its policy and its speech well embodies and expresses public opinion, I
own I think it must be conceded that it is not equally successful in
elevating public opinion. The teaching task of Parliament is the task
it does worst. Probably at this moment, it is natural to exaggerate
this defect. The greatest teacher of all in Parliament, the head-master
of the nation, the great elevator of the country--so far as Parliament
elevates it--must be the Prime Minister: he has an influence, an
authority, a facility in giving a great tone to discussion, or a mean
tone, which no other man has. Now Lord Palmerston for many years
steadily applied his mind to giving, not indeed a mean tone, but a
light tone, to the proceedings of Parliament. One of his greatest
admirers has since his death told a story of which he scarcely sees, or
seems to see, the full effect. When Lord Palmerston was first made
leader of the House, his jaunty manner was not at all popular, and some
predicted failure. "No," said an old member, "he will soon educate us
DOWN to his level; the House will soon prefer this Ha! Ha! style to the
wit of Canning and the gravity of Peel." I am afraid that we must own
that the prophecy was accomplished. No Prime Minister, so popular and
so influential, has ever left in the public memory so little noble
teaching. Twenty years hence, when men inquire as to the then fading
memory of Palmerston, we shall be able to point to no great truth which
he taught, no great distinct policy which he embodied, no noble words
which once fascinated his age, and which, in after years, men would not
willingly let die. But we shall be able to say "he had a genial manner,
a firm, sound sense; he had a kind of cant of insincerity, but we
always knew what he meant; he had the brain of a ruler in the clothes
of a man of fashion". Posterity will hardly understand the words of the
aged reminiscent, but we now feel their effect. The House of Commons,
since it caught its tone from such a statesman, has taught the nation
worse, and elevated it less, than usual.
I think, however, that a correct observer would decide that in general,
and on principle, the House of Commons does not teach the public as
much as it might teach it, or as the public would wish to learn. I do
not wish very abstract, very philosophical, very hard matters to be
stated in Parliament. The teaching there given must be popular, and to
be popular it must be concrete, embodied, short. The problem is to know
the highest truth which the people will bear, and to inculcate and
preach that. Certainly Lord Palmerston did not preach it. He a little
degraded us by preaching a doctrine just below our own standard--a
doctrine not enough below us to repel us much, but yet enough below to
harm us by augmenting a worldliness which needed no addition, and by
diminishing a love of principle and philosophy which did not want
deduction.
In comparison with the debates of any other assembly, it is true the
debates by the English Parliament are most instructive. The debates in
the American Congress have little teaching efficacy; it is the
characteristic vice of Presidential government to deprive them of that
efficacy; in that government a debate in the legislature has little
effect, for it cannot turn out the executive, and the executive can
veto all it decides. The French Chambers[7] are suitable appendages to
an Empire which desires the power of despotism without its shame; they
prevent the enemies of the Empire being quite correct when they say
there is no free speech; a few permitted objectors fill the air with
eloquence, which every one knows to be often true, and always vain. The
debates in an English Parliament fill a space in the world which, in
these auxiliary chambers, is not possible. But I think any one who
compares the discussions on great questions in the higher part of the
press, with the discussions in Parliament, will feel that there is (of
course amid much exaggeration and vagueness) a greater vigour and a
higher meaning in the writing than in the speech: a vigour which the
public appreciate--a meaning that they like to hear.
[7] This of course relates to the assemblies of the Empire.
The Saturday Review said, some years since, that the ability of
Parliament was a "protected ability": that there was at the door a
differential duty of at least 2000 pounds a year. Accordingly the House
of Commons, representing only mind coupled with property, is not equal
in mind to a legislature chosen for mind only, and whether accompanied
by wealth or not. But I do not for a moment wish to see a
representation of pure mind; it would be contrary to the main thesis of
this essay. I maintain that Parliament ought to embody the public
opinion of the English nation; and, certainly, that opinion is much
more fixed by its property than by its mind. The "too clever by half"
people who live in "Bohemia," ought to have no more influence in
Parliament than they have in England, and they can scarcely have less.
Only, after every great abatement and deduction, I think the country
would bear a little more mind; and that there is a profusion of opulent
dulness in Parliament which might a little--though only a little--be
pruned away.
The only function of Parliament which remains to be considered is the
informing function, as I just now called it; the function which belongs
to it, or to members of it, to bring before the nation the ideas,
grievances, and wishes of special classes. This must not be confounded
with what I have called its teaching function. In life, no doubt, the
two run one into another. But so do many things which it is very
important in definition to separate. The facts of two things being
often found together is rather a reason for, than an objection to,
separating them, in idea. Sometimes they are NOT found together, and
then we may be puzzled if we have not trained ourselves to separate
them. The teaching function brings true ideas before the nation, and is
the function of its highest minds. The expressive function brings only
special ideas, and is the function of but special minds. Each class has
its ideas, wants, and notions; and certain brains are ingrained with
them. Such sectarian conceptions are not those by which a determining
nation should regulate its action, nor are orators, mainly animated by
such conceptions, safe guides in policy. But those orators should be
heard; those conceptions should be kept in sight. The great maxim of
modern thought is not only the toleration of everything, but the
examination of everything. It is by examining very bare, very dull,
very unpromising things, that modern science has come to be what it is.
