No More Learning

That is to say, France before the
revolution, and Ireland during the last century, were pure democracies.
Prussia, Austria, Russia, all the governments of the civilised world,
are pure democracies. If this be not a reductio ad absurdum, we do not
know what is.

The errors of Mr Mill proceed principally from that radical vice in his
reasoning which, in our last number we described in the words of Lord
Bacon. The Westminster Reviewer is unable to discover the meaning of our
extracts from the "Novum Organum", and expresses himself as follows:

"The quotations from Lord Bacon are misapplications, such as anybody may
make to anything he dislikes. There is no more resemblance between
pain, pleasure, motives, etc. , and substantia, generatio, corruptio,
elementum, materia,--than between lines angles, magnitudes, etc. , and
the same. "

It would perhaps be unreasonable to expect that a writer who cannot
understand his own English should understand Lord Bacon's Latin. We will
therefore attempt to make our meaning clearer.

What Lord Bacon blames in the schoolmen of his time is this,--that
they reasoned syllogistically on words which had not been defined with
precision; such as moist, dry, generation, corruption, and so forth.
Mr Mill's error is exactly of the same kind. He reasons syllogistically
about power, pleasure, and pain, without attaching any definite notion
to any one of those words. There is no more resemblance, says the
Westminster Reviewer, between pain and substantia than between pain and
a line or an angle. By his permission, in the very point to which
Lord Bacon's observation applies, Mr Mill's subjects do resemble the
substantia and elementum of the schoolmen and differ from the lines and
magnitudes of Euclid. We can reason a priori on mathematics, because
we can define with an exactitude which precludes all possibility of
confusion. If a mathematician were to admit the least laxity into his
notions, if he were to allow himself to be deluded by the vague sense
which words bear in popular use, or by the aspect of an ill-drawn
diagram, if he were to forget in his reasonings that a point was
indivisible, or that the definition of a line excluded breadth,
there would be no end to his blunders. The schoolmen tried to reason
mathematically about things which had not been, and perhaps could not
be, defined with mathematical accuracy. We know the result. Mr Mill has
in our time attempted to do the same. He talks of power, for example, as
if the meaning of the word power were as determinate as the meaning of
the word circle. But, when we analyse his speculations, we find that
his notion of power is, in the words of Bacon, "phantiastica et male
terminata. "

There are two senses in which we may use the word "power," and those
words which denote the various distributions of power, as, for example,
"monarchy":--the one sense popular and superficial, the other more
scientific and accurate. Mr Mill, since he chose to reason a priori,
ought to have clearly pointed out in which sense he intended to use
words of this kind, and to have adhered inflexibly to the sense on which
he fixed. Instead of doing this, he flies backwards and forwards from
the one sense to the other, and brings out conclusions at last which
suit neither.

The state of those two communities to which he has himself referred--the
kingdom of Denmark and the empire of Rome--may serve to illustrate our
meaning. Looking merely at the surface of things, we should call Denmark
a despotic monarchy, and the Roman world, in the first century after
Christ, an aristocratical republic. Caligula was, in theory, nothing
more than a magistrate elected by the senate, and subject to the senate.
That irresponsible dignity which, in the most limited monarchies of our
time, is ascribed to the person of the sovereign never belonged to the
earlier Caesars. The sentence of death which the great council of the
commonwealth passed on Nero was strictly according to the theory of the
constitution. Yet, in fact, the power of the Roman emperors approached
nearer to absolute dominion than that of any prince in modern Europe.
On the other hand, the King of Denmark, in theory the most despotic of
princes, would in practice find it most perilous to indulge in cruelty
and licentiousness. Nor is there, we believe, at the present moment a
single sovereign in our part of the world who has so much real power
over the lives of his subjects as Robespierre, while he lodged at a
chandler's and dined at a restaurateur's, exercised over the lives of
those whom he called his fellow citizens.

Mr Mill and the Westminster Reviewer seem to agree that there cannot
long exist in any society a division of power between a monarch, an
aristocracy, and the people, or between any two of them. However the
power be distributed, one of the three parties will, according to them,
inevitably monopolise the whole. Now, what is here meant by power? If Mr
Mill speaks of the external semblance of power,--of power recognised by
the theory of the constitution,--he is palpably wrong. In England, for
example, we have had for ages the name and form of a mixed government,
if nothing more. Indeed, Mr Mill himself owns that there are appearances
which have given colour to the theory of the balance, though he
maintains that these appearances are delusive. But, if he uses the word
power in a deeper and philosophical sense, he is, if possible, still
more in the wrong than on the former supposition. For, if he had
considered in what the power of one human being over other human beings
must ultimately consist, he would have perceived, not only that there
are mixed governments in the world, but that all the governments in the
world, and all the governments which can even be conceived as existing
in the world, are virtually mixed.

If a king possessed the lamp of Aladdin,--if he governed by the help
of a genius who carried away the daughters and wives of his subjects
through the air to the royal Parc-aux-cerfs, and turned into stone every
man who wagged a finger against his majesty's government, there would
indeed be an unmixed despotism. But, fortunately, a ruler can be
gratified only by means of his subjects. His power depends on their
obedience; and, as any three or four of them are more than a match for
him by himself, he can only enforce the unwilling obedience of some by
means of the willing obedience of others.

Take any of those who are popularly called absolute princes--Napoleon
for example. Could Napoleon have walked through Paris, cutting off the
head of one person in every house which he passed? Certainly not without
the assistance of an army. If not, why not? Because the people had
sufficient physical power to resist him, and would have put forth that
power in defence of their lives and of the lives of their children.
In other words, there was a portion of power in the democracy under
Napoleon. Napoleon might probably have indulged himself in such an
atrocious freak of power if his army would have seconded him. But, if
his army had taken part with the people, he would have found himself
utterly helpless; and, even if they had obeyed his orders against the
people, they would not have suffered him to decimate their own body. In
other words, there was a portion of power in the hands of a minority of
the people, that is to say, in the hands of an aristocracy, under the
reign of Napoleon.

