THE ENGLISH UTILITARIANS

by

LESLIE STEPHEN

In Three Volumes

VOL. II

JAMES MILL

LondonDuckworth And Co. 3 Henrietta Street, W. C. 1900

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

JAMES MILL

 PAGE

 I. Early Life, 1

 II. Bentham's Lieutenant, 7

III. Leader of the Utilitarians, 25

CHAPTER II

REFORM MOVEMENTS

 I. Political Change, 41

 II. Law Reform, 47

III. Economic Reform, 51

 IV. Church Reform, 57

 V. Sinister Interests, 62

CHAPTER III

POLITICAL THEORY

 I. Mill on Government, 74

 II. Whiggism, 98

III. Conservatism, 109

 IV. Socialism, 119

CHAPTER IV

MALTHUS

 I. Malthus's Starting-point, 137

 II. The Ratios, 147

III. Moral Restraint, 156

 IV. Social Remedies, 165

 V. Political Application, 174

 VI. Rent, 181

CHAPTER V

RICARDO

 I. Ricardo's Starting-point, 186

 II. The Distribution Problem, 195

III. Value and Labour, 204

 IV. The Classical Political Economy, 216

 V. The Ricardians, 226

CHAPTER VI

ECONOMIC HERETICS

 I. The Malthusian Controversy, 238

 II. Socialism, 259

CHAPTER VII

PSYCHOLOGY

 I. Thomas Brown, 267

 II. James Mill's _Analysis_, 287

III. James Mill's Ethics, 312

CHAPTER VIII

RELIGION

 I. Philip Beauchamp, 338

 II. Contemporary Thought, 361

CHAPTER I

JAMES MILL

I. EARLY LIFE

Bentham's mantle fell upon James Mill. [1] Mill expounded in thetersest form the doctrines which in Bentham's hands spread intoendless ramifications and lost themselves in minute details. Millbecame the leader of Bentham's bodyguard; or, rather, the mediatorbetween the prophet in his 'hermitage' and the missionaries who wereactively engaged on the hustings and in committee-rooms. The specialcharacteristics of English Utilitarianism in the period of itsgreatest activity were thus more affected by Mill than by any otherleader of opinion. 

James Mill was one of the countless Scots who, having been trained athome in strict frugality and stern Puritanic principles, have foughttheir way to success in England. He was born 6th April 1773 in theparish of Logie Pert, Forfarshire. His father, also named James Mill, was a village shoemaker, employing two or three journeymen when atthe height of his prosperity. His mother, Isabel Fenton, daughter of afarmer, had been a servant in Edinburgh. Her family had some claims tosuperior gentility; she was fastidious, delicate in frame, and accusedof pride by her neighbours. She resolved to bring up James, her eldestson, to be a gentleman, which practically meant to be a minister. Heprobably showed early promise of intellectual superiority. He receivedthe usual training at the parish school, and was then sent to theMontrose Academy, where he was the school-fellow and friend of ayounger lad, Joseph Hume (1777-1855), afterwards his political ally. He boarded with a Montrose shopkeeper for 2s. 6d. A week, and remainedat the Academy till he was seventeen. He was never put to work in hisfather's shop, and devoted himself entirely to study. The usual agefor beginning to attend a Scottish university was thirteen orfourteen; and it would have been the normal course for a lad in Mill'sposition to be sent at that age to Aberdeen. Mill's education wasprolonged by a connection which was of great service to him. Sir JohnStuart (previously Belches), of Fettercairn House, in Mill'sneighbourhood, had married Lady Jane Leslie, and was by her father ofan only child, Wilhelmina. Lady Jane was given to charity, and had setup a fund to educate promising lads for the ministry. Mill wasprobably recommended to her by the parish minister, as likely to docredit to her patronage. He also acted as tutor to Wilhelmina, whoafterwards became the object of Scott's early passion. Mill spent muchtime at Fettercairn House, and appears to have won the warm regardsboth of the Stuarts and of their daughter, who spoke of himaffectionately 'with almost her last breath. '[2] The Stuarts passedtheir winters at Edinburgh, whither Mill accompanied them. He enteredthe university in 1790, and seems to have applied himself chiefly toGreek and to philosophy. He became so good a Greek scholar that longafterwards (1818) he had some thoughts of standing for the Greek chairat Glasgow. [3] He was always a keen student of Plato. He read theordinary Scottish authorities, and attended the lectures of DugaldStewart. Besides reading Rousseau, he studied Massillon, probably witha view to his future performances in the pulpit. Massillon might besuggested to him by quotations in Adam Smith's _Moral Sentiments_. There are few records of acquaintanceship with any of hisdistinguished contemporaries, except the chemist Thomas Thomson, whobecame a lifelong friend. He probably made acquaintance with Brougham, and may have known Jeffrey; but he was not a member of the SpeculativeSociety, joined by most young men of promise. 

In 1794 he began his course of divinity, and on 4th October 1798 waslicensed to preach. He lived in his father's house, where part of thefamily room was screened off to form a study for him. He deliveredsome sermons, apparently with little success. He failed to obtain acall from any parish; and there are vague reports of his acting astutor in some families, and of a rebuff received at the table of themarquis of Tweeddale, father of one of his pupils, which made himresolve to seek for independence by a different career. 

In 1802 Mill went to London in company with Sir John Stuart, who wasabout to take his seat in parliament. Stuart procured admission forhim to the gallery of the House of Commons, where he attended manydebates, and acquired an interest in politics. His ambition, however, depended upon his pen; and at first, it would seem, he was not moreparticular than other journalists as to the politics of the papers towhich he contributed. He had obtained a testimonial from Thomson, onthe strength of which he introduced himself to John Gifford, editor ofthe _Anti-Jacobin Review_. [4] This was a monthly magazine, which hadadopted the name and politics of the deceased _Anti-Jacobin_, editedby William Gifford. Mill obtained employment, and wrote articlesimplying an interest in the philosophy, and especially in thepolitical economy, of the time. It is noteworthy, considering hislater principles, that he should at this time have taken part in astrong Tory organ. He wrote a pamphlet in 1804 (the first publicationunder his name) to prove the impolicy of a bounty upon the exportationof grain; and in 1807 replied in _Commerce Defended_ to WilliamSpence's _Britain independent of Commerce_. Meanwhile he had foundemployment of a more regular kind. He had formed a connection with abookseller named Baldwin, for whom he undertook to help in rewriting abook called _Nature Delineated_. This scheme was changed for aperiodical called the _Literary Journal_, which started at thebeginning of 1803, and lived through four years with Mill as editor. At the same time apparently he edited the _St. James's Chronicle_, also belonging to Baldwin, which had no very definite politicalcolour. The _Journal_ professed to give a systematic survey ofliterary, scientific, and philosophical publications. For thescientific part Mill was helped by Thomson. His own contributions showthat, although clearly a rationalist, he was still opposed to openinfidelity. A translation of Villers' _History of the Reformation_implies similar tendencies. Other literary hack-work during this andthe next few years is vaguely indicated. Mill was making about £500 ayear or something more during his editorships, and thought himselfjustified in marrying. On 5th June 1805 he became the husband ofHarriett Burrow, daughter of a widow who kept a private lunatic asylumoriginally started by her husband. The Mills settled in a house inPentonville belonging to Mrs. Burrow, for which they paid £50 a year. 

The money question soon became pressing. The editorships vanished, andto make an income by periodical writing was no easy task. His sonobserves that nothing could be more opposed to his father's laterprinciples than marrying and producing a large family under thesecircumstances. Nine children were ultimately born, all of whomsurvived their father. The family in his old home were an additionalburthen. His mother died before his departure from Scotland. Hisfather was paralysed, and having incautiously given security for afriend, became bankrupt. His only brother, William, died soonafterwards, and his only sister, Mary, married one of her father'sjourneymen named Greig, and tried to carry on the business. Thefather died about 1808, and the Greigs had a hard struggle, though twoof the sons ultimately set up a business in Montrose. James Millappears to have helped to support his father, whose debts he undertookto pay, and to have afterwards helped the Greigs. They thought, itseems, that he ought to have done more, but were not unlikely toexaggerate the resources of a man who was making his way in England. Mill was resolute in doing his duty, but hardly likely to do itgraciously. At any rate, in the early years, it must have been asevere strain to do anything. 

In spite of all difficulties Mill, by strict frugality and unremittingenergy, managed to keep out of debt. In the end of 1806 he undertookthe history of British India. This was to be the great work whichshould give him a name, and enable him to rise above the herd ofcontemporary journalists. He calculated the time necessary for itscompletion at three years, but the years were to be more than trebledbefore the book was actually finished. At that period there were fewerfacilities than there could now be for making the necessaryresearches: and we do not know what were the reasons which promptedthe selection of a subject of which he could have no first-handknowledge. The book necessarily impeded other labours; and to the toilof writing Mill added the toil of superintending the education of hischildren. His struggle for some years was such as to require anextraordinary strain upon all his faculties. Mill, however, possessedgreat physical and mental vigour. He was muscular, well-made, andhandsome; he had marked powers of conversation, and made a strongimpression upon all with whom he came in contact. He gradually formedconnections which effectually determined his future career. 

II. BENTHAM'S LIEUTENANT

The most important influence in Mill's life was the friendship withBentham. This appears to have begun in 1808. Mill speedily became avalued disciple. He used to walk from Pentonville to dine with Benthamin Queen's Square Place. Soon the elder man desired to have his newfriend nearer at hand. In 1810 Mill moved to the house in Bentham'sgarden, which had once belonged to Milton; when this provedunsuitable, he was obliged to move to a more distant abode at StokeNewington; but finally, in 1814, he settled in another house belongingto Bentham, 1 Queen's Square, close under the old gentleman's wing. Here for some years they lived in the closest intimacy. The Mills alsostayed with Bentham in his country-houses at Barrow Green, andafterwards at Ford Abbey. The association was not without itstroubles. Bentham was fanciful, and Mill stern and rigid. No one, however, could be a more devoted disciple. The most curiousillustration of their relations is a letter written to Bentham byMill, 19th September 1814, while they were both at Ford Abbey. Mill inthis declares himself to be a 'most faithful and fervent disciple' ofthe truths which Bentham had the 'immortal honour' of propounding. Hehad fancied himself to be his master's favourite disciple. No one isso completely of Bentham's way of thinking, or so qualified byposition for carrying on the propaganda. Now, however, Bentham showedthat he had taken umbrage at some part of Mill's behaviour. An openquarrel would bring discredit upon both sides, and upon their commonbeliefs. The great dangers to friendship are pecuniary obligation andtoo close intimacy. Mill has made it a great purpose of his life toavoid pecuniary obligation, though he took pride in receivingobligations from Bentham. He has confined himself to acceptingBentham's house at a low rent, and allowing his family to live forpart of the year at Bentham's expense. He now proposes so to arrangehis future life that they shall avoid an excessively close intimacy, from which, he thinks, had arisen the 'umbrage. ' The letter, which ismanly and straightforward, led to a reconciliation, and for some yearsthe intercourse was as close as ever. [5]

Mill's unreserved adoption of Bentham's principles, and his resolutionto devote his life to their propagation, implies a development ofopinion. He had entirely dropped his theology. In the early years ofhis London life, Mill had been only a rationalist. He had by this timebecome what would now be called an agnostic. He thought 'dogmaticatheism' absurd, says J. S. Mill;[6] 'but he held that we can knownothing whatever as to the origin of the world. ' The occasion of thechange, according to his family, was his intercourse with GeneralMiranda, who was sitting at Bentham's feet about this time. J. S. Millstates that the turning-point in his father's mind was the study ofButler's _Analogy_. That book, he thought, as others have thought, wasconclusive against the optimistic deism which it assails; but hethought also that the argument really destroyed Butler's ownstanding-ground. The evils of the world are incompatible with thetheory of Almighty benevolence. The purely logical objection wascombined with an intense moral sentiment. Theological doctrines, hethought, were not only false, but brutal. His son had heard him say 'ahundred times' that men have attributed to their gods every trait ofwickedness till the conception culminated in the Christian doctrine ofhell. Mill still attended church services for some time after hismarriage, and the children were christened. But the eldest son did notremember the period of even partial conformity, and considered himselfto have been brought up from the first without any religious belief. James Mill had already taken up the uncompromising position congenialto his character, although the reticence which the whole partyobserved prevented any open expression of his sentiments. 

Mill's propaganda of Benthamism was for some time obscure. He helpedto put together some of Bentham's writings, especially the book uponevidence. He was consulted in regard to all proposed publications, such as the pamphlet upon jury-packing, which Mill desired to publishin spite of Romilly's warning. Mill endeavoured also to disseminatethe true faith through various periodicals. He obtained admission tothe _Edinburgh Review_, probably through its chief contributor, Brougham. Neither Brougham nor Jeffrey was likely to commit the greatWhig review to the support of a creed still militant and regarded withdistrust by the respectable. Mill contributed various articles from1808 to 1813, but chiefly upon topics outside of the political sphere. The _Edinburgh Review_, as I have said, had taken a condescendingnotice of Bentham in 1804. Mill tried to introduce a better tone intoan article upon Bexon's _Code de la Législation pénale_, which he waspermitted to publish in the number for October 1809. Knowing Jeffrey's'dislike of praise, ' he tried to be on his guard, and to insinuate hismaster's doctrine without openly expressing his enthusiasm. Jeffrey, however, sadly mangled the review, struck out every mention but one ofBentham, and there substituted words of his own for Mill's. Even as itwas, Brougham pronounced the praise of Bentham to be excessive. [7]Mill continued to write for a time, partly, no doubt, with a view toJeffrey's cheques. Almost his last article (in January 1813) wasdevoted to the Lancasterian controversy, in which Mill, as we shalldirectly see, was in alliance with the Whigs. But the EdinburghReviewers were too distinctly of the Whig persuasion to be congenialcompany for a determined Radical. They would give him no more than asecondary position, and would then take good care to avoid theinsertion of any suspicious doctrine. Mill wrote no more after thesummer of 1813. 

Meanwhile he was finding more sympathetic allies. First among them wasWilliam Allen (1770-1843), chemist, of Plough Court. Allen was aQuaker; a man of considerable scientific tastes; successful inbusiness, and ardently devoted throughout his life to manyphilanthropic schemes. He took, in particular, an active part in theagitation against slavery. He was, as we have seen, one of thepartners who bought Owen's establishment at New Lanark; and hisreligious scruples were afterwards the cause of Owen's retirement. These, however, were only a part of his multifarious schemes. He wasperhaps something of a busybody; his head may have been a littleturned by the attentions which he received on all hands; he managedthe affairs of the duke of Kent; was visited by the Emperor Alexanderin 1814; and interviewed royal personages on the Continent, in orderto obtain their support in attacking the slave-trade, and introducinggood schools and prisons. But, though he may have shared some of theweaknesses of popular philanthropists, he is mentioned with respecteven by observers such as Owen and Place, who had many prejudicesagainst his principles. He undoubtedly deserves a place among theactive and useful social reformers of his time. 

I have already noticed the importance of the Quaker share in thevarious philanthropic movements of the time. The Quaker shared many ofthe views upon practical questions which were favoured by thefreethinker. Both were hostile to slavery, in favour of spreadingeducation, opposed to all religious tests and restrictions, andadvocates of reform in prisons, and in the harsh criminal law. Thefundamental differences of theological belief were not so productiveof discord in dealing with the Quakers as with other sects; for it wasthe very essence of the old Quaker spirit to look rather to the spiritthan to the letter. Allen, therefore, was only acting in the spirit ofhis society when he could be on equally good terms with the EmperorAlexander or the duke of Kent, and, on the other hand, with JamesMill, the denouncer of kings and autocrats. He could join hands withMill in assailing slavery, insisting upon prison reform, preachingtoleration and advancing civilisation, although he heartilydisapproved of the doctrines with which Mill's practical principleswere associated. Mill, too, practised--even to a questionabledegree--the method of reticence, and took good care not to offend hiscoadjutor. 

Their co-operation was manifested in a quarterly journal called the_Philanthropist_, which appeared during the seven years, 1811-1817, and was published at Allen's expense. Mill found in it the opportunityof advocating many of his cherished opinions. He defended tolerationin the name of Penn, whose life had been published by Clarkson. Heattacked the slave-owners, and so came into alliance with Wilberforce, Zachary Macaulay, and others of the evangelical persuasion. He found, at the same time, opportunities for propagating the creed of Benthamin connection with questions of prison reform and the penal code. Hismost important article, published in 1812, was another contribution tothe Lancasterian controversy. In this Mill had allies of a verydifferent school; and his activity brings him into close connectionwith one of the most remarkable men of the time. [8]

This was Francis Place, the famous Radical tailor. Place, born 3rdNovember 1771, had raised himself from the position of a working-manto be occupant of a shop at Charing Cross, which became the centre ofimportant political movements. Between Place and Mill there was muchaffinity of character. Place, like Mill, was a man of rigid andvigorous intellect. Dogmatic, self-confident, and decidedlycensorious, not attractive by any sweetness or grace of character, butthoroughly sincere and independent, he extorts rather than commandsour respect by his hearty devotion to what he at least believed to bethe cause of truth and progress. Place was what is now called athorough 'individualist. ' He believed in self-reliance and energy, andheld that the class to which he belonged was to be raised, as he hadraised himself, by the exercise of those qualities, not by invokingthe direct interference of the central power, which, indeed, as heknew it, was only likely to interfere on the wrong side. He had themisfortune to be born in London instead of Scotland, and had thereforenot Mill's educational advantages. He tried energetically, and notunsuccessfully, to improve his mind, but he never quite surmounted theweakness of the self-educated man, and had no special literary talent. His writing, in fact, is dull and long-winded, though he has the meritof judging for himself, and of saying what he thinks. 

Place had been a member of the Corresponding Society, and was at onetime chairman of the weekly committee. He had, however, disapproved oftheir proceedings, and retired in time to escape the imprisonmentwhich finally crushed the committee. He was now occupied in buildingup his own fortunes at Charing Cross. When, during the second war, thenative English Radicalism began again to raise its head, Place took ahighly important share in the political agitation. Westminster, theconstituency in which he had a vote, had long been one of the mostimportant boroughs. It was one of the few large popularconstituencies, and was affected by the influences naturally strongestin the metropolis. After being long under the influence of the courtand the dean and chapter, it had been carried by Fox during thediscontents of 1780, when the reform movement took a start and thecounty associations were symptoms of a growing agitation. The greatWhig leader, though not sound upon the question of reform, representedthe constituency till his death, and reform dropped out of notice forthe time. Upon Fox's death (13th September 1806) Lord Percy waselected without opposition as his successor by an arrangement amongthe ruling families. Place was disgusted at the distribution of 'breadand cheese and beer, ' and resolved to find a truly popular candidate. In the general election which soon followed at the end of 1806 hesupported Paull, an impecunious adventurer, who made a good fight, butwas beaten by Sir J. Hood and Sheridan. Place now proposed a morethorough organisation of the constituency, and formed a committeeintended to carry an independent candidate. Sir Francis Burdett, atypical country gentleman of no great brains and of much aristocraticpride, but a man of honour, and of as much liberal feeling as wascompatible with wealth and station, had sat at the feet of the oldRadical, Home Tooke. He had sympathised with the French revolution;but was mainly, like his mentor, Tooke, a reformer of the Englishtype, and a believer in Magna Charta and the Bill of Rights. He hadsat in parliament, and in 1802 had been elected for Middlesex. After aprolonged litigation, costing enormous sums, the election had beenfinally annulled in 1806. He had subscribed £1000 towards Paull'sexpenses; but was so disgusted with his own election experiences thathe refused to come forward as a candidate. Place's committee resolvedtherefore to elect him and Paull free of expense. Disputes betweenPaull and Burdett led to a duel, in which both were wounded. Thecommittee threw over Paull, and at the election on the dissolution ofparliament in the spring of 1807, Burdett and Cochrane--afterwardsLord Dundonald--were triumphantly elected, defeating the Whigcandidates, Sheridan and Elliot. The election was the first triumph ofthe reformers, and was due to Place more than any one. Burdettretained his seat for Westminster until 1837, and, in spite of manyquarrels with his party, was a leading representative of the movement, which henceforward slowly gathered strength. Place, indeed, hadapparently but scanty respect for the candidate whose success he hadsecured. Burdett and his like aimed at popularity, while he wascontent to be ignored so long as he could by any means carry themeasures which he approved. Place, therefore, acted as a mostefficient wire-puller, but had no ambition to leave his shop to makespeeches on the hustings. 

The scandals about the duke of York and the Walcheren expedition gavea chance to the Radicals and to their leader in the House of Commons. Events in 1810 led to a popular explosion, of which Burdett was thehero. John Gale Jones, an old member of the Corresponding Societies, had put out a placard denouncing the House of Commons for closing itsdoors during a debate upon the Walcheren expedition. The Houseproceeded against Jones, who was more or less advised by Place in hisproceedings. Burdett took the part of Jones, by a paper published inCobbett's _Register_, and was ultimately committed to the Tower inconsequence. The whole of London was for a time in a state ofexcitement, and upon the verge of an outbreak. Burdett refused tosubmit to the arrest. Mobs collected; soldiers filled the streets andwere pelted. Burdett, when at last he was forced to admit theofficers, appeared in his drawing-room in the act of expounding MagnaCharta to his son. That, it was to be supposed, was his usualoccupation of an afternoon. Meetings were held, and resolutionspassed, in support of the martyr to liberty; and when his imprisonmentterminated on the prorogation of parliament, vast crowds collected, and a procession was arranged to convoy him to his home. Place hadbeen active in arranging all the details of what was to be a greatpopular manifestation. To his infinite disgust, Burdett shrank fromthe performance, and went home by water. The crowd was left to expendits remaining enthusiasm upon the hackney carriage which contained hisfellow-sufferer Jones. Jones, in the following December, was sentencedto twelve months' imprisonment for a libel. Cobbett, Burdett's specialsupporter at this time, was also imprisoned in June 1810. For a timethe popular agitation collapsed. Place seems to have thought that thefailure was due to Burdett's want of courage, and dropped allcommunication with him till a later contest at Westminster. 

