No More Learning

The perfect historian is he in whose work the character and spirit of
an age is exhibited in miniature. He relates no fact, he attributes no
expression to his characters, which is not authenticated by sufficient
testimony. But, by judicious selection, rejection, and arrangement, he
gives to truth those attractions which have been usurped by fiction.
In his narrative a due subordination is observed: some transactions are
prominent; others retire. But the scale on which he represents them is
increased or diminished, not according to the dignity of the persons
concerned in them, but according to the degree in which they elucidate
the condition of society and the nature of man. He shows us the court,
the camp, and the senate. But he shows us also the nation. He considers
no anecdote, no peculiarity of manner, no familiar saying, as too
insignificant for his notice which is not too insignificant to
illustrate the operation of laws, of religion, and of education, and to
mark the progress of the human mind. Men will not merely be described,
but will be made intimately known to us. The changes of manners will be
indicated, not merely by a few general phrases or a few extracts from
statistical documents, but by appropriate images presented in every
line.

If a man, such as we are supposing, should write the history of England,
he would assuredly not omit the battles, the sieges, the negotiations,
the seditions, the ministerial changes. But with these he would
intersperse the details which are the charm of historical romances. At
Lincoln Cathedral there is a beautiful painted window, which was made by
an apprentice out of the pieces of glass which had been rejected by
his master. It is so far superior to every other in the church, that,
according to the tradition, the vanquished artist killed himself from
mortification. Sir Walter Scott, in the same manner, has used those
fragments of truth which historians have scornfully thrown behind them
in a manner which may well excite their envy. He has constructed out of
their gleanings works which, even considered as histories, are scarcely
less valuable than theirs. But a truly great historian would reclaim
those materials which the novelist has appropriated. The history of the
government, and the history of the people, would be exhibited in
that mode in which alone they can be exhibited justly, in inseparable
conjunction and intermixture. We should not then have to look for the
wars and votes of the Puritans in Clarendon, and for their phraseology
in Old Mortality; for one half of King James in Hume, and for the other
half in the Fortunes of Nigel.

The early part of our imaginary history would be rich with colouring
from romance, ballad, and chronicle. We should find ourselves in the
company of knights such as those of Froissart, and of pilgrims such as
those who rode with Chaucer from the Tabard. Society would be shown from
the highest to the lowest,--from the royal cloth of state to the den of
the outlaw; from the throne of the legate to the chimney-corner where
the begging friar regaled himself. Palmers, minstrels, crusaders,--the
stately monastery, with the good cheer in its refectory and the
high-mass in its chapel,--the manor-house, with its hunting and
hawking,--the tournament, with the heralds and ladies, the trumpets and
the cloth of gold,--would give truth and life to the representation.
We should perceive, in a thousand slight touches, the importance of
the privileged burgher, and the fierce and haughty spirit which swelled
under the collar of the degraded villain. The revival of letters would
not merely be described in a few magnificent periods. We should discern,
in innumerable particulars, the fermentation of mind, the eager appetite
for knowledge, which distinguished the sixteenth from the fifteenth
century. In the Reformation we should see, not merely a schism which
changed the ecclesiastical constitution of England and the mutual
relations of the European powers, but a moral war which raged in every
family, which set the father against the son, and the son against the
father, the mother against the daughter, and the daughter against the
mother. Henry would be painted with the skill of Tacitus. We should have
the change of his character from his profuse and joyous youth to his
savage and imperious old age. We should perceive the gradual progress
of selfish and tyrannical passions in a mind not naturally insensible or
ungenerous; and to the last we should detect some remains of that open
and noble temper which endeared him to a people whom he oppressed,
struggling with the hardness of despotism and the irritability of
disease. We should see Elizabeth in all her weakness and in all her
strength, surrounded by the handsome favourites whom she never trusted,
and the wise old statesmen whom she never dismissed, uniting in herself
the most contradictory qualities of both her parents,--the coquetry, the
caprice, the petty malice of Anne,--the haughty and resolute spirit of
Henry. We have no hesitation in saying that a great artist might produce
a portrait of this remarkable woman at least as striking as that in the
novel of Kenilworth, without employing a single trait not authenticated
by ample testimony. In the meantime, we should see arts cultivated,
wealth accumulated, the conveniences of life improved. We should see the
keeps, where nobles, insecure themselves, spread insecurity around them,
gradually giving place to the halls of peaceful opulence, to the oriels
of Longleat, and the stately pinnacles of Burleigh. We should see towns
extended, deserts cultivated, the hamlets of fishermen turned into
wealthy havens, the meal of the peasant improved, and his hut more
commodiously furnished. We should see those opinions and feelings which
produced the great struggle against the House of Stuart slowly growing
up in the bosom of private families, before they manifested themselves
in parliamentary debates. Then would come the civil war. Those
skirmishes on which Clarendon dwells so minutely would be told, as
Thucydides would have told them, with perspicuous conciseness. They are
merely connecting links. But the great characteristics of the age, the
loyal enthusiasm of the brave English gentry, the fierce licentiousness
of the swearing, dicing, drunken reprobates, whose excesses disgraced
the royal cause,--the austerity of the Presbyterian Sabbaths in the
city, the extravagance of the independent preachers in the camp, the
precise garb, the severe countenance, the petty scruples, the affected
accent, the absurd names and phrases which marked the Puritans,--the
valour, the policy, the public spirit, which lurked beneath these
ungraceful disguises,--the dreams of the raving Fifth-monarchy-man, the
dreams, scarcely less wild, of the philosophic republican, all these
would enter into the representation, and render it at once more exact
and more striking.

