who
were instrumental in establishing a new arrangement with royal censorship in the
1760s and 1770s.

158
“C’est alors que le bon usage de sa liberté devient à la fois le mérite et la récompense” (Rousseau
1959–1995. Emile. Vol. 4: 603).
159
Rousseau 1959–1995. Rousseau juge de Jean-Jacques. Vol. 1: 696.
160
Turgot 1913–1923. Vol. 3: 640 (Turgot to Du Pont, December 1773).
Condorcet and a Radical View of Public Interest 95

Condorcet and a Radical View of Public Interest

In the 1770s, Condorcet was the most uncompromising advocate for the abolition of
censorship. Condorcet’s Fragments sur la liberté de la presse have been interpreted
as an alternative to Diderot’s approach to the copyright of authors.161 It is very
unlikely, though, that Condorcet intended to enter into a literary discussion with
Diderot on this question. Condorcet’s short text was probably written in early 1776
as a revision and expansion of an article for the Journal des dames: this appeal for
freedom of the press was essentially based on juridical arguments and was very
probably intended to bolster the prevailing liberal spirit in public opinion, manifest
in Turgot’s ascension to government.162 Condorcet advocated authorial freedom on
a relatively innovative basis. His viewpoint was elaborated, however, with reference
to, and through an original combination of Montesquieu’s and Rousseau’s ideas.
His personal familiarity and repeated disagreements with the two can only have
helped him hone his approach. Condorcet agreed with the principle in Montesquieu’s
L’Esprit des lois that society is entitled to punish a major crime, provided there is
irrefutable evidence that the crime has been committed and that it is the conse-
quence of criminal intention. Furthermore, the punishment for a crime should not
cause greater harm than was caused by the crime itself.163 Like Montesquieu,
Condorcet questioned whether “a book published by its author can ever become a
crime” and doubted that it was possible to establish an unambiguous causality
between reading a book and committing an offence, which in turn meant that authors
could not be held responsible. On the contrary, he believed that the diffusion of what
he understood to be truthful opinion was a necessary and useful contribution to the
shared project of unveiling errors: “it is a duty for those who have found them to try
and enlighten men in error” and “books against religion, against morals and against
prevailing mores are not crimes”.164
When Condorcet argued for the rationalist progressivism that promoted human
advancement based on the free circulation of goods and ideas, he also echoed
Rousseau’s insistence on profound confidence as a prerequisite of a writer’s inde-
pendence from censorial control.165
It is a violation of the rights of men to set up obstacles to the knowledge of truth on these
important questions, to hide from men the reasons for or against their opinions. Now, this is
what would happen if the authors of works contrary to received wisdom are punished,
because, if a sovereign, or a sovereign body, or a whole people have held these truths to be

161
Hesse 1990: 114–17; Chartier 2005: 177–92; Walton 2009: 57–62; Ranieri 2007. The most
insightful analysis of Condorcet’s notion of freedom of the press is Reichardt 1973: 95–102.
162
Gelbart 1987: 229, footnote 58.
163
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 256–314, 256–8. An
incomplete version of the Fragments was published in Condorcet 1804. Vol. 16: 3–30.
164
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 260 and 258.
165
See Baxmann 1999: 47, 53.
96 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

true and useful, it does not follow from this that they are really true and useful. They do not
have the right, therefore, to prevent anybody from arguing against them.166

Among the rights accruing from natural freedom, Condorcet included the right
“to say what one deems true”.167 Both religion and politics formed part of this con-
stant search for the truth. The drive to uncover new truths could not be halted as the
“public interest” required an unrelenting effort to eradicate abuses which were
harmful to society. In ascertaining the place of an author’s ideas in provoking diffi-
culties for a sovereign power, he maintained that the right to free inquiry was the
highest ‘good’ and had to be protected. In this Condorcet was referring to recent
events in French politics. The first was the supposed link between seditious pam-
phlets criticizing the Turgot government and the outbreak of popular revolt in 1775,
the so called guerre des farines, which seemed to be inherently causally connected.
The second was the sentence issued by the Parlement of Paris on 30 January 1776,
labelling Condorcet’s criticism of the corvées system as seditious.168
Condorcet drew a distinction between times of public tranquillity and times of
unrest: he emphasized the sovereign’s right to maintain public order effectively and
suggested that a law which provided for the repression of instigators of disorder
would have a pre-emptive effect and would better safeguard the legitimacy of the
government. Rousseau’s notion that the author’s intention was crucial in defining
potentially criminal publications, was reworked by Condorcet as an element of his
understanding of politics. Condorcet acknowledged that judges could indeed prove
the intention of unleashing a tumult in the name of fanaticism and of inciting the
populace “to take justice into their own hands” (which was a clear allusion to the
guerre des farines). In such cases repression was necessary.169 On the other hand,
criticism of a public figure in his capacity as an administrator should not lead to
punishment if the offending remarks were proved false but were sincerely held.
Only when attacks were fully calumnious, that is considered false by those who
made them up, could the critic be called to account.170
Preventative censorship was therefore unacceptable under any circumstances
because it impeded the search for truth. This search was a natural right; it consisted
“without any doubt” of “granting a full liberty (une liberté entière) to write for or
against”, in questions of religion. The reference to natural rights proved decisive.
Condorcet rejected absolutist practices, based as they were on asymmetric negotia-
tions between censors, authors and publishers, and instead invested writers with the
responsibility to ascertain, and disseminate useful truths in society. He theorised
that a reformed and rejuvenated judiciary ought to be the protector and guarantor of
an uninhibited space for intellectual advancement and research, which they would
survey in the interests of individuals’ honour and society in general. Despite

166
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 260.
167
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 275.
168
Reichardt 1973: 99–100. See Condorcet 1847–1849. Sur l’abolition des corvées. Vol. 11: 275.
169
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 265.
170
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 277.
Condorcet and a Radical View of Public Interest 97

expressing support for the repression of abuse of publishing, Condorcet openly

argued for the removal of controls on writing and publishing. He did this in terms of
the citizens’ right to assess the merits of their government “not in secrecy, not in
conversation, but rather in printed, published works, [that is] one of safest checks to
defend peoples from oppression, and to shield kings from betrayals and troubles
that the mistakes and weaknesses of their ministers can draw on them”.171 In his
almost mathematical analysis of rational political choice, freedom of the press
played an integral role by guaranteeing that the diversity of opinions was acknowl-
edged and accepted.172 Condorcet’s 1776 text shared a number of elements with the
contemporary debate on the same issue. Condorcet, like Malesherbes and Diderot
among others, had very little regard for the way the Librairie was managed and
considered it to be unambiguously harmful.
Condorcet’s notion of the open-ended and indefinite progress of civilization was
based on the free exchange of information and could not accommodate any restric-
tions. Besides, he also thought that “banning a book engenders the wish to read and
buy it”.173 He believed that the public considered forbidden books to have greater
value because it sympathized with persecuted authors, without critically analysing
the content of their works. Condorcet also believed that out of fear of the censors’
pronouncements authors tended to express themselves ambiguously and through
allusions, because they knew that the royal censors, in turn, feared the ministers
currently in office. Like Turgot, Condorcet thought that good books, spreading use-
ful truths which had been obscured thus far, would eventually prevail. Preventative
censorship was nonetheless an impediment to be removed, because of its negative
impact on economic, moral, and educational thought and because of its whimsical
application.
Condorcet’s account of the malfunctioning Librairie did not differ substantially
from Malesherbes’ (of whose Mémoires he was probably not aware). His version of
the “English way”, which placed free discussion at the centre of a thoroughly mod-
ern concept of freedom of the press, made Condorcet’s stance in the contemporary
French debate unique. Condorcet did not argue for an overhaul or a simplification
of the Librairie: he demanded its abolition.
As to justice, one cannot deny that the prohibition aiming to oblige me to read only books
that a royal censor pleases himself to allow me to read violates my rights as a man and as a
citizen.174

Condorcet anticipated the many positive effects which would arise from unim-
peded liberty to print and distribute books. He foresaw a decrease in the price of
books, an ever widening scope for scholars to investigate scientific questions,
greater equality among writers, some of whom would not be among “the class of
writers that have offended the government, are slandered with impunity and do not

171
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 277.
172
Rothschild 2001: 195–217.
173
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 287.
174
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 304.
98 3 The Functional Ambiguity of Censorship and the French Enlightenment

have the possibility of exonerating themselves”, the opportunity for the sovereign to
become familiar with “public opinion, the opinion of biased as well as of enlight-
ened persons”.175
Condorcet envisaged a regime of freedom, regulated by laws which defined the
crimes of slander and libel clearly. Such freedom would increase the physical circu-
lation of books as economic goods. Condorcet went beyond merely advocating free-
dom to circulate ideas: he also suggested the abolition of the privilege system that
benefited big publishers and instead supported the introduction of an extensive sys-
tem of subscriptions to finance the publication of useful books by poor authors. His
aim was the establishment of “an authorless world of free interaction with and cir-
culation of, information and ideas”,176 a world very similar to that described by
Louis-Sébastien Mercier in the Tableau de Paris, which was emancipated from any
interference in the press and “enlightened by disinterested writings”.
In his forbidden best-seller, published anonymously between 1781 and 1788,
Mercier emphasized that “freedom of the press will always be the yardstick of civil
liberty: and it is a sort of thermometer to know at first glance what a people has lost
or gained”. Preventative censorship was the expression of despotism or, in a lighter
vein, the equivalent of “a little passport for stupidity”.177
Allow thinking and talking; the public will be the judge; it will correct authors too. The
safest way to purify the publishing sector is making it free: obstacles upset; prohibitions and
hindrances generate the libels we complain about. If despotism could kill thought in its
sanctuary and stop the sign of our ideas from flying into the soul of our fellows, it would.
However, as it can not tear away his tongue from the philosopher and cut off his hands, it
sets up the inquisition on the streets, crowds the borders with its clerks, disseminates spies
everywhere, and opens up the boxes to stop the unavoidable progress of morals and of the
truth: it is a vain and childish undertaking! It is an unnecessary act against the natural right
of the universal society and the patriotic rights of a particular society!178

Condorcet’s vision of a free world engaged in a disinterested and collective

search for the truth in all possible fields of knowledge and Mercier’s tirade against
the principle of the preventative control, both expressed one of the many
Enlightenment approaches to freedom of the press and anticipated a future in which
the politics and economy of books would persist and flourish in a wholly new rela-
tionship. The contrast between this vision and existing conditions could hardly have
been more evident. It was indeed very clear to the royal censors, some of whom
argued from a consciously conservative perspective, that the interaction between
writing, public communication and the civil power they represented could be and
actually was positive and fruitful. For them, censorship and freedom of the press
took on a different and specific meaning.

175
Condorcet 1847–1849. Fragments sur la liberté de la presse. Vol. 11: 306, 308.
176
Hesse 1990: 116.
177
Mercier 1994. Vol. 1: 293.
178
Mercier 1994. Vol. 1: 757–8.
Chapter 4
The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom
of the Press

Malesherbes and the Reform of the Librairie

The royal censors bore most of the responsibility for the functioning of the French
control system. They had to carry out essential operations on a daily basis: reading
carefully, making suggestions for rewriting texts, and granting (when possible) per-
mission to publish. The participants in the production process converged around a
single goal: to make a book legally available to readers through the open market.
The painstaking diligence of the royal censors sustained the scheme devised by the
Chancelier de France, Louis II Phélypeaux de Pontchartrain, in the early eighteenth
century.1 It was the censors’ commitment that ensured the survival of censorship
institutions until the outbreak of the Revolution. If the principle of control over
printed matter was by and large acknowledged as necessary, its application in indi-
vidual cases would often, throughout the century, arouse fierce criticism. The main
motives for complaint were the slow pace of the revision process, incompetence,
inability to resist interference from authors or publishers, and blatant bias.
Yet, despite frequent opposition to individual acts of censorship, the institution
as a whole was not questioned. Throughout the eighteenth century a handful of
philosophes, including Montesquieu, Helvétius, and Condorcet, elaborated on the
reasons for abolishing pre-publication control, but most intellectuals argued for a
deep but partial reform of the Librairie that presupposed its preservation. In fact,
Voltaire took the opportunity of the positive assessment of his Temple du goût in
1733 to define the task of censors: instead of judging authors’ style, they should
automatically approve books that did not pose any threat to the State.2 In response
to growing dissatisfaction with censorship in the second half of the century, royal
censors developed a set of beliefs with regard to their value and function within the

1
See Shovlin 2009: 50–58.
2
Voltaire 1877–1885. Vol. 8: 563 footnote 1.

© Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016 99

E. Tortarolo, The Invention of Free Press, International Archives
of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 219,
DOI 10.1007/978-94-017-7346-1_4
100 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

absolute monarchy. They first articulated this in terms of professional identity and
solidarity, against the critics of the Librairie and the critics of preventative censor-
ship. This ideology successfully defined and delineated an area in which the inter-
vention of the royal censors could be acknowledged by both the political power they
represented and the authors subject to their decisions. A shifting balance of author-
ity and intellectual prestige was established. Central to this functionally ambiguous
understanding of the censors’ role was a conception of freedom conditioned by the
numerous participants in the lengthy process of pre-publication production and con-
trol.3 This participatory freedom was distinct from the absolute freedom of Miltonic
origin that had come to define the printing regime in England by the middle of the
eighteenth century, and it encompassed two key features of the French system:
police control over the intellectual content of publications, and economic protection
for printers and the authors who conducted business with them.
For many reasons Malesherbes was the pivotal figure in the creation of this spe-
cific understanding of intellectual and editorial freedom. As Director of the Librairie,
Malesherbes was personally involved in the assessment of numerous works submit-
ted for publication.4 He intervened on two occasions in 1752 and 1759 to allow the
Encyclopédie to be published despite the vigorous protests of the Gallican Church,
the Paris Parlement and the Court; he also actively supported Rousseau. These are
well-known examples of Malesherbes’ defence of the most outstanding thinkers of
the Enlightenment. At least as important was his role as the final arbiter in the pro-
tracted negotiations that surrounded the publication of a book or the importation of
a book or periodical from outside France. The day-to-day practice of control saw
flexible and open-ended discussion at every stage of production and distribution. All
parties involved were acknowledged as relevant interlocutors and had some say in
the formulation of the final judgment on the total or partial admissibility of the book
or periodical in question.
Malesherbes often delved into the different practical aspects and implications of
individual texts in order to locate them within his overarching understanding of
monarchical power and civil society. A number of examples from the 1750s illus-
trate this. In 1755, the editor of the Journal Encyclopédique Pierre Rousseau
requested Malesherbes’ tacit permission to import copies of his journal from Liège
into France. His deference to Malesherbes was evident in his letter of 28 November;
what was also evident, however, was his intention to explore other avenues, namely
favour at court and influential contacts, were Malesherbes to deny him an import
permit.
I know, Monsieur, that all privileges of the journals are close to your heart, I anticipated it;
it would not be sensible to ask an authentic permission, but I do think the wisdom of your
ministry will not be damaged in the least if you tacitly promise me the entry of the journal
[into France]. I dare, Monsieur, declare that you will not detect anything opposed to the
grace You bestow upon me: on the contrary, Your favour will make me even more careful
than I was determined to be. Madame de Pompadour, the cardinal de Tencin, the Chancellor

3
The term “functional ambiguity” was coined by Patterson 1984.
4
See Grosclaude 1961; Shaw 1966 (both are based on a comprehensive documentation).
Malesherbes and the Reform of the Librairie 101

and other highly respectable personalities have already subscribed; I find myself in a cruel
embarrassment as I will not do anything that might estrange me from Your kindness. If You,
Monsieur, will persevere in Your denial, I will not challenge it, except by donating a copy
of this journal, in case You will order its confiscation; I will persist in this intention.

The rest of their correspondence shows that the tug-of-war between the two was
carried on with a tangible sense of each others’ power and influence. Malesherbes
did not want to compromise himself openly for Pierre Rousseau and recommended
that the editor send the journal to his powerful supporters with permissions particu-
lières, individual authorizations that would circumvent the postal control of imported
books. Pierre Rousseau replied and asked for permission to import 200 copies. He
backed up his request with a list of his friends at court and a description of the sever-
ity of censorship in Liège, where the publication had to gain approval in the first
place. This highlighting of transnational criteria was but one aspect of the appeal,
which was further reinforced by Pierre Rousseau reminding Malesherbes of his own
leniency in other cases:
Clement, who was publishing in London detestable gazettes openly on sale in Paris, the
pamphlet by abbé de Laporte and many more writings, less decent than mine, enjoyed an
advantage that Your Goodness will grant me. […] Shall I be the only one to bear the brunt
of Your ministry?5

On occasion, however, Malesherbes took full advantage of his prerogatives to

intervene directly in texts submitted for a printing privilege or tacit permission.
When he received the manuscript of the Almanach des auteurs for the year 1756, a
semi-official publication, Malesherbes implemented certain alterations to safeguard
the respectability of the philosophes:
Montesquieu: say that the Lettres persanes are attributed to him and that he has disclaimed
them […]. Diderot: it is necessary to put in that the Indiscrete Jewels [Bijoux indiscrets] and
the Philosophical Thoughts [Pensées philosophiques] have been attributed to him, but add
that he has always disclaimed them.6

Malesherbes wrote extensive notes on the already detailed commentary that the
royal censor Paul Fouchet had prepared on the L’Origine de l’univers expliquée par

5
BnF, MS fr., 22133, ff. 18–26. See Birn 1964: 159, on the exchange of views between Malesherbes
and Pierre Rousseau.
6
BnF, MS fr., 22133, ff. 43–4. Almanac des auteurs. The complete title reads La France littéraire
ou les beaux arts, contenant les noms & les ouvrages des gens de lettres, des sçavans & des artistes
célèbres qui vivent actuellement en France: augmentée du catalogue des Académies établies tant
à Paris, que dans les différentes villes du Royaume, Paris: Duchesne 1756. Avec approbation &
privilège du Roi. The privilege was signed by de Cahusac, 24 December, 1755. The entry “Diderot”
included the “pensées sur l’interprétation de la nature 1754. Il a la principale part à l’Encyclopédie
dont il est un des éditeurs. On lui attribue d’autres ouvrages tels que la Lettre sur les aveugles à
l’usage de ceux qui voyent, 1749, in 12°. Les Bijoux indiscrets, les Pensées philosophiques, &
l’Histoire & le secret de la peinture en cire; mais il n’a jamais avoué ces quatre derniers ouvrages”
(74–5). The entry “Montesquieu” did not list any of his works and merely mentioned 10 January,
1755 as the date of his death (259).
102 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

un principe de la matière. This work, written by the apparently orthodox but in fact
“fatalist” and atheistic thinker, Pierre Estève, was published in Avignon in 1748.7
Malesherbes sought out personal contact with authors and had a keen and pro-
found interest in scholarly research which he applied to his conception of censor-
ship. His guidelines for royal censors were a part of his vision of the nature and
future development of the French monarchy. His Mémoires were written during the
crisis of 1758–1759 that culminated in the prohibition of the Encyclopédie and the
suppression of De l’Esprit. Malesherbes used them to explain his approach to the
question of how to control and encourage the book trade.
Before writing these Mémoires, Malesherbes had a private dialogue with the
economist Forbonnais about the role and purpose of the monarchical administration
in controlling books and ideas. According to Malesherbes, the different nature of
the French and English constitutions shaped opposing notions of responsibility
towards the public and of control of domestic peace. On 19 August 1756 Malesherbes
had a long conversation with Forbonnais about the relationship between political
liberty and the police. Forbonnais summed up his thoughts in a report to Malesherbes
in which he argued that “in some countries political liberty makes up for the lack of
police and that sometimes the careful preservation of the police makes up exactly
for what is lost in terms of political liberty”.8
In an attached memorandum Forbonnais elaborated on the principles he had for-
mulated in his Elemens du commerce that, somewhat ironically, had been published
in 1754 with a permission tacite and a fake place of publication. Forbonnais’
thoughts hinged upon the idea of a benevolent, ‘general interest’ which was crucial
for a well-ordered society. This led him to insist upon traders’ responsibility to
practice “submission to the laws” of their country, granting it a form of “prefer-
ence”, which amounted to surrendering personal gain when it contradicted the col-
lective interest as defined by the royal administration.9 Forbonnais’ general point,
which applied equally to the book trade, was that “the laws that regulate trade in
general never sufficiently forbid fraud and trickery: the inquiry into these points
requires utmost attention. The excess [of laws] destroys freedom, utter negligence
brings in license. One should not suppress laws altogether, but should limit them
and see that their application be very easy”.10
In theorizing the clear-cut distinction between liberty and licence, Forbonnais
referred to Melon’s point in the latter’s Essai politique, which hoped to encourage a
focus on the “common good” as the principal goal of economic activity and claimed
that “Liberty in a government does not consist of the licence to do anything one
wants, but exclusively of doing what is not contrary to the general good”.11

7
Moureau 1997; Weil 1999: 56–7.
8
BnF, MS fr., 22133, f. 58. For an analysis of this document see Ives 2003.
9
Forbonnais 1754: 86.
10
Forbonnais 1754: 79.
11
Melon 1754: 140. Melon’s book was first published in 1734.
Malesherbes and the Reform of the Librairie 103

In Forbonnais’ report, France and England represented opposite models for

viewing the relationship between human beings and collective rules as embodied in
their constitutions, which, argued Forbonnais, “have more influence on the preju-
dices of men than climate and religion”. Constitutions expressed the principles that
allowed the police to provide the justice necessary “for the safety and peacefulness
of men”. In England, the balance between the laws regulating the police and the
actual enforcement of those laws was the opposite to the system in France. Across
the Channel laws against libel in books and periodicals were – formally – very rig-
orous but they were checked by the necessity to protect political liberty, so that
“spirits are kept in a state of ferment liable to alarm ministers and the government.
Those instruments of private men have been carefully preserved to warn, inform and
rouse the people”.12 Were the vehemence of the attacks against the real or pretended
abuses of the government to diminish, “the entire fall of freedom” would, he main-
tained, soon follow . “[T]his is the reason why English licence, this lack of police
that respectable people (honnêtes gens) in London often resent and that Frenchmen
judge intolerable in their stay there, is an abuse linked to a general good that society
enjoys or believes itself to enjoy”.13
In France power was centred exclusively on the person of the monarch. Who was
its sole source. What Forbonnais stressed was that the different logic underpinning
the French legal system accordingly produced the opposite result. “The magistrates
who are charged to judge on behalf of the king must have permission to wield an
arbitrary authority to the extent that peacefulness be restored without more ado”
whenever it is necessary. But they also had to comply with clear limits in inflicting
punishments so as to do no damage to “civil liberty”. Nonetheless Forbonnais
judged it imperative to pursue and punish libellous authors aggressively: it was
unacceptable that “under the pretext of discussing taste and new books” individuals
were slandered and their honour impugned: “public order, safety and peacefulness
of the citizens” would be badly served. Magistrates were entitled to take the initia-
tive with a certain degree of autonomy, within the bounds set by the sovereign, to
avoid the entanglements of formal justice.
In Forbonnais’ vision, therefore, the superiority of the French system was based
on its efficacy in maintaining peace and order, and protecting private honour, while
the English constitution on the other hand had integrated the vicissitudes of public
opinion into its internal balance, thereby producing constant ferment and lively dis-
agreement. Even when Forbonnais acknowledged that “emulation, […] crucial to
literary life”, must be expressed in criticism, as “every man, when he is writing,
presents his work to the judgment of the public”, he reminded the editors of literary
periodicals that “no author ever intended to subject himself to more humiliating
comparisons and brawls than glory would have bestowed on him”. Forbonnais
claimed that, whatever arguments might be made in favour of the civil liberty
enjoyed by the authors of critical reviews, these had to be seen as particular cases
opposed to a general object. Since their activity was free, it was their duty to

12
BnF, MS fr., 22133, ff. 65–6.
13
BnF, MS fr., 22133, f. 67.
104 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

understand the conditions attached; and “if for the benefit of the public a calculation
is required, the issue would be solved very quickly”.14
Malesherbes commented extensively on Forbonnais’ remarks and his scattered
annotations formed the core of his thoughts in the third part of his Mémoires.15
Malesherbes agreed that France and England rested founded upon opposite consti-
tutional foundations.16 He also conceded that a public discussion on some kinds of
government decision-making might have a positive impact on the conduct of pres-
ent and future ministers without thereby jeopardizing the efficacy of decisions made
on behalf of the sovereign. Nonetheless “it would be the subject of a very delicate
discussion to set the limits of the toleration that has to be accepted or abated in this
field”. Precisely because it was so delicate, Malesherbes moved from a discussion
of the theoretical limits to an analysis of the actuality of the rules concerning the
criteria of the Librairie. For centuries the French system had been based on the
principle that an explicit permission was required for a book to be published and
that the permission be printed in the book. “All this has the objective to forbid those
books contrary to religion, the State, to good mores etc. or personal satires and slan-
derous pamphlets”. In this report, based as it was on the superiority of the law,
immutable through time and equal to all, Malesherbes had to acknowledge that the
actions of the censors could not be predetermined exactly, as it depended on each
one’s mood, attitude, and individual way of thinking. Moreover, “the ministry
changes and the principles change at the same time. The ministry resides in one
person, and there have been a number of instances of changes where authors, cen-
sors and publishers most of the time are at their wits’ end to know what to do”. The
public suffers the negative consequences of this situation: it sees that “a part of their
pleasures and of their education depends on the whims of one man”.17 This principle
became a core element of the censors’ understanding of their own role. In 1758
Malesherbes’ Mémoires elaborated upon some of the subjects which arose in his
exchange with Forbonnais. In particular he expounded the notion of freedom as an
absence of such constraints as were not specifically considered by the law. In other
words, it was the law that shaped the boundaries for public communication and cre-
ated liberty, not the other way around.18
While the idea cropped up frequently in his Mémoires that the French constitu-
tional arrangement was compatible only with preventative censorship, he nonethe-
less deemed a drastic reduction of the areas where the censors were entitled to