Place was thus at the centre of the political agitation which, for thetime, represented the most energetic reforming movement. It was in1811 or 1812 that he became acquainted with Mill. [9] In Mill herecognised a congenial spirit, and a man able to defend and developprinciples. He perhaps, as Professor Bain thinks, made advances toMill upon the strength of the history of India; and in 1814 he wascertainly endeavouring to raise money to put Mill above the need ofprecarious hack-work. [10] The anticipated difficulty of persuadingMill so far to sacrifice his independence was apparently fatal to thescheme. Place was in occasional communication with Bentham, andvisited him at Ford Abbey in 1817. He became intimate with the greatman; helped him in business affairs; and was one of the disciplesemployed to prepare his books for publication. [11] Bentham was thesource of philosophy, and Mill only his prophet. But Mill, who wascapable of activity in practical affairs, was more useful to a man ofthe world. The first business which brought them into close connectionwas the Lancasterian controversy. The strong interest roused by thisagitation was significant of many difficulties to come. The averagemind had been gradually coming to the conclusion that the poor shouldbe taught to read and write. Sunday schools and Hannah More's schoolsin Somersetshire had drawn the attention of the religious world to thesubject. During the early years of the century the education questionhad steadily become more prominent, and the growing interest was shownby a singularly bitter and complicated controversy. The oppositeparties fought under the banners of Bell and Lancaster. Andrew Bell, born at St. Andrews, 27th March 1753, was both a canny Scot and anAnglican clergyman. He combined philanthropy with business faculties. He sailed to India in 1787 with £128, 10s. In his pocket to be an armychaplain; he returned in 1796 with £25, 000 and a new system ofeducation which he had devised as superintendent of an orphan asylum. He settled in England, published an account of his plan, and didsomething to bring it into operation. Meanwhile Joseph Lancaster(1770-1838), a young Quaker, had set up a school in London; he deviseda plan similar to that of Bell, and in 1803 published an account ofhis improvements in education with acknowledgments to Bell. For a timethe two were on friendly terms. Lancaster set about propagating hisnew system with more enthusiasm than discretion. His fame rapidlyspread till it reached the throne. In 1805 George III. Sent for him;the royal family subscribed to his schools; and the king declared hiswish that every child in his dominions should be taught to read theBible. The king's gracious wish unconsciously indicated a difficulty. Was it safe to teach the Bible without the safeguard of authorisedinterpretation? Orthodox opponents feared the alliance with a manwhose first principle was toleration, and first among them was theexcellent Mrs. Trimmer, who had been already engaged in theSunday-school movement. She pointed out in a pamphlet that theschismatic Lancaster was weakening the Established Church. The_Edinburgh Review_ came to his support in 1806 and 1807; for the Whig, especially if he was also a Scot, was prejudiced against the Church ofEngland. Lancaster went on his way, but soon got into difficulties, for he was impetuous, careless of money, and autocratic. WilliamAllen, with another Quaker, came to his support in 1808, and foundedthe Royal Lancasterian Society to maintain his school in the BoroughRoad, and propagate its like elsewhere. Lancaster travelled throughthe country, and the agitation prospered, and spread even to America. The church, however, was now fairly aroused. Bishop Marsh preached asermon in St. Paul's, and followed it up by pamphlets; the cause wastaken up by the _Quarterly Review_ in 1811, and in the same year theNational Society was founded to 'educate the poor in the principles ofthe Established Church. ' Bell had suggested a national system, but thetimes were not ripe. Meanwhile the controversy became furious. The_Edinburgh_ and the _Quarterly_ thundered on opposite sides. Immenseimportance was attached by both parties to the scheme devised by Bell, and partly adopted by Lancaster. The war involved a personal elementand the charges of plagiarism which give spice to a popularcontroversy. All parties, and certainly the Utilitarians, strangelyexaggerated the value of the new method. They regarded the proposalthat children should be partly taught by other children instead ofbeing wholly taught by adults as a kind of scientific discovery whichwould enormously simplify and cheapen education. Believers in the'Panopticon' saw in it another patent method of raising the generallevel of intelligence. But the real question was between church anddissent. Was the church catechism to be imposed or not? This, as wehave seen, was the occasion of Bentham's assault upon church andcatechism. On the other side, Bell's claims were supported withenthusiasm by all the Tories, and by such men as Southey andColeridge. Southey, who had defended Bell in the _Quarterly_, [12]undertook to be Bell's biographer[13] and literary executor. Coleridgewas so vehement in the cause that when lecturing upon 'Romeo andJuliet' in 1811, he plunged by way of exordium into an assault uponLancaster's modes of punishment. [14] De Quincey testifies that hebecame a positive bore upon Bell's virtues. In 1812 Lancaster had gotdeeply into debt to the trustees of the Society, who included besidesAllen, Joseph Fox--a 'shallow, gloomy bigot' according to Place--andsome other Quakers. Lancaster resented their control, and in 1812 madeover his Borough Road school to them, and set up one of his own atTooting. They continued, however, to employ him, and in 1813 formedthemselves into the 'British and Foreign' School Society. Place hadknown Lancaster from 1804, and Mill had supported him in the press. They both became members of the committee, though Place took the mostactive part. He makes many grave charges against Lancaster, whom heregarded as hopelessly flighty and impracticable, if not worse. Ultimately in 1814 Lancaster resigned his position, and naturallyretorted that Place was an infidel. Place, meanwhile, was ill at easewith the 'gloomy bigot, ' as he calls Fox. After many quarrels, Foxsucceeded in getting the upper hand, and Place finally withdrew fromthe committee in 1815. 

Two other schemes arose out of this, in which Mill was speciallyinterested, but which both proved abortive. Mill and Place resolved in1813 to start a 'West London Lancasterian Institution, ' which was toeducate the whole population west of Temple Bar. They were joined byEdward Wakefield, father of the Edward Gibbon Wakefield who in lateryears was known as an economist, and himself author of a work ofconsiderable reputation, _An Account of Ireland, Statistical andPolitical_ (1812). The three joined Joseph Fox, and ultimately ameeting was held in August 1813. Sir James Mackintosh was in thechair. Mill wrote the address, and motions were proposed by his friendJoseph Hume and by William Allen. Papers were circulated, headed'Schools for all, '[15] and the institution was launched with asufficiency of applause. But the 'gloomy bigot' was secretary. Hedeclared that he would rather see the institution destroyed thanpermit it to be used for infidel purposes. The Bible was, of course, to be read in the schools, but Fox wished that the Bible alone shouldbe read. As the committee, according to Place, included four infidels, three Unitarians, six Methodists, two Baptists, two Roman Catholics, and several members of the Established Church, it was hardly a happyfamily. To add to the confusion, Sir Francis Burdett, who hadcontributed a thousand pounds, had taken it into his head that Placewas a government spy. [16] The Association, as is hardly surprising, ceased to exist in 1816, after keeping up a school of less than threehundred children, and ended in hopeless failure. The Utilitarians hadhigher hopes from a scheme of their own. This was the Chrestomathicschool which occasioned Bentham's writing. An association was formedin February 1814. Mackintosh, Brougham, Mill, Allen, Fox, andWakefield were to be trustees. The school was to apply Lancasterianprinciples to the education of the middle classes, and Bentham was tosupply them with a philosophy and with a site in his garden. There theold gentleman was to see a small version of the Panopticon building, and, for a time, he took great delight in the prospect. Gradually, however, it seems to have dawned upon him that there might beinconveniences in being overlooked by a set of even model schoolboys. There were difficulties as to funds. Ricardo offered £200 andcollected subscriptions for £900, but Place thought that he might havebeen more liberal. About 1817 they counted upon subscriptions for£2310. Allen was treasurer, Place secretary, and the dukes of Kent andYork were on the committee. Romilly was persuaded to join, and theyhad hopes of the £1000 given by Burdett to the West LondonInstitution. But the thing could never be got into working order, inspite of Place's efforts and Mill's counsels; and, after painfulhaulings and tuggings, it finally collapsed in 1820. [17]

The efforts of the Utilitarians to effect anything directly in the wayof education thus fell completely flat. One moral is sufficientlyobvious. They were, after all, but a small clique, regarded withsuspicion by all outsiders; and such a system as could seriouslyaffect education could only be carried out either by government, which was thinking of very different things, or by societies alreadyconnected with the great religious bodies. The only function whichcould be adequately discharged by the little band of Utilitarians wasto act upon public opinion; and this, no doubt, they could do to somepurpose. I have gone so far into these matters in order to illustratetheir position; but, as will be seen, Mill, though consulted at everystage by Place, and doing what he could to advocate the cause, was, after all, in the background. He was still wrestling with the IndianHistory, which was, as he hoped, to win for him an independentposition. The effort was enormous. In 1814 he told Place that he wasworking at the History from 5 A. M. Till 11 P. M. When at Ford Abbey hisregular day's work began at 6 A. M. And lasted till 11 P. M. , duringwhich time three hours were given to teaching his children, and acouple of short walks supplied him with recreation. How, with all hisenergy, he managed to pay his way is a mystery, which his biographeris unable fully to solve. [18]

The History at last appeared in 3 vols. 4to, at the end of 1817. Dryand stern as its author, and embodying some of his politicalprejudices, it was at least a solid piece of work, which succeeded atonce, and soon became the standard book upon the subject. Mill arguesin the preface with characteristic courage that his want of personalknowledge of India was rather an advantage. It made him impartial. Alater editor[19] has shown that it led to some serious misconceptions. It is characteristic of the Utilitarian attitude to assume that asufficient knowledge of fact can always be obtained from blue-booksand statistics. Some facts require imagination and sympathy to beappreciated, and there Mill was deficient. He could not give anadequate picture of Hindoo beliefs and customs, though he fullyappreciated the importance of such questions. Whatever itsshortcomings, the book produced a remarkable change in Mill'sposition. He applied for a vacant office in the India House. Hisfriends, Joseph Hume and Ricardo, made interest for him in the city. Place co-operated energetically. [20] Canning, then president of theBoard of Control, is said to have supported him; and the generalimpression of his ability appears to have caused his election, inspite of some Tory opposition. He became Assistant to the Examiner ofIndia Correspondence, with a salary of £800 on 12th May 1819. On 10thApril 1821 he became Second Assistant, with £1000 a year; on 9th April1823 he was made Assistant Examiner, with £1200 a year; and on 1stDecember 1830 Examiner, with £1900, which on 17th February 1836 wasraised to £2000. The official work came in later years to absorb thegreatest part of Mill's energy, and his position excluded him from anyactive participation in politics, had he ever been inclined for it. Mill, however, set free from bondage, was able to exert himself veryeffectually with his pen; and his writings became in a great degreethe text-books of his sect. 

During 1818 he had again co-operated with Place in a political matter. The dissolution of parliament in 1818 produced another contest atWestminster. Place and Mill were leaders in the Radical committee, which called a public meeting, where Burdett and Kinnaird were chosenas candidates. They were opposed to Romilly, the old friend of Benthamand of Mill himself. Both Mill and Bentham regarded him as notsufficiently orthodox. Romilly, however, was throughout at the head ofthe poll, and the Radical committee were obliged to withdraw theirsecond candidate, Kinnaird, in order to secure the election of Burdettagainst the government candidate Maxwell. Romilly soon afterwardsdined at Bentham's house, and met Mill, with Dumont, Brougham, andRush, on friendly terms. On Romilly's sad death on 2nd Novemberfollowing, Mill went to Worthing to offer his sympathy to the family, and declared that the 'gloom' had 'affected his health. ' He took nopart in the consequent election, in which Hobhouse stoodunsuccessfully as the Radical candidate. 

III. LEADER OF THE UTILITARIANS

Politics were beginning to enter upon a new phase. The period wasmarked by the 'Six Acts' and the 'Peterloo massacre. ' The Radicalleaders who upheld the cause in those dark days were not altogether tothe taste of the Utilitarians. After Burdett, John Cartwright(1740-1824) and Henry (or 'Orator') Hunt (1773-1835), hero of the'Peterloo massacre, ' were the most conspicuous. They were supported byCobbett, the greatest journalist of the time, and various more obscurewriters. The Utilitarians held them in considerable contempt. Burdettwas flashy, melodramatic, and vain; Hunt an 'unprincipled demagogue';and Cartwright, the Nestor of reform, who had begun his labours in1780, was, according to Place, wearisome, impracticable, and a merenuisance in matters of business. The Utilitarians tried to use suchmen, but shared the Tory opinion of their value. They had somerelations with other obscure writers who were martyrs to the libertyof the press. Place helped William Hone in the _Reformer's Register_, which was brought out in 1817. The famous trial in which Honetriumphed over Ellenborough occurred at the end of that year. RichardCarlile (1790-1843), who reprinted Hone's pamphlets, and in 1818published Paine's works, was sentenced in 1819 to three years'imprisonment; and while in confinement began the _Republican_, whichappeared from 1819 to 1826. Ultimately he passed nine years in jail, and showed unflinching courage in maintaining the liberty of speech. The Utilitarians, as Professor Bain believes, helped him during hisimprisonments, and John Mill's first publication was a protest againsthis prosecution. [21] A 'republican, an atheist, and Malthusian, ' hewas specially hated by the respectable, and had in all thesecapacities claims upon the sympathy of the Utilitarians. One ofCarlile's first employments was to circulate the _Black Dwarf_, editedby Thomas Jonathan Wooler from 1817 to 1824. [22] This paperrepresented Cartwright, but it also published Bentham's reform_Catechism_, besides direct contributions and various selections fromhis works. 

The Utilitarians were opposed on principle to Cobbett, a reformer of atype very different from their own; and still more vitally opposed toOwen, who was beginning to develop his Socialist schemes. If they hadsympathy for Radicalism of the Wooler or Carlile variety, theybelonged too distinctly to the ranks of respectability, and were toodeeply impressed with the necessity of reticence, to allow theirsympathies to appear openly. As, on the other hand, they were tooRadical in their genuine creed to be accepted by Edinburgh Reviewersand frequenters of Holland House, there was a wide gap between themand the genuine Whig. Their task therefore was to give a politicaltheory which should be Radical in principle, and yet in such a form asshould appeal to the reason of the more cultivated readers without tooopenly shocking their prejudices. 

James Mill achieved this task by the publication of a series ofarticles in the Supplement to the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, whichappeared from 1816 to 1823, of which I shall presently speak atlength. It passed for the orthodox profession of faith among thelittle circle of friends who had now gathered round him. First amongthem was David Ricardo. He had become known to Mill in 1811. 'I, ' saidBentham, 'was the spiritual father of Mill, and Mill the spiritualfather of Ricardo. '[23] Mill was really the disciple of Ricardo ineconomics; but it was Mill who induced him to publish his chief work, and Mill's own treatise upon the subject published in 1820 issubstantially an exposition of Ricardo's doctrine. Mill, too, encouraged Ricardo to take a seat in parliament in 1818, and there forthe short remainder of his life, Ricardo defended the characteristicUtilitarian principles with the authority derived from his reputationas an economist. [24] The two were now especially intimate. DuringMill's first years in the India House, his only recreation was anannual visit to Ricardo at Gatcombe. Meetings at Ricardo's house inLondon led to the foundation of the 'Political Economy Club' in 1821. Mill drafted the rules of the club, emphasising the duty of members topropagate sound economic opinions through the press. The club tookroot and helped to make Mill known to politicians and men ofcommercial influence. One of the members was Malthus, who is said, andthe assertion is credible enough, to have been generally worsted byMill in the discussions at the club. Mill was an awkward antagonist, and Malthus certainly not conspicuous for closeness of logic. Thecircle of Mill's friends naturally extended as his position in theIndia House enabled him to live more at his ease and brought him intocontact with men of political position. His old school-fellow JosephHume had made a fortune in India, and returned to take a seat inparliament and become the persistent and tiresome advocate of many ofthe Utilitarian doctrines. A younger generation was growing up, enthusiastic in the cause of reform, and glad to sit at the feet ofmen who claimed at least to be philosophical leaders. John Black(1783-1855), another sturdy Scot, who came from Duns in Berwickshire, had, in 1817, succeeded Perry as editor of the _Morning Chronicle_. The _Chronicle_ was an opposition paper, and day by day Black walkedwith Mill from the India House, discussing the topics of the time anddischarging himself through the _Chronicle_. The _Chronicle_ declinedafter 1821, owing to a change in the proprietorship. [25] AlbanyFonblanque (1793-1872) took to journalism at an early age, succeededLeigh Hunt as leader-writer for the _Examiner_ in 1826, becameanother exponent of Utilitarian principles, and for some time inalliance with John Stuart Mill was among the most effectiverepresentatives of the new school in the press. John Ramsay M'Culloch(1789-1864) upheld the economic battle in the _Scotsman_ at Edinburghfrom 1817-1827, and edited it from 1818-1820. He afterwards devotedhimself to lecturing in London, and was for many years the most ardentapostle of the 'dismal science. ' He was a genial, whisky-loving Scot;the favourite object of everybody's mimicry; and was especiallyintimate with James Mill. Many other brilliant young men contributedtheir help in various ways. Henry Bickersteth (1783-1851), afterwardsLord Langdale and Master of the Rolls, had brought Bentham and Burdettinto political alliance; and his rising reputation at the bar led tohis being placed in 1824 upon a commission for reforming the procedureof the Court of Chancery, one of the most cherished objects of theUtilitarian creed. Besides these there were the group of young men, who were soon to be known as the 'philosophical Radicals. ' John StuartMill, upon whom the mantle of his father was to descend, wasconspicuous by his extraordinary precocity, and having been carefullyeducated in the orthodox faith, was employed in 1825 upon editingBentham's great work upon evidence. George Grote (1794-1871), thefuture historian, had been introduced to Mill by Ricardo; and was in1821 defending Mill's theory of government against Mackintosh, and in1822 published the _Analysis of Revealed Religion_, founded uponBentham's manuscripts and expressing most unequivocally theUtilitarian theory of religion. With them were associated the twoAustins, John (1790-1859) who, in 1821, lived close to Bentham andMill in Queen's Square, and who was regarded as the coming teacher ofthe Utilitarian system of jurisprudence; and Charles (1799-1874), whoupheld the true faith among the young gentlemen at Cambridge with avigour and ability which at least rivalled the powers of hiscontemporary, Macaulay. Meanwhile, Mill himself was disqualified byhis office from taking any direct part in political agitations. Placecontinued an active connection with the various Radical committees andassociations; but the younger disciples had comparatively littleconcern in such matters. They were more interested in discussing theapplications of Utilitarianism in various directions, or, so far asthey had parliamentary aspirations, were aspiring to found a separatebody of 'philosophical Radicals, ' which looked down upon Place and hisallies from the heights of superior enlightenment. 

Mill could now look forward to a successful propaganda of the creedwhich had passed so slowly through its period of incubation. The deathof Ricardo in 1823 affected him to a degree which astonished hisfriends, accustomed only to his stern exterior. A plentiful crop ofyoung proselytes, however, was arising to carry on the work; and theparty now became possessed of the indispensable organ. The_Westminster Review_ was launched at the beginning of 1824. Benthamprovided the funds; Mill's official position prevented him fromundertaking the editorship, which was accordingly given to Bentham'syoung disciple, Bowring, helped for a time by Henry Southern. The_Westminster_ was to represent the Radicals as the two older reviewsrepresented the Whigs and the Tories; and to show that the new partyhad its philosophers and its men of literary cultivation as well asits popular agitators and journalists. It therefore naturally putforth its claims by opening fire in the first numbers against the_Edinburgh_ and the _Quarterly Reviews_. The assault upon the_Edinburgh Review_, of which I shall speak presently, made animpression, and, as J. S. Mill tells us, brought success to the firstnumber of the new venture. The gauntlet was thrown down with plenty ofvigour, and reformers were expected to rally round so thoroughgoing achampion. In later numbers Mill afterwards (Jan. 9, 1826) fell uponSouthey's _Book of the Church_, and (April 1826) assailed churchestablishments in general. He defended toleration during the same yearin a review of Samuel Bailey's _Formation of Opinions_, and gave ageneral account of his political creed in an article (October) on the'State of the Nation. ' This was his last contribution to the_Westminster_; but in 1827 he contributed to the _ParliamentaryHistory and Review_, started by James Marshall of Leeds, an articleupon recent debates on reform, which ended for a time his politicalwritings. 

The Utilitarians had no great talent for cohesion. Their veryprinciples were indeed in favour of individual independence, and theywere perhaps more ready to diverge than to tolerate divergence. The_Westminster Review_ had made a good start, and drew attention to therising 'group'--J. S. Mill declares that it never formed a'school. '[26] From the very first the Mills distrusted Bowring anddisapproved of some articles; the elder Mill failed to carry hisdisciples with him, partly because they were already in favour ofgiving votes to women; and as the _Review_ soon showed itself unableto pay its way, some new arrangement became necessary. It was finallybought by Perronet Thompson, and ceased for a time to be the officialorgan of Benthamism. 

