that while corruption is a pathological condition which in an extreme
degree may lead to social death, it is also susceptible to treatment
which may bring about recovery with renewed and even enhanced vigour.
Between these two extremes every degree of partial strength or weakness
may exist in a social body as a result of the presence or after effects
of corruption. The Roman Church suffered a tremendous loss of influence
in Western and Northern Europe as a result of the Reformation. It has
never recovered this territory, but it survived as an institution
which, modified by internal reforms, has acquired a greater influence
and a greater number of communicants than the mediæval church ever
dreamed of. Spain, partly through corruption, lost her colonial empire,
but the mother country remains intact. True Lord Salisbury called it
a “decadent nation,” but at least it is not in ruins. Germany was
victor over corrupt imperial France in the last great European war.
The progress of the _Vaterland_ since that event seems phenomenal,
but already uneasy voices, troubled at contemporary conditions,
particularly in the army and the emperor’s immediate entourage, are
raising the question: “What does the future hold for us,—Jena or
Sedan?” Conquered in 1870-’71, the French, in Gambetta’s deathless
words, nevertheless remained “a great nation which does not wish to
die.” The history of the Third Republic has been besmirched at times
by scandals of the most offensively corrupt character. Yet in spite
of this and other national weaknesses the outside world is probably
altogether too much inclined to underestimate the latent strength of
modern France.
Contemplation of the general evils which may result from corruption
suggests the possibility of eliminating it from social life. While
such a condition of affairs may be looked upon as an ideal, it will
nevertheless remain an ultimate ideal which can be approximated
rather than realised, and that only by the most patient, determined,
and continued effort. Every social organisation, as we have seen,
presupposes the subordination in some measure of personal to broader
interests. But no matter how far social integration is carried, and
social duty correspondingly emphasised, there will always remain a
field for individual effort. Absolute communism in which the state
shall be everything and the individual nothing is unthinkable. Even
where the individual as such is but little regarded, he will remain
a member of small social groups, as _e.g._, the family or business
corporation, the interests of which are almost if not quite as close
to him as the interests of his naked ego. The lines bounding the two
great fields of individual interest and social interest are variously
drawn in different countries and at different times. No doubt they
will be redrawn in the future, probably greatly to the extension of
social functions if one may judge from the present drift. Always,
however, the two great fields will remain, and the best results in
each will depend partly upon the activities of the other. In the main
these activities do not conflict, indeed they strongly reinforce one
another. When the individual pursues his daily work diligently and
intelligently, although primarily with a selfish end in view, he is
nevertheless adding to national wealth and welfare. So also with
most of the activities of the family, the church, the club, and the
business corporation. In each of these cases, however, it is inevitable
that conflicts will sometimes occur between individual and narrow
group interests on the one hand, and broader social interests on the
other. These conflicts may gradually take on less selfish and less
dangerous forms, but will hardly disappear so long as the character of
the individual and the constitution of society remain fundamentally
unchanged. The problem of corruption, therefore, is a persistent
one. There will always remain the possibility of moral struggle for
improvement; there will never be absolute perfection in these extensive
and involved relationships.
A very striking implication of the persistent character of the problem
may be found in the fact that much of the current terminology of
political science implies the presence of corruption as a common factor
in the life of the state. To modern students Greek classifications
of forms of government appear rather naive, considered simply as
classifications, but many of the separate terms employed in them
nevertheless remain in general use. Plato, for example, describes the
decline of the pure Republic ruled by philosophers who are actuated by
the highest motives, first into Timarchy, next into Oligarchy, then
into Democracy in the sense of mob rule, and finally into Tyranny.
We must infer that in the real world, as the Philosopher saw it, the
number of perfect Republics, granting that such beatific political
entities or any acceptable approximation to them could exist,
would be far less than the number of degenerate states. The common
characteristic of all the latter from Timarchy to Tyranny is the
predominance of some form of personal or narrow group interest over
the highest interests of the state. In other words the great majority
of state forms as classified by Plato are to be distinguished by the
degree and kind of corruption they exhibit. Aristotle’s distinction
between pure forms of constitutions,—Royalty, Aristocracy, and
Polity,—and the corresponding perverted forms,—Tyranny, Oligarchy,
and Democracy,—is based fundamentally upon the existence of purity or
corruption in the sovereign, whether it be composed of the one, few, or
many. Dealing as he was largely with actual constitutions, Aristotle
makes it clear that in the world as he knew it, the corrupt forms of
government, particularly oligarchy and democracy, were much more common
than the pure forms, that, in fact, some degree of corruption was
frequent, and purity, on the other hand, exceptional in political life.
