No rulers will do anything which may hurt the people.
This is the thesis to be maintained; and the following we humbly offer
to Mr Mill, as its syllogistic demonstration.
No rulers will do that which produces pain to themselves.
But the unfavourable sentiments of the people will give pain to them.
Therefore no rulers will do anything which may excite the unfavourable
sentiments of the people.
But the unfavourable sentiments of the people are excited by everything
which hurts them.
Therefore no rulers will do anything which may hurt the people. Which
was the thing to be proved.
Having thus, as we think, not unsuccessfully imitated Mr Mill's logic,
we do not see why we should not imitate, what is at least equally
perfect in its kind, its self-complacency, and proclaim our Eureka
in his own words: "The chain of inference, in this case, is close and
strong to a most unusual degree."
The fact is, that, when men, in treating of things which cannot be
circumscribed by precise definitions, adopt this mode of reasoning, when
once they begin to talk of power, happiness, misery, pain, pleasure,
motives, objects of desire, as they talk of lines and numbers, there is
no end to the contradictions and absurdities into which they fall. There
is no proposition so monstrously untrue in morals or politics that we
will not undertake to prove it, by something which shall sound like a
logical demonstration from admitted principles.
Mr Mill argues that, if men are not inclined to plunder each other,
government is unnecessary; and that, if they are so inclined, the
powers of government, when entrusted to a small number of them, will
necessarily be abused. Surely it is not by propounding dilemmas of this
sort that we are likely to arrive at sound conclusions in any moral
science. The whole question is a question of degree. If all men
preferred the moderate approbation of their neighbours to any degree
of wealth or grandeur, or sensual pleasure, government would be
unnecessary. If all men desired wealth so intensely as to be willing
to brave the hatred of their fellow-creatures for sixpence, Mr Mill's
argument against monarchies and aristocracies would be true to the full
extent. But the fact is, that all men have some desires which impel them
to injure their neighbours, and some desires which impel them to benefit
their neighbours. Now, if there were a community consisting of two
classes of men, one of which should be principally influenced by the one
set of motives and the other by the other, government would clearly be
necessary to restrain the class which was eager for plunder and
careless of reputation: and yet the powers of government might be
safely intrusted to the class which was chiefly actuated by the love
of approbation. Now, it might with no small plausibility be maintained
that, in many countries, THERE ARE two classes which, in some degree,
answer to this description; that the poor compose the class which
government is established to restrain, and the people of some property
the class to which the powers of government may without danger be
confided. It might be said that a man who can barely earn a livelihood
by severe labour is under stronger temptations to pillage others than a
man who enjoys many luxuries. It might be said that a man who is lost in
the crowd is less likely to have the fear of public opinion before his
eyes than a man whose station and mode of living render him conspicuous.
We do not assert all this. We only say that it was Mr Mill's business to
prove the contrary; and that, not having proved the contrary, he is not
entitled to say, "that those principles which imply that government is
at all necessary, imply that an aristocracy will make use of its power
to defeat the end for which governments exist." This is not true,
unless it be true that a rich man is as likely to covet the goods of
his neighbours as a poor man, and that a poor man is as likely to be
solicitous about the opinions of his neighbours as a rich man.
But we do not see that, by reasoning a priori on such subjects as these,
it is possible to advance one single step. We know that every man has
some desires which he can gratify only by hurting his neighbours, and
some which he can gratify only by pleasing them. Mr Mill has chosen
to look only at one-half of human nature, and to reason on the motives
which impel men to oppress and despoil others, as if they were the only
motives by which men could possibly be influenced. We have already shown
that, by taking the other half of the human character, and reasoning
on it as if it were the whole, we can bring out a result diametrically
opposite to that at which Mr Mill has arrived. We can, by such a
process, easily prove that any form of government is good, or that all
government is superfluous.
We must now accompany Mr Mill on the next stage of his argument.
Does any combination of the three simple forms of government afford the
requisite securities against the abuse of power? Mr Mill complains
that those who maintain the affirmative generally beg the question;
and proceeds to settle the point by proving, after his fashion, that
no combination of the three simple forms, or of any two of them, can
possibly exist.
"From the principles which we have already laid down it follows that, of
the objects of human desire, and, speaking more definitely, of the means
to the ends of human desire, namely, wealth and power, each party will
endeavour to obtain as much as possible.
"If any expedient presents itself to any of the supposed parties
effectual to this end, and not opposed to any preferred object of
pursuit, we may infer with certainty that it will be adopted. One
effectual expedient is not more effectual than obvious. Any two of the
parties, by combining, may swallow up the third. That such combination
will take place appears to be as certain as anything which depends upon
human will; because there are strong motives in favour of it, and none
that can be conceived in opposition to it...The mixture of three of the
kinds of government, it is thus evident, cannot possibly exist...It
may be proper to enquire whether an union may not be possible of two of
them...
"Let us first suppose, that monarchy is united with aristocracy. Their
power is equal or not equal. If it is not equal, it follows, as a
necessary consequence, from the principles which we have already
established, that the stronger will take from the weaker till it
engrosses the whole. The only question therefore is, What will happen
when the power is equal?
"In the first place, it seems impossible that such equality should ever
exist. How is it to be established? or, by what criterion is it to be
ascertained? If there is no such criterion, it must, in all cases, be
the result of chance. If so, the chances against it are as infinity to
one. The idea, therefore, is wholly chimerical and absurd...
"In this doctrine of the mixture of the simple forms of government is
included the celebrated theory of the balance among the component parts
of a government. By this it is supposed that, when a government is
composed of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, they balance one
another, and by mutual checks produce good government. A few words will
suffice to show that, if any theory deserves the epithets of 'wild,
visionary, and chimerical,' it is that of the balance. If there are
three powers, how is it possible to prevent two of them from combining
to swallow up the third?