Another undertaking occupied much of Mill's attention in the followingyears. The educational schemes of the Utilitarians had so far provedabortive. In 1824, however, it had occurred to the poet, ThomasCampbell, then editing the _New Monthly Magazine_, that London oughtto possess a university comparable to that of Berlin, and more on alevel with modern thought than the old universities of Oxford andCambridge, which were still in the closest connection with the church. Campbell addressed a letter to Brougham, and the scheme was taken upenergetically on several sides. Place[27] wrote an article, which heoffered to Campbell for the _New Monthly_, who declined out of modestyto publish it in his own organ. It was then offered to Bowring for the_Westminster_, and ultimately suppressed by him, which may have beenone of the causes of his differences with the Mills. Brougham took aleading part in the agitation; Joseph Hume promised to raise £100, 000. George Birkbeck, founder of the Mechanics' Institution, and ZacharyMacaulay, who saw in it a place of education for dissenting ministers, joined the movement, and among the most active members of the new bodywere James Mill and Grote. A council was formed at the end of 1825, and after various difficulties a sum of £160, 000 was raised, and theuniversity started in Gower Street in 1828. Among the first body ofprofessors were John Austin and M'Culloch, both of them soundUtilitarians. The old difficulty, however, made itself felt. In orderto secure the unsectarian character of the university, religiousteaching was omitted. The college was accused of infidelity. King'sCollege was started in opposition; and violent antipathies werearoused. A special controversy raged within the council itself. Twophilosophical chairs were to be founded; and philosophy cannot be keptclear of religion. After long discussions, one chair was filled by theappointment of the Reverend John Hoppus, an independent minister. Grote, declaring that no man, pledged by his position to the supportof any tenets, should be appointed, resigned his place on thecouncil. [28] The university in 1836 became a college combined with itsrival King's College under the newly formed examining body called theUniversity of London. It has, I suppose, been of service to education, and may be regarded as the one practical achievement of theUtilitarians in that direction, so far as its foundation was due tothem. It must, however, be admitted that the actual body still fallsvery far short of the ideal present to the minds of its founders. 

From 1822 James Mill spent his vacations at Dorking, and afterwards atMickleham. He had devoted them to a task which was necessary to fill agap in the Utilitarian scheme. Hitherto the school had assumed, ratherthan attempted to establish, a philosophical basis of its teaching. Bentham's fragmentary writings about the Chrestomathic school suppliedall that could by courtesy be called a philosophy. Mill, however, hadbeen from the first interested in philosophical questions. His readingwas not wide; he knew something of the doctrines taught by Stewart andStewart's successor, Brown. He had been especially impressed byHobbes, to some degree by Locke and Hume, but above all by Hartley. Heknew something, too, of Condillac and the French Ideologists. Ofrecent German speculation he was probably quite ignorant. I findindeed that Place had called his attention to the account of Kant, published by Wirgman in the _Encyclopædia Londinensis_ 1817. Millabout the same time tells Place that he has begun to read _The Criticof Pure Reason_. 'I see clearly enough, ' he says, 'what poor Kantwould be about, but it would require some time to give an account ofhim. ' He wishes (December 6, 1817) that he had time to write a bookwhich would 'make the human mind as plain as the road from CharingCross to St. Paul's. '[29] This was apparently the task to which heapplied himself in his vacations. The _Analysis_ appeared in 1829, and, whatever its defects of incompleteness and one-sidedness from aphilosophical point of view, shows in the highest degree Mill's powersof close, vigorous statement; and lays down with singular clearnessthe psychological doctrine, which from his point of view supplied thefundamental theorems of knowledge in general. It does not appear, however, to have made an impression proportionate to the intellectualpower displayed, and had to wait a long time before reaching thesecond edition due to the filial zeal of J. S. Mill. 

James Mill, after his articles in the _Westminster_, could takelittle part in political agitation. He was still consulted by Place inregard to the Reform movement. Place himself took an important part atthe final crisis, especially by his circulation in the week of agonyof the famous placard, 'Go for Gold. ' But the Utilitarians were nowlost in the crowd. The demand for reform had spread through allclasses. The attack upon the ruling class carried on by the Radicalsof all shades in the dark days of Sidmouth and the six Acts was nowsupported by the nation at large. The old Toryism could no longersupport itself by appealing to the necessities of a struggle fornational existence. The prestige due to the victorious end of the warhad faded away. The Reform Bill of 1832 was passed, and theUtilitarians hoped that the millennium would at least begin to dawn. 

Mill in 1830 removed from Queen's Square to Vicarage Place, Kensington. He kept his house at Mickleham, and there took long Sundaywalks with a few of his disciples. His strength was more and moreabsorbed in his official duties. He was especially called upon to giveevidence before the committees which from 1830 to 1833 considered thepolicy to be adopted in renewing the charter of the East IndiaCompany. Mill appeared as the advocate of the company, defended theirpolicy, and argued against the demands of the commercial body whichdemanded the final suppression of the old trading monopoly of theCompany. The abolition, indeed, was a foregone conclusion; but Mill'sview was not in accordance with the doctrines of the thoroughgoingfreetraders. His official experience, it seems, upon this and othermatters deterred him from the _a priori_ dogmatism too characteristicof his political speculations. Mill also suggested the formation of alegislative council, which was to contain one man 'versed in thephilosophy of men and government. ' This was represented by theappointment of the legal member of council in the Act of 1833. Millapproved of Macaulay as the first holder of the post. It was 'veryhandsome' of him, as Macaulay remarks, inasmuch as the famous articleswritten by Macaulay himself, in which the _Edinburgh_ had at lastretorted upon the Utilitarians, must still have been fresh in hismemory. The 'Penal Code' drawn by Macaulay as holder of the office wasthe first actual attempt to carry out Bentham's favourite schemesunder British rule, and the influence of the chief of Bentham'sdisciples at the India House may have had something to do with itsinitiation. Macaulay's chief subordinate, it may be remarked, CharlesHay Cameron, was one of the Benthamites, and had been proposed byGrote for the chair at the London University ultimately filled byHoppus. 

After 1830 Mill wrote the severe fragment on Mackintosh, which, aftera delay caused by Mackintosh's death, appeared in 1835. He contributedsome articles to the _London Review_, founded by Sir W. Molesworth, asan organ of the 'philosophical Radicals, ' and superintended, thoughnot directly edited, by J. S. Mill. These, his last performances, repeat the old doctrines. It does not appear, indeed, that Mill everaltered one of his opinions. He accepted Bentham's doctrine to theend, as unreservedly as a mathematician might accept Newton's_Principia_. 

Mill's lungs had begun to be affected. It was supposed that they wereinjured by the dust imbibed on coach journeys to Mickleham. He had abad attack of hæmorrhage in August 1835, and died peacefully on 23rdJune 1836. 

What remains to be said of Mill personally may be suggested by anoticeable parallel. S. T. Coleridge, born about six months beforeMill, died two years before him. The two lives thus coincided for morethan sixty years, and each man was the leader of a school. In all elsethe contrast could hardly be greater. If we were to apply the rules ofordinary morality, it would be entirely in Mill's favour. Milldischarged all his duties as strenuously as a man could, whileColeridge's life was a prolonged illustration of the remark that whenan action presented itself to him as a duty he became physicallyincapable of doing it. Whatever Mill undertook he accomplished, oftenin the face of enormous difficulties. Coleridge never finishedanything, and his works are a heap of fragments of the prolegomena toambitious schemes. Mill worked his hardest from youth to age, neversparing labour or shirking difficulties or turning aside from hispath. Coleridge dawdled through life, solacing himself with opium, andcould only be coaxed into occasional activity by skilful diplomacy. Mill preserved his independence by rigid self-denial, temperance, andpunctuality. Coleridge was always dependent upon the generosity of hisfriends. Mill brought up a large family, and in the midst of severelabours found time to educate them even to excess. Coleridge left hiswife and children to be cared for by others. And Coleridge died in theodour of sanctity, revered by his disciples, and idolised by hischildren; while Mill went to the grave amidst the shrugs ofrespectable shoulders, and respected rather than beloved by the sonwho succeeded to his intellectual leadership. 

The answer to the riddle is indeed plain enough; or rather there aremany superabundantly obvious answers. Had Mill defended orthodox viewsand Coleridge been avowedly heterodox, we should no doubt have heardmore of Coleridge's opium and of Mill's blameless and energetic life. But this explains little. That Coleridge was a man of genius and, moreover, of exquisitely poetical genius, and that Mill was at most aman of remarkable talent and the driest and sternest of logicians isalso obvious. It is even more to the purpose that Coleridge wasoverflowing with kindliness, though little able to turn goodwill tomuch effect; whereas Mill's morality took the form chiefly ofattacking the wicked. This is indicated by the saying attributed byBowring to Bentham that Mill's sympathy for the many sprang out of hishatred of the oppressing few. [30] J. S. Mill very properly protestedagainst this statement when it was quoted in the _Edinburgh Review_. It would obviously imply a gross misunderstanding, whether Bentham, not a good observer of men, said so or not. But it indicates the sideof Mill's character which made him unattractive to contemporaries andalso to posterity. He partook, says his son, [31] of the Stoic, theEpicurean, and the Cynic character. He was a Stoic in his personalqualities; an Epicurean so far as his theory of morals was concerned;and a Cynic in that he cared little for pleasure. He thought life a'poor thing' after the freshness of youth had passed; and said thathe had never known an old man happy unless he could live over again inthe pleasures of the young. Temperance and self-restraint weretherefore his favourite virtues. He despised all 'passionateemotions'; he held with Bentham that feelings by themselves deservedneither praise nor blame; he condemned a man who did harm whether theharm came from malevolence or from intellectual error. Therefore allsentiment was objectionable, for sentiment means neglect of rules andcalculations. He shrank from showing feeling with more than the usualEnglish reserve; and showed his devotion to his children by drillingthem into knowledge with uncompromising strictness. He had no feelingfor the poetical or literary side of things; and regarded life, itwould seem, as a series of arguments, in which people were to beconstrained by logic, not persuaded by sympathy. He seems to havedespised poor Mrs. Mill, and to have been unsuccessful in concealinghis contempt, though in his letters he refers to her respectfully. Mill therefore was a man little likely to win the hearts of hisfollowers, though his remarkable vigour of mind dominated theirunderstandings. 

The amiable and kindly, whose sympathies are quickly moved, gain anunfair share of our regard both in life and afterwards. We are morepleased by an ineffectual attempt to be kindly, than by real kindnessbestowed ungraciously. Mill's great qualities should not be overlookedbecause they were hidden by a manner which seems almost deliberatelyrepellent. He devoted himself through life to promote the truth as hesaw it; to increase the scanty amounts of pleasures enjoyed bymankind; and to discharge all the duties which he owed to hisneighbours. He succeeded beyond all dispute in forcibly presenting oneset of views which profoundly influenced his countrymen; and the verynarrowness of his intellect enabled him to plant his blows moreeffectively. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The chief authority for James Mill is _James Mill: a Biography_, by Alexander Bain, Emeritus Professor of Logic in the University ofAberdeen, London, 1882. The book contains very full materials; and, ifrather dry, deals with a dry subject. 

[2] Wallas's _Francis Place_, p. 70 _n. _

[3] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 166. 

[4] Gifford's real name was John Richards Green. The identity of hisassumed name with that of the more famous William Gifford has led to acommon confusion between the two periodicals. 'Peter Pindar' assaultedWilliam Gifford under the erroneous impression that he was editor ofthe second. 

[5] Letter in Bain's _James Mill_, pp. 136-40. 

[6] _Autobiography_, p. 39. 

[7] Bain's _James Mill_, pp. 97-106. Mill appears to have saidsomething 'extravagant' about Bentham in an article upon Miranda inthe _Edinburgh Review_ for January 1809. He also got some praises ofBentham into the _Annual Review_ of 1809 (Bain, 92-96). 

[8] See the very interesting Life of Francis Place, by Mr. GrahamWallas, 1898. 

[9] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 78, and Wallas's _Francis Place_, p. 66. 

[10] Wallas's _Francis Place_, p. 68. 

[11] He 'put together' the _Not Paul but Jesus_ at Ford Abbey in 1817, and helped to preface the Reform _Catechism_. Wallas's _FrancisPlace_, p. 84. 

[12] The article of 1811 was also published separately. 

[13] He wrote only the first volume. Two others were added by CuthbertSouthey. 

[14] _Lectures_ (Ashe, 1885), pp. 32, 61. 

[15] James Mill, according to Place, wrote a 'memorable and admirableessay, "Schools for all, not schools for Churchmen only. "'--Wallas's_Francis Place_, 99 _n. _

[16] This absurd suspicion was aroused by the quarrel about Burdett'sarrest. See Wallas's _Place_, p. 56. 

[17] Mr. Wallas gives an account of these schemes in chap. Iv. Of hisLife of Place. I have also consulted Place's collections in AdditionalMSS. , 27, 823. 

[18] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 162. 

[19] H. H. Wilson in his preface to the edition of 1840. 

[20] Wallas's _Francis Place_, p. 78. 

[21] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 435. 

[22] _Ibid. _ p. 433. 

[23] Bentham's _Works_, p. 498. 

[24] See Carman in _Economic Review_, 1894. 

[25] See under Black in _Dictionary of National Biography_. 

[26] _Autobiography_, p. 101. 

[27] See Place's account in Additional MSS. 27, 823. 

[28] G. C. Robertson, _Philosophical Remains_, p. 166; and underGeorge Grote in _Dictionary of National Biography_. 

[29] Letters communicated by Mr. Graham Wallas. See Mr. Wallas's_Francis Place_, p. 91. 

[30] So Place observed that Mill 'could help the mass, but could nothelp the individual, not even himself or his own. '--Wallas's _FrancisPlace_, p. 79. 

[31] _Autobiography_, p. 48. 

CHAPTER II

REFORM MOVEMENTS

I. POLITICAL CHANGE

The last years of Mill's life correspond to the period in whichUtilitarianism reached, in certain respects, its highest pitch ofinfluence. The little band who acknowledged him as their chief leader, and as the authorised lieutenant of Bentham, considered themselves tobe in the van of progress. Though differing on many points from eachother, and regarded with aversion or distrust by the recognised partyleaders, they were in their most militant and confident state of mind. They were systematically reticent as to their religious views: theyleft to popular orators the public advocacy of their favouritepolitical measures; and the credit of finally passing such of thosemeasures as were adopted fell chiefly to the hands of the greatpolitical leaders. The Utilitarians are ignored in the orthodox Whiglegend. In the preface to his collected works, Sydney Smith runs overthe usual list of changes which had followed, and, as he seems tothink, had in great part resulted from, the establishment of the_Edinburgh Review_. Smith himself, and Jeffrey and Horner and, aboveall, 'the gigantic Brougham, ' had blown the blast which brought downthe towers of Jericho. Sir G. O. Trevelyan, in his _Life of Macaulay_, describes the advent of the Whigs to office in a similar sense. 'Agitators and incendiaries, ' he says, 'retired into the background, as will always be the case when the country is in earnest: andstatesmen who had much to lose, and were not afraid to risk it, stepped quietly and firmly to the front. The men and the sons of themen who had so long endured exclusion from office, embittered byunpopularity, at length reaped their reward. '[32] The Radical versionof the history is different. The great men, it said, who had left thecause to be supported by agitators so long as the defence wasdangerous and profitless, stepped forward now that it was clearlywinning, and received both the reward and the credit. Mill and Placecould not find words to express their contempt for the trimming, shuffling Whigs. They were probably unjust enough in detail; but theyhad a strong case in some respects. The Utilitarians represented thatpart of the reforming party which had a definite and a reasoned creed. They tried to give logic where the popular agitators were content withdeclamation, and represented absolute convictions when the Whigreformers were content with tentative and hesitating compromises. Theyhad some grounds for considering themselves to be the 'steel of thelance'; the men who formulated and deliberately defended theprinciples which were beginning to conquer the world. 

The Utilitarians, I have said, became a political force in theconcluding years of the great war struggle. The catastrophe of therevolution had unchained a whole whirlwind of antagonisms. Theoriginal issues had passed out of sight; and great social, industrial, and political changes were in progress which made thenation that emerged from the war a very different body from the nationthat had entered it nearly a generation before. It is not surprisingthat at first very erroneous estimates were made of the new positionwhen peace at last returned. 

The Radicals, who had watched on one side the growth of debt andpauperism, and, on the other hand, the profits made by stockjobbers, landlords, and manufacturers, ascribed all the terrible sufferings tothe selfish designs of the upper classes. When the war ended theyhoped that the evils would diminish, while the pretext formisgovernment would be removed. A bitter disappointment followed. Thewar was followed by widespread misery. Plenty meant ruin toagriculturists, and commercial 'gluts' resulting in manufacturers'warehouses crammed with unsaleable goods. The discontent caused bymisery had been encountered during the war by patriotic fervour. Itwas not a time for redressing evils, when the existence of the nationwas at stake. Now that the misery continued, and the excuse fordelaying redress had been removed, a demand arose for parliamentaryreform. Unfortunately discontent led also to sporadic riotings, tobreaking of machinery and burning of ricks. The Tory government saw inthese disturbances a renewal of the old Jacobin spirit, and hadvisions--apparently quite groundless--of widespread conspiracies andsecret societies ready to produce a ruin of all social order. It hadrecourse to the old repressive measures, the suspension of the HabeasCorpus Act, the passage of the 'Six Acts, ' and the prosecution ofpopular agitators. Many observers fancied that the choice lay betweena servile insurrection and the establishment of arbitrary power. 

By degrees, however, peace brought back prosperity. Things settleddown; commerce revived; and the acute distress passed away. The wholenation went mad over the wrongs of Queen Caroline; and the demand forpolitical reform became for the time less intense. But it soonappeared that, although this crisis had been surmounted, the temper ofthe nation had profoundly changed. The supreme power still belongedconstitutionally to the landed interest. But it had a profoundlymodified social order behind it. The war had at least made itnecessary to take into account the opinions of larger classes. Anappeal to patriotism means that some regard must be paid to theprejudices and passions of people at large. When enormous sums were tobe raised, the moneyed classes would have their say as to modes oftaxation. Commerce and manufactures went through crises of terribledifficulty due to the various changes of the war; but, on the whole, the industrial classes were steadily and rapidly developing in wealth, and becoming relatively more important. The war itself was, in oneaspect at least, a war for the maintenance of the British supremacy intrade. The struggle marked by the policy of the 'Orders in Council' onone side, and Napoleon's decrees on the other, involved a constantreference to Manchester and Liverpool and the rapidly growingmanufacturing and commercial interests. The growth, again, of thepress, at a time when every one who could read was keenly interestedin news of most exciting and important events, implied the rapiddevelopment of a great organ of public opinion. 

The effects of these changes soon became palpable. The politicalatmosphere was altogether different; and an entirely new set ofinfluences was governing the policy of statesmen. The change affectedthe Tory as much as the Whig. However strongly he might believe thathe was carrying on the old methods, he was affected by the new ideaswhich had been almost unconsciously incorporated in his creed. Howgreat was the change, and how much it took the shape of acceptingUtilitarian theories, may be briefly shown by considering a fewcharacteristic facts. 

The ablest men who held office at the time were Canning, Huskisson, and Peel. They represented the conservatism which sought todistinguish itself from mere obstructiveness. Their influence was feltin many directions. The Holy Alliance had the sympathy of men whocould believe that the war had brought back the pre-revolutionaryorder, and that its main result had been to put the Jacobin spirit inchains. Canning's accession to office in 1822 meant that the foreignpolicy of England was to be definitely opposed to the policy of the'Holy Alliance. ' A pithy statement of his view is given in aremarkable letter, dated 1st February 1823, to the prince who was soonto become Charles X. [33] The French government had declared that apeople could only receive a free constitution as a gift from theirlegitimate kings. Should the English ministry, says Canning, afterthis declaration, support the French in their attack upon theconstitutional government of Spain, it would be driven from officeamid 'the execration of Tories and Whigs alike. ' He thought that thedoctrine of the sovereignty of the people was less alien to thespirit of the British Constitution than the opposite doctrine of thelegitimists. In the early days, when Canning sat at the feet of Pitt, the war, if not in their eyes an Anti-Jacobin crusade, had to besupported by stimulating the Anti-Jacobin sentiment. In later days, the war had come to be a struggle against the oppression of nations byforeign despots. Canning could now accept the version of Pitt's policywhich corresponded to the later phase. Englishmen in general had nomore sympathy for despots who claimed a divine right than for despotswho acted in the name of democracy--especially when the despotsthreatened to interfere with British trade. When Canning called 'thenew world into existence to redress the balance of the old, '[34] hedeclared that English policy should resist threats from the HolyAlliance directed against some of our best customers. The generalapproval had special force among the Utilitarians. In the SouthAmerican States Bentham had found eager proselytes, and had hoped tobecome a Solon. He had been consulted by the constitutionalists inSpain and Portugal; and he and his disciples, Joseph Hume inparticular, had joined the Greek Committee, and tried to regenerateAthens by sound Utilitarian tracts. All English Liberals sympathisedwith the various movements which were more or less favoured byCanning's policy; but the Utilitarians could also see in them theopening of new fields already white for the harvest. 

The foreign policy was significant. It proved that the war, whateverelse it had done, had not brought back the old order; and the oldBritish traditions in favour of liberty of speech and action wouldrevive now that they were no longer trammelled by the fears of adestructive revolution. The days of July in 1830 gave fresh importanceto the reaction of foreign upon English politics. 