Other classifications of states regardless of their moral condition
are, of course, possible. Mr. Seeley has given us one that, for modern
purposes, is certainly much more useful than the Aristotelian. The
continued use of the latter in common speech and, to a somewhat less
extent in historical and scientific discussion, is evidence, however,
of a high degree of availability in describing actual political
conditions or what are believed to be such. And since this terminology
implies the existence of corruption as an ordinary accompaniment of
political life, its wide acceptance and continued use strengthens the
conviction that corruption in some form is a persistent problem of
politics.
While the general problem bids fair to remain with us always, the
particular forms and extent of corruption will be subject to change
in the future as in the past. History justifies the hope that these
changes will be for the better.[25] Many of the grosser forms of
corruption current in earlier periods are impossible now. Charles II.
was not the only king of his century who accepted corrupt subsidies
from foreign monarchs. At the present time it is impossible to doubt
that the essential loyalty of the executive heads of the principal
civilised countries of the world would be demonstrated unmistakably
in case they should be approached by corrupt solicitation from the
outside. The modern spirit of nationality and patriotism would wreak
tremendous vengeance upon any royal offender against it. The loyalty of
contemporary monarchs, however, is probably due in very slight degree,
if at all, to the fear of punishment. In addition to the responsibility
enforced upon constitutional kings, a keener sense on their part of
participation in the national spirit and higher standards both of
personal rectitude and of international dealings make corruption of
this sort well nigh unthinkable in the modern world. To a large measure
also these virtues have been extended over the whole administrative
service of civilised states and absorbed as a part of current moral
practice. Hence even in the case of inferior officials who have been
seduced by foreign bribes, as _e.g._, the sale of military plans and
secrets, a heavy penalty of popular obloquy is added to the severe
penalty of the law.
The mention of Charles II. suggests another form of corruption, the
earlier wide extension of which is familiar to every reader of history.
In times past royal mistresses appeared openly at court, secured
titles of nobility and grants of land for themselves, their children,
and their favourites, dictated appointments in the civil and military
service, and overruled decisions of internal and foreign policy. It
may be admitted that the sexual morality of some contemporary monarchs
is not above reproach. Yet the evil, so far as it exists to-day,
is largely personal, and is chiefly objectionable because of its
unfavourable influence upon the family life of the people at large. No
modern king ruling over a civilised country, it is safe to say, could
openly flaunt his mistresses and allow it to be seen that his passion
for them affected his policies as head of the state.
As another illustration of the disappearance of certain forms of
corruption once extremely common the famous case of Lord Bacon may
be cited. His offence as Lord Chancellor consisted not in the taking
of presents from suitors, for to do so after judgment was the open
practice of the time. Inadvertently, however, Bacon accepted a present
before a case was decided, and this was made the basis of the charge of
corruption which brought about his downfall. The morality of the time
had reached a stage at which it perceived clearly the corrupting effect
upon the judicial mind of presents in advance of a decision, and held
them to be bribes. It had not reached the modern point of view that
the expectation of a present after giving decision is also corrupting,
particularly since the present of one of the litigants is very likely
to be larger than that of the other. One can safely maintain that
the open receipt of presents by judicial officers of higher rank is
extremely rare in English speaking countries and in Western Europe at
the present time. Judges of our own lower courts are sometimes accused
of truckling to the party influences to which they owe their election,
but so far as it exists this is a much more subtle and surreptitious
form of corruption than present giving, or as it would frankly be
called nowadays, bribe-giving by litigants.[26] Any approach, or even
appearance of approach, to offences of the latter sort would call
forth sharp expressions of condemnation. In his “Four Aspects of Civic
Duty,” President Taft presents a very striking and acute argument on
the necessity of the exercise of extreme circumspection by judicial
officials which will serve to illustrate the progress in morals from
Lord Bacon’s time to the present:
“A most important principle in the success of a judicial system and
procedure is that the administration of justice should seem to the
public and the litigants to be impartial and righteous, as well as
that it should actually be so. Continued lack of public confidence in
the courts will sap their foundations. A careful and conscientious
judge will, therefore, strive to avoid every appearance from which the
always suspicious litigants may suspect an undue leaning toward the
other side. He will give patient hearing to counsel for each party,
and, however clear the case may be to him when stated, he will not
betray his conclusion until he has heard in full from the party whose
position cannot be supported. More than this, it not infrequently
happens, however clear his mind in the outset, that argument, if he
has not a pride of first opinion that is unjudicial, may lead him to
change his view.