There is a story of a great chemist who said he owed half his fame to
his habit of examining after his experiments, what was going to be
thrown away: everybody knew the result of the experiment itself, but in
the refuse matter there were many little facts and unknown changes,
which suggested the discoveries of a famous life to a person capable of
looking for them. So with the special notions of neglected classes.
They may contain elements of truth which, though small, are the very
elements which we now require, because we already know all the rest.
This doctrine was well known to our ancestors. They laboured to give a
CHARACTER to the various constituencies, or to many of them. They
wished that the shipping trade, the wool trade, the linen trade, should
each have their spokesman; that the unsectional Parliament should know
what each section in the nation thought before it gave the national
decision. This is the true reason for admitting the working classes to
a share in the representation, at least as far as the composition of
Parliament is to be improved by that admission. A great many ideas, a
great many feelings have gathered among the town artisans--a peculiar
intellectual life has sprung up among them. They believe that they have
interests which are misconceived or neglected; that they know something
which others do not know; that the thoughts of Parliament are not as
their thoughts. They ought to be allowed to try to convince Parliament;
their notions ought to be stated as those of other classes are stated;
their advocates should be heard as other people's advocates are heard.
Before the Reform Bill, there was a recognised machinery for that
purpose. The member for Westminster, and other members, were elected by
universal suffrage (or what was in substance such); those members did,
in their day, state what were the grievances and ideas--or were thought
to be the grievances and ideas--of the working classes. It was the
single, unbending franchise introduced in 1832 that has caused this
difficulty, as it has others.
Until such a change is made the House of Commons will be defective,
just as the House of Lords was defective. It will not LOOK right. As
long as the Lords do not come to their own House, we may prove on paper
that it is a good revising chamber, but it will be difficult to make
the literary argument felt. Just so, as long as a great class,
congregated in political localities, and known to have political
thoughts and wishes, is without notorious and palpable advocates in
Parliament, we may prove on paper that our representation is adequate,
but the world will not believe it. There is a saying in the eighteenth
century, that in politics, "gross appearances are great realities". It
is in vain to demonstrate that the working classes have no grievances;
that the middle classes have done all that is possible for them, and so
on with a crowd of arguments which I need not repeat, for the
newspapers keep them in type, and we can say them by heart. But so long
as the "gross appearance" is that there are no evident, incessant
representatives to speak the wants of artisans, the "great reality"
will be a diffused dissatisfaction. Thirty years ago it was vain to
prove that Gatton and Old Sarum were valuable seats, and sent good
members. Everybody said, "Why, there are no people there". Just so
everybody must say now, "Our representative system must be imperfect,
for an immense class has no members to speak for it". The only answer
to the cry against constituencies WITHOUT inhabitants was to transfer
their power to constituencies WITH inhabitants. Just so, the way to
stop the complaint that artisans have no members is to give them
members--to create a body of representatives, chosen by artisans,
believing, as Mr. Carlyle would say, "that artisanism is the one thing
needful".
NO. VI.
ON CHANGES OF MINISTRY.
There is one error as to the English Constitution which crops up
periodically. Circumstances which often, though irregularly, occur
naturally suggests that error, and as surely as they happen it revives.
The relation of Parliament, and especially of the House of Commons, to
the executive Government is the specific peculiarity of our
Constitution, and an event which frequently happens much puzzles some
people as to it.
That event is a change of Ministry. All our administrators go out
together. The whole executive Government changes--at least, all the
heads of it change in a body, and at every such change some speculators
are sure to exclaim that such a habit is foolish. They say: "No doubt
Mr. Gladstone and Lord Russell may have been wrong about Reform; no
doubt Mr. Gladstone may have been cross in the House of Commons; but
why should either or both of these events change all the heads of all
our practical departments? What could be more absurd than what happened
in 1858? Lord Palmerston was for once in his life over-buoyant; he gave
rude answers to stupid inquiries; he brought into the Cabinet a
nobleman concerned in an ugly trial about a woman; he, or his Foreign
Secretary, did not answer a French despatch by a despatch, but told our
ambassador to reply orally. And because of these trifles, or at any
rate these isolated UNadministrative mistakes, all our administration
had fresh heads. The Poor Law Board had a new chief, the Home
Department a new chief, the Public Works a new chief. Surely this was
absurd." Now, is this objection good or bad? Speaking generally, is it
wise so to change all our rulers?