II. LAW REFORM

Meanwhile, however, the Utilitarians had a far stronger interest indomestic problems. In the first place, in Bentham's especial provincea complete change of feeling had taken place. Romilly was Bentham'searliest disciple (so Bentham said), and looked up to him with 'filialreverence. ' Every 'reformatiuncle' introduced by Romilly in parliamenthad been first brought to Bentham, to be conned over by the two. [35]With great difficulty Romilly had got two or three measures throughthe House of Commons, generally to be thrown out by Eldon's influencein the Lords. [36] After Romilly's death in 1818, the cause was takenup by the Whig philosopher, Sir James Mackintosh, and made a distinctstep in advance. Though there were still obstacles in the upperregions, a committee was obtained to consider the frequency of capitalpunishment, and measures were passed to abolish it in particularcases. Finally, in 1823, the reform was adopted by Peel. Peel wasdestined to represent in the most striking way the process by whichnew ideas were gradually infiltrating the upper sphere. Though still astrong Tory and a representative of the university of Oxford, he wasclosely connected with the manufacturing classes, and had becomeaware, as he wrote to Croker (23rd March 1820), that public opinionhad grown to be too large for its accustomed channels. As HomeSecretary, he took up the whole subject of the criminal law, andpassed in the next years a series of acts consolidating and mitigatingthe law, and repealing many old statutes. A measure of equalimportance was his establishment in 1829 of the metropolitan policeforce, which at last put an end to the old chaotic muddle described byColquhoun of parish officers and constables. Other significant legalchanges marked the opening of a new era. Eldon was the veryincarnation of the spirit of obstruction; and the Court of Chancery, over which he presided for a quarter of a century, was thought to bethe typical stronghold of the evil principles denounced by Bentham. Anattack in 1823 upon Eldon was made in the House of Commons by JohnWilliams (1777-1846), afterwards a judge. Eldon, though profoundlyirritated by the personal imputations involved, consented to theappointment of a commission, which reported in 1825, and recommendedmeasures of reform. In 1828, Brougham made a great display upon whichhe had consulted Bentham. [37] In a speech of six hours' length he gavea summary of existing abuses, which may still be read withinterest. [38] Commissions were appointed to investigate the procedureof the Common Law Court and the law of real property. Anothercommission, intended to codify the criminal law, was appointed in1833. Brougham says that of 'sixty capital defects' described in hisspeech, fifty-five had been removed, or were in course of removal, when his speeches were collected (_i. E. _ 1838). Another speech ofBrougham's in 1828 dealt with the carrying into execution of afavourite plan of Bentham's--the formation of local courts, whichultimately became the modern county courts. [39] The facts aresignificant of a startling change--no less than an abrupt transitionfrom the reign of entire apathy to a reign of continuous reformextending over the whole range of law. The Reform Bill accelerated themovement, but it had been started before Bentham's death. The greatstone, so long immovable, was fairly set rolling. 

Bentham's influence, again, in bringing about the change isundeniable. He was greatly dissatisfied with Brougham's speech, and, indeed, would have been dissatisfied with anything short of a completelogical application of his whole system. He held Brougham to be'insincere, '[40] a trimmer and popularity-hunter, but a usefulinstrument. Brougham's astonishing vanity and self-seeking promptedand perverted his amazing activity. He represents the process, perhapsnecessary, by which a philosopher's ideas have to be modified beforethey can be applied to practical application. Brougham, however, couldspeak generously of men no longer in a position to excite hisjealousy. He says in the preface to his first speech that 'the age oflaw reform and the age of Jeremy Bentham' were the same thing, anddeclares Bentham to be the 'first legal philosopher' who had appearedin the world. As the Chief advocates of Bentham he reckons Romilly, his parliamentary representative; Dumont, his literary interpreter;and James Mill, who, in his article upon 'jurisprudence, ' hadpopularised the essential principles of the doctrine. 

The Utilitarians had at last broken up the barriers of obstruction andset the stream flowing. Whigs and Tories were taking up theirtheories. They naturally exaggerated in some respects the completenessof the triumph. The English law has not yet been codified, and it wascharacteristic of the Benthamite school to exaggerate the facility ofthat process. In their hatred of 'judge-made law' they assumed tooeasily that all things would be arranged into convenient pigeon-holesas soon as 'Judge and Co. ' were abolished. It was a characteristicerror to exaggerate the simplicity of their problem, and to fail tosee that 'judge-made' law corresponds to a necessary inductive processby which the complex and subtle differences have to be graduallyascertained and fitted into a systematic statement. One other remarksuggests itself. The Utilitarians saw in the dogged obstructiveness ofEldon and his like the one great obstacle to reform. It did not occurto them that the clumsiness of parliamentary legislation might beanother difficulty. They failed to notice distinctly one tendency oftheir reforms. To make a code you require a sovereign strong enough todominate the lawyers, not a system in which lawyers are an essentialpart of a small governing class. Codification, in short, meanscentralisation in one department. Blindness to similar resultselsewhere was a characteristic of the Utilitarian thinkers. 

III. ECONOMIC REFORM

In another department the Utilitarians boasted, and also with goodreason, of the triumph of their tenets. Political economy was in theascendant. Professorships were being founded in Oxford, Cambridge, [41]London, and Edinburgh. Mrs. Marcet's _Conversations_ (1818) werespreading the doctrine among babes and sucklings. The Utilitarianswere the sacred band who defended the strictest orthodoxy against allopponents. They spoke as recognised authorities upon some of the mostvital questions of the day, of which I need here only notice FreeTrade, the doctrine most closely associated with the teaching of theirrevered Adam Smith. In 1816 Ricardo remarks with satisfaction that theprinciple 'is daily obtaining converts' even among the most prejudicedclasses; and he refers especially to a petition in which the clothiersof Gloucestershire[42] expressed their willingness to give up allrestrictions. There was, indeed, an important set-off against thisgain. The landowners were being pledged to protection. They haddecided that in spite of the peace, the price of wheat must be kept upto 80s. A quarter. They would no longer be complimented as Adam Smithhad complimented them on their superior liberality, and were nowcreating a barrier only to be stormed after a long struggle. Meanwhile the principle was making rapid way among their rivals. Onesymptom was the adoption by the London merchants in 1820 of a famouspetition on behalf of free trade. [43] It was drawn up by Thomas Tooke(1774-1858), who had long been actively engaged in the Russian trade, and whose _History of Prices_ is in some respects the most valuableeconomic treatise of the time. Tooke gives a curious account of hisaction on this occasion. [44] He collected a few friends engaged incommerce, who were opposed to the corn laws. He found that several ofthem had 'crude and confused' notions upon the subject, and that eachheld that his own special interests should be exempted on some pretextfrom the general rule. After various dexterous pieces of diplomacy, however, he succeeded in obtaining the signature of Samuel Thornton, agovernor of the bank of England, and ultimately procured a sufficientnumber of signatures by private solicitation. He was favourablyreceived by the Prime Minister Lord Liverpool, and Vansittart (thenChancellor of the Exchequer), and finally got the petition presentedto the House of Commons by Alexander Baring (afterwards LordAshburton). Tooke remarks that the Liverpool administration was inadvance, not only of the public generally, but of the 'mercantilecommunity, ' Glasgow and Manchester, however, followed in the samesteps, and the petition became a kind of official manifesto of theorthodox doctrine. The Political Economy Club formed next year atTooke's instigation (April 18, 1821) was intended to hasten theprocess of dispersing crude and confused ideas. It was essentially anorgan of the Utilitarian propaganda. 

The influence of the economists upon public policy was shown by theimportant measures carried through chiefly by Huskisson. Huskisson(1770-1830) was a type of the most intelligent official of his time. Like his more brilliant friend Canning, he had been introduced intooffice under Pitt, and retained a profound reverence for his earlyleader. Huskisson was a thorough man of business, capable of wrestlingwith blue-books, of understanding the sinking-fund, and havingtheories about the currency; a master of figures and statistics andthe whole machinery of commerce. Though eminently useful, he might atany moment be applying some awkward doctrine from Adam Smith. 

Huskisson began the series of economic reforms which were brought totheir full development by Peel and Gladstone. The collection of hisspeeches[45] incidentally brings out very clearly his relation to theUtilitarians. The most remarkable is a great speech of April 24, 1826[46] (upon the state of the silk manufacture), of which Canningdeclared that he had never heard one abler, or which made a deeperimpression upon the House. In this he reviews his policy, going overthe most important financial measures of the preceding period. Theymade a new era, and he dates the beginning of the movement from theLondon petition, and the 'luminous speech' made by Baring whenpresenting it. We followed public opinion, he says, and did not createit. [47] Adopting the essential principles of the petition, thegovernment had in the first place set free the great woollen trade. The silk trade had been emancipated by abolishing the Spitalfield Actspassed in the previous century, which enabled magistrates to fix therates of wages. The principle of prohibition had been abandoned, though protective duties remained. The navigation laws had beenmaterially relaxed, and steps taken towards removing restrictions ofdifferent kinds upon trade with France and with India. One symptom ofthe change was the consolidation of the custom law effected by JamesDeacon Hume (1774-1842), an official patronised by Huskisson, and anoriginal member of the Political Economy Club. By a law passed in1825, five hundred statutes dating from the time of Edward I. Wererepealed, and the essence of the law given in a volume of moderatesize. Finally, the removal of prohibitions was undermining thesmugglers. 

The measures upon which Huskisson justly prided himself might havebeen dictated by the Political Economy Club itself. So far as theywent they were an application of the doctrines of its thoroughgoingmembers, of Mill, Ricardo, and the orthodox school. They indeedsupported him in the press. The _Morning Chronicle_, which expressedtheir views, declared him to be the most virtuous minister, that is(in true Utilitarian phrase), the most desirous of national welfarewho had ever lived. The praise of Radicals would be not altogetherwelcome. Canning, in supporting his friend, maintained that soundcommercial policy belonged no more to the Whigs than to the Tories. Huskisson and he were faithful disciples of Pitt, whose treaty withFrance in 1786, assailed by Fox and the Whigs, had been the firstpractical application of the Wealth of Nations. Neither party, perhaps, could claim a special connection with good or bad politicaleconomy; and certainly neither was prepared to incur politicalmartyrdom in zeal for scientific truth. A question was beginning tocome to the front which would make party lines dependent upon economictheories, and Huskisson's view of this was characteristic. 

The speech from which I have quoted begins with an indignant retortupon a member who had applied to him Burke's phrase about aperfect-bred metaphysician exceeding the devil in malignity andcontempt for mankind. Huskisson frequently protested even against themilder epithet of theorist. He asserted most emphatically that heappealed to 'experience' and not to 'theory, ' a slippery distinctionwhich finds a good exposure in Bentham's _Book of Fallacies_. [48] Thedoctrine, however, was a convenient one for Huskisson. He could appealto experience to show that commercial restrictions had injured thewoollen trade, and their absence benefited the cotton trade, [49] andwhen he was not being taunted with theories, he would state withperfect clearness the general free trade argument. [50] But he had tokeep an eye to the uncomfortable tricks which theories sometimes play. He argued emphatically in 1825[51] that analogy between manufacturesand agriculture is 'illogical. ' He does not wish to depress the priceof corn, but to keep it at such a level that our manufactures may notbe hampered by dear food. Here he was forced by stress of politics todiffer from his economical friends. The country gentleman did not wishto pay duties on his silk or his brandy, but he had a direct andobvious interest in keeping up the price of corn. Huskisson hadhimself supported the Corn Bill of 1815, but it was becoming more andmore obvious that a revision would be necessary. In 1828 he declaredthat he 'lamented from the bottom of his soul the mass of evil andmisery and destruction of capital which that law in the course oftwelve years had produced. '[52] Ricardo, meanwhile, and the economistshad from the first applied to agriculture the principles whichHuskisson applied to manufactures. [53] Huskisson's melancholy deathhas left us unable to say whether upon this matter he would have beenas convertible as Peel. In any case the general principle of freetrade was as fully adopted by Huskisson and Canning as by theUtilitarians themselves. The Utilitarians could again claim to be boththe inspirers of the first principles, and the most consistent incarrying out the deductions. They, it is true, were not generallybiassed by having any interest in rents. They were to be the allies orteachers of the manufacturing class which began to be decidedlyopposed to the squires and the old order. 

In one very important economic question, the Utilitarians not onlyapproved a change of the law, but were the main agents in bringing itabout. Francis Place was the wire-puller, to whose energy was due theabolition of the Conspiracy Laws in 1824. Joseph Hume in the House ofCommons, and M'Culloch, then editor of the _Scotsman_, had the mostconspicuous part in the agitation, but Place worked the machinery ofagitation. The bill passed in 1824 was modified by an act of 1825; butthe modification, owing to Place's efforts, was not serious, and theact, as we are told on good authority, 'effected a real emancipation, 'and for the first time established the right of 'collectivebargaining. '[54] The remarkable thing is that this act, carried on theprinciples of 'Radical individualism' and by the efforts of Radicalindividualists, was thus a first step towards the application topractice of socialist doctrine. Place thought that the result of theact would be not the encouragement, but the decline, of trades-unions. The unions had been due to the necessity of combining againstoppressive laws, and would cease when those laws were abolished. [55]This marks a very significant stage in the development of economicopinion. 

IV. CHURCH REFORM

The movement which at this period was most conspicuous politically wasthat which resulted in Roman Catholic emancipation, and here, too, theUtilitarians might be anticipating a complete triumph of theirprinciples. The existing disqualifications, indeed, were upheld bylittle but the purely obstructive sentiment. When the duke of Yorkswore that 'so help him God!' he would oppose the change to the last, he summed up the whole 'argument' against it. Canning and Huskissonhere represented the policy not only of Pitt, but of Castlereagh. TheWhigs, indeed, might claim to be the natural representatives oftoleration. The church of England was thoroughly subjugated by thestate, and neither Whig nor Tory wished for a fundamental change. Butthe most obvious differentia of Whiggism was a dislike to theecclesiastical spirit. The Whig noble was generally more or less of afreethinker; and upon such topics Holland House differed little fromQueen's Square Place, or differed only in a rather stricter reticence. Both Whig and Tory might accept Warburton's doctrine of an 'alliance'between church and state. The Tory inferred that the church should besupported. His prescription for meeting discontent was 'more yeomanry'and a handsome sum for church-building. The Whig thought that thechurch got a sufficient return in being allowed to keep its revenues. On the Tory view, the relation might be compared to that of man andwife in Christian countries where, though the two are one, the husbandis bound to fidelity. On the Whig view it was like a polygamoussystem, where the wife is in complete subjection, and the husband maytake any number of concubines. The Whig noble regarded the church associally useful, but he was by no means inclined to support itsinterests when they conflicted with other political considerations. Hehad been steadily in favour of diminishing the privileges of theestablishment, and had taken part in removing the grievances of theold penal laws. He was not prepared to uphold privileges whichinvolved a palpable danger to his order. 

This position is illustrated by Sydney Smith, the ideal divine ofHolland House. The _Plymley Letters_[56] give his views most pithily. Smith, a man as full of sound sense as of genuine humour, appeals tothe principles of toleration, and is keenly alive to the absurdity ofa persecution which only irritates without conversion. But he alsoappeals to the danger of the situation. 'If Bonaparte lives, '[57] hesays, 'and something is not done to conciliate the Catholics, it seemsto me absolutely impossible but that we must perish. ' We are like thecaptain of a ship attacked by a pirate, who should begin by examininghis men in the church catechism, and forbid any one to sponge or ramwho had not taken the sacrament according to the forms of the churchof England. He confesses frankly that the strength of the Irish iswith him a strong motive for listening to their claims. To talk of'not acting from fear is mere parliamentary cant. '[58] Although thedanger which frightened Smith was evaded, this was the argument whichreally brought conviction even to Tories in 1829. In any case theWhigs, whose great boast was their support of toleration, would not beprompted by any Quixotic love of the church to encounter tremendousperils in defence of its privileges. 

Smith's zeal had its limits. He observes humorously in his prefacethat he had found himself after the Reform Bill engaged in the defenceof the National Church against the archbishop of Canterbury and thebishop of London. The letters to Archdeacon Singleton, written whenthe Whigs were flirting with the Radicals, show how much good an oldWhig could find in the establishment. This marks the differencebetween the true Whig and the Utilitarian. The Whig would not risk thecountry for the sake of church; he would keep the clerical powerstrictly subordinate to the power of the state, but then, whenconsidered from the political side, it was part of a government systemproviding him with patronage, and to be guarded from the rude assaultsof the Radical reformer. The Utilitarian, though for the moment he wasin alliance with the Whig, regarded the common victory as a step tosomething far more sweeping. He objected to intolerance as decidedlyas the Whig, for absolute freedom of opinion was his most cherisheddoctrine. He objected still more emphatically to persecution on behalfof the church, because he entirely repudiated its doctrines. Theobjection to spreading true doctrine by force is a strong one, buthardly so strong as the objection to a forcible spread of falsedoctrine. But, besides this, the church represented to the Utilitarianprecisely the very worst specimen of the corruptions of the time. TheCourt of Chancery was bad enough, but the whole ecclesiastical systemwith its vast prizes, [59] its opportunities for corrupt patronage, itspluralism and non-residence was an evil on a larger scale. TheRadical, therefore, unlike the Whig, was an internecine enemy of thewhole system. The 'church of England system, ' as Bentham calmlyremarks, is 'ripe for dissolution. '[60] I have already noticed hisquaint proposal for giving effect to his views. Mill, in the_Westminster Review_, denounced the church of England as the worst ofall churches. [61] To the Utilitarian, in short, the removal of thedisqualification of dissenters and Catholics was thus one step to theconsummation which their logic demanded--the absolute disestablishmentand disendowment of the church. Conservatives in general anticipatedthe confiscation of church revenues as a necessary result of reform;and so far as the spirit of reformers was represented by theUtilitarians and their Radical allies, they had good grounds for thefear. James Mill's theory is best indicated by a later articlepublished in the _London Review_ of July 1835. After pointing out thatthe church of England retains all the machinery desired for supportingpriests and preventing the growth of intellect and morality, heproceeds to ask what the clergy do for their money. They read prayers, which is a palpable absurdity; they preach sermons to spreadsuperstitious notions of the Supreme Being, and performceremonies--baptism, and so forth--which are obviously silly. Thechurch is a mere state machine worked in subservience to the sinisterinterest of the governing classes. The way to reform it would be toequalise the pay: let the clergy be appointed by a 'Minister of PublicInstruction' or the county authorities; abolish the articles, andconstitute a church 'without dogmas or ceremonies'; and employ theclergy to give lectures on ethics, botany, political economy, and soforth, besides holding Sunday meetings, dances (decent dances are tobe specially invented for the purpose), and social meals, which wouldbe a revival of the 'agapai' of the early Christians. For thispurpose, however, it might be necessary to substitute tea and coffeefor wine. In other words, the church is to be made into a popularLondon University. The plan illustrates the incapacity of an isolatedclique to understand the real tone of public opinion. I need notpronounce upon Mill's scheme, which seems to have some sense in it, but one would like to know whether Newman read his article. 

V. SINISTER INTERESTS

In questions of foreign policy, of law reform, of political economy, and of religious tests, the Utilitarians thus saw the gradualapproximation to their most characteristic views on the part of theWhigs, and a strong infiltration of the same views among the lessobstructive Tories. They held the logical creed, to which others wereslowly approximating, either from the force of argument or from thegreat social changes which were bringing new classes into politicalpower. The movement for parliamentary reform which for a timeovershadowed all other questions might be regarded as a corollary fromthe position already won. Briefly, it was clear that a new socialstratum was exercising a vast influence; the doctrines popular with ithad to be more or less accepted; and the only problem worthconsideration by practical men was whether or not such a change shouldbe made in the political machinery as would enable the influence to beexercised by direct and constitutional means. To the purelyobstructive Tory parliamentary reform was a step to the generalcataclysm. The proprietor of a borough, like the proprietor of achurch patronage or commission in the army, had a right to his votes, and to attack his right was simply confiscation of private property. The next step might be to confiscate his estate. But even the moreintelligent Conservative drew the line at such a measure. Canning, Huskisson, and even Peel might accept the views of the Utilitarians inregard to foreign policy, to law reform, to free trade, or the removalof religious tests, declaring only that they were obeying 'experience'instead of logic, and might therefore go just as far as they pleased. But they were all pledged to resist parliamentary reform to theutmost. Men thoroughly steeped in official life, and versed in theactual working of the machinery, were naturally alive to the magnitudeof the change to be introduced. They saw with perfect clearness thatit would amount to a revolution. The old system in which the rulingclasses carried on business by family alliances and bargains betweenministers and great men would be impracticable. The fact that so muchhad been done in the way of concession to the ideas of the new classeswas for them an argument against the change. If the governing classeswere ready to reform abuses, why should they be made unable to govern?A gradual enfranchisement of the great towns on the old system mightbe desirable. Such a man as Huskisson, representing great commercialinterests, could not be blind to the necessity. But a thoroughreconstruction was more alarming. As Canning had urged in a greatspeech at Liverpool, a House of Commons, thoroughly democratised, would be incompatible with the existence of the monarchy and theHouse of Lords. So tremendously powerful a body would reduce the otherparts of the constitution to mere excrescences, feeble drags upon thenew driving-wheel in which the whole real force would be concentrated. 

That this expressed, in point of fact, a serious truth, was, I takeit, undeniable. The sufficient practical answer was, that change wasinevitable. To refuse to adapt the constitutional machinery to thealtered political forces was not to hinder their growth, but to make arevolution necessary. When, accordingly, the excluded classes beganseriously to demand admission, the only question came to lie betweenviolent and peaceable methods. The alarm with which our fatherswatched the progress of the measure may seem to us exaggerated, butthey scarcely overestimated the magnitude of the change. The oldrulers were taking a new partner of such power, that whateverauthority was left to them might seem to be left on sufferance. Assoon as he became conscious of his strength, they would be reduced tononentities. The Utilitarians took some part in the struggle, andwelcomed the victory with anticipations destined to be, for the timeat least, cruelly disappointed. But they were still a small minority, whose views rather scandalised the leaders of the party with whichthey were in temporary alliance. The principles upon which they basedtheir demands, as formulated by James Mill, looked, as we shall see, far beyond the concessions of the moment. 

