may well set many of us a-thinking. That Mr. Raikes should have been
chosen by an overwhelming majority rather than Mr. Stuart means a good
deal more than a mere party victory and party defeat. Combined with
several elections of late years at Oxford, it is enough to make us all
turn over in our minds the question of University representation in
general. The facts taken altogether look as if those constituencies to
which we might naturally look for the return of members of more than
average personal eminence were committed, in the choice of their
representatives, not only to one particular political party, but to
absolute indifference to every claim beyond membership of that
particular party. It would be unreasonable to expect a conscientious
Conservative to vote for a Liberal candidate; but one might expect any
party, in choosing candidates for such constituencies as the
Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, to put forward its best men. And
we cannot, after all, think so ill of the great Conservative party as to
believe that the present representatives of Oxford and Cambridge are its
best men. We ought indeed not to forget that, whatever Mr.
Beresford-Hope has since shown himself, he was brought forward, partly
at least, as a man of scholarship and intellectual tastes, and that he
received many Liberal votes in the belief that he was less widely
removed from Liberal ideas than another Conservative candidate. This
would seem to have been the last trace of an old tradition, the last
faint glimmering of the belief that the representative of an University
should have something about him specially appropriate to the
representation of an University. In Oxford that tradition had, on the
Conservative side, given way earlier. Another tradition gave way with
it, one which I at least did not regret, the tradition that an
University seat should be a seat for life. It sounded degrading when a
proposer of Mr. Gladstone stooped to appeal to the doctrine, "ut semel
electus semper eligatur." But be that rule wise or foolish, it was on
the Conservative side that it was broken down. It gave way to the rule
that Mr. Gladstone was always to be opposed, and that it did not matter
who could be got to oppose him. Again I cannot believe that the
Conservative ranks did not contain better men than the grotesque
succession of nobodies by whom Mr. Gladstone was opposed. But in the
course of those elections the rule was established at Oxford, and it now
seems to be adopted at Cambridge, that anybody will do to be an
University member, provided only he is an unflinching supporter of the
party which, as recent elections show, still keeps a large majority in
both Universities.
Mr. Gladstone was very nearly the ideal University member. I say "very
nearly," because to my mind the absolutely ideal state of things would
be if the Universities could catch such men as Mr. Gladstone young, and
could bring them into Parliament as their own, before they had been laid
hold of by any other constituency. The late jubilee of Mr. Gladstone's
political life ought to have been the jubilee of his election, not for
Newark but for Oxford. The Universities should choose men who have
already shown themselves to be scholars and who bid fair one day to be
statesmen. I am not sure about the policy of bringing forward actual
University officials. There is sure to be a cry against them, and it is
not clear that they are the best choice in themselves. It may be as well
however to remember that the example was set, though in rather an
amusing shape, by the Conservatives themselves. Dr. Marsham, late Warden
of Merton, who was brought forward thirty years ago in opposition to Mr.
Gladstone, did not belong to exactly the same class of academical
officials as Professor Stuart and Professor H. J. S. Smith; still, as an
academical official of some kind, he had something in common with them,
as distinguished from either Mr. Gladstone or Mr. Raikes. At the last
elections both for Oxford and Cambridge, the Liberal candidate was an
actual Professor. Mr. Stuart indeed is much more than a mere professor;
he has shown his capacity for practical work of various kinds. But I
could not but look on the Oxford choice of 1878 as unlucky. Mr. H. J. S.
Smith was brought forward purely on the ground of "distinction,"
distinction, it would seem, so great that moral right and wrong went for
nothing by its side. Just at that moment right and wrong were
emphatically weighing in the balance; it was the very crisis of the fate
of South-Eastern Europe. But we were told that Mr. Smith's candidature
had "no reference to the Eastern Question;" he was, we were told,
supported by men who took opposite views on that matter. That is to
say, when the most distinct question of right and wrong that ever was
put before any people was at that moment placed before our eyes, we were
asked to put away all thought of moral right and moral duty in the
presence of the long string of letters after Mr. Smith's name. Better, I
should have said, to choose, even for the University, a man who could
not read or write, if he had been ready to strive heart and soul for
justice and freedom alongside of Mr. Gladstone and the Duke of Argyll.
