THE FUTURE OF LIBERALISM
The nineteenth century might be called the age of Liberalism, yet its
close saw the fortunes of that great movement brought to their lowest
ebb. Whether at home or abroad those who represented Liberal ideas had
suffered crushing defeats. But this was the least considerable of the
causes for anxiety. If Liberals had been defeated, something much worse
seemed about to befall Liberalism. Its faith in itself was waxing cold.
It seemed to have done its work. It had the air of a creed that is
becoming fossilized as an extinct form, a fossil that occupied,
moreover, an awkward position between two very active and energetically
moving grindstones--the upper grindstone of plutocratic imperialism, and
the nether grindstone of social democracy. "We know all about you,"
these parties seemed to say to Liberalism; "we have been right through
you and come out on the other side. Respectable platitudes, you go
maundering on about Cobden and Gladstone, and the liberty of the
individual, and the rights of nationality, and government by the people.
What you say is not precisely untrue, but it is unreal and
uninteresting." So far in chorus. "It is not up to date," finished the
Imperialist, and the Socialist bureaucrat. "It is not bread and butter,"
finished the Social democrat. Opposed in everything else, these two
parties agreed in one thing. They were to divide the future between
them. Unfortunately, however, for their agreement, the division was soon
seen to be no equal one. Whatever might be the ultimate recuperative
power of Social Democracy, for the time being, in the paralysis of
Liberalism, the Imperial reaction had things all to itself. The
governing classes of England were to assert themselves. They were to
consolidate the Empire, incidentally passing the steam roller over two
obstructive republics. They were to "teach the law" to the "sullen
new-caught peoples" abroad. They were to re-establish the Church at home
by the endowment of doctrinal education. At the same time they were to
establish the liquor interest--which is, after all, the really potent
instrument of government from above. They were to bind the colonies to
us by ties of fiscal preference, and to establish the great commercial
interests on the basis of protection. Their government, as conceived by
the best exponents of the new doctrine, was by no means to be
indifferent to the humanitarian claims of the social conscience. They
were to deal out factory acts, and establish wages boards. They were to
make an efficient and a disciplined people. In the idea of discipline
the military element rapidly assumed a greater prominence. But on this
side the evolution of opinion passed through two well-marked phases. The
first was the period of optimism and expansion. The Englishman was the
born ruler of the world. He might hold out a hand of friendship to the
German and the American, whom he recognized as his kindred and who lived
within the law. The rest of the world was peopled by dying nations whose
manifest destiny was to be "administered" by the coming races, and
exploited by their commercial syndicates. This mood of optimism did not
survive the South African War. It received its death-blow at Colenso
and Magersfontein, and within a few years fear had definitely taken the
place of ambition as the mainspring of the movement to national and
imperial consolidation. The Tariff Reform movement was largely inspired
by a sense of insecurity in our commercial position. The
half-patronizing friendship for Germany rapidly gave way, first to
commercial jealousy, and then to unconcealed alarm for our national
safety. All the powers of society were bent on lavish naval expenditure,
and of imposing the idea of compulsory service on a reluctant people.
The disciplined nation was needed no longer to dominate the world, but
to maintain its own territory.
Now, we are not concerned here to follow up the devious windings of
modern Conservatism. We have to note only that what modern democracy has
to face is no mere inertia of tradition. It is a distinct reactionary
policy with a definite and not incoherent creed of its own, an ideal
which in its best expression--for example, in the daily comments of the
_Morning Post_--is certain to exercise a powerful attraction on many
generous minds--the ideal of the efficient, disciplined nation, centre
and dominating force of a powerful, self-contained, militant empire.
What concerns us more particularly is the reaction of Conservative
development upon the fortunes of democracy. But to understand this
reaction, and, indeed, to make any sound estimate of the present
position and prospects of Liberalism, we must cast a rapid glance over
the movement of progressive thought during the last generation. When
Gladstone formed his second Government in 1880 the old party system
stood secure in Great Britain. It was only a band of politicians from
the other side of St. George's Channel who disowned both the great
allegiances. For the British political mind the plain distinction of
Liberal and Conservative held the field, and the division was not yet a
class distinction. The great Whig families held their place, and they of
the aristocratic houses divided the spoil. But a new leaven was at work.
The prosperity which had culminated in 1872 was passing away. Industrial
progress slowed down; and, though the advance from the "Hungry 'Forties"
had been immense, men began to see the limit of what they could
reasonably expect from retrenchment and Free Trade. The work of Mr.
Henry George awakened new interest in problems of poverty, and the
idealism of William Morris gave new inspiration to Socialist propaganda.