One other political change is significant, though I am unable to givean adequate account of it. Bentham's denunciation of 'sinisterinterests'--one of his leading topics--corresponds to the question ofsinecures, which was among the most effective topics of Radicaldeclamation. The necessity of limiting the influence of the crown andexcluding 'placemen' from the House of Commons had been one of thetraditional Whig commonplaces, and a little had been done by Burke'sact of 1782 towards limiting pensions and abolishing obsolete offices. When English Radicalism revived, the assault was renewed in parliamentand the press. During the war little was achieved, though a revival ofthe old complaints about placemen in parliament was among the firstsymptoms of the rising sentiment. In 1812 an attack was made upon the'tellers of the Exchequer. ' Romilly[62] says that the value of one ofthese offices had risen to £26, 000 or £27, 000 a year. The income camechiefly from fees, and the actual work, whatever it was, was done bydeputy. The scandal was enormous at a time when the stress upon thenation was almost unbearable. One of the tellerships was held by amember of the great Grenville family, who announced that they regardedthe demand for reform as a personal attack upon them. The opposition, therefore, could not muster even its usual strength, and the motionfor inquiry was rejected. When the war was over, even the governmentbegan to feel that something must be done. In 1817 some acts werepassed[63] abolishing a variety of sinecure offices and 'regulatingcertain offices in the Court of Exchequer. ' The Radicals consideredthis as a mere delusion, because it was provided at the same time thatpensions might be given to persons who had held certain great offices. The change, however, was apparently of importance as removing thechief apology for sinecures, and the system with modifications stillremains. The marquis of Camden, one of the tellers of the Exchequer, voluntarily resigned the fees and accepted only the regular salary of£2500. His action is commended in the _Black Book_, [64] whichexpresses a regret that the example had not been followed by othergreat sinecurists. Public opinion was beginning to be felt. During thesubsequent period the cry against sinecures became more emphatic. The_Black Book_, published originally in 1820 and 1823, and afterwardsreissued, gave a list, so far as it could be ascertained, of allpensions, and supplied a mass of information for Radical orators. Theamount of pensions is stated at over £1, 000, 000, including sinecureoffices with over £350, 000 annually;[65] and the list of offices(probably very inaccurate in detail) gives a singular impression ofthe strange ramifications of the system. Besides the direct pensions, every new department of administration seems to have suggested thefoundation of offices which tended to become sinecures. The cry for'retrenchment' was joined to the cry for reform. [66] Joseph Hume, whofirst entered parliament in 1818, became a representative of theUtilitarian Radicalism, and began a long career of minute criticismwhich won for him the reputation of a stupendous bore, but helped tokeep a steady pressure upon ministers. [67] Sir James Graham(1792-1861) was at this time of Radical tendencies, and first madehimself conspicuous by demanding returns of pensions. [68] Thesettlements of the civil lists of George IV. , William IV. , andVictoria, gave opportunities for imposing new restrictions upon thepension system. Although no single sweeping measure was passed, thewhole position was changed. By the time of the Reform Bill, a sinecurehad become an anachronism. The presumption was that whenever anopportunity offered, it would be suppressed. Some of the sinecureoffices in the Court of Chancery, the 'Keeper of the Hanaper, ' the'Chaffwax, ' and so forth, were abolished by an act passed by theparliament which had just carried the Reform Bill. [69] In 1833 areform of the system of naval administration by Sir James Graham gotrid of some cumbrous machinery; and Graham again was intrusted in 1834with an act under which the Court of Exchequer was finally reformed, and the 'Clerk of the Pells' and the 'Tellers of the Exchequer' ceasedto exist. [70] Other offices seem to have melted away by degrees, whenever a chance offered. 

Many other of the old abuses had ceased to require any specialdenunciations from political theorists. The general principle wasestablished, and what remained was to apply it in detail. The prisonsystem was no longer in want of a Howard or a Bentham. Abuses remainedwhich occupied the admirable Mrs. Fry; and many serious difficultieshad to be solved by a long course of experiment. But it was no longera question whether anything should be doing, but of the mostefficient means of bringing about an admittedly desirable end. Theagitation for the suppression of the slave-trade again had beensucceeded by the attack upon slavery. The system was evidently doomed, although not finally abolished till after the Reform Bill; andministers were only considering the question whether the abolitionshould be summary or gradual, or what compensation might be made tovested interests. The old agitation had been remarkable, as I havesaid, not only for its end but for the new kind of machinery to whichit had applied. Popular agitation[71] had taken a new shape. Thecounty associations formed in the last days of the American war ofindependence, and the societies due to the French revolution had set aprecedent. The revolutionary societies had been suppressed or had diedout, as opposed to the general spirit of the nation, although they haddone a good deal to arouse political speculation. In the period ofdistress which followed the war the Radical reformers had again heldpublic meetings, and had again been met by repressive measures. Theacts of 1817 and 1819[72] imposed severe restrictions upon the rightof public meeting. The old 'county meeting, ' which continued to becommon until the reform period, and was summoned by thelord-lieutenant or the sheriff on a requisition from the freeholders, had a kind of constitutional character, though I do not know itshistory in detail. [73] The extravagantly repressive measures were ananachronism, or could only be enforced during the pressure of anintense excitement. In one way or other, public meetings were soonbeing held as frequently as ever. The trial of Queen Caroline gaveopportunity for numerous gatherings, and statesmen began to find thatthey must use instead of suppressing them. Canning[74] appears to havebeen the first minister to make frequent use of speeches addressed topublic meetings; and meetings to which such appeals were addressedsoon began to use their authority to demand pledges from thespeakers. [75] Representation was to be understood more and more asdelegation. Meanwhile the effect of public meetings was enormouslyincreased when a general organisation was introduced. The greatprecedent was the Catholic Association, founded in 1823 by O'Connelland Sheil. The peculiar circumstances of the Irish people and theirpriests gave a ready-made machinery for the agitation which triumphedin 1829. The Political Union founded by Attwood at Birmingham in thesame year adopted the method, and led to the triumph of 1832. Political combination henceforth took a different shape, and in theordinary phrase, 'public opinion' became definitely the ultimate andsupreme authority. This enormous change and the correspondingdevelopment of the power of the press, which affected to mould and, atany rate, expressed public opinion, entirely fell in with Utilitarianprinciples. Their part in bringing about the change was of no specialimportance except in so far as they more or less inspired the popularorators. They were, however, ready to take advantage of it. They hadthe _Westminster Review_ to take a place beside the _Edinburgh_ and_Quarterly Reviews_, which had raised periodical writing to a farhigher position than it had ever occupied, and to which leadingpoliticians and leading authors on both sides had become regularcontributors. The old contempt for journalism was rapidly vanishing. In 1825 Canning expresses his regret for having given some informationto a paper of which an ill use had been made. He had previouslyabstained from all communication with 'these gentry, ' and was nowresolved to have done with _hoc genus omne_ for good and all. [76] In1839 we find his former colleague, Lord Lyndhurst, seeking an alliancewith Barnes, the editor of the _Times_, as eagerly as though Barneshad been the head of a parliamentary party. [77]

The newspapers had probably done more than the schools to spreadhabits of reading through the country. Yet the strong interest whichwas growing up in educational matters was characteristic. Brougham'sphrase, 'the schoolmaster is abroad' (29th January 1821), became apopular proverb, and rejoiced the worthy Bentham. [78] I have alreadydescribed the share taken by the Utilitarians in the great Bell andLancaster controversy. Parliament had as yet done little. A billbrought in by Whitbread had been passed in 1807 by the House ofCommons, enabling parishes to form schools on the Scottish model, butaccording to Romilly, [79] it was passed in the well-groundedconfidence that it would be thrown out by the peers. A committee uponeducation was obtained by Brougham after the peace, which reported in1818, and which led to a commission upon school endowments. Broughamintroduced an education bill in 1820, but nothing came of it. Thebeginning of any participation by government in national education wasnot to take place till after the Reform Bill. Meanwhile, however, thefoundation of the London University upon unsectarian principles wasencouraging the Utilitarians; and there were other symptoms of thegrowth of enlightenment. George Birkbeck (1776-1841) had started somepopular lectures upon science at Glasgow about 1800, and havingsettled as a physician in London, started the 'Mechanics' Institution'in 1824. Brougham was one of the first trustees; and the institution, though exposed to a good deal of ridicule, managed to take root andbecome the parent of others. In 1827 was started the Society for theDiffusion of Useful Knowledge, of which Brougham was president, andthe committee of which included James Mill. In the course of itstwenty years' existence it published or sanctioned the publication byCharles Knight of a great mass of popular literature. The _PennyMagazine_ (1832-1845) is said to have had two hundred thousandsubscribers at the end of its first year of existence. Crude andsuperficial as were some of these enterprises, they clearly marked avery important change. Cobbett and the Radical orators found enormousaudiences ready to listen to their doctrine. Churchmen and Dissenters, Tories and Radicals were finding it necessary both to educate and todisseminate their principles by writing; and as new social strata werebecoming accessible to such influences, their opinions began toexercise in turn a more distinct reaction upon political andecclesiastical affairs. 

No party felt more confidence at the tendency of this newintellectual fermentation than the Utilitarians. They had a definite, coherent, logical creed. Every step which increased the freedom ofdiscussion increased the influence of the truth. Their doctrines werethe truth, if not the whole truth. Once allow them to get a fulcrumand they would move the world. Bit by bit their principles oflegislation, of economy, of politics were being accepted in the mostdifferent quarters; and even the more intelligent of their opponentswere applying them, though the application might be piecemeal andimperfect. It was in vain that an adversary protested that he was notbound by logic, and appealed to experience instead of theory. Let himjustify his action upon what grounds he pleased, he was, in point offact, introducing the leaven of true doctrine, and it might be trustedto work out the desirable results. 

I must now deal more in detail with the Utilitarian theories. I willonly observe in general terms that their triumph was not likely to beaccepted without a struggle. Large classes regarded them with absoluteabhorrence. Their success, if they did succeed, would mean thedestruction of religious belief, of sound philosophy, of the greatimportant ecclesiastical and political institutions, and probablygeneral confiscation of property and the ruin of the foundations ofsociety. And, meanwhile, in spite of the progress upon which I havedwelt, there were two problems, at least, of enormous importance, uponwhich it could scarcely be said that any progress had been made. Thechurch, in the first place, was still where it had been. No change hadbeen made in its constitution; it was still the typical example ofcorrupt patronage; and the object of the hatred of all thoroughgoingRadicals. And, in the second place, pauperism had grown to appallingdimensions during the war; and no effectual attempt had been made todeal with it. Behind pauperism there were great social questions, thediscontent and misery of great masses of the labouring population. Whatever reforms might be made in other parts of the natural order, here were difficulties enough to task the wisdom of legislators andspeculators upon legislative principles. 

FOOTNOTES:

[32] _Life of Macaulay_, p. 114. (Popular Edition). 

[33] Canning's _Political Correspondence_, i. 71-76. 

[34] 12th December 1826. 

[35] Bentham's _Works_, v. P. 370. 

[36] Romilly's attempts to improve the criminal law began in 1808. Forvarious notices of his efforts, see his _Life_ (3 vols. 1860), especially vol. Ii. 243-54, 309, 321, 331, 369, 371, 389-91. Romillywas deeply interested in Dumont's _Théorie des Peines Légales_ (1811), which he read in MS. And tried to get reviewed in the _Quarterly_ (ii. 258, 391; iii. 136). The remarks (ii. 2-3) on the 'stupid dread ofinnovation' and the savage spirit infused into Englishmen by thehorrors of the French revolution are worth notice in this connection. 

[37] Bentham's _Works_, x. P. 574. 

[38] Brougham's _Speeches_ (1838), ii. 287-486. 

[39] An interesting summary of the progress of law reforms and ofBentham's share in them is given in Sir R. K. Wilson's _History ofModern English Law_ (1875). 

[40] Bentham's _Works_, x. 571. 

[41] In Cambridge Pryme was the first professor in 1828, but had onlythe title without endowment. The professorship was only salaried in1863. 

[42] Ricardo's _Works_ (1888), p. 407. 

[43] Printed in Porter's _Progress of the Nation_ and elsewhere. 

[44] See sixth volume of _History of Prices_ by Tooke and Newmarch, and privately printed _Minutes of Political Economy Club_ (1882). 

[45] _Speeches_, 3 vols. 8vo, 1831. 

[46] _Ibid. _ ii. 465-530. 

[47] _Ibid. _ ii. 477. 

[48] Bentham's _Works_, ii. 459. We may remember how J. S. Mill in hisboyhood was abashed because he could not explain to his father theforce of the distinction. 

[49] _Speeches_, ii. 246, 332. 

[50] _Ibid. _ i. 102-108 (Currency Pamphlet of 1810). 

[51] _Ibid. _ ii. 397. 

[52] _Speeches_, iii. 257. 

[53] Ricardo indeed made a reservation as to the necessity ofcounterbalancing by a moderate duty the special burthens uponagriculture. 

[54] In the _History of Trades-Unionism_ by Sidney and Beatrice Webb(1894), pp. 88-98. The history of Place's agitation is fully given inMr. Graham Wallas's _Life_, chap. Viii. 

[55] Wallas's Francis _Place_, p. 217. 

[56] First published in 1807-8. 

[57] _Letter_ iii. 

[58] _Ibid. _ vi. 

[59] Sydney Smith put very ingeniously the advantages of what hecalled the 'lottery' system: of giving, that is, a few great prizes, instead of equalising the incomes of the clergy. Things look sodifferent from opposite points of views. 

[60] _Church of Englandism_, ii. 199. 

[61] See especially his review of Southey's _Book of the Church_. 

[62] Romilly's _Memoirs_, iii. 33. 

[63] 57 George III. Caps. 60-67. 

[64] Edition of 1828, p. 24. 

[65] _Ibid. _ p. 10. 

[66] A Mr. Gray proposed at a county meeting in 1816 that the cry of'retrenchment and reform' should be raised in every corner of theisland (Henry Jephson's _Platform_, p. 378). I do not know whetherthis was the first appearance of the formula. 

[67] Hume had been introduced to Place by James Mill, who thought himworth 'nursing. ' Place found him at first 'dull and selfish, ' but'nursed him' so well that by 1836 he had become the 'man ofmen, '--Wallas's _Francis Place_, p. 181, 182. 

[68] Torrens's _Life of Graham_, i. 250-72, where his great speech of14th May 1830 is given. 

[69] 2 and 3 William IV. Cap. 111 (passed 15 August 1832). 

[70] 4 and 5 William IV. Cap. 15. 

[71] _The Platform, its Origin and Progress_, by Henry Jephson (1892), gives a very interesting historical account of the process. 

[72] 57 George III. Cap. 19, and 60 George III. Cap. 6. 

[73] See Jephson's _Platform_, pp. 167-70. 

[74] See Jephson's _Platform_, i. 348, 455, 517. 

[75] See _Ibid. _ ii. 129-40 for some interesting passages as to this. 

[76] _Official Correspondence_ (1887), 308. 

[77] Greville's _George IV. And William IV. _, iii. 155, 167-69, 171. 

[78] Bentham's _Works_, x. 571. 

[79] Romilly's _Memoirs_, ii. 67, 222. 

CHAPTER III

POLITICAL THEORY

I. MILL ON GOVERNMENT

I now turn to the general political theory of which Mill was theauthoritative exponent. The _Encyclopædia_ article upon 'Government'(1820) gives the pith of their doctrine. It was, as Professor Bain[80]thinks, an 'impelling and a guiding force' in the movement whichculminated in the Reform Bill. The younger Utilitarians regarded it, says J. S. Mill, as 'a masterpiece of political wisdom';[81] whileMacaulay[82] taunts them for holding it to be 'perfect andunanswerable. ' This famous article is a terse and energetic summary ofthe doctrine implied in Bentham's _Works_, but there obscured underelaboration of minute details. It is rather singular, indeed, that sovigorous a manifesto of Utilitarian dogma should have been accepted byMacvey Napier--a sound Whig--for a publication which professedscientific impartiality. It has, however, in the highest degree, themerits of clearness and condensation desirable in a popularexposition. The reticence appropriate to the place excuses theomission of certain implicit conclusions. Mill has to give a completetheory of politics in thirty-two 8vo pages. He has scanty room forqualifying statement or historical illustration. He speaks as from thechair of a professor laying down the elementary principles of ademonstrated science. [83]

Mill starts from the sacred principle. The end of government, as theend of all conduct, must be the increase of human happiness. Theprovince of government is limited by another consideration. It has todeal with one class of happiness, that is, with the pains andpleasures 'which men derive from one another. ' By a 'law of nature'labour is requisite for procuring the means of happiness. Now, if'nature' produced all that any man desired, there would be no need ofgovernment, for there would be no conflict of interest. But, as thematerial produced is finite, and can be appropriated by individuals, it becomes necessary to insure to every man his proper share. What, then, is a man's proper share? That which he himself produces; for, ifyou give to one man more than the produce of his labour, you must takeaway the produce of another man's labour. The greatest happiness, therefore, is produced by 'assuring to every man the greatest possiblequantity of the produce of his own labour. ' How can this be done?Will not the strongest take the share of the weakest? He can beprevented in one and apparently only in one way. Men must unite anddelegate to a few the power necessary for protecting all. 'This isgovernment. '[84]

The problem is now simple. Government is essentially an associationof men for the protection of property. It is a delegation of thepowers necessary for that purpose to the guardians, and 'all thedifficult questions of government relate to the means' of preventingthe guardians from themselves becoming plunderers. 

How is this to be accomplished? The power of protection, says Mill, following the old theory, may be intrusted to the whole community, toa few, or to one; that is, we may have a democracy, an aristocracy, ora monarchy. A democracy, or direct government of all by all, is forthe ordinary reasons pronounced impracticable. But the objections tothe other systems are conclusive. The need of government, he hasshown, depends upon 'the law of human nature'[85] that 'a man, ifable, will take from others anything which they have and he desires. 'The very principle which makes government necessary, therefore, willprompt a government to defeat its own proper end. Mill's doctrine isso far identical with the doctrine of Hobbes; men are naturally in astate of war, and government implies a tacit contract by which menconfer upon a sovereign the power necessary for keeping the peace. Buthere, though admitting the force of Hobbes's argument, he divergesfrom its conclusion. If a democracy be impossible, and an aristocracyor monarchy necessarily oppressive, it might seem, he admits, as itactually seemed to Hobbes and to the French economists, that the fewerthe oppressors the better, and that therefore an absolute monarchy isthe best. Experience, he thinks, is 'on the surface' ambiguous. Eastern despots and Roman emperors have been the worst scourges tomankind; yet the Danes preferred a despot to an aristocracy, and areas 'well governed as any people in Europe. ' In Greece, democracy, inspite of its defects, produced the most brilliant results. [86] Hence, he argues, we must go 'beyond the surface, ' and 'penetrate to thesprings within. ' The result of the search is discouraging. The hope ofglutting the rulers is illusory. There is no 'point of saturation'[87]with the objects of desire, either for king or aristocracy. It is a'grand governing law of human nature' that we desire such power aswill make 'the persons and properties of human beings subservient toour pleasures. '[88] This desire is indefinitely great. To the numberof men whom we would force into subservience, and the degree in whichwe would make them subservient, we can assign no limits. Moreover, aspain is a more powerful instrument for securing obedience thanpleasure, a man will desire to possess 'unlimited power of inflictingpain upon others. ' Will he also desire, it may be asked, to make useof it? The 'chain of inference, ' he replies, in this case is close andstrong 'to a most unusual degree. ' A man desires the actions of othersto be in correspondence with his own wishes. 'Terror' will be the'grand instrument. '[89] It thus follows that the very principle uponwhich government is founded leads, in the absence of checks, 'not onlyto that degree of plunder which leaves the members (of a community). . . The bare means of subsistence, but to that degree of cruelty whichis necessary to keep in existence the most intense terror. ' An Englishgentleman, he says, is a favourable specimen of civilisation, and yetWest Indian slavery shows of what cruelty he could be guilty whenunchecked. If equal cruelty has not been exhibited elsewhere, it is, he seems to think, because men were not 'the same as sheep in respectto their shepherd, '[90] and may therefore resist if driven too far. The difficulty upon this showing is to understand how any government, except the most brutal tyranny, ever has been, or ever can be, possible. What is the combining principle which can weld together sucha mass of hostile and mutually repellent atoms? How they can even formthe necessary compact is difficult to understand, and the view seemsto clash with his own avowed purpose. It is Mill's aim, as it wasBentham's, to secure the greatest happiness of the greatest number;and yet he seems to set out by proving as a 'law of human nature' thatnobody can desire the happiness of any one except himself. He quotesfrom Montesquieu the saying, which shows an 'acute sense of thisimportant truth, ' 'that every one who has power is led to abuseit. '[91] Rather it would seem, according to Mill, all power impliesabuse in its very essence. The problem seems to be how to makeuniversal cohesion out of universal repulsion. 

