THE CRITERIA OF REFORM
1
The random collections of bystanders who constitute a public could not,
even if they had a mind to, intervene in all the problems of the day.
They can and must play a part occasionally, I believe, but they cannot
take an interest in, they cannot make even the coarsest judgments
about, and they will not act even in the most grossly partisan way on,
all the questions arising daily in a complex and changing society.
Normally they leave their proxies to a kind of professional public
consisting of more or less eminent persons. Most issues are never
carried beyond this ruling group; the lay publics catch only echoes of
the debate.
If, by the push and pull of interested parties and public personages,
settlements are made more or less continually the party in power
has the confidence of the country. In effect, the outsiders are
arrayed behind the dominant insiders. But if the interested parties
cannot be made to agree, if, as a result, there is disturbance and
chronic crisis, then the opposition among the insiders may come to
be considered the hope of the country, and be able to entice the
bystanders to its side.
To support the Ins when things are going well; to support the Outs when
they seem to be going badly, this, in spite of all that has been said
about tweedledum and tweedledee, is the essence of popular government.
Even the most intelligent large public of which we have any experience
must determine finally who shall wield the organized power of the
state, its army and its police, by a choice between the Ins and Outs. A
community where there is no choice does not have popular government. It
is subject to some form of dictatorship or it is ruled by the intrigues
of the politicians in the lobbies.
Although it is the custom of partisans to speak as if there were
radical differences between the Ins and the Outs, it could be
demonstrated, I believe, that in stable and mature societies the
differences are necessarily not profound. If they were profound, the
defeated minority would be constantly on the verge of rebellion.
An election would be catastrophic, whereas the assumption in every
election is that the victors will do nothing to make life intolerable
to the vanquished and that the vanquished will endure with good humor
policies which they do not approve.
In the United States, Great Britain, Canada, Australia and in certain
of the Continental countries an election rarely means even a fraction
of what the campaigners said it would mean. It means some new faces
and perhaps a slightly different general tendency in the management
of affairs. The Ins may have had a bias toward collectivism; the Outs
will lean toward individualism. The Ins may have been suspicious
and non-coöperative in foreign affairs; the Outs will perhaps be
more trusting or entertain another set of suspicions. The Ins may
have favored certain manufacturing interests; the Outs may favor
agricultural interests. But even these differing tendencies are very
small as compared with the immense area of agreement, established habit
and unavoidable necessity. In fact, one might say that a nation is
politically stable when nothing of radical consequence is determined by
its elections.
There is, therefore, a certain mock seriousness about the campaigning
for votes in well-established communities. Much of the excitement
is not about the fate of the nation but simply about the outcome
of the game. Some of the excitement is sincere, like any fervor
of intoxication. And much of it is deliberately stoked up by the
expenditure of money to overcome the inertia of the mass of the
voters. For the most part the real difference between the Ins and the
Outs is no more than this: the Ins, after a term of power, become so
committed to policies and so entangled with particular interests that
they lose their neutral freedom of decision. They cannot then intervene
to check the arbitrary movement of the interests with which they have
become aligned. Then it is time for the Outs to take power and restore
a balance. The virtue of the Outs in this transaction is that they
are not committed to those particular policies and those particular
interests which have become overweighted.
The test of whether the Ins are handling affairs effectively is the
presence or absence of disturbing problems. The need of reform is
recognizable, as I pointed out in the chapter before this one, by
the test of assent and the test of conformity. But it is my opinion
that for the most part the general public cannot back each reformer
on each issue. It must choose between the Ins and Outs on the basis
of a cumulative judgment as to whether problems are being solved or
aggravated. The particular reformers must look for their support
normally to the ruling insiders.
If, however, there is to be any refinement of public opinion it must
come from the breaking up of these wholesale judgments into somewhat
more retail judgments on the major spectacular issues of the day. Not
all of the issues which interest the public are within the scope of
politics and reachable through the party system. It seems worth while,
therefore, to see whether any canons of judgment can be formulated
which could guide the bystanders in particular controversies.
The problem is to locate by clear and coarse objective tests the actor
in a controversy who is most worthy of public support.