Meanwhile, the teaching of Green and the enthusiasm of Toynbee were
setting Liberalism free from the shackles of an individualist conception
of liberty and paving the way for the legislation of our own time.
Lastly, the Fabian Society brought Socialism down from heaven and
established a contact with practical politics and municipal government.
Had Great Britain been an island in the mid-Pacific the onward movement
would have been rapid and undeviating in its course. As it was, the new
ideas were reflected in the parliament and the cabinet of 1880-1885, and
the Radicalism of Birmingham barely kept on terms with the Whiggery of
the clubs. A redistribution of social forces which would amalgamate the
interests of "property" on the one side and those of democracy on the
other was imminent, and on social questions democracy reinforced by the
enfranchisement of the rural labourers in 1884 stood to win. At this
stage the Irish question came to a head. Mr. Gladstone declared for Home
Rule, and the party fissure took place on false lines. The upper and
middle classes in the main went over to Unionism, but they took with
them a section of the Radicals, while Mr. Gladstone's personal force
retained on the Liberal side a number of men whose insight into the
needs of democracy was by no means profound. The political fight was for
the moment shifted from the social question to the single absorbing
issue of Home Rule, and the new Unionist party enjoyed twenty years of
almost unbroken supremacy. Again, had the Home Rule issue stood alone it
might have been settled in 1892, but meanwhile in the later 'eighties
the social question had become insistent. Socialism, ceasing to be a
merely academic force, had begun to influence organized labour, and had
inspired the more generous minds among the artisans with the
determination to grapple with the problem of the unskilled workmen. From
the Dockers' strike of 1889 the New Unionism became a fighting force in
public affairs, and the idea of a Labour party began to take shape. On
the new problems Liberalism, weakened as it already had been, was
further divided, and its failure in 1892 is to be ascribed far more to
this larger cause than to the dramatic personal incident of the Parnell
divorce. In office without legislative power from 1892 to 1895, the
Liberal party only experienced further loss of credit, and the rise of
Imperialism swept the whole current of public interest in a new
direction. The Labour movement itself was paralyzed, and the defeat of
the Engineers in 1897 put an end to the hope of achieving a great social
transformation by the method of the strike. But, in the meanwhile,
opinion was being silently transformed. The labours of Mr. Charles Booth
and his associates had at length stated the problem of poverty in
scientific terms. Social and economic history was gradually taking shape
as a virtually new branch of knowledge. The work of Mr. and Mrs. Sidney
Webb helped to clear up the relations between the organized efforts of
workmen and the functions of the State. The discerning observer could
trace the "organic filaments" of a fuller and more concrete social
theory.
On the other hand, in the Liberal ranks many of the most influential men
had passed, without consciousness of the transition, under the sway of
quite opposite influences. They were becoming Imperialists in their
sleep, and it was only as the implications of Imperialism became
evident that they were awakened. It was with the outbreak of the South
African War that the new development of Conservative policy first
compelled the average Liberal to consider his position. It needed the
shock of an outspoken violation of right to stir him; and we may date
the revival of the idea of justice in the party as an organized force
from the speech in the summer of 1901 in which Sir Henry
Campbell-Bannerman set himself against the stream of militant sentiment
and challenged in a classic phrase the methods of the war. From the day
of this speech, which was supposed at the time to have irretrievably
ruined his political career, the name of the party-leader, hitherto
greeted with indifference, became a recognized signal for the cheers of
a political meeting, and a man with no marked genius but that of
character and the insight which character gave into the minds of his
followers acquired in his party the position of a Gladstone. This was
the first and fundamental victory, the reinstatement of the idea of
Right in the mind of Liberalism. Then, as the Conservative attack
developed and its implications became apparent, one interest after
another of the older Liberalism was rudely shaken into life. The
Education Act of 1902 brought the Nonconformists into action. The Tariff
Reform movement put Free Trade on its defence, and taught men to realize
what the older economics of Liberalism had done for them. The Socialists
of practical politics, the Labour Party, found that they could by no
means dispense with the discipline of Cobden. Free Trade finance was to
be the basis of social reform. Liberalism and Labour learned to
co-operate in resisting delusive promises of remedies for unemployment
and in maintaining the right of free international exchange. Meanwhile,
Labour itself had experienced the full brunt of the attack. It had come
not from the politicians but from the judges, but in this country we
have to realize that within wide limits the judges are in effect
legislators, and legislators with a certain persistent bent which can be
held in check only by the constant vigilance and repeated efforts of the
recognized organ for the making and repeal of law. In destroying the old
position of the Trade Unions, the judges created the modern Labour party
and cemented its alliance with Liberalism. Meanwhile, the aftermath of
Imperialism in South Africa was reaped, and Conservative disillusionment
unlocked the floodgates for the advancing tide of the Liberal revival.