14
BnF, MS fr., 22133, ff. 68–69.
15
Malesherbes further developed these thoughts in a text published posthumously in Grosclaude
1960: 184–5 and in Rousseau and Malesherbes 19911991: 20–1 footnote 2.
16
Malesherbes’s understanding of the notion of constitution was based on his interpretation of
Montesquieu (Rousseau and Malesherbes 1991: 19). The fundamental difference between France
and England in terms of their constitutional arrangement was fully acknowledged. It was one of
the reasons why in France the widespread sympathy for the English constitution was replaced by
a prevalent Anglophobic attitude in the second half of the eighteenth century. See Maza 1997.
17
BnF, MS fr., 22133, ff. 59–64.
18
Larrère 1992: 114–8 has an in-depth analysis of how Melon and Forbonnois used this concept in
production analysis.
Malesherbes and the Reform of the Librairie 105

regulate literary life to be entirely proper: “it is time to emancipate men of letters
from the tyranny of these sorts of inspectors who have been placed on their
thoughts”.19 As in many sectors of the press, the reality of the situation had to be
acknowledged: it was impossible to repress and eradicate the vast majority of unau-
thorized publications circulating in France. This was not to anticipate the disappear-
ance of preventative censorship. If Malesherbes wanted the censors to be relieved of
the most painstaking control tasks, he did not seek to do away with them; rather, he
wished to overhaul their responsibilities. Malesherbes aimed at a clearly visible
target, “to narrow down the object of censorship to that which concerns religion,
good mores and sovereign authority”. This was, however, never realized in the prac-
tice of preventative control in ancien regime France.
The inherent tension between police and legislation, which Malesherbes
described as an essential component of the French constitutional system in his 1756
exchange with Forbonnais, was in fact a crucial pivot in the projected reforms of the
1770s that aimed to redefine the censors’ mandate. For the time being, Malesherbes’
main suggestion went unheeded. He proposed that all subjects alien to religion,
good mores and the supreme authority, that is “primarily books that treat some parts
of government, like legislation, politics, military matters, finance etc.”, should be
printed without preventative censorship, stipulating only that the name of the author
be mentioned: “let the work be published at the authors’ risk, danger and luck”.20
Forbonnais focused on the contrast between the English and the French systems
in order to defend the preventative censorship in France; Malesherbes assented fully
to Forbonnais’ perspective until the summer of 1788, when he pleaded for a new
constitutional arrangement, that the king was asked to concede in the face of national
collapse. Art. 7 of the declaration that Malesherbes had written for the king to enact
included the principle that topics of general interest be treated without preventative
censorship: disrespecting religion and good mores and libelling individuals would
result in harsh punishment.21 It was the convocation of the Estates General which
reversed the absolutist course of French history and saw the new regime undertake
to adopt the English system of press regulation. The paradox of the French press, in
which license thrived while liberty was absent, would come to an end.
Pre-revolutionary plans to reform the Librairie collided with the indisputable
absolutist principle and had to come to terms with it. Even Malesherbes’ liberalism
should not be exaggerated: at the height of the monarchy’s commitment to collabo-
ration with the philosophes, when Malesherbes was admitted to the Académie de
France in 1775, he acknowledged in his reception speech that a “happy enthusiasm
has taken hold of all minds, and that the time has come when every man capable of
thinking and especially of writing deems himself to have an obligation to direct his

19
Malesherbes 1994: 98. The most insightful examination of the Mémoires sur la Librairie is
Roger Chartier’s Introduction, Malesherbes 1994: 7–47. See also Birn 1989; Rousseau and
Malesherbes 1991. Introduction: 18–21; Kelly 1979.
20
Malesherbes 1994: 119.
21
Malesherbes 2010. Mémoire sur la situation présente des affaires en juillet 1788: 123–265, 193–
196. A similar point is raised in his Mémoire sur la liberté de la presse, Malesherbes 1994.
106 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

thoughts to the public good”.22 The definition, however, of who was capable of
thinking and writing was socially and politically limited, and in 1775 Malesherbes
was reluctant to surrender control entirely over the circulation of books and ideas.

In the World of the Royal Censors

The remarks of Malesherbes in his Mémoires, first published posthumously in 1809,

have been at the core of most recent descriptions of French absolutist institutions,
the inference being that there was an awareness within the administration that pub-
lic discussion could not be stifled and rather should be opened up. A number of
royal censors agreed with the opinions that Malesherbes had voiced to the Dauphin
in 1758, without becoming convinced that their task was superfluous, let alone
inimical to the public good. Projects of reform offered the opportunity to reshape
the contours of their professional identity.
After 1770, the coup d’état mounted by Maupeou with the approval of King
Louis XV afforded them the opportunity to overhaul the system of controls, in keep-
ing with the Chancellor’s intention to suppress the Parliaments and replace them
with new magistracies managed by royal agents. Maupeou was concerned that the
censorship imposed by the Librairie was inefficient, and ironically his sense of the
inadequacy of censorship was reinforced by the protests that followed his coup and
the enforced closure of oppositional publications like the Spectateur français by
Jacques Vincent Delacroix.23 The journal of the Physiocrats published an exchange
in 1771 between Du Pont de Nemours, one of the leaders of the movement, and the
censor responsible for vetting each issue, the conservative author Jacob-Nicolas
Moreau. As pressure from above increased, Du Pont de Nemours argued that authors
should be exempt from preventative censorship, provided that they placed their
name on the frontispiece. Du Pont was implicitly referring to the English arrange-
ment whereby libel was prosecuted ex post facto. “Errors can do no harm, given that
the more enlightened men have the right to refute them. Errors are dangerous only
when they are persecuted, and always spread when they are forbidden”. Moreau
replied that freedom is indeed necessary but did not demur from his conviction that
preventative censorship could not be set aside.24

22
Discours prononcés dans l’Académie française 1775: 9–10.
23
See Maza 1993: 58; Gilot 1999. In 1768 Maupeou ordered an internal investigation to be con-
ducted on some of the royal censors. It turned out to be incomplete and ineffectual: see Hanley
2002. In 1770 Jean Capperronnier, since 1759 the Directeur des imprimés at the Bibliothèque du
Roi and royal censor for history and literature, was praised in a report. However, he was also
blamed for “being allegedly quite easy-going” it was further remarked that apparently “his obliga-
tions do not allow him to examine carefully” (BnF, ms Joly de Fleury, 2192, f. 197). It was his
reputation as a tolerant censor that prompted Helvétius to suggest Capperronnier when a censor
was required for the first recantation of De l’Esprit, the Lettre au Révérend père ***, Jésuite.
Malesherbes disregarded Helvétius’s proposal and appointed Salmon instead (Smith 1965: 32).
24
Ephémérides du citoyen 1777, 1: vii-xviii. See Echeverria 1985: 204–5.
In the World of the Royal Censors 107

In fact, the Maupeou period saw the situation of writers who protested against
the new constraints on their activity deteriorate markedly. Typifying the period, in
October 1771, Aubusson elaborated on the leeway to be allowed to writers, but did
not advocate the abolition of preventative censorship and aligned himself with
Malesherbes’ argument: “It is therefore evident that freedom of the press, in this
respect [as regards an economic science] and also in general for all that does not
offend religion, good mores or the reputation of a citizen, must be always full and
complete, without any exceptions ever moment in a civilized nation; it is an essen-
tial right that trustees of authority cannot infringe without breaching the fundamen-
tal law of any equitable government […]”.25 To a foreigner like Joseph Priestley, the
strategy of the Librairie in those years was incomprehensible. He complained to his
correspondent, the Reverend William Graham, that a paragraph on the composition
of air was deemed unacceptable: “At the moment [the French authors] are awfully
hindered by the censors of the press. The person who translated my Treatise on Air
could not get the permission to have in the preface the paragraph where I talk of the
consequences of the diffusion of knowledge regarding religion. A person is translat-
ing my Essay on Government but must print it in Holland and get it into France by
stealth”.26
In early 1773 Chancellor Maupeou charged Sartine with the task of working out
a more effective system of censorship. Sartine inquired among those royal censors
who were most engaged in the business and were best acquainted with the publish-
ing trade. In their replies none of them showed any confidence in the reliability and
efficacy of preventative censorship as it then was. In their reports they advocated
increased control over the printing industry and expressed the view that both authors
and publishers cheated the censors and the Librairie whenever they had the chance
to do so. The royal censors agreed that they were the only representatives of the

25
d’Aubusson 1771: 18. The confrontation between supporters and opponents of Maupeou’s
reforms as well as the growing control of public opinion by the monarchy are vividly described in
Hudson 1973.
26
“At present they [the French] are miserably hampered by the censeurs of the press. The person
who has translated my Treatise on Air could not obtain leave to insert that paragraph in the preface
in which I speak of the consequence of the spread of knowledge with respect to religion. A person
is translating my Essay on Government; but he must print it in Holland, and get it into France
clandestinely. Upon the whole, I thought the country by no means a desirable one to live in, or stay
much in, and I wonder much at the taste of my countrymen, who spend so much of their time, and
of their money, there” (Letter to Reverend William Graham, no date, but written in Paris in 1774:
Priestley 2003. Vol. 1: 256–7). See the Avertissement du traducteur emphasizing that the transla-
tion follows the original closely (Priestley 1778: viii). On pp. xxiii–xxiv stricken through lines
made clear to the readers a passage that could not be translated. As explained in his letter to
Graham, the paragraph expunged from the French translation conveyed Priestley’s confidence that
“This rapid progress of knowledge, which, like the progress of a wave of the sea, of sound, or of
light from the sun, extends itself not this way or that way only, but in all directions, will, I doubt
not, be the means, under God, of extirpating all error and prejudice, and of putting an end to all
undue and usurped authority in the business of religion, as well as of science; and all the efforts of
interested friends of corrupt establishments of all kind will be ineffectual for their support in this
enlightened age: though, by retarding their downfall, they may make the final ruin of them more
complete and glorious” (Priestley 1772: xv).
108 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

general interest of the monarchy in the literary sphere. One of the most experienced
censors and, since 1763, secretary of the Librairie under Sartine, François Marin,
replied that he had already written reports in order to remedy the abuses in the cen-
soring process and asked for more specific elements to comment upon.27 Other cen-
sors, such as Gardanne, who had been formerly very active,28 made no bones about
their conviction that censorship was inefficient and submitted a long list of potential
improvements that simultaneously demonstrated the intrinsic weaknesses of the
system.
When censors deny permission for a manuscript to be published, or when he has expunged
many sentences, the author and the printer change the title or wait until the previous request
has been forgotten and ask for a new censor, and persevere in the same trick until they are
assigned the censor they wanted.29

Gardanne explicitly questioned the utility of the royal censors: printers gave
Paris as the place of publication even if the censors had not issued a privilege.
Gardanne advised that censors should be granted greater prerogatives and that one
censor for each class (theology, jurisprudence, literature and the arts) should use the
Chambre syndicale to check up on all titles that mentioned disputes, polemics, and
sensitive topics. The decisions made by these censors should be final, as they repre-
sented the supreme magistrate himself. Once they had recovered their ‘full and
proper’ authority, the censors should be authorized to have the last word on the
objections of writers whose works were rejected, as well as on books that had been
approved but had deeply offended elements of the reading public. Gardanne argued
that the censors should wield an indisputable authority and that the inspector of
police should implement their decisions. The whole system would thereby have
been streamlined. In so arguing, he seemed to agree with the substance of
Malesherbes’ thoughts of 1758 (which he did not mention): the permissions tacites
were an anomaly, and a serious anomaly at that since there were far too many of
them.30 Besides, Gardanne pointed out that quite a few books were published thanks
to oral, unrecorded (but entirely lawful) permissions and then condemned and

27
Upon the request of Joseph d’Héméry François Marin wrote in 1764 a report entitled
Représentations et observations en forme de mémoire sur l’état ancien et actuel de la Librairie et
particulièrement sur la propriété des privilèges, etc. présentées à M. Sartine par les syndic et
adjoints, et en marge les observations de M. Marin faites sur chaque article, d’après les notes
instructives que je [d’Héméry] lui ai remises par ordre du magistrat, Mars 1764, BnF, Fonds
Français 22183. It is analyzed in Birn 1970–1971: 153–4. Marin was befriended by Voltaire: see
Mortier 1998. On 1 September 1771 Marin was appointed the editor of the Gazette de France. In
1758 he published a Histoire de Saladin, sultan d’Egypte et de Syrie. Paris-La Haye, 1758. From
October 1763 he was the secretary general of the Librairie under Sartine (Feyel 2000: 760). As the
editor of the Gazette de France he worked closely alongside with the two censors Gérard and
Rayneval. The details from his report of 26 July 1774 are in Feyel 2000: 761. In the 1770s he was
heavily criticized by the philosophes and especially by Grimm and Caron de Beaumarchais.
28
See the evidence provided by Dawson 2006.
29
BnF, MS fr. 22017.
30
Malesherbes doubted that the permissions tacites could be the solution to the problem
(Malesherbes 1994: 203–9).
In the World of the Royal Censors 109

seized. This undermined the authority of the individual censors who had approved
them. Gardanne envisaged a bureaucratic evolution of the censors’ powers as the
solution to the ambiguities of the system and believed that the strengthening of their
role as elements of the absolutist state would offset the negative consequences of
permissions tacites and of collusion between authors and publishers to elude the
censors’ control.
Gardanne’s colleagues shared his ambition to reinforce the censors’ authority as
public agents. Adanson stressed that it was the censor’s task to ensure the literary
quality of manuscripts: he should be responsible for preventing books from reach-
ing the market that brought no new knowledge to the readers and were simply a
waste of money. Rather than protecting religion and the monarchy, censors should
safeguard readers from the greed of publishers and authors. Adanson mentioned as
an example the Encyclopédie published in Yverdon that, according to him, was a
mere duplicate of the Encyclopédie of Diderot and d’Alembert. He did not, how-
ever, consider the distinctively Protestant ethos of the Yverdon Encyclopédie to be
deserving of criticism.31
Prelot and d’Hermilly requested that a new tax be levied on books published with
a permission tacite, and called for new and more stringent controls on colportage
and provincial printers. All censors who replied to Sartine focused on ways to rein-
vigorate their role and urged, as Gardanne wrote, that unequivocal and public rules
would force the printers to behave accordingly and strengthen the censors in their
efforts to regulate the book trade.
In late 1773 the chancellor reacted to this poll with a new set of guidelines.32
These reiterated rules that had faded into oblivion: authors should not be able to
choose the censor of their liking, the name of the censor and his decision about the
manuscript should remain secret, as well as the name of the document’s author. Any
contact between the author and the censor was forbidden. The chancellor arrogated
to himself the power to approve a manuscript and make the final decision. Some of
the guidelines referred to remarks made by Malesherbes, including the condition
that authors should place their name on the frontispiece and print the privilege in its
entirety. Not all of the censors’ suggestions were accepted; for instance the stamp
tax on all books to prevent counterfeits and increase the revenues of the administra-
tion was rejected.33
The reform proposal of 1773 aimed to break the alliance between the authors and
the publishers, in order to single out those printers who eluded controls and win
over the collaboration of men of letters by underpinning the kind of freedom which
writers enjoyed and censors upheld on behalf of the monarchy. The reform was
intended to rein in the publishers: if unrestricted by the censors, they would have

31
Donato 1996.
32
BnF, MS fr., 22017, ff. 38–39, 8 December 1773.
33
Circulaire pour la declaration des contrefaçons en magasin, BnF, MS fr. 22017, ff. 44–47;
Mémoire servant d’instruction sur la manière de procéder à l’estampillage des livres, BnF, Ms fr.
22017, ff. 48–51.
110 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

continued to erode the limited freedom that resulted from the collaboration between
the monarchy and writers.
The decree of 1777 fulfilled some of the requirements put forward in this memo-
randum. Publishers could not have an indefinite copyright, as this was now limited
to 10 years by law. The administration provided authors with a new role in their
relation with publishers, not with the Librairie, that remained the only agency that
could grant permission to publish. Loosening their dependency on the publishers
meant in fact maintaining the authors’ subordination to the Librairie and the
censors.34
The 1777 decree was an attack on the small group of Parisian publishers who had
built up a position of dominance vis-à-vis writers and provincial printers, as it sig-
nificantly enlarged the public domain of titles available.35 Some reactions to it com-
mented favourably on its implications for a wider discussion in terms reminiscent of
Condorcet. The perpetual monopoly of texts, argued one anonymous supporter of
the government, in fact Louis-Valentin de Goetzmann, had the paradoxical conse-
quence that any critique or detailed confutation would infringe upon the law.
In order to criticize, it is necessary to transcribe the passages under review. […] On the
contrary, [a well-ordered legislation] should open up a very wide field to an honest and
enlightened criticism, should promote it for the progress of science and letters, should
therefore allow any transcription, even of whole books, if necessary for a thoughtful cri-
tique. Sovereigns should therefore consider the men of letters as censors of each others’
books and therefore as entitled to the right of commenting, of criticizing their respective
works, even of having freely published longer or shorter parts of it, as they deem it appro-
priate to carry out their objective.36

Those who objected to the decree detected the imprint of “our Philosophistes
who claim to be the instructors of humankind” and who call into question the right
of property, and as such the objectors championed the role of the Parisian
publishers.37
Malesherbes resigned from his post at the Librairie in 1763. The following years
saw increasing dissension between advocates of alternative strategies to reform the
monarchy. These were reflected in the unpredictable and vacillating attitudes and
decisions of the censors. The practice of censorship was contingent on authors’ abil-
ity to guess the limits beyond which the authorities would not allow them to express
themselves nor provide the protection of the royal privilege.
These years also provided the opportunity to realise some of Malesherbes’ mus-
ings in his Mémoires, namely the idea of freedom of the press as a form of condi-
tional liberty, a liberty within boundaries, the parameters of which were constantly
redefined by writers and censors. The asymmetric relationship between the two
nonetheless permitted a debate founded on the understanding that while some

34
For the best treatment of this issue see Hesse 1990.
35
McLeod 2011: 214.
36
Goetzmann 1778: 32 (the preface is dated 20 January 1778).
37
Lettre à un ami: 3.
In the World of the Royal Censors 111

notions were totally illegitimate and not to be spoken of, only an open discussion
would promote civil progress.
It is hardly possible to sketch the personality of every single royal censor. It is
even more difficult to assess their interests and attitudes as a whole.38 Their reports
varied widely as regards their accuracy and familiarity with the subjects treated in
the manuscript in question. Understandably, many reports were nothing more than
a summary, more or less detailed, of its content followed by a statement expressing
the censor’s opinion on its publication. In a number of cases, censors commented on
the style of the manuscript and the structure of the text, foregrounding their own
literary or philosophical taste. In reacting to a novel analysis of political economy,
of historical perspective or of religious attitudes, censors had a chance to express,
however partially, their own intellectual position. In many cases, the paucity of
sources or the apparent weakness of their personality make it virtually impossible to
define exactly their cultural framework. Despite these limitations, it is clear that
some royal censors were challenged by the Librairie’s requirement of a detailed
argument for or against granting a permission and they elaborated on the meaning
of their task as components of the absolutist system. In numerous analytical essays,
Raymond Birn has investigated the practice of royal censorship in order to delineate
the Librairie’s collective choices.39 As for the period from the 1750s until 1789, the
reports on the manuscripts submitted for permission can be examined in order to
ascertain the character of the most active censors.
Among them Jean-Baptiste-Claude Cadet de Saineville (sometimes spelled de
Senneville) stands out as a particularly remarkable figure.40 He went to great lengths
to document and provide careful explanations for his assessments, and he invariably
framed his decisions within the context of his vision of the censor’s responsibility,
and of the authors’ right to contribute to the well-being of the kingdom.41 A lawyer
who was admitted to the Parisian bar in 1749,42 Cadet de Saineville was a well-
known if controversial figure in the literary world: Grub street journalists suspected
him of unjustly betraying personal foes to the police.43 Cadet de Saineville was
entrusted with most of the manuscripts on economic and political subjects that were
submitted for permission in the 1770s and 1780s. His post as a royal censor allowed
him to examine and put in perspective, the changes in approach by authors and the
shifting boundaries between what was licit and illicit in the book trade. Fully aware
as he was of the inconsistent pressure ministers imposed on the royal censors, he

38
Hanley 2005. Vol. 1.
39
See Birn 2007 (refuting de Negroni 1995: 40–51). An English version of La Censure Royale has
been published in 2012 (Birn 2012) with two additional chapters.
40
Birn 2012: 99–113, has analyzed some of Saineville’s reports.
41
Saineville is mentioned and briefly analyzed also in Cerf 1967: 12–22.
42
Fitzsimmons 1987: 206.
43
See Bachaumont 1777–1789. Vol. 30: 127: the detention of a M. le Maitre at the Bastille was
blamed on Saineville. In Dutens 1807. Vol. 3: 229–31, Saineville was at the centre of a humorous
episode that occurred at the café Procope. Rétif de la Bretonne, who disliked Saineville, called him
a “plat bourgeois” (Rétif de la Bretonne 1989. Vol. 2: 1006).
112 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

was not afraid to admit that the political context of individual submissions was
crucial.
For Cadet de Saineville, a form of “participatory freedom” was an element of
constitutional balance within the French monarchy as it associated authors with the
monarchy in a common endeavour. To Cadet de Saineville, royal censorship as an
institution fostered freedom of discussion in its optimal form. Not only was freedom
of discussion compatible with the monarchy, but only the exercise of sovereignty
via the censors allowed polarized opinions to grow into a productive discussion.
Dissent was acknowledged and accepted, provided that it was mediated by the cen-
sors within the framework of shared fundamental values. The practice of royal cen-
sorship was part of the freedom of the press. Censors, Cadet de Saineville would
have argued, encouraged and promoted intellectual activity; they did not stifle it.
They underpinned the conditions for participation in a system that was supposed to
encourage free dialogue but they also suppressed texts which were incompatible
with the principles of the French monarchy and the progress of civilization. Personal
libels, as Malesherbes argued repeatedly, were intolerable within the protected
space of free debate. Empty magniloquence without reference to empirical knowl-
edge could not be accepted as it skewed the course of the discussion. Cadet de
Saineville held quite personal views that were challenged directly by manuscripts
that argued for reforms and innovations without questioning, at least prima facie,
the fundamentals of absolutism.
A case in point was Physiocracy, with which Cadet de Saineville strongly dis-
agreed. He was assigned to read the manuscript of L’ordre social by Guillaume-
François Le Trosne and was confronted with one of the manifestos of the physiocratic
movement. In his report, Cadet de Saineville noted that he had requested the author
to rephrase a passage criticizing Necker, without citing his name. Necker was the
author of an éloge to Colbert that Letrosne contrasted unfavourably with physio-
cratic principles.44 Interestingly enough, in the same breath, Cadet de Saineville
acknowledged his interference while elaborating on the virtues of free discussion:
I think that the public and perhaps the administration [the ministers] cannot help profiting
from the publicity of this work, notwithstanding the fact that it was written by an economist
[a Physiocrat] and that their doctrine seems to be becoming unfashionable. Truth seems to
me always valuable, no matter which party upholds it; and, given that discussions must be
carried out wisely, without declamations and personal slandering, I do not think that truth
is ever given enough space. In the past the economists were allowed to stray from this rule
too much; it would be dangerous to embrace now the opposite view that would halt the dis-
semination of enlightened ideas that would be very useful.45

Freedom of the press is valuable but could not be untrammelled: Mably, in

his Lettres sur les Etats Unis which Cadet de Saineville approved for publica-
tion with a permission tacite, was correct in underlining the drawbacks that

44
Cfr. Necker 1773. On the importance of this éloge for establishing Necker’s respectability see
Lilti 2005: 372.
45
BnF, MS fr., 22014. f. 139, n. 444, 17 February 1777.
In the World of the Royal Censors 113

ensued in particular “for a new State which gained its liberty before being able
to make use of it”. 46
Cadet de Saineville praised Mably as an author who was aware of the obligations
he incurred in the act of writing and publishing: both in formulating his text and in
placing his name on the frontispiece as a token of his accountability towards the
monarchy and the public. Cadet de Saineville saw himself as an element of the
absolutist monarchy and a component of its civilizing mission. He explicitly
approved the decision of the new Controller General, Turgot, that the 1764 prohibi-
tion on discussion of administrative matters be publicly revoked. The Réflexions sur
les avantages de la liberté d’écrire et d’imprimer sur les matières de l’administration,
written by Morellet from 1760 to 1764 and published eventually in 1775,47 con-
formed perfectly to Cadet de Saineville’s stance: the free press meant that the gov-
ernment profited from a more complete knowledge of the prevailing conditions in
the country, could better develop principles of political economy and ensure that its
decrees were properly implemented.48 When Cadet de Saineville approved and
granted full privilege to Necker’s Sur la législation et le commerce des grains, he
explained in detail the reasons for his decision: in fact his approbation, appended at
the conclusion of the book, was a full-fledged critical review.
Complying with the order of Monseigneur the Keeper of the Seals (Garde des sceaux), I
have read a work entitled “On the corn legislation” [Sur la législation des grains]. The prin-
ciples stated in it seem to differ from those announced by the government on this subject,
however the author has limited himself to a plain discussion of this very important matter;
and truth, it seems to me, cannot but gain from the examination of an issue of such import.
For these reasons I thought that the publication of this work can only be useful. Paris, April
18th, 1775.49

Turgot had apparently refused to take responsibility for either permitting or for-
bidding the publication and circulation of Necker’s treatise, which opposed the free
trade measures enacted in February 1775. He may have suggested to Cadet de
Saineville that he prohibit Necker’s work. Cadet de Saineville was, as Morellet
described him, “a little fastidious in his character and opinions” and it is likely that
he dodged a head-on confrontation with Turgot. What was remarkable, however,
was that while carefully wording his approbation, he stressed his unfailing conviction