“This same principle is one that should lead judges not to accept
courtesies like railroad passes from persons or companies frequently
litigants in their courts. It is not that such courtesies would really
influence them to decide a case in favour of such litigants when
justice required a different result; but the possible evil is that
if the defeated litigant learns of the extension of such courtesy to
the judge or the court by his opponent he cannot be convinced that
his cause was heard by an indifferent tribunal, and it weakens the
authority and the general standing of the court.
“I knew of one judge who indignantly declared that of course he
accepted passes, because he would not admit, by declining them, that
such a little consideration or favour would influence his decision.
But in the view I have given above a different ground for declining
them can be found than the suggestion that such a courtesy would
really influence his judgment in a case in which the railroad company
giving the courtesy was a party.”[27]
The intimate relation between present giving and bribery, suggests
another illustration somewhat similar to the preceding. Readers of
the famous diary of Samuel Pepys are familiar with the fact that in
his official capacity as Clerk of the Acts and Surveyor General of
the Victualling Office he often accepted presents. In one instance
we find him quoting with grave approval the sage observation of his
patron, Lord Sandwich, to the effect that “it was not the salary of
any place that did make a man rich, but the opportunity of getting
money while he is in the place.”[28] Venal as it may appear to the
modern reader Pepys undoubtedly lived up to this precept, and owed
to its consistent practice the very considerable property which he
afterwards amassed. Yet one would be over hasty to conclude that the
author of the “Diary” was an arch corruptionist. On the contrary he was
so distinctly superior, both in efficiency and honesty, to most of his
colleagues, that he won much well-merited recognition and succeeded
in retaining office practically throughout the whole Restoration
period in spite of the many upheavals and intrigues of that troublous
time. While Pepys frankly admits that he accepted presents he insists
that he never forgot the “King’s interest.” The manifest danger of
allowing an official to measure in this way the quality of service
due a sovereign, does not seem to occur to the diarist. On the other
hand, he refers frequently, and usually in terms of condemnation, to
many contemporaries in the administrative service who, at least in
his opinion, were much less scrupulous than they should have been in
determining the “King’s interest.” Thus he records the utterances of
a certain Cooling, the Lord Chamberlain’s secretary and a veritable
drunken roaring Falstaff of corruption, who boasted that “his horse was
a bribe, and his boots a bribe; and told us he was made up of bribes,
as an Oxford scholar is set out with other men’s goods when he goes
out of town, and that he makes every sort of tradesman to bribe him;
and invited me home to his house, to taste of his bribe wine.”[29]
Sometimes, indeed, Pepys became involved in transactions where the
“King’s interest,” as he measured it, received less than its due
share of attention. We find him fearing investigation in such cases,
and withdrawing from them with the resolution not to allow himself
to become similarly involved again. Yet on the whole there is every
evidence of a conscious feeling on his part of rectitude superior to
the administrative morals of the time. That it was largely justified in
spite of the receipt of gifts may be seen from Dr. Wheatley’s comment
to the effect that “public men in those days, without private property,
must have starved if they had not taken fees, for the King had no
idea of wasting his money by paying salaries. At the time of Pepys’s
death there was a balance of £28,007, 2 _s._ 1¼ _d._ due to him from
the Crown, and the original vouchers still remain an heirloom in the
family.”[30]
Appointments to public office have been a fruitful field for corruption
in many forms. In his “Civil Service in Great Britain,” Mr. Dorman
B. Eaton sums up the whole history of the disposal of patronage in
England in the following statement:—“From the despotic system, under
the Norman kings, through various spoils systems under arbitrary
kings—through a sort of partisan system under Cromwell—through fearful
corruption under James and Charles—through a sort of aristocratic
spoils system under William and Anne—through a partisan spoils
system under George I. and II., and a part of the reign of George
III.—through the partisan system in its best estate in later years—we
have traced the unsteady but generally ascending progress of British
administration; and, in 1870, we shall find it to have reached a
level at which office is treated as a trust and personal merit is the
recognised criterion of selection for office.”[31] It would be a most
absurd anachronism to regard all the earlier practices referred to by
Mr. Eaton with the horror of a modern civil service reformer. Richard
the Lion-Hearted could hardly have comprehended the advantage of
competitive literary examinations open to all classes of his subjects
as a means of selecting his subordinates. When under the Plantagenets
and Tudors “charters and monopolies, in a fit of good nature, were
tossed by a king to some borough, great officer, or favourite that
had pleased him; and, in a fit of anger or drunkenness—as arbitrarily
revoked,”[32] it must be remembered that neither the law nor the