The tide has by no means spent itself. If it no longer rushes in an
electoral torrent as in 1906 it flows in a steady stream towards social
amelioration and democratic government. In this movement it is now
sufficiently clear to all parties that the distinctive ideas of
Liberalism have a permanent function. The Socialist recognizes with
perfect clearness, for example, that popular government is not a
meaningless shibboleth, but a reality that has to be maintained and
extended by fighting. He is well aware that he must deal with the House
of Lords and the Plural vote if he is to gain his own ends. He can no
longer regard these questions as difficulties interposed by half-hearted
Liberals to distract attention from the Social problem. He is aware that
the problem of Home Rule and of devolution generally is an integral part
of the organization of democracy. And, as a rule, he not merely
acquiesces in the demand of women for a purely political right, but only
quarrels with the Liberal party for its tardiness in meeting the
demand. The old Liberal idea of peace and retrenchment again is
recognized by the Socialistic, and indeed by the whole body of social
reformers, as equally essential for the successful prosecution of their
aims. Popular budgets will bring no relief to human suffering if the
revenues that they secure are all to go upon the most expensive ship
that is the fashion of the moment, nor can the popular mind devote
itself to the improvement of domestic conditions while it is distracted
either by ambitions or by scares. On the other side, the Liberal who
starts from the Gladstonian tradition has in large measure realized that
if he is to maintain the essence of his old ideas it must be through a
process of adaptation and growth. He has learnt that while Free Trade
laid the foundations of prosperity it did not erect the building. He has
to acknowledge that it has not solved the problems of unemployment, of
underpayment, of overcrowding. He has to look deeper into the meaning of
liberty and to take account of the bearing of actual conditions on the
meaning of equality. As an apostle of peace and an opponent of swollen
armaments, he has come to recognize that the expenditure of the social
surplus upon the instruments of progress is the real alternative to its
expenditure on the instruments of war. As a Temperance man he is coming
to rely more on the indirect effect of social improvement on the one
hand and the elimination of monopolist profit on the other, than on the
uncertain chances of absolute prohibition.
There are, then, among the composite forces which maintained the Liberal
Government in power through the crisis of 1910, the elements of such an
organic view as may inspire and direct a genuine social progress.
Liberalism has passed through its Slough of Despond, and in the give and
take of ideas with Socialism has learnt, and taught, more than one
lesson. The result is a broader and deeper movement in which the cooler
and clearer minds recognize below the differences of party names and in
spite of certain real cross-currents a genuine unity of purpose. What
are the prospects of this movement? Will it be maintained? Is it the
steady stream to which we have compared it, or a wave which must
gradually sink into the trough?
To put this question is to ask in effect whether democracy is in
substance as well as in form a possible mode of government. To answer
this question we must ask what democracy really means, and why it is the
necessary basis of the Liberal idea. The question has already been
raised incidentally, and we have seen reason to dismiss both the
individualist and the Benthamite argument for popular government as
unsatisfactory. We even admitted a doubt whether some of the concrete
essentials of liberty and social justice might not, under certain
conditions, be less fully realized under a widely-extended suffrage than
under the rule of a superior class or a well-ordered despotism. On what,
then, it may be asked, do we found our conception of democracy? Is it on
general principles of social philosophy, or on the special conditions of
our own country or of contemporary civilization? And how does our
conception relate itself to our other ideas of the social order? Do we
assume that the democracy will in the main accept these ideas, or if it
rejects them are we willing to acquiesce in its decision as final? And
in the end what do we expect? Will democracy assert itself, will it find
a common purpose and give it concrete shape? Or will it blunder on, the
passive subject of scares and ambitions, frenzies of enthusiasm and
dejection, clay in the hands of those whose profession it is to model it
to their will.
First as to the general principle. Democracy is not founded merely on
the right or the private interest of the individual. This is only one
side of the shield. It is founded equally on the function of the
individual as a member of the community. It founds the common good upon
the common will, in forming which it bids every grown-up, intelligent
person to take a part. No doubt many good things may be achieved for a
people without responsive effort on its own part. It may be endowed with
a good police, with an equitable system of private law, with education,
with personal freedom, with a well-organized industry. It may receive
these blessings at the hands of a foreign ruler, or from an enlightened
bureaucracy or a benevolent monarch. However obtained, they are all very
good things. But the democratic theory is that, so obtained, they lack a
vitalizing element. A people so governed resembles an individual who has
received all the external gifts of fortune, good teachers, healthy
surroundings, a fair breeze to fill his sails, but owes his prosperous
voyage to little or no effort of his own. We do not rate such a man so
high as one who struggles through adversity to a much less eminent
position. What we possess has its intrinsic value, but how we came to
possess it is also an important question. It is so with a society. Good
government is much, but the good will is more, and even the imperfect,
halting, confused utterance of the common will may have in it the
potency of higher things than a perfection of machinery can ever attain.
