Yet we ought scarcely to say
this; for we remember to have heard A CHILD ask whether Bonaparte was
stronger than an elephant!
this; for we remember to have heard A CHILD ask whether Bonaparte was
stronger than an elephant!
Macaulay
The first man with whom Mr Mill may travel in a stage
coach will tell him that government exists for the protection of
the PERSONS and property of men. But Mr Mill seems to think that the
preservation of property is the first and only object. It is true,
doubtless, that many of the injuries which are offered to the persons of
men proceed from a desire to possess their property. But the practice of
vindictive assassination as it has existed in some parts of Europe--the
practice of fighting wanton and sanguinary duels, like those of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, in which bands of seconds risked
their lives as well as the principals;--these practices, and many others
which might be named, are evidently injurious to society; and we do not
see how a government which tolerated them could be said "to diminish
to the utmost the pains which men derive from each other. " Therefore,
according to Mr Mill's very correct assumption, such a government
would not perfectly accomplish the end of its institution. Yet such a
government might, as far as we can perceive, "insure to every man the
greatest possible quantity of the produce of his labour. " Therefore
such a government might, according to Mr Mill's subsequent doctrine,
perfectly accomplish the end of its institution. The matter is not of
much consequence, except as an instance of that slovenliness of thinking
which is often concealed beneath a peculiar ostentation of logical
neatness.
Having determined the ends, Mr Mill proceeds to consider the means.
For the preservation of property some portion of the community must be
intrusted with power. This is government; and the question is, how are
those to whom the necessary power is intrusted to be prevented from
abusing it?
Mr Mill first passes in review the simple forms of government. He allows
that it would be inconvenient, if not physically impossible, that the
whole community should meet in a mass; it follows, therefore, that the
powers of government cannot be directly exercised by the people. But he
sees no objection to pure and direct Democracy, except the difficulty
which we have mentioned.
"The community," says he, "cannot have an interest opposite to its
interests. To affirm this would be a contradiction in terms. The
community within itself, and with respect to itself, can have no
sinister interest. One community may intend the evil of another;
never its own. This is an indubitable proposition, and one of great
importance. "
Mr Mill then proceeds to demonstrate that a purely aristocratical form
of government is necessarily bad.
"The reason for which government exists is, that one man, if stronger
than another, will take from him whatever that other possesses and he
desires. But if one man will do this, so will several. And if powers
are put into the hands of a comparatively small number, called an
aristocracy,--powers which make them stronger than the rest of the
community, they will take from the rest of the community as much as they
please of the objects of desire. They will thus defeat the very end
for which government was instituted. The unfitness, therefore, of an
aristocracy to be intrusted with the powers of government, rests on
demonstration. "
In exactly the same manner Mr Mill proves absolute monarchy to be a bad
form of government.
"If government is founded upon this as a law of human nature, that a
man, if able, will take from others anything which they have and he
desires, it is sufficiently evident, that when a man is called a king he
does not change his nature; so that when he has got power to enable
him to take from every man what he pleases, he will take whatever he
pleases. To suppose that he will not, is to affirm that government
is unnecessary, and that human beings will abstain from injuring one
another of their own accord. "
"It is very evident that this reasoning extends to every modification of
the smaller number. Whenever the powers of government are placed in any
hands other than those of the community, whether those of one man, of
a few, or of several, those principles of human nature which imply that
government is at all necessary, imply that those persons will make use
of them to defeat the very end for which government exists. "
But is it not possible that a king or an aristocracy may soon be
saturated with the objects of their desires, and may then protect the
community in the enjoyment of the rest? Mr Mill answers in the negative.
He proves, with great pomp, that every man desires to have the actions
of every other correspondent to his will. Others can be induced to
conform to our will only by motives derived from pleasure or from pain.
The infliction of pain is of course direct injury; and, even if it take
the milder course, in order to produce obedience by motives derived from
pleasure, the government must confer favours. But, as there is no limit
to its desire of obedience, there will be no limit to its disposition
to confer favours; and, as it can confer favours only by plundering the
people, there will be no limit to its disposition to plunder the people.