Mill has his remedy for this deeply seated evil. He attacks, asBentham had already done, the old-fashioned theory, according to whichthe British Constitution was an admirable mixture of the three 'simpleforms. ' Two of the powers, he argues, will always agree to 'swallow upthe third. '[92] 'The monarchy and aristocracy have all possiblemotives for endeavouring to obtain unlimited power over the personsand property of the community, ' though the democracy, as he also says, has every possible motive for preventing them. And in England, as heno doubt meant his readers to understand, the monarchy and aristocracyhad to a great extent succeeded. Where, then, are we to look? To the'grand discovery of modern times, ' namely, the representative system. If this does not solve all difficulties we shall be forced to theconclusion that good government is impossible. Fortunately, however, the representative system may be made perfectly effective. Thisfollows easily. It would, as he has said, [93] be a 'contradiction interms' to suppose that the community at large can 'have an interestopposite to its interest, ' In the Bentham formula, it can have 'nosinister interest. ' It cannot desire its own misery. Though thecommunity cannot act as a whole, it can act through representatives. It is necessary to intrust power to a governing body; but that bodycan be prevented by adequate checks from misusing its powers. Indeed, the common theory of the British Constitution was precisely that theHouse of Commons was 'the checking body. '[94] The whole problem is tosecure a body which shall effectively discharge the function thusattributed in theory to the House of Commons. That will be done whenthe body is chosen in such a way that its interests are necessarilycoincident with those of the community at large. Hence there is ofcourse no difficulty in deducing the actual demands of reformers. Without defining precise limits, he shows that representatives must beelected for brief periods, and that the right to a vote must at leastbe wide enough to prevent the electoral body from forming a class with'sinister interests. ' He makes some remarkable qualifications, withthe view apparently of not startling his readers too much by absoluteand impracticable claims. He thinks that the necessary identity ofinterest would still be secured if classes were unrepresented whoseinterests are 'indisputably included in those of others. ' Children'sinterests are involved in those of their parents, and the interests of'almost all women' in those of their fathers or husbands. [95] Again, all men under forty might be omitted without mischief, for 'the greatmajority of old men have sons whose interests they regard as anessential part of their own. This is a law of human nature. '[96] Therewould, he observes, be no danger that men above forty would try toreduce the 'rest of the community to the state of abject slaves. 'Mill, as his son tells us, [97] disowned any intention of positivelyadvocating these exclusions. He only meant to say that they were notcondemned by his general principle. The doctrine, however, aboutwomen, even as thus understood, scandalised his younger followers. 

Mill proceeds to argue at some length that a favourite scheme of somemoderate reformers, for the representation of classes, could only leadto 'a motley aristocracy, ' and then answers two objections. The firstis that his scheme would lead to the abolition of the monarchy and theHouse of Lords. The reply is simple and significant. It would onlylead to that result if a monarchy or a House of Lords were favourableto bad government. He does not inquire whether they are so in fact. The second objection is that the people do not understand their owninterest, and to this his answer is more remarkable. If the doctrinebe true, he says, we are in 'deplorable' position: we have to choosebetween evils which will be designedly produced by those who have boththe power to oppress and an interest in oppression; and the evilswhich will be accidentally produced by men who would act well if theyrecognised their own interests. [98] Now the first evil is in any casethe worst, for it supposes an 'invariable' evil; while in the othercase, men may at least act well by accident. A governing class, thatis with interests separate from those of the government, _must_ bebad. If the interests be identical, the government _may_ be bad. Itwill be bad if ignorant, but ignorance is curable. Here he appeals foronce to a historical case. The priesthood at the Reformation argued onbehalf of their own power from the danger that the people would make abad use of the Bible. The Bible should therefore be kept for thesacred caste. They had, Mill thinks, a stronger case in appearancethan the Tories, and yet the effect of allowing the people to judgefor themselves in religious matters has been productive of goodeffects 'to a degree which has totally altered the condition of humannature. '[99] Why should not the people be trusted to judge forthemselves in politics? This implies a doctrine which had greatinfluence with the Utilitarians. In the remarkable essay upon'Education, ' which is contained in the volume of reprints, Milldiscusses the doctrine of Helvétius that all the differences betweenmen are due to education. Without pronouncing positively upon thedifferences between individuals, Mill observes that, at any rate, theenormous difference between classes of men is wholly due toeducation. [100] He takes education, it must be observed, in the widestpossible sense, as meaning what would now be called the whole actionof the 'environment' upon the individual. This includes, as he showsat length, domestic education, all the vast influence exercised upon achild in his family, 'technical education, ' by which he means theordinary school teaching, 'social education, ' that is the influenceswhich we imbibe from the current opinions of our neighbours, andfinally, 'political education, ' which he calls the 'keystone of thearch. ' The means, he argues, by which the 'grand objects of desire maybe attained, depend almost wholly upon the political machine. '[101] Ifthat 'machine' be so constituted as to make the grand objects ofdesire the 'natural prizes of just and virtuous conduct, of highservices to mankind and of the generous and amiable sentiments fromwhich great endeavours in the service of mankind naturally proceed, itis natural to see diffused among mankind a generous ardour in theacquisition of those admirable qualities which prepare a man foradmirable action, great intelligence, perfect self-command, andover-ruling benevolence. ' The contrary will be the case where thepolitical machine prompts to the flattery of a small ruling body. 

This characteristic passage betrays an enthusiasm which really burnedunder Mill's stern outside. He confines himself habitually to theforms of severe logic, and scorns anything like an appeal tosentiment. The trammels of his scientific manner impede his utterancea little, even when he is speaking with unwonted fervour. Yet theprosaic Utilitarian who has been laying down as a universal law thatthe strong will always plunder the weak, and that all rulers willreduce their subjects to abject slavery, is absolutely convinced, itseems, of the possibility of somehow transmuting selfishness intopublic spirit, justice, generosity, and devotion to truth. Equallycharacteristic is the faith in the 'political machine. ' Mill speaks asif somebody had 'discovered' the representative system as Watt (moreor less) discovered the steam-engine; that to 'discover' the system isthe same thing as to set it to work; and that, once at work, it willbe omnipotent. He is not less certain that a good constitution willmake men virtuous, than was Bentham that he could grind rogues honestby the Panopticon. The indefinite modifiability of character was theground upon which the Utilitarians based their hopes of progress; andit was connected in their minds with the doctrine of which his essayupon education is a continuous application. The theory of 'associationof ideas' appeared to him to be of the utmost importance in educationand in politics, because it implied almost unlimited possibilities ofmoulding human beings to fit them for a new order. In politics thisimplied, as J. S. Mill says, [102] 'unbounded confidence' in theinfluence of 'reason. ' Teach the people and let them vote freely, andeverything would follow. 

This gives Mill's answer to one obvious objection. The Conservativewho answered him by dwelling upon the ignorance of the lower classeswas in some respects preaching to a convert. Nobody was moreconvinced than Mill of the depths of popular ignorance or, indeed, ofthe stupidity of mankind in general. The labourers who cheered OratorHunt at Peterloo were dull enough; but so were the peers who cheeredEldon in the House of Lords; and the labourers at least desiredgeneral prosperity, while the peers were content if their own rentswere kept up. With general education, however, even the lower ordersof the people would be fit for power, especially when we take intoaccount one other remarkable conclusion. The 'wise and good, ' he says, 'in any class of men do, for all general purposes, govern therest. '[103] Now, the class in which wisdom and virtue are commonest isnot the aristocracy, but the middle rank. Another truth follows 'fromthe principles of human nature in general. ' That is the rathersurprising truth that the lower orders take their opinions from themiddle class; apply to the middle class for help in sickness and oldage; hold up the same class as a model to be imitated by theirchildren, and 'account it an honour' to adopt its opinions. Consequently, however far the franchise were extended, it is thisclass which has produced the most distinguished ornaments of art, science, and even of legislation, which will ultimately decide uponpolitical questions. 'The great majority of the people, ' is hisconcluding sentence, 'never cease to be guided by that rank; and wemay with some confidence challenge the adversaries of the people toproduce a single instance to the contrary in the history of theworld. '

This article upon 'Government' gives the very essence of Utilitarianpolitics. I am afraid that it also suggests that the political theorywas chiefly remarkable for a simple-minded audacity. Good politicaltreatises are rare. They are apt to be pamphlets in disguise, using'general principles' for showy perorations, or to be a string ofplatitudes with no definite application to facts. They are fit onlyfor the platform, or only for the professor's lecture-room. Mill'streatise, according to his most famous antagonist, was a mere bundleof pretentious sophistry. 

Macaulay came forth like a Whig David to slay the Utilitarian Goliath. The _Encyclopædia_ articles, finished in 1824, were already in1825, [104] as Mill says, text-books of the young men at the CambridgeUnion. Macaulay, who won his Trinity fellowship in 1824, had thereargued the questions with his friend Charles Austin, one of Bentham'sneophytes. In the next year Macaulay made his first appearance as anEdinburgh Reviewer; and in 1829 he took the field against Mill. In theJanuary number he attacked the essay upon 'Government'; and in twoarticles in the succeeding numbers of the _Review_ replied to adefence made by some Utilitarian in the _Westminster_. Mill himselfmade no direct reply; and Macaulay showed his gratitude for Mill'sgenerosity in regard to the Indian appointment by declining torepublish the articles. [105] He confessed to have treated his opponentwith a want of proper respect, though he retracted none of hiscriticisms. The offence had its excuses. Macaulay was a man underthirty, in the full flush of early success; nor was Mill's owntreatment of antagonists conciliatory. The dogmatic arrogance of theUtilitarians was not unnaturally met by an equally arrogantcountercheck. Macaulay ridicules the Utilitarians for their claim tobe the defenders of the true political faith. He is afraid not of thembut of the 'discredit of their alliance'; he wishes to draw a broadline between judicious reformers and a 'sect which having derived allits influence from the countenance which they imprudently bestowedupon it, hates them with the deadly hatred of ingratitude. ' No party, he says, was ever so unpopular. It had already disgusted people withpolitical economy; and would disgust them with parliamentary reform, if it could associate itself in public opinion with the cause[106]. This was indeed to turn the tables. The half-hearted disciple wasinsulting the thoroughbred teacher who had borne the heat and burthenof the day, and from whom he had learned his own doctrine. Upon thisand other impertinences--the assertion, for example, that Utilitarianswere as incapable of understanding an argument as any 'true bluebaronet after the third bottle at a Pitt Club'--it is needless todwell. They illustrate, however, the strong resentment with which theUtilitarians were regarded by the classes from whom the Whigs drewtheir most cultivated supporters. Macaulay's line of argument willshow what was the real conflict of theory. 

His view is, in fact, a long amplification of the charge that Mill wasadopting a purely _a priori_ method. Mill's style is as dry as Euclid, and his arguments are presented with an affectation of logicalprecision. Mill has inherited the 'spirit and style of the Schoolmen. He is an Aristotelian of the fifteenth century. ' He writes aboutgovernment as though he was unaware that any actual governments hadever existed. He deduces his science from a single assumption ofcertain 'propensities of human nature. '[107] After dealing with Mill'sarguments, Macaulay winds up with one of his characteristic purplepatches about the method of induction. He invokes the authority ofBacon--a great name with which in those days writers conjured withouta very precise consideration of its true significance. By Bacon'smethod we are to construct in time the 'noble science of politics, 'which is equally removed from the barren theories of Utilitariansophists and the petty craft of intriguing jobbers. The Utilitariansare schoolmen, while the Whigs are the true followers of Bacon andscientific induction. J. S. Mill admitted within certain limits therelevancy of this criticism, and was led by the reflections which itstarted to a theory of his own. Meanwhile, he observes that his fatherought to have justified himself by declaring that the book was not a'scientific treatise on politics, ' but an 'argument for parliamentaryreform. '[108] It is not quite easy to see how James Mill could havemade such a 'justification' and distinguished it from a recantation. 

If Mill really meant what Macaulay took him to mean, it would besuperfluous to argue the question gravely. The reasoning is only fit, like the reasoning of all Macaulay's antagonists, for the proverbialschoolboy. Mill, according to Macaulay, proposes to discover whatgovernments are good; and, finding that experience gives no clearanswer, throws experience aside and appeals to absolute laws of humannature. One such 'law' asserts that the strong will plunder the weak. Therefore all governments except the representative must beoppressive, and rule by sheer terror. Mill's very reason for relyingupon this argument is precisely that the facts contradict it. Somedespotisms work well, and some democracies ill; therefore we mustprove by logic that all despotisms are bad, and all democracies good. Is this really Mill's case?

An answer given by Mill's champion, to which Macaulay replies in hislast article, suggests some explanation of Mill's position. Macaulayhad paid no attention to one highly important phrase. The terribleconsequences which Mill deduces from the selfishness of rulers willfollow, he says, 'if nothing checks. '[109] Supplying thisqualification, as implied throughout, we may give a better meaning toMill's argument. A simple observation of experience is insufficient. The phenomena are too complex; governments of the most varying kindshave shown the same faults; and governments of the same kind haveshown them in the most various degrees. Therefore the method whichMacaulay suggests is inapplicable. We should reason about government, says Macaulay, [110] as Bacon told us to reason about heat. Find allthe circumstances in which hot bodies agree, and you will determinethe principle of heat. Find all the circumstances in which goodgovernments agree, and you will find the principles of goodgovernment. Certainly; but the process, as Macaulay admits, would be along one. Rather, it would be endless. What 'circumstances' can be thesame in all good governments in all times and places? Mill held insubstance, that we could lay down certain broad principles abouthuman nature, the existence of which is of course known from'experience', and by showing how they would work, if restrained by nodistinct checks, obtain certain useful conclusions. Mill indicatesthis line of reply in his own attack upon Mackintosh. [111] There heexplains that what he really meant was to set forth a principlerecognised by Berkeley, Hume, Blackstone, and, especially, in Plato's_Republic_. Plato's treatise is a development of the principle that'identity of interests affords the only security for good government. 'Without such identity of interest, said Plato, the guardians of theflock become wolves. Hume[112] had given a pithy expression of thesame view in the maxim 'established, ' as he says, 'by politicalwriters, ' that in framing the 'checks and controls of theconstitution, every man ought to be supposed a knave and to have noother end in his actions than private interest. ' Mill points this byreferring to the 'organs of aristocratical opinion' for the last fiftyyears. The incessant appeal has been for 'confidence in public men, 'and confidence is another name for scope for misrule. [113] This, heexplains, was what he meant by the statement (which Mackintoshconsidered to have been exploded by Macaulay) that every man pursuedhis own interest. [114] It referred to the class legislation of thegreat aristocratic ring: kings, nobles, church, law, and army. Utilitarianism, in its political relations, was one continuous warfareagainst these sinister 'interests, ' The master-evil of thecontemporary political state undoubtedly implied a want ofresponsibility. A political trust was habitually confounded withprivate property. Moreover, whatever else may be essential to goodgovernment, one essential is a strong sense of responsibility in thegovernors. That is a very sound principle, though not an axiom fromwhich all political science can be deduced. If the essay on'Government' was really meant as a kind of political Euclid--as adeduction of the best system of government from this single principleof responsibility--it was as grotesque as Macaulay asserted. Millmight perhaps have met the criticism by lowering his claims as his sonsuggests. He certainly managed to express his argument in such termsthat it has an uncomfortable appearance of being intended for ascientific exposition. 

This deserves notice because the position is characteristic of theUtilitarians' method. Their appeals to experience always end byabsolute assertions. We shall find the same difficulty in theireconomic inquiries. When accused, for example, of laying down absoluteprinciples in such cases, they reply that they are only speaking of'tendencies, ' and recognise the existence of 'checks. ' They treat ofwhat would be, if certain forces acted without limit, as a necessarystep towards discovering what is when the limits exist. They appear totheir opponents to forget the limits in their practical conclusions. This political argument is an instance of the same method. The genesisof his theory is plain. Mill's 'government, ' like Bentham's, is simplythe conception of legal 'sovereignty' transferred to the sphere ofpolitics. Mill's exposition is only distinguished from his master's bythe clearness with which he brings out the underlying assumptions. Thelegal sovereign is omnipotent, for what he declares to be the law istherefore the law. The law is his commands enforced by 'sanctions, 'and therefore by organised force. The motives for obedience are thefear of the gallows on one side, and, on the other, the desire ofprotection for life and property. Law, again, is the ultimate socialbond, and can be made at will by the sovereign. He thus becomes soomnipotent that it is virtually assumed that he can even createhimself. Not only can the sovereign, once constituted, give commandsenforced by coercive sanctions upon any kind of conduct, but he candetermine his own constitution. He can at once, for example, create arepresentative system in practice, when it has been discovered intheory, and can by judicious regulations so distribute 'self-interest'as to produce philanthropy and public spirit. Macaulay's answer reallymakes a different assumption. He accepts the purely 'empirical' or'rule of thumb' position. It is idle, he says, to ask what wouldhappen if there were no 'checks. ' It is like leaving out the effect offriction in a problem of mechanics. The logic may be correct, but theconclusions are false in practice. [115] Now this 'friction' wasprecisely the favourite expedient of the Utilitarians in politicaleconomy. To reason about facts, they say, you must analyse, andtherefore provisionally disregard the 'checks, ' which must beafterwards introduced in practical applications. Macaulay is reallybidding us take 'experience' in the lump, and refrains from the onlytreatment which can lead to a scientific result. His argument, infact, agrees with that of his famous essay on Bacon, where we learnthat philosophy applied to moral questions is all nonsense, and thatscience is simply crude common-sense. He is really saying that allpolitical reasoning is impossible, and that we must trust tounreasoned observation. Macaulay, indeed, has good grounds ofcriticism. He shows very forcibly the absurdity of transferring thelegal to the political sovereignty. Parliament might, as he says, makea law that every gentleman with £2000 a year might flog a pauper witha cat-of-nine-tails whenever he pleased. But, as the first exercise ofsuch a power would be the 'last day of the English aristocracy, ' theirpower is strictly limited in fact. [116] That gives very clearly thedifference between legal and political sovereignty. What parliamentmakes law is law, but is not therefore enforceable. We have to gobehind the commands and sanctions before we understand what is theactual power of government. It is very far from omnipotent. Macaulay, seeing this, proceeds to throw aside Mill's argument against thepossibility of a permanent division of power. The _de facto_limitation of the sovereign's power justifies the old theory about'mixed forms of government. ' 'Mixed governments' are not impossible, for they are real. All governments are, in fact, 'mixed. ' Louis XIV. Could not cut off the head of any one whom he happened to dislike. Anoriental despot is strictly bound by the religious prejudices of hissubjects. If 'sovereignty' means such power it is a chimera inpractice, or only realised approximately when, as in the case of negroslavery, a class is actually ruled by force in the hands of a reallyexternal power. And yet the attack upon 'mixed governments, ' whichBentham had expounded in the _Fragment_, has a real force whichMacaulay seems to overlook. Mill's argument against a possible'balance' of power was, as Macaulay asserted, equally applicable tothe case of independent sovereigns; yet France might be stronger atCalais and England at Dover. [117] Mill might have replied that a stateis a state precisely because, and in so far as, there is an agreementto recognise a common authority or sovereign. Government does notimply a 'mixture, ' but a fusion of power. There is a unity, though notthe abstract unity of the Utilitarian sovereign. The weakness of theUtilitarians is to speak as though the sovereign, being external toeach individual, could therefore be regarded as external to the wholesociety. He rules as a strong nation may rule a weak dependency. Whenthe sovereign becomes also the society, the power is regarded asequally absolute, though now applied to the desirable end ofmaximising happiness. The whole argument ignores the simpleconsideration that the sovereign is himself in all cases the productof the society over which he rules, and his whole action, even in themost despotic governments, determined throughout by organic instincts, explaining and not ultimately explicable by coercion. Macaulay'sdoctrine partially recognises this by falling back upon the Whigtheory of checks and balances, and the mixture of three mysteriousentities, monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. But, as Bentham hadsufficiently shown in the _Fragment_, the theory becomes hopelesslyunreal when we try to translate it into facts. There are not threeseparate forces, conflicting like three independent forces, but acomplex set of social institutions bound together into a whole. It isimpossible really to regard government as a permanent balance ofantagonistic forces, confronting each other like the three duellistsin Sheridan's _Critic_. The practical result of that theory is tosubstitute for the 'greatest happiness' principle the vague criterionof the preservation of an equilibrium between indefinable forces; andto make the ultimate end of government the maintenance as long aspossible of a balance resting on no ulterior principle, butundoubtedly pleasant for the comfortable classes. Nothing is left butthe rough guesswork, which, if a fine name be wanted, may be calledBaconian induction. The 'matchless constitution, ' as Bentham calls it, represents a convenient compromise, and the tendency is to attachexaggerated importance to its ostensible terms. When Macaulayasserted against Mill[118] that it was impossible to say whichelement--monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy--had gained strength inEngland in the last century, he is obviously looking at the formulæand not at the social body behind. 

This leads to considerations really more important than theargumentation about _a priori_ and inductive methods. Mill in practiceknew very well the qualifications necessary before his principlesapplied. He showed it in his Indian evidence; and Place could havetold him, had it required telling, that the actual political machineryworked by very strange and tortuous methods. Yet he was content tooverride such considerations when he is expounding his theory, andlaid himself open to Macaulay's broad common-sense retort. The nationat large cannot, he says, have a 'sinister interest. ' It must desirelegislation which is beneficial to the whole. This is to make the vastassumption that every individual will desire what is good for all, andwill be a sufficient judge of what is good. But is it clear that amajority will even desire what is good for the whole? May they notwish to sacrifice both other classes and coming generations to theirown instantaneous advantages? Is it plain that even enlightenment ofmind would induce a poor man to see his own advantage in the policywhich would in the long run be best for the whole society? You arebound, said Macaulay, to show that the poor man will not believe thathe personally would benefit by direct plunder of the rich; and indeedthat he would not be right in so believing. The nation, no doubt, would suffer, but in the immediate period which alone is contemplatedby a selfish pauper, the mass of the poor might get more pleasure outof confiscation. Will they not, on your own principles, proceed toconfiscation? Shall we not have such a catastrophe as the reign ofterror?