But this principle makes one very large assumption. It postulates the
existence of a common will. It assumes that the individuals whom it
would enfranchise can enter into the common life and contribute to the
formation of a common decision by a genuine interest in public
transactions. Where and in so far as this assumption definitely fails,
there is no case for democracy. Progress, in such a case, is not wholly
impossible, but it must depend on the number of those who do care for
the things that are of social value, who advance knowledge or "civilize
life through the discoveries of art," or form a narrow but effective
public opinion in support of liberty and order. We may go further.
Whatever the form of government progress always does in fact depend on
those who so think and live, and on the degree in which these common
interests envelop their life and thought. Now, complete and wholehearted
absorption in public interests is rare. It is the property not of the
mass but of the few, and the democrat is well aware that it is the
remnant which saves the people. He subjoins only that if their effort is
really to succeed the people must be willing to be saved. The masses who
spend their toilsome days in mine or factory struggling for bread have
not their heads for ever filled with the complex details of
international policy or industrial law. To expect this would be absurd.
What is not exaggerated is to expect them to respond and assent to the
things that make for the moral and material welfare of the country, and
the position of the democrat is that the "remnant" is better occupied in
convincing the people and carrying their minds and wills with it than in
imposing on them laws which they are concerned only to obey and enjoy.
At the same time, the remnant, be it never so select, has always much to
learn. Some men are much better and wiser than others, but experience
seems to show that hardly any man is so much better or wiser than others
that he can permanently stand the test of irresponsible power over them.
On the contrary, the best and wisest is he who is ready to go to the
humblest in a spirit of inquiry, to find out what he wants and why he
wants it before seeking to legislate for him. Admitting the utmost that
can be said for the necessity of leadership, we must at the same time
grant that the perfection of leadership itself lies in securing the
willing, convinced, open-eyed support of the mass.
Thus individuals will contribute to the social will in very varying
degrees, but the democratic thesis is that the formation of such a will,
that is, in effect, the extension of intelligent interest in all manner
of public things, is in itself a good, and more than that, it is a
condition qualifying other good things. Now the extension of interest is
not to be created by democratic forms of government, and if it neither
exists nor can be brought into existence, democracy remains an empty
form and may even be worse than useless. On the other hand, where the
capacity exists the establishment of responsible government is the
first condition of its development. Even so it is not the sole
condition. The modern State is a vast and complex organism. The
individual voter feels himself lost among the millions. He is
imperfectly acquainted with the devious issues and large problems of the
day, and is sensible how little his solitary vote can affect their
decision. What he needs to give him support and direction is
organization with his neighbours and fellow workers. He can understand,
for example, the affairs of his trade union, or, again, of his chapel.
They are near to him. They affect him, and he feels that he can affect
them. Through these interests, again, he comes into touch with wider
questions--with a Factory Bill or an Education Bill--and in dealing with
these questions he will now act as one of an organized body, whose
combined voting strength will be no negligible quantity. Responsibility
comes home to him, and to bring home responsibility is the problem of
all government. The development of social interest--and that is
democracy--depends not only on adult suffrage and the supremacy of the
elected legislature, but on all the intermediate organizations which
link the individual to the whole. This is one among the reasons why
devolution and the revival of local government, at present crushed in
this country by a centralized bureaucracy, are of the essence of
democratic progress.
The success of democracy depends on the response of the voters to the
opportunities given them. But, conversely, the opportunities must be
given in order to call forth the response. The exercise of popular
government is itself an education. In considering whether any class or
sex or race should be brought into the circle of enfranchisement, the
determining consideration is the response which that class or sex or
race would be likely to make to the trust. Would it enter effectively
into the questions of public life, or would it be so much passive voting
material, wax in the hands of the less scrupulous politicians? The
question is a fair one, but people are too ready to answer it in the
less favourable sense on the ground of the actual indifference or
ignorance which they find or think they find among the unenfranchised.