It is therefore not true that there is in the mind of a king, or in the
minds of an aristocracy, any point of saturation with the objects of
desire.
Mr Mill then proceeds to show that, as monarchical and oligarchical
governments can influence men by motives drawn from pain, as well as by
motives drawn from pleasure, they will carry their cruelty, as well as
their rapacity, to a frightful extent. As he seems greatly to admire his
own reasonings on this subject, we think it but fair to let him speak
for himself.
"The chain of inference in this case is close and strong to a most
unusual degree. A man desires that the actions of other men shall be
instantly and accurately correspondent to his will. He desires that the
actions of the greatest possible number shall be so. Terror is the grand
instrument. Terror can work only through assurance that evil will follow
any failure of conformity between the will and the actions willed. Every
failure must therefore be punished. As there are no bounds to the mind's
desire of its pleasure, there are, of course, no bounds to its desire of
perfection in the instruments of that pleasure. There are, therefore, no
bounds to its desire of exactness in the conformity between its will and
the actions willed; and by consequence to the strength of that terror
which is its procuring cause. Even the most minute failure must
be visited with the heaviest infliction; and as failure in extreme
exactness must frequently happen, the occasions of cruelty must be
incessant.
"We have thus arrived at several conclusions of the highest possible
importance. We have seen that the principle of human nature, upon which
the necessity of government is founded, the propensity of one man to
possess himself of the objects of desire at the cost of another, leads
on, by infallible sequence, where power over a community is attained,
and nothing checks, not only to that degree of plunder which leaves the
members (excepting always the recipients and instruments of the plunder)
the bare means of subsistence, but to that degree of cruelty which is
necessary to keep in existence the most intense terrors. "
Now, no man who has the least knowledge of the real state of the
world, either in former ages or at the present moment, can possibly be
convinced, though he may perhaps be bewildered, by arguments like these.
During the last two centuries, some hundreds of absolute princes have
reigned in Europe. Is it true, that their cruelty has kept in existence
the most intense degree of terror; that their rapacity has left no
more than the bare means of subsistence to any of their subjects, their
ministers and soldiers excepted? Is this true of all of them? Of one
half of them? Of one tenth part of them? Of a single one? Is it true, in
the full extent, even of Philip the Second, of Louis the Fifteenth, or
of the Emperor Paul? But it is scarcely necessary to quote history. No
man of common sense, however ignorant he may be of books, can be imposed
on by Mr Mill's argument; because no man of common sense can live among
his fellow-creatures for a day without seeing innumerable facts which
contradict it. It is our business, however, to point out its fallacy;
and happily the fallacy is not very recondite.
We grant that rulers will take as much as they can of the objects of
their desires; and that, when the agency of other men is necessary to
that end, they will attempt by all means in their power to enforce the
prompt obedience of such men. But what are the objects of human desire?
Physical pleasure, no doubt, in part. But the mere appetites which we
have in common with the animals would be gratified almost as cheaply and
easily as those of the animals are gratified, if nothing were given to
taste, to ostentation, or to the affections. How small a portion of the
income of a gentleman in easy circumstances is laid out merely in giving
pleasurable sensations to the body of the possessor! The greater
part even of what is spent on his kitchen and his cellar goes, not to
titillate his palate, but to keep up his character for hospitality, to
save him from the reproach of meanness in housekeeping, and to
cement the ties of good neighbourhood. It is clear that a king or an
aristocracy may be supplied to satiety with mere corporal pleasures, at
an expense which the rudest and poorest community would scarcely feel.