To come nearer home,--Mr Mill tells us that it is a mistake to imagine
that the English government is mixed. He holds, we suppose, with all the
politicians of the Utilitarian school, that it is purely aristocratical.
There certainly is an aristocracy in England; and we are afraid that
their power is greater than it ought to be. They have power enough to
keep up the game-laws and corn-laws; but they have not power enough to
subject the bodies of men of the lowest class to wanton outrage at their
pleasure. Suppose that they were to make a law that any gentleman of
two thousand a-year might have a day-labourer or a pauper flogged with
a cat-of-nine-tails whenever the whim might take him. It is quite clear
that the first day on which such flagellation should be administered
would be the last day of the English aristocracy. In this point, and
in many other points which might be named, the commonalty in our island
enjoy a security quite as complete as if they exercised the right of
universal suffrage. We say, therefore, that the English people have
in their own hands a sufficient guarantee that in some points the
aristocracy will conform to their wishes;--in other words, they have
a certain portion of power over the aristocracy. Therefore the English
government is mixed.

Wherever a king or an oligarchy refrains from the last extremity of
rapacity and tyranny through fear of the resistance of the people,
there the constitution, whatever it may be called, is in some measure
democratical. The admixture of democratic power may be slight. It may be
much slighter than it ought to be; but some admixture there is. Wherever
a numerical minority, by means of superior wealth or intelligence,
of political concert, or of military discipline, exercises a greater
influence on the society than any other equal number of persons,--there,
whatever the form of government may be called, a mixture of aristocracy
does in fact exist. And, wherever a single man, from whatever cause,
is so necessary to the community, or to any portion of it, that he
possesses more power than any other man, there is a mixture of monarchy.
This is the philosophical classification of governments: and if we
use this classification we shall find, not only that there are mixed
governments, but that all governments are, and must always be, mixed.
But we may safely challenge Mr Mill to give any definition of power, or
to make any classification of governments, which shall bear him out in
his assertion that a lasting division of authority is impracticable.

It is evidently on the real distribution of power, and not on names and
badges, that the happiness of nations must depend. The representative
system, though doubtless a great and precious discovery in politics, is
only one of the many modes in which the democratic part of the community
can efficiently check the governing few. That certain men have been
chosen as deputies of the people,--that there is a piece of paper
stating such deputies to possess certain powers,--these circumstances
in themselves constitute no security for good government. Such a
constitution nominally existed in France; while, in fact, an oligarchy
of committees and clubs trampled at once on the electors and the
elected. Representation is a very happy contrivance for enabling large
bodies of men to exert their power with less risk of disorder than there
would otherwise be. But, assuredly, it does not of itself give power.
Unless a representative assembly is sure of being supported in the
last resort by the physical strength of large masses who have spirit to
defend the constitution and sense to defend it in concert, the mob of
the town in which it meets may overawe it;--the howls of the listeners
in its glory may silence its deliberations;--an able and daring
individual may dissolve it. And, if that sense and that spirit of
which we speak be diffused through a society, then, even without a
representative assembly, that society will enjoy many of the blessings
of good government.

Which is the better able to defend himself;--a strong man with nothing
but his fists, or a paralytic cripple encumbered with a sword which he
cannot lift? Such, we believe, is the difference between Denmark and
some new republics in which the constitutional forms of the United
States have been most sedulously imitated.

Look at the Long Parliament on the day on which Charles came to seize
the five members: and look at it again on the day when Cromwell stamped
with his foot on its floor. On which day was its apparent power the
greater? On which day was its real power the less? Nominally subject, it
was able to defy the sovereign. Nominally sovereign, it was turned out
of doors by its servant.

Constitutions are in politics what paper money is in commerce. They
afford great facilities and conveniences. But we must not attribute to
them that value which really belongs to what they represent. They
are not power, but symbols of power, and will, in an emergency, prove
altogether useless unless the power for which they stand be forthcoming.
The real power by which the community is governed is made up of all the
means which all its members possess of giving pleasure or pain to each
other.

Great light may be thrown on the nature of a circulating medium by the
phenomena of a state of barter. And in the same manner it may be useful
to those who wish to comprehend the nature and operation of the outward
signs of power to look at communities in which no such signs exist;
for example, at the great community of nations. There we find nothing
analogous to a constitution; but do we not find a government? We do in
fact find government in its purest, and simplest, and most intelligible
form. We see one portion of power acting directly on another portion
of power. We see a certain police kept up; the weak to a certain
degree protected; the strong to a certain degree restrained. We see the
principle of the balance in constant operation. We see the whole system
sometimes undisturbed by any attempt at encroachment for twenty or
thirty years at a time; and all this is produced without a legislative
assembly, or an executive magistracy--without tribunals--without any
code which deserves the name; solely by the mutual hopes and fears of
the various members of the federation. In the community of nations,
the first appeal is to physical force. In communities of men, forms
of government serve to put off that appeal, and often render it
unnecessary. But it is still open to the oppressed or the ambitious.

Of course, we do not mean to deny that a form of government will, after
it has existed for a long time, materially affect the real distribution
of power throughout the community. This is because those who administer
a government, with their dependants, form a compact and disciplined
body, which, acting methodically and in concert, is more powerful than
any other equally numerous body which is inferior in organisation.
The power of rulers is not, as superficial observers sometimes seem
to think, a thing sui generis. It is exactly similar in kind, though
generally superior in amount, to that of any set of conspirators who
plot to overthrow it. We have seen in our time the most extensive and
the best organised conspiracy that ever existed--a conspiracy which
possessed all the elements of real power in so great a degree that it
was able to cope with a strong government, and to triumph over it--the
Catholic Association. An Utilitarian would tell us, we suppose, that the
Irish Catholics had no portion of political power whatever on the first
day of the late Session of Parliament.

