Political education is like the keystone to the arch--the strength of
the whole depends upon it.--Encycl. Britt. Sup. Art. “Education.”
I was sitting in the library of Glenmorris Castle, about a week after
all the bustle of contest and the eclat of victory had began to subside,
and quietly dallying with the dry toast, which constituted then, and
does to this day, my ordinary breakfast, when I was accosted by the
following speech from my uncle.
“Henry, your success has opened to you a new career: I trust you intend
to pursue it?”
“Certainly,” was my answer.
“But you know, my dear Henry, that though you have great talents, which,
I confess, I was surprised in the course of the election to discover,
yet they want that careful cultivation, which, in order to shine in the
House of Commons, they must receive. Entre nous, Henry; a litle reading
would do you no harm.”
“Very well,” said I, “suppose I begin with Walter Scott’s novels; I am
told they are extremely entertaining.”
“True,” answered my uncle, “but they don’t contain the most accurate
notions of history, or the soundest principles of political philosophy
in the world. What did you think of doing to-day, Henry?”
“Nothing!” said I very innocently.
“I should conceive that to be an usual answer of yours, Henry, to any
similar question.”
“I think it is,” replied I, with great naivete.
“Well, then, let us have the breakfast things taken away, and do
something this morning.”
“Willingly,” said I, ringing the bell.
The table was cleared, and my uncle began his examination. Little,
poor man, had he thought, from my usual bearing and the character of my
education, that in general literature there were few subjects on which
I was not to the full as well read as himself. I enjoyed his surprise,
when little by little he began to discover the extent of my information,
but I was mortified to find it was only surprise, not delight.
“You have,” said he, “a considerable store of learning; far more than
I could possibly have imagined you possessed; but it is knowledge not
learning, in which I wish you to be skilled. I would rather, in order
to gift you with the former, that you were more destitute of the latter.
The object of education, is to instil principles which are hereafter
to guide and instruct us; facts are only desirable, so far as they
illustrate those principles; principles ought therefore to precede
facts! What then can we think of a system which reverses this evident
order, overloads the memory with facts, and those of the most doubtful
description, while it leaves us entirely in the dark with regard to
the principles which could alone render this heterogeneous mass of
any advantage or avail? Learning without knowledge, is but a bundle of
prejudices; a lumber of inert matter set before the threshold of the
understanding to the exclusion of common sense. Pause for a moment,
and recal those of your contemporaries, who are generally considered
well-informed; tell me if their information has made them a whit the
wiser; if not, it is only sanctified ignorance. Tell me if names with
them are not a sanction for opinion; quotations, the representatives of
axioms? All they have learned only serves as an excuse for all they are
ignorant of. In one month, I will engage that you shall have a juster
and deeper insight into wisdom, than they have been all their lives
acquiring; the great error of education is to fill the mind first with
antiquated authors, and then to try the principles of the present day by
the authorities and maxims of the past. We will pursue for our plan, the
exact reverse of the ordinary method. We will learn the doctrines of the
day, as the first and most necessary step, and we will then glance over
those which have passed away, as researches rather curious than useful.
“You see this very small pamphlet; it is a paper by Mr. Mills, upon
Government. We will know this thoroughly, and when we have done so, we
may rest assured that we have a far more accurate information upon the
head and front of all political knowledge, than two-thirds of the young
men whose cultivation of mind you have usually heard panegyrized.”
So saying, my uncle opened the pamphlet. He pointed out to me its close
and mathematical reasoning, in which no flaw could be detected, nor
deduction controverted: and he filled up, as we proceeded, from the
science of his own clear and enlarged mind, the various parts which the
political logician had left for reflection to complete. My uncle had
this great virtue of an expositor, that he never over-explained; he
never made a parade of his lecture, nor confused what was simple by
unnecessary comment.
When we broke off our first day’s employment, I was quite astonished at
the new light which had gleamed upon me. I felt like Sinbad, the sailor,
when, in wandering through the cavern in which he had been buried alive,
he caught the first glimpse of the bright day. Naturally eager in every
thing I undertook, fond of application, and addicted to reflect over the
various bearings of any object that once engrossed my attention, I made
great advance in my new pursuit. After my uncle had brought me to be
thoroughly conversant with certain and definite principles, we proceeded
to illustrate them from fact. For instance, when we had finished the
“Essay upon Government,” we examined into the several constitutions of
England, British America, and France; the three countries which pretend
the most to excellence in their government: and we were enabled to
perceive and judge the defects and merits of each, because we had,
previous to our examination, established certain rules, by which they
were to be investigated and tried. Here my sceptical indifference to
facts was my chief reason for readily admitting knowledge. I had no
prejudices to contend with; no obscure notions gleaned from the past; no
popular maxims cherished as truths. Every thing was placed before me as
before a wholly impartial inquirer--freed from all the decorations and
delusions of sects and parties, every argument was stated with logical
precision--every opinion referred to a logical test. Hence, in a very
short time, I owned the justice of my uncle’s assurance, as to the
comparative concentration of knowledge. We went over the whole of
Mills’s admirable articles in the encyclopaedia, over the more popular
works of Bentham, and thence we plunged into the recesses of political
economy. I know not why this study has been termed uninteresting. No
sooner had I entered upon its consideration, than I could scarcely tear
myself from it. Never from that moment to this have I ceased to pay it
the most constant attention, not so much as a study as an amusement; but
at that time my uncle’s object was not to make me a profound political
economist. “I wish,” said he, “merely to give you an acquaintance with
the principles of the science; not that you may be entitled to boast of
knowledge, but that you may be enabled to avoid ignorance; not that
you may discover truth, but that you may detect error. Of all sciences,
political economy is contained in the fewest books, and yet is the most
difficult to master; because all its higher branches require earnestness
of reflection, proportioned to the scantiness of reading. Mrs. Marsett’s
elementary work, together with some conversational enlargement on the
several topics she treats of, will be enough for our present purpose. I
wish, then, to show you, how inseparably allied is the great science
of public policy with that of private morality. And this, Henry, is the
grandest object of all. Now to our present study.”
Well, gentle Reader, (I love, by the by, as you already perceive, that
old-fashioned courtesy of addressing you)--well, to finish this part of
my life which, as it treats rather of my attempts at reformation than my
success in error, must begin to weary you exceedingly, I acquired,
more from my uncle’s conversation than the books we read, a sufficient
acquaintance with the elements of knowledge, to satisfy myself, and to
please my instructor. And I must say, in justification of my studies and
my tutor, that I derived one benefit from them which has continued with
me to this hour--viz. I obtained a clear knowledge of moral principle.
Before that time, the little ability I possessed only led me into acts,
which, I fear, most benevolent Reader, thou hast already sufficiently
condemned: my good feelings--for I was not naturally bad--never availed
me the least when present temptation came into my way. I had no guide
but passion; no rule but the impulse of the moment. What else could have
been the result of my education? If I was immoral, it was because I was
never taught morality. Nothing, perhaps, is less innate than virtue. I
own that the lessons of my uncle did not work miracles--that, living in
the world, I have not separated myself from its errors and its follies:
the vortex was too strong--the atmosphere too contagious; but I have
at least avoided the crimes into which my temper would most likely have
driven me. I ceased to look upon the world as a game one was to play
fairly, if possible--but where a little cheating was readily allowed;
I no longer divorced the interests of other men from my own: if I
endeavoured to blind them, it was neither by unlawful means, nor for
a purely selfish end:--if--but come, Henry Pelham, thou hast praised
thyself enough for the present; and, after all, thy future adventures
will best tell if thou art really amended.