"The analysis which we have already performed will enable us to trace
rapidly the concatenation of causes and effects in this imagined case.
"We have already seen that the interests of the community, considered
in the aggregate, or in the democratical point of view, is, that each
individual should receive protection; and that the powers which are
constituted for that purpose should be employed exclusively for that
purpose...We have also seen that the interest of the king and of the
governing aristocracy is directly the reverse. It is to have unlimited
power over the rest of the community, and to use it for their own
advantage. In the supposed case of the balance of the monarchical,
aristocratical, and democratical powers, it cannot be for the interest
of either the monarchy or the aristocracy to combine with the democracy;
because it is the interest of the democracy, or community at large, that
neither the king nor the aristocracy should have one particle of power,
or one particle of the wealth of the community, for their own advantage.
"The democracy or community have all possible motives to endeavour to
prevent the monarchy and aristocracy from exercising power, or obtaining
the wealth of the community for their own advantage. The monarchy
and aristocracy have all possible motives for endeavouring to obtain
unlimited power over the persons and property of the community. The
consequence is inevitable: they have all possible motives for combining
to obtain that power."
If any part of this passage be more eminently absurd than another, it
is, we think, the argument by which Mr Mill proves that there cannot
be an union of monarchy and aristocracy. Their power, he says, must be
equal or not equal. But of equality there is no criterion. Therefore the
chances against its existence are as infinity to one. If the power be
not equal, then it follows, from the principles of human nature, that
the stronger will take from the weaker, till it has engrossed the whole.
Now, if there be no criterion of equality between two portions of power
there can be no common measure of portions of power. Therefore it is
utterly impossible to compare them together. But where two portions
of power are of the same kind, there is no difficulty in ascertaining,
sufficiently for all practical purposes, whether they are equal or
unequal. It is easy to judge whether two men run equally fast, or can
lift equal weights. Two arbitrators, whose joint decision is to be
final, and neither of whom can do anything without the assent of the
other, possess equal power. Two electors, each of whom has a vote for
a borough, possess, in that respect, equal power. If not, all Mr Mill's
political theories fall to the ground at once. For, if it be impossible
to ascertain whether two portions of power are equal, he never can show
that even under a system of universal suffrage, a minority might not
carry every thing their own way, against the wishes and interests of the
majority.
Where there are two portions of power differing in kind, there is, we
admit, no criterion of equality. But then, in such a case, it is absurd
to talk, as Mr Mill does, about the stronger and the weaker. Popularly,
indeed, and with reference to some particular objects, these words
may very fairly be used. But to use them mathematically is altogether
improper. If we are speaking of a boxing-match, we may say that some
famous bruiser has greater bodily power than any man in England. If
we are speaking of a pantomime, we may say the same of some very agile
harlequin. But it would be talking nonsense to say, in general, that the
power of Harlequin either exceeded that of the pugilist or fell short of
it.
If Mr Mill's argument be good as between different branches of a
legislature, it is equally good as between sovereign powers. Every
government, it may be said, will, if it can, take the objects of its
desires from every other. If the French government can subdue England it
will do so. If the English government can subdue France it will do so.
But the power of England and France is either equal or not equal. The
chance that it is not exactly equal is as infinity to one, and may
safely be left out of the account; and then the stronger will infallibly
take from the weaker till the weaker is altogether enslaved.
Surely the answer to all this hubbub of unmeaning words is the plainest
possible. For some purposes France is stronger than England. For some
purposes England is stronger than France. For some, neither has any
power at all. France has the greater population, England the greater
capital; France has the greater army, England the greater fleet. For an
expedition to Rio Janeiro or the Philippines, England has the greater
power. For a war on the Po or the Danube, France has the greater power.
But neither has power sufficient to keep the other in quiet subjection
for a month. Invasion would be very perilous; the idea of complete
conquest on either side utterly ridiculous. This is the manly and
sensible way of discussing such questions. The ergo, or rather the
argal, of Mr Mill cannot impose on a child. Yet we ought scarcely to say
this; for we remember to have heard A CHILD ask whether Bonaparte was
stronger than an elephant!
Mr Mill reminds us of those philosophers of the sixteenth century who,
having satisfied themselves a priori that the rapidity with which bodies
descended to the earth varied exactly as their weights, refused to
believe the contrary on the evidence of their own eyes and ears. The
British constitution, according to Mr Mill's classification, is a
mixture of monarchy and aristocracy; one House of Parliament being
composed of hereditary nobles, and the other almost entirely chosen by a
privileged class who possess the elective franchise on account of their
property, or their connection with certain corporations. Mr Mill's
argument proves that, from the time that these two powers were mingled
in our government, that is, from the very first dawn of our history, one
or the other must have been constantly encroaching. According to him,
moreover, all the encroachments must have been on one side. For the
first encroachment could only have been made by the stronger; and that
first encroachment would have made the stronger stronger still. It is,
therefore, matter of absolute demonstration, that either the Parliament
was stronger than the Crown in the reign of Henry VIII., or that the
Crown was stronger than the Parliament in 1641. "Hippocrate dira ce que
lui plaira," says the girl in Moliere; "mais le cocher est mort." Mr
Mill may say what he pleases; but the English constitution is still
alive. That since the Revolution the Parliament has possessed great
power in the State, is what nobody will dispute. The King, on the
other hand, can create new peers, and can dissolve Parliaments. William
sustained severe mortifications from the House of Commons, and was,
indeed, unjustifiably oppressed. Anne was desirous to change a ministry
which had a majority in both Houses. She watched her moment for a
dissolution, created twelve Tory peers, and succeeded. Thirty years
later, the House of Commons drove Walpole from his seat. In 1784, George
III. was able to keep Mr Pitt in office in the face of a majority of the
House of Commons. In 1804, the apprehension of a defeat in Parliament
compelled the same King to part from his most favoured minister. But,
in 1807, he was able to do exactly what Anne had done nearly a hundred
years before. Now, had the power of the King increased during the
intervening century, or had it remained stationary? Is it possible that
the one lot among the infinite number should have fallen to us? If not,
Mr Mill has proved that one of the two parties must have been constantly
taking from the other. Many of the ablest men in England think that the
influence of the Crown has, on the whole, increased since the reign of
Anne. Others think that the Parliament has been growing in strength. But
of this there is no doubt, that both sides possessed great power then,
and possess great power now. Surely, if there were the least truth in
the argument of Mr Mill, it could not possibly be a matter of doubt, at
the end of a hundred and twenty years, whether the one side or the other
had been the gainer.