2
When the rule is plain, its validity unchallenged, the breach clear and
the aggressor plainly located, the question does not arise. The public
supports the agents of the law, though when the law is working well
the support of the public is like the gold reserve of a good bank: it
is known to be there and need not be drawn upon. But in many fields
of controversy the rule is not plain, or its validity is challenged;
each party calls the other aggressor, each claims to be acting for
the highest ideals of mankind. In disputes between nations, between
sectional interests, between classes, between town and country, between
churches, the rules of adjustment are lacking and the argument about
them is lost in a fog of propaganda.
Yet it is controversies of this kind, the hardest controversies to
disentangle, that the public is called in to judge. Where the facts are
most obscure, where precedents are lacking, where novelty and confusion
pervade everything, the public in all its unfitness is compelled to
make its most important decisions. The hardest problems are those which
institutions cannot handle. They are the public’s problems.
The one test which the members of a public can apply in these
circumstances is to note which party to the dispute is least willing to
submit its whole claim to inquiry and to abide by the result. This does
not mean that experts are always expert or impartial tribunals really
impartial. It means simply that where the public is forced to intervene
in a strange and complex affair, the test of public inquiry is the
surest clue to the sincerity of the claimant, to his confidence in
his ability to stand the ordeal of examination, to his willingness to
accept risks for the sake of his faith in the possibility of rational
human adjustments. He may impugn a particular tribunal. But he must
at least propose another. The test is whether, in the absence of an
established rule, he is willing to act according to the forms of law
and by a process through which law may be made.
Of all the tests which public opinion can employ, the test of inquiry
is the most generally useful. If the parties are willing to accept
it, there is at once an atmosphere of reason. There is prospect of a
settlement. Failing that there is at least a delay of summary action
and an opportunity for the clarification of issues. And failing
that there is a high probability that the most arbitrary of the
disputants will be isolated and clearly identified. It is no wonder
that this is the principle invoked for the so-called nonjusticiable
questions in all the recent experiments under the covenant of the
League of Nations[25] and the Protocol for the Pacific Settlement of
International Disputes.[26] For in applying this test of inquiry, what
we affirm is this: That there is a dispute. That the merits are not
clear. That the policy which ought to be applied is not established.
That, nevertheless, we of the public outside say that those who are
quarreling must act as if there were law to cover the case. That, even
if the material for a reasoned conclusion is lacking, we demand the
method and spirit of reason. That we demand any sacrifice that may
be necessary, the postponement of satisfaction of their just needs,
the risk that one of them will be defeated and that an injustice will
be done. These things we affirm because we are maintaining a society
based on the principle that all controversies are soluble by peaceable
agreement.
They may not be. But on that dogma our society is founded. And that
dogma we are compelled to defend. We can defend it, too, with a
good enough conscience, however disconcerting some of its immediate
consequences may be. For, by insisting in all disputes upon the
spirit of reason, we shall tend in the long run to confirm the habit
of reason. And where that habit prevails no point of view can seem
absolute to him who holds it, and no problem between men so difficult
that there is not at least a _modus vivendi_.
The test of inquiry is the master test by which the public can use its
force to extend the frontiers of reason.
3
But while the test of inquiry may distinguish the party which is
entitled to initial support, it is of value only where one party
refuses inquiry. If all submit to inquiry, it reveals nothing. And
in any event it reveals nothing about the prospects of the solution
proposed. The party seeking publicity may have less to conceal, and may
mean well, but sincerity unfortunately is no index of intelligence.
By what criteria are the public then to judge the new rule which is
proposed as a solution?
The public cannot tell whether the new rule will, in fact, work. It may
assume, however, that in a changing world no rule will always work. A
rule, therefore, should be organized so that experience will clearly
reveal its defects. The rule should be so clear that a violation is
apparent. But since no generality can cover all cases, this means
simply that the rule must contain a settled procedure by which it can
be interpreted. Thus a treaty which says that a certain territory shall
be evacuated when certain conditions are fulfilled is quite defective,
and should be condemned, if it does not provide a way of defining
exactly what those conditions are and when they have been fulfilled. A
rule, in other words, must include the means of its own clarification,
so that a breach shall be undeniably overt. Then only does it take
account of experience which no human intelligence can foresee.