46
BnF, MS fr., 22014, f 159, n. 527: “p. 113 Cet auteur a sur la liberté de la presse des principes qui
m’ont paru assez sages; il croit que celle absolue peut être dangereuse dans un état nouveau qui a
acquis sa liberté, avant d’avoir l’art de s’en servir . Il discute à merveille les inconveniens de cette
liberté et veut qu’au moins tout écrivain soit oblige de mettre son nom à son ouvrage, et se sou-
mettre ainsi à l’animadversion des loix, s’il les offense” (27 July 1784, signed by Saineville).
47
See Medlin 1995: 193 footnote 35. Morellet began writing the Réflexions while at the Bastille in
1760: Morellet 1988: 104, 138–40. Indirect evidence of his attitude towards the dangers in manag-
ing censorship is also in Morellet’s (clandestinely and anonymously printed) Préface de la
Comédie des philosophes (Morellet 1760), where he fears that “nothing would be printed unless
approved by twelve theology doctors from Coimbra or Salamanca and by four inquisitors”.
48
BnF, MS fr., 22014, ff. 10–1, n. 746, 30 November 1774, Réflexions sur les avantages de la lib-
erté d’écrire et d’imprimer sur les matières de l’administration.
49
Necker 1775: 175. See Darnton 1969: 613; Birn 2012: 101–2.
114 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

that public debate should be constantly opened up rather than closed down50: Cadet
de Saineville acknowledged frankly that the government was experimenting with
free trade in a physiocratic manner, and emphatically suppressed his opposing per-
sonal opinions. His actions affirm the importance he afforded to unimpeded debate
on subjects of national interest. On April 25, 1775 he approved the Lettres sur le
commerce des grains by Condorcet.51 The boundary between a useful measure of
dissent and an outright challenge to the basis of a well- ordered society, nevertheless
remained unclear. Authors might be unaware that they were questioning unspoken
principles. Cadet de Saineville confronted manuscripts that tested the limits of open
discussion as idealized by the royal censor. A pamphlet on taxation and the grain
trade was submitted for approval in August 1776 and was reviewed again in March
of the following year in order to trace the consequences of changes in the central
administration. To Cadet de Saineville these Vues patriotiques proved that the free-
dom to analyse government measures stretched the limits of acceptability. He
repeated that it was legitimate and desirable to comment critically on the govern-
ment but lauded the restrictions placed on possible abuses.52 When he reviewed the
Essai de finance, a short treatise by Pierre-André O’Heguerty, count de Magnières,
his objections to its publication referred to its poor quality and utter uselessness,
rather than to its defense of physiocratic principles, which, as we have seen, Cadet
de Saineville strenuously disagreed with. Freedom of the press, in his view, ought
not be applicable to truly wretched and inferior books.53
The confrontation between physiocrats and antiphysiocrats raged in the 1770s
and tested Cadet de Saineville’s ability to chart a course between the two approaches,
each one with its supporters in the public sphere, at court and in the government.
Cadet de Saineville approved the publication of the physiocratic tracts Ami de la
France, ou le monopoleur converti54 and De l’instruction publique by Mercier de la
Rivière.55 He also cleared for publication Morellet’s defense of free trade against

50
Morellet 1988: 203.
51
Condorcet 1774: 29.
52
BnF, MS fr., 22015, n. 195, 8 March 1777, n. 1403. “Vues patriotiques ou réflexions d’un citoyen
sur l’impôt et sur le commerce des grains. Ce mss m’a été adressé au mois d’août dernier, les
changemens dans l’administration m’ont déterminé à le garder quelque tems, avant d’en rendre
compte. On a […] abusé de la liberté d’écrire sur les matières qui intéressent le gouvernement; je
l’ay pensé dans le temps; et je l’ay dit sans avoir été écouté; on a mis depuis des entraves à cette
liberté d’écrire et on a très bien fait. Mais cette raison en est elle une pour qu’il soit absolument
interdit d’écrire sur ces matières ? C’est à vous Monsieur, de concert avec Monsieur le garde des
sceaux et Monsieur le contrôleur général à prononcer.” Saineville described the Vues patriotiques
as a text written without declamations in which ideas are developed in order, and required a per-
mission tacite.
53
BnF, MS fr., 22014, f. 105, n. 372, 24 February 1775. The book was published despite Saineville’s
negative assessment (Paris: Bastien, 1775).
54
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 143, n. 1207, 15 December 1775.
55
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 112, n. 1061, 14 August 1775.
In the World of the Royal Censors 115

Necker,56 as well as the Richesse de la Hollande that the bitter anti-physiocrat

Accarias de Serionne had written (though his identity was unknown to Cadet de
Saineville).57 For Cadet de Saineville, steering a middle course and preserving space
for frank discussion meant denying some works access to the legal book market. In
1775 Voltaire defended Turgot in his Diatribe à l’auteur des Ephémérides, addressed
to Baudeau, and blamed the riots against the reforms, the “guerre des farines”, on
the clergy.58
Saineville’s stance was clear: “It is not with declamations nor with personal
attacks that you can successfully proselytize; it is rather with reasons clearly
deduced and capable of persuading and winning over [the audience]”. 59
Censors had to regulate an ongoing discussion that, due to its internal dynamic,
required constant external interventions and readjustments by the royal censors.
Providing “the most far-reaching freedom in the discussion” was the goal of the
idealized impartial censor. It was this role into which Cadet de Saineville projected
himself and cast himself as the victim of conflicts between unscrupulous and biased
parties.60 He had ample opportunity to work out and refine this self-conception.
When Auguste Chambon requested a publication privilege for his polemical tract
against Voltaire, which had been published without privilege in 1764, Cadet de
Saineville complied reluctantly. This was understandable given that Chambon had
taken a violent tone comparable to the impiety that infused the writings of many
philosophes.61
How could a royal censor second the process of Enlightenment? This was a dif-
ficult but not an impossible undertaking. When a manuscript was submitted that was
sympathetic to the philosophes’ principles, Cadet de Saineville could not suppress
his empathy. The text of the Essais historiques et politiques sur les Angloaméricains
is a case in point. “Judging as a reader, this book has been a pleasure, but the

56
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 70, n. 972, 23 March 1775, Analyse de l’ouvrage sur la législation et le
commerce des bleds.
57
BnF, MS fr., 22016, f. 68, n. 1899, 14 August 1778.
58
This episode was recorded by Belin: 353. Voltaire’s writing was published in May 1775, anony-
mously and without place of publication. It was suppressed by the Conseil on 19 August 1775,
because it offended religion (as it claimed that all religions are based on agriculture) and the king’s
authority.
59
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 143, n. 1207, 15 December 1775, in which he reviewed the Ami de la
France, ou le monopoleur converti.
60
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 208, n. 1454, 14 July 1778, the review of the Apologie du commerce.
Saineville expunged the invectives against the philosophes and Raynal in particular.
61
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 46, n. 1816, 28 March 1778. Saineville reviewed Chambon’s work on the
French trade from Marseilles to America. It was first published in 1764 without authorization.
Chambon was now requesting a printing privilege. All unauthorized copies had been seized.
Chambon criticized Voltaire’s views of monogenism in a way that Saineville considered unaccept-
able. “This dissertation is full of harsh words against him [Voltaire]. The author blames his impiety
incessantly and feigns the tone of Christian benevolence while his words are not charitable at all”.
Saineville was in favour of granting the same degree of freedom to those who defend the estab-
lished religion as to those who criticize it. He recommended that a permission tacite be
conceded.
116 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

question is how to assess it as a censor”. The author, Hilliard d’Auberteuil (though,

once again, Cadet de Saineville was not aware of his identity) sided all too clearly
with the American insurgents. His esprit philosophique was visible throughout the
book: had the censor not curbed it, both the author and the censor would have run
the risk of being burnt publicly (if only figuratively, we may assume) by the
Parlement de Paris. So Cadet de Saineville, because of the exaggerated threat posed
by the Parlement, identified himself as a supporter of the ‘good enlightenment’. He
did not advocate the rejection of the manuscript. He nonetheless highlighted the fact
that Hilliard d’Auberteuil praised liberty “as extending to toleration in religion and
freedom of the press”,62 that is, to areas pertaining to the sovereignty of the French
monarch. In this case Cadet de Saineville viewed his task as a censor as working out
a compromise to revise the text, allowing it to reach the market legally. This made
the core of d’Auberteuil’s thoughts available to the reading public, albeit without a
printing privilege, but at least somewhat protected under a permission tacite. The
fundamentally enlightened approach to contemporary history adopted by
D’Auberteuil was preserved by the censor: it was thus the latter who widened the
scope of public debate, fostered active participation therein and encouraged the cir-
culation of knowledge on contemporary events.63 Cadet de Saineville specialized in
American affairs. In 1769 he approved the French translation of the Letters from an
American Farmer by John Dickinson but lamented the clumsiness of the French
text.64 Writings on the American Revolution represented a particularly delicate
issue: the Bourbon monarchy was militarily involved in the conflict and had to sup-
port the American insurgents. Its censors, however, were fully aware that pro-
American literature had a distinctly anti-monarchical tendency. A number of
manuscripts of an anti-British persuasion were submitted for permission. Faced
with this Cadet de Saineville maintained that he wanted to generate a well-balanced
space for discussion where both parties could express their views, even if it was
clear that the minister de Vergennes, no matter how cautiously, favoured the pro-
American side.65 Cadet de Saineville read the manuscript of the Voeu de toutes les

62
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 200, n. 2615, Essais historiques et politiques sur les angloamericains by
d’Auberteuil. Its Prospectus was inspected and approved by de Vergennes. Saineville remarked
that the Essais were pleading the insurgents’ cause too openly. “This liberty, so cherished by the
author, includes religious tolerance and freedom of printing as well. I deleted a footnote on parlia-
ments burning books at the stake. Such a footnote would have us both, the author and myself,
burned, if I ever left it at its place”. Despite these changes, accepted by d’Auberteuil, readers can
easily detect “the philosophical spirit that reveals at every step his true thinking”. Saineville denied
the privilège général and thought even a permission tacite to be too generous. A second censor
should be involved. Upon a second reading, in fact, Saineville deleted a number of “signs of appro-
bation”, that he regretted having conceded (20 June 1781).
63
The publication of the Essais historiques et politiques sur les Angloaméricains shows that the
prohibition of contemporary history was not without exceptions. For a different view see Darnton
2010: 275 (“Contemporary history and biography […] had no place within the legal literature of
the Ancien regime because they dealt with issues that were still sensitive and persons who were
still alive”).
64
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 16, n. 779, 12 February 1776.
65
Cfr. Murphy 1982: 211–395.
In the World of the Royal Censors 117

nations, a pamphlet that addressed the new diplomatic situation created by the
American War of Independence. He appreciated the wisdom of the political views
it expressed but could not hide his poor opinion of its vacuous style.66 It took him a
full year to approve, with a permission tacite, the importation of John Lind’s refuta-
tion of the Declaration of Independence, the Réponse à la declaration du congrès
américain.67 The foundations of the absolutist monarchy were central to his con-
cerns: Cadet de Saineville recommended that the Recueil des loix constitutives des
colonies angloises confédérées be granted a permission tacite (nor could he do oth-
erwise: the minister de Vergennes had already approved it) but could not help
remarking that the English editor’s footnotes contained principles that were incom-
patible with absolutism: they “contain propositions on freedom of religion and on
relations between the sovereign and the people which I could hardly agree with as a
censor”. He suggested that the reader should recognize that these footnotes were not
by a French author.68 Like other more radical philosophes such as Diderot and
Raynal, who correctly perceived the political originality of the American constitu-
tional settlement, Cadet de Saineville was baffled by the paradox of an absolutist
monarchy supporting the creation of a pluri-confessional and predominantly
Protestant republic, where freedom of the press was inscribed in the individual state
constitutions.
Once Forbonnais and Malesherbes had drawn attention to the divergence between
the French and Anglo-American models of freedom of the press, it was treated by
an increasing number of authors in the 1770s and 1780s. When these writings were
submitted to the censors, it is no wonder that they caused some puzzlement. Emilien
Petit’s three volumes on public law in England and France is illustrative of this
confusion. As a member of the French judiciary in Saint-Domingue and a “royalist
at heart”, Emilien Petit had the right credentials to legitimately present his views to
the wider public.69 In 1776, Cadet de Saineville analysed the manuscript of these
Dissertations sur les parties les plus intéressantes du droit public en Angleterre et
en France at length and very carefully.70 He empathized with the author and his
reformist intentions. Besides, Cadet de Saineville noted, these Dissertations were
“without declamations” and “wisely written”. The content of the Dissertations was
very straightforward. Petit ended the first dissertation with an appeal to rein in and
drastically reduce the use of lettres de cachet. The second dissertation argued for
dispelling the secrecy that surrounded French criminal procedures; the third seemed
to be the most controversial, since it challenged the censor’s conception of the
proper limits to open discussion. Petit focused on the nature of property in England
and France and its consequences for their respective fiscal systems. From there it

66
BnF, MS fr., 22014, f. 13, n. 25, 12 July 1778.
67
BnF, MS fr., 22014, f. 66, 18 August 1778. It refers to the following edition: La Haye: Gosse,
1777. Another French edition was published in London: Cadell, 1777.
68
BnF, MS fr., 22016, f. 49, n. 1817.
69
On Petit’s activity as an administrator in the Caribbean colonies and on his writings see Ghachem
2001.
70
The reform of the French judicial system was increasingly discussed from the 1760s until 1789.
118 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

was a natural progression to a discussion of the prerogatives of the French and

English Parliaments. Cadet de Saineville readily conceded that the author “gener-
ally sides with the king’s authority” and rejected the position that the Parlements
represented the French nation and served the function of ensuring the legitimacy of
laws enacted by the king. Moreover, Petit praised the edict that “limited the author-
ity of the Parlements”. Cadet de Saineville projected his own reactions as a reader,
on to the general public and anticipated that “it could be useful for the administra-
tion to publish the third dissertation”. It was out of the question, however, that an
individual censor should compromise himself by backing a work that was bound to
elicit a muscular reaction from the Parlements and would certainly require the back-
ing of the Keeper of the Seals.
As for me, the fear of being compromised and facing the Parlement, something that would
disrupt the peace which I currently enjoy and which I prize as the most valuable good, will
never allow me to place my name on the third part.

Through these words Cadet de Saineville expressed his awareness that the mem-
bers of the Parlements were so much more powerful than he was, especially, as he
said, “in a time of ferment”.71
Petit’s massive work was published by Knapen in a reduced version. Only the
first two parts were printed while the third, more controversial dissertation was
dropped. Interestingly, Petit revised his position on the lettres de cachet and
acknowledged that he had been “carried away to embrace the opinion” that the
English enjoy much greater freedom than the French. In the manuscript’s transition
from that originally intended for the French public to that printed by Knapen,
Emilien Petit downplayed the reformism that had excited and intimidated Cadet de
Saineville.72 In fact, in reviewing Petit’s work, he was grappling with an issue of
more general import. Cadet de Saineville believed that censors were responsible for
ensuring that books were accurate in their depictions of the balance of power within
the monarchical constitution. In 1778 he dared oppose the government in order to
defend his notion of a proper balance. The Controller General, Necker, and Trudaine
de Montigny wanted to permit publication of a Mémoire sur les chemins that Cadet
de Saineville thought was written by Riquetti de Mirabeau. Cadet de Saineville
rejected the legitimacy of the author’s attack on the alleged despotism of royal
administrators in the Limousin, on the grounds that Mirabeau had exaggerated the
extent of the actual abuses of the corvée.
His critique is bitter, often unjust; he does not suggest any new opinion and does not argue
at all. I do not see any advantage that might come from the publicity of this memoir and I
think it should not be printed. If libelling against individuals is prohibited, then it should be
when it is against the administration also. M. Trudaine [de Montigny], to whom I reported
on this work, seems to disagree with me. He believes that the administration des ponts et
chaussées is beyond such a critique. With all due respect for his opinion, I cannot see eye

71
BnF, MS fr., 22014, ff. 151–2, n. 479, 1 September 1776.
72
Petit 1778: 218–9.
In the World of the Royal Censors 119

to eye with him, and it is my judgment that Monseigneur the Keeper of the Seals is request-
ing from me.73

Cadet de Saineville was adamant that authors should respect the limits placed
upon them by the monarchy to protect the constitution of the realm. The Swiss
author of Principes philosophiques politiques et morales, Franz Rudolph Weiss,
crossed the line that distinguished public discussion from open attack on the mon-
archy. Inserting cartons (cancels) correcting individual sentences could not redress
the flaws of a work that “was infected almost everywhere with the spirit of immoral
liberty that set the tone” and was incompatible with the respect for religion neces-
sary in a monarchy.74
From the same point of view Cadet de Saineville expressed his admiration for
Mably’s book on the United States, but requested the correction of its flagrantly
deist passages. In this case his pleasure as a reader did not coincide with his respon-
sibility as a censor75 nor did it when he had to peruse the Lettre de Mirabeau sur
Mm. Cagliostro et Lavater, for which he felt a reluctant admiration.76 In 1788, after
30 years of service as a royal censor of politics and economics, he wrote that he was
happy to say that he permitted the publication of books he disagreed with and that
he was never involved in literary squabbles.77 The latter claim at least was not
entirely true. Not even the perfect anonymity of the review for the Keeper of the
Seals allowed Cadet de Saineville a full and transparent memory of his life’s work.
Linguet attacked him and blamed him for the alleged conspiracy between the
physiocrats and Morellet to illegally suppress the publication of Linguet’s tracts
against free trade. Morellet, for his part, openly defended Cadet de Saineville’s
conduct.78
Despite his occasional amnesia, Cadet de Saineville struck the right note in
stressing his efforts as censor to promote a notion of public discussion in terms of a
civil conversation between peers, framed within a notion of collective utility and
where personal aggression could not be tolerated. The respective roles in the social
hierarchy of ministers, parlementaires, and noblemen, as well as of renowned
scholars, had to be respected at all times.
Personal honour was a crucial component of the self as perceived in culture and
enacted in the social structure. The censors saw to its preservation, their task grow-
ing more complex as the polarization between conservatives and innovators intensi-
fied. The censors’ creative mediation was required to bridge this gap. Cadet de
Saineville reflected on the function of censorship as a rationalizing agent for the
monarchy’s continued success. He thought of himself as a representative of the

73
BnF, MS fr., 22015, ff. 44–5, n. 896, 28 March 1778.
74
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 55, n. 935. Weiss’ book was first published with the place of publication
given as En Suisse 1785 and went through a number of editions.
75
BnF, MS fr., 22014, f. 159, n. 527.
76
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 94, n. 1037, 2 May 1786.
77
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 259, n. 1598, reviewing Droit public du comté état de la Provence…, 3
May 1788.
78
Linguet 1775: 74.
120 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

absolute monarch who had to clarify and seek out the good in all writings, rather
than as an inflexible gatekeeper of the social and political order as it was or as the
bitter opponent of all progress.
His attitude had bizarre consequences. In 1789 Cadet de Saineville was assigned
the manuscript of the Dignité du commerce et de l’état de commerçant by the well-
known scholar Anquetil du Perron. He reacted enthusiastically. He enjoyed
Anquetil’s debunking of the pride of the nobility and his suggestion that feudal
rights be suppressed. By vigorously recommending its publication with privilege,
Cadet de Saineville expressed his preference for radical reform of a fundamental
feature of French society. The irony is that his endorsement came too late, on 18
July 1789.79

Dialogue and Censorship

Cadet de Saineville stands out among the royal censors for his ongoing attempts to
self-define and evaluate the meaning of his position and stance. Other censors
shared his notion that their control of authors and the book trade involved a measure
of dialogue and respectful interaction as well as a collective authorial responsibility.
Like Cadet de Saineville, other censors perceived that their role was becoming more
controversial, faced as they were with an increasing number of manuscripts that
could not meet the standards for legitimate publication, not to mention books by
French authors published abroad and smuggled into France. The consequence of
this was that they could not communicate the appropriate criteria to authors, nor
could they apply the requisite pressure on printers and authors, all of this having
ramifications for the efficacy of the Librairie. In 1788, de Serionne defined his role
as censor as “the fatherly vigilance of the administration”, which unbridled authors
like Brissot de Warville necessitated by their affronts to censorship and defamation
of highly respectable individuals.80
This notion of participatory freedom rested upon the requirement that writers
and censors collaborate, and blend different perspectives in a single text acceptable
to the monarchy. Morellet’s essay on freedom of the press, published in 1775, ten-
tatively sketched some crucial points that defined this peculiar balance within an
allegedly enlightened censorship. He argued that a free press should play the same
role as a salon where new ideas are put forward and tested. Right and useful ideas
would prevail over mistaken and misleading ones, and educated public opinion
would win now true knowledge from errors and prejudice. Morellet remarked that
the clash of ideas represented the method of activating critical research and the

79
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 14, 18 July 1789. The Corrections et additions are signed 15 June 1789,
while the text was finished on 15 May 1789. The volume was published with the title Dignité du
commerce et de l’état de commerçant, par M. Anquetil du Perron, Voyageur, 1789 (no place of
publication given; no authorization to publish was mentioned).
80
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 42 n. 895, 15 July 1787. Brissot and Clavière 1787.
Dialogue and Censorship 121

acquisition of new and reliable information. He also noted that this development
was possible within the limits of an educated society, where a process of civilization
was taking place.81 Freedom of the press was possible because society at large was
refined and the censors shared the tolerant mood required for progress. Later in his
Mémoires, Morellet recalled that Malesherbes himself approved his translation of
the Manuel des Inquisiteurs, thereby signaling that it was necessary to incite repul-
sion for the Inquisition and religious intolerance in general and thereby render prog-
ress irreversible.82 Civility was a component of toleration. Confronting Linguet in
1775, Morellet accused him of lacking the “moderation that we have a right to ask
for from a writer who deals with such delicate topics [like the free trade in grain],
and it is this lack of moderation that led to the refusal of the censor’s approbation
and of the printing authorization”.83 The absence of a “love for truth” placed Linguet
outside the community of well-meaning and sensible people.84 Later, as he looked
back upon these pre-revolutionary years, Morellet bemoaned the degeneration into
license occasioned by this form of freedom of the press: based ideally on the enlight-
ened self-restraint of loyal philosophes, it was dissolving at the same time as
Morellet was praising its virtues.
Morellet’s perspective in his Mémoires was evidently skewed by the events of the
French Revolution. He underscored the rationality of royal censorship as he would
not have done in the 1760s and 1770s, when he experienced the unpredictability of
its decisions at first-hand.
Despite his being part of a solid network of protection, Morellet had trouble deal-
ing with the logic governing book policy. In 1770 he wrote a Réfutation of Galiani’s
Dialogues, evincing free-trade orientation, but managed to get it past the censors.
The work was published and circulated thanks to Turgot’s intervention in November
1774. Morellet’s plan to translate Adam Smith’s The Wealth of Nations into French
failed because of opposition from government.85 Before the revolutionary trauma
altered his perceptions of the ancien regime’s practice, Morellet’s perspective was
very similar to Malesherbes’ and Cadet de Saineville’s: the granting or refusing of
a printing permission depended to a great extent on the intellectual agenda of the
author. It also depended on political decisions made by censors or by the Directeur
de la Librairie himself, who took on the responsibility for interpreting the func-
tional ambiguity implicit in the system. While excluding marginal or extravagant
authors, this functional ambiguity provided insiders with a varying but substantial
space for original expression that might challenge, without disavowing, the legiti-
macy of control. Linguet was perceived as a disloyal contestant in the battle of ideas
who took advantage of fairness to disrupt the progress of French society, including

81
Gordon 1995: 52–3, analyzes Morellet’s treatise.
82
Morellet 1988: 80–1. The selection from Eymerich’s massive Directorium Inquisitorum, Le
Manuel des Inquisiteurs à l’usage des Inquisiteurs d’Espagne et de Portugal (Eymerich 1762):
196–198, shows a similar pedagogical attitude in the Postcriptum de l’Editeur.
83
Morellet 1775a: 65 footnote.
84
Morellet 1775b: 191.
85
Di Rienzo 1994: 37–44.
122 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

freedom in public discussion. When Cadet de Saineville (and Morellet) believed

that Linguet had exceeded the bounds of acceptable criticism in his discussion of
economic politics, it was the lieutenant-general of police, Jean-Charles-Pierre
Lenoir, who discreetly put pressure on Linguet and secretly allowed the publication
and circulation of Linguet’s anti-physiocratic writing in order to undermine Turgot’s
free-trade policy.86 The limits of freedom of the press were ultimately set by the civil
authorities on a case-by-case basis, as opposed to following a general set of criteria.
Even Turgot, who was committed to a very broad understanding of freedom of the
press and acted in conformity with the idea of participatory freedom for most of his
life, exerted all his authority to have Linguet’s pamphlet taken out of circulation as
soon as he realized that it was a serious threat to his policy.87 Turgot’s decision did
not mean that he embraced the principle of repression and rejected the ideal of
unregulated freedom; it signified rather that the government was to retain the power
to define the limits of acceptability for those books that did become available.
As Linguet commenced publication of the “Journal de Politique et de Littérature”
and renewed his campaign against Physiocracy, Turgot informed him that he had no
intention of silencing him but wished rather to acquaint him with the government’s
aims and achievements.88 Turgot was convinced that freedom of the press was a
prerequisite for the progress of society, and – paradoxically – that good and useful
books could not really be damaged by censorship.89 For this reason he could not
tolerate the unimpeded circulation of libellous and slanderous pamphlets and
insisted that such authors be brought to the bar and punished.90 In other words, as he
wrote to Condorcet, “with a tone of decency (honnêteté) one can say anything, and
all the more so when one adds the weight of reason”.91 Turgot was concerned that
“a good book, […] that generates persuasion” and helps to “cast light everywhere”
should be effectively protected.92 Turgot went so far as to hope for the publication
of Rousseau’s last works, since these abounded with personal grievances and ad
personam attacks. Rousseau’s alleged persecutors should be entitled to publicly
defend themselves against the Rousseau enthusiasts who gave credence to his con-
spiracy theories.93
Censors had to inspect manuscripts, not only for inappropriate allusions to life at
court but also for the proper tone and decency: they may not have been accom-
plished courtiers but they had to detect offense when it was intended.94 Censors had