But we ask pardon. We forgot that a fact, irreconcilable with Mr Mill's
theory, furnishes, in his opinion, the strongest reason for adhering to
the theory. To take up the question in another manner, is it not plain
that there may be two bodies, each possessing a perfect and entire
power, which cannot be taken from it without its own concurrence? What
is the meaning of the words stronger and weaker, when applied to such
bodies as these? The one may, indeed, by physical force, altogether
destroy the other. But this is not the question. A third party, a
general of their own, for example, may, by physical force, subjugate
them both. Nor is there any form of government, Mr Mill's utopian
democracy not excepted, secure from such an occurrence. We are speaking
of the powers with which the constitution invests the two branches of
the legislature; and we ask Mr Mill how, on his own principles, he can
maintain that one of them will be able to encroach on the other, if the
consent of the other be necessary to such encroachment?
Mr Mill tells us that, if a government be composed of the three simple
forms, which he will not admit the British constitution to be, two of
the component parts will inevitably join against the third. Now, if two
of them combine and act as one, this case evidently resolves itself into
the last: and all the observations which we have just made will fully
apply to it. Mr Mill says, that "any two of the parties, by combining,
may swallow up the third;" and afterwards asks, "How is it possible to
prevent two of them from combining to swallow up the third?" Surely Mr
Mill must be aware that in politics two is not always the double of
one. If the concurrence of all the three branches of the legislature be
necessary to every law, each branch will possess constitutional power
sufficient to protect it against anything but that physical force
from which no form of government is secure. Mr Mill reminds us of the
Irishman, who could not be brought to understand how one juryman could
possibly starve out eleven others.
But is it certain that two of the branches of the legislature will
combine against the third? "It appears to be as certain," says Mr Mill,
"as anything which depends upon human will; because there are strong
motives in favour of it, and none that can be conceived in opposition to
it." He subsequently sets forth what these motives are. The interest
of the democracy is that each individual should receive protection. The
interest of the King and the aristocracy is to have all the power that
they can obtain, and to use it for their own ends. Therefore the King
and the aristocracy have all possible motives for combining against the
people. If our readers will look back to the passage quoted above, they
will see that we represent Mr Mill's argument quite fairly.
Now we should have thought that, without the help of either history
or experience, Mr Mill would have discovered, by the light of his own
logic, the fallacy which lurks, and indeed scarcely lurks, under this
pretended demonstration. The interest of the King may be opposed to that
of the people. But is it identical with that of the aristocracy? In the
very page which contains this argument, intended to prove that the King
and the aristocracy will coalesce against the people, Mr Mill attempts
to show that there is so strong an opposition of interest between the
King and the aristocracy that if the powers of government are divided
between them the one will inevitably usurp the power of the other. If
so, he is not entitled to conclude that they will combine to destroy the
power of the people merely because their interests may be at variance
with those of the people. He is bound to show, not merely that in
all communities the interest of a king must be opposed to that of the
people, but also that, in all communities, it must be more directly
opposed to the interest of the people than to the interest of the
aristocracy. But he has not shown this. Therefore he has not proved
his proposition on his own principles. To quote history would be a mere
waste of time. Every schoolboy, whose studies have gone so far as the
Abridgments of Goldsmith, can mention instances in which sovereigns have
allied themselves with the people against the aristocracy, and in which
the nobles have allied themselves with the people against the sovereign.
In general, when there are three parties, every one of which has much
to fear from the others, it is not found that two of them combine to
plunder the third. If such a combination be formed, it scarcely ever
effects its purpose. It soon becomes evident which member of the
coalition is likely to be the greater gainer by the transaction. He
becomes an object of jealousy to his ally, who, in all probability,
changes sides, and compels him to restore what he has taken. Everybody
knows how Henry VIII. trimmed between Francis and the Emperor Charles.
But it is idle to cite examples of the operation of a principle which is
illustrated in almost every page of history, ancient or modern, and to
which almost every state in Europe has, at one time or another, been
indebted for its independence.
Mr Mill has now, as he conceives, demonstrated that the simple forms
of government are bad, and that the mixed forms cannot possibly exist.
There is still, however, it seems, a hope for mankind.
"In the grand discovery of modern times, the system of representation,
the solution of all the difficulties, both speculative and practical,
will perhaps be found. If it cannot, we seem to be forced upon the
extraordinary conclusion, that good government is impossible. For,
as there is no individual or combination of individuals, except the
community itself, who would not have an interest in bad government if
intrusted with its powers, and as the community itself is incapable of
exercising those powers, and must intrust them to certain individuals,
the conclusion is obvious: the community itself must check those
individuals; else they will follow their interest, and produce bad
government. But how is it the community can check? The community can act
only when assembled; and when assembled, it is incapable of acting. The
community, however, can choose representatives."
The next question is--How must the representative body be constituted?
Mr Mill lays down two principles, about which, he says, "it is unlikely
that there will be any dispute."
"First, The checking body must have a degree of power sufficient for the
business of checking."
"Secondly, It must have an identity of interest with the community.