The instruction derived from history thus written would be of a vivid
and practical character. It would be received by the imagination as well
as by the reason. It would be not merely traced on the mind, but branded
into it. Many truths, too, would be learned, which can be learned in
no other manner. As the history of states is generally written, the
greatest and most momentous revolutions seem to come upon them like
supernatural inflictions, without warning or cause. But the fact is,
that such revolutions are almost always the consequences of moral
changes, which have gradually passed on the mass of the community, and
which originally proceed far before their progress is indicated by any
public measure. An intimate knowledge of the domestic history of nations
is therefore absolutely necessary to the prognosis of political events.
A narrative, defective in this respect, is as useless as a medical
treatise which should pass by all the symptoms attendant on the early
stage of a disease and mention only what occurs when the patient is
beyond the reach of remedies.

A historian, such as we have been attempting to describe, would indeed
be an intellectual prodigy. In his mind, powers scarcely compatible with
each other must be tempered into an exquisite harmony. We shall sooner
see another Shakspeare or another Homer. The highest excellence to which
any single faculty can be brought would be less surprising than such a
happy and delicate combination of qualities. Yet the contemplation of
imaginary models is not an unpleasant or useless employment of the mind.
It cannot indeed produce perfection; but it produces improvement
and nourishes that generous and liberal fastidiousness which is not
inconsistent with the strongest sensibility to merit, and which, while
it exalts our conceptions of the art, does not render us unjust to the
artist.

*****




MILL ON GOVERNMENT. (March 1829. )

"Essays on Government, Jurisprudence, the Liberty of the
Press, Prisons, and Prison Discipline, Colonies, the Law of
Nations, and Education. " By James Mill, Esq. , author of the
History of British India. Reprinted by permission from the
Supplement to the Encyclopaedia Britannica. (Not for sale. )
London, 1828.

Of those philosophers who call themselves Utilitarians, and whom others
generally call Benthamites, Mr Mill is, with the exception of the
illustrious founder of the sect, by far the most distinguished. The
little work now before us contains a summary of the opinions held by
this gentleman and his brethren on several subjects most important to
society. All the seven essays of which it consists abound in curious
matter. But at present we intend to confine our remarks to the Treatise
on Government, which stands first in the volume. On some future
occasion, we may perhaps attempt to do justice to the rest.