86
Linguet 1775. Jean-Charles Lenoir was director of the Librairie from July 1774 to May 1775.
87
Levy 1980: 112. See Turgot 1913–23. Vol. 5: 144 footnote a.
88
Turgot 1913–23. Vol. 5: 144.
89
Turgot 1913–23. Vol. 5: 544. Turgot recalled this approach in a letter of 4 December 1777 to the
duchess d’Enville, in Turgot 1976: 128.
90
Turgot 1913–23. Vol. 5: 566–7.
91
Turgot-Condorcet 1882: 146–7 (Turgot to Condorcet, December 1773).
92
Turgot 1913–23. Vol. 3: 493 (letter to Dupont, 9 August 1771).
93
Turgot 1976: 143.
94
BnF, MS fr. 22137, letter by abbé Guirot to Malesherbes, 1751, requesting to be exonerated from
censoring a text full of allusions he could not puzzle out, quoted in Darnton 2010: 448.
Dialogue and Censorship 123

to approach a text from a variety of perspectives. Literary taste provided one of the
major criteria for assessing manuscripts that fell between outright conformity to the
absolute monarchy and potentially oppositional reformist tracts. Analysis of the
rhetorical framework loomed large in many evaluations. It was, however, neither the
role nor the intention of the censors to act as literary critics judging a text’s literary
value. Rather it meant that a work of economics or politics had to meet all the
accepted standards of decency in order to be cleared for circulation with royal per-
mission and qualify as part of an open and useful debate. A clear, respectful, civi-
lized tone was indeed a component that qualified a work for public discussion.95
Despite the striking variety of individual personalities and situations, it is possi-
ble to argue that a culture of royal censorship had emerged in France by the mid-
eighteenth century. This culture focused on how to promote two seemingly
incompatible goals, an open discussion and stability within the limits of the absolute
monarchy. In 1771 Gilbert Arnaud François Simon de Lagrange de Chessieux rec-
ommended that a Traité de la hiérarchie de l’Eglise et des pouvoirs qui appartien-
nent à chacun des ordres should not be published because it fomented dissent
between the First and the Second Estates of the kingdom, thereby violating the
decree of the council of 26 November 1775.96 This book did not in fact appear in
print nor was its author named. Lagrange de Chessieux was less successful when it
came to arriving at a decision on the French translation of Lord Chesterfield’s letters
to his son. Lagrange de Chessieux, who had begun his career with a refutation of an
English tract on the peace of Utrecht and its consequences for Nova Scotia but
admitted his ignorance of English, suggested that publication of the translation
should not be permitted.97 To support his judgment he listed all the passages to
which he objected. The book was published nonetheless, in 1776, with a permission
tacite.98 Another royal censor, Armand-Gaston Camus, suggested that the Vues d’un
théologien patriote sur la légitimité de l’intérêt de l’argent, a work advocating the
legitimacy of usury, should not be published: this in itself did not irritate Camus.
Many authors had previously dealt with this issue “with decency and seriousness”:
this book, however, did not advance convincing reasons for the opinion it upheld,
and might in fact “inflame minds, cause quarrels and prevent people from listening
to each other. My opinion is therefore that the publication of this book should not be
permitted. I only see drawbacks, [and] no benefits to offset them”.99 In the case of
the Vues d’un théologien patriote the censor prevailed. Another censor, however,
Chenu, had to bow to the request for a privilege for the French translation of the
best-selling memoirs of the German Baron von Trenck. His concerns about the del-
eterious consequences of the Baron’s thoughts on suicide and on “anything that

95
Goldgar 1992: Edelstein 2012.
96
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 147, n. 2173. The book was not published.
97
La Grange de Chessieux 1756: iii–iv. See Jefferys 1754.
98
BnF, MS fr., 22015, ff. 166–174, n. 547. Chesterfield 1776. See Trumbull 1998: 171–2.
99
BnF, MS fr., 22015, n. 654, f. 1, 30 May 1780.
124 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

might remind of materialism” led Chenu to delete so many pages that the two vol-
umes of the German original shrank to a single-volume edition in 1787.100
Camus and Chenu were among the censors in the 1780s who perceived that more
stringent controls on manuscripts submitted for permission were necessary, and that
the gulf between authors’ and publishers’ submissions and censors’ expectations
was widening. In particular Camus developed a way of examining manuscripts sub-
mitted for publication that recalls the seriousness displayed by Cadet de Saineville:
tolerance and civility were praised, prejudices and fanaticism openly criticized.101
Seen from the writers’ point of view, however, these were difficult years. Rétif de la
Bretonne’s elusive and morbid personality was probably not representative of most
of the authors who came in contact with the Librairie, but some of his observations
are worth revisiting. In Monsieur Nicolas he recalled those censors who were par-
ticularly petty.102 His Inscripcions mention (mostly in derogatory terms) his encoun-
ters with a number of censors who permitted the publication of his novels, though
usually requesting changes.103 On one occasion, when changes were not requested,
Rétif de la Bretonne was involved in an extremely difficult situation. In 1789, he
published the Ingénue Saxancour, ou la femme séparée (apparently with a permis-
sion tacite), a novel which was really a thinly-veiled recounting of his daughter’s
dramatic marriage to an abusive, profligate and sexually perverted husband. Rétif de
la Bretonne’s son-in-law sued him for libel and had him arrested in September 1789.
Soon after his acquittal, Rétif de la Bretonne replied with a refutation of the charges
of slander and claimed that he had only wanted to defend the honour of his daugh-
ter.104 The uproar caused by the publication of the Ingénue Saxancour reached the
censor La Reynière who regretted not having been entrusted with the manuscript.
La Reynière’s comments to Rétif de la Bretonne in 1791 expressed his self-
understanding as a well-intentioned partner in the writing and publication process.
“Your revenge (although legitimate) against her husband has blinded you. You did
not see that, by slinging mud at [your son-in-law], you have involved her. If she ever
becomes a widow, who will want such a soiled woman, whose shame you have
exposed to the public?”. Rétif’s reply is not known, but a few days later La Reynière
insisted once more on the face-saving role he could have played: “If only I were the
censor of this work! It would have never seen the light of day. It has not added to
your glory and will be the pain of your old age!”105
La Reynière alluded to an aspect of the censor’s role, which had obviously disap-
peared in 1791 after coming under aggressive scrutiny in the 1780s. Negotiations
between writers and censors became more contested since the boundaries of the
publishable were less self-evident and were increasingly subject to negotiation.

100
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 306, n. 1331. It was published as Trenck 1787.
101
Kirsop 2012.
102
Rétif de la Bretonne 1989. Vol. 2: 1005–6.
103
Rétif de la Bretonne 1889: 32, 72, 318, in particular on his relationship with the censor Terrasson.
104
Trouille 2010: 296.
105
Le Drame de la vie. Vol. 5: 1317, 1321, quoted in Trouille 2010: 296 (Letters of La Reynière, 19
May and 7 July, 1791).
Dialogue and Censorship 125

Personal interviews were mentioned in the censors’ reports as suitable opportunities

to reach a reasonable agreement, which presupposed acknowledging the censor’s
authority. Unsurprisingly, Cadet de Saineville had a very low opinion of the Science
of legislation, by Gaetano Filangieri, and translated by Gallois. “Superficial spirits”
might be enthralled: it was not a dangerous work, however, and “following my
remarks the translator changed some inappropriate expressions of the author that
seemed to echo the fanatical cries against religion called superstition”.106 In the late
1780s censors and writers became more and more estranged. In 1786 le Chevalier
recommended that a Portrait de Voltaire not be published as it was too weak a cri-
tique and too similar to a capucinade, a vain, moralistic tirade against the philos-
ophes.107 In 1787 Guigne refused permission to publish a massive treatise on the
principles of administration.108 These reports show both the polarization between
censors and writers, and authors’ increasingly insistent claims to their right to a
privilege as this provided improved access to the market. Some censors were con-
vinced that greater severity was needed to withstand the pressure from the publish-
ing sector. David Houard strongly advised the prohibition of Louis-Charles
Manesse’s Histoire politique et civile du gouvernement féodal de la France (which
in fact was never printed). Houard, a longtime friend of Sainte-Palaye and
Desguignes and a member of the Académie des Inscriptions, argued that the histori-
cal perspective adopted by the author to narrate French history undermined the
foundations of the sovereign’s power.109 It is very likely that Houard was right. On
29 February 1792 Manesse presented the (still incomplete) manuscript of his
Histoire politique et civile des révolutions françaises depuis Jules César jusqu’à
Louis XVI, possibly presenting the core of the text, and Houard flatly refused to
consider it for a privilege.110 Similarly Camus agreed with the author of the manu-
script Du Mariage des chrétiens, ou la nouvelle loi, that Catholics should tolerate
non-Catholics but required that a carton be inserted where the critique of the clergy
degenerated into insults.111 A 1788 pamphlet on the insurgency in the United
Provinces by de Wedelaans contained “a deluge of republican declamations, of anti-
monarchical maxims and taunts against the absolute authority”.112 On 13 June 1789
Pouillard de Neville implied that the censorship strategy pursued for so many years
had apparently failed and not only because the book he had been reading for the

106
BnF, MS fr., 22014, ff. 156–7, n. 497. See Trampus 2001.
107
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 50, 4 February 1786.
108
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 228, n. 1493, 9 August 1787.
109
BnF, MS fr., 22015, n. 1532, 5 November 1788.
110
Archives Nationales, M 748. Manesse received the privilege for Manesse 1785, mentioned as a
source of technical details on grain milling in Kaplan 1984: 264.
111
BnF, MS fr., 22016, f. 140, n. 2069, 26 June 1788. Du mariage des chrétiens ou la nouvelle loi
sur l’état civil des non-catholiques en France justifiée aux yeux de la religion et de la critique. Par
un avocat de Paris. See Kirsop 2012: 475.
112
BnF, MS fr., 22014, f. 303, n. 1760, de Wedelaans, Seconde lettre d’un hollandois à M. le comte
de Mirabeau ou considérations sur les révolutions des Provinces Unies. See Ferri de Saint-
Constant 1788, containing a letter A Monsieur de Mirabeau.
126 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

Librairie, Libération de l’état et le bonheur du peuple, was full of vacuous griping

instead of solid arguments and revealed a shift from “bad to worse”. Pouillard de
Neville maintained that “this is the way of our modern system makers”. Collaboration
with them seemed impossible and the balance the royal censors had been working
towards since the 1750s seemed to be on the verge of collapse.113
Houard and Pouillard de Neville unwittingly testified to the final collapse of the
notion that the French legal publication system was based on collaboration, partici-
patory freedom and mutual recognition between authors and censors. This fragile
balance had been seriously challenged in the preceding decades but the Librairie
had adapted and survived the tensions which beset it. These challenges did not ema-
nate solely from authors, since a variety of French institutions had contested royal
authority and ‘absolute’ power whenever possible, often through books printed with
a privilege.
In at least one case, the clash over a controversial publication can be recon-
structed in minute detail, with due attention paid to the censor’s point of view since
the sources reflect the divergent expectations and perspectives of the author and the
censor. In 1775, the Châtelet tribunal in Paris condemned a three-volume treatise
entitled On the Philosophy of Nature, a refutation of materialism written by the
Rousseauist Delisle de Sales. The treatise was an entirely legal book as it had been
cleared for publication by Chrêtien, who was a priest of the Christian Doctrine in
Lens and a royal censor since 1766. The attack on De la philosophie de la nature
was unleashed during the Assembly of the French Clergy in 1775, in which it was
attacked for promoting atheism and materialism. When the Châtelet tribunal took
on the prosecution of Delisle, the trial sought to sentence the censor to jail for hav-
ing granted a privilege to this blasphemous work.114 The censor was involved in the
judicial inquiry and was summoned to justify this ill-fated permission. Chrêtien
assembled a dossier of thoughts and remarks on the functioning of censorship, to
support his plea of not guilty of any fault or negligence. He did this so successfully
that the Châtelet tribunal and the Assembly of the Clergy were prepared to acquit
him. In his defense, Chrêtien argued in the first place that he did not intend his task
to be merely repressive and based exclusively on the hierarchy of power. As prin-
ciples must be severely enforced, “any arbitrary constraint” was unacceptable:
I think, on the contrary, that this constraint would be an abuse of authority and that it would
damage the public liberty, as it would subject the genius of the writers to whims and indi-
vidual opinions. I also believe that for honest men liberty to speak and write is very favour-
able to truth; and I am sure that frankness and sincerity, making up the character of the
nation, contributed very much to the preservation in this kingdom of the sacred maxims of
religion, morals and politics.

Chrêtien recorded the steps of the revision process for Delisle de Sales’ text from
late April to September 1769, when he approved the text, and up to December 1769,
when the printing privilege was granted. He recounted his conversations with
Delisle de Sales, recalled how he had analyzed every single instalment he received,

113
BnF, MS fr., 22015, f. 9, n. 725, Lanchamp 1789.
114
BnF, MS fr. 22101, ff. 346–352. See Malandain 1982. Vol. 2: 564–7.
Dialogue and Censorship 127

recollected his doubts about the chapters that Delisle de Sales wanted to include,
and described how the author suspiciously insisted on the perfection of natural law,
as if he wanted to lay undue stress on its self-sufficiency as compared to divine law.
Chrêtien also candidly recalled his bewilderment on reading the printed version in
1770: the first three volumes reflected the text as he had approved it in the manu-
script, but the second three volumes were wholly new. “I read: everything is new to
me. I read further. I find horrors, a monstrous Spinozism, the most revolting cyni-
cism […]. Among these deplorable ruins, I find the deep abyss where evidently I
had fallen”.115 The work was presented as a whole, approved by one censor. In fact,
the second half had been divided into a number of chapters, which were submitted
to a surgery censor as though they were parts of an anatomy text under a different
title. The chapters of the first and second part were then recombined together in the
form of a book of natural philosophy. In its complete form Delisle de Sales’ work
was therefore different from the parts that were approved by the censors. In light of
this was it even possible for Chrêtien to argue that the logic of censorship was ten-
able? To prove his innocence Chrêtien meticulously compared the printed text and
the letters sent to him by Delisle de Sales expressing his readiness to attend to the
censor’s remarks. Chrêtien, however, intended to go further than merely ensuring
his acquittal and worked out a theory of censorship, which he articulated in the
theological and juridical discourse with which he was familiar. To Chrêtien the per-
mission given by the censors was indivisible, as it referred to the entirety of the
argument affirmed in the text, not to individual statements. It was conditional, as it
depended on the permanency of the text. It was, above all, “synallagmatic’, that is
bilateral, because it was contingent on the reciprocal commitment of both the author
and the censor to produce a text that was legitimate “according to the public and the
law”.116
By launching an attack on Delisle’s work in 1775 the Assembly of the Clergy
targeted the weak point in the balance between authors and the Librairie. When it
was difficult to find common ground, or a synallagmatic agreement was violated, as
Chrétien noted, an opportunity for contestation of the censor’s decision was readily
available. The Assembly of the Clergy condemned both the heavy-handedness of
the royal censors and their dangerous complacency towards impiety and moral and
political disorder, all of which could be evoked as legitimate reasons to oppose the
Librairie and its activities.
In at least one case in the late 1770s, a censor colourfully expressed his views on
the meaning and function of censorship. To do so he made use of the biography of
the popular Roman satirical poet, Niccolò Franco, dubbed Pasquino. The author
was probably De Sancy. He was apparently concerned that defending the monar-
chy’s moral and political order and hierarchy should not prevail over legitimate
public discussion. The life of this highly controversial writer gave this “royal cen-
sor” the opportunity to demonstrate precisely and show visually where the boundary

115
BnF, MS fr., 22012, f. 11. It was published as Delisle de Sales 1770. See Weil 1999: 47 footnote
175; Darnton, 1995c: 542.
116
BnF, MS fr. 22102, f. 22.
128 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

between critique and libel lay.117 In sixteenth-century Rome, Niccolò Franco made
extensive use of “pasquinades”, handwritten lampoons against abuses perpetrated
by members of the clergy.118 Franco’s notorious personality was carefully scruti-
nized by de Sancy: his education and career highlighted the shifts in the understand-
ing of satire over the previous few centuries. De Sancy sympathized with Franco:
virtue, according to Franco, needed protection against encroachments by men in
positions of authority. Franco believed that the right to tell the truth and vindicate
virtue, while rejecting vice, pertains to any noble man; nothing is as noble, as hon-
ourable as the role of writers who dare disclose their own sovereign’s vices, make
him blush when he is surrounded only by flattering courtiers, while his subjects are
scared and keep silent.119 It was in these terms, in the fictional biography, that the
young Franco replied to his teacher Franceschi, who maintained that subjects should
bear and ignore the sovereign’s vices and grant obedience, no matter how hideous
his actions. The narrative hinged on the juxtaposition of virtue, upheld in the pas-
quinades, to the vices of the powerful. Franco’s life as a satirical poet and victim of
Roman nobles and Church cardinals was evidence that speaking the truth and
endorsing morality were fraught with dangers. Detained in the papal jail, Franco
elaborated on his uncompromising stance towards the vices rampant in the capital
of Christianity and on his own moralizing campaigns. Rather than rotting in a prison
cell, he deserved a recognition that would never be accorded him until the profligate
clergy no longer wielded authority. According to De Sancy, unscrupulous judges
sentenced him to death by hanging, but Franco escaped thanks to friends who bribed
the guards. In this fictional narrative, only a dishonest act could counter vice in
times of tyranny. De Sancy made Franco out to be a melodramatic character, and
one who embodied the fragility of virtue: the biography saw Franco die in exile after
succumbing to melancholy when he learned that his portrait was hung in lieu of his
body. De Sancy’s empathy for his protagonist was clear, and his general argument
was that, despite their occasional excesses, virtue was deserving of, and was well
served by, the spirited defense it received from writers. Satire, for de Sancy, was a
powerful and indispensable weapon in the hands of authors and should not be
unduly limited by an illegitimate widening of the notion of libel.120

“Freedom to Think and Write” and Economic Progress

In 1775, the loosening of control and a decline in its efficacy prompted people to
express their thoughts on freedom of the press: the shifting limits of what was per-
missible was an issue which particularly needed clarification. In fact, a number of

117
Le danger de la satire 1778.
118
See DBI. Vol. 50, 202–6; Rozzo 1995; Godman 2000: 29; Niccoli 2005: 158–73.
119
Le danger de la satire 1778: 29.
120
Le danger de la satire 1778: 279.
“Freedom to Think and Write” and Economic Progress 129

concurrent developments were evident: the pervasive circulation of texts published

outside France or clandestinely printed within the kingdom, Turgot’s political
experiment with liberalism and the rabid reactions it provoked in the name of con-
servatism, energetic interventionism by political, judiciary and religious institutions
into the “policy of the book”, all interacted to bring about self-reform within the
censorship procedure as well as a redefinition of its nature.
Jacques Accarias de Sérionne was a remarkable personality in this debate given
his background as both a businessman and an author of economic tracts. His contri-
butions to the debate in France exhibited some notable peculiarities. His book was
published legally in Vienna and did not need to comply with the Librairie’s guide-
lines. Accarias de Sérionne had a son, the aforementioned Jean-Jacques, who was
an active royal censor.121 The life of Accaries de Sérionne père was more than a little
eventful. In 1758, he quit France, never to return. He set up a Journal de commerce
in the Austrian Netherlands, to which the Empress Maria Theresa granted a privi-
lege forbidding any similar initiative.122 The Journal de commerce, which had
espoused economic principles based on the ideas of Colbert and the Physiocrats,
ceased publication in late 1762. Between 1763 and 1769, Accarias de Sérionne père
lived in Amsterdam, where he published various treatises on political economy.
From 1769 on, he settled in Vienna, gained renown for his broad knowledge of
international trade and was trusted by men of power such as count Bathyani, whose
estate he administered. From 1766 to 1771, Accarias de Sérionne père published his
most notable works on the commercial interests of England and Holland: Les
Intérêts des nations de l’Europe développés relativement au commerce (Leiden
1766), Le Commerce de la Hollande (Amsterdam 1768), La richesse de l’Angleterre
(Vienna 1771). In 1774, he published La vraie richesse de l’Etat in Vienna.123 In
works which displayed a moderately liberal approach to commercial dynamics, he
paid noteworthy attention to cultural questions and to the book trade as contributory
factors to the constant advancement of mankind. Accarias de Sérionne père also
praised the circulation of modern, enlightened knowledge from the perspective of
economic progress. Accarias de Sérionne père’s ultimate goal was the rule of law,
which he felt had to be founded on the mildness of manners promoted by letters,
science and the arts. Accarias adopted a monarchical perspective: it was the monar-
chy and its institutions that positively influenced the progress of culture through a
wise financial policy.
First, “the authority of the wisest laws needs to be supported by the command of
reason and customs”.124 His vision implied a philosophy of history based on the
malleability of mores.

121
See Tortarolo 2009.
122
Hasquin 1974; Dictionnaire des journaux 1991. Vol. 2: 643–645; Mat 1995: 484–6. François
Antoine Chevrier criticized Le Journal de commerce in Le colporteur: 24, 168.
123
See Decroix 2006: 50–1.
124
Accarias de Serionne 1774. Vol. 2: 338.
130 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

It is true that most States owe their splendour, their strength and their glory to the progress
of the useful sciences and arts; and it is also true that the immediate agents of this progress
have been fostered, encouraged, promoted by sovereigns, by their ministers, by powerful
men; and this protection made them benefactors of humankind. Without this protection we
would have perhaps only inaccurate notions on the most useful sciences and arts. How
many institutions have been set up in France at the expense of the State in order to sustain
and encourage all talents! And how much care has been devoted to keep up these institu-
tions by ministers of finance, who are the first trustees of the monarch to discharge this
duty! Honour, the sort of homage that is paid at the same time in society to talents, may be
the most important and necessary prize bestowed to give them confidence; in France, as in
other European nations, there are few gentlemen (seigneurs) who believe nowadays that
you do not count if you are not a gentleman. This is one of the great services performed to
humanity by the letters, the arts and the sciences. In England it is not just the sovereign who
animates and encourages talents; in this respect all gentlemen, all powerful men, all mem-
bers of Parliament are princes or kings.125

Second, the monarch defended his subjects’ honour by containing the transgres-
sions occasioned by unbounded freedom of the press, by contrast with the situation
in England, which was here judged very harshly.
According to Accarias père, French behaviour was different and better suited to
the correct notion of freedom. In general the English were held to be less free than
the French, “unless one does not overrate the idea of freedom that lets them remem-
ber the excesses of their fiscal system without protesting; or the license they indulge
in by insulting with impunity the men in charge of governing them”.126 In the case
of Accarias père, theory followed from practice: previously an international trader,
he believed in the civilizing effects of commercial exchanges and, given his back-
ground as a journalist, he also believed that the monarchy should support valuable
intellectual undertakings which sustained rather than weakened the state’s founda-
tions. When Accarias père published his work on freedom of the press in Vienna
and dedicated it to the Empress Maria Theresa, his son Jean-Jacques, born in 1751
and raised in France, was not yet one of the 120 royal censors. Nonetheless, many
of the tenets set out by his father in 1775, are visible in Accarias fils’ reports from
1785 onwards. Accarias père and fils shared a concern with maintaining canons of
collective morals: freedom of the press was based on the interaction of rights with
obligations. In two thick volumes Accarias père elaborated on three crucial points.
He claimed that a well-functioning and authoritative censorship was necessary, that
the inefficacy of the French control on the publishing trade had negative conse-
quences, and, somewhat surprisingly given his support for greater restrictions, that
there were subjects who would benefit hugely from greater “freedom to think and
write”. Accarias père demonstrated both his familiarity with the most recent works
ascribed to the Enlightenment and his engagement with working out the boundaries
between constraint and freedom.