Yet no such hard choice was laid upon us. There was a man standing by,
another bearer of the same great Teutonic name, not young indeed in
years, but who might have gone fresh to Parliament as the University's
own choice, one whom it would have been worth some effort to keep within
the bounds of England and of Europe, one who to a list of "distinctions"
at least as long as that of the candidate actually chosen, added the
noblest distinction of all, that of having been, through a life of
varied experiences, the consistent and unflinching champion of moral
righteousness. I do not know that Mr. Goldwin Smith would have had a
greater chance--perhaps he might have had even less chance--of election
than Mr. H. J. S. Smith. But there would have been greater comfort in
manly defeat in open strife under such a leader than there could be in a
defeat which it had been vainly hoped to escape by a compromise on the
great moral question of the moment. The Oxford Liberals lost, and, I
must say, they deserved to lose. It is a great gain for an University
candidate to be "distinguished;" but one would think that it would
commonly be possible to find a "distinguished" candidate who is at once
"distinguished" and something better as well.
Still at Oxford in 1878 Mr. H. J. S. Smith was the accepted candidate of
the Liberal party, and in that character he underwent a crushing defeat.
It may be, or it may not be, that a candidate of more decided principles
would have gained more votes than the actual candidate gained; he
certainly would not have gained enough to turn the scale. Mr. Smith was
defeated by a candidate who was utterly undistinguished; and who,
instead of simply halting, like Mr. Smith, between right and wrong, was
definitely committed to the cause of wrong. Mr. Talbot became member for
the University on the same principle on which Mr. Gladstone's successive
opponents were brought forward, the principle that anybody will do, if
only he be a Tory. Any stick is good enough to beat the Liberal dog.
When Toryism showed itself in its darkest colours, when it meant the
rule of Lord Beaconsfield, and when the rule of Lord Beaconsfield meant,
before all things, the strengthening of the power of evil in
South-Eastern Europe, a constituency, in which the clerical vote is said
to be decisive, preferred, by an overwhelming majority, the candidate
who most distinctly represented the bondage of Christian nations under
the yoke of the misbeliever. It is quite possible that crowds voted at
the Oxford election, as at other elections, in support of Lord
Beaconsfield's ministry, in utter indifference or in utter ignorance as
to what support of Lord Beaconsfield's ministry meant. The Conservative
party was conventionally supposed to be the Church party; and so men
calling themselves Christians, calling themselves clergymen, rushed,
with the cry of "Church" in their mouths, to do all that in them lay for
the sworn allies of Antichrist.
A constituency which could return a supporter of Lord Beaconsfield in
1878 is hopelessly Tory--hopelessly that is, till a new generation shall
have supplanted the existing one. It is Conservative, not in the sense
of acting on any intelligible Conservative principle, but in the sense
of supporting anything that calls itself Conservative, be its principles
what they may. No measure could be less really Conservative, none could
more be opposed to the feelings and traditions of a large part of the
clergy, than the Public Worship Act. A large part of the clergy grumbled
at it; some voted for the Liberals in 1880 on the strength of it; but it
did not arouse a discontent so strong or so general as seriously to
deprive the so-called Conservative party of clerical support. It was
perhaps unreasonable to expect much change in the older class of
electors, clerical or lay; but the results of the two elections, of
Oxford in 1878 and of Cambridge in 1882, are disappointing in another
way. The Universities, and therewith the University constituencies, have
largely increased within the last few years. The number of electors at
Oxford is far greater than it was in the days of Mr. Gladstone's
elections; at Cambridge the increase must be greater still since any
earlier election at which a poll was taken. And it was certainly hoped
that the increase would have been altogether favourable to the Liberal
side. Among the new electors there was a large lay element, a certain
Nonconformist element; even among the clergy a party was known to be
growing who had found the way to reconcile strict Churchmanship with
Liberal politics, and whose Christianity was not of the kind which is
satisfied to walk hand-in-hand with the Turk. In these different ways it
was only reasonable to expect that the result of an University election
was now likely to be, if not the actual return of a Liberal member, yet
at least a poll which should show that the Conservative majority was
largely diminished. Instead of this, both at Oxford in 1878 and at
Cambridge in 1882 the Conservative candidate comes in by a majority
which is simply overwhelming. It must however be remembered that it
would be misleading to compare the poll at either of these elections
with the polls at any of Mr. Gladstone's contests. The issue was
different in the two cases. The elections of 1878 and 1880 were far more
distinctly trials between political parties than the several elections
in which Mr. Gladstone succeeded or the final one in which he failed.