The Westminster Reviewer retorted by saying that Macaulay prophesied areign of terror as a necessary consequence of an extended franchise. Macaulay, skilfully enough, protested against this interpretation. 'Wesay again and again, ' he declares, 'that we are on the defensive. Wedo not think it necessary to prove that a quack medicine is poison. Let the vendor prove it to be sanative. We do not pretend to show thatuniversal suffrage is an evil. Let its advocates show it to be agood. '[119] Mill rests his whole case upon the selfishness of mankind. Will not the selfishness lead the actual majority at a given moment toplunder the rich and to disregard the interests of their ownsuccessors?

Macaulay's declaration that he was only 'upon the defensive' might bejustifiable in an advocate. His real thought may be inferred from aspeech on the charter made in 1842. The chartists' petition of thatyear had asked for universal suffrage. Universal suffrage, he replies, would be incompatible with the 'institution of property. '[120] If thechartists acted upon their avowed principles, they would enforce 'onevast spoliation. ' Macaulay could not say, of course, what wouldactually result, but his 'guess' was that we should see 'somethingmore horrible than can be imagined--something like the siege ofJerusalem on a far larger scale. ' The very best event he couldanticipate--'and what must the state of things be, if an Englishmanand a Whig calls such an event the very best?'--would be a militarydespotism, giving a 'sort of protection to a miserable wreck of allthat immense glory and prosperity. '[121] So in the criticism of Millhe had suggested that if his opponent's principles were correct, andhis scheme adopted, 'literature, science, commerce, manufactures'would be swept away, and that a 'few half-naked fishermen would dividewith the owls and foxes the ruins of the greatest of Europeancities. '[122]

Carefully as Macaulay guards himself in his articles upon Mill, thespeech shows sufficiently what was his 'guess'; that is, his realexpectation. This gives the vital difference. What Macaulay professesto deduce from Mill's principles he really holds himself, and he holdsit because he argues, as indeed everybody has to argue, pretty much onMill's method. He does not really remain in the purely scepticalposition which would correspond to his version of 'Baconianinduction. ' He argues, just as Mill would have argued, from generalrules about human nature. Selfish and ignorant people will, he thinks, be naturally inclined to plunder; therefore, if they have power, theywill plunder. So Mill had argued that a selfish class would rule forits own sinister interests and therefore not for the happiness of thegreatest number. The argument is the same, and it is the only line ofargument which is possible till, if that should ever happen, a genuinescience of politics shall have been constituted. The only question iswhether it shall take the pomp of _a priori_ speculation or concealitself under a show of 'Baconian induction. '

On one point they agree. Both Mill and Macaulay profess unboundedconfidence in the virtue and wisdom of the middle, that is, of theirown class. Macaulay hopes for a reform bill which will make the votesof the House of Commons 'the express image of the opinion of themiddle orders of Britain. '[123] Mill holds that the middle class willretain this moral authority, however widely the franchise be extended;while Macaulay fears that they will be swamped by its extension to themasses. The reform bill which they joined in supporting was regardedby the Radicals as a payment on account; while the Whig hoped that itwould be a full and final discharge. The Radical held that no barriersagainst democracy were needed; he took for granted that a democracywould find its natural leaders in the educated and intelligent. TheWhig, to whom such confidence appeared to be altogether misplaced, hadto find some justification for the 'checks' and 'balances' which hethought essential. 

II. WHIGGISM

I have spoken of Macaulay's articles because they represent the mostpointed conflict between the Utilitarian and the Whig. Macaulaybelongs properly to the next generation, but he appeared as themouthpiece of the earlier group of writers who in Mill's timedelivered through the _Edinburgh Review_ the true oracles of the Whigfaith. Upon that ground Mill had assailed them in his article. Theircreed, he said, was a 'see-saw. ' The Whigs were aristocrats as much asthe Tories. They were simply the 'outs' who hoped to be the 'ins. 'They trimmed their sails to catch public opinion, but were careful notto drift into the true popular currents. They had no desire to limitthe power which they hoped one day to possess. They would attackabuses--the slave-trade or the penal laws--to gain credit forliberality and enlightenment, when the abuses were such as could beremoved without injuring the power of the aristocracy. They could use'vague generalities' about liberty and so forth, but only to evadedefinite applications. When any measure was proposed which reallythreatened the power of the privileged classes, they could bring out acontradictory set of fine phrases about Jacobinism and democracy. Their whole argument was a shuffle and they themselves mere selfishtrimmers. [124] To this Jeffrey replied (in December 1826) by acceptingthe position. [125] He pleaded guilty to a love of 'trimming, ' whichmeant a love of the British Constitution. The constitution was acompromise--a balance of opposing forces--and the only question couldbe whether they were properly balanced. The answer was fair enough. Mill was imputing motives too easily, and assuming that the Reviewerssaw the abuses in the same light as he did, and were truckling topublic robbers in hopes of sharing the plunder. He was breaking abutterfly upon a wheel. The Edinburgh Reviewers were not missionariesof a creed. They were a set of brilliant young men, to whom the_Review_ was at first a mere pastime, occupying such leisure as wasallowed by their professional pursuits. They were indeed men ofliberal sympathies, intelligent and independent enough to hold by aparty which was out of power. They had read Hume and Voltaire andRousseau; they had sat at the feet of Dugald Stewart; and were insympathy with intellectual liberalism. But they were men who meant tobecome judges, members of parliament, or even bishops. Nothing intheir social atmosphere had stimulated the deep resentment againstsocial injustice which makes the fanatic or the enthusiast. We maytake as their interpreter the Whig philosopher James Mackintosh(1765-1832), a man of wide reading, both in history and philosophy, aneloquent orator, and a very able writer. Mackintosh, saidColeridge, [126] is the 'king of the men of talent'; by which wasintimated that, as a man of talent, he was not, like some people, aman of genius. Mackintosh, that is, was a man to accept plausibleformulæ and to make them more plausible; not a man to pierce to theheart of things, or reveal fruitful germs of thought. His intellectwas judicial; given to compromises, affecting a judicious _via media_, and endeavouring to reconcile antagonistic tendencies. Thoroughgoingor one-sided thinkers, and Mill in particular, regarded him withexcessive antipathy as a typical representative of the oppositeintellectual tendencies. Mackintosh's political attitude isinstructive. At the outbreak of the French revolution he was astruggling young Scot, seeking his fortune in London, just turningfrom medicine to the bar, and supporting himself partly by journalism. He became secretary to the Society of the 'Friends of the People, ' theWhig rival of the revolutionary clubs, and in April 1791 sprang intofame by his _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_. The Whigs had not yet lost the fervourwith which they had welcomed the downfall of the Bastille. Burke's_Reflections_, the work of a great thinker in a state of irritationbordering upon frenzy, had sounded the note of alarm. The revolution, as Burke maintained, was in fact the avatar of a diabolic power. Itmeant an attack upon the very organic principles of society. Ittherefore implied a complete breach of historical continuity, and awar against the reverence for 'prescription' and tradition which isessential to all healthy development. To his extreme opponents thesame theory afforded the justification of the revolution. It meantthat every institution was to be thrown into the crucible, and a newworld to arise governed only by reason. The view very ably defended byMackintosh was opposed to both. He looks upon the French revolution asa more complete application of the principles of Locke and the EnglishWhigs of 1688. The revolutionists are, as he urges, [127] applying theprinciples which had been worked out by the 'philosophers of Europe'during the preceding century. They were not, as Burke urged, rejecting experience for theory. The relation between their doctrineand politics is analogous to the relation between geometry andmechanics. [128] We are now in the position of a people who should befamiliar with Newton, but in shipbuilding be still on a level with theEsquimaux. The 'rights of man' appear to him to mean, not, as Burkeand Bentham once agreed, a set of 'anarchical fallacies, ' but a set offundamental moral principles; and the declaration of them a most wiseand 'auspicious' commencement of the 'regenerating labours' of the newlegislators. The French revolution represented what Somers would nowapprove if he had our advantages. [129] A thoroughgoing change hadbecome necessary in France. The church, army, and law were now'incorrigible. '[130] Burke had seen, in the confiscation of churchproperty, an attempt to abolish Christianity. To Mackintosh it seemedto be a reform justifiable in principle, which, though too roughlycarried out, would reduce 'a servile and imperious priesthood tohumble utility. '[131] A poor priesthood, indeed, might incline topopular superstition. We could console ourselves by reflecting thatthe power of the church, as a corporation, was broken, and thattoleration and philosophy would restrain fanaticism. [132] Theassignats were still 'almost at par. '[133] The sale of the nationalproperty would nearly extinguish the debt. France had 'renounced forever the idea of conquest, '[134] and had no temptations to war, except her colonies. Their commercial inutility and politicalmischievousness had been so 'unanimously demonstrated, ' that theFrench empire must soon be delivered from 'this cumbrous anddestructive appendage. ' An armed people, moreover, could never be usedlike a mercenary army to suppress liberty. There was no danger ofmilitary despotism, and France would hereafter seek for a pure gloryby cultivating the arts of peace and extending the happiness ofmankind. [135]

No wonder that Mackintosh, with these views, thought that the historyof the fall of the Bastille would 'kindle in unborn millions the holyenthusiasm of freedom';[136] or that, in the early disorders, he sawtemporary aberrations of mobs, destined to be speedily suppressed bythe true leaders of the revolution. Mackintosh saw, I take it, aboutas far as most philosophers, that is, about as far as people who arenot philosophers. He observes much that Burke ought to haveremembered, and keeps fairly to the philosophical principle which heannounces of attributing the revolution to general causes, and not tothe schemes of individuals. [137] When assignats became waste paper, when the guillotine got to work, when the religion of reason was beingset up against Christianity, when the French were conquering Europe, when a military despotism was arising, when, in short, it became quiteclear that the French revolution meant something very different from aphilosophical application of the principles of Locke and Adam Smith, Mackintosh began to see that Burke had not so far missed the mark. Burke, before dying, received his penitent opponent at Beaconsfield;and in 1800 Mackintosh took the opportunity of publicly declaring thathe 'abhorred, abjured, and for ever renounced the French revolution, with its sanguinary history, its abominable principles, and its everexecrable leaders. ' He hoped to 'wipe off the disgrace of having beenonce betrayed into that abominable conspiracy against God andman. '[138] In his famous defence of Peltier (1803), he denounced therevolution in a passage which might have been adopted from Burke's_Letters on a Regicide Peace_. [139]

In a remarkable letter to Windham[140] of 1806, Mackintosh gives hisestimate of Burke, and takes some credit to himself for havingdiscovered, even in the time of his youthful errors, the consistencyof Burke's principles, as founded upon an abhorrence of 'abstractpolitics. '[141] Politics, he now thought, must be made scientific byrecognising with Burke the supreme importance of prescription andhistoric continuity, and by admitting that the philosophers had notyet constructed a science bearing to practical politics the samerelation as geometry to mechanics. He applied his theory to thequestion of parliamentary reform in the _Edinburgh Review_. [142] Herehe accepts the doctrine, criticised by James Mill, that a properrepresentative system must be judged, not, as Mill maintained, solelyby the identity of its interest with that of the community at large, but by its fitness to give power to different classes. It follows thatthe landowners, the professional classes, and the populace should allbe represented. And he discovers that the variety of the Englishsystem was calculated to secure this end. Though it was only in a fewconstituencies that the poorest class had a voice, their vote in suchplaces represented the same class elsewhere. It was as well that thereshould be some extreme Radicals to speak for the poorest. But hethinks that any uniform suffrage would be bad, and that universalsuffrage would be the most mischievous of all systems. [143] That wouldmean the swamping of one class by all--a tyranny more oppressive, perhaps, than any other tyranny. If one class alone were to berepresented, it should be the favourite middle class, which has the'largest share of sense and virtue, ' and is most connected in interestwith other classes. [144] A legitimate aim of the legislator is, therefore, to prevent an excess of democracy. With Mackintosh it seemsessential not simply to suppress 'sinister interests, ' but to saveboth the aristocracy and the middle class from being crushed by thelower classes. The opposition is vital; and it is plain that theargument for the aristocracy, that is, for a system developed from allmanner of historical accidents and not evolved out of any simplelogical principles, must be defended upon empirical grounds. 

Mackintosh was in India during the early period of the _EdinburghReview_. Jeffrey, as editor for its first quarter of a century, may betaken more fully to represent its spirit. Jeffrey's trenchant, if notswaggering style, covered a very timid, sensitive, and, in somerespects, a very conservative temperament. His objection to the 'LakePoets' was the objection of the classical to the romantic school. Jeffrey's brightness of intellect may justify Carlyle's comparison ofhim to Voltaire, --only a Voltaire qualified by dislike to men who were'dreadfully in earnest. ' Jeffrey was a philosophical sceptic; heinterpreted Dugald Stewart as meaning that metaphysics, being allnonsense, we must make shift with common-sense; and he wrote adissertation upon taste, to prove that there are no rules about tastewhatever. He was too genuine a sceptic to sacrifice peace to thehopeless search for truth. One of the most striking passages in his_Essays_[145] is an attack upon 'perfectibility. ' He utterlydisbelieves that progress in knowledge will improve morals or diminishwar, or cure any of the evils that flesh is heir to. Such a man is notof the material of which enthusiastic reformers are made. Throughoutthe war he was more governed by his fear than by his zeal. He was inconstant dread of failure abroad and ruin at home. The _Review_provoked the Tories, and induced them to start its rival, not byadvocacy of political principles, but by its despairing view of thewar. [146] He was still desiring at that time (1808) to avoid 'partypolitics' in the narrower sense. 

The political view corresponding to this is given in the articles, some of which (though the authorship was not yet avowed) were assailedby Mill in the _Westminster_. In an early article[147] he defends theFrench philosophers against the imputation of responsibility for thereign of terror. Their excellent and humane doctrines had beenmisapplied by the 'exasperation' and precipitation of inexperiencedvoters. His most characteristic article is one published in January1810. The failure of the Walcheren expedition had confirmed hisdisbelief in our military leaders; the rise of English Radicalism, ledby Burdett in the House of Commons, and Cobbett in the press, thewidely spread distress and the severity of oppressive measures, rousedhis keenest alarm. [148] We are, he declared, between two violent andpernicious factions--the courtiers of arbitrary power and thedemocrats. If the Whig leaders did not first conciliate and thenrestrain the people, the struggle of the extreme parties would soonsweep away the constitution, the monarchy, and the Whig aristocracy bywhich that monarchy 'is controlled, confirmed, and exalted above allother forms of polity. ' Democracy, it was plain, was increasing withdangerous rapidity. A third of every man's income was being taken bytaxes, and after twenty years' boastful hostility we were left withouta single ally. Considering all this, it seems as though 'the wholesomedays of England were numbered, ' and we are on the 'verge of the mostdreadful of all calamities'--a civil war. 

Jeffrey has learned from Hume that all government is ultimatelyfounded upon opinion. The great thing is to make the action of publicopinion regular and constituted. The whole machinery of theconstitution, he says, is for the express purpose of 'preventing thekingly power from dashing itself to pieces against the more radicalpower of the people. '[149] The merit of a representative body is notto be tested simply by the goodness of its legislation, but by itsdiminishing the intensity of the struggle for the supreme power. Jeffrey in fact is above all preoccupied with the danger ofrevolution. The popular will is, in fact, supreme; repression mayforce it into explosion; but by judicious management it may be tamedand tempered. Then we need above all things that it should, as he saysin his reply to Mill (December 1826), give their 'natural andwholesome influence to wealth and rank. ' The stability of the EnglishConstitution depends, as he said in 1810, upon the monarchy andaristocracy, and their stability on their being the natural growth ofages and having 'struck their roots deep into every stratum of thepolitical soil. '

The Whigs represent the view implied in Macaulay's attack uponMill--the view of cultivated men of sense, with their eyes open tomany difficulties overlooked by zealots, but far too sceptical anddespondent to rouse any enthusiasm or accept any dogmas absolutely. Bythe time of the Reform Bill the danger was obviously on the side ofdogged obstructionism, and then the 'middle party, ' as Jeffrey callsit, inclined towards the Radical side and begged them to join itsranks and abandon the attempt to realise extreme views. They couldalso take credit as moderate men do for having all along been in theright. But to both extremes, as Jeffrey pathetically complains, theyappeared to be mere trimmers. [150]

The Utilitarian held the Whig to be a 'trimmer'; the Whig thought theUtilitarian a fanatic; they agreed in holding that the Tory was simplystupid. And yet, when we look at the Tory creed, we shall find thatboth Whig and Utilitarian overlooked some very vital problems. TheTories of course represent the advocates of strong government; and, astheir opponents held, had no theories--only prejudices. The firstarticle of the creed of an Eldon or a Sidmouth was, 'I believe inGeorge III. ';--not a doctrine capable of philosophical justification. Such Toryism meant the content of the rich and powerful with thesystem by which their power and wealth were guaranteed. Theirinstincts had been sharpened by the French revolution; and they saw inany change the removal of one of the safeguards against a freshoutburst of the nether fires. The great bulk of all political opinionis an instinct, not a philosophy; and the obstructive Toriesrepresented little more than class prejudice and the dread of a greatconvulsion. Yet intelligent Tories were being driven to find somereasons for their creed, which the Utilitarians might have consideredmore carefully. 

III. CONSERVATISM

A famous man of letters represents certain tendencies more clearlythan the average politician. Robert Southey (1777-1843), the 'ultraservile sack-guzzler, ' as Bentham pleasantly calls him in 1823, [151]was probably the best abused man, on his own side at least, amongMill's contemporaries. He was attacked by Mill himself, and savagelydenounced by Byron and Hazlitt. He was not only a conspicuous writerin the _Quarterly Review_ but, as his enemies thought, a renegadebought by pensions. It is, I hope, needless to defend him against thischarge. He was simply an impatient man of generous instincts and noreflective power, who had in his youth caught the revolutionary fever, and, as he grew up, developed the patriotic fever. 

Later views are given in the _Colloquies on the Progress and Prospectsof Society_ (1829), chiefly known to modern readers by one ofMacaulay's essays. Southey was as assailable as Mill. His politicaleconomy is a mere muddle; his political views are obviously distortedby accidental prejudices; and the whole book is desultory anddisjointed. In a dialogue with the ghost of Sir Thomas More, he takesthe opportunity of introducing descriptions of scenery, literarydigressions, and quaint illustrations from his vast stores of readingto the confusion of all definite arrangement. Southey is in theawkward position of a dogmatist defending a compromise. An Anglicanclaiming infallibility is necessarily inconsistent. His view oftoleration, for example, is oddly obscure. He would apparently like topersecute infidels;[152] and yet he wishes to denounce the Catholicchurch for its persecuting principles. He seems to date the mainsocial evils to the changes which began at the Reformation, and yet helooks back to the period which succeeded the Reformation asrepresenting the ideal state of the British polity. His sympathy withthe literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries predisposedhim to this position. He would have been more intelligible if he hadbeen more distinctly reactionary. For all that, his views show thepresence of a leaven which was materially to affect the laterdevelopment of English opinions. That Jacobinism meant anarchy, andthat anarchy led irresistibly to military despotism were propositionswhich to him, as to so many others, seemed to be established by theFrench revolution. What, then, was the cause of the anarchy? SirThomas More comes from the grave to tell us this, because he hadwitnessed the past symptoms of the process. The transition from theold feudal system to the modern industrial organisation had in his daybecome unmistakably developed. In feudal times, every man had hisdefinite place in society; he was a member of a little group;supported, if controlled and disciplined, by an elaborate system ofspiritual authority. The Reformation was the period at which the'masterless man' made his appearance. The conversion of pastures intoarable land, the growth of commerce and of pauperism, were marks ofthe coming change. It proceeded quietly for some generations; but thedevelopment of the modern manufacturing system represents theoperation of the same process on a far larger scale, and with fargreater intensity. The result may be described by saying that we haveinstead of a legitimate development a degeneration of society. A vastpopulace has grown up outside of the old order. It is independentindeed, but at the heavy price of being rather an inorganic mass thana constituent part of the body politic. It is, briefly, to the growthof a huge 'proletariate' outside the church, and hostile to the state, that Southey attributes all social evils. 

The view has become familiar enough in various shapes; and in thereproaches which Southey brings against the manufacturing system wehave an anticipation of other familiar lamentations. Our manufacturingwealth is a 'wen, ' a 'fungous excrescence from the body politic';[153]it is no more a proof of real prosperity than the size of a dropsicalpatient is a proof of health;[154] the manufacturer worships mammoninstead of Moloch;[155] and wrings his fortune from the degradation ofhis labourers as his warlike ancestors wrung wealth from their slaves;he confines children in a tainted atmosphere, physical and moral, frommorning till night, and a celebrated minister (Pitt) boasts of thisvery evil;[156] he treats his fellow-creatures as machines, [157] andwealth, though accumulated, is not diffused; the great capitalists, 'like pikes in a fishpond, ' devour the weaker fish;[158] competitionis not directed to providing the best goods, but the cheapest;[159]every man oppresses his neighbour; the landlord racks his tenant, thefarmer grinds the labourer; all the little centres of permanent lifeare broken up; not one man in a thousand is buried with his fathers, and the natural ties and domestic affections are prematurelydissolved. [160]

Here, too, is to be found the source of the infidel opinions whichcall for suppression. London is a hotbed of corruption;[161] a centreof wealth; and yet, in spite of poor-laws, a place where wretches aredying of starvation, and which could collect a mob capable ofproducing the most appalling catastrophes. In such a place, men becomeunbelievers like savages, because removed from all humanisinginfluences, and booksellers can carry on a trade in blasphemy. Infidelity is bred in 'the filth and corruption of large towns andmanufacturing districts. '[162] The disappearance of clerical influencehas led to 'a mass of ignorance, vice, and wretchedness which nogenerous heart can contemplate without grief. '[163] It is notsurprising that, in Southey's opinion, it is doubtful whether the bulkof the people has gained or lost in the last thousand years. [164]Macaulay takes all this as mere sentimentalism and preference of apicturesque outside to solid comfort. But whatever Southey's errors offact, they show at least a deeper insight than his opponent into somesocial evils. His proposed remedies explain his diagnosis of the evil. In the first place, it is not surprising, though it surprisedMacaulay, that he had many sympathies with the socialist, Robert Owen. He saw Owen in 1816, [165] and was much impressed by his views. In the_Colloquies_, [166] Owen is called the 'happiest, most beneficent, andmost practical of all enthusiasts'; an account is given of one of theearliest co-operative schemes, [167] and Southey believes in thepossibility of the plan. He makes, however, one significant remark. Owen, he thinks, could not succeed without enlisting in his supportsome sectarian zeal. As Owen happened to object to all religioussects, this defect could not be remedied. 