Let us really go beyond the surface of facts: let us, in the sound sense
of the words, penetrate to the springs within; and the deeper we go the
more reason shall we find to smile at those theorists who hold that the
sole hope of the human race is in a rule-of-three sum and a ballot-box.

We must now return to the Westminster Reviewer. The following paragraph
is an excellent specimen of his peculiar mode of understanding and
answering arguments.

"The reply to the argument against 'saturation,' supplies its own
answer. The reason why it is of no use to try to 'saturate' is precisely
what the Edinburgh Reviewers have suggested,--'THAT THERE IS NO LIMIT
TO THE NUMBER OF THIEVES. ' There are the thieves, and the thieves'
cousins,--with their men-servants, their maid-servants, and their little
ones, to the fortieth generation. It is true, that 'a man cannot become
a king or a member of the aristocracy whenever he chooses;' but if there
is to be no limit to the depredators except their own inclination to
increase and multiply, the situation of those who are to suffer is as
wretched as it needs be. It is impossible to define what ARE 'corporal
pleasures. ' A Duchess of Cleveland was 'a corporal pleasure. ' The
most disgraceful period in the history of any nation--that of the
Restoration--presents an instance of the length to which it is possible
to go in an attempt to 'saturate' with pleasures of this kind. "

To reason with such a writer is like talking to a deaf man who catches
at a stray word, makes answer beside the mark, and is led further and
further into error by every attempt to explain. Yet, that our readers
may fully appreciate the abilities of the new philosophers, we shall
take the trouble to go over some of our ground again.

Mr Mill attempts to prove that there is no point of saturation with the
objects of human desire. He then takes it for granted that men have no
objects of desire but those which can be obtained only at the expense
of the happiness of others. Hence he infers that absolute monarchs
and aristocracies will necessarily oppress and pillage the people to a
frightful extent.

We answered in substance thus. There are two kinds of objects of desire;
those which give mere bodily pleasure, and those which please through
the medium of associations. Objects of the former class, it is true, a
man cannot obtain without depriving somebody else of a share. But then
with these every man is soon satisfied. A king or an aristocracy
cannot spend any very large portion of the national wealth on the mere
pleasures of sense. With the pleasures which belong to us as reasoning
and imaginative beings we are never satiated, it is true; but then, on
the other hand, many of those pleasures can be obtained without injury
to any person, and some of them can be obtained only by doing good to
others.

The Westminster Reviewer, in his former attack on us, laughed at us for
saying that a king or an aristocracy could not be easily satiated with
the pleasures of sense, and asked why the same course was not tried with
thieves. We were not a little surprised at so silly an objection from
the pen, as we imagined, of Mr Bentham. We returned, however, a very
simple answer. There is no limit to the number of thieves. Any man who
chooses can steal: but a man cannot become a member of the aristocracy
or a king whenever he chooses. To satiate one thief, is to tempt twenty
other people to steal. But by satiating one king or five hundred nobles
with bodily pleasures we do not produce more kings or more nobles. The
answer of the Westminster Reviewer we have quoted above; and it will
amply repay our readers for the trouble of examining it. We never read
any passage which indicated notions so vague and confused. The number
of the thieves, says our Utilitarian, is not limited. For there are the
dependants and friends of the king and of the nobles. Is it possible
that he should not perceive that this comes under a different head? The
bodily pleasures which a man in power dispenses among his creatures are
bodily pleasures as respects his creatures, no doubt. But the pleasure
which he derives from bestowing them is not a bodily pleasure. It is one
of those pleasures which belong to him as a reasoning and imaginative
being. No man of common understanding can have failed to perceive that,
when we said that a king or an aristocracy might easily be supplied to
satiety with sensual pleasures, we were speaking of sensual pleasures
directly enjoyed by themselves. But "it is impossible," says the
Reviewer, "to define what are corporal pleasures. " Our brother would
indeed, we suspect, find it a difficult task; nor, if we are to judge
of his genius for classification from the specimen which immediately
follows, would we advise him to make the attempt. "A Duchess of
Cleveland was a corporal pleasure. " And to this wise remark is appended
a note, setting forth that Charles the Second gave to the Duchess
of Cleveland the money which he ought to have spent on the war with
Holland. We scarcely know how to answer a man who unites so much
pretension to so much ignorance. There are, among the many Utilitarians
who talk about Hume, Condillac, and Hartley, a few who have read
those writers. Let the Reviewer ask one of these what he thinks on the
subject. We shall not undertake to whip a pupil of so little promise
through his first course of metaphysics. We shall, therefore, only
say--leaving him to guess and wonder what we can mean--that, in
our opinion, the Duchess of Cleveland was not a merely corporal
pleasure,--that the feeling which leads a prince to prefer one woman to
all others, and to lavish the wealth of kingdoms on her, is a feeling
which can only be explained by the law of association.

But we are tired, and even more ashamed than tired, of exposing these
blunders. The whole article is of a piece. One passage, however, we must
select, because it contains a very gross misrepresentation.

"'THEY NEVER ALLUDED TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION FOR THE PURPOSE OF PROVING
THAT THE POOR WERE INCLINED TO ROB THE RICH. ' They only said, 'as soon
as the poor AGAIN began to compare their cottages and salads with the
hotels and banquets of the rich, there would have been another scramble
for property, another general confiscation,' etc. "

We said that, IF MR MILL'S PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN NATURE WERE CORRECT,
there would have been another scramble for property, and another
confiscation. We particularly pointed this out in our last article. We
showed the Westminster Reviewer that he had misunderstood us. We dwelt
particularly on the condition which was introduced into our statement.
We said that we had not given, and did not mean to give, any opinion
of our own. And, after this, the Westminster Reviewer thinks proper to
repeat his former misrepresentation, without taking the least notice of
that qualification to which we, in the most marked manner, called his
attention.

