THE MOVEMENT OF THEORY
Great changes are not caused by ideas alone; but they are not effected
without ideas. The passions of men must be aroused if the frost of
custom is to be broken or the chains of authority burst; but passion of
itself is blind and its world is chaotic. To be effective men must act
together, and to act together they must have a common understanding and
a common object. When it comes to be a question of any far-reaching
change, they must not merely conceive their own immediate end with
clearness. They must convert others, they must communicate sympathy and
win over the unconvinced. Upon the whole, they must show that their
object is possible, that it is compatible with existing institutions, or
at any rate with some workable form of social life. They are, in fact,
driven on by the requirements of their position to the elaboration of
ideas, and in the end to some sort of social philosophy; and the
philosophies that have driving force behind them are those which arise
after this fashion out of the practical demands of human feeling. The
philosophies that remain ineffectual and academic are those that are
formed by abstract reflection without relation to the thirsty souls of
human kind.
In England, it is true, where men are apt to be shy and unhandy in the
region of theory, the Liberal movement has often sought to dispense with
general principles. In its early days and in its more moderate forms, it
sought its ends under the guise of constitutionalism. As against the
claims of the Stuart monarchy, there was a historic case as well as a
philosophic argument, and the earlier leaders of the Parliament relied
more on precedent than on principle. This method was embodied in the
Whig tradition, and runs on to our own time, as one of the elements that
go to make up the working constitution of the Liberal mind. It is, so to
say, the Conservative element in Liberalism, valuable in resistance to
encroachments, valuable in securing continuity of development, for
purposes of re-construction insufficient. To maintain the old order
under changed circumstances may be, in fact, to initiate a revolution.
It was so in the seventeenth century. Pym and his followers could find
justification for their contentions in our constitutional history, but
to do so they had to go behind both the Stuarts and the Tudors; and to
apply the principles of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries in 1640
was, in effect, to institute a revolution. In our own time, to maintain
the right of the Commons against the Lords is, on the face of it, to
adhere to old constitutional right, but to do so under the new
circumstances which have made the Commons representative of the nation
as a whole is, in reality, to establish democracy for the first time on
a firm footing, and this, again, is to accomplish a revolution.
Now, those who effect a revolution ought to know whither they are
leading the world. They have need of a social theory--and in point of
fact the more thorough-going apostles of movement always have such a
theory; and though, as we have remarked, the theory emerges from the
practical needs which they feel, and is therefore apt to invest ideas
of merely temporary value with the character of eternal truths, it is
not on this account to be dismissed as of secondary importance. Once
formed, it reacts upon the minds of its adherents, and gives direction
and unity to their efforts. It becomes, in its turn, a real historic
force, and the degree of its coherence and adequacy is matter, not
merely of academic interest, but of practical moment. Moreover, the
onward course of a movement is more clearly understood by appreciating
the successive points of view which its thinkers and statesmen have
occupied than by following the devious turnings of political events and
the tangle of party controversy. The point of view naturally affects the
whole method of handling problems, whether speculative or practical, and
to the historian it serves as a centre around which ideas and policies
that perhaps differ, and even conflict with one another, may be so
grouped as to show their underlying affinities. Let us then seek to
determine the principal points of view which the Liberal movement has
occupied, and distinguish the main types of theory in which the passion
for freedom has sought to express itself.
The first of these types I will call the theory of the Natural Order.
The earlier Liberalism had to deal with authoritarian government in
church and state. It had to vindicate the elements of personal, civil,
and economic freedom; and in so doing it took its stand on the rights of
man, and, in proportion as it was forced to be constructive, on the
supposed harmony of the natural order. Government claimed supernatural
sanction and divine ordinance. Liberal theory replied in effect that the
rights of man rested on the law of Nature, and those of government on
human institution. The oldest "institution" in this view was the
individual, and the primordial society the natural grouping of human
beings under the influence of family affection, and for the sake of
mutual aid. Political society was a more artificial arrangement, a
convention arrived at for the specific purpose of securing a better
order and maintaining the common safety. It was, perhaps, as Locke held,
founded on a contract between king and people, a contract which was
brought to an end if either party violated its terms. Or, as in
Rousseau's view, it was essentially a contract of the people with one
another, an arrangement by means of which, out of many conflicting
individual wills, a common or general will could be formed. A government
might be instituted as the organ of this will, but it would, from the
nature of the case, be subordinate to the people from whom it derived
authority. The people were sovereign. The government was their delegate.