Otherwise, it will make a mischievous use of its power."
The first of these propositions certainly admits of no dispute. As to
the second, we shall hereafter take occasion to make some remarks on
the sense in which Mr Mill understands the words "interest of the
community."
It does not appear very easy, on Mr Mill's principles, to find out any
mode of making the interest of the representative body identical with
that of the constituent body. The plan proposed by Mr Mill is simply
that of very frequent election. "As it appears," says he, "that limiting
the duration of their power is a security against the sinister interest
of the people's representatives, so it appears that it is the only
security of which the nature of the case admits." But all the arguments
by which Mr Mill has proved monarchy and aristocracy to be pernicious
will, as it appears to us, equally prove this security to be no security
at all. Is it not clear that the representatives, as soon as they are
elected, are an aristocracy, with an interest opposed to the interest of
the community? Why should they not pass a law for extending the term of
their power from one year to ten years, or declare themselves senators
for life? If the whole legislative power is given to them, they will be
constitutionally competent to do this. If part of the legislative power
is withheld from them, to whom is that part given? Is the people to
retain it, and to express its assent or dissent in primary assemblies?
Mr Mill himself tells us that the community can only act when assembled,
and that, when assembled, it is incapable of acting. Or is it to be
provided, as in some of the American republics, that no change in the
fundamental laws shall be made without the consent of a convention,
specially elected for the purpose? Still the difficulty recurs: Why may
not the members of the convention betray their trust, as well as the
members of the ordinary legislature? When private men, they may have
been zealous for the interests of the community. When candidates, they
may have pledged themselves to the cause of the constitution. But, as
soon as they are a convention, as soon as they are separated from the
people, as soon as the supreme power is put into their hands, commences
that interest opposite to the interest of the community which must,
according to Mr Mill, produce measures opposite to the interests of the
community. We must find some other means, therefore, of checking this
check upon a check; some other prop to carry the tortoise, that carries
the elephant, that carries the world.
We know well that there is no real danger in such a case. But there is
no danger only because there is no truth in Mr Mill's principles. If men
were what he represents them to be, the letter of the very constitution
which he recommends would afford no safeguard against bad government.
The real security is this, that legislators will be deterred by the
fear of resistance and of infamy from acting in the manner which we have
described. But restraints, exactly the same in kind, and differing
only in degree, exist in all forms of government. That broad line of
distinction which Mr Mill tries to point out between monarchies and
aristocracies on the one side, and democracies on the other, has in fact
no existence. In no form of government is there an absolute identity
of interest between the people and their rulers. In every form of
government, the rulers stand in some awe of the people. The fear of
resistance and the sense of shame operate in a certain degree, on the
most absolute kings and the most illiberal oligarchies. And nothing but
the fear of resistance and the sense of shame preserves the freedom of
the most democratic communities from the encroachments of their annual
and biennial delegates.
We have seen how Mr Mill proposes to render the interest of the
representative body identical with that of the constituent body. The
next question is, in what manner the interest of the constituent body is
to be rendered identical with that of the community. Mr Mill shows that
a minority of the community, consisting even of many thousands, would be
a bad constituent body, and, indeed, merely a numerous aristocracy.
"The benefits of the representative system," says he, "are lost in all
cases in which the interests of the choosing body are not the same with
those of the community. It is very evident, that if the community itself
were the choosing body, the interests of the community and that of the
choosing body would be the same."
On these grounds Mr Mill recommends that all males of mature age, rich
and poor, educated and ignorant, shall have votes. But why not the women
too? This question has often been asked in parliamentary debate, and has
never, to our knowledge, received a plausible answer. Mr Mill escapes
from it as fast as he can. But we shall take the liberty to dwell a
little on the words of the oracle. "One thing," says he, "is pretty
clear, that all those individuals whose interests are involved in those
of other individuals, may be struck off without inconvenience...In
this light women may be regarded, the interest of almost all of whom is
involved either in that of their fathers, or in that of their husbands."
If we were to content ourselves with saying, in answer to all the
arguments in Mr Mill's essay, that the interest of a king is involved
in that of the community, we should be accused, and justly, of talking
nonsense. Yet such an assertion would not, as far as we can perceive,
be more unreasonable than that which Mr Mill has here ventured to make.
Without adducing one fact, without taking the trouble to perplex the
question by one sophism, he placidly dogmatises away the interest of one
half of the human race. If there be a word of truth in history, women
have always been, and still are, over the greater part of the globe,
humble companions, play things, captives, menials, beasts of burden.
Except in a few happy and highly civilised communities, they are
strictly in a state of personal slavery. Even in those countries where
they are best treated, the laws are generally unfavourable to them,
with respect to almost all the points in which they are most deeply
interested.
Mr Mill is not legislating for England or the United States, but for
mankind. Is then the interest of a Turk the same with that of the girls
who compose his harem? Is the interest of a Chinese the same with that
of the woman whom he harnesses to his plough? Is the interest of an
Italian the same with that of the daughter whom he devotes to God?
The interest of a respectable Englishman may be said, without any
impropriety, to be identical with that of his wife. But why is it so?
Because human nature is NOT what Mr Mill conceives it to be; because
civilised men, pursuing their own happiness in a social state, are not
Yahoos fighting for carrion; because there is a pleasure in being loved
and esteemed, as well as in being feared and servilely obeyed. Why does
not a gentleman restrict his wife to the bare maintenance which the law
would compel him to allow her, that he may have more to spend on his
personal pleasures? Because, if he loves her, he has pleasure in seeing
her pleased; and because, even if he dislikes her, he is unwilling that
the whole neighbourhood should cry shame on his meanness and ill-nature.