We hasten on to the most curious part of the article under our
consideration--the defence of the "greatest happiness principle. " The
Reviewer charges us with having quite mistaken its nature.

"All that they have established is, that they do not understand it.
Instead of the truism of the Whigs, 'that the greatest happiness is the
greatest happiness,' what Mr Bentham had demonstrated, or at all events
had laid such foundations that there was no trouble in demonstrating,
was, that the greatest happiness of the individual was in the long run
to be obtained by pursuing the greatest happiness of the aggregate. "

It was distinctly admitted by the Westminster Reviewer, as we remarked
in our last article, that he could give no answer to the question,--why
governments should attempt to produce the greatest possible happiness?
The Reviewer replies thus:--

"Nothing of the kind will be admitted at all. In the passage thus
selected to be tacked to the other, the question started was, concerning
'the object of government;' in which government was spoken of as an
operation, not as anything that is capable of feeling pleasure or
pain. In this sense it is true enough, that OUGHT is not predicable of
governments. "

We will quote, once again, the passage which we quoted in our last
Number; and we really hope that our brother critic will feel something
like shame while he peruses it.

"The real answer appeared to be, that men at large OUGHT not to allow
a government to afflict them with more evil or less good, than they
can help. What a GOVERNMENT ought to do is a mysterious and searching
question which those may answer who know what it means; but what other
men ought to do is a question of no mystery at all. The word OUGHT,
if it means anything, must have reference to some kind of interest or
motives; and what interest a government has in doing right, when
it happens to be interested in doing wrong, is a question for the
schoolmen. The fact appears to be that OUGHT is not predicable of
governments. The question is not, why governments are bound not to do
this or that, but why other men should let them if they can help it. The
point is not to determine why the lion should not eat sheep, but why men
should not eat their own mutton if they can. "

We defy the Westminster Reviewer to reconcile this passage with the
"general happiness principle" as he now states it. He tells us that
he meant by government, not the people invested with the powers of
government, but a mere OPERATION incapable of feeling pleasure or pain.
We say, that he meant the people invested with the powers of government,
and nothing else. It is true that OUGHT is not predicable of an
operation. But who would ever dream of raising any question about the
DUTIES of an operation? What did the Reviewer mean by saying, that
a government could not be interested in doing right because it was
interested in doing wrong? Can an operation be interested in either?
And what did he mean by his comparison about the lion? Is a lion an
operation incapable of pain or pleasure? And what did he mean by the
expression, "other men," so obviously opposed to the word "government? "
But let the public judge between us. It is superfluous to argue a point
so clear.

The Reviewer does indeed seem to feel that his expressions cannot be
explained away, and attempts to shuffle out of the difficulty by owning,
that "the double meaning of the word government was not got clear of
without confusion. " He has now, at all events, he assures us, made
himself master of Mr Bentham's philosophy. The real and genuine
"greatest happiness principle" is, that the greatest happiness of every
individual is identical with the greatest happiness of society; and all
other "greatest happiness principles" whatever are counterfeits. "This,"
says he, "is the spirit of Mr Bentham's principle; and if there is
anything opposed to it in any former statement it may be corrected by
the present. "

Assuredly, if a fair and honourable opponent had, in discussing a
question so abstruse as that concerning the origin of moral obligation,
made some unguarded admission inconsistent with the spirit of his
doctrines, we should not be inclined to triumph over him. But no
tenderness is due to a writer who, in the very act of confessing his
blunders, insults those by whom his blunders have been detected,
and accuses them of misunderstanding what, in fact, he has himself
mis-stated.

The whole of this transaction illustrates excellently the real character
of this sect. A paper comes forth, professing to contain a full
development of the "greatest happiness principle," with the latest
improvements of Mr Bentham. The writer boasts that his article has
the honour of being the announcement and the organ of this wonderful
discovery, which is to make "the bones of sages and patriots stir within
their tombs. "

This "magnificent principle" is then stated thus: Mankind ought to
pursue their greatest happiness.
But there are persons whose interest is
opposed to the greatest happiness of mankind. OUGHT is not predicable of
such persons. For the word OUGHT has no meaning unless it be used with
reference to some interest.

We answered, with much more lenity than we should have shown to such
nonsense, had it not proceeded, as we supposed, from Mr Bentham, that
interest was synonymous with greatest happiness; and that, therefore, if
the word OUGHT has no meaning, unless used with reference to interest,
then, to say that mankind ought to pursue their greatest happiness, is
simply to say, that the greatest happiness is the greatest happiness;
that every individual pursues his own happiness; that either what
he thinks his happiness must coincide with the greatest happiness of
society or not; that, if what he thinks his happiness coincides with the
greatest happiness of society, he will attempt to promote the greatest
happiness of society whether he ever heard of the "greatest happiness
principle" or not; and that, by the admission of the Westminster
Reviewer, if his happiness is inconsistent with the greatest happiness
of society, there is no reason why he should promote the greatest
happiness of society. Now, that there are individuals who think that for
their happiness which is not for the greatest happiness of society is
evident. The Westminster Reviewer allowed that some of these individuals
were in the right; and did not pretend to give any reason which could
induce any one of them to think himself in the wrong. So that the
"magnificent principle" turned out to be, either a truism or a
contradiction in terms; either this maxim--"Do what you do;" or this
maxim, "Do what you cannot do. "

The Westminster Reviewer had the wit to see that he could not defend
this palpable nonsense; but, instead of manfully owning that he had
misunderstood the whole nature of the "greatest happiness principle" in
the summer, and had obtained new light during the autumn, he attempts
to withdraw the former principle unobserved, and to substitute another,
directly opposed to it, in its place; clamouring all the time against
our unfairness, like one who, while changing the cards, diverts the
attention of the table from his sleight of hand by vociferating charges
of foul play against other people.