Those tastes and propensities which belong to us as reasoning and
imaginative beings are not indeed so easily gratified. There is, we
admit, no point of saturation with objects of desire which come under
this head. And therefore the argument of Mr Mill will be just, unless
there be something in the nature of the objects of desire themselves
which is inconsistent with it. Now, of these objects there is none which
men in general seem to desire more than the good opinion of others. The
hatred and contempt of the public are generally felt to be
intolerable. It is probable that our regard for the sentiments of our
fellow-creatures springs, by association, from a sense of their ability
to hurt or to serve us. But, be this as it may, it is notorious that,
when the habit of mind of which we speak has once been formed, men feel
extremely solicitous about the opinions of those by whom it is most
improbable, nay, absolutely impossible, that they should ever be in the
slightest degree injured or benefited. The desire of posthumous fame and
the dread of posthumous reproach and execration are feelings from the
influence of which scarcely any man is perfectly free, and which in many
men are powerful and constant motives of action. As we are afraid that,
if we handle this part of the argument after our own manner, we shall
incur the reproach of sentimentality, a word which, in the sacred
language of the Benthamites, is synonymous with idiocy, we will
quote what Mr Mill himself says on the subject, in his Treatise on
Jurisprudence.
"Pains from the moral source are the pains derived from the unfavourable
sentiments of mankind. . . These pains are capable of rising to a height
with which hardly any other pains incident to our nature can be
compared. There is a certain degree of unfavourableness in the
sentiments of his fellow-creatures, under which hardly any man, not
below the standard of humanity, can endure to live.
"The importance of this powerful agency, for the prevention of injurious
acts, is too obvious to need to be illustrated. If sufficiently at
command, it would almost supersede the use of other means. . .
"To know how to direct the unfavourable sentiments of mankind, it is
necessary to know in as complete, that is, in as comprehensive, a way as
possible, what it is which gives them birth. Without entering into the
metaphysics of the question, it is a sufficient practical answer, for
the present purpose, to say that the unfavourable sentiments of man are
excited by everything which hurts them. "
It is strange that a writer who considers the pain derived from the
unfavourable sentiments of others as so acute that, if sufficiently at
command, it would supersede the use of the gallows and the tread-mill,
should take no notice of this most important restraint when discussing
the question of government. We will attempt to deduce a theory of
politics in the mathematical form, in which Mr Mill delights, from the
premises with which he has himself furnished us.
PROPOSITION I. THEOREM.
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?
coach will tell him that government exists for the protection of
the PERSONS and property of men. But Mr Mill seems to think that the
preservation of property is the first and only object. It is true,
doubtless, that many of the injuries which are offered to the persons of
men proceed from a desire to possess their property. But the practice of
vindictive assassination as it has existed in some parts of Europe--the
practice of fighting wanton and sanguinary duels, like those of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, in which bands of seconds risked
their lives as well as the principals;--these practices, and many others
which might be named, are evidently injurious to society; and we do not
see how a government which tolerated them could be said "to diminish
to the utmost the pains which men derive from each other. " Therefore,
according to Mr Mill's very correct assumption, such a government
would not perfectly accomplish the end of its institution. Yet such a
government might, as far as we can perceive, "insure to every man the
greatest possible quantity of the produce of his labour. " Therefore
such a government might, according to Mr Mill's subsequent doctrine,
perfectly accomplish the end of its institution. The matter is not of
much consequence, except as an instance of that slovenliness of thinking
which is often concealed beneath a peculiar ostentation of logical
neatness.
Having determined the ends, Mr Mill proceeds to consider the means.
For the preservation of property some portion of the community must be
intrusted with power. This is government; and the question is, how are
those to whom the necessary power is intrusted to be prevented from
abusing it?
Mr Mill first passes in review the simple forms of government. He allows
that it would be inconvenient, if not physically impossible, that the
whole community should meet in a mass; it follows, therefore, that the
powers of government cannot be directly exercised by the people. But he
sees no objection to pure and direct Democracy, except the difficulty
which we have mentioned.
"The community," says he, "cannot have an interest opposite to its
interests. To affirm this would be a contradiction in terms. The
community within itself, and with respect to itself, can have no
sinister interest. One community may intend the evil of another;
never its own. This is an indubitable proposition, and one of great
importance. "
Mr Mill then proceeds to demonstrate that a purely aristocratical form
of government is necessarily bad.