125
Accarias de Serionne 1774. Vol. 2: 344–5.
126
Accarias de Serionne 1771: 18.
“Freedom to Think and Write” and Economic Progress 131

His overall analysis was that the censorship system in France had failed. Accarias
père expressed similar concerns to Malesherbes. Magistrates were responsible for
preventing the circulation of books that might harm the moral equilibrium of the
reading public. “It is definitely a just as well as necessary provision to halt the pub-
lication or importation of any work whatsoever violating religion, government or
good customs”.127 Accarias père granted that sanctions had a limited impact: writers
should be rewarded for refuting dangerous works and the government should foster
a “spirit of legislation” within the Republic of Letters in order to set the limits to
freedom of expression. Accarias père neatly separated a freedom to think that
“means this generous spiritual energy leading our persuasion exclusively to the
truth” from a freedom to think that “means an unbounded license to discuss, inves-
tigate, judge”.128 The consequences of censorship for intellectual and moral life
should be properly assessed. Censors were responsible for the suppression of mate-
rialist systems of thought that the eighteenth century, “more reasoning than philo-
sophical”, had revived from classical antiquity: “as in a sort of conspiracy, the most
relevant truths for the happiness of humankind have been attacked”.129 Books by
Spinoza and Hobbes, De l’homme by Helvétius, and Système de la nature by
d’Holbach, which Accarias père attributed to Jean-Baptiste Mirabeau, stood out in
his list as the most dangerous enemies of the social order, as they propagated the
doctrine that thought is inherent in matter.130 Accarias père echoed the anti-
materialist reaction which affirmed that atheism, implied by materialist views, dis-
rupts social ties. He appealed to philosophers, whose success and creativity he
acknowledged: “You bestow an allure, and you impart fresh strength to homicidal
hands of sensuality […]. You offer Circe’s cup […] Society would be but chaos
where passions rule”.131 Accarias père was convinced that the idea of a social con-
tract was part of a skewed understanding of society; he wrote that the equality at the
heart of contractualist thought was chimerical and that this could be proven through
a detailed analysis of the Système social. He rejected d’Holbach’s views and pre-
ferred the maxim that “sovereigns own their people the same way as fathers own
their offspring”.132 By this rationale, therefore, the principle of representation turned
out to be wholely unfounded.133 In his comments on the Histoire des deux Indes,
which was first published in 1770, Accarias père remarked that religion is necessary
to restrain the passions of the populace. Censors, he felt, had to be aware of the
danger posed by philosophical writings. He appealed to philosophers: “do not stir

127
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 1: 6.
128
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 1: 5.
129
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 1: 30; vol. 2: 37.
130
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 1: 125.
131
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 2: 38–9.
132
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 2: 89.
133
See Geissler 1985: 18.
132 4 The Royal Censors as Guarantors of Freedom of the Press

up sedition, do not lead sects, do not foment strife”.134 Interestingly enough, Accarias
père maintained that the moral fibre of society should be carefully protected, but
always referred to religion in general, not to Christianity, Catholicism or any other
“true religion”. In this area censors, he believed, had the most onerous duties; but a
wide range of subjects were to remain open to writers to express their thoughts
boldly and creatively, in full liberty. Accarias père was referring to political issues
in general, which were badly in need of thorough revision for the benefit of society.
“Agriculture, industry, sciences, customs, legislation, arts, trade, and finances,
related to politics, to the science of government, have not been completely
exhausted”.135 Accarias père was an outspoken adversary of Louis XIV’s bellicose
foreign policy which had drained the country financially, and he was mistrustful of
standing armies.136
Men of letters and citizens, make use of your talents in the investigation of the means to
offset the excesses and do not indulge in declamations on the lack of freedom, of owner-
ship, on despotism, on tyrannical power; if you succumb and write about these, you will be
committing a crime. Point out the means to diminish or cancel the overbearing taxation, and
you will see the sovereigns carry out your plans quickly, you will see joy and liberty revive,
property safeguarded everywhere […]; do write on legislation, do write as well on this
system that keeps Europe always in warfare, that depopulates and devastates the country-
side in times of peace.137

More explicitly than any of the censors, Accarias père’s contributions to the the-
ory of censorship argued cogently for self-censorship as a necessary precondition
for the freedom to criticize.138 At the same time, his own forceful objections to the
fiscal policies of Louis XIV were an example of what he meant by “freedom to think
and write”, as he took advantage of the repeal of the 1764 prohibition to publish on
the financial administration of the state.
Accarias père’s work did not have any impact on the French public discussion of
censorship as its circulation in France was minimal.139 Nor was it echoed in the
German or Austrian discussions of freedom of the press. Still, the issues raised by
Accarias père were taken up by his son, Jean-Jacques, in his capacity as royal cen-
sor. While Accarias fils espoused principles very similar to his father’s, he was con-
fronted with the reality of authors writing on political and economic topics who
were loathe to yield any ground to the royal censors on matters of self-censorship
and the collective contribution to common progress . Accarias fils’ experience as a
censor sorely tested the principles he shared with his father. In 1787 Brissot submit-
ted a book which fraudulently claimed to have been published in London, De la

134
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 2: 163.
135
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 2: 181.
136
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 2: 183.
137
Accarias de Sérionne 1775. Vol. 2: 187–8.
138
See Schneider 2003.
139
There is no copy in the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris. I used the copy at the Biblioteca
Palatina, Parma, shelfnumber *4 A-R8 S4.
“Freedom to Think and Write” and Economic Progress 133

France et des Etats-Unis by the financier Clavière, for approval by Accarias fils.
Brissot was used to dealing with the royal censors and on this occasion he seems to
have been certain that he fulfilled all the Librairie’s requirements.140 His hopes were
disappointed.
Accarias fils conformed strictly to his role and penned a detailed analysis con-
cluding that the book ought to be refused permission to publish.
We regret to point out the pages 20, 21, 23 and 24 of this introduction, which we would have
requested to be deleted had we seen the manuscript. We deem that it might be possible to
replace these pages with cartons, so that an elementary book does not contain blots that
disfigure it. The pages we are mentioning contain lively declamations in favour of freedom
of the press, against censorship, against censors – that is to say against the paternal vigi-
lance of our administration – in favour of letters and of those cultivating them. And, as
though one would want to prove at the same time how necessary this detested vigilance is,
to these pages is added an insulting remark against a living author, whose works, approved,
are the pleasure of numerous theatres in the capital.141

Accarias fils knew he was in an awkward position when confronted with Brissot’s
text: the censorship system had come under head-on attack and was being ques-
tioned in itself, in its very nature. The Preface contained a response to Accarias’s
objections.
The question is that the censor, who was created only to contain the impetus of a
generous freedom, assumes himself to be pleasing the authorities when he stretches
his task, suppresses truths that often would have been acknowledged, out of fear of
letting go other truths, that are too outspoken and could have been reproached him,
[… and] intimidates the honest man who would like to instruct his fellow
citizens.142
In the 1780s the very essence of the delicate but widely accepted balance between
the administration of the Librairie, authors and the publishers increasingly came
into question. Against the backdrop of the debate between authors and censors
about the practice of censorship under royal supervision, Brissot’s invectives can be
seen as signalling the end of the convergence of a substantial portion of French
authors with the monarchy, represented by the censors. This convergence had pro-
vided a template for the production and publication of “legitimate” texts which
enjoyed the intellectual and economic guarantees of a royal privilege. A crucial
element in the collapse of this balance was the emergence of the personality of the
author. Fully acknowledged by French law in 1777, the author could affirm his indi-
viduality through a total identification with his text and the risks that went with it,
including confrontation with and rejection of the concurrent institutional entity that
was royal censorship, as experienced by Rousseau in the 1760s.143

140
The correspondence between Brissot and the Société Typographique de Neuchâtel has been
published on-line by Robert Darnton in 2001; Brissot’s contacts with the Parisian censors are fre-
quently mentioned (http://www.voltaire.ox.ac.uk/www_vf/brissot/brissot_index.ssi). See
Whatmore 2012: 211–220.
141
BnF, MS fr. 22015, f. 42, n. 895. Brissot excoriated Beaumarchais’ Figaro. See Brown 2006.
142
Brissot and Clavière 1787: xxij.
143
Hesse 1990; Boncompain 2001.
Chapter 5
Equivocations and New Meanings

The “Politics of the Book” in Europe

The abbé Gabriel-François Coyer was an outstanding and unconventional figure in

the Enlightenment debate on politics and economics in the second half of the eigh-
teenth century. In 1756 he published a vigorous appeal to the nobility to take the
lead in the modernization of French society by eliminating the ban on nobles engag-
ing in commercial activity. If the French nobility were to embrace trade, the Bourbon
monarchy would be more able to compete successfully with England and the United
Provinces. When the conservative nobleman d’Arq published a polemical rejoinder,
in which he argued for the excellence of the “military nobility”, Coyer replied in a
typically polemical vein. He reviewed the course of French history in its entirety
and made explicit what had been merely implied in his previous work. Coyer
sketched a vision of society, republican, anti-feudal and fundamentally egalitarian,
in which the divide between the two basic constituents of society was clearly delin-
eated. The producers were juxtaposed to the parasites, who included “the regular
and secular clergy, professional soldiers, lawyers, financiers, rentiers, domestic ser-
vants, beggars, layabouts and grands seigneurs”.1
Coyer did not shy away from outspoken polemical confrontations and was
unabashed as to his own desire to see France deeply transformed by bold political
experiments. He also wrote the fictional story, at once satirical, utopian and senti-
mental, of the Vietnamese peasant Chinki and had it printed in 1768, with London
given (falsely) as the place of publication. To do so Coyer probably benefited from
some form of connivance from within the Librairie and its censors, as he had
dropped at least one unmistakable allusion to the clash between the unreasonable
Chinese mandarins, who controlled the output of the publishers, and the rationalist

1
See Maza 1997: 204–5; Smith 2005: 104–42.

© Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016 135

E. Tortarolo, The Invention of Free Press, International Archives
of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 219,
DOI 10.1007/978-94-017-7346-1_5
136 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

philosophers, who had to endure their whimsical verdicts.2 Coyer could success-
fully navigate a path through the labyrinthine creative space engendered by the
functional ambiguity of the French system even when criticizing it and pleading for
freedom of the press. Once more however, we should ask, what was meant by free-
dom of the press? In 1775 Coyer published another book, this time “with the
approval and privilege of the King” granted by the erudite and esteemed censor,
Jean Capperronnier, who stated that not only could he not see any reason to deny it
a publication permit, but that, “after so many tours of Italy, one will read this one too
with interest”. In his travelogue Coyer dealt with the organisation of censorship in
Italy. As in his previous writings, he made clear his distaste for restrictions and
bigoted intolerance. He conceded, however, that even in Italy the politics of books
was more complicated than one might assume, prima facie. The pages he devoted
to the management of book control in the different Italian states are genuinely illu-
minating. According to Coyer, the impact of papal intolerance in the Peninsula was
indeed noticeable but was restrained by its ineffectiveness. Religious toleration and
freedom of the press went hand in hand.
In Italy, in Venice, Milan, Lucca, Florence, you find translations of French and English
works that are forbidden elsewhere […]. Some cardinals, more conspicuous for their
lumières than for their office, protect this freedom; and one is dumbfounded upon buying,
untrammelled, in bookshops in Rome, books that are sold only under-the-cloak in Paris.

Coyer made use of subtle but effective irony to describe the functioning of cen-
sorship in the hands of the Master of the Sacred Palace, based as it was on an unspo-
ken agreement with writers. The statement that “the author accepts as absolute truth
what our holy Mother Church believes and dictates” had been required in published
poetry over the previous two centuries but was no longer deemed necessary. Coyer
remarked that “the Master of the Sacred Palace and the Inquisition are glad to
assume that everybody believes what he is supposed to believe; and they purposely
do not whip up theological disputes by paying too much attention”.
In Coyer’s pages Italy was presented as a paradox-ridden example of the gap
between theory and practice, between what censorship looked like and the real
space where authors could freely pursue their intellectual interests. In carefully
wrought sentences Coyer disseminated evidence for his endorsement of this tolerant
duplicity.
One has to admit that freedom of the press has its dangers; because, without mentioning the
libels that are and must be forbidden under any government, reckless minds may expose to
the full daylight audacious opinions about matters of State and of religion. At the present
time Italians think they should run some risks for these audacious opinions, which one can
refute with good reasons, rather than venture to choke the sources of light with the strong
breath of an exceedingly meticulous control (police inquiette). They compare the pen to the
sword, whose goal is the defence of the fatherland. But, if the sword is sometimes used to
commit a killing, should we therefore break it into pieces?3

2
On Coyer 1768 see Serna 1997: 60–1; Hanley 2002: 569.
3
Coyer 1775. Vol. 2: 190–2. Capperronnier approved Coyer’s manuscript on 6 January 1775.
Coyer’s description of the book trade in Rome matches the findings of Tarzia 2000. According to
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 137

To the same extent the toleration practised by the censors and the self-control of
the authors generated the conditions for intellectual production that, as Alessandro
Verri wrote in Rome some years after Coyer’s visit, was intended “not to lend itself
to the attacks by the priests or the princes” but “to apply all that […] came from the
imagination and philosophy to various objects of human life”.4 Investigations by the
Roman Inquisition during the eighteenth century were systemically delayed both in
initial enquiries and pronouncements of judgements. The most fearful repressive
institution in Italian history had grown much less impressive, as a consequence of
the reform of the Index promoted by Benedict XIV, Pope Lambertenghi, who issued
the bull Sollicita ac provida in late 1757.5
Coyer travelled through Italy in 1764. Upon his return to Paris, Coyer worked
through his notes and recalled his travels. A work which was bound to have struck
him as among the finest examples of Italian Enlightenment thought was Beccaria’s Dei
delitti e delle pene [Of Crimes and Punishments], printed in Leghorn with Aubert in
early July 1764. The very first copies became available to Beccaria’s close friend
Pietro Verri in Milan on 16 July.6 To a learned and philosophically oriented writer
like Coyer, the Italian world of printing and publishing was changing deeply in the
late 1750s and early 1760s. Publishers like Aubert who ventured to test the limits of
the Inquisition’s efficacy and of its collaboration with local governments, were part
of this sea-change. Coyer was favourably impressed. Yet in the same year, 1764, the
Inquisitor of Bologna, then part of the Papal States, complained in a letter of 14
March that forbidden works on the Index were sold legally in bookshops close to the
University, on condition that they were not displayed in the shop windows and that
their purchasers had the required authorization from the bishop.7
Both Coyer and the Inquisitor in Bologna agreed in their overall assessment.
Both referred to the most salient feature of the Italian system of control as it devel-
oped during the eighteenth century. The main responsibility for the control of book
production shifted from members of the clergy to secular officers who took over the
task of carrying out preventative censorship and regulating the printing sector. In
Coyer’s perspective, the cardinals of the papal monarchy, who “protect this
freedom”, were the ecclesiastic equivalents of state functionaries. It was the latter
who drastically secularized pre-publication censorship, mitigated its severity and

Tarzia, Bouchard and Gravier offered a wide choice of French books forbidden by the Roman
Inquisition (Montesquieu and Voltaire among the others) until the early 1770s, when control was
tightened over bookshops (71).
4
Alessandro Verri to Pietro Verri, Rome, 10 November 1770 (Carteggio di Pietro e di Alessandro
Verri 1923. Vol. 4: 63–4). A similar attitude was expressed when he learned that d’Holbach gave
up publishing an atheistic treatise “because he does not want to sacrifice himself: and he is right”
(Viaggio a Parigi e Londra 1776–1767 1980: 120).
5
See Rebellato 2008b: 186–230. On Sollicita ac provida promulgated in 1753 see Paarhammer
1985. Ecclesiastical control in Italy was becoming weak: see Delpiano 2007; Imbruglia 2005–
2006; Imbruglia 2011. See also Davidson 2000 (pointing out that Italian state censorship was
usually lax).
6
Venturi 1969: 711.
7
Bologna, Biblioteca dell’Archiginnasio MS. B. 1876, Copialettere dell’inquisitore di Bologna,
quoted in Shackleton 1988: 417–8.
138 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

imposed new criteria for evaluating manuscripts that diverged significantly from the
standards set by the Catholic Church since the Council of Trent. At the same, Coyer
could detect a fundamental, if unstable, concurrence of views between the managers
of the Italian “book economy” and the authors who wrote texts to be submitted
individually for censorship or, as in the case of Beccaria and his closed group of
congenial thinkers, who were perfectly aware of the rules of the game. Many
eighteenth-century documents betray a distinct concern that authors and printers
should find support from state officers to gain publication permission and to dis-
seminate their works. Local governments in Italy shared a tendency to strip tradi-
tional censorship institutions of the power they had once wielded, in which
ecclesiastical members generally prevailed in decision-making, and to reshape them
in order to enhance the power of lay representatives. The negotiations between the
Italian states and the papal hierarchy were long and arduous, as they were to decide
whether the ecclesiastical members would examine scientific, philosophical, liter-
ary and juridical texts as well religious manuscripts and whether the lay members
would prevail in the all too frequent case of a stand-off. The censorship reform of
1743 in Tuscany was achieved after a long tug-of-war by the representatives of the
newly-installed Habsburg-Lorraine dynasty, whereas the protracted confrontation
between the Holy See and the Republic of Venice about the powers of lay members
in the censorship commission are for their part evidence of the increasing impor-
tance of state prerogatives.8 As a consequence of this conflict the censorship system
evolved into an instrument to consolidate relationships between the censors, the
printers and the authors with an interest in collaboration. It also served to marginal-
ize and disadvantage printers and writers who were tied to the Catholic Church and
its local institutions and served their needs.
The transformation of the Italian understanding of freedom of the press took
place within the framework of expanding state power. Pietro Giannone was the
author of the 1723 Istoria civile del Regno di Napoli [Civil History of the Kingdom
of Naples] and a victim of the ecclesiastical reaction to its publication. In his
Apologia dell’Istoria Civile [Apology for Civil History], he focused on state control
of the press as a prerequisite for complete sovereignty within secular institutions.9
The publishing history of his major work Istoria civile is evidence of the exceed-
ingly fluid and unstable situation in the Kingdom of Naples, which in 1723 found
itself, temporarily as it turned out, under Austrian rather than Spanish rule. While
state officials authorized the publication of manuscripts by issuing “letters of
approval”, these could be successfully challenged by the ecclesiastic authorities.
The latter could exert pressure on printers and bookshops to halt the publication and
circulation of books that were legal but illegitimate to the Church because of their
content.10 Wherever state power claimed exclusive or prevalent control of the print-

8
See Landi 2000; Landi 2011a; Infelise 1989: 62–131; “Navigare nei mari dell’umano sapere”
2008. For an overview see Isabella 2007; Tortarolo 2003. Censura e censori: tra antichi Stati ital-
iani e tedeschi. Questioni storiografiche dei primi anni Novanta: 176–91; Braida 2010.
9
Giannone 1841. Vol. 1: 88. For a further explanation on this passage see Ricuperati 2001: 20–1.
10
For an overview see Robertson, John 2005: 106–9; Editoria e cultura a Napoli; Napoli. 2002:
63–71; Sabato 2007.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 139

ing press, authors gained new opportunities to reach and influence the reading
public, the importance of which was increasingly acknowledged as a crucial factor
in eighteenth-century political life. The wider scope of public discussion was con-
ditionally protected by secular public institutions which sought the support of and
greater interaction with the educated elites. Features of the functional ambiguity
which characterised the Librairie’s approach to censorship, were also found outside
France. Moreover, a substantial number of censors and enlightened thinkers were
contributing to this process in both the elaboration of theory and the practice of
censorship. Similarly to the Librairie, the governments of Venice and Florence were
inclined to tolerate the printers’ stratagem of declaring false or fictional places of
publication: at least with regard to works which supported the government’s views
and projects of reform but which (for convenience’s sake) could not be openly
endorsed with a printing privilege against the opposition of ecclesiastic authori-
ties.11 Italian Enlightenment thinkers quickly became aware of the opportunities
provided by this shifting balance between secular and ecclesiastic authorities. They
grasped with both hands the chance to bolster the traditionally weak reading public
and to fortify their own positions as widely read authors and as members of the
social and political elite.12 The reform of censorship institutions was expected to
contribute to the circulation of modern, secular and useful books without question-
ing but rather affirming, the principle that the civil authorities controlled the press
through pre-publication authorization. The most prominent thinkers in the various
Italian states agreed and were ready to collaborate. Lombardy, where Habsburgs
experimented with forms of cooperation between officials and writers to promote
shifts in public opinion, provides an excellent example. One of the prominent
authors on economic, fiscal and political matters since the 1760s, Pietro Verri,
acknowledged the principle of preventative control on many occasions, while in
private exchanges he expressed regret when his texts failed to evade the censors’
filter. In 1762 his book Dei disordini e de’ rimedi delle monete [On the disorders and
remedies of the currencies] was submitted to both the secular censor and the Father
Inquisitor, as prescribed, and was rejected. Instead Verri had it printed in the more
tolerant Tuscan city of Lucca. Verri consulted with Joseph von Sperges, the head of
the Italian Department after 1766 and an influential collaborator of Kaunitz, about
whether it was appropriate to publish his own Riflessioni sulle leggi vincolanti
principalmente nel commercio de’ grani [Thoughts on the Restrictive Laws
Principally in the Grain Trade].13 The result of the conversation was that Verri
decided against publication of his work and later, in 1783, he admitted in his Pensieri

11
Timpanaro Morelli 1999; Landi 2000. An insider’s view on the functioning of censorship in
Florence is provided by the diary (Efemeridi) kept by Pelli Bencivenni, who was charged with the
control of semi-legal publications (http://www.bncf.firenze.sbn.it/pelli/it/progetto.html). See for
example the entry on 8 August 1775 on the manuscript of a biography of the Pope Clement XIV.
According to Pelli Bencivenni, it turned out to be in fact an anti-Jesuit pamphlet. Pelli Bencivenni
argued against its publication (Series 2, Vol. 2: 500, 8 August 1775). See Capecchi 2006.
12
Pasta 1997: 32, mentions the “partial divergence” between the Tuscan government and the local
printers; Pasta 2005.
13
On Sperges and Kaunitz, see Szábo 1994: 51–64.
140 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

miei pericolosi a dirsi [Thoughts Too Dangerous to be told] that he wanted to avoid
publishing a text that was bound to excite hostile reactions among his colleagues
and friends.14 On the other hand, no matter how aware he was that stifling new ideas
was detrimental to the progress of civilization, Pietro Verri nonetheless carried out
a careful revision of the essays to be published in Caffé, the journal he edited from
1764 to 1766. This major expression of the Italian Enlightenment was printed in the
Republic of Venice and was subject to assessment by the censors of the Studio
veneto. This body was the Venetian agency for approval of publications, with the
power to object to the inclusion of provocative and critical articles. Pietro Verri did
not wish to run the risk of being castigated as offensive or outrageous. When one of
the contributors to the Caffé, Sebastiano Franci, submitted an abrasive article enti-
tled Alcuni pensieri politici [Some Political Thoughts], Verri revised and partially
rewrote it, considerably moderating its radical tone.15 Verri, like many Italian
reformers, found external interference with his impulse to share his ideas and proj-
ects almost intolerable, yet bitterly though he resented these curbs on his communi-
cation he did not advocate the abolition of pre-publication control. Rather, he
favoured a gradual widening of the information and opinions available to the gen-
eral public, particularly those conducive to the reform of social realities. In his 1771
Meditazioni sull’economia politica [Meditations on Political Economy], he sketched
the mission of the “minister” whose task would be to radically alter the nature of the
interaction between the sovereign and his subjects. The minister’s task would be “to
encourage in the public the desire to educate itself on matters of finance and eco-
nomics, to establish chairs in these subjects, so that in the instruction of the youth
enlightened men will impress on them the true motive principles of public happi-
ness”. To this purpose he recommended that “free entrance [into the state] be granted
to the works dealing with these useful subjects”, thereby limiting the free circula-
tion of books to those that were instrumental in promoting civil and social progress.
The printing press “will be free”, to the extent that it will provide an instrument that
all citizens may use “to express decently and discreetly their opinions on public
questions”.16 The validity of the principle was protected and circumscribed at the
same time through its appropriate use by reasonable writers.
Those contributors to Caffé who expressed their views on censorship, from Paolo
Frisi to Alfonso Longo, clearly believed that the state had an inherent right to con-
trol the publication and circulation of books and that this was an aspect of the recov-
ery of independence and autonomy from the ecclesiastical authorities. Frisi, a
scientist and a member of the Barnabite Order, was particularly outspoken. It was
not the legitimacy of control which was in question, but rather who was to exercise
it. Civil power could not to be exposed to competition from the Catholic Church. In

14
See Capra 2002: 184, 302, 541.
15
Francioni 1993: cxxviii–cxlv.
16
Verri 1771: 248–9. See Capra 2002, 381. Pietro Verri’s brother, Alessandro, considered England
to exemplify the positive effects of freedom of the press (Viaggio a Parigi e Londra 1980: 292,
letter to Pietro Verri from London, 2 February 1767).
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 141

1766 Frisi was to be appointed a censor of religious books in the new commission
that replaced the Inquisition. As such he claimed that
The revisions of the books that for such a long time the Inquisitors have been taking advan-
tage of should be immediately reclaimed by the government. The Church can censor and
condemn a book, and also forbid its reading, under spiritual penalties. But to ban a book
from being printed, circulated, put on sale, is an act of temporal sovereignty that does not
belong to the Church.17
Another prominent member of the Caffé circle, Alfonso Longo, neatly separated “scien-
tific and reasonable books”, that must be disseminated unhampered, and “pamphlets” that
would only impede the process of reform. The rallying cry among Milanese Enlightenment
thinkers was, as Frisi wrote in his 1768 Piano della censura de’ libri [Plan for censorship
of books] to grant “a decent liberty to think and write, as the fittest liberty to discover useful
truths, to shed new light throughout the nation, and wake up and make known the best
minds”.18

Their main concern was that “good books” should circulate and be read as widely
as possible, without any interference from the clergy. The strategy advocated by the
Italian philosophes focused on a notion of enlightened control of the printing press
to foster the progress of civilization rather than the opening up of the editorial mar-
ket to conflicting opinions upon which informed readers would have adjudicated.
Carloantonio Pilati applied this perspective to his ongoing attack on the role played
by the Catholic Church. The secular censors “will also review every manuscript,
before it may be printed within the state boundaries and will deny publication per-
mits to any book that contains some of those errors that cannot be tolerated”.19
Books that were superstitious, backward-looking and hence corrosive of public
mores, should hence not be allowed to reach the market. The Florentine, Cosimo
Amidei concurred with Pilati and recommended a similar approach to the issue of
freedom of the press in the Grand Duchy of Tuscany. Given that “the assessment of
secular books belongs exclusively to the censors (revisori) appointed by the Grand
Duke”, Amidei prized this “freedom of the press” as an expression of the “indepen-
dence of public authority” as well as the source of “a remarkable profit for the
State”.20
These views referred to sweeping reforms launched by the Bourbon and Habsburg
monarchies in the 1750s and 1760s to alter their relationships with the Catholic
Church. Reconsideration of the meaning of concepts like censorship and freedom of
the press was a crucial factor in the mobilisation of educated elites in support of
secular governments. The Italian territories participated in a Europe-wide transfor-
mation that affected the way the role of the press was considered. The Italian states
were particularly responsive to decisions made in Vienna, due to the strength of
Habsburg influence. The Jesuits were excluded from the censorship commission in
Vienna and in consequence of its secularisation Gerard van Swieten was appointed
its president in 1759. The most evident outcome of this reform was the increase in