Whatever the differences of outlook that divide these theories, those
who from Locke to Rousseau and Paine worked with this order of ideas
agreed in conceiving political society as a restraint to which men
voluntarily submitted themselves for specific purposes. Political
institutions were the source of subjection and inequality. Before and
behind them stood the assemblage of free and equal individuals. But the
isolated individual was powerless. He had rights which were limited only
by the corresponding rights of others, but he could not, unless chance
gave him the upper hand, enforce them. Accordingly, he found it best to
enter into an arrangement with others for the mutual respect of rights;
and for this purpose he instituted a government to maintain his rights
within the community and to guard the community from assault from
without. It followed that the function of government was limited and
definable. It was to maintain the natural rights of man as accurately as
the conditions of society allowed, and to do naught beside. Any further
action employing the compulsory power of the State was of the nature of
an infringement of the understanding on which government rested. In
entering into the compact, the individual gave up so much of his rights
as was necessitated by the condition of submitting to a common rule--so
much, and no more. He gave up his natural rights and received in return
civil rights, something less complete, perhaps, but more effective as
resting on the guarantee of the collective power. If you would discover,
then, what the civil rights of man in society should be, you must
inquire what are the natural rights of man,[4] and how far they are
unavoidably modified in accommodating the conflicting claims of men
with one another. Any interference that goes beyond this necessary
accommodation is oppression. Civil rights should agree as nearly as
possible with natural rights, or, as Paine says, a civil right is a
natural right exchanged.
This conception of the relations of the State and the individual long
outlived the theory on which it rested. It underlies the entire teaching
of the Manchester school. Its spirit was absorbed, as we shall see, by
many of the Utilitarians. It operated, though in diminishing force,
throughout the nineteenth century; and it is strongly held by
contemporary Liberals like M. Faguet, who frankly abrogate its
speculative foundations and rest their case on social utility. Its
strength is, in effect, not in its logical principles, but in the
compactness and consistency which it gives to a view of the functions of
the State which responds to certain needs of modern society. As long as
those needs were uppermost, the theory was of living value. In
proportion as they have been satisfied and other needs have emerged, the
requirement has arisen for a fuller and sounder principle.
But there was another side to the theory of nature which we must not
ignore. If in this theory government is the marplot and authority the
source of oppression and stagnation, where are the springs of progress
and civilization? Clearly, in the action of individuals. The more the
individual receives free scope for the play of his faculties, the more
rapidly will society as a whole advance. There are here the elements of
an important truth, but what is the implication? If the individual is
free, any two individuals, each pursuing his own ends, may find
themselves in conflict. It was, in fact, the possibility of such
conflict which was recognized by our theory as the origin and foundation
of society. Men had to agree to some measure of mutual restraint in
order that their liberty might be effective. But in the course of the
eighteenth century, and particularly in the economic sphere, there arose
a view that the conflict of wills is based on misunderstanding and
ignorance, and that its mischiefs are accentuated by governmental
repression. At bottom there is a natural harmony of interests. Maintain
external order, suppress violence, assure men in the possession of their
property, and enforce the fulfilment of contracts, and the rest will go
of itself. Each man will be guided by self-interest, but interest will
lead him along the lines of greatest productivity. If all artificial
barriers are removed, he will find the occupation which best suits his
capacities, and this will be the occupation in which he will be most
productive, and therefore, socially, most valuable. He will have to sell
his goods to a willing purchaser, therefore he must devote himself to
the production of things which others need, things, therefore, of social
value. He will, by preference, make that for which he can obtain the
highest price, and this will be that for which, at the particular time
and place and in relation to his particular capacities, there is the
greatest need. He will, again, find the employer who will pay him best,
and that will be the employer to whom he can do the best service.