"The reason for which government exists is, that one man, if stronger
than another, will take from him whatever that other possesses and he
desires. But if one man will do this, so will several. And if powers
are put into the hands of a comparatively small number, called an
aristocracy,--powers which make them stronger than the rest of the
community, they will take from the rest of the community as much as they
please of the objects of desire. They will thus defeat the very end
for which government was instituted. The unfitness, therefore, of an
aristocracy to be intrusted with the powers of government, rests on
demonstration. "
In exactly the same manner Mr Mill proves absolute monarchy to be a bad
form of government.
"If government is founded upon this as a law of human nature, that a
man, if able, will take from others anything which they have and he
desires, it is sufficiently evident, that when a man is called a king he
does not change his nature; so that when he has got power to enable
him to take from every man what he pleases, he will take whatever he
pleases. To suppose that he will not, is to affirm that government
is unnecessary, and that human beings will abstain from injuring one
another of their own accord. "
"It is very evident that this reasoning extends to every modification of
the smaller number. Whenever the powers of government are placed in any
hands other than those of the community, whether those of one man, of
a few, or of several, those principles of human nature which imply that
government is at all necessary, imply that those persons will make use
of them to defeat the very end for which government exists. "
But is it not possible that a king or an aristocracy may soon be
saturated with the objects of their desires, and may then protect the
community in the enjoyment of the rest? Mr Mill answers in the negative.
He proves, with great pomp, that every man desires to have the actions
of every other correspondent to his will. Others can be induced to
conform to our will only by motives derived from pleasure or from pain.
The infliction of pain is of course direct injury; and, even if it take
the milder course, in order to produce obedience by motives derived from
pleasure, the government must confer favours. But, as there is no limit
to its desire of obedience, there will be no limit to its disposition
to confer favours; and, as it can confer favours only by plundering the
people, there will be no limit to its disposition to plunder the people.
It is therefore not true that there is in the mind of a king, or in the
minds of an aristocracy, any point of saturation with the objects of
desire.
Mr Mill then proceeds to show that, as monarchical and oligarchical
governments can influence men by motives drawn from pain, as well as by
motives drawn from pleasure, they will carry their cruelty, as well as
their rapacity, to a frightful extent. As he seems greatly to admire his
own reasonings on this subject, we think it but fair to let him speak
for himself.
"The chain of inference in this case is close and strong to a most
unusual degree. A man desires that the actions of other men shall be
instantly and accurately correspondent to his will. He desires that the
actions of the greatest possible number shall be so. Terror is the grand
instrument. Terror can work only through assurance that evil will follow
any failure of conformity between the will and the actions willed. Every
failure must therefore be punished. As there are no bounds to the mind's
desire of its pleasure, there are, of course, no bounds to its desire of
perfection in the instruments of that pleasure. There are, therefore, no
bounds to its desire of exactness in the conformity between its will and
the actions willed; and by consequence to the strength of that terror
which is its procuring cause. Even the most minute failure must
be visited with the heaviest infliction; and as failure in extreme
exactness must frequently happen, the occasions of cruelty must be
incessant.
"We have thus arrived at several conclusions of the highest possible
importance. We have seen that the principle of human nature, upon which
the necessity of government is founded, the propensity of one man to
possess himself of the objects of desire at the cost of another, leads
on, by infallible sequence, where power over a community is attained,
and nothing checks, not only to that degree of plunder which leaves the
members (excepting always the recipients and instruments of the plunder)
the bare means of subsistence, but to that degree of cruelty which is
necessary to keep in existence the most intense terrors. "
Now, no man who has the least knowledge of the real state of the
world, either in former ages or at the present moment, can possibly be
convinced, though he may perhaps be bewildered, by arguments like these.