17
Frisi 1958: 327.
18
Tarchetti 1987.
19
Pilati 1767: 221. See Luzzi 2005.
20
Amidei 1980: 247.
142 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

the number and variety of texts legally admitted for publication. It also saw the
concentration of real power in the hands of the supporters and protégés of Kaunitz,
who recommended that the members of the commission avoid “an excessive
censorship”.21 In his position as Empress Maria Theresa’s most trusted and influen-
tial minister, Kaunitz made it clear that to him a wider circulation of printed books
was necessary to “the common good” also in all states whose subjects were part of
the Catholic communion. When the Apostolic Nuncio claimed to have proof that
the reform of censorship in Milan was juridically illegitimate and inimical to eccle-
siastic and civil authority, Kaunitz replied forcefully, stating that “it is one thing to
know and assess the doctrine contained in books referring to matters of religion, and
determine if it either concurs or disagrees with the principles [of religion], [but] it is
quite another thing either to bar or to let in these books”, the latter being exclusively
a prerogative of civil authority. “Truth and good government” unambiguously sup-
ported this formulation, which informed “the practice of the Catholic courts and of
the Portuguese court most recently, that made use of its authority and just issued in
its domain a similar instruction to censor books by establishing a perpetual commit-
tee, that is to say a tribunal called the royal censorship board”.22
Shortly after his confrontation with the Apostolic Nuncio, Kaunitz penned his
Collectanea sur la puissance souveraine relativement à la religion. His starting
point was that only “the State has a right to make decisions on what it is possible to
read and teach” in accordance with its constitution and the aims of its legislation.23
Kaunitz advanced a project of reform that lacked neither clarity nor energy. His
points of reference were specific local contexts in Italy where, as part of the ongoing
jurisdictional confrontation with the Church culminating in the 1760s, the state
sought to open up new intellectual and discursive space under the control of the
secular bureaucracy.24 Pietro Verri and others in the Italian Enlightenment agreed
with Kaunitz: the new meaning of freedom of the press looked to the juridical
framework created by the absolute sovereign wherein civil power generated the
conditions which allowed collaboration with authors and the elimination of ecclesi-
astic authorities’ power of prohibition.25
In this sense (and only in this sense) the notion of “freedom of the press” was
used under Joseph II in the Habsburg monarchy. The censorship commission was
not removed, but it was thoroughly reformed and staffed with members committed
to the new Emperor’s modernization project. The list of forbidden books was
entirely revised and shortened from 5000 books to 900. The criteria that informed
the censors’ supervision and prohibitions, when these were deemed necessary,
changed drastically. The outcome was twofold: control of censorship was perceived

21
See Szábo 1994: 186–7; Beales 2005: 214–7; Klingenstein 1970.
22
16 June 1768, in Maaß 1951–1961. Vol. 1: 299–302, 301. On the establishment of the Real Mesa
Censoria on 5 Aprile 1768 see Esteves Payan Martins 2005: 58–75; Maxwell 1995: 92–3.
23
Maaß 1951–1961. Vol. 1: 381.
24
Venturi 1976.
25
See Delpiano 2007: 213–89.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 143

as a substantial liberalization, but its decisions to ban a book were meant to be taken
seriously and to be fully implemented.26 Censorship was indeed relaxed, in com-
parison to previous decades, but not surrendered altogether. The ensuing
Broschurenflut (flood of brochures), made possible by the new censorship policy,
represented the most liberal expression of the Emperor’s outlook on the press and
censorship. The Broschurenflut constituted a public sphere where issues could be
discussed openly and the tension between civil and ecclesiastical power was played
out and managed so as to influence the general attitude of readers in favour of the
Imperial policy.
The third paragraph of the Grund-Regeln zur Bestimmung einer ordentlichen
künftigen Bücher Censur [Directives to determine a formal future censorship com-
mission] stated unambiguously: “Critiques, so long as they are not libels, no matter
whom they may be directed at, from the Sovereign down to the most humble person,
should not be forbidden, especially if the author prints his name and thereby pres-
ents himself as the guarantor for the truth of the content; for anybody who loves
truth, it must be a joy if truth is available to him in this way”.27 By 1784, however,
Joseph II and his government could no longer exercise complete indirect control,
nor guide the production of texts for the general public. The growing demand for
cheap books on politics and religious matters was met with writings that were
increasingly critical of Joseph II’s character and decisions; in response the leeway
authors had enjoyed was dramatically reduced. Disrespect for the sovereign was not
an option. From the very beginning of the Broschurenflut Joseph II consistently
forbade the publication of attacks on foreign kings, prevented the Austrian clergy
from condemning imperial decrees touching on religion and from replying to anti-
Catholic or deist writings and with an iron fist he regulated the plays to be per-
formed on theatre stage and at the opera houses.28 In 1789 the anonymous Briefe
über den gegenwärtigen Zustand der Litteratur und des Buchhandels in Österreich
[Letters on the contemporary situation of literature and the book trade in Austria]
described how the permission to publish was granted in 1783 and denounced the
ambivalence of Joseph’s policies.
Despite the freedom of the press, the censorship laws in this country are rather inquisitorial
(ziemlich inquisitionsmäßig). Those who want to publish in the imperial and royal states
(from the most imposing work to a visiting card) without the preventative authorization, the
imprimatur, from the censors, is liable to pay a fine of 100 ducats, if he is detected. Here too
there is a permittitur or admittitur. If one is granted it, he can publish and sell his book, but
is not allowed to specify himself as the printer nor Vienna as the place of publication. There
is another law, permitting some authorized works to be visibly on sale, but not announced
publicly, and so on and on.29

26
Bernard 1979: 58–9.
27
Der Josephinismus 1995: 216.
28
See Bodi 1977; Wangermann 2004: 150–84; Beales 2009: 89–99, has a detailed description of
the 1781 Edict of Toleration which also highlights its limitations; Jürs-Munby 2007.
29
Briefe über den gegenwärtigen Zustand der Litteratur und des Buchhandels in Oesterreich,
[Wien?] 1788, 28, as cited in Wolf 2007: 321–2.
144 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

The experiment under Joseph II to simultaneously promote and control freedom

of the press as an instrument for the modernization of the Habsburg monarchy
against ecclesiastical tutelage, stands out among similar efforts in the second half of
the eighteenth century for its ephemeral but vigorous attempt to establish a new bal-
ance. Rather than following the French example of increasing functional ambiguity
based on varying degrees of tolerance or connivance between the censors and
authors, the Emperor aimed to create a large, but not unrestrained measure of free-
dom, within discursive boundaries clearly defined and severely enforced. From this
point of view, the Josephine experiment came closer to the openly absolutist
approaches devised in the Central and North European monarchies.
For the German states the institutional framework was provided by the generally
ineffective controls operating in the polycentric and fragmented political system of
the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation. The rules and practice of censorship
varied considerably in its different territories. Both extremes could be found in the
German territories, from the most vicious and parochial repression of independent
thinkers to glowing praise for the benefits that the advancement of learning gained
from free debate and a free press. In 1760 the cameralist Johann Heinrich Gottlob
von Justi wrote one of the most spirited defences of the English paradigm of free-
dom for the German-speaking reading public. He described the scholars (what he
called the Gelehrte) as intrinsically free and emancipated from subjection to any
sovereign.30 In fact, Justi pleaded for the free and unrestrained use of reason by
scholars in terms similar to the Kantian distinction between private and public use
of reason:
Scholars (Gelehrte), to the extent that they are considered not citizens and inhabitants of a
country, but only scholars, are exactly as free as the greatest monarchs of the world. Just as
the latter acknowledge only God and the sword as their superiors, a scholar acknowledges
only reason and a more powerful pen as his master. In his capacity as a scholar he can think,
draw conclusions, believe, teach and write what he wants, provided that he accepts his
accountability before the great tribunal of reason, and that none with a more powerful pen
can embarrass him so that he is forced to give in and obey to the power of rational
conclusions.31

The institutional framework German scholars faced was, however, more differ-
entiated than one might assume from Justi’s abstraction.
On the whole, censorship in early modern Germany was rather inefficient, in the
sense that only rarely could governments ban books that were considered danger-
ous. Most German states (including Prussia under Frederick II, where Justi lived
from 1760 until his death in Berlin in 1771) and the Empire as a whole had various
offices entrusted with censorship.32 The most comprehensive layer of censorship
should have been the imperial grade, which was also the most ancient. But the sheer

30
Justi1760. Vorrede and Die Beschaffenheit und Verfassung der Republik der Gelehrten. Vol. 1,
no page number and Vol. 2: 341–74. See the insightful discussion of the heterodox elements in the
German Republic of Letters in Mulsow 2007.
31
Justi. 1760. Die Beschaffenheit und Verfassung der Republik der Gelehrten. Vol 2: 343.
32
Einsenhardt 1970; Schneider 1966; Plachta 1993.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 145

multitude of censorship officials belonging to a plethora of bodies and divided by

contrasting loyalties, prevented censorship from becoming an over-mighty institu-
tion, as in France and in the Austrian Erblande. Territorial state governments often
resisted imperial Habsburg censorship: an anonymous critic writing in 1757 attacked
the confiscation and suppression of anti-Habsburg books by the Reichsfiscal and
praised Prussian policy in the war with the following argument: “The Emperor,
being a party to the suit, declares himself to be the judge. He fears that the impartial
public, this fair judge, might not be easily cheated. Therefore an attempt is made to
prevent the public from judging the truth by banning all writings that show the jus-
tice of the Prussian cause”.33 Conflicts between different territorial states concern-
ing the exercise of censorship functions and divergences between Protestant and
Catholic states were frequent. In the 1770s and 1780s ecclesiastical principalities
often accused the Prussian monarchy of being too lax and of allowing Prussian
printers and booktraders to flood Catholic Germany with dangerous books and jour-
nals.34 It should also be remarked that in the different states censorship was not
managed by a single institution. Many officials were charged with the censorship of
specific sorts of books and journals: standards of judgement were different and con-
flicts between officials broke out frequently. It is also important to remember that
institutions such as the Universities, the Academies of the sciences as well as some
individual writers enjoyed exemptions from censorship. Skepticism about the posi-
tive consequences of censorship was widespread. According to the Deutsche
Encyklopädie in 1780, censorship was one of the institutions of the Polizey: it must
prevent “dangerous and shameful books” from entering the country and also protect
the local book trade enacting wise, that is to say moderate and fairly liberal, mea-
sures. As a matter of fact, censorship was particularly sensitive to external priorities;
as a rule censorship was managed with a high degree of flexibility, according to the
political, diplomatic and economic context of each territory.
Berlin was considered by contemporaries to be the seat of a very liberal govern-
ment as regards freedom of the press, though forms of censorship did exist. Many
writers lived in Berlin (172 in 1783 according to Zöllner, 145 in 1795 according to
Schmidt and Mehring),35 social life was lively and attracted many foreigners; and
activities connected with the printing and selling of books were widespread.
Contemporaries mentioned Prussia as an example of liberty of the press. Nonetheless,
the myth of Frederick II as an enemy of censorship can be easily countered. In the
first two decades of his reign he repeatedly reorganized Prussian censorship.36 The
original arrangement was fragmentary and shows that it had not followed a system-
atic plan. The Lutheran Consistorium was to control books on religion. The
Department for Foreign Affairs had to monitor books dealing with foreign politics
and jus publicum. Moreover there was a commission made up of individual censors:

33
Wie weit geht das Recht eines Reichs-Fiscals in Ansehung der Bücher-Censur? 1757: 13.
34
See Molitor 1982.
35
Schmidt and Mehring 1795.
36
Acta Borussica 1892–1936. Vol. 7: 408–9; Vol. 8: 403–5; Vol. 10: 315; Vol. 11: 518 and 522,
footnote 1.
146 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

each was charged with examining specific topics like history, philosophy, jurispru-
dence, or specific authors. Usually these censors were members of the Academy of
the sciences or had occupied official positions in the civil service. None was in the
first place and above all a censor. In 1747 Frederick II tried to restructure the censor-
ship system and appointed the Academy of the sciences as the sole censorship insti-
tution: all books and all journals had to be deposited there for examination before
being printed. This would have led to a more regular procedure and a modern form
of censorship, but was resented by printers for financial reasons (censorship fees
were increased to meet the needs of the Academy) and commercial reasons (censor-
ship was expected to become stricter, thereby curtailing production) and by the
academicians as well, who resisted the prospect of additional work for no additional
revenue. This scheme failed, showing the limits of absolute rule, and in 1749 the
king re-established the old system. The edict of 1749 became a milestone in German
discussions about censorship and freedom of the press in the second half of the
century: it stated that censors had to pass books which were not against religion, the
state and good morals.37 It was up to the censors to decide what these three concepts
actually meant. A similar, if slightly more rigid system was adopted for newspapers:
the censors had to take care not to permit anything offensive to foreign powers and
to ensure that censors’ decisions were scrupulously followed by the printers.
Frederick’s subsequent instructions to the censors show that reality almost never
lived up to absolutist theory and royal intentions. This was in spite of the efforts of
officials such as the Berlin Generalfiscale, who sometimes, usually haphazardly,
confiscated any books at the booksellers’ premises that they thought were in breach
of the edict’s provisions. In this case it was apparent that the laxity of the censoring
system opened the field to two competing ideas of what constituted a dangerous
book. The legal structure of censorship in the Prussian monarchy did not change
until 1788, when the new king Frederick William II enacted a censorship edict
aimed at tightening the practice of censorship, especially in the religious sphere,
while leaving the basic system intact.
The key feature of Frederick II’s censorship system was that it was preventative,
that it was based on the decisions of the individual censors, that it was a highly
informal, case-by-case system, in which person-to-person relationships played an
important role. For printing to flourish, censors, publishers and authors had to work
together. Roles were not as clear-cut as one might expect: many publishers were no
mere businessmen, were proud of their prestigious contribution to the
Gelehrtenrepublik and sometimes wrote books and edited journals themselves.
Authors only rarely made a living by their pens: they were often state officials or
members of the clergy. Last but not least, censors were in most cases hommes de
lettres, convinced that on the one hand freedom of the press was necessary for the
improvement of mankind, on the other hand, that censorship was necessary to safe-
guard the state’s morality and public order, and to prevent what they thought were
plainly objective errors from becoming widespread.

37
Edict wegen der wieder hergestellten Censur 1749.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 147

In this censorship system the individual personalities of the censors were a deci-
sive factor, as their political culture, their intellectual commitment, their social rela-
tions deeply influenced the practice of censorship and therefore determined what
issues were liable to be discussed in the public. Many censors were members of the
Academy of the sciences and they included scholars distinguished in their fields,
such as Pellouttier, Kahle and Sulzer, in their ranks. Sulzer, a famous Swiss
Popularphilosoph who had lived in Berlin since 1747, dropped a telling remark on
censorship in a 1748 letter to his friend Gleim. According to Sulzer, German writers
had nothing to fear from Prussian censorship, as its principles were very tolerant.38
Other Prussian censors included the theologian Teller, Dohm, the well-known
author of a book in favour of the emancipation of the Jews and the expert in public
law Steck. For all of these men the apparent duplicity of their role as censors and as
writers was entirely natural; there was no contradiction to them between subordina-
tion to the king’s approval and acquiescence in the public’s judgement. Two lesser-
known censors are particularly worth investigating: Marconnay and Beausobre
were examples of censors who, while serving in the state bureaucracy, were actively
engaged in Berlin literary life. Marconnay was appointed censor in 1767 after serv-
ing in the Prussian diplomatic corps during the Seven Years War; as a young student
of law, he studied Wolff’s philosophy, became acquainted with Formey and other
academicians, wrote literary pamphlets and commented extensively and with genu-
ine enthusiasm on the Nouvelle Héloïse and Coyer’s Vie de Sobieski in his corre-
spondence with Formey.39
In his 1756 pamphlet, Schreiben eines Reisenden aus Danzig arguing in favour
of Frederick II in his conflict with the king of Saxony at the outset of the Seven
Years War, Marconnay appealed repeatedly to the German Publikum, casting it as
the highest judge and demonstrating that even diplomacy had to take account of the
prevailing mood in Germany. Marconnay was a state official with a literary and
philosophical background, a censor with a very clear intellectual stance and influen-
tial connections among the literary elite: in 1782 he forbade the publication of the
advertisement for a Prière pour obtenir de Dieu un ministre selon son esprit dans
l’Eglise française du Werder, à Berlin. Par une âme dévote.40 It is clear from this and
other examples that Marconnay took advantage of his position as a censor to exert
influence on public debate, in favour of the enlightened theology of Erman and
Reclam. Louis de Beausobre, the son of the famous Huguenot theologian and
learned historian, was a colleague of Marconnay from 1755 until his death in 1783;
like Marconnay, Beausobre was linked to Formey and was engaged with contempo-
rary German and French philosophy. As a young man, he spent over a year in Paris
in 1752 and 1753; during his stay in France he wrote a polemical essay against
Raynal in the Mercure de France and was acquainted with Condillac. In Le
Pyrrhonisme du sage, written in 1754, Beausobre claimed that time and experience
have increased man’s knowledge of the world; that man must always be humble and

38
Briefe der Schweizer Bodmer, Sulzer, Geßner 1804: 79.
39
SzBPK, Nachlaß Formey.
40
GStA PK, I, HA Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 10.
148 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

rational.41 In a later essay on the principles of politics and economic thought

Beausobre combined his skeptical attitude with a firm commitment to the well-
being of the state as a supreme value.42 This position suited a Prussian civil servant
better than extreme scepticism: still, Beausobre maintained a lively interest in, and
engagement with, the literary world.
A survey of censorship records in the Prussian archives shows that the working
of censorship’s repressive function was relatively smooth and discreet. It is worth
noting that Lessing’s complaints about Prussian censorship were exceptional and
that his indictment of Prussian censorship as a despotic and enslaving institution, in
a private letter to Nicolai, should not be interpreted as an outlook shared by his
contemporaries.43 The contrary was usually considered to be true. Prussian writers
had little reason to be dissatisfied with the way censorship was managed. Most of
the books and journals that were actually confiscated were attacks on Prussian for-
eign policy from outside the kingdom, as during the war for the Austrian Succession
and at the time of the first partition of Poland in 1772, or dealt with minor quarrels
between private individuals aggrieved by some published matter. The famous liter-
ary journal Literaturbriefe, for instance, was banned in 1762 thanks to a denuncia-
tion by Justi, who was insulted by a book review. Some confiscated books were
considered libellous against foreign powers, more often than not, Russia. The point
is that until the early 1780s, that is until the final years of Frederick II’s rule, coop-
eration between enlightened writers, state officials entrusted with censorship and
publishers, worked to almost everybody’s satisfaction. This cooperation sometimes
resulted in a complete lack of censorship. In 1759 Kahle accepted the appointment
as a censor only once he was told that “in a whole year not a single book was
brought to the censor”.44
The cohesive force binding all three was a common understanding of
Enlightenment principles, including a commitment to tolerate criticism in public
discussion. This does not mean that censors, writers and book-traders (who in most
cases were also publishers) agreed on the desirability or even feasibility of absolute
freedom of the press. What they agreed on, was that free communication and
exchange of ideas and innovations were inherently positive contributions to the
well-being of the state. Encouragement for the Enlightenment was interpreted as an
important factor in Prussia’s modernization and provided greater resilience and
strength to her ruling house. The project of elevating Prussia to ‘Great Power’ status
required a thriving, lively public discourse which had to be nurtured by the state.
Anything contrary to the state, religion and morality (die guten Sitten) was consid-
ered to be contrary to the Enlightenment, as it was understood by the intellectual
and political elite under Frederick II. As a consequence the Prussian censors, writ-
ers and publishers all contributed to the emergence of a public sphere in Berlin and
were instrumental in shaping it. The public sphere in Berlin owed its existence to

41
Beausobre 1754.
42
Beausobre 1764.
43
Lessing to Nicolai, 25 August, 1769 (Lessing 1983: 186–7).
44
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 12.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 149

the state, originated in an act of political will and only began to carve out its inde-
pendence in the 1780s.
The features and peculiarities of the Prussian public sphere, directed and sup-
ported by servants of the state, were complex and quite remarkable. A survey of
books confiscated prior to 1788, reveals books that were stock-in-trade of the clan-
destine book market in France, as well as German publications. In 1743, the
Generalfiscal Uhden remarked upon and deplored the fact that at a public auction
one could purchase such books as La putain errante by Aretino, L’école des filles,
ou les mémoires de Constance by Millot, Les Fantaisies de Bruscambille by
Deslauriers.45 There is also evidence of a trade in pornographic books in the capital.
As to livres philosophiques, the Prussian authorities’ reactions were ambiguous:
they disapproved of Mémoires d’une reine infortunée and some of Rousseau’s writ-
ings just as much as the French government did. Voltaire’s Pucelle d’Orléans and
Lamettrie’s Homme-machine were confiscated by the zealous Generalfiscale for the
same reasons as their French counterparts.46 Some works, such as Moser’s Was ist
gut kaiserlich or Locatelli’s Lettres moscovites were prohibited for specifically
Prussian reasons as they jeopardized Prussia’s position in the Empire (nevertheless
Moser’s book was widely reviewed in learned journals). On the other hand, and in
contrast to Robert Darnton’s list of forbidden books smuggled into France, we find
quite a few examples of books that were prohibited in France yet were legally pub-
lished and openly sold in Prussia.47 A striking, if minor case, was Mouffle
d’Angerville’s La vie privée de Louis XV, which was ordered 198 times from the
Société typographique de Neuchatel, and was apparently a best-seller in the under-
ground market. In 1780 the German translation was submitted to the censor Schlüter
by Frederick Nicolai the publisher. Schlüter suggested a few minor changes con-
cerning Prussia’s role in the Kartoffelnkrieg against Joseph II, overlooked some
satirical paragraphs about Frederick II and finally permitted the printing of La vie
privée de Louis XV in Prussia.48 A detailed analysis of Schlüter’s reading confirms
that desacralisation of the king’s role and personality was well under way. La vie
privée de Louis XV shocked nobody in Berlin. Compared to Darnton’s list of forbid-
den books, many substantial divergences become evident between the French and
Prussian contexts. D’Holbach’s works were translated and published in Berlin with-
out any difficulty from the censors; the Système social was reviewed in the Journal
littéraire edited by members of the Academy of the sciences and was cited in 1788
as an authoritative source along with Raynal’s Tableau de l’Europe in Brunn’s apol-
ogy for the Prussian monarchy.49 Despite occasional interference by the
Generalfiscale in the 1750s and Frederick II’s sporadic fits of rage against him,
Voltaire’s works were widely translated and read. Masonic literature was available

45
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 1.
46
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 12.
47
See the list of the forbidden books in Darnton 1991.
48
Mouffle d’Argenville 1781 See Schlüter to Nicolai, 13 November 1780, SzBPK Nachlaß Nicolai,
87.
49
See Journal littéraire 7 (1773): 216–22 and Der Preußische Staat: 127.
150 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

at any bookshop. Since it was the printer who, under the law, was to suffer the grav-
est consequences of infringements of censorship, he often acted as an adjunct to the
censors in a variety of ways. An example of this is provided by Friedrich Nicolai,
the most important publisher in Berlin, who in 1775 received a demand from
d’Anières, the Generalfiscal, to provide a formal written censor’s approval for his
Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek [German General Library], the major forum of
learned public opinion in Germany since 1765. Nicolai’s response was threefold:
first, that his journal had not once been subjected to censorship in the previous 10
years; second, that what he called a decent freedom of the press in Prussia (eine
anständige Freyheit zu drucken) had promoted the sciences in the kingdom; third,
that the royal censor Teller had been a prominent contributor to the Allgemeine
Deutsche Bibliothek from its inception and had read many manuscripts before their
publication. Nicolai therefore felt his review to be adequately legitimated, in his
own words (genugsam legitimiert), by Teller’s involvement.50 On the other hand,
Nicolai took care to suggest strategic changes to the authors, to ensure their texts
corresponded to authentic enlightened principles. In the case of Dohm’s famous
book advocating civil emancipation for the Jews (1781), there is a revealing corre-
spondence between Nicolai and Dohm (who was also a royal censor) about the most
appropriate way to have the book positively censored. In the end, they agreed that
Teller was the most liberal censor available and that he should review it, which tell-
ingly, came to pass.51 The majority of repressive interventions were initiated by the
Generalfiscale whose responsibilities, as the local institutional embodiment of the
executive and administration, included maintaining order within its territory. As a
rule, demonstrated by d’Anières in 1769, the Generalfiscale opposed the censors’
decisions ex-post facto and lamented their laxity.52
In the 1760s and 1770s the accord between censors, writers and publishers func-
tioned largely without friction. During this period, but much more markedly in the
1780s, the debate about freedom of the press intensified. This discussion had obvi-
ous implications and concomitant philosophical presuppositions. Only a few repre-
sentative positions concerned with the political implications of the debate will be
analysed here. The first point is that this discussion was conducted in public: in
essays for popular and learned journals, in pamphlets, even in gazette reports, intel-
lectuals confronted each other on their competing conceptions of freedom of the
press and on what sort of consequences it could entail. Implicit in this was the idea
that each author’s approach embodied the ‘right sort’ of liberty. Even the most inter-
esting (and secret) debate at the Mittwochsgesellschaft (Wednesday Society) in
1783 and 1784, saw different interpretations advanced, which the members of this
society also expressed in the public forum.53 Discussion was secret but the ideas that
were put forward were to be public. An overwhelming majority of the participants