They forget that in that regard enfranchisement itself may be precisely
the stimulus needed to awaken interest, and while they are impressed
with the danger of admitting ignorant and irresponsible, and perhaps
corruptible voters to a voice in the government, they are apt to
overlook the counterbalancing danger of leaving a section of the
community outside the circle of civic responsibility. The actual work of
government must affect, and also it must be affected by, its relation to
all who live within the realm. To secure good adaptation it ought, I
will not say to reflect, but at least to take account of, the
dispositions and circumstances of every class in the population. If any
one class is dumb, the result is that Government is to that extent
uninformed. It is not merely that the interests of that class may
suffer, but that, even with the best will, mistakes may be made in
handling it, because it cannot speak for itself. Officious spokesmen
will pretend to represent its views, and will obtain, perhaps, undue
authority merely because there is no way of bringing them to book. So
among ourselves does the press constantly represent public opinion to be
one thing while the cold arithmetic of the polls conclusively declares
it to be another. The ballot alone effectively liberates the quiet
citizen from the tyranny of the shouter and the wire-puller.
I conclude that an impression of existing inertness or ignorance is not
a sufficient reason for withholding responsible government or
restricting the area of the suffrage. There must be a well-grounded view
that political incapacity is so deep-rooted that the extension of
political rights would tend only to facilitate undue influence by the
less scrupulous sections of the more capable part of the people. Thus
where we have an oligarchy of white planters in the midst of a coloured
population, it is always open to doubt whether a general
colour-franchise will be a sound method of securing even-handed justice.
The economic and social conditions may be such that the "coloured" man
would just have to vote as his master told him, and if the elementary
rights are to be secured for all it may be that a semi-despotic system
like that of some of our Crown colonies is the best that can be devised.
On the other side, that which is most apt to frighten a governing class
or race, a clamour on the part of an unenfranchised people for political
rights, is to the democrat precisely the strongest reason that he can
have in the absence of direct experience for believing them fit for the
exercise of civic responsibility. He welcomes signs of dissatisfaction
among the disfranchised as the best proof of awakening interest in
public affairs, and he has none of those fears of ultimate social
disruption which are a nightmare to bureaucracies because experience has
sufficiently proved to him the healing power of freedom, of
responsibility, and of the sense of justice. Moreover, a democrat cannot
be a democrat for his own country alone. He cannot but recognize the
complex and subtle interactions of nation upon nation which make every
local success or failure of democracy tell upon other countries. Nothing
has been more encouraging to the Liberalism of Western Europe in recent
years than the signs of political awakening in the East. Until yesterday
it seemed as though it would in the end be impossible to resist the
ultimate "destiny" of the white races to be masters of the rest of the
world. The result would have been that, however far democracy might
develop within any Western State, it would always be confronted with a
contrary principle in the relation of that State to dependencies, and
this contradiction, as may easily be seen by the attentive student of
our own political constitutions, is a standing menace to domestic
freedom. The awakening of the Orient, from Constantinople to Pekin, is
the greatest and most hopeful political fact of our time, and it is with
the deepest shame that English Liberals have been compelled to look on
while our Foreign Office has made itself the accomplice in the attempt
to nip Persian freedom in the bud, and that in the interest of the most
ruthless tyranny that has ever crushed the liberties of a white people.
The cause of democracy is bound up with that of internationalism. The
relation is many-sided. It is national pride, resentment, or ambition
one day that sweeps the public mind and diverts it from all interest in
domestic progress. The next day the same function is performed no less
adequately by a scare. The practice of playing on popular emotions has
been reduced to a fine art which neither of the great parties is ashamed
to employ. Military ideals possess the mind, and military expenditure
eats up the public resources. On the other side, the political economic
and social progress of other nations reacts on our own. The backwardness
of our commercial rivals in industrial legislation was long made an
argument against further advances among ourselves. Conversely, when they
go beyond us, as now they often do, we can learn from them. Physically
the world is rapidly becoming one, and its unity must ultimately be
reflected in political institutions. The old doctrine of absolute
sovereignty is dead. The greater States of the day exhibit a complex
system of government within government, authority limited by authority,
and the world-state of the not impossible future must be based on a free
national self-direction as full and satisfying as that enjoyed by Canada
or Australia within the British Empire at this moment. National
emulation will express itself less in the desire to extend territory or
to count up ships and guns, and more in the endeavour to magnify the
contribution of our own country to civilized life. Just as in the
rebirth of our municipal life we find a civic patriotism which takes
interest in the local university, which feels pride in the magnitude of
the local industry, which parades the lowest death rate in the country,
which is honestly ashamed of a bad record for crime or pauperism, so as
Englishmen we shall concern ourselves less with the question whether two
of our Dreadnoughts might not be pitted against one German, and more
with the question whether we cannot equal Germany in the development of
science, of education, and of industrial technique. Perhaps even,
recovering from our present artificially induced and radically insincere
mood of national self-abasement, we shall learn to take some pride in
our own characteristic contributions as a nation to the arts of
government, to the thought, the literature, the art, the mechanical
inventions which have made and are re-making modern civilization.