First of all, there is a vast difference between Mr. Gladstone and any
other candidate. This difference indeed cuts both ways. The foremost man
in the land is at once the best loved and the best hated man in the
land. Neither Mr. Smith nor Mr. Stuart nor any other candidate that
could be thought of could call forth either the depth of enthusiasm in
his supporters or the depth of antagonism in his opponents which is
called forth by every public appearance of Mr. Gladstone. No other man
has, in the same measure as he has, won the glory of being the bugbear
of cultivated "society" and the object of the reverence and affection of
thinking men. But, apart from this, the issues were different. Mr. Smith
and Mr. Stuart stood directly as Liberal candidates. Mr. Gladstone, at
least in his earlier elections, was still in party nomenclature counted
among Conservatives, and he received but little support from professed
political Liberals. The constituency was then confined to men who had
signed the articles of the Established Church, and the election largely
turned on controversies within the Established Church. I venture to
think that the High Church party of that day was really a Liberal party,
one that had far more in common with the political Liberals than with
the political Conservatives. But it is certain that neither the High
Churchmen nor the political Liberals would have acknowledged the
kindred, and the great mass of Mr. Gladstone's supporters in 1847, in
1852, and even later, would assuredly not have voted for any avowedly
Liberal candidate. In his later elections Mr. Gladstone received a
distinct Liberal support; still he was also supported by men who would
not support a Liberal candidate now. As he came nearer and nearer to the
Liberal camp, his majorities forsook him till he was at last rejected
for Mr. Hardy. The two elections of the last four years have turned more
directly, we may say that they have turned wholly, on ordinary political
issues. Controversies within the Established Church have had little
bearing on them. So far as ecclesiastical questions have come in, the
strife has been between "Church"--that kind of Church which is
pue-fellow to the Mosque--and something which is supposed not to be
"Church." These late elections have therefore been far better tests than
the old ones of the strictly political feelings of the constituencies.
Looked at in that light, they certainly do not prove that the University
constituencies are more Conservative now than they were then. They do
prove that the Liberal growth, the Liberal reaction, or whatever we are
to call it, in the University constituencies since that time has been
far less strong than Liberals had hoped that it had been. They do prove
that the Conservatism of those constituencies is still of a kind which,
both for quantity and quality, has a very ugly look in Liberal eyes.