The practice produces three great evils. First, it brings in on a
sudden new persons and untried persons to preside over our policy. A
little while ago Lord Cranborne[8] had no more idea that he would now
be Indian Secretary than that he would be a bill broker. He had never
given any attention to Indian affairs; he can get them up, because he
is an able educated man who can get up anything. But they are not "part
and parcel" of his mind; not his subjects of familiar reflection, nor
things of which he thinks by predilection, of which he cannot help
thinking. But because Lord Russell and Mr. Gladstone did not please the
House of Commons about Reform, there he is. A perfectly inexperienced
man, so far as Indian affairs go, rules all our Indian Empire. And if
all our heads of offices change together, so very frequently it must
be. If twenty offices are vacant at once, there are almost never twenty
tried, competent, clever men ready to take them. The difficulty of
making up a Government is very much like the difficulty of putting
together a Chinese puzzle: the spaces do not suit what you have to put
into them. And the difficulty of matching a Ministry is more than that
of fitting a puzzle, because the Ministers to be put in can object,
though the bits of a puzzle cannot. One objector can throw out the
combination. In 1847 Lord Grey would not join Lord John Russell's
projected Government if Lord Palmerston was to be Foreign Secretary;
Lord Palmerston WOULD be Foreign Secretary, and so the Government was
not formed. The cases in which a single refusal prevents a Government
are rare, and there must be many concurrent circumstances to make it
effectual. But the cases in which refusals impair or spoil a Government
are very common. It almost never happens that the Ministry-maker can
put into his offices exactly whom he would like; a number of placemen
are always too proud, too eager, or too obstinate to go just where they
should.
[8] Now Lord Salisbury, who, when this was written, was Indian
Secretary.--Note to second edition.
Again, this system not only makes new Ministers ignorant, but keeps
present Ministers indifferent. A man cannot feel the same interest that
he might in his work if he knows that by events over which he has no
control, by errors in which he had no share, by metamorphoses of
opinion which belong to a different sequence of phenomena, he may have
to leave that work in the middle, and may very likely never return to
it. The new man put into a fresh office ought to have the best motive
to learn his task thoroughly, but, in fact, in England, he has not at
all the best motive. The last wave of party and politics brought him
there, the next may take him away. Young and eager men take, even at
this disadvantage, a keen interest in office work, but most men,
especially old men, hardly do so. Many a battered Minister may be seen
to think much more of the vicissitudes which make him and unmake him,
than of any office matter.
Lastly, a sudden change of Ministers may easily cause a mischievous
change of policy. In many matters of business, perhaps in most, a
continuity of mediocrity is better than a hotch-potch of excellences.
For example, now that progress in the scientific arts is
revolutionising the instruments of war, rapid changes in our
head-preparers for land and sea war are most costly and most hurtful. A
single competent selector of new inventions would probably in the
course of years, after some experience, arrive at something tolerable;
it is in the nature of steady, regular, experimenting ability to
diminish, if not vanquish, such difficulties. But a quick succession of
chiefs has no similar facility. They do not learn from each other's
experience;--you might as well expect the new head boy at a public
school to learn from the experience of the last head boy. The most
valuable result of many years is a nicely balanced mind instinctively
heedful of various errors; but such a mind is the incommunicable gift
of individual experience, and an outgoing Minister can no more leave it
to his successor, than an elder brother can pass it on to a younger.
Thus a desultory and incalculable policy may follow from a rapid change
of Ministers.
These are formidable arguments, but four things may, I think, be said
in reply to, or mitigation of them. A little examination will show that
this change of Ministers is essential to a Parliamentary government;
that something like it will happen in all elective Governments, and
that worse happens under Presidential government; that it is not
necessarily prejudicial to a good administration, but that, on the
contrary, something like it is a prerequisite of good administration;
that the evident evils of English administration are not the results of
Parliamentary government, but of grave deficiencies in other parts of
our political and social state; that, in a word, they result not from
what we have, but from what we have NOT.