Self-interest, if enlightened and unfettered, will, in short, lead him
to conduct coincident with public interest. There is, in this sense, a
natural harmony between the individual and society. True, this harmony
might require a certain amount of education and enlightenment to make it
effective. What it did not require was governmental "interference,"
which would always hamper the causes making for its smooth and
effectual operation. Government must keep the ring, and leave it for
individuals to play out the game. The theory of the natural rights of
the individual is thus supplemented by a theory of the mutual harmony of
individual and social needs, and, so completed, forms a conception of
human society which is _primâ facie_ workable, which, in fact, contains
important elements of truth, and which was responsive to the needs of a
great class, and to many of the requirements of society as a whole,
during a considerable period.
On both sides, however, the theory exhibits, under criticism,
fundamental weaknesses which have both a historical and a speculative
significance. Let us first consider the conception of natural rights.
What were these rights, and on what did they rest? On the first point
men sought to be explicit. By way of illustration we cannot do better
than quote the leading clauses of the Declaration of 1789.[5]
_Article I._--Men are born and remain free and equal in rights. Social
distinctions can only be founded on common utility.
_Article II._--The end of every political association is the
conservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of man.[6] These
rights are liberty, property, security (_la sûreté_), and resistance to
oppression.
_Article III._--The principle of all sovereignty resides essentially in
the nation....
_Article IV._--Liberty consists in the power to do anything that does
not injure others; thus, the exercise of the natural rights of every man
has only such limits as assure to other members of society the enjoyment
of the same rights. These limits can only be determined by law.
_Article VI._--The law is the expression of the general will. All
citizens have a right to take part (_concourir_), personally or by their
representatives, in its formation.
The remainder of this article insists on the impartiality of law and the
equal admission of all citizens to office. The Declaration of 1793 is
more emphatic about equality, and more rhetorical. Article III reads,
"All men are equal by nature and before the law."
It is easy to subject these articles to a niggling form of criticism in
which their spirit is altogether missed. I would ask attention only to
one or two points of principle.
(_a_) What are the rights actually claimed? "Security" and "resistance
to oppression" are not in principle distinct, and, moreover, may be
taken as covered by the definition of liberty. The meaning at bottom is
"Security for liberty in respect of his person and property is the right
of every man." So expressed, it will be seen that this right postulates
the existence of an ordered society, and lays down that it is the duty
of such a society to secure the liberty of its members. The right of the
individual, then, is not something independent of society, but one of
the principles which a good social order must recognize.
(_b_) Observe that equality is limited by the "common utility," and that
the sphere of liberty is ultimately to be defined by "law." In both
cases we are referred back from the individual either to the needs or to
the decision of society as a whole. There are, moreover, two
definitions of liberty. (1) It is the power to do what does not injure
others. (2) It is a right limited by the consideration that others must
enjoy the same rights. It is important to bear in mind that these two
definitions are highly discrepant. If my right to knock a man down is
only limited by his equal right to knock me down, the law has no
business to interfere when we take to our fists. If, on the other hand,
I have no right to injure another, the law should interfere. Very little
reflection suffices to show that this is the sounder principle, and that
respect for the equal liberty of another is not an adequate definition
of liberty. My right to keep my neighbour awake by playing the piano all
night is not satisfactorily counterbalanced by his right to keep a dog
which howls all the time the piano is being played. The right of a
"sweater" to pay starvation wages is not satisfactorily limited by the
corresponding right which his employee would enjoy if he were in a
position to impose the same terms on some one else. Generally, the right
to injure or take advantage of another is not sufficiently limited by
the right of that other if he should have the power to retaliate in
kind. There is no right to injure another; and if we ask what is injury
we are again thrown back on some general principle which will override
the individual claim to do what one will.
(_c_) The doctrine of popular sovereignty rests on two principles. (1)
It is said to reside in the nation. Law is the expression of the general
will. Here the "nation" is conceived as a collective whole, as a unit.
(2) Every citizen has the right to take part in making the law. Here the
question is one of individual right. Which is the real ground of
democratic representation--the unity of the national life, or the
inherent right of the individual to be consulted about that which
concerns himself?