The "greatest happiness principle" for the present quarter is then
this,--that every individual will best promote his own happiness in
this world, religious considerations being left out of the question,
by promoting the greatest happiness of the whole species. And
this principle, we are told, holds good with respect to kings and
aristocracies as well as with other people.

"It is certain that the individual operators in any government, if they
were thoroughly intelligent and entered into a perfect calculation
of all existing chances, would seek for their own happiness in the
promotion of the general; which brings them, if they knew it, under
Mr Bentham's rule. The mistake of supposing the contrary, lies in
confounding criminals who have had the luck to escape punishment with
those who have the risk still before them. Suppose, for instance, a
member of the House of Commons were at this moment to debate within
himself, whether it would be for his ultimate happiness to begin,
according to his ability, to misgovern. If he could be sure of being
as lucky as some that are dead and gone, there might be difficulty in
finding him an answer. But he is NOT sure; and never can be, till he
is dead. He does not know that he is not close upon the moment when
misgovernment such as he is tempted to contemplate, will be made a
terrible example of. It is not fair to pick out the instance of the
thief that has died unhanged. The question is, whether thieving is at
this moment an advisable trade to begin with all the possibilities of
hanging not got over? This is the spirit of Mr Bentham's principle; and
if there is anything opposed to it in any former statement, it may be
corrected by the present. "

We hope that we have now at last got to the real "magnificent
principle,"--to the principle which is really to make "the bones of the
sages and patriots stir. " What effect it may produce on the bones of
the dead we shall not pretend to decide; but we are sure that it will do
very little for the happiness of the living.

In the first place, nothing is more certain than this, that the
Utilitarian theory of government, as developed in Mr Mill's Essay and
in all the other works on the subject which have been put forth by the
sect, rests on those two principles,--that men follow their interest,
and that the interest of individuals may be, and in fact perpetually
is, opposed to the interest of society. Unless these two principles be
granted, Mr Mill's Essay does not contain one sound sentence. All his
arguments against monarchy and aristocracy, all his arguments in favour
of democracy, nay, the very argument by which he shows that there is
any necessity for having government at all, must be rejected as utterly
worthless.

This is so palpable that even the Westminster Reviewer, though not the
most clear-sighted of men, could not help seeing it. Accordingly, he
attempts to guard himself against the objection, after the manner of
such reasoners, by committing two blunders instead of one. "All this,"
says he, "only shows that the members of a government would do well if
they were all-wise," and he proceeds to tell us that, as rulers are not
all-wise, they will invariably act against this principle wherever they
can, so that the democratical checks will still be necessary to produce
good government.

No form which human folly takes is so richly and exquisitely laughable
as the spectacle of an Utilitarian in a dilemma. What earthly good can
there be in a principle upon which no man will act until he is all-wise?
A certain most important doctrine, we are told, has been demonstrated so
clearly that it ought to be the foundation of the science of government.
And yet the whole frame of government is to be constituted exactly as
if this fundamental doctrine were false, and on the supposition that no
human being will ever act as if he believed it to be true!

The whole argument of the Utilitarians in favour of universal suffrage
proceeds on the supposition that even the rudest and most uneducated men
cannot, for any length of time, be deluded into acting against their
own true interest. Yet now they tell us that, in all aristocratical
communities, the higher and more educated class will, not occasionally,
but invariably, act against its own interest. Now, the only use of
proving anything, as far as we can see, is that people may believe it.
To say that a man does what he believes to be against his happiness is
a contradiction in terms. If, therefore, government and laws are to be
constituted on the supposition on which Mr Mill's Essay is founded,
that all individuals will, whenever they have power over others put into
their hands, act in opposition to the general happiness, then government
and laws must be constituted on the supposition that no individual
believes, or ever will believe, his own happiness to be identical with
the happiness of society. That is to say, government and laws are to
be constituted on the supposition that no human being will ever
be satisfied by Mr Bentham's proof of his "greatest happiness
principle,"--a supposition which may be true enough, but which says
little, we think, for the principle in question.

But where has this principle been demonstrated? We are curious, we
confess, to see this demonstration which is to change the face of the
world and yet is to convince nobody. The most amusing circumstance is
that the Westminster Reviewer himself does not seem to know whether
the principle has been demonstrated or not. "Mr Bentham," he says, "has
demonstrated it, or at all events has laid such foundations that there
is no trouble in demonstrating it. " Surely it is rather strange that
such a matter should be left in doubt. The Reviewer proposed, in his
former article, a slight verbal emendation in the statement of the
principle; he then announced that the principle had received its last
improvement; and gloried in the circumstance that the Westminster Review
had been selected as the organ of that improvement. Did it never occur
to him that one slight improvement to a doctrine is to prove it?

Mr Bentham has not demonstrated the "greatest happiness principle," as
now stated. He is far too wise a man to think of demonstrating any
such thing. In those sections of his "Introduction to the Principles of
Morals and Legislation", to which the Reviewer refers us in his note,
there is not a word of the kind. Mr Bentham says, most truly, that there
are no occasions in which a man has not SOME motives for consulting the
happiness of other men; and he proceeds to set forth what those motives
are--sympathy on all occasions, and the love of reputation on most
occasions. This is the very doctrine which we have been maintaining
against Mr Mill and the Westminster Reviewer. The principal charge which
we brought against Mr Mill was, that those motives to which Mr Bentham
ascribes so much influence were quite left out of consideration in his
theory. The Westminster Reviewer, in the very article now before us,
abuses us for saying, in the spirit, and almost in the words of Mr
Bentham, that "there is a certain check to the rapacity and cruelty
of men in their desire of the good opinion of others. " But does this
principle, in which we fully agree with Mr Bentham, go the length of
the new "greatest happiness principle? " The question is, not whether men
have SOME motives for promoting the greatest happiness, but whether
the STRONGER motives be those which impel them to promote the greatest
happiness. That this would always be the case if men knew their own
worldly interests is the assertion of the Reviewer. As he expresses some
doubt whether Mr Bentham has demonstrated this or not, we would advise
him to set the point at rest by giving his own demonstration.