It must be owned that to do justice to any composition of Mr Mill is
not, in the opinion of his admirers, a very easy task. They do not,
indeed, place him in the same rank with Mr Bentham; but the terms in
which they extol the disciple, though feeble when compared with the
hyperboles of adoration employed by them in speaking of the master, are
as strong as any sober man would allow himself to use concerning Locke
or Bacon. The essay before us is perhaps the most remarkable of the
works to which Mr Mill owes his fame. By the members of his sect, it is
considered as perfect and unanswerable. Every part of it is an article
of their faith; and the damnatory clauses, in which their creed abounds
far beyond any theological symbol with which we are acquainted, are
strong and full against all who reject any portion of what is so
irrefragably established. No man, they maintain, who has understanding
sufficient to carry him through the first proposition of Euclid, can
read this masterpiece of demonstration and honestly declare that he
remains unconvinced.

We have formed a very different opinion of this work. We think that the
theory of Mr Mill rests altogether on false principles, and that even on
those false principles he does not reason logically. Nevertheless, we
do not think it strange that his speculations should have filled the
Utilitarians with admiration. We have been for some time past inclined
to suspect that these people, whom some regard as the lights of the
world and others as incarnate demons, are in general ordinary men, with
narrow understandings and little information. The contempt which they
express for elegant literature is evidently the contempt of ignorance.
We apprehend that many of them are persons who, having read little
or nothing, are delighted to be rescued from the sense of their own
inferiority by some teacher who assures them that the studies which
they have neglected are of no value, puts five or six phrases into their
mouths, lends them an old number of the Westminster Review, and in a
month transforms them into philosophers. Mingled with these smatterers,
whose attainments just suffice to elevate them from the insignificance
of dunces to the dignity of bores, and to spread dismay among their
pious aunts and grandmothers, there are, we well know, many well-meaning
men who have really read and thought much; but whose reading and
meditation have been almost exclusively confined to one class of
subjects; and who, consequently, though they possess much valuable
knowledge respecting those subjects, are by no means so well qualified
to judge of a great system as if they had taken a more enlarged view of
literature and society.

Nothing is more amusing or instructive than to observe the manner in
which people who think themselves wiser than all the rest of the world
fall into snares which the simple good sense of their neighbours detects
and avoids. It is one of the principle tenets of the Utilitarians that
sentiment and eloquence serve only to impede the pursuit of truth. They
therefore affect a quakerly plainness, or rather a cynical negligence
and impurity, of style. The strongest arguments, when clothed in
brilliant language, seem to them so much wordy nonsense. In the meantime
they surrender their understandings, with a facility found in no other
party, to the meanest and most abject sophisms, provided those sophisms
come before them disguised with the externals of demonstration. They do
not seem to know that logic has its illusions as well as rhetoric,--that
a fallacy may lurk in a syllogism as well as in a metaphor.

Mr Mill is exactly the writer to please people of this description.
His arguments are stated with the utmost affectation of precision; his
divisions are awfully formal; and his style is generally as dry as that
of Euclid's Elements. Whether this be a merit, we must be permitted to
doubt. Thus much is certain: that the ages in which the true principles
of philosophy were least understood were those in which the ceremonial
of logic was most strictly observed, and that the time from which we
date the rapid progress of the experimental sciences was also the time
at which a less exact and formal way of writing came into use.