Thus far we have been looking at Oxford and Cambridge only. But we must
not forget that Oxford and Cambridge are not the only Universities in
the kingdom. The general results of University elections were set forth
a few weeks back in an article in the _Spectator_. They are certainly
not comfortable as a whole. We of Oxford and Cambridge may perhaps draw
a very poor satisfaction from the thought that we are at least not so
bad as Dublin. But then we must feel in the like proportion ashamed when
we see how we stand by the side of London. A better comparison than
either is with the Universities of Scotland. From a Liberal point of
view, they are much better than Oxford and Cambridge, but still they are
not nearly so good as they ought to be. The Liberalism of the
Universities of Scotland lags a long way behind the Liberalism of the
Scottish people in general. One pair of Universities returns a Liberal,
the other a Conservative, in neither case by majorities at all like the
Conservative majorities at Oxford and Cambridge. Speaking roughly, in
the Scottish Universities the two parties are nearly equally balanced, a
very different state of things from what we see in the other
constituencies of Scotland. If then in England and Ireland the
University constituencies are overwhelmingly Conservative, while in
Liberal Scotland they are more Conservative than Liberal, it follows
that there is something amiss either about Liberal principles or about
University constituencies. And those who believe that Liberal principles
are the principles of right reason and that so-called Conservative
principles represent something other than right reason, will of course
take that horn of the dilemma which throws the blame on the University
constituencies. For some reason or other, those constituencies which
might be supposed to be more enlightened, more thoughtful and better
informed, than any others are those in which the principles which we
deem to be those of right reason find least favour. Even in the most
Liberal part of the kingdom, the University constituencies are the least
Liberal part of the electoral body. The facts are clear; we must grapple
with them as we can. There is something in education, in culture, in
refinement, or whatever the qualities are which are supposed to
distinguish University electors from the electors of an ordinary county
or borough, which makes University electors less inclined to what we
hold to be the principles of right reason than the electors of an
ordinary county or borough. Education, culture, or whatever it is,
clearly has, in political matters, a weak side to it. There is the fact;
we must look it in the face.
After all perhaps the fact is not very wonderful. There is no need to
infer either that Liberal principles are wrong or that University
education is a bad thing. The _Spectator_ goes philosophically into the
matter. The Universities give--that is, we may suppose, to those who
take, only a common degree--only a moderate education, an average
education, a little knowledge and a little culture springing from it.
And the effect of this little knowledge and little culture is to make
those who have it satisfied with the state of things in which they find
themselves, and to separate themselves from those who have not even that
little knowledge and little culture. "Education," says the _Spectator_,
"to the very moderate extent to which a University degree attests it, is
a Conservative force, because to that extent at all events it does much
more to stimulate the sense of privilege and caste than it does to
enlarge the sympathies and to strengthen the sense of justice." That is,
it would seem, a pass degree tends to make a man a Tory. It does not at
all follow that even the passman's course is mischievous to him on the
whole, even if it does him no good politically. For, if it has the
effect which the _Spectator_ says, the form which that effect takes is,
in most cases, rather to keep a man a Tory than to make him one. And it
may none the less do him good in some other ways. But the _Spectator_
leaves it at least open to be inferred that a higher degree, or rather
the knowledge and consequent culture implied in the higher degree, does,
or ought to do, something different even in the political way. And such
an inference would probably be borne out by facts. If Lord Carnarvon
looks on all passmen as "men of literary eminence and intellectual
power," he must be very nearly right in his figures when he says that
three-fourths of such men are opposed to Mr. Gladstone. But those who
have really profited by their University work may doubt whether passmen
as such are entitled to that description. Indeed in the most ideal state
of an University, though it might be reasonable to expect its members to
be men of intellectual power, it would be unreasonable to expect all of
them to be men of literary eminence. If by literary eminence be meant
the writing of books, some men of very high intellectual power are men
of no literary eminence whatever. Without therefore requiring the
University members to be elected wholly by men of literary eminence, we
may fairly ask that they may be elected by men of more intellectual
power than the mass of the present electors. We should ask for this,
even if we thought that Lord Carnarvon was right, if we thought that,
the higher the standard of the electors, the safer would be the Tory
seats. But it is perhaps only human nature to ask for it the more, if we
happen to think that the raising of the standard would have the exactly
opposite result.
The evil then, to sum up the result of the _Spectator's_ argument, is
that the University elections are determined by the votes of the
passmen, and that the mass of the passmen are Tories. Now what is the
remedy for this evil? One very obvious remedy is always, on such
occasions as that which has just happened, whispered perhaps rather than
very loudly proclaimed. This is the doctrine that the representation of
Universities in Parliament is altogether a mistake, and that it would be
well if the Universities were disfranchised by the next Reform Bill.