During the last two centuries, some hundreds of absolute princes have
reigned in Europe. Is it true, that their cruelty has kept in existence
the most intense degree of terror; that their rapacity has left no
more than the bare means of subsistence to any of their subjects, their
ministers and soldiers excepted? Is this true of all of them? Of one
half of them? Of one tenth part of them? Of a single one? Is it true, in
the full extent, even of Philip the Second, of Louis the Fifteenth, or
of the Emperor Paul? But it is scarcely necessary to quote history. No
man of common sense, however ignorant he may be of books, can be imposed
on by Mr Mill's argument; because no man of common sense can live among
his fellow-creatures for a day without seeing innumerable facts which
contradict it. It is our business, however, to point out its fallacy;
and happily the fallacy is not very recondite.
We grant that rulers will take as much as they can of the objects of
their desires; and that, when the agency of other men is necessary to
that end, they will attempt by all means in their power to enforce the
prompt obedience of such men. But what are the objects of human desire?
Physical pleasure, no doubt, in part. But the mere appetites which we
have in common with the animals would be gratified almost as cheaply and
easily as those of the animals are gratified, if nothing were given to
taste, to ostentation, or to the affections. How small a portion of the
income of a gentleman in easy circumstances is laid out merely in giving
pleasurable sensations to the body of the possessor! The greater
part even of what is spent on his kitchen and his cellar goes, not to
titillate his palate, but to keep up his character for hospitality, to
save him from the reproach of meanness in housekeeping, and to
cement the ties of good neighbourhood. It is clear that a king or an
aristocracy may be supplied to satiety with mere corporal pleasures, at
an expense which the rudest and poorest community would scarcely feel.
Those tastes and propensities which belong to us as reasoning and
imaginative beings are not indeed so easily gratified. There is, we
admit, no point of saturation with objects of desire which come under
this head. And therefore the argument of Mr Mill will be just, unless
there be something in the nature of the objects of desire themselves
which is inconsistent with it. Now, of these objects there is none which
men in general seem to desire more than the good opinion of others. The
hatred and contempt of the public are generally felt to be
intolerable. It is probable that our regard for the sentiments of our
fellow-creatures springs, by association, from a sense of their ability
to hurt or to serve us. But, be this as it may, it is notorious that,
when the habit of mind of which we speak has once been formed, men feel
extremely solicitous about the opinions of those by whom it is most
improbable, nay, absolutely impossible, that they should ever be in the
slightest degree injured or benefited. The desire of posthumous fame and
the dread of posthumous reproach and execration are feelings from the
influence of which scarcely any man is perfectly free, and which in many
men are powerful and constant motives of action. As we are afraid that,
if we handle this part of the argument after our own manner, we shall
incur the reproach of sentimentality, a word which, in the sacred
language of the Benthamites, is synonymous with idiocy, we will
quote what Mr Mill himself says on the subject, in his Treatise on
Jurisprudence.
"Pains from the moral source are the pains derived from the unfavourable
sentiments of mankind. . . These pains are capable of rising to a height
with which hardly any other pains incident to our nature can be
compared. There is a certain degree of unfavourableness in the
sentiments of his fellow-creatures, under which hardly any man, not
below the standard of humanity, can endure to live.
"The importance of this powerful agency, for the prevention of injurious
acts, is too obvious to need to be illustrated. If sufficiently at
command, it would almost supersede the use of other means. . .
"To know how to direct the unfavourable sentiments of mankind, it is
necessary to know in as complete, that is, in as comprehensive, a way as
possible, what it is which gives them birth. Without entering into the
metaphysics of the question, it is a sufficient practical answer, for
the present purpose, to say that the unfavourable sentiments of man are
excited by everything which hurts them. "
It is strange that a writer who considers the pain derived from the
unfavourable sentiments of others as so acute that, if sufficiently at
command, it would supersede the use of the gallows and the tread-mill,
should take no notice of this most important restraint when discussing
the question of government. We will attempt to deduce a theory of
politics in the mathematical form, in which Mr Mill delights, from the
premises with which he has himself furnished us.
PROPOSITION I. THEOREM.
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?