The style which the Utilitarians admire suits only those subjects on
which it is possible to reason a priori. It grew up with the verbal
sophistry which flourished during the dark ages. With that sophistry it
fell before the Baconian philosopher in the day of the great deliverance
of the human mind. The inductive method not only endured but required
greater freedom of diction. It was impossible to reason from phenomena
up to principles, to mark slight shades of difference in quality, or to
estimate the comparative effect of two opposite considerations between
which there was no common measure, by means of the naked and meagre
jargon of the schoolmen. Of those schoolmen Mr Mill has inherited
both the spirit and the style. He is an Aristotelian of the fifteenth
century, born out of due season. We have here an elaborate treatise on
Government, from which, but for two or three passing allusions, it
would not appear that the author was aware that any governments actually
existed among men. Certain propensities of human nature are assumed;
and from these premises the whole science of politics is synthetically
deduced! We can scarcely persuade ourselves that we are not reading a
book written before the time of Bacon and Galileo,--a book written in
those days in which physicians reasoned from the nature of heat to the
treatment of fever, and astronomers proved syllogistically that the
planets could have no independent motion,--because the heavens were
incorruptible, and nature abhorred a vacuum!

The reason, too, which Mr Mill has assigned for taking this course
strikes us as most extraordinary.

"Experience," says he, "if we look only at the outside of the facts,
appears to be DIVIDED on this subject. Absolute monarchy, under Neros
and Caligulas, under such men as the Emperors of Morocco and Sultans of
Turkey, is the scourge of human nature. On the other side, the people of
Denmark, tired out with the oppression of an aristocracy, resolved that
their king should be absolute; and, under their absolute monarch, are as
well governed as any people in Europe. "

This Mr Mill actually gives as a reason for pursuing the a priori
method. But, in our judgment, the very circumstances which he mentions
irresistibly prove that the a priori method is altogether unfit for
investigations of this kind, and that the only way to arrive at the
truth is by induction. EXPERIENCE can never be divided, or even appear
to be divided, except with reference to some hypothesis. When we say
that one fact is inconsistent with another fact, we mean only that it is
inconsistent with THE THEORY which we have founded on that other fact.
But, if the fact be certain, the unavoidable conclusion is that our
theory is false; and, in order to correct it, we must reason back from
an enlarged collection of facts to principles.

Now here we have two governments which, by Mr Mill's own account, come
under the same head in his THEORETICAL classification. It is evident,
therefore, that, by reasoning on that theoretical classification, we
shall be brought to the conclusion that these two forms of government
must produce the same effects. But Mr Mill himself tells us that they do
not produce the same effects. Hence he infers that the only way to get
at truth is to place implicit confidence in that chain of proof a
priori from which it appears that they must produce the same effects!
To believe at once in a theory and in a fact which contradicts it is an
exercise of faith sufficiently hard: but to believe in a theory BECAUSE
a fact contradicts it is what neither philosopher nor pope ever before
required. This, however, is what Mr Mill demands of us. He seems to
think that, if all despots, without exception, governed ill, it would
be unnecessary to prove, by a synthetical argument, what would then
be sufficiently clear from experience. But, as some despots will be
so perverse as to govern well, he finds himself compelled to prove the
impossibility of their governing well by that synthetical argument
which would have been superfluous had not the facts contradicted it.
He reasons a priori, because the phenomena are not what, by reasoning a
priori, he will prove them to be. In other words, he reasons a priori,
because, by so reasoning, he is certain to arrive at a false conclusion!

In the course of the examination to which we propose to subject the
speculations of Mr Mill we shall have to notice many other curious
instances of that turn of mind which the passage above quoted indicates.

The first chapter of his Essay relates to the ends of government. The
conception on this subject, he tells us, which exists in the minds of
most men is vague and undistinguishing. He first assumes, justly enough,
that the end of government is "to increase to the utmost the pleasures,
and diminish to the utmost the pains, which men derive from each other. "
He then proceeds to show, with great form, that "the greatest possible
happiness of society is attained by insuring to every man the greatest
possible quantity of the produce of his labour. " To effect this is, in
his opinion, the end of government. It is remarkable that Mr Mill, with
all his affected display of precision, has here given a description of
the ends of government far less precise than that which is in the mouths
of the vulgar. 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?