And, if the question could be discussed as a purely abstract one, there
is no doubt much to be said, from more grounds than one, against
University representation. There is only one ground on which separate
University representation can be justified on the common principles on
which an English House of Commons is put together. This is the ground
that each University is a distinct community from the city or borough in
which it is locally placed, something in the same way in which it is
held that a city or borough is a distinct community from the county in
which it locally stands. The University of Oxford has interests,
feelings, a general corporate being, distinct from the city of Oxford,
just as the city of Oxford has interests, feelings, a general corporate
being, distinct from the county of Oxford. So, if one were maliciously
given, one might go on to argue that the choice of a representative made
by the borough of Woodstock seems to show that the inhabitants of that
borough have something in them which makes them distinct from
University, county, city, or any other known division of mankind.
Regarding then these differences, the wisdom of our forefathers has
ruled, not that the county of Oxford, the city, the University, and the
boroughs of Woodstock and Banbury, should join to elect nine members
after the principle of _scrutin de liste_, but that the nine members
should be distributed among them according to their local divisions,
after the principle of _scrutin d'arrondissement_. On any ground but
this local one, a ground which applies to some Universities and not to
others, and which seems to have less weight than formerly in those
Universities to which it does apply, the University franchise is
certainly an anomaly. It must submit to be set down as a fancy
franchise. But it is a fancy franchise which has a great weight of
precedent in its favour. Besides the original institution of the British
Solomon, there is the fact that University representation has been
extended at each moment of constitutional change for a century past. It
was extended by the Union with Ireland, by the great Reform Bill, and by
the legislation of fifteen years back. Each of these changes has added
to the number of University members. And each has added to them in a way
which more and more forsakes the local ground, and gives to the
University franchise more and more the character of a fancy franchise.
Dublin has less of local character than Oxford and Cambridge; London has
no local character at all. Such a grouping as that of Glasgow and
Aberdeen takes away all local character from Scottish University
representation. In short, whatever James the First intended, later
legislators, down to our own day, have adopted and confirmed the
principle of the fancy franchise as applied to the Universities. There
stands the anomaly, with the stamp of repeated re-enactment upon it.
Some very strong ground must therefore be found on which to attack it.
Liberals may think that there is a very strong ground in the fact that
University representation tends to strengthen the Conservative interest,
and not only to strengthen it, but to give it a kind of credit, as
stamped with the approval of the most highly educated class of electors.
But this is a ground which could not be decently brought forward. It
would not do to propose the disfranchisement of a particular class of
electors merely because they commonly use their franchise in favour of a
particular political party. From a party point of view, the
representation of the cities of London and Westminster is as great a
political evil as the representation of the Universities of Oxford and
Cambridge. But we could not therefore propose the disfranchisement of
those cities. The abstract question of University representation may be
discussed some time. It may be discussed in our own time on the proposal
of a Conservative government or a Conservative opposition. It may be
discussed on the proposal of a Liberal government on the day when all
University members are Liberals. But the disfranchisement of the
Universities could not, for very shame, be proposed by a Liberal
government when the answer would at once be made, and made with truth,
that the Universities were to be disfranchised simply because most of
them return Conservative members.
We may therefore pass by the alternative of disfranchisement as lying
beyond the range of practical politics. I use that famous phrase
advisedly, because it always means that the question spoken of has
already shown that it will be a practical question some day or other.
The other choice which is commonly given us is to confine the franchise
to residents. After every University election for many years past, and
not least after the one which has just taken place, we have always heard
the outcry that the real University is swamped by the nominal
University, that the body which elects in the name of the University is
in no way qualified to speak in the name of the University, and that in
point of fact it does not speak the sentiments of those to whom the name
of University more properly belongs. Reckonings are made to show that,
if the election had depended, not on the large bodies of men who are now
entitled to vote, but on much smaller bodies of residents, above all of
official residents, professors, tutors, and the like, the result of the
election would have been different. If then, it is argued, the
Universities are to keep the right of parliamentary representation, the
right of voting should be taken away from the mass of those who at
present exercise it, and confined to those who really represent the
University, to those who are actually engaged on the spot, in the
government, the studies, or the teaching of the place.