Standing by national autonomy and international equality, Liberalism is
necessarily in conflict with the Imperial idea as it is ordinarily
presented. But this is not to say that it is indifferent to the
interests of the Empire as a whole, to the sentiment of unity pervading
its white population, to all the possibilities involved in the bare fact
that a fourth part of the human race recognizes one flag and one supreme
authority. In relation to the self-governing colonies the Liberal of
today has to face a change in the situation since Cobden's time not
unlike that which we have traced in other departments. The Colonial
Empire as it stands is in substance the creation of the older
Liberalism. It is founded on self-government, and self-government is the
root from which the existing sentiment of unity has sprung. The problem
of our time is to devise means for the more concrete and living
expression of this sentiment without impairing the rights of
self-government on which it depends. Hitherto the "Imperialist" has had
matters all his own way and has cleverly exploited Colonial opinion, or
an appearance of Colonial opinion, in favour of class ascendancy and
reactionary legislation in the mother country. But the colonies include
the most democratic communities in the world. Their natural sympathies
are not with the Conservatives, but with the most Progressive parties in
the United Kingdom. They favour Home Rule, they set the pace in social
legislation. There exist accordingly the political conditions of a
democratic alliance which it is the business of the British Liberal to
turn to account. He may hope to make his country the centre of a group
of self-governing, democratic communities, one of which, moreover,
serves as a natural link with the other great commonwealth of
English-speaking people. The constitutional mechanism of the new unity
begins to take shape in the Imperial Council, and its work begins to
define itself as the adjustment of interests as between different
portions of the Empire and the organization of common defence. Such a
union is no menace to the world's peace or to the cause of freedom. On
the contrary, as a natural outgrowth of a common sentiment, it is one of
the steps towards a wider unity which involves no backstroke against the
ideal of self-government. It is a model, and that on no mean scale, of
the International State.
Internationalism on the one side, national self-government on the other,
are the radical conditions of the growth of a social mind which is the
essence, as opposed to the form, of democracy. But as to form itself a
word must, in conclusion, be said. If the forms are unsuitable the will
cannot express itself, and if it fails of adequate expression it is in
the end thwarted, repressed and paralyzed. In the matter of form the
inherent difficulty of democratic government, whether direct or
representative, is that it is government by majority, not government by
universal consent. Its decisions are those of the larger part of the
people, not of the whole. This defect is an unavoidable consequence of
the necessities of decision and the impossibility of securing universal
agreement. Statesmen have sought to remedy it by applying something of
the nature of a brake upon the process of change. They have felt that to
justify a new departure of any magnitude there must be something more
than a bare majority. There must either be a large majority, two-thirds
or three-fourths of the electorate, or there must be some friction to be
overcome which will serve to test the depth and force as well as the
numerical extent of the feeling behind the new proposal. In the United
Kingdom we have one official brake, the House of Lords, and several
unofficial ones, the civil service, the permanent determined opposition
of the Bench to democratic measures, the Press, and all that we call
Society. All these brakes act in one way only. There is no brake upon
reaction--a lack which becomes more serious in proportion as the
Conservative party acquires a definite and constructive policy of its
own. In this situation the Liberal party set itself to deal with the
official brake by the simple method of reducing its effective strength,
but, to be honest, without having made up its mind as to the nature of
the brake which it would like to substitute. On this question a few
general remarks would seem to be in place. The function of a check on
the House of Commons is to secure reconsideration. Conservative leaders
are in the right when they point to the accidental elements that go to
the constitution of parliamentary majorities. The programme of any
general election is always composite, and a man finds himself compelled,
for example, to choose between a Tariff Reformer whose views on
education he approves, and a Free Trader whose educational policy he
detests. In part this defect might be remedied by the Proportional
system to which, whether against the grain or not, Liberals will find
themselves driven the more they insist on the genuinely representative
character of the House of Commons. But even a Proportional system would
not wholly clear the issues before the electorate. The average man
gives his vote on the question which he takes to be most important in
itself, and which he supposes to be most likely to come up for immediate
settlement. But he is always liable to find his expectations defeated,
and a Parliament which is in reality elected on one issue may proceed to
deal with quite another. The remedy proposed by the Parliament Bill was
a two years' delay, which, it was held, would secure full discussion and
considerable opportunity for the manifestation of opinion should it be
adverse. This proposal had been put to the constituencies twice over,
and had been ratified by them if any legislative proposal ever was
ratified. It should enable the House of Commons, as the representatives
of the people, to decide freely on the permanent constitution of the
country. The Bill itself, however, does not lay down the lines of a
permanent settlement. For, to begin with, in leaving the constitution of
the House of Lords unaltered it provides a one-sided check, operating