Why does not the legislature, altogether composed of males, pass a law
to deprive women of all civil privileges whatever, and reduce them to
the state of slaves? By passing such a law, they would gratify what
Mr Mill tells us is an inseparable part of human nature, the desire to
possess unlimited power of inflicting pain upon others. That they do not
pass such a law, though they have the power to pass it, and that no man
in England wishes to see such a law passed, proves that the desire to
possess unlimited power of inflicting pain is not inseparable from human
nature.
If there be in this country an identity of interest between the two
sexes, it cannot possibly arise from anything but the pleasure of being
loved, and of communicating happiness. For, that it does not spring from
the mere instinct of sex, the treatment which women experience over the
greater part of the world abundantly proves. And, if it be said that our
laws of marriage have produced it, this only removes the argument a
step further; for those laws have been made by males. Now, if the kind
feelings of one half of the species be a sufficient security for the
happiness of the other, why may not the kind feelings of a monarch or
an aristocracy be sufficient at least to prevent them from grinding the
people to the very utmost of their power?
If Mr Mill will examine why it is that women are better treated in
England than in Persia, he may perhaps find out, in the course of
his inquiries, why it is that the Danes are better governed than the
subjects of Caligula.
We now come to the most important practical question in the whole essay.
Is it desirable that all males arrived at years of discretion should
vote for representatives, or should a pecuniary qualification be
required? Mr Mill's opinion is, that the lower the qualification the
better; and that the best system is that in which there is none at all.
"The qualification," says he, "must either be such as to embrace
the majority of the population, or something less than the majority.
Suppose, in the first place, that it embraces the majority, the question
is, whether the majority would have an interest in oppressing those
who, upon this supposition, would be deprived of political power? If we
reduce the calculation to its elements, we shall see that the interest
which they would have of this deplorable kind, though it would be
something, would not be very great. Each man of the majority, if the
majority were constituted the governing body, would have something less
than the benefit of oppressing a single man. If the majority were twice
as great as the minority, each man of the majority would only have one
half the benefit of oppressing a single man...Suppose in the second
place, that the qualification did not admit a body of electors so large
as the majority, in that case, taking again the calculation in its
elements, we shall see that each man would have a benefit equal to
that derived from the oppression of more than one man; and that, in
proportion as the elective body constituted a smaller and smaller
minority, the benefit of misrule to the elective body would be
increased, and bad government would be insured."
The first remark which we have to make on this argument is, that, by Mr
Mill's own account, even a government in which every human being
should vote would still be defective. For, under a system of universal
suffrage, the majority of the electors return the representative, and
the majority of the representatives make the law. The whole people may
vote, therefore; but only the majority govern. So that, by Mr Mill's own
confession, the most perfect system of government conceivable is one in
which the interest of the ruling body to oppress, though not great, is
something.
But is Mr Mill in the right when he says that such an interest could
not be very great? We think not. If, indeed, every man in the community
possessed an equal share of what Mr Mill calls the objects of desire,
the majority would probably abstain from plundering the minority. A
large minority would offer a vigorous resistance; and the property of
a small minority would not repay the other members of the community
for the trouble of dividing it. But it happens that in all civilised
communities there is a small minority of rich men, and a great majority
of poor men. If there were a thousand men with ten pounds apiece, it
would not be worth while for nine hundred and ninety of them to rob
ten, and it would be a bold attempt for six hundred of them to rob four
hundred. But, if ten of them had a hundred thousand pounds apiece, the
case would be very different. There would then be much to be got, and
nothing to be feared.
"That one human being will desire to render the person and property of
another subservient to his pleasures, notwithstanding the pain or
loss of pleasure which it may occasion to that other individual, is,"
according to Mr Mill, "the foundation of government." That the property
of the rich minority can be made subservient to the pleasures of the
poor majority will scarcely be denied. But Mr Mill proposes to give the
poor majority power over the rich minority. Is it possible to doubt to
what, on his own principles, such an arrangement must lead?
It may perhaps be said that, in the long run, it is for the interest of
the people that property should be secure, and that therefore they will
respect it. We answer thus:--It cannot be pretended that it is not for
the immediate interest of the people to plunder the rich. Therefore,
even if it were quite certain that, in the long run, the people would,
as a body, lose by doing so, it would not necessarily follow that the
fear of remote ill consequences would overcome the desire of immediate
acquisitions. Every individual might flatter himself that the punishment
would not fall on him. Mr Mill himself tells us, in his Essay on
Jurisprudence, that no quantity of evil which is remote and uncertain
will suffice to prevent crime.
But we are rather inclined to think that it would, on the whole, be
for the interest of the majority to plunder the rich. If so, the
Utilitarians will say, that the rich OUGHT to be plundered. We deny the
inference. For, in the first place, if the object of government be
the greatest happiness of the greatest number, the intensity of the
suffering which a measure inflicts must be taken into consideration,
as well as the number of the sufferers. In the next place, we have
to notice one most important distinction which Mr Mill has altogether
overlooked. Throughout his essay, he confounds the community with the
species. He talks of the greatest happiness of the greatest number:
but, when we examine his reasonings, we find that he thinks only of the
greatest number of a single generation.
Therefore, even if we were to concede that all those arguments of which
we have exposed the fallacy are unanswerable, we might still deny the
conclusion at which the essayist arrives. Even if we were to grant that
he had found out the form of government which is best for the majority
of the people now living on the face of the earth, we might still
without inconsistency maintain that form of government to be pernicious
to mankind. It would still be incumbent on Mr Mill to prove that the
interest of every generation is identical with the interest of all
succeeding generations. And how on his own principles he could do this
we are at a loss to conceive.