The Reviewer has not attempted to give a general confirmation of the
"greatest happiness principle;" but he has tried to prove that it holds
good in one or two particular cases. And even in those particular cases
he has utterly failed. A man, says he, who calculated the chances fairly
would perceive that it would be for his greatest happiness to abstain
from stealing; for a thief runs a greater risk of being hanged than an
honest man.

It would have been wise, we think, in the Westminster Reviewer, before
he entered on a discussion of this sort, to settle in what human
happiness consists. Each of the ancient sects of philosophy held some
tenet on this subject which served for a distinguishing badge. The
summum bonum of the Utilitarians, as far as we can judge from the
passage which we are now considering, is the not being hanged.

That it is an unpleasant thing to be hanged, we most willingly concede
to our brother. But that the whole question of happiness or misery
resolves itself into this single point, we cannot so easily admit. We
must look at the thing purchased as well as the price paid for it. A
thief, assuredly, runs a greater risk of being hanged than a labourer;
and so an officer in the army runs a greater risk of being shot than a
banker's clerk; and a governor of India runs a greater risk of dying of
cholera than a lord of the bedchamber. But does it therefore follow that
every man, whatever his habits or feelings may be, would, if he knew
his own happiness, become a clerk rather than a cornet, or goldstick in
waiting rather than governor of India?

Nothing can be more absurd than to suppose, like the Westminster
Reviewer, that thieves steal only because they do not calculate the
chances of being hanged as correctly as honest men. It never seems to
have occurred to him as possible that a man may so greatly prefer the
life of a thief to the life of a labourer that he may determine to brave
the risk of detection and punishment, though he may even think that risk
greater than it really is. And how, on Utilitarian principles, is such
a man to be convinced that he is in the wrong? "You will be found
out. "--"Undoubtedly. "--"You will be hanged within two years. "--"I expect
to be hanged within one year. "--"Then why do you pursue this lawless
mode of life? "--"Because I would rather live for one year with plenty
of money, dressed like a gentleman, eating and drinking of the best,
frequenting public places, and visiting a dashing mistress, than break
stones on the road, or sit down to the loom, with the certainty of
attaining a good old age. It is my humour. Are you answered? "

A king, says the Reviewer again, would govern well, if he were wise,
for fear of provoking his subjects to insurrection. Therefore the true
happiness of a king is identical with the greatest happiness of society.
Tell Charles II. that, if he will be constant to his queen, sober
at table, regular at prayers, frugal in his expenses, active in the
transaction of business, if he will drive the herd of slaves, buffoons,
and procurers from Whitehall, and make the happiness of his people the
rule of his conduct, he will have a much greater chance of reigning
in comfort to an advanced age; that his profusion and tyranny have
exasperated his subjects, and may, perhaps, bring him to an end as
terrible as his father's. He might answer, that he saw the danger, but
that life was not worth having without ease and vicious pleasures. And
what has our philosopher to say? Does he not see that it is no more
possible to reason a man out of liking a short life and a merry one more
than a long life and a dull one than to reason a Greenlander out of his
train oil? We may say that the tastes of the thief and the tyrant differ
from ours; but what right have we to say, looking at this world alone,
that they do not pursue their greatest happiness very judiciously?

It is the grossest ignorance of human nature to suppose that another man
calculates the chances differently from us, merely because he does what,
in his place, we should not do. Every man has tastes and propensities,
which he is disposed to gratify at a risk and expense which people of
different temperaments and habits think extravagant. "Why," says Horace,
"does one brother like to lounge in the forum, to play in the Campus,
and to anoint himself in the baths, so well, that he would not put
himself out of his way for all the wealth of the richest plantations of
the East; while the other toils from sunrise to sunset for the purpose
of increasing his fortune? " Horace attributes the diversity to the
influence of the Genius and the natal star: and eighteen hundred
years have taught us only to disguise our ignorance beneath a more
philosophical language.

We think, therefore, that the Westminster Reviewer, even if we admit his
calculation of the chances to be right, does not make out his case. But
he appears to us to miscalculate chances more grossly than any person
who ever acted or speculated in this world. "It is for the happiness,"
says he, "of a member of the House of Commons to govern well; for he
never can tell that he is not close on the moment when misgovernment
will be terribly punished: if he was sure that he should be as lucky as
his predecessors, it might be for his happiness to misgovern; but he is
not sure. " Certainly a member of Parliament is not sure that he shall
not be torn in pieces by a mob, or guillotined by a revolutionary
tribunal for his opposition to reform. Nor is the Westminster Reviewer
sure that he shall not be hanged for writing in favour of universal
suffrage. We may have democratical massacres. We may also have
aristocratical proscriptions. It is not very likely, thank God, that we
should see either. But the radical, we think, runs as much danger as the
aristocrat. As to our friend the Westminster Reviewer, he, it must
be owned, has as good a right as any man on his side, "Antoni gladios
contemnere. " But take the man whose votes, ever since he has sate in
Parliament, have been the most uniformly bad, and oppose him to the man
whose votes have been the most uniformly good. The Westminster Reviewer
would probably select Mr Sadler and Mr Hume. Now, does any rational man
think,--will the Westminster Reviewer himself say,--that Mr Sadler runs
more risk of coming to a miserable end on account of his public conduct
than Mr Hume? Mr Sadler does not know that he is not close on the moment
when he will be made an example of; for Mr Sadler knows, if possible,
less about the future than about the past. But he has no more reason to
expect that he shall be made an example of than to expect that London
will be swallowed up by an earthquake next spring; and it would be as
foolish in him to act on the former supposition as on the latter. There
is a risk; for there is a risk of everything which does not involve a
contradiction; but it is a risk from which no man in his wits would give
a shilling to be insured. Yet our Westminster Reviewer tells us that
this risk alone, apart from all considerations of religion, honour
or benevolence, would, as a matter of mere calculation, induce a wise
member of the House of Commons to refuse any emoluments which might be
offered him as the price of his support to pernicious measures.