morals of the time severely condemned such actions. No wonder,
therefore, that “the old system was bold, consistent, and outspoken—not
pretending to make selections for office out of regard for personal
merit or economy, or the general welfare. It plainly asserted that
those in power had a right and duty to keep themselves in power and
preserve their monopoly in any way which their judgement should
approve, and that the people were bound to submit.”[33] Further “the
right to appoint to office and to sell the appointment openly for
money became also, and long remained, hereditary; sometimes in great
families and sometimes in the holder for the time being of the offices
themselves.”[34] No doubt the exercise of such rights of purchase was
once regarded generally as no more objectionable than the sale of a
private physician’s practice or the sale of the good will of a business
at the present time. But while the various earlier methods of disposing
of the patronage as sketched by Mr. Eaton must be judged with reference
to contemporary political morality, it is true that each of them in
turn fell into disrepute, was abolished—often only after several
trials—and finally superseded by a less faulty system. Even as far back
as Magna Charta the existence of a faint conception of the modern civil
service principle is made plain by the Forty-fifth Article, according
to which the King engaged not to “make any justices, constables,
sheriffs, or bailiffs, but of such as know the law of the realm.” All
the great subsequent uprisings of English history were directed in part
against certain other abuses of the corrupt patronage system. The Tyler
and Cade Rebellions in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the
great Civil War, the expulsion of James II., the overthrow of Walpole,
the failure of George III.’s attempt at personal government,—each
marked a higher standard of public sentiment on the question. Between
1820 and 1870, the great modern civil service reform orders were
passed, resulting in the final establishment of open competition for
over 80,000 positions under the English government. Opportunities for
corrupt practices in connection with appointment to office are, of
course, not entirely excluded even by so thoroughgoing a system as that
which now exists in England, but they are few and unimportant indeed
compared to the possibilities of selfish abuses under former régimes.
It is by no means necessary to review the whole sweep of a nation’s
history in order to observe the discarding of old, and the evolution
of newer and usually less dangerous forms of corruption. Such a career
as that of Tweed would be impossible in any American city to-day. The
crude methods he employed,—raising bills, throwing contracts to members
of the Ring, keeping false books, delaying financial reports,—would
certainly and promptly send any one who attempted them at the present
time to the penitentiary. Indeed no small part of existing municipal
legislation can be traced back to the specific misdeeds of Tweed and
others of his ilk. On the other hand it must be admitted that the
ablest corruptionists sometimes show skill little short of genius in
devising new schemes to avoid the pitfalls of existing law and in
keeping always just beyond the grasp of new enactments. Mr. Steffens
tells a story of Chris Magee, former boss of Pittsburgh, to the effect
that he visited and made a most careful study of the machines of
Philadelphia and New York and particularly of their defects, finally
returning to his own city with the conviction that a “ring could
be made as safe as a bank.”[35] In this field, as in the ethics of
business management and elsewhere, there will probably always be a
running duel between anti-social action and legislation designed to
check it. Novel methods of corruption will constantly require novel
methods of correction. In the nature of the case the law will usually
be slightly behind the artifices of the most skilful corruptionists:
abuses must exist and be felt as such before the government can
successfully define and punish them. On the other hand this constant
development of the law should make corrupt practices increasingly
difficult for the less gifted rascals who must always constitute the
great majority of would-be offenders. As things are now the ignorant
heeler, and even the crooked tool who has received an ordinary
education, realise that they cannot play the game alone. Their only
hope of escaping the penitentiary is in the service of the machine
whose leaders understand the legal requirements of the situation, and
possess the skill or influence necessary to circumvent them.
While the consequences of corruption must in general be weakening and
disintegrating, their full import may be concealed or postponed owing
to the limitation of the evil condition to certain branches or spheres
of government which for the time being are not called upon to function
to their full capacity. A chain is no stronger than its weakest link,
but it may serve very well so long as no great tensile strain is
applied to it. The military arm of a government otherwise honest and
efficient might conceivably become well nigh paralysed by corruption
without any particular evil consequences so long as hostilities were
avoided. All the more terrible, on the other hand, would be the
awakening in case of the advent of war. The reverse case is suggested
by Tennyson:
“Let your reforms for a moment go!
Look to your butts and take good aims!
Better a rotten borough or so
Than a rotten fleet and a city in flames!”