As to the first point, those who wish to remove the choice of Ministers
from Parliament have not adequately considered what a Parliament is. A
Parliament is nothing less than a big meeting of more or less idle
people. In proportion as you give it power it will inquire into
everything, settle everything, meddle in everything. In an ordinary
despotism, the powers of a despot are limited by his bodily capacity,
and by the calls of pleasure; he is but one man; there are but twelve
hours in his day, and he is not disposed to employ more than a small
part in dull business; he keeps the rest for the court, or the harem,
or for society. He is at the top of the world, and all the pleasures of
the world are set before him. Mostly there is only a very small part of
political business which he cares to understand, and much of it (with
the shrewd sensual sense belonging to the race) he knows that he will
never understand. But a Parliament is composed of a great number of men
by no means at the top of the world. When you establish a predominant
Parliament, you give over the rule of the country to a despot who has
unlimited time--who has unlimited vanity--who has, or believes he has,
unlimited comprehension, whose pleasure is in action, whose life is
work. There is no limit to the curiosity of Parliament. Sir Robert Peel
once suggested that a list should be taken down of the questions asked
of him in a single evening; they touched more or less on fifty
subjects, and there were a thousand other subjects which by parity of
reason might have been added too. As soon as bore A ends, bore B
begins. Some inquire from genuine love of knowledge, or from a real
wish to improve what they ask about; others to see their name in the
papers; others to show a watchful constituency that they are alert;
others to get on and to get a place in the Government; others from an
accumulation of little motives they could not themselves analyse, or
because it is their habit to ask things. And a proper reply must be
given. It was said that "Darby Griffith destroyed Lord Palmerston's
first Government," and undoubtedly the cheerful impertinence with which
in the conceit of victory that Minister answered grave men much hurt
his Parliamentary power. There is one thing which no one will permit to
be treated lightly--himself. And so there is one too which a sovereign
assembly will never permit to be lessened or ridiculed--its own power.
The Minister of the day will have to give an account in Parliament of
all branches of administration, to say why they act when they do, and
why they do not when they don't.
Nor is chance inquiry all a public department has most to fear. Fifty
members of Parliament may be zealous for a particular policy affecting
the department, and fifty others for another policy, and between them
they may divide its action, spoil its favourite aims, and prevent its
consistently working out either of their own aims. The process is very
simple. Every department at times looks as if it was in a scrape; some
apparent blunder, perhaps some real blunder, catches the public eye. At
once the antagonist Parliamentary sections, which want to act on the
department, seize the opportunity. They make speeches, they move for
documents, they amass statistics. They declare "that in no other
country is such a policy possible as that which the department is
pursuing; that it is mediaeval; that it costs money; that it wastes
life; that America does the contrary; that Prussia does the contrary".
The newspapers follow according to their nature. These bits of
administrative scandal amuse the public. Articles on them are very easy
to write, easy to read, easy to talk about. They please the vanity of
mankind. We think as we read, "Thank God, _I_ am not as that man; _I_
did not send green coffee to the Crimea; _I_ did not send patent
cartridge to the common guns, and common cartridge to the breech
loaders. _I_ make money; that miserable public functionary only wastes
money". As for the defence of the department, no one cares for it or
reads it. Naturally at first hearing it does not sound true. The
Opposition have the unrestricted selection of the point of attack, and
they seldom choose a case in which the department, upon the surface of
the matter, seems to be right. The case of first impression will always
be that something shameful has happened; that such and such men did
die; that this and that gun would not go off; that this or that ship
will not sail. All the pretty reading is unfavourable, and all the
praise is very dull.
Nothing is more helpless than such a department in Parliament if it has
no authorised official defender. The wasps of the House fasten on it;
here they perceive is something easy to sting, and safe, for it cannot
sting in return. The small grain of foundation for complaint
germinates, till it becomes a whole crop. At once the Minister of the
day is appealed to; he is at the head of the administration, and he
must put the errors right, if such they are. The Opposition leader
says: "I put it to the right honourable gentleman, the First Lord of
the Treasury. He is a man of business. I do not agree with him in his
choice of ends, but he is an almost perfect master of methods and
means. What he wishes to do he does do. Now I appeal to him whether
such gratuitous errors, such fatuous incapacity, are to be permitted in
the public service. Perhaps the right honourable gentleman will grant
me his attention while I show from the very documents of the
departments," etc., etc. What is the Minister to do? He never heard of
this matter; he does not care about the matter. Several of the
supporters of the Government are interested in the opposition to the
department; a grave man, supposed to be wise, mutters, "This is TOO
bad". The Secretary of the Treasury tells him, "The House is uneasy. A
good many men are shaky. A. B. said yesterday he had been dragged
through the dirt four nights following. Indeed I am disposed to think
myself that the department has been somewhat lax. Perhaps an inquiry,"
etc., etc. And upon that the Prime Minister rises and says: "That Her
Majesty's Government having given very serious and grave consideration
to this most important subject, are not prepared to say that in so
complicated a matter the department has been perfectly exempt from
error. He does not indeed concur in all the statements which have been
made; it is obvious that several of the charges advanced are
inconsistent with one another. If A. had really died from eating green
coffee on the Tuesday, it is plain he could not have suffered from
insufficient medical attendance on the following Thursday. However, on
so complex a subject, and one so foreign to common experience, he will
not give a judgment. And if the honourable member would be satisfied
with having the matter inquired into by a committee of that House, he
will be prepared to accede to the suggestion."