We have hitherto been examining cases proposed by our opponent. It is
now our turn to propose one; and we beg that he will spare no wisdom in
solving it.

A thief is condemned to be hanged. On the eve of the day fixed for the
execution a turnkey enters his cell and tells him that all is safe,
that he has only to slip out, that his friends are waiting in the
neighbourhood with disguises, and that a passage is taken for him in
an American packet. Now, it is clearly for the greatest happiness of
society that the thief should be hanged and the corrupt turnkey exposed
and punished. Will the Westminster Reviewer tell us that it is for the
greatest happiness of the thief to summon the head jailer and tell the
whole story? Now, either it is for the greatest happiness of a thief
to be hanged or it is not. If it is, then the argument, by which the
Westminster Reviewer attempts to prove that men do not promote their own
happiness by thieving, falls to the ground. If it is not, then there are
men whose greatest happiness is at variance with the greatest happiness
of the community.

To sum up our arguments shortly, we say that the "greatest happiness
principle," as now stated, is diametrically opposed to the principle
stated in the Westminster Review three months ago.

We say that, if the "greatest happiness principle," as now stated, be
sound, Mr Mill's Essay, and all other works concerning Government which,
like that Essay, proceed on the supposition that individuals may have an
interest opposed to the greatest happiness of society, are fundamentally
erroneous.

We say that those who hold this principle to be sound must be prepared
to maintain, either that monarchs and aristocracies may be trusted to
govern the community, or else that men cannot be trusted to follow their
own interest when that interest is demonstrated to them.

We say that, if men cannot be trusted to follow their own interest
when that interest has been demonstrated to them, then the Utilitarian
arguments in favour of universal suffrage are good for nothing.

We say that the "greatest happiness principle" has not been proved;
that it cannot be generally proved; that even in the particular cases
selected by the Reviewer it is not clear that the principle is true;
and that many cases might be stated in which the common sense of mankind
would at once pronounce it to be false.

We now leave the Westminster Reviewer to alter and amend his
"magnificent principle" as he thinks best. Unlimited, it is false.
Properly limited, it will be barren. The "greatest happiness principle"
of the 1st of July, as far as we could discern its meaning through
a cloud of rodomontade, was an idle truism. The "greatest happiness
principle" of the 1st of October is, in the phrase of the American
newspapers, "important if true. " But unhappily it is not true. It is not
our business to conjecture what new maxim is to make the bones of sages
and patriots stir on the 1st of December. We can only say that, unless
it be something infinitely more ingenious than its two predecessors, we
shall leave it unmolested. The Westminster Reviewer may, if he pleases,
indulge himself like Sultan Schahriar with espousing a rapid succession
of virgin theories. But we must beg to be excused from playing the part
of the vizier who regularly attended on the day after the wedding to
strangle the new Sultana.

The Westminster Reviewer charges us with urging it as an objection to
the "greatest happiness principle" that "it is included in the Christian
morality. " This is a mere fiction of his own. We never attacked the
morality of the Gospel. We blamed the Utilitarians for claiming the
credit of a discovery, when they had merely stolen that morality, and
spoiled it in the stealing. They have taken the precept of Christ and
left the motive; and they demand the praise of a most wonderful and
beneficial invention, when all that they have done has been to make
a most useful maxim useless by separating it from its sanction. On
religious principles it is true that every individual will best promote
his own happiness by promoting the happiness of others. But if religious
considerations be left out of the question it is not true. If we do not
reason on the supposition of a future state, where is the motive? If we
do reason on that supposition, where is the discovery?

The Westminster Reviewer tells us that "we wish to see the science of
Government unsettled because we see no prospect of a settlement which
accords with our interests. " His angry eagerness to have questions
settled resembles that of a judge in one of Dryden's plays--the
Amphitryon, we think--who wishes to decide a cause after hearing only
one party, and, when he has been at last compelled to listen to the
statement of the defendant, flies into a passion, and exclaims, "There
now, sir! See what you have done. The case was quite clear a minute ago;
and you must come and puzzle it! " He is the zealot of a sect. We are
searchers after truth. He wishes to have the question settled. We wish
to have it sifted first. The querulous manner in which we have been
blamed for attacking Mr Mill's system, and propounding no system of
our own, reminds us of the horror with which that shallow dogmatist,
Epicurus, the worst parts of whose nonsense the Utilitarians have
attempted to revive, shrank from the keen and searching scepticism of
the second Academy.

It is not our fault that an experimental science of vast extent does not
admit of being settled by a short demonstration; that the subtilty
of nature, in the moral as in the physical world, triumphs over the
subtilty of syllogism. The quack, who declares on affidavit that, by
using his pills and attending to his printed directions, hundreds who
had been dismissed incurable from the hospitals have renewed their youth
like the eagles, may, perhaps, think that Sir Henry Halford, when
he feels the pulses of patients, inquires about their symptoms, and
prescribes a different remedy to each, is unsettling the science of
medicine for the sake of a fee.

If, in the course of this controversy, we have refrained from expressing
any opinion respecting the political institutions of England, it is not
because we have not an opinion, or because we shrink from avowing
it. The Utilitarians, indeed, conscious that their boasted theory of
government would not bear investigation, were desirous to turn the
dispute about Mr Mill's Essay into a dispute about the Whig party,
rotten boroughs, unpaid magistrates, and ex-officio informations. When
we blamed them for talking nonsense, they cried out that they were
insulted for being reformers,--just as poor Ancient Pistol swore that
the scars which he had received from the cudgel of Fluellen were got
in the Gallia wars. We, however, did not think it desirable to mix up
political questions, about which the public mind is violently agitated,
with a great problem in moral philosophy.