The case, indeed, is strictly analogous to that of an aristocratic
government. In an aristocracy, says Mr Mill, the few being invested with
the powers of government, can take the objects of their desires from the
people. In the same manner, every generation in turn can gratify itself
at the expense of posterity,--priority of time, in the latter case,
giving an advantage exactly corresponding to that which superiority
of station gives in the former. That an aristocracy will abuse its
advantage, is, according to Mr Mill, matter of demonstration. Is it not
equally certain that the whole people will do the same: that, if they
have the power, they will commit waste of every sort on the estate of
mankind, and transmit it to posterity impoverished and desolated?
How is it possible for any person who holds the doctrines of Mr Mill to
doubt that the rich, in a democracy such as that which he recommends,
would be pillaged as unmercifully as under a Turkish Pacha? It is no
doubt for the interest of the next generation, and it may be for the
remote interest of the present generation, that property should be held
sacred. And so no doubt it will be for the interest of the next Pacha,
and even for that of the present Pacha, if he should hold office long,
that the inhabitants of his Pachalik should be encouraged to accumulate
wealth. Scarcely any despotic sovereign has plundered his subjects to a
large extent without having reason before the end of his reign to regret
it. Everybody knows how bitterly Louis the Fourteenth, towards the
close of his life, lamented his former extravagance. If that magnificent
prince had not expended millions on Marli and Versailles, and tens of
millions on the aggrandisement of his grandson, he would not have been
compelled at last to pay servile court to low-born money-lenders, to
humble himself before men on whom, in the days of his pride, he would
not have vouchsafed to look, for the means of supporting even his own
household. Examples to the same effect might easily be multiplied.
But despots, we see, do plunder their subjects, though history and
experience tell them that, by prematurely exacting the means of
profusion, they are in fact devouring the seed-corn from which the
future harvest of revenue is to spring. Why then should we suppose
that the people will be deterred from procuring immediate relief and
enjoyment by the fear of distant calamities, of calamities which perhaps
may not be fully felt till the times of their grandchildren?
These conclusions are strictly drawn from Mr Mill's own principles: and,
unlike most of the conclusions which he has himself drawn from those
principles, they are not as far as we know contradicted by facts.
The case of the United States is not in point. In a country where the
necessaries of life are cheap and the wages of labour high, where a man
who has no capital but his legs and arms may expect to become rich by
industry and frugality, it is not very decidedly even for the immediate
advantage of the poor to plunder the rich; and the punishment of doing
so would very speedily follow the offence. But in countries in which
the great majority live from hand to mouth, and in which vast masses of
wealth have been accumulated by a comparatively small number, the case
is widely different. The immediate want is, at particular seasons,
craving, imperious, irresistible. In our own time it has steeled men
to the fear of the gallows, and urged them on the point of the bayonet.
And, if these men had at their command that gallows and those bayonets
which now scarcely restrain them, what is to be expected? Nor is this
state of things one which can exist only under a bad government. If
there be the least truth in the doctrines of the school to which Mr
Mill belongs, the increase of population will necessarily produce it
everywhere. The increase of population is accelerated by good and cheap
government. Therefore, the better the government, the greater is the
inequality of conditions: and the greater the inequality of conditions,
the stronger are the motives which impel the populace to spoliation. As
for America, we appeal to the twentieth century.
It is scarcely necessary to discuss the effects which a general
spoliation of the rich would produce. It may indeed happen that, where
a legal and political system full of abuses is inseparably bound up with
the institution of property, a nation may gain by a single convulsion,
in which both perish together. The price is fearful. But if, when the
shock is over, a new order of things should arise under which property
may enjoy security, the industry of individuals will soon repair the
devastation. Thus we entertain no doubt that the Revolution was, on the
whole, a most salutary event for France. But would France have gained
if, ever since the year 1793, she had been governed by a democratic
convention? If Mr Mill's principles be sound, we say that almost her
whole capital would by this time have been annihilated. As soon as the
first explosion was beginning to be forgotten, as soon as wealth again
began to germinate, as soon as the poor again began to compare their
cottages and salads with the hotels and banquets of the rich, there
would have been another scramble for property, another maximum, another
general confiscation, another reign of terror. Four or five such
convulsions following each other, at intervals of ten or twelve years,
would reduce the most flourishing countries of Europe to the state of
Barbary or the Morea.
The civilised part of the world has now nothing to fear from the
hostility of savage nations. Once the deluge of barbarism has passed
over it, to destroy and to fertilise; and in the present state of
mankind we enjoy a full security against that calamity. That flood will
no more return to cover the earth. But is it possible that in the bosom
of civilisation itself may be engendered the malady which shall destroy
it? Is it possible that institutions may be established which, without
the help of earthquake, of famine, of pestilence, or of the foreign
sword, may undo the work of so many ages of wisdom and glory, and
gradually sweep away taste, literature, science, commerce, manufactures,
everything but the rude arts necessary to the support of animal life?
Is it possible that, in two or three hundred years, a few lean and
half-naked fishermen may divide with owls and foxes the ruins of the
greatest European cities--may wash their nets amidst the relics of her
gigantic docks, and build their huts out of the capitals of her stately
cathedrals? If the principles of Mr Mill be sound, we say, without
hesitation, that the form of government which he recommends will
assuredly produce all this. But, if these principles be unsound, if
the reasonings by which we have opposed them be just, the higher and
middling orders are the natural representatives of the human race.
Their interest may be opposed in some things to that of their poorer
contemporaries; but it is identical with that of the innumerable
generations which are to follow.
Mr Mill concludes his essay, by answering an objection often made to the
project of universal suffrage--that the people do not understand their
own interests. We shall not go through his arguments on this subject,
because, till he has proved that it is for the interest of the people
to respect property, he only makes matters worse by proving that they
understand their interests. But we cannot refrain from treating our
readers with a delicious bonne bouche of wisdom, which he has kept for
the last moment.