50
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 14.
51
Dohm to Nicolai, 11 May 1780, SzBPK, Nachlaß Nicolai, 15.
52
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 14. The role of the Generalfiscale in the Prussian bureau-
cracy is stressed in the seminal work by Rosenberg 1958; Johnson 1975: 121.
53
See Hellmuth 2002; Stöber 2012.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 151

in this debate claimed to be in favour of press freedom, which demonstrates that the
real issue at stake was the interpretation of its meaning, and of the relationship
between the press and the public. There was no discussion about the desirability of
press freedom. When it came to some sort of definition of freedom of the press,
limits that would preserve the core of freedom, while preventing abuses, were rec-
ommended. Free communication between members of society was to be preserved;
the well-being of the country, in both domestic and foreign affairs, was held to be of
paramount importance. State control over religious writings, in order to staunch the
spread of religious fervour, was accepted for the most part. In the Allgemeine
Deutsche Bibliothek Nicolai and his collaborators stood in favour of freedom of the
press, as in 1773, when they reprinted a long passage from Milton’s Areopagitica.
In 1775 a review of the Encyclopädisches Journal provided an opportunity to criti-
cize censorship in the Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek.54 At the same time, in 1775,
the famous jurist Johann Jakob Moser gave ample evidence of the contradictions
within the German system of censorship; he ended his detailed examination of cen-
sorship in the Empire by calling for the restoration of “die alt-Teutsche, herköm-
mliche, und unschädliche, Freyheit der Presse” (“the restoration of the old-German,
customary, and harmless freedom of the press”).55 Freedom of the press was still a
perspicuous idea. This changed, however, in the 1780s. An increasing number of
journalists and writers appealed to a conception of freedom of the press that stoked
tension between them and the government, and sometimes even between the cen-
sors and the government. In 1784 an essay by Johan Georg Heinrich Feder appeared
in the Neueste Staatsanzeigen which argued in favour of extending freedom of the
press to permit publication of self-defence against calumny. He maintained that a
subject who felt persecuted by the authorities should be able to turn “to the highest
judge, the sovereign of the nation, or the whole public” for an impartial judgement
and redress of his grievances. In this conception a free press and the right to appeal
to the public were cast as a means of opposing abuses by the authorities.56 In the
same year the outstanding Berlin journal Berlinische Monatsschrift published an
anonymous essay entitled Über Denk- und Druckfreiheit. An Fürsten, Minister und
Schriftsteller [On freedom of thought and of the press: for princes, ministers and
writers], written in fact by Ernst Ferdinand Klein. According to Klein, freedom of
the press in Prussia was complete and was a substitute for political freedom.
Freedom of the press was linked to the progress achieved by the Prussian intellec-
tual elite, who, according to the author, actually embodied the expectations of an
enlightened age. “The freedom to think out loud is the most efficient weapon of the
Prussian state […]. If the Prussian king wants writings against the state to be sup-
pressed, he means just those writings which attack the State, betray it to its enemies,
set the subjects free from their duty of obedience and provoke civil disorder; he does
not mean modest opinions about orders given by the sovereign or by his stewards

54
Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek 24 (1775): 296–301.
55
Moser 1772: 110.
56
Feder 1784.
152 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

[…]. This freedom of the press is the clearest sign of a wise government”.57 In other
words, Klein’s idea of freedom of the press was based on a preliminary consensus
among the participants in the discussion; access to the public was subordinated to
the acceptance of the Prussian, state-oriented version of the Enlightenment. A cen-
tral element in this interpretation was the idea of “collision” between human rights
(including freedom of the press) and the well-being of the state. Carl Friedrich
Bahrdt maintained that in the case of the said collision, reasons of state prevailed
over the rights of the subjects.58 Since Frederick II was usually considered to be the
embodiment of the Enlightenment, a correlation between freedom of the press and
commitment to the Enlightenment in public discourse was taken for granted. This
understanding of the relationship between frank discussion and the public sphere
was a significant influence on the 1781 decision to allow public debate on a possible
revision of Prussian censorship laws. The Chancellor Carmer thought that free dis-
cussion and a free press were useful.“Really able and competent men should be
open and communicate to the King their thoughts and proposals concerning these
matters, through print as well; nonetheless I cannot be indifferent if this way the
public is given writings that can but lead it astray and worry it with prejudices and
false ideas”. The prime minister Hertzberg basically subscribed to the same concept
when he recommended the prohibition of an essay by Heß criticizing the municipal
government of Hamburg:
It is not advisable to permit in Your Majesty’s states the publication of a work full of false
statements, of invectives and critiques, most of the time unfounded, against respectable
governments and even against Your Majesty’s rule, and that at bottom has no other aim than
to express feeling of animosity and personal revenge.59

The divergence between these conceptions of freedom of the press and access to
public debate, and the former, more liberal understanding, grew wider in 1780s
Berlin. Increasing numbers of writers were attracted by the relatively free atmo-
sphere in Berlin, not to mention its expanding market; outsiders joined in the shap-
ing of the public sphere. More and more journalists took the idea of public discussion
seriously and some of them sidestepped this ‘consensus theory’. In 1785 the editors
of the Ephemeriden der Litteratur und des Theaters, published in Berlin, asserted
that “Nowhere else do people talk about the state, the king, this or that new institu-
tion with more freedom”.60 Others tried to reach this potentially volatile sector of
the reading public in Berlin. In 1782 the unknown journalist Uhden, for example,
established the Freimaurer-Zeitung, in which he appealed to a wider readership than
was usually interested in Masonic affairs. The Freimaurer-Zeitung dealt especially
with Rosicrucian theories; despite Uhden’s protests and appeals to the edict of 1749,
his journal was ruthlessly suppressed by Hertzberg.61 The same thing happened to

57
Berlinische Monatsschrift April 1784: 312–30.
58
Bahrdt 1787.
59
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasc. 15.
60
3 December (n. 49) 1785: 353.
61
See Bibliothek für Denker und Männer von Geschmack 7 (1783): 568.
The “Politics of the Book” in Europe 153

the Predigt-Kritiken, a periodical publication dealing with the sermons given in

protestant churches in Berlin. Although the editors claimed to be working in the
spirit of the Enlightenment, their journal was suppressed on suspicion of spreading
dissent among the public.62 A French teacher at the Académie des nobles, a zealous
admirer of Frederick II’s government and a future Jacobin leader in Strasbourg, Jean
Charles Thibault de Laveaux, wrote a satirical novel under the title of Eusèbe as
well as various essays, which mocked the Prime minister Hertzberg. As a conse-
quence Laveaux’s writings were confiscated and he had to leave Berlin in 1786.63
Cranz’s attempt at divulging through print popular Enlightenment, political gossip
and entertainment plain and simple was also suppressed in the late 1780s, after
involving his personal censor Dohm in trouble for approving his manuscripts.64 In
1788 a writer dared to criticize Prussian military organization, the so-called
Cantoverfassung, and its negative impact on the country; he appealed explicitly to
the Publikum and his pamphlet was confiscated.65 It is also worth mentioning that at
the same time the Militärische Monatsschrift discussed the same problems in a sim-
ilar vein, but apparently addressed to a much more restricted public, officialdom.66
The crucial point seems to be that in the 1780s there were different public
spheres, that of the church, that of the Masonic lodges, that of learned debate, that
of the tavern, that of popular science, that of public theatres, that of handwritten
newspapers: all of these were tentatively linked together by journalists and writers
who took advantage of the peculiar conditions prevailing in the Prussian capital.
Public discussion acquired a life of its own and developed well beyond the original
intentions of the Prussian governing hierarchy, who, by and large, clung to the
Frederician idea of freedom of the press in the 1790s (for example in the
Prinzenvorträge),67 even as the reactionaries around king Frederick William II and
Wöllner pushed for a draconian limitation of press freedom.68
In Berlin the 1780s saw the transition from a multiplicity of public spheres,
which were relatively easily controlled by the intellectual elite in its various func-
tions, to a potentially unified and mobile public sphere, where an increasing range
of topics were discussed. This new situation saw the foundation laid for a fresh
approach to censorship, to its meaning and functions. The 1788 edict which assessed
the limits of press freedom was just a first and very rudimentary step in this direc-
tion. The policy underpinning censorship changed too: the number of books which
were forbidden and confiscated increased dramatically, at first in the field of reli-
gion, then in politics too, following the growing fascination with the French
Revolution. By 1791–1792 a repressive strategy to suppress subversive literature
was organized in Berlin; the traditional elite remarked in those years that political

62
GStA PK, I, HA, Rep. 9, F2a, Fasz. 18. See Hoppe 1989.
63
See Laveaux 1785.
64
Reichelt 1995; Mulsow 1998: 263–4.
65
Arnim 1788. See Johnson 1975: 263–4.
66
See Militärische Monatsschrift 1785.
67
Svarez 1960.
68
See Hunter 2005; Sauter 2009.
154 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

discussion was now being conducted in all social strata and reacted defensively. As
an active policy of persuasion and education of the public was seen as destined to
failure, journals were suppressed and the book trade was severely hampered. The
consensus between the government and the intellectual elite began to crumble, as
the correspondence between Biester, the outstanding Aufklärer and editor of the
Berlinische Monatsschrift and the new censor Hermes in 1792 concerning Kant’s
writings shows very clearly.69 The roles of authors and censors had been inter-
changeable until the high level of functional ambiguity of the Prussian system was
drastically reduced under Frederick William II: in the late 1780s the participatory
freedom that had characterised the Aufklärung under Frederick II came to an end.

The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity

and Participatory Freedom

Attempts to expand the limits of “freedom of the press” were also made in the
Kingdom of Sweden. In 1766 greater autonomy was granted to writers who were
nonetheless reminded that religious and confessional subjects should be treated
with special care. The experiment of The Law on the Freedom of Printing was
abruptly terminated with the absolutist coup staged by Gustav II in 1772 and cen-
tralized control was re-established, although in a relatively mild form.70 The differ-
ence between government reforms and practices that enhanced participatory
freedom of the press, which no matter how broadly interpreted were still subject to
state supervision, and radical approaches to the question are starkly illustrated by
the innovative ‘politics of the book’ undertaken by the Danish-Norwegian monar-
chy in 1770. The abolition of preventative control was the defining feature of the
Danish-Norwegian reform. The rescript was issued in September 1770 by the weak
king Christian VII but the true protagonist in political initiatives was count Johann
Friedrich Struensee. However, Struensee soon encountered the underlying contra-
diction which arose when an absolute monarchy, even in a socially stable and essen-
tially consensual kingdom, attempted to permit self-regulation within the publishing
industry.71 Danish printers and editors soon began to voice concerns that the total
lack of preventative inspection would lead to the spread of heterodox and dangerous
ideas, the circulation of false rumours, sensitive information and insults and calum-
nies against private persons. As early as October 1771 and prior to his sudden and
tragic fall, Struensee began to circumscribe the total freedom of the press he had
granted but a year earlier. The embarrassing proliferation of writings critical of
Struensee himself led him to restrict the conditions for publication: the name of the
printer or of the author was to be indicated on the frontispiece, printers were to be

69
See Kapp 1879: 200.
70
Laursen 2005; Skunke 2011.
71
Laursen 2000; Glebe-Møller 2011; Munck 1998.
The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity and Participatory Freedom 155

accountable for disclosing the identity of the author, all so that either could be
legally prosecuted for libel and the negative effects of an unrestrained press would
be checked.
Seen in the context of the daring but short-lived Danish experiment and the dif-
ferent forms of participatory freedom of the press in continental Europe, practice of
censorship within the United Provinces merits a reinterpretation of the generally
accepted assessment. In the United Provinces publications were not subject to pre-
ventative control due to the practical impossibility of setting up the complex institu-
tional, legal and political framework that was required. The principle of freedom of
the press lacked a clear, common conceptual definition. In 1749 Elie Luzac tried to
formulate a theory of freedom of the press, with the twofold aim of defending his
publication of La Mettrie’s blasphemous and materialist tract, L’homme-machine,
and of arguing that no harm could be done to civil government by a free press.
Authors and printers ought to be granted full autonomy to bring texts they consid-
ered appropriate to their readers’ attention.72 As a part of the more general freedom
to express one’s deepest convictions, the freedom to communicate had to be guarded
from interference by the clergy, whose vested interests ran counter to open and
rational discussion of all opinions. The readership to whom Luzac’s remarks were
addressed was, however, socially limited. In fact his approach allowed for post-
publication repressive measures, which were employed when deemed appropriate
by the civil government. Heterodox books were persecuted in particularly sensa-
tional ways that were aimed at humiliating the authors. As was exemplified by the
case of the German free-thinker Hatzfeld, when his treatise La découverte de la
vérité et le monde détrompé was seized and almost entirely destroyed. He was put
on the pillory in the market place of The Hague, with a noose around his neck and
a placard on his chest that read: “a blasphemous man against God and His Holy
Word” (lasteraar van God en van sjin Heijlig woord).73 As in England at the same
time, in the 1760s and 1770s appeals were made requesting preventative control
over manuscripts submitted for publication. Frans Hemsterhuis was not alone in
advocating more stringent criteria be applied by the government. A number of min-
isters of the Reformed Church were impressed by the French discussion of
Marmontel’s Bélisaire, published under royal privilege in 1767 and savagely
attacked by the Sorbonne for its chapter on religious toleration.74 In 1769 some
clergy requested the establishment of a preventative control system in the United
Provinces, which through censores librorum would halt the publication of unaccept-
able books. The following year the States of Holland seemed to toy with issuing a
decree to forbid:
The production, printing and publishing of all books in which the foundations of Christian
religion are attacked or Holy Writ and the true Reformed religion are ridiculed, as well as

72
Luzac 1749. See Velema 1993: 15–22; Early French and German Defenses of Freedom of the
Press.
73
See Tortarolo 2007. Johann Conrad Franz von Hatzfeld was a Wollfian and anti-Newtonian
German déraciné.
74
Marmontel 1994.
156 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

all books and writings tending to corrupt good manners and to ruin the young by their
obscene content.75

These schemes reflected widespread frustration with a form of freedom that was
perceived as excessive, but in practice they came to nought. Not unlike England, the
long-term absence of preventative censorship in the United Provinces engendered
an impressive proliferation of various forms of printed communication that the
belated establishment of censorship could not successfully repress. The unique and
enduring abundance of gazettes and journals exemplifies the authorities’ problem.
The “Gazette de Leyde” was the most widespread and authoritative gazette in
French and took advantage of the absence of preventative control to become an
invaluable source of information on political events for the educated elites of Europe
and set the standard for competing publications under the control of absolutist mon-
archies. The most pressing issues of the second half of the eighteenth century were
covered exhaustively by the “Gazette de Leyde”, from Maupeou’s coup to the War
of American Independence and the French Revolution in 1789. The “Gazette de
Leyde” managed to become the reference point for an emerging European public
opinion. The mere existence of the “Gazette de Leyde”, widely available throughout
Europe, contributed to the notion that people enjoyed the right to be provided with
accurate information and reinforced the mistrust of state-sponsored and state-
controlled gazettes, especially in France.
Despite its economic self-reliance and political independence, the “Gazette de
Leyde” was confronted with the logic of the absolutist monarchies that might
impede or endanger its circulation. The French crown was alarmed by its critical
treatment of Maupeou’s coup d’état and of the American insurgents. When the
French ambassador in The Hague attempted to pressurize him, the editor Jean Luzac
replied that the reputation of his gazette was based on its readers’ expectations of
being accurately informed about political affairs. In so doing he defined his position
towards the French government while acknowledging the means by which it could
restrict circulation, particularly by blocking postal importation, which was usually
tacitly permitted.76
There are numerous examples of such asymmetric negotiation in the eighteenth-
century history of printed communication. For the most part these confirm that the
interaction between the “publishing economy” and the political and religious con-
trol agencies, varied in different European states according to the relationships
between civil and ecclesiastical powers, as well as the economic strength of the
printing sector. They also confirm that in continental Europe, with the exception of
the United Provinces, a paradigm prevailed that can be characterised through the
complementary concepts of functional ambiguity and participatory freedom. Both
concepts indicate that the specificity of the eighteenth century consisted of govern-
ments’ efforts to both accept and control intellectual creativity, thus fixing the

75
As cited in Velema 2003: 27. See van Eijnatten 2004: 96. Town governments were particularly
active in suppressing books considered to be dangerous: see Huussen 1987.
76
Popkin 1989: 140.
The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity and Participatory Freedom 157

boundaries of the unacceptable, the dangerous, the unspeakable or, on a more banal
level, of the irritating and the excessively ambiguous.
How did it come about that this institutional system, basically homogeneous in
its components, was openly challenged in the second half of the eighteenth century?
Which further begs the question as to how the balance maintained by absolute mon-
archies throughout Europe (exemplified by the French model), which had based
their control over printed matter on the obligatory involvement of all parties to liter-
ary production under the surveillance of state officials, could have lost credibility so
rapidly and succumbed to demands for the total abolition of pre-publication con-
trol? The principle of censorship collapsed. Not all supporters of radical reform of
censorship, such as Condorcet and Mercier in France and Bahrdt in Germany,
embraced the new approach. One potent agent of change was Raynal’s multi-volume
master work, the Histoire philosophique et politique des établissements des
Europèens dans les deux Indes [Philosophical and Political History of the
Settlements and Trade of the Europeans in the East and West Indies]. This quasi-
encyclopaedic history of European global expansion, which enjoyed massive com-
mercial success, was firmly based on an interpretation of freedom of the press that
entailed the unrestricted right to communicate useful truths without interference
from the authorities. Raynal’s argument was that freedom of the press is a pre-
condition for the future happiness of mankind as it was for the present prosperity of
England.
England teems with numberless productions of the press, in which all the concerns of the
nation are treated with freedom. Among these writings some are judicious, written by men
of understanding, or citizens well informed and zealous for the public good. Their advice
allows the public to understand their true interests, and to assist the operations of govern-
ment. Few useful regulations of internal economy are adopted in the state, that have not first
been pointed out, modelled, or improved in some of these writings. Unhappy are the people
who are deprived of such an advantage.77

In volume 19 of the Philosophical and Political History, which reflected Raynal

and his collaborators’ (especially Diderot’s) stance in the late 1770s, “the indefinite
liberty of the press” was praised as the “fortunate expedient” that made “the actions
of the authorities public. Any vexations or outrages that have been committed over
the most obscure individual, are soon brought to light. His cause becomes the cause
of all; and the oppressors are punished, or satisfaction is offered for the injury,
according to the nature of the offence, or the disposition of the people”.78 The break
with the practice of functional ambiguity was clear in this work published in Geneva
under the cloak of anonymity. Similar developments were evident elsewhere in
Europe. In 1781, the German poet, Friedrich Schiller, had to submit to the encroach-
ments of censorship; in 1788, he expressed his doubts about putting his name on the
frontispiece of the Geschichte des Abfalls der Vereinigten Niederlande [History of

77
Raynal 1788. Vol. 5: 93.
78
Raynal 1788. Vol. 10: 63. The original French expression is “la liberté indefinie de la presse”
(Raynal 1781.Vol. 10: 67) to mean the abolition of any form of preventative censorship.
158 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

the Revolt of the United Netherlands] as it contained pages “completely without

insight and sense” (ganz ohne Verstand und Sinn) as a consequence of the censor’s
intervention.79
The new freedom of the press as an absolute right was made possible by three
heterogeneous developments that occurred in most European states, albeit to differ-
ing degrees. The first development was the irreversibly increased scale of both the
printers’ and the readers’ markets. Both monarchical and republican governments
had adopted a deliberate strategy of concentrating control of literary production
among a few privileged entrepreneurs, yet to no avail . The attempt to allow the
circulation of innovative books and gazettes and periodicals but to restrict it the
educated elites with the greatest interest in preserving social and institutional stabil-
ity, was similarly unsuccessful and impractical. The regulated freedom that was
inherent in formal negotiations between authors, censors and printers could only
ever offer a temporary and controversial solution. The second development relates
to examples of freedom of the press based on the absence of preventative control.
The English paradigm was controversial in the eighteenth century, but from the
1770s on, a new example was set in the new American states, which turned out to
be more powerful, more convincing and more attractive to Europeans. The American
discourse on freedom of the press as an inalienable right reverberated in the
European debates of the 1780s and magnified sentiments of discontent and frustra-
tion among authors. The constitutions of the American states, promulgated since
June 1776, were explicit about the inclusion of freedom of the press as a fundamen-
tal right. The Virginia Declaration of Rights of 12 June 1776 stated in article 12 “[t]
hat the freedom of the press is one of the greatest bulwarks of liberty and can never
be restrained but by despotic governments.” The Constitution of Pennsylvania,
enacted on 28 September 1776, contained A Declaration of the Rights of the
Inhabitants of the Commonwealth or State of Pennsylvania declaring “[t]hat the
people have a right to freedom of speech, and of writing, and publishing their senti-
ments; therefore the freedom of the press ought not to be restrained”. These and
analogous principles were widespread in different genres, from fictional literature to
travelogues, from reports in gazettes to scientific writings. The variety of discursive
contexts made the argument for the principle of freedom of the press all the more
persuasive.80 In retrospect, it is evident that in most cases European readers ignored
the conditions in which American freedom of the press was actually exercised. They
also had little awareness of the American discussion on the real meaning of the
principle of freedom of the press.81 What really attracted the European readership

79
Schillers Werke 1956. Vol. 25: 43, letter to Crusius, from Weimar, 17 April 1788.
80
Echeverria 1957; Venturi 1979: 442–3; Venturi 1984: 3–145; Dippel 1977; Potofsky 2002.
81
See Federalist, no. 84: “What is the liberty of the press? Who can give it any definition which
would not leave the utmost latitude for evasion? I hold it to be impracticable; and from this I infer,
that its security, whatever fine declarations may be inserted in any constitution respecting it, must
altogether depend on public opinion, and on the general spirit of the people and of the government”
(The Federalist 2000: 500).
The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity and Participatory Freedom 159

was the vision of a new republic, no matter how distant, marginal or diplomatically
irrelevant, that was grounded in the absence of the institutional ties and juridical
constraints that in ancien régime Europe informed the structure of censorship, an
increasingly obsolete and unreasonable apparatus of control. The growing aware-
ness among Europeans of the exponential expansion of the role of the printing press
and of the fact that the rejection of preventative censorship was central to the new
American republic, helped spread the realization that the control previously exer-
cised by secretive censors could be, indeed often already was, carried out by the
“invisible tribunal” of public opinion. The advent of the notion of public opinion
was the third major development of the late-eighteenth century that undermined the
validity of “functional ambiguity”. The term “opinion public” was coined in the
mid-eighteenth century by Rulhière and acquired a number of specific meanings
which centred on the shift of “opinion” from denoting an uncertain, potentially
incorrect assertion to indicating a respectable and well-founded persuasion.82
“Public opinion” emerged as a crucial notion in the elaboration of visions of reform
and projects for the future. It came to mean, as Condorcet interpreted it, the sound
sentiment of the best part of society, of its educated and rational strata. It could also
be a part of the process of self-reinvention envisioned by Rousseau. It was the final
body of evidence for the physiocrats, who maintained that “legal despotism” would
herald the conjunction of rationality and unanimity in public opinion.83 Nuances of
meaning were not altogether negligible but they did not affect the shared and under-
lying idea that the regulation of beliefs would be more effective and less personal-
ized if pursued through the unrestrained interaction of all parties involved in the
discussion as peers, to avoid the blatant asymmetry between censors and censored,
and enabled by the free availability of facts and ideas. The Italian Gaetano Filangieri
encapsulated many of these components of public opinion in his vision of a people
educated in a state-sponsored school system and ruled by a legislative institution
based on truth and virtue. Such an arrangement would make the tribunal of public
opinion “wise and virtuous” and a free press would thus be able to fulfil a higher
function as the ally of the legislator, with the capacity to curb the ambitions of the
power-hungry and draw attention to infringements of the law. Filangieri saw public
opinion as the perfect construct to represent the right, and duty, of all citizens to
contribute actively to the welfare of society by articulating ideas on matters of
shared importance. A mechanism of continuous self-reflection and improvement
would be ignited by freedom of the press “and would enable public opinion to be
fair and just”.84 Libellers, however, would still be heavily sanctioned.85
The gap between Filangieri’s extremely abstract and utopian ideas and the actual
workings of the ‘politics of the book’ was obviously enormous. Filangieri was just

82
See Gunn 1995.
83
For an overview see Tortarolo 1997.
84
Filangieri 2004. Vol. 5: 360. See Ferrone 2003: 59, 65, 145.
85
Filangieri 2004. Vol. 4: 294.
160 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

one among many who increasingly voiced their discontent with preventative con-
trols in the 1780s. During his time in Berlin in 1786, Mirabeau wrote a Lettre remise
à Frédéric Guillaume ii , roi régnant de Prusse le jour de son avènement au trône.
A central theme was the rejection of the benign toleration granted by enlightened
censors and enjoyed by equally enlightened authors in favour of the novel principle
of the new, energising and unrestrained freedom of the press.
The entire freedom of the press therefore ought to be enumerated among your first regula-
tions; not only because the deprivation of this freedom is a deprivation of a natural right, but
because all that impedes the progress of human understanding is an evil, an excessive evil;
and especially to yourself, who can only enjoy truth, and hear truth, from the press, which
should be the prime minister of good kings. They will tell you, Sire, that with respect to the
freedom of the press you can add nothing at Berlin. But to abolish the censorship, of itself
so useless, and always so arbitrary, would be much. If the printer’s name be inserted in the
title page, it is enough, perhaps more than enough. The only specious objection against an
unlimited freedom of the press is the licentiousness of libels; but it is not perceived that the
freedom of the press would take away the danger; because, under such a regulation, truth
only would remain. The most scandalous libels have no power except in countries that are
deprived of the freedom of the press. Its restrictions form an illicit trade, which cannot be
extirpated; yet they lay restraints on none but honest people. Let not, therefore, that absurd
contrast be seen in Prussia, which absolutely forbids foreign books to be inspected, and
subjects national publications to so severe an inquisition. Give freedom to all. Read, Sire,
and suffer others to read. Knowledge will everywhere expand, and will centre on the throne.
Do you wish for darkness? Oh! No! Your mind is too great. Or, if you did, you would wish
in vain, would act to your own injury, without obtaining the fatal success of extinguishing
light. You will read, Sire; you will begin a noble association with books; books that have
destroyed shameful and cruel prejudices; that have smoothed your paths; that were benefi-
cial to you previous even to your birth. You will not be ungrateful toward the accumulated
labours of beneficent genius. You will read; you will protect those who write; for without
them what were, what should be, the human species?86