only on democratic measures which in any case have to run the gauntlet
of the permanent officials, the judges, the Press, and Society. For
permanent use the brake must be two-sided. Secondly, it is to be feared
that the principle of delay would be an insufficient check upon a large
and headstrong majority. What is really needed is that the people should
have the opportunity of considering a proposal afresh. This could be
secured in either of two ways: (1) by allowing the suspensory veto of
the Second Chamber to hold a measure over to a new Parliament; (2) by
allowing the House of Commons to submit a bill in the form in which it
finally leaves the House to a direct popular vote. It is to my mind
regrettable that so many Liberals should have closed the door on the
Referendum. It is true that there are many measures to which it would be
ill suited. For example, measures affecting a particular class or a
particular locality would be apt to go by the board. They might command
a large and enthusiastic majority among those primarily affected by
them, but only receive a languid assent elsewhere, and they might be
defeated by a majority beaten up for extraneous purposes among those
without first-hand knowledge of the problems with which they are
intended to deal. Again, if a referendum were to work at all it would
only be in relation to measures of the first class, and only, if the
public convenience is to be consulted, on very rare occasions. In all
ordinary cases of insuperable difference between the Houses, the
government of the day would accept the postponement of the measure till
the new Parliament. But there are measures of urgency, measures of
fundamental import, above all, measures which cut across the ordinary
lines of party, and with which, in consequence, our system is impotent
to deal, and on these the direct consultation of the people would be the
most suitable method of solution.[13]
What we need, then, is an impartial second chamber distinctly
subordinate to the House of Commons, incapable of touching finance and
therefore of overthrowing a ministry, but able to secure the submission
of a measure either to the direct vote of the people or to the verdict
of a second election--the government of the day having the choice
between the alternatives. Such a chamber might be instituted by direct
popular election. But the multiplication of elections is not good for
the working of democracy, and it would be difficult to reconcile a
directly elected house to a subordinate position. It might, therefore,
as an alternative, be elected on a proportional system by the House of
Commons itself, its members retaining their seat for two Parliaments. To
bridge over the change half of the chamber for the present Parliament
might be elected by the existing House of Lords, and their
representatives retiring at the end of this Parliament would leave the
next House of Commons and every future House of Commons with one-half of
the chamber to elect. This Second Chamber would then reflect in equal
proportions the existing and the last House of Commons, and the balance
between parties should be fairly held.[14] This chamber would have
ample power of securing reasonable amendments and would also have good
ground for exercising moderation in pressing its views. If the public
were behind the measure it would know that in the end the House of
Commons could carry it in its teeth, whether by referendum or by a
renewed vote of confidence at a general election. The Commons, on their
side, would have reasons for exhibiting a conciliatory temper. They
would not wish to be forced either to postpone or to appeal. As to which
method they would choose they would have absolute discretion, and if
they went to the country with a series of popular measures hung up and
awaiting their return for ratification, they would justly feel
themselves in a strong position.
So far as to forms. The actual future of democracy, however, rests upon
deeper issues. It is bound up with the general advance of civilization.
The organic character of society is, we have seen, in one sense, an
ideal. In another sense it is an actuality. That is to say, nothing of
any import affects the social life on one side without setting up
reactions all through the tissue. Hence, for example, we cannot
maintain great political progress without some corresponding advance on
other sides. People are not fully free in their political capacity when
they are subject industrially to conditions which take the life and
heart out of them. A nation as a whole cannot be in the full sense free
while it fears another or gives cause of fear to another. The social
problem must be viewed as a whole. We touch here the greatest weakness
in modern reform movements. The spirit of specialism has invaded
political and social activity, and in greater and greater degree men
consecrate their whole energy to a particular cause to the almost
cynical disregard of all other considerations. "Not such the help, nor
these the defenders" which this moment of the world's progress needs.
Rather we want to learn our supreme lesson from the school of Cobden.
For them the political problem was one, manifold in its ramifications
but undivided in its essence. It was a problem of realizing liberty. We
have seen reason to think that their conception of liberty was too thin,
and that to appreciate its concrete content we must understand it as
resting upon mutual restraint and value it as a basis of mutual aid.
For us, therefore, harmony serves better as a unifying conception. It
remains for us to carry it through with the same logical cogency, the
same practical resourcefulness, the same driving force that inspired the
earlier Radicals, that gave fire to Cobden's statistics, and lent
compelling power to the eloquence of Bright. We need less of the
fanatics of sectarianism and more of the unifying mind. Our reformers
must learn to rely less on the advertising value of immediate success
and more on the deeper but less striking changes of practice or of
feeling, to think less of catching votes and more of convincing opinion.