"The opinions of that class of the people who are below the middle rank
are formed, and their minds are directed, by that intelligent, that
virtuous rank, who come the most immediately in contact with them, who
are in the constant habit of intimate communication with them, to whom
they fly for advice and assistance in all their numerous difficulties,
upon whom they feel an immediate and daily dependence in health and in
sickness, in infancy and in old age, to whom their children look up as
models for their imitation, whose opinions they hear daily repeated, and
account it their honour to adopt. There can be no doubt that the middle
rank, which gives to science, to art, and to legislation itself their
most distinguished ornaments, and is the chief source of all that has
exalted and refined human nature, is that portion of the community, of
which, if the basis of representation were ever so far extended, the
opinion would ultimately decide. Of the people beneath them, a vast
majority would be sure to be guided by their advice and example."
This single paragraph is sufficient to upset Mr Mill's theory. Will
the people act against their own interest? Or will the middle rank
act against its own interest? Or is the interest of the middle rank
identical with the interest of the people? If the people act according
to the directions of the middle rank, as Mr Mill says that they
assuredly will, one of these three questions must be answered in
the affirmative. But, if any one of the three be answered in the
affirmative, his whole system falls to the ground. If the interest of
the middle rank be identical with that of the people, why should not
the powers of government be intrusted to that rank? If the powers of
government were intrusted to that rank, there would evidently be an
aristocracy of wealth; and "to constitute an aristocracy of wealth,
though it were a very numerous one, would," according to Mr Mill,
"leave the community without protection, and exposed to all the evils
of unbridled power." Will not the same motives which induce the middle
classes to abuse one kind of power induce them to abuse another? If
their interest be the same with that of the people they will govern the
people well. If it be opposite to that of the people they will advise
the people ill. The system of universal suffrage, therefore, according
to Mr Mill's own account, is only a device for doing circuitously what
a representative system, with a pretty high qualification, would do
directly.
So ends this celebrated Essay. And such is this philosophy for which the
experience of three thousand years is to be discarded; this philosophy,
the professors of which speak as if it had guided the world to the
knowledge of navigation and alphabetical writing; as if, before its
dawn, the inhabitants of Europe had lived in caverns and eaten each
other! We are sick, it seems, like the children of Israel, of the
objects of our old and legitimate worship. We pine for a new idolatry.
All that is costly and all that is ornamental in our intellectual
treasures must be delivered up, and cast into the furnace--and there
comes out this Calf!
Our readers can scarcely mistake our object in writing this article.
They will not suspect us of any disposition to advocate the cause of
absolute monarchy, or of any narrow form of oligarchy, or to exaggerate
the evils of popular government. Our object at present is, not so much
to attack or defend any particular system of polity, as to expose the
vices of a kind of reasoning utterly unfit for moral and political
discussions; of a kind of reasoning which may so readily be turned to
purposes of falsehood that it ought to receive no quarter, even when by
accident it may be employed on the side of truth.
Our objection to the essay of Mr Mill is fundamental. We believe that
it is utterly impossible to deduce the science of government from the
principles of human nature.
What proposition is there respecting human nature which is absolutely
and universally true? We know of only one: and that is not only true,
but identical; that men always act from self-interest. This truism the
Utilitarians proclaim with as much pride as if it were new, and as much
zeal as if it were important. But in fact, when explained, it means only
that men, if they can, will do as they choose. When we see the actions
of a man we know with certainty what he thinks his interest to be. But
it is impossible to reason with certainty from what WE take to be his
interest to his actions. One man goes without a dinner that he may add
a shilling to a hundred thousand pounds: another runs in debt to
give balls and masquerades. One man cuts his father's throat to get
possession of his old clothes: another hazards his own life to save that
of an enemy. One man volunteers on a forlorn hope: another is drummed
out of a regiment for cowardice. Each of these men has, no doubt, acted
from self-interest. But we gain nothing by knowing this, except the
pleasure, if it be one, of multiplying useless words. In fact, this
principle is just as recondite and just as important as the great truth
that whatever is, is. If a philosopher were always to state facts in
the following form--"There is a shower: but whatever is, is; therefore,
there is a shower,"--his reasoning would be perfectly sound; but we
do not apprehend that it would materially enlarge the circle of human
knowledge. And it is equally idle to attribute any importance to a
proposition, which, when interpreted means only that a man had rather do
what he had rather do.
If the doctrine, that men always act from self-interest, be laid down in
any other sense than this--if the meaning of the word self-interest
be narrowed so as to exclude any one of the motives which may by
possibility act on any human being, the proposition ceases to be
identical: but at the same time it ceases to be true.
What we have said of the word "self-interest" applies to all the
synonymes and circumlocutions which are employed to convey the same
meaning; pain and pleasure, happiness and misery, objects of desire, and
so forth.
The whole art of Mr Mill's essay consists in one simple trick of
legerdemain. It consists in using words of the sort which we have been
describing first in one sense and then in another. Men will take the
objects of their desire if they can. Unquestionably:--but this is an
identical proposition: for an object of desire means merely a thing
which a man will procure if he can. Nothing can possibly be inferred
from a maxim of this kind. When we see a man take something we shall
know that it was an object of his desire. But till then we have no means
of judging with certainty what he desires or what he will take. The
general proposition, however, having been admitted, Mr Mill proceeds to
reason as if men had no desires but those which can be gratified only by
spoliation and oppression. It then becomes easy to deduce doctrines of
vast importance from the original axiom. The only misfortune is, that by
thus narrowing the meaning of the word desire the axiom becomes false,
and all the doctrines consequent upon it are false likewise.