Southey, in fact, held that the absence of religious discipline was atthe root of the whole evil. Religion, he declares, much to the scornof Macaulay, 'is the basis upon which civil government rests. '[168]There must, as he infers, be an established religion, and the statewhich neglects this duty is preparing its own ruin. 'Nothing, ' hedeclares, 'in abstract science can be more certain than thesepropositions, ' though they are denied by 'our professors of the artsbabblative and scribblative'--that is, by Benthamites and Whigs. Forhere, in fact, we come to the irreconcilable difference. Government isnot to be a mere machinery for suppressing violence, but an ally ofthe church in spreading sound religion and morality. The rulers, instead of merely reflecting the popular will, should lead and directall agencies for suppressing vice and misery. Southey, as his sontakes pains to show, [169] though he was for upholding authority by themost stringent measures, was convinced that the one way to makegovernment strong was to improve the condition of the people. Heproposed many measures of reform; national education on theprinciples, of course, of Dr. Bell; state-aided colonisation and thecultivation of waste lands at home; Protestant sisterhoods toreproduce the good effects of the old order which he regretted and yethad to condemn on Anglican principles. The English church should havemade use of the Wesleyans as the church of Rome had used theFranciscans and Dominicans; and his _Life of Wesley_ was prompted byhis fond belief that this might yet be done. Government, he said, ought to be 'paternal';[170] and his leading aspirations have beenadopted by Socialists on the one hand, and the converts to Catholicismon the other. 

For his philosophy, Southey was in the habit of referring toColeridge; and Coleridge's _Constitution of Church and State_ isperhaps the book in which Coleridge comes nearest to bringing anargument to a conclusion. Though marked by his usual complexities ofstyle, his parentheses and irrelevant allusions and glances at widemetaphysical discussions, he succeeds in laying down a sufficientsketch of his position. The book was originally published in 1830, andrefers to the Catholic emancipation of the previous year. UnlikeSouthey, he approves of the measure, only regretting the absence ofcertain safeguards; and his general purpose may be said to be to givesuch a theory of the relations of church and state as may justify anestablishment upon loftier grounds than those of the commonplace Tory. 

His method, as he explains, is to find the true 'idea' of aconstitution and a national church. The 'idea, ' he explains, does notmean the conscious aim of the persons who founded or now constitutethe bodies in question. An 'idea' is the subjective counterpart of anobjective law. [171] It corresponds to the vital force which mouldsthe structure of the social organism, although it may never have beendistinctly formulated by any one of the actors. In this sense, therefore, we should have to proceed by a historical method. We shouldstudy the constitution as we study the physiology of a physicalbody;[172] and he works out the analogy at some length. So far, Coleridge is expressing the characteristic view that Nature in generalis to be regarded as an evolution; only that evolution is to beunderstood in the sense of Schelling not in the sense of eitherDarwin. Of course, when Coleridge professes to find the 'idea' of thechurch and state, what he really finds is not the idea so much as hisidea of the idea--which may be a very different thing. His theory of'evolution' is compatible with assuming that evolutions areillegitimate whenever he happens to dislike them. 

He coincides rather curiously with James Mill in asserting that the'social bond' was originally formed to protect property, not toprotect life. [173] He discovers accordingly that the ancient races, Jews, Goths, and Kelts alike, divided the land into two parts, one tobe inherited by separate families, the other to be set apart for thenation. From the latter or the 'nationalty' springs the churchestablishment. This property belongs rightfully and inalienably to thenation itself. It is held by what he calls the 'clerisy. ' Itsfunctions are, in the first place, to provide a career by which thepoorest classes may rise to a higher position; and secondly, toprovide for the development of all the qualities which distinguishthe civilised man from the savage. [174] Briefly, then, the church isthat part of the national organism which is devoted to educating thepeople to be 'obedient, free, useful organisable subjects, citizens, and patriots, living to the benefit of the estate, and prepared to diefor its defence. ' Henry viii. Would have surpassed Alfred if he haddirected the 'nationalty' to its true purposes; that is, especially tothe maintenance of universities, of a parochial clergy, and of schoolsin every parish. Unluckily, Henry VIII. 's 'idea' of a national churchwas vague. Ideas were not his strong point. Coleridge appears to beespecially troubled to work the principles into conformity with hisviews of Catholic emancipation. The peculiarity of the theory is thatthe church, according to him, seems to be simply a nationalinstitution. It might exist, and in fact, did exist beforeChristianity, as is proved not only by the Jewish but by the Druidicalchurch. [175] That it should be Christian in England is a 'blessedaccident, ' or 'providential boon'--or, as he puts it, 'most awfully agodsend. ' Hence it follows that a primary condition of its utility isthat the clerisy should contribute to the support of the other organsof the community. They must not be the subjects of a foreign power, nor, as he argues at length, subject to the desocialising influence ofcelibacy. It follows that the Roman church is unfitted to be ever anational church, although, if that danger be sufficiently obviated, nopolitical disqualifications should be imposed upon Romanists. Andthus, too, the Church Catholic is essentially a body which has norelations to any particular state. It is opposed to the world, not tothe nation, and can have no visible head or 'personal centre ofunity. '[176] The church which makes such claims is the revelation ofAntichrist. 

We need not inquire into the prophecies. It is enough to say that toColeridge as to Southey the preservation of an established churchseemed to be an essential condition of morality and civilisation. Theydiffered from the ordinary Tory, who was content to defend any of theabuses by the cry of sacrilege and confiscation. The church was to bemade worthy of its position, and rendered capable of discharging itshigh functions effectually. Coleridge, it may be said, would fullyadmit that an organ which had ceased to correspond to its idea mustdie. It could not continue to preserve itself by mere force ofobstruction, but must arouse, throw off its abuses, and show itself tobe worthy of its high claims. Meanwhile, however, he was perhaps moreanxious to show the Utilitarians that in assailing the institution onaccount of its abuses, they were really destroying the most essentialguarantee of progress. He sums up, in a curious passage, the proofs ofmodern degradation. [177] The wicked eighteenth century is of courseresponsible for everything. The 'mechanic corpuscular theory'; theconsequent decay of philosophy, illustrated by such phrases as anexcellent 'idea' of cooking; 'the ourang-outang theology of the originof the human species substituted for the first ten chapters of thebook of Genesis; rights of nature for the duties and privileges ofcitizens; idealess facts, misnamed proofs from history, for principlesand the insight derived from them': all these and other calamitousresults of modern philosophy are connected with a neglect of thewell-being of the people, the mistaking of a large revenue forprosperity, and the consumption of gin by paupers to the 'value ofeighteen millions yearly. ' He appeals pathetically to the leaders ofthe Utilitarians. They will scorn him for pronouncing that a 'naturalclerisy' is 'an essential element of a rightly constituted nation. 'All their tract societies and mechanics' institutes and 'lecturebazaars under the absurd name of universities' are 'empiric specifics'which feed the disease. Science will be plebified, not popularised. The morality necessary for a state 'can only exist for the people inthe form of religion. But the existence of a true philosophy, or thepower and habit of contemplating particulars in the unity and fontalmirror of the idea, --this in the rulers and teachers of a nation isindispensable to a sound state of religion in all classes. In fact, religion, true or false, is and ever has been the centre of gravity ina realm to which all other things must and will accommodatethemselves. '

The existence of the eighteenth century always remained a hopelesspuzzle for Coleridge and his followers. Why at that period everythingwent wrong in the higher regions of thought remained a mystery. 'Godis above, ' says Sir Thomas More to Southey, [178] 'but the devil isbelow; evil principles are in their nature more active than good. ' Thedevil seemed to have got into the upper air, and was working with hisallies, Bentham and Mill and Paine and Cobbett, with remarkablesuccess. But, whatever the theories of conservatives in church andstate, the fact that the theories were held is important. Thediametrical opposition between two schools, one of which regarded thechurch as a simple abuse, and its doctrines as effete superstitions, while the other looked to the church and its creed as giving the solehope for suppressing the evil principle, was a critical point in latermovements, political as well as religious. 

IV. SOCIALISM

I have spoken of Southey's sympathy for Robert Owen. Owen (1771-1858)is one of the characteristic figures of the time. He was the son of avillage tradesman in Wales, and had risen to prosperity by thequalities of the virtuous apprentice. Industry, patience, animperturbably good temper, and sagacity in business matters had raisedhim to high position as a manufacturer at the time of the rapidadvance of the cotton trade. Many poor men have followed the same pathto wealth. Owen's peculiarity was that while he became a capitalist hepreserved his sympathy with the working classes. While improvingmachinery, he complained that the 'living machinery' was neglected. One great step in his career was his marriage to the daughter of DavidDale of New Lanark, a religious and worthy manufacturer. [179] Dale hademployed a number of pauper children who were in that day to bedisposed of by their parishes; and had done his best to make theirposition more tolerable. Owen took up this scheme, and carried it outmore systematically. New Lanark, in his hands, became a model village;he provided in various ways for the encouragement of sobriety, industry, and honesty among his workmen, set up stores to supply cheapand good provisions, and especially provided infant schools and asystematic education. 'The children, ' he declares, 'were the happiesthuman beings he ever saw. ' When his partners interfered with hisplans, Owen bought them out and started the company to which Benthamand Allen belonged. New Lanark rapidly became famous. It was visitedby all the philanthropists of the day. The royal dukes not only ofEngland but of Russia were interested; and Owen even believed that hehad converted Napoleon at Elba. So far, Owen was a benevolentcapitalist, exercising a paternal sway over his people. He becameconvinced, however, that he had discovered the key to the great socialproblems of the day. When the distresses followed the peace, he wasprepared to propound his remedy, and found many willing hearers in allclasses. Liverpool and Sidmouth listened to him with favour, and theduke of Kent became president of a committee started to carry out hisviews. He gave the impetus to the movement by which the Factory Act of1819 was carried, although it was far from embodying his proposals intheir completeness. 

Owen's diagnosis of the social disease explains Southey's partiality. Like Southey, he traced the evil to the development of themanufacturing system. That system involved, as he held, what laterSocialists have called the 'exploitation' of the labouring classes bythe capitalists. With singularly crude notions of political economy, Owen assumed that the 'dead machinery' was in competition with the'living machinery. ' He made startling calculations as to the amountof human labour represented by steam-engines; and took for grantedthat the steam-engine displaced an equal number of workmen. His remedyfor poverty was to set up a number of communities, which shouldmaintain themselves by cultivating the soil with the spade, and inwhich every man should labour for all. Thus New Lanarks were to bespread over the country, with the difference that the employer was tobe omitted. Owen, in short, became properly a Socialist, having beensimply a paternal philanthropist. For a time Owen met withconsiderable support. A great meeting was held in London in 1817, anda committee was started two years afterwards, of which Ricardo was amember. Ricardo, indeed, took pains to let it be known that he did notbelieve in the efficacy of Owen's plans. Meanwhile Owen was breakingoff his connection with New Lanark, and becoming the apostle of a newsocial creed. His missionary voyages took him to Ireland, to theUnited States and Mexico, and attempts were made to establishcommunities in Scotland and in the State of Illinois. 

Owen and his followers became natural antagonists of the Utilitarians. He agreed with Southey in tracing distress to the development of thegreat manufacturing system, though he went much further. Theprinciples essentially involved in the whole industrial system were, according to him, pernicious. He held the essential doctrine of hismodern successors that property is theft. Between such a man and themen who took the _Wealth of Nations_ for their gospel, and Ricardo asits authorised commentator, there was an impassable gulf. On the otherhand, Owen was equally far from the Tory view of religiousprinciples. Southey's remark that he could only succeed by allyinghimself with some religious fanaticism was just to the point. 

Owen was a man of very few ideas, though he held such as he had withextraordinary tenacity, and enforced them by the effective ifillogical method of incessant repetition. Among them was the ideawhich, as he declares, had occurred to him before he was ten years oldthat there was something radically wrong in all religions. Whetherthis opinion had come to him from the diffused rationalism of histime, or was congenial to the practical and prosaic temperament whichwas disquieted by the waste of energy over futile sectarian squabbles, or was suggested by his early study of Seneca--the only author of whomhe speaks as having impressed him in early years--it became a fixedconviction. He had been an early supporter of Lancaster and'unsectarian' education. When his great meeting was to be held in 1817it occurred to him that he might as well announce his views. Heaccordingly informed his hearers that the religions of the world werethe great obstacles to progress. He expected, as he assures us, thatthis candid avowal would cause him to be 'torn in pieces. ' It provokedon the contrary general applause, and Owen congratulated himselfrather hastily on having struck the deathblow of superstition. 

Owen's position, at any rate, was a significant symptom. It showedthat the Socialist movement sprang from motives outside the sphere ofthe churches. Owen's personal simplicity and calmness seems to havesaved him from any bitter animosity. He simply set aside Christianityas not to the purpose, and went on calmly asserting and re-assertinghis views to Catholics and Protestants, Whigs, Radicals, and Tories. They agreed in considering him to be a bore, but were bored ratherthan irritated. Owen himself, like later Socialists, professedindifference to the political warfare of Whigs and Tories. When, atthe height of the Reform movement, he published a paper called the_Crisis_, the title referred not to the struggle in which all theupper classes were absorbed, but to the industrial revolution which hehoped to bring about. He would have been equally ready to accept helpfrom Whig, Tory, or Radical; but his position was one equallydistasteful to all. The Tory could not ally himself with the man whothought all religions nonsense; nor any of the regular parties withthe man who condemned the whole industrial system and was opposed toall the cherished prejudices of the respectable middle classes. 

Owen's favourite dogma is worth a moment's notice. He was never tiredof repeating that 'character is formed by circumstances'; from whichhe placidly infers that no man deserves praise or blame for hisconduct. The inference, it must be admitted, is an awkward one in anyethical system. It represents, probably, Owen's most serious objectionto the religions of the world. The ultimate aim of the priest is tosave men's souls; and sin means conduct which leads to supernaturalpunishment. Owen, on the contrary, held that immorality was simply adisease to be cured, and that wrath with the sinner was as much out ofplace as wrath with a patient. In this sense Owen's view, as I atleast should hold, defines the correct starting-point of any socialreformer. He has to consider a scientific problem, not to be an agentof a supernatural legislator. He should try to alter the generalconditions from which social evils spring, not to deal in pardons orpunishment. Owen was acting with thoroughly good sense in his earlyapplications of this principle. The care, for example, which hebestowed upon infant education recognised the fact that social reformimplied a thorough training of the individual from his earliest years. Owen's greatest error corresponds to the transformation which thisbelief underwent in his mind. Since circumstances form character, heseems to have argued, it is only necessary to change the circumstancesof a grown-up man to alter his whole disposition. His ambitious schemein America seemed to suppose that it was enough to bring together amiscellaneous collection of the poor and discontented people, and toinvite them all to behave with perfect unselfishness. At present Ineed only remark that in this respect there was a close coincidencebetween Owen and the Utilitarians. Both of them really aimed at animprovement of social conditions on a scientific method; and bothjustified their hopes by the characteristic belief in the indefinitemodifiability of human nature by external circumstances. 

I turn to a man who was in some ways the most complete antithesis toOwen. William Cobbett (1762-1835), unlike Owen, took a passionate andconspicuous part in the political struggles of the day. Cobbett, declares the _Edinburgh Review_ in July 1807, has more influence thanall the other journalists put together. He had won it, as the reviewerthought, by his force of character, although he had changed hispolitics completely 'within the last six months. ' The fact was moresignificant than was then apparent. Cobbett, son of a labourer whohad risen to be a small farmer, had in spite of all obstacles learnedto read and write and become a great master of the vernacular. Hisearliest model had been Swift's _Tale of a Tub_, and in downrightvigour of homely language he could scarcely be surpassed even by theauthor of the _Drapier's Letters_. He had enlisted as a soldier, andhad afterwards drifted to America. There he had become conspicuous asa typical John Bull. Sturdy and pugnacious in the highest degree, hehad taken the English side in American politics when the greatquestion was whether the new power should be bullied by France or byEngland. He had denounced his precursor, Paine, in language savouringtoo much, perhaps, of barrack-rooms, but certainly not wanting invigour. He defied threats of tar and feathers; put a portrait ofGeorge III. In his shop-window; and gloried in British victories, and, in his own opinion, kept American policy straight. He had, however, ended by making America too hot to hold him; and came back to declarethat republicanism meant the vilest and most corrupt of tyrannies, andthat, as an Englishman, he despised all other nations upon earth. Hewas welcomed on his return by Pitt's government as likely to be auseful journalist, and became the special adherent of Windham, theideal country-gentleman and the ardent disciple of Burke's principles. He set up an independent paper and heartily supported the war. On therenewal of hostilities in 1803 Cobbett wrote a manifesto[180] directedby the government to be read in every parish church in the kingdom, inorder to rouse popular feeling. When Windham came into office in 1806, Cobbett's friends supposed that his fortune was made. Yet at thisvery crisis he became a reformer. His conversion was put down, ofcourse, to his resentment at the neglect of ministers. I do not thinkthat Cobbett was a man to whose character one can appeal as aconclusive answer to such charges. Unfortunately he was not free fromweaknesses which prevent us from denying that his political course wasaffected by personal motives. But, in spite of weaknesses and ofcountless inconsistencies, Cobbett had perfectly genuine convictionsand intense sympathies which sufficiently explain his position, andmake him more attractive than many less obviously imperfectcharacters. He tells us unconsciously what were the thoughts suggestedto a man penetrated to the core by the strongest prejudices--they canhardly be called opinions--of the true country labourer. 

The labourer, in the first place, if fairly represented by Cobbett, had none of the bitter feeling against the nobility which smoulderedin the French peasantry. Cobbett looked back as fondly to thesurroundings of his youth as any nobleman could look back to Eton orto his country mansion. He remembered the 'sweet country air' roundCrooksbury Hill, the song of birds, and the rambles through heatherand woodland. He loved the rough jovial sports; bull-baiting andprize-fighting and single-stick play. He had followed the squire'shounds on foot, and admired without jealousy the splendid gardens ofthe bishop's palace at Farnham. Squire and parson were an intrinsicpart of the general order of things. The state of the English workingclasses was, he often declares, the happiest that could beimagined, [181] and he appeals in confirmation to his own memories. Although, upon enlisting, he had found the army corrupt, he not onlyloved the soldier for the rest of his life, but shared to the full thepatriotic exultation which welcomed the 1st of June and the Nile. Evento the last, he could not stomach the abandonment of the title 'Kingof France'; for so long as it was retained, it encouraged the farmerto tell his son the story of Crecy and Agincourt. [182]

What, then, alienated Cobbett? Briefly, the degradation of the classhe loved. 'I wish, ' he said, 'to see the poor men of England what thepoor men of England were when I was born, and from endeavouring toaccomplish this task, nothing but the want of means shall make medesist. '[183] He had a right to make that boast, and his ardour in thecause was as unimpeachable as honourable. It explains why Cobbett hasstill a sympathetic side. He was a mass of rough human nature; no prigor bundle of abstract formulæ, like Paine and his Radical successors. Logic with him is not in excess, but in defect. His doctrines arehopelessly inconsistent, except so far as they represent his stubbornprejudices. Any view will serve his purpose which can be made a weaponof offence in his multitudinous quarrels. Cobbett, like the Radicalsof the time, was frightened by the gigantic progress of the debt. Hehad advocated war; but the peasant who was accustomed to reckon hisincome by pence, and had cried like a child when he lost the price ofa red herring, was alarmed by the reckless piling up of millions ofindebtedness. In 1806 he calmly proposed to his patron Windham to putmatters straight by repudiating the interest. 'The nation mustdestroy the debt, or the debt will destroy the nation, ' as he arguedin the _Register_. [184] The proposal very likely caused the alienationof a respectable minister, though propounded with an amusing air ofphilosophical morality. Cobbett's alarm developed until it became tohim a revelation of the mystery of iniquity. His Radical friends weredenouncing placemen and jobbery, and Cobbett began to perceive whatwas at the bottom of the evil. The money raised to carry on the warserved also to support a set of bloodsuckers, who were draining thenational strength. Already, in 1804, he was lamenting a change due toPitt's funding system. The old families, he said, were giving way to'loanjobbers, contractors, and nabobs'; and the country people amazedto find that their new masters had been 'butchers, bakers, bottle-corkers, and old-clothesmen. '[185] Barings and Ricardos andtheir like were swallowing up the old country gentry wholesale; and inlater years he reckons up, as he rides, the changes in his ownneighbourhood. [186] His affection for the old country-gentleman mightbe superficial; but his lamentations over the degradation of thepeasantry sprang from his heart. It was all, in his eyes, part of oneprocess. Paper money, he found out, was at the bottom of it all; forpaper money was the outward and visible symbol of a gigantic system ofcorruption and jobbery. It represented the device by which thehard-earned wages of the labourer were being somehow conjured awayinto the pockets of Jews and