Further, and this is a very serious question, which is the ultimate
authority--the will of the nation, or the rights of the individual?
Suppose the nation deliberately decides on laws which deny the rights of
the individual, ought such laws to be obeyed in the name of popular
sovereignty, or to be disobeyed in the name of natural rights? It is a
real issue, and on these lines it is unfortunately quite insoluble.
These difficulties were among the considerations which led to the
formation of the second type of Liberal theory, and what has to be said
about the harmony of the natural order may be taken in conjunction with
this second theory to which we may now pass, and which is famous as The
Greatest Happiness Principle.
Bentham, who spent the greater part of his life in elaborating the
greatest happiness principle as a basis of social reconstruction, was
fully alive to the difficulties which we have found in the theory of
natural rights. The alleged rights of man were for him so many
anarchical fallacies. They were founded on no clearly assignable
principle, and admitted of no demonstration. "I say I have a right." "I
say you have no such right." Between the disputants who or what is to
decide? What was the supposed law of nature? When was it written, and by
whose authority? On what ground do we maintain that men are free or
equal? On what principle and within what limits do we or can we maintain
the right of property? There were points on which, by universal
admission, all these rights have to give way. What is the right of
property worth in times of war or of any overwhelming general need? The
Declaration itself recognized the need of appeal to common utility or to
the law to define the limits of individual right. Bentham would frankly
make all rights dependent on common utility, and therewith he would make
it possible to examine all conflicting claims in the light of a general
principle. He would measure them all by a common standard. Has a man the
right to express his opinion freely? To determine the question on
Bentham's lines we must ask whether it is, on the whole, useful to
society that the free expression of opinion should be allowed, and this,
he would say, is a question which may be decided by general reasoning
and by experience of results. Of course, we must take the rough with the
smooth. If the free expression of opinion is allowed, false opinion will
find utterance and will mislead many. The question would be, does the
loss involved in the promulgation of error counterbalance the gain to be
derived from unfettered discussion? and Bentham would hold himself free
to judge by results. Should the State maintain the rights of private
property? Yes, if the admission of those rights is useful to the
community as a whole. No, if it is not useful. Some rights of property,
again, may be advantageous, others disadvantageous. The community is
free to make a selection. If it finds that certain forms of property are
working to the exclusive benefit of individuals and the prejudice of the
common weal, it has good ground for the suppression of those forms of
property, while it may, with equal justice, maintain other forms of
property which it holds sound as judged by the effect on the common
welfare. It is limited by no "imprescriptible" right of the individual.
It may do with the individual what it pleases provided that it has the
good of the whole in view. So far as the question of right is concerned
the Benthamite principle might be regarded as decidedly socialistic or
even authoritarian. It contemplates, at least as a possibility, the
complete subordination of individual to social claims.
There is, however, another side to the Benthamite principle, to
understand which we must state the heads of the theory itself as a
positive doctrine. What is this social utility of which we have spoken?
In what does it consist? What is useful to society, and what harmful?
The answer has the merit of great clearness and simplicity. An action
is good which tends to promote the greatest possible happiness of the
greatest possible number of those affected by it. As with an action, so,
of course, with an institution or a social system. That is useful which
conforms to this principle. That is harmful which conflicts with it.
That is right which conforms to it, that is wrong which conflicts with
it. The greatest happiness principle is the one and supreme principle of
conduct. Observe that it imposes on us two considerations. One is the
_greatest_ happiness. Now happiness is defined as consisting positively
in the presence of pleasure, negatively in the absence of pain. A
greater pleasure is then preferable to a lesser, a pleasure
unaccompanied by pain to one involving pain. Conceiving pain as a minus
quantity of pleasure, we may say that the principle requires us always
to take quantity and pleasure into account, and nothing else. But,
secondly, the _number_ of individuals affected is material. An act might
cause pleasure to one and pain to two. Then it is wrong, unless, indeed,
the pleasure were very great and the pain in each case small. We must
balance the consequences, taking all individuals affected into account,
and "everybody must count for one and nobody for more than one." This
comment is an integral part of the original formula. As between the
happiness of his father, his child, or himself, and the happiness of a
stranger, a man must be impartial. He must only consider the quantity of
pleasure secured or pain inflicted.
Now, in this conception of measurable quantities of pleasure and pain
there is, as many critics have insisted, something unreal and academic.
We shall have to return to the point, but let us first endeavour to
understand the bearing of Bentham's teaching on the problems of his own
time and on the subsequent development of Liberal thought. For this
purpose we will keep to what is real in his doctrine, even if it is not
always defined with academic precision. The salient points that we note,
then, are (1) the subordination of all considerations of right to the
considerations of happiness, (2) the importance of number, and (3) as
the other side of the same doctrine, the insistence on equality or
impartiality between man and man. The common utility which Bentham
considers is the happiness experienced by a number of individuals, all
of whom are reckoned for this purpose as of equal value. This is the
radical individualism of the Benthamite creed, to be set against that
socialistic tendency which struck us in our preliminary account.
In this individualism, equality is fundamental. Everybody is to count
for one, nobody for more than one, for every one can feel pain and
pleasure. Liberty, on the other hand, is not fundamental, it is a means
to an end. Popular sovereignty is not fundamental, for all government is
a means to an end. Nevertheless, the school of Bentham, upon the whole,
stood by both liberty and democracy. Let us consider their attitude.
As to popular government, Bentham and James Mill reasoned after this
fashion. Men, if left to themselves, that is to say, if neither trained
by an educational discipline nor checked by responsibility, do not
consider the good of the greatest number. They consider their own good.
A king, if his power is unchecked, will rule in his own interest. A
class, if its power is unchecked, will rule in its own interest. The
only way to secure fair consideration for the happiness of all is to
allow to all an equal share of power. True, if there is a conflict the
majority will prevail, but they will be moved each by consideration of
his own happiness, and the majority as a whole, therefore, by the
happiness of the greater number. There is no inherent right in the
individual to take a part in government. There is a claim to be
considered in the distribution of the means of happiness, and to share
in the work of government as a means to this end. It would follow, among
other things, that if one man or one class could be shown to be so much
wiser and better than others that his or their rule would, in fact,
conduce more to the happiness of the greater number than a popular
system, then the business of government ought to be entrusted to that
man or that class and no one else ought to interfere with it.
The whole argument, however, implies a crude view of the problem of
government. It is, of course, theoretically possible that a question
should present itself, detached from other questions, in which a
definite measurable interest of each of the seven millions or more of
voters is at stake. For example, the great majority of English people
drink tea. Comparatively few drink wine. Should a particular sum be
raised by a duty on tea or on wine? Here the majority of tea-drinkers
have a measurable interest, the same in kind and roughly the same in
degree for each; and the vote of the majority, if it could be taken on
this question alone and based on self-interest alone, might be conceived
without absurdity as representing a sum of individual interests. Even
here, however, observe that, though the greatest number is considered,
the greatest happiness does not fare so well. For to raise the same sum
the tax on wine will, as less is drunk, have to be much larger than the
tax on tea, so that a little gain to many tea-drinkers might inflict a
heavy loss on the few wine-drinkers, and on the Benthamite principle it
is not clear that this would be just. In point of fact it is possible
for a majority to act tyrannically, by insisting on a slight convenience
to itself at the expense, perhaps, of real suffering to a minority. Now
the Utilitarian principle by no means justifies such tyranny, but it
does seem to contemplate the weighing of one man's loss against
another's gain, and such a method of balancing does not at bottom
commend itself to our sense of justice. We may lay down that if there is
a rational social order at all it must be one which never rests the
essential indispensable condition of the happiness of one man on the
unavoidable misery of another, nor the happiness of forty millions of
men on the misery of one. It may be temporarily expedient, but it is
eternally unjust, that one man should die for the people.
We may go further. The case of the contemplated tax is, as applied to
the politics of a modern State, an unreal one. Political questions
cannot be thus isolated. Even if we could vote by referendum on a
special tax, the question which voters would have to consider would
never be the revenue from and the incidence of that tax alone. All the
indirect social and economic bearings of the tax would come up for
consideration, and in the illustration chosen people would be swayed,
and rightly swayed, by their opinion, for example, of the comparative
effects of tea-drinking and wine-drinking. No one element of the social
life stands separate from the rest, any more than any one element of the
animal body stands separate from the rest. In this sense the life of
society is rightly held to be organic, and all considered public policy
must be conceived in its bearing on the life of society as a whole. But
the moment that we apply this view to politics, the Benthamite mode of
stating the case for democracy is seen to be insufficient. The interests
of every man are no doubt in the end bound up with the welfare of the
whole community, but the relation is infinitely subtle and indirect.
Moreover, it takes time to work itself out, and the evil that is done in
the present day may only bear fruit when the generation that has done it
has passed away. Thus, the direct and calculable benefit of the majority
may by no means coincide with the ultimate good of society as a whole;
and to suppose that the majority must, on grounds of self-interest,
govern in the interests of the community as a whole is in reality to
attribute to the mass of men full insight into problems which tax the
highest efforts of science and of statesmanship. Lastly, to suppose that
men are governed entirely by a sense of their interests is a many-sided
fallacy. Men are neither so intelligent nor so selfish. They are swayed
by emotion and by impulse, and both for good and for evil they will lend
enthusiastic support to courses of public policy from which, as
individuals, they have nothing to gain. To understand the real value of
democratic government, we shall have to probe far deeper into the
relations of the individual and society.
I turn lastly to the question of liberty. On Benthamite principles there
could be no question here of indefeasible individual right. There were
even, as we saw, possibilities of a thorough-going Socialism or of an
authoritarian paternalism in the Benthamite principle. But two great
considerations told in the opposite direction. One arose from the
circumstances of the day. Bentham, originally a man of somewhat
conservative temper, was driven into Radicalism comparatively late in
life by the indifference or hostility of the governing classes to his
schemes of reform. Government, as he saw it, was of the nature of a
close corporation with a vested interest hostile to the public weal, and
his work is penetrated by distrust of power as such. There was much in
the history of the time to justify his attitude. It was difficult at
that time to believe in an honest officialdom putting the commonwealth
above every personal or corporate interest, and reformers naturally
looked to individual initiative as the source of progress. Secondly,
and this was a more philosophic argument, the individual was supposed to
understand his own interest best, and as the common good was the sum of
individual interests, it followed that so far as every man was free to
seek his own good, the good of the greatest number would be most
effectually realized by general freedom of choice. That there were
difficulties in reconciling self-interest with the general good was not
denied. But men like James Mill, who especially worked at this side of
the problem, held that they could be overcome by moral education.
Trained from childhood to associate the good of others with his own, a
man would come, he thought, to care for the happiness of others as for
the happiness of self. For, in the long run, the two things were
coincident. Particularly in a free economic system, as remarked above,
each individual, moving along the line of greatest personal profit,
would be found to fulfil the function of greatest profit to society. Let
this be understood, and we should have true social harmony based on the
spontaneous operation of personal interest enlightened by intelligence
and chastened by the discipline of unruly instinct.
Thus, though their starting-point was different, the Benthamites arrived
at practical results not notably divergent from those of the doctrine of
natural liberty; and, on the whole, the two influences worked together
in the formation of that school who in the reform period exercised so
notable an influence on English Liberalism, and to whose work we must
now turn.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] _Cf._ the preamble to the Declaration of the Rights of Man by the
French National Assembly in 1789. The Assembly lays down "the natural,
inalienable, and sacred rights of man," in order, among other things,
"that the acts of the legislative power and those of the executive
power, being capable of being at every instant compared with the end of
every political institution, may be more respected accordingly."
[5] The comparison of the Declaration of the Assembly in 1789 with that
of the Convention in 1793 is full of interest, both for the points of
agreement and difference, but would require a lengthy examination. I
note one or two points in passing.
[6] Contrast 1793, Art. I: "The end of society is the common happiness.
Government is instituted to guarantee to man the enjoyment of his
natural and imprescriptible rights."