When we pass beyond those maxims which it is impossible to deny without
a contradiction in terms, and which, therefore, do not enable us to
advance a single step in practical knowledge, we do not believe that
it is possible to lay down a single general rule respecting the motives
which influence human actions. There is nothing which may not, by
association or by comparison, become an object either of desire or
of aversion. The fear of death is generally considered as one of the
strongest of our feelings. It is the most formidable sanction which
legislators have been able to devise. Yet it is notorious that, as Lord
Bacon has observed, there is no passion by which that fear has not been
often overcome. Physical pain is indisputably an evil; yet it has been
often endured and even welcomed. Innumerable martyrs have exulted in
torments which made the spectators shudder: and to use a more homely
illustration, there are few wives who do not long to be mothers.
Is the love of approbation a stronger motive than the love of wealth? It
is impossible to answer this question generally even in the case of an
individual with whom we are very intimate. We often say, indeed, that
a man loves fame more than money, or money more than fame. But this is
said in a loose and popular sense; for there is scarcely a man who
would not endure a few sneers for a great sum of money, if he were in
pecuniary distress; and scarcely a man, on the other hand, who, if he
were in flourishing circumstances, would expose himself to the hatred
and contempt of the public for a trifle. In order, therefore, to return
a precise answer even about a single human being, we must know what is
the amount of the sacrifice of reputation demanded and of the pecuniary
advantage offered, and in what situation the person to whom the
temptation is proposed stands at the time. But, when the question is
propounded generally about the whole species, the impossibility of
answering is still more evident. Man differs from man; generation from
generation; nation from nation. Education, station, sex, age, accidental
associations, produce infinite shades of variety.
Now, the only mode in which we can conceive it possible to deduce a
theory of government from the principles of human nature is this.
We must find out what are the motives which, in a particular form of
government, impel rulers to bad measures, and what are those which
impel them to good measures. We must then compare the effect of the two
classes of motives; and according as we find the one or the other to
prevail, we must pronounce the form of government in question good or
bad.
Now let it be supposed that, in aristocratical and monarchical states,
the desire of wealth and other desires of the same class always tend
to produce misgovernment, and that the love of approbation and other
kindred feelings always tend to produce good government. Then, if it be
impossible, as we have shown that it is, to pronounce generally which of
the two classes of motives is the more influential, it is impossible
to find out, a priori, whether a monarchical or aristocratical form of
government be good or bad.
Mr Mill has avoided the difficulty of making the comparison, by very
coolly putting all the weights into one of the scales,--by reasoning as
if no human being had ever sympathised with the feelings, been gratified
by the thanks, or been galled by the execrations, of another.
The case, as we have put it, is decisive against Mr Mill, and yet we
have put it in a manner far too favourable to him. For, in fact, it is
impossible to lay it down as a general rule that the love of wealth in a
sovereign always produces misgovernment, or the love of approbation good
government. A patient and far-sighted ruler, for example, who is
less desirous of raising a great sum immediately than of securing an
unencumbered and progressive revenue, will, by taking off restraints
from trade and giving perfect security to property, encourage
accumulation and entice capital from foreign countries. The commercial
policy of Prussia, which is perhaps superior to that of any country in
the world, and which puts to shame the absurdities of our republican
brethren on the other side of the Atlantic, has probably sprung from the
desire of an absolute ruler to enrich himself. On the other hand, when
the popular estimate of virtues and vices is erroneous, which is too
often the case, the love of approbation leads sovereigns to spend
the wealth of the nation on useless shows, or to engage in wanton and
destructive wars. If then we can neither compare the strength of two
motives, nor determine with certainty to what description of actions
either motive will lead, how can we possibly deduce a theory of
government from the nature of man?
How, then, are we to arrive at just conclusions on a subject so
important to the happiness of mankind? Surely by that method which, in
every experimental science to which it has been applied, has signally
increased the power and knowledge of our species,--by that method for
which our new philosophers would substitute quibbles scarcely worthy
of the barbarous respondents and opponents of the middle ages,--by the
method of Induction;--by observing the present state of the world,--by
assiduously studying the history of past ages,--by sifting the evidence
of facts,--by carefully combining and contrasting those which
are authentic,--by generalising with judgment and diffidence,--by
perpetually bringing the theory which we have constructed to the test
of new facts,--by correcting, or altogether abandoning it, according
as those new facts prove it to be partially or fundamentally unsound.
Proceeding thus,--patiently,--diligently,--candidly,--we may hope to
form a system as far inferior in pretension to that which we have been
examining and as far superior to it in real utility as the prescriptions
of a great physician, varying with every stage of every malady and with
the constitution of every patient, to the pill of the advertising quack
which is to cure all human beings, in all climates, of all diseases.
This is that noble Science of Politics, which is equally removed from
the barren theories of the Utilitarian sophists, and from the petty
craft, so often mistaken for statesmanship by minds grown narrow in
habits of intrigue, jobbing, and official etiquette;--which of all
sciences is the most important to the welfare of nations,--which of
all sciences most tends to expand and invigorate the mind,--which draws
nutriment and ornament from every part of philosophy and literature,
and dispenses in return nutriment and ornament to all. We are sorry and
surprised when we see men of good intentions and good natural abilities
abandon this healthful and generous study to pore over speculations like
those which we have been examining. And we should heartily rejoice to
find that our remarks had induced any person of this description to
employ, in researches of real utility, the talents and industry which
are now wasted on verbal sophisms, wretched of their wretched kind.
As to the greater part of the sect, it is, we apprehend, of little
consequence what they study or under whom. It would be more amusing, to
be sure, and more reputable, if they would take up the old republican
cant and declaim about Brutus and Timoleon, the duty of killing tyrants
and the blessedness of dying for liberty. But, on the whole, they
might have chosen worse. They may as well be Utilitarians as jockeys
or dandies. And, though quibbling about self-interest and motives, and
objects of desire, and the greatest happiness of the greatest number,
is but a poor employment for a grown man, it certainly hurts the health
less than hard drinking, and the fortune less than high play; it is not
much more laughable than phrenology, and is immeasurably more humane
than cock-fighting.
*****