Our notions about Government are not, however, altogether unsettled. We
have an opinion about parliamentary reform, though we have not arrived
at that opinion by the royal road which Mr Mill has opened for the
explorers of political science. As we are taking leave, probably for the
last time, of this controversy, we will state very concisely what our
doctrines are. On some future occasion we may, perhaps, explain and
defend them at length.

Our fervent wish, and we will add our sanguine hope, is that we may
see such a reform of the House of Commons as may render its votes
the express image of the opinion of the middle orders of Britain. A
pecuniary qualification we think absolutely necessary; and in settling
its amount, our object would be to draw the line in such a manner that
every decent farmer and shopkeeper might possess the elective franchise.
We should wish to see an end put to all the advantages which particular
forms of property possess over other forms, and particular portions of
property over other equal portions. And this would content us. Such a
reform would, according to Mr Mill, establish an aristocracy of wealth,
and leave the community without protection and exposed to all the evils
of unbridled power. Most willingly would we stake the whole controversy
between us on the success of the experiment which we propose.

*****




SADLER'S LAW OF POPULATION. (July 1830. )

"The Law of Population; a Treatise in Six Books, in Disproof
of the Superfecundity of Human Beings, and developing the
real Principle of their Increase". By Michael Thomas
Sadler, M. P. 2 volumes 8vo. London: 1830.

We did not expect a good book from Mr Sadler: and it is well that we did
not; for he has given us a very bad one. The matter of his treatise is
extraordinary; the manner more extraordinary still. His arrangement is
confused, his repetitions endless, his style everything which it ought
not to be. Instead of saying what he has to say with the perspicuity,
the precision, and the simplicity in which consists the eloquence proper
to scientific writing, he indulges without measure in vague, bombastic
declamation, made up of those fine things which boys of fifteen admire,
and which everybody, who is not destined to be a boy all his life, weeds
vigorously out of his compositions after five-and-twenty. That portion
of his two thick volumes which is not made up of statistical tables,
consists principally of ejaculations, apostrophes, metaphors,
similes,--all the worst of their respective kinds. His thoughts are
dressed up in this shabby finery with so much profusion and so little
discrimination, that they remind us of a company of wretched strolling
players, who have huddled on suits of ragged and faded tinsel, taken
from a common wardrobe, and fitting neither their persons nor their
parts; and who then exhibit themselves to the laughing and pitying
spectators, in a state of strutting, ranting, painted, gilded beggary.
"Oh, rare Daniels! " "Political economist, go and do thou likewise! "
"Hear, ye political economists and anti-populationists! " "Population, if
not proscribed and worried down by the Cerberean dogs of this wretched
and cruel system, really does press against the level of the means of
subsistence, and still elevating that level, it continues thus to
urge society through advancing stages, till at length the strong
and resistless hand of necessity presses the secret spring of human
prosperity, and the portals of Providence fly open, and disclose to the
enraptured gaze the promised land of contented and rewarded labour. "
These are specimens, taken at random, of Mr Sadler's eloquence. We could
easily multiply them; but our readers, we fear, are already inclined to
cry for mercy.

Much blank verse and much rhyme is also scattered through these volumes,
sometimes rightly quoted, sometimes wrongly,--sometimes good, sometimes
insufferable,--sometimes taken from Shakspeare, and sometimes, for aught
we know, Mr Sadler's own. "Let man," cries the philosopher, "take heed
how he rashly violates his trust;" and thereupon he breaks forth into
singing as follows:

"What myriads wait in destiny's dark womb,
Doubtful of life or an eternal tomb!
'Tis his to blot them from the book of fate,
Or, like a second Deity, create;
To dry the stream of being in its source,
Or bid it, widening, win its restless course;
While, earth and heaven replenishing, the flood
Rolls to its Ocean fount, and rests in God. "

If these lines are not Mr Sadler's, we heartily beg his pardon for our
suspicion--a suspicion which, we acknowledge, ought not to be lightly
entertained of any human being. We can only say that we never met with
them before, and that we do not much care how long it may be before we
meet with them, or with any others like them, again.

The spirit of this work is as bad as its style. We never met with a book
which so strongly indicated that the writer was in a good humour with
himself, and in a bad humour with everybody else; which contained so
much of that kind of reproach which is vulgarly said to be no slander,
and of that kind of praise which is vulgarly said to be no commendation.
Mr Malthus is attacked in language which it would be scarcely decent to
employ respecting Titus Oates. "Atrocious," "execrable," "blasphemous,"
and other epithets of the same kind, are poured forth against that able,
excellent, and honourable man, with a profusion which in the early part
of the work excites indignation, but after the first hundred pages,
produces mere weariness and nausea. In the preface, Mr Sadler excuses
himself on the plea of haste. Two-thirds of his book, he tells us, were
written in a few months. If any terms have escaped him which can be
construed into personal disrespect, he shall deeply regret that he had
not more time to revise them. We must inform him that the tone of his
book required a very different apology; and that a quarter of a year,
though it is a short time for a man to be engaged in writing a book, is
a very long time for a man to be in a passion.

The imputation of being in a passion Mr Sadler will not disclaim. His
is a theme, he tells us, on which "it were impious to be calm;" and he
boasts that, "instead of conforming to the candour of the present age,
he has imitated the honesty of preceding ones, in expressing himself
with the utmost plainness and freedom throughout. " If Mr Sadler really
wishes that the controversy about his new principle of population should
be carried on with all the license of the seventeenth century, we can
have no personal objections. We are quite as little afraid of a contest
in which quarter shall be neither given nor taken as he can be. But we
would advise him seriously to consider, before he publishes the promised
continuation of his work, whether he be not one of that class of writers
who stand peculiarly in need of the candour which he insults, and who
would have most to fear from that unsparing severity which he practises
and recommends.