It follows from this that a rule must be organized so that it can be
amended without revolution. Revision must be possible by consent. But
assent is not always given, even when the arguments in favor of a
change are overwhelming. Men will stand on what they call their rights.
Therefore, in order that deadlock should be dissoluble, a rule should
provide that subject to a certain formal procedure the controversy over
revision shall be public. This will often break up the obstruction.
Where it does not, the community is pretty certain to become engaged on
behalf of one of the partisans. This is likely to be inconvenient to
all concerned, and the inconvenience due to meddling in the substance
of a controversy by a crude, violent and badly aimed public opinion at
least may teach those directly concerned not to invoke interference the
next time.
But although amendment should be possible, it should not be continual
or unforeseen. There should be time for habit and custom to form. The
pot should not be made to boil all the time, or be stirred up for some
comparatively insignificant reason, whenever an orator sees a chance
to make himself important. Since the habits and expectations of many
different persons are involved in an institution, some way must be
found of giving it stability without freezing it _in statu quo_. This
can be done by requiring that amendment shall be in order only after
due notice.
What due notice may be in each particular case, the public cannot
say. Only the parties at interest are likely to know where the rhythm
of their affairs can be interrupted most conveniently. Due notice
will be one period of time for men operating on long commitments and
another for men operating on short ones. But the public can watch to
see whether the principle of due notice is embodied in the proposed
settlement.
To judge a new rule, then, the tests proposed here are three: Does it
provide for its own clarification? for its own amendment by consent?
for due notice that amendment will be proposed? The tests are designed
for use in judging the prospects of a settlement not by its substance
but by its procedure. A reform which satisfies these tests is normally
entitled to public support.
4
This is as far as I know how at present to work out an answer to the
question which we inherit from Aristotle: can simple criteria be
formulated which will show the bystander where to align himself in
complex affairs?
I have suggested that the main value of debate is not that it reveals
the truth about the controversy to the audience but that it may
identify the partisans. I have suggested further that a problem exists
where a rule of action is defective, and that its defectiveness can
best be judged by the public through the test of assent and the test of
conformity. For remedies I have assumed that normally the public must
turn to the Outs as against the Ins, although these wholesale judgments
may be refined by more analytical tests for specific issues. As samples
of these more analytical tests I have suggested the test of inquiry for
confused controversies, and for reforms the test of interpretation, of
amendment and of due notice.
These criteria are neither exhaustive nor definitive. Yet, however
much tests of this character are improved by practice and reflection,
it seems to me there always must remain many public affairs to which
they cannot be applied. I do not believe that the public can intervene
successfully in all public questions. Many problems cannot be advanced
by that obtuse partisanship which is fundamentally all that the public
can bring to bear upon them. There is no reason to be surprised,
therefore, if the tests I have outlined, or any others that are a vast
improvement upon them, are not readily applicable to all questions that
are raised in the discussions of the day.
I should simply maintain that where the members of a public cannot use
tests of this sort as a guide to action, the wisest course for them is
not to act at all. They had better be neutral, if they can restrain
themselves, than blindly partisan. For where events are so confused or
so subtly balanced or so hard to understand that they do not yield to
judgments of the kind I have been outlining here, the probabilities are
very great that the public can produce only muddle if it meddles. For
not all problems are soluble in the present state of human knowledge.
Many which may be soluble are not soluble with any force the public can
exert. Some time alone will cure, and some are the fate of man. It is
not essential, therefore, always to do something.
It follows that the proper limits of intervention by the public in
affairs are determined by its capacity to make judgments. These limits
may be extended as new and better criteria are formulated, or as men
become more expert through practice. But where there are no tests,
where such tests as these cannot be used, where, in other words, only
an opinion on the actual merits of the dispute itself would be of any
use, any positive action the bystanders are likely to take is almost
certain to be more of a nuisance than a benefit. Their duty is to keep
an open mind and wait to see. The existence of a usable test is itself
the test of whether the public ought to intervene.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Articles XIII, XV.
[26] Articles 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10.