The French censors were particularly aware that preventative censorship was
losing credibility. Open disavowals like Mirabeau’s were reinforced by develop-
ments in French domestic politics. The decree of the Conseil d’Etat on 5 July 1788
granted freedom of expression for all writings relating to the Estates-General, which
was to be convened the following year, but required copies of these documents to be
sent to the Keeper of the Seals (Garde de Sceaux). The decree itself was interpreted
as an authorization to initiate a general debate in public through the press. Attempts
to quell those publications that openly criticized the status quo began to be taken as
acts of intolerable despotism.87
In the cahiers des doléances, freedom of the press was mentioned frequently,
often alongside fears that the change from absolutism to liberty based on a constitu-
tion might prove to be too abrupt.88
The cahiers de doléances articulated complex perspectives on the principle of
personal freedom of communication, and this in turn fed into the proliferation of

86
In French: Mirabeau 1787: 35–6. In English: Mirabeau 1789. Vol. 1: 355–7.
87
A detailed study of the “contradictory goals and shifting strategies” in repressing oppositional
literature in 1787–1789 and especially on Mirabeau’s role is Luckett 2011.
88
Shapiro and Markoff 1998: 380–1; Walton 2006.
The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity and Participatory Freedom 161

critical attitudes towards monarchical rule, the troubling problem of the financial
deficit and questions of political representation in a projected Assembly. From the
summer of 1788, even the privileged gazettes, traditionally bastions of absolutism,
and the provincial periodical press, articulated this range of different perspectives.89
Drawing upon his vast experience, Malesherbes came to revise his sharp distinction
between the English and French systems. “At the end of the year 1788” he pondered
how best to manage the public discussion which preceded the convocation of the
Estates-General. Malesherbes devised a twofold system of permission that seemed
adequate in the circumstances. Those who submitted their manuscripts for pre-
publication censorship would be granted immunity, while the possibility of circum-
venting the censors would remain open to those “who are disgusted by them” and
wished to publish “at their own risk and danger”. This was, Malesherbes conceded,
“the freedom of the press demanded by part of the public and eventually by the
Parlement [de Paris] itself”.90
As it happened, the public debate far exceeded Malesherbes’ expectations, its
occurrence and sheer scale proving that the Librairie system was on the verge of
collapse. After the decree of the Conseil d’Etat of July 1788, Mirabeau adjusted
Milton’s Areopagitica to France’s current predicament and argued that “the king,
because he has widely consulted with many, has implicitly consented to freedom of
the press”.91 A traditional, staunch supporter of the absolutist system of information
management, the “Mercure de France” participated in the critical discussion of cen-
sorship. In two issues of January 1789, the editor, Jacques Mallet du Pan, com-
mented on De Lolme’s book on the English constitution which held up the British
representative monarchy as an example to be imitated. Mallet du Pan praised the
principles of popular elections and freedom of the press as the most effective linch-
pins of political liberty.92 From late 1788 through to the summer of 1789, a stream
of anonymous pamphlets attacked individual royal censors as well as the institution
as a whole, while also advancing freedom of the press as a crucial tool for imple-
menting national regeneration.93
One of the most vituperative pamphlets, probably penned prior to the convoca-
tion of the Estates-General, argued that freedom of the press was a natural right and
could not be limited pre-emptively. In consequence, it also contended that public
opinion was the only acceptable agency of control. Public opinion “leads the actions
of the citizens and rules (maîtrise) the sovereigns”. In order to fulfil this task, books

89
Gruder 2007: 94.
90
Malesherbes 1994: 221, 302.
91
Mirabeau 1788: 5. Mirabeau’s pamphlet was signed 5 December 1788. Mirabeau requested the
Deputies to the Estates General to establish “the most inviolable, the most unlimited” freedom of
the press as their first law (64).
92
See Bonno 1970: 185–6.
93
See Lettre à un censeur royal, sur la liberté de la presse 1788–1789, requesting unrestrained
liberty of the press; De la liberté de la presse 1789; Besongne 1789 (Bensongne, a former printer
and book trader in Rouen and Paris, advocated unlimited freedom of the press); Le pour et le con-
tre, sur la liberté de la presse 1789.
162 5 Equivocations and New Meanings

were essential to allow ideas to circulate. It argued that without the freedom to
write, a natural right which nobody may legitimately restrain, and freedom to
publish, no matter how it was defined and circumscribed, public opinion cannot
exist.94 The same pamphlet held that preventative censorship also caused injustice,
as it hindered violations of the law being made public, perpetuated ignorance as
regards natural rights, and impoverished France by forcing authors to publish
abroad. “Freedom of the press will bring about the reform of our customs, thor-
oughly corrupted by the influence of a perverted Court”.95 Koselleck’s insight that
public opinion in the late eighteenth century played a moral role and as such sapped
the basis of absolutism is formulated in the simplest of terms by the author of this
pamphlet among many others.96
Voices were also raised in defence of the existence of a system of censorship,
albeit one which had to be updated and made more liberal, but despite attempts at
repression in the spring of 1789, the thrust of the discussion was in favour of com-
pletely dismantling the censorship apparatus. Very soon the ties between the royal
censors and the publishing industry dissolved and their institutional significance, as
supervisors of authors and as guarantors of the reliability of published works, with-
ered surprisingly quickly. In the summer of 1789, Marie-Joseph Chénier sealed the
royal censors’ fate with his public denunciation of the “inquisitors of thought”.97
From within the body of royal censors, projects of reform were articulated prior to
their official abolition in August 1790. It was very probably a royal censor who
authored an anonymous but lengthy and well informed essay, signed 5 June 1789,
requesting that the number of royal censors be increased to 200, so that they might
work as “supervisors of the publicity of human opinions” and serve the public inter-
est in order to check rampant license and promote society’s interest in banning “all
works against religion, good customs, public honesty and the rights of the other
men”.98 On the other hand a number of censors, like Keralio, were relieved to quit
and joined the public debate arguing for the principle of absolute freedom of the
press.99
In the end freedom of the press was included in the Declaration of the Rights of
Man and Citizen, approved by the National Assembly of France, on 26 August
1789.100 The contradiction between the actual, inescapable plurality of opinions and
the ideal of a free and unbiased public opinion regulating personal persuasions,
could not be eliminated and the outcome of this long process whereby traditional

94
Pour et contre sur la liberté de la Presse 1789: 10.
95
Pour et contre sur la liberté de la Presse 1789: 36.
96
Koselleck 1959 (Koselleck 1988).
97
Chénier 1789.
98
De la liberté de la presse 1789: 12, 17.
99
Keralio 1790a, b. See Sgard 2008. According to the periodical Révolutions de Paris, freedom of
the press cannot be granted, because it is a natural right (De la liberté de la presse. Révolutions de
Paris. Seconde année de la liberté française, n. 28, 29 January 1790: 17–26, 21). In a similar vein
see Waudin 1790.
100
See L’An 1 des Droits de l’homme 1988: 182–6; Birn 1994.
The End of the Paradigm of Functional Ambiguity and Participatory Freedom 163

censorship was dismantled turned out to be markedly different from the intentions
of the deputies in the Assembly. The text itself of the Declaration lacked specifica-
tions in article 11. It states solemnly that “[e]very citizen may […] speak, write, and
print with freedom”. It also mentions that every citizen “shall be responsible for
such abuses of this freedom as shall be defined by law”. The lack of clarity in this
formulation allowed authors of all political orientations and publishers to enjoy an
extraordinary degree of autonomy that the National Assembly and the municipal
authorities could not control. The alternative between regulating freedom of the
press, as Condorcet and Siéyès advocated unsuccessfully in the National Assembly
in early 1790, and the exclusive attention to safeguarding citizens’ right to free
expression and communication, was resolved during the Terror through an exclu-
sive focus on the national and communitarian interests of the republic.101 With
Napoleonic rule in France and continental Europe, new and more efficient institu-
tions to control the press were established, providing the foundations for a modern
approach to the regulation of communication.102
Freedom of the press became a widespread but superficial component of consti-
tutions all over Europe as a consequence of the revolutionary rupture of 1789. As a
principle it was generally acknowledged in liberal constitutions, but did not consti-
tute an effective protection of a plurality of world-views and tolerant public opinion.
Article 11 in the French Declaration of 1789 marked the conclusion of a model of
press control that had prevailed in early-modern Europe. Confessional strife was
replaced by a confrontation of secular ideologies that was incompatible with the
eighteenth-century paradigm of functional ambiguity. Imperfectly structured in its
state institutions and deeply inegalitarian in its social structure, the pre-revolutionary
system, ironically, had allowed a remarkable degree of malleability between the
roles of censor and censored, minister and intellectual, author, editor and publisher,
all of whom participated in a relatively flexible network of negotiations in which a
plurality of asymmetric and shifting interests were represented.
For most of the eighteenth century this peculiar balance between authorities of
very different origins made the experiment with an enlightened freedom of the press
possible and intellectually rewarding but untenable in the long term.

101
See Walton 2009.
102
Woloch 2001: 205–13; Popkin 1986; Rowe 2003: 116–57; Albergoni 2008.
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Index

A Bayle, Pierre, 19, 20, 62, 71

Absolutism, 73, 112, 117, 136, 142, Beaumarchais, Pierre-Augustin Caron de,
146, 154, 157 108, 133
Accarias de Serionne, Jacques, 115, 129, 132 Beausobre, Louis de, 147, 148
Accarias de Serionne, Jean-Jacques, 129, 130 Beccaria, Cesare, 138
Adanson, Michel, 109 Benedict XIV, Pope, 137
Addison, Joseph, 31 Bergier, Claude-François, 51
Aguesseau, Henri-François d’, 67, 86–87 Bernard, Jean-Pierre, 143
Alembert, Jean Le Rond d’, 109 Besongne, Jacques-Jean-Louis-
Alexander VI, Pope, 7 Guillaume, 165
Algarotti, Francesco, 87 Biester, Johann Erich, 158
Althusius, Johannes, xx Bignon, Jean-Paul, 57–60
American Revolution, 116 Blackstone, William, 42, 43
Amidei, Cosimo, 141 Blanchard, de la Valette, 66
Anne, Queen of England, 38, 39 Blount, Charles, 24, 35
Anquetil du Perron Abraham-Hyacinthe, 120 Boccage, Marie-Anne de, 60
Antoniano, Silvio, 13 Bodin, Jean, xx
Argenson, Marc-Pierre de Voyer Bohun, Edmund, 23, 24
de Paulmy d’, 68, 70 Boileau-Despréaux, Nicolas, 58, 59
Asgill, John, 32 Bossuet, Jacques-Bénigne, 56, 57
Atheism, 20, 61, 62, 126, 131 Boswell, James, 48
Aubert, Giuseppe, 137 Boucher, François, 79
Aubusson, Pierre Armand d’, 107 Boufflers, Marie-Charlotte de, 46
Austria, 143 Bourdelot, Pierre, 58
Boyer, Jean-François de Mirepoix, 69
Brissot, Jacques-Pierre, 120, 132
B Buffon, Georges-Louis Leclerc de, 68, 84
Bachaumont, Louis Petit, 111 Burnet, Gilbert, 38
Bacon, Francis, 1, 16
Bahrdt, Carl Friedrich, 152
Barrillot, Jacques, 67 C
Barnadiston, Samuel, 46 Camus, Armand-Gaston, 123–125
Baudeau, Nicolas, 115 Canisius, Petrus, 9
Baudoin, Jean, 62 Capperronnier, Jean, 106
Baudouin, Pierre-Antoine, 79 Carmer, Johann Heinrich von, 152

© Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2016 195

E. Tortarolo, The Invention of Free Press, International Archives
of the History of Ideas Archives internationales d’histoire des idées 219,
DOI 10.1007/978-94-017-7346-1
196 Index

Caxton, William, 37 Denmark, 25

Centlivre, Susanna, 33 Denton, William, 42
Chambon, Auguste, 115 Des Maizeaux, Pierre, 29, 54
Charles I, King of England, 38 Deschamps, Dom (Léger-Marie Deschamps),
Charles II, King of England, 60 80–81, 84
Charles III, King of Spain, 10 Despotism, 51, 67, 74–76, 85, 98, 118, 132,
Charron, Pierre, 20 148, 158, 164
Chénier, Marie-Joseph, 166 D’Holbach, Paul-Henri Thiry, 73, 76–79, 84,
Chesterfield, Philip Dormer 131, 137, 149
Stanhope Lord, 123 Dickinson, John, 116
Cheviller, André, 56 Diderot, Denis, 101, 109, 117, 157
Chevrier, François Antoine, 129 Dohm, Christian Wilhelm von, 31
China, xxii–xxv Du Pont de Nemours, Pierre-Samuel, 106
Christian VII, King of Denmark Du Resnel du Bellay, Jean-François, 60–63
and Norway, 47 DuBose, Hampden Coit, xxiii
Clavière, Etienne, 120, 133 Duclos, Charles Pineau, 90
Clement XIV, Pope, 139
Cocquaire brothers, 57
Coke, Edward, 16 E
Colbert, Jean-Baptiste, 112, 129 Edward VI, King of England, 37
Collins, Anthony, 36 Edwards, David, 30
Concini, Bartolomeo, 12 Elizabeth I, Queen of England, 11
Condillac, Etienne Bonnot de, 63, 80, 147 Enlightenment, 51–98, 100, 115, 116, 130,
Condorcet, Jean-Antoine Caritat de, 114, 122 148, 151, 152, 164
Constitution, 52, 69, 73, 102–105, 112, 117–119 Eon, chevalier d’ (Charles-Geneviève-Louis-
Contract, social, 131 Auguste-André-Timothée d'Éon de
Copernicus, 14 Beaumont), 184
Copyright, 18, 95, 110 Epicurus, 20
Coqueley de Chaussepierre, Erasmus of Rotterdam, 7, 9
Charles-Georges, 80 Estève, Pierre, 102, 142
Counter-reformation, 8–10 Euripides, 17
Couplet, Philippe, xxii Expurgation, 9, 12, 38, 89–90
Coyer, Gabriel-François, 136
Criticism, 14, 56, 68, 70, 72, 96, 99, 103,
109, 110, 122 F
Cromwell, Oliver, 21 Feder, Johan Georg Heinrich, 151
Crusius, Siegfried Lebrecht, 158 Ferri, Giovanni Lorenzo de
Saint-Constant, 125
Fielding, Henry, 39
D Filangieri, Gaetano, 125
D’Argens, Jean-Baptiste de Boyer, 64 Filleau des Billettes, Gilles, 58
D’Auberteuil, Michel-René Hilliard, 116 Fontenelle, Bernard, 58
D’Héméry, Joseph, 108 Forbonnais, François Veron de, 102–105, 117
D’Hermilly, Nicolas-Gabriel Vaquette, 109 Fouchet, Paul, 101
Dacier, André, 59 France, 15, 52–91, 99, 100, 103–105, 107,
Damiens, Robert-François, 71 117, 120, 123, 129–132, 165, 166
De Guigne (also Desguignes), Joseph, 125 Franci, Sebastiano, 140
De Lolme, Jean-Louis, 40, 42, 48, 165 Franco, Niccolò (Pasquino), 127, 128
De Sancy, 127, 128 Fraser, James, 24
Defoe, Daniel, 25 Frederick II, King of Prussia, 64, 79
Delacroix, Jacques-Vincent, 106 Frederick William II, King of Prussia,
Delafaye, Charles, 27 146, 153, 154, 164
Delisle de Sales, Jean-Baptiste-Claude, 126 French Revolution, 121, 153, 156
Democracy, 44, 91 Frisi, Paolo, 77, 141
Index 197

G K
Gaillard, Gabriel-Henri, 70 Kangxi, Emperor of China, xxii
Galiani, Ferdinando, 77, 81 Kant, Immanuel, 154
Galli, Tolomeo, 9 Kaunitz, Wenzel Anton von, 139
Gallois, Gauvain, 125 Keralio, Louis-Félix Guynement de, 166
Gardanne, Joseph-Jacques, 108, 109 Killigrew, Charles, 33
Garnier, Jean-Jacques, 70 Klein, Ernst Ferdinand, 36
Gauden, John, 18
Gazettes, 4, 14, 80, 89, 101
Giannone, Pietro, 138 L
Gibbon, Edward, 47 La Mettrie, Julien Offroy de, 155
Goujet, Claude-Pierre, 60 La Peyrère, Isaac, 56
Graham, William, 107 La Reynie, Gabriel Nicolas de, 16
Gramont, Philibert de, 60 La Reynière, Alexandre Balthazar Laurent
Grimm Friedrich Melchior, 108 Grimod de, 124
Guicciardini, Francesco, 12 Lagrange de Chessieux, Gilbert-Arnaud-
Gustav II, King of Sweden, 158 François-Simon de, 123
Lanchamp, Jean-Baptiste-Xavier, 126
Laveaux, Jean-Charles-Thibault de, 153
H Le Breton, André, 70, 71
Hamilton, Anthony, 38, 60 Le Chevalier, abbé, 125
Harrington, James, 22 Le Clerc, Jean, 20, 59
Hatzfeld, Johann Conrad Franz von, 155 Le Roy, Charles-Georges, 78
Helvétius, Claude-Adrien, 74–76 L’Estrange, Roger, 23
Hemsterhuis, François, 84 Le Trosne, Guillaume François, 112
Henry IV, King of France, 64 Lenoir, Jean-Charles-Pierre, 122
Hermes, Hermann Daniel, 154 Leo X, Pope, 7
Hertzberg, Ewald von, 152, 157 Leon di Modena, 10
Hobbes, Thomas, 1–6, 16, 131 Lessing, Gotthold Ephraim, 148
Holland. See United Provinces Leti, Gregorio, 19
Holt, John, 30 Lilburne, John, 16
Holy Roman Empire, 9, 11, 144 Limborch, Philippus van, 28
Houard, David, 125, 126 Lind, John, 117
Huet, Pierre-Daniel, 56 Linguet, Simon-Nicolas-Henri, 119, 121, 122
Hume, David, 43, 44, 46, 72 Locke, John, 84
Longo, Alfonso, 140, 141
Louis XIV, King of France, 15, 56, 57, 132
I Louis XV, King of France, 106
Individualism, 48, 88 Luzac, Elie, 155
Innocent VIII, Pope, 7 Luzac, Jean, 156
Italy, 10, 12, 136, 137, 142

M
J Mably, Gabriel Bonnot de, 112
James, Fraser, 30 Machiavelli, Nicolò, 12, 61
James II, King of England, 21, 23, 24 Malesherbes, Chrétien-Guillaume de
Japan, xxi, xxiii, xxiv-xxv Lamoignon de, 99–106, 108, 110,
Jaucourt, Louis de, 69 112, 117, 121, 165
Jelles, Jarig, 5 Mallet du Pan, Jacques, 165
Johnson, Ben, 150, 153 Mallet, Edme-François, 71
Johnson, Samuel, 48 Manesse, Louis-Charles, 125
Joseph II, Emperor of Austria, 142–144, 149 Marconnay, Louis-Olivier de, 151
Justi, Johann Heinrich Gottlob von, Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria, 129
144, 148 Marin, François, 108
198 Index

Marmontel, Jean-François, 155 Paul III, Pope, 7

Marten, John, 32 Pelli, Bencivenni Giuseppe, 139
Mary, Queen of England, 11, 23, 24, 31 Pepys, Samuel, 22
Maupeou, René-Nicolas-Charles-Augustin de, Perdriau, Jean, 93
106, 107 Perna, Pietro, 12
Maupertuis, Pierre-Louis Moreau de, 69 Perotti, Niccolo, 7
Maurepas, Jean-Frédéric Phélypeaux de, 68 Petit, Emilien, 117, 118
Maynon d’Invau, Etienne, 81 Philip II, King of Spain, 10, 19
Mejer, Lodewijk, 5 Physiocracy, 112, 122
Melon, Jean-François, 102 Picquet, Christophe, 89
Menocchio (Tommaso Scandella), 11 Pilati, Carlo Antonio, 141
Mercier, Louis-Sébastien, 98 Piqué, Jean-Pierre, 90
Middleton, Conyers, 37 Pirot, Esmé, 56
Milton, John, 17, 18, 22 Pliny the Elder, 7
Minto, Elliot Gilbert, 46 Pompadour, Jeanne-Antoinette
Mirabeau, Honoré-Gabriel Riquetti de, madame de, 100
118, 164 Pontchartrain, Louis II Phélypeaux de,
Mirabeau, Jean-Baptiste, 131 57–59, 99
Mirabeau, Victor Riquetti de, 118 Pope, Alexander, 61
Molesworth, Robert, 25 Poplar, Dan, 25
Montesquieu, Charles-Louis de Pornography, 22, 52, 76–77, 79, 149
Secondat de, 137 Porter, James, 51
Moore, Thomas, 30 Portugal, 121
Moreau, Jacob-Nicolas, 106 Pouillard de Neville, 125, 126
Morellet, André, 69, 81–82, 113, 114, Prélot, Philippe de, 109
119–122 Priestley, Joseph, 107
Morgan, Edward, 30 Printers, 52–55, 57, 60, 61, 63, 64, 70, 82,
Morgues, Mathieu de, 57 100, 108–110, 120, 150, 154
Moser, Johann Jakob, 151 Privileges, 155
Mouffle, Barthélemy-François Progress, 47, 74, 77, 82, 85, 90, 95–98,
d’Angerville, 149 110–112, 120–122, 128–133
Prussia, 64, 79, 90
Psychoanalysis, xv
N Public opinion, 15, 35, 42, 72, 75, 85, 86, 90,
Naudé, Gabriel, 19 93, 95, 97–98, 103, 107, 120, 139, 150,
Necker, Jacques, 112–115, 118 156, 158, 159, 162, 163
Newspapers, 146, 153 Public sphere, 14–16, 20, 60, 64, 77, 94, 114,
Newton, Isaac, 86 143, 148, 149, 152, 153
Nicolai, Friedrich, 148 Pufendorf, Samuel, 18
Nivernais, Louis-Jules Barbon-Mancini-
Mazarini de, 68
Noailles, Louis-Antoine de, 53 Q
North, Frederick (Lord North), 46 Qianlong, Emperor of China, xxii
Quesnel, Pasquier, 57

O
O’Heguerty, Pierre-André de Magnières, 114 R
Radical enlightenment, 157
Raynal, Guillaume-Thomas, 117, 157
P Reformation, 86
Palissot, de Montenoy Charles, 81 Regicide, 71
Panckoucke, Charles-Joseph, 81 Renaudot, Théophraste, 15
Paolo, Sarpi, 27 Repression, 52, 53, 55, 56, 58, 60, 62, 63, 77,
Parrhesia, 16 84, 88, 96–97, 105, 122, 126, 166
Index 199

Republic of Letters, 59, 60, 68, 70, 131 Thucydides, xii, 3

Rétif de la Bretonne, Nicolas-Edme, 124 Tindal, Matthew, 35, 84
Revolution, 58, 68–69, 86, 99, 167 Toland, John, 34, 84
Rey, Marc-Michel, 76, 88 Toleration, 54, 70, 71, 104, 116, 121, 136
Ricci, Matteo, xxiv Townsend, Charles, 38
Richelieu, Armand-Jean du Plessis de, 15 Trenck, Friedrich von der, 124
Right, natural, 85–86, 95–98 Trublet, Nicolas-Charles-Joseph, 78
Rougemont, Martine de, 80 Trudaine de Montigny, Jean-Charles-Philibert,
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 70, 75, 78, 87–94 81–82, 118
Rousseau, Pierre, 100, 101, 133 Turgot, Anne-Robert-Jacques, 45
Rulhière, Claude-Carloman de, 159 Twyn, John, 23

S U
Saineville, Jean-Baptiste Cadet de, Uhden, Johann Christian, 149, 152
111–122, 124, 125 United Provinces, 53, 64, 67, 84, 125, 155
Sainte-Palaye, Jean-Baptiste de
la Curne de, 125
Sarpi, Paolo, 14 V
Sartine, Antoine Raymond Jean Gualbert Valier, Agostino, 10
Gabriel de, 77–78, 80–82, 94, 107, 109 Valla, Lorenzo, 7
Satire, 58, 64, 66, 78, 104, 128 Van Swieten, Gerard, 141
Saugrain, Claude-Marin, 63 Vergennes, Charles Gravier de, 116, 117
Schiller, Friedrich, 157 Vernet, Jacob, 67
Serva, Joseph-Michel-Antoine, 74 Verri, Alessandro, 137
Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, 37 Verri, Pietro, 137, 139, 140, 142
Shaw, George Bernard, 100 Vertot, René-Aubert de, 59
Sidney, Algernon, 24, 46 Volland, Sophie, 81
Silvestre, Pierre, 19 Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet), 137
Simon, Richard, 56
Smith, Adam, 47, 72, 121, 135
Spinoza, Baruch, 5, 87, 131 W
Steel, Richard, 36 Walpole, Robert, 38
Stouppe, Jean-Baptiste, 38 Weiss, Franz Rudolph, 119
Strahan, William, 46 Wilkes, John, 45, 48
Struensee, Johann Friedrich, 86 William of Orange Nassau, King of England,
Suard, Jean-Baptiste-Antoine, 77 23, 24, 30
Sulzer, Johan Georg, 147 Witt, Jan de, 5
Swift, Jonathan, 31, 32, 43 Wolff, Christian, 19
Sydney, Sir Philip, 18 Wöllner, Johann Christoph von, 157
Woolston, Thomas, 36

T
Tamponnet, 69 X
Teller, Wilhelm Abraham, 147, 150 Xu, Guangqi, xxii
Tencin, Pierre-Paul Guérin de, 100
Tenison, Thomas, 31
Tercier, Jean-Pierre, 70, 72, 78 Y
Terray, Joseph-Marie, 81 Yongzheng, Emperor of China, xxii