We need a fuller co-operation among those of genuine democratic feeling
and more agreement as to the order of reform. At present progress is
blocked by the very competition of many causes for the first place in
the advance. Here, again, devolution will help us, but what would help
still more would be a clearer sense of the necessity of co-operation
between all who profess and call themselves democrats, based on a fuller
appreciation of the breadth and the depth of their own meaning. The
advice seems cold to the fiery spirits, but they may come to learn that
the vision of justice in the wholeness of her beauty kindles a passion
that may not flare up into moments of dramatic scintillation, but burns
with the enduring glow of the central heat.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] I need hardly add that financial measures are entirely unsuited to
a referendum. Financial and executive control go together, and to take
either of them out of the hands of the majority in the House of Commons
is not to reform our system but to destroy it root and branch. The same
is not true of legislative control. There are cases in which a
government might fairly submit a legislative measure to the people
without electing to stand or fall by it.
[14] Probably the best alternative to these proposals is that of a small
directly elected Second Chamber, with a provision for a joint session in
case of insuperable disagreement, but with no provision for delay. This
proposal has the advantage, apparently, of commanding a measure of
Conservative support.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
LOCKE.--Second Treatise on Civil Government (1689).
PAINE.--The Rights of Man (1792).
BENTHAM.--Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789!).
J. S. MILL.--Principles of Political Economy (Books IV and V).
On Liberty.
Representative Government.
The Subjection of Women.
Autobiography.
COBDEN.--Political Writings.
BRIGHT.--Speeches.
MAZZINI.--The Duties of Man.
Thoughts on Democracy in Europe.
JEVONS.--The State in Relation to Labour.
T. H. GREEN.--Principles of Political Obligation.
Liberal Legislation and Freedom of Contract (_Works_, vol. iii).
MORLEY.--Life of Cobden.
Life of Gladstone.
F. W. HIRST.--The Manchester School.
G. LOWES DICKINSON.--Liberty and Justice.
PROF. H. JONES.--The Working Faith of the Social Reformer.
PROF. McCUNN.--Six Radical Thinkers.
INDEX
Association, right of, 37-8
Authoritarian rule, 8-10, 18, 21, 47, 54
Birth rate, 181
Charity, State, and Justice, 182
Church and State, 12
City States, 10-13, 16
Civil liberty, 21
Coercion, where justified, 139-154
Colonies, 41-4, 106, 216, 240
Conservatism, 88, 176, 217
Democracy, future of, 227-236, 242-51
Economic liberty, 34-8, 157
Education, 32, 40, 154
Feudalism, 15-18
Fiscal liberty, 25-6, 34, 78-81
Foreign policy, 41, 104-5
Freedom, conditions of, 23-4, 28, 31, 58, 91-2, 140, 146
Gladstone, W. E., 102-6
Greece, ancient, 10-13
Habeas Corpus Act, 23
Imperialism, 215, 221-4, 239
Industry, regulation of, 35-6, 82-8, 93
Inequality, the defence of, 131
Inherited wealth, 197-9
Ireland, 41, 103, 219, 224
Laissez-faire, 78-101
Land question, 82, 95-8, 175-6, 192-3
Liberalism, beginning of, 19, 51
Manchester school, 57
Militarism, 8, 45, 80, 148, 237-9
Mill, J. S., 107-15, 116
Monopolies, 97-100
National liberty, 40-4
Natural order, theory of, 54-64
Old Age Pensions, 156, 177
Opinion, Liberty and, 116-23
Organic Concept of Society, 125-30, 135
Peace, International, 80-1, 225, 237
Personal liberty, 26-31
Petition of Right, 22
Poor Law, 155, 177-9, 184
Popular sovereignty, 45-8, 64, 112
Poverty line, 162
Progress, nature of, 137
Property, rights of, 94-5, 100, 168, 186, 188
Proportional representation, 114, 243
Referendum, 245-6
Religions liberty, 29-31
Revolutionary Declarations, 60-2
Rome, ancient, 13-14
Second Chamber, the, 242-8
Socialism, 165, 167-72, 191, 211, 215, 219
Social liberty, 31-3, 140
Speculation, 195
Super-tax, 199-201
Temperance, 180, 226
Trade unions, 38, 84, 161, 220, 223
Unemployed, 160
Utilitarianism, 57, 65-77, 107
Wage," "living, 159, 163-4, 177, 205-8
Wealth, social basis of, 187-91, 194
Women, rights of, 33, 39, 86, 112, 114, 179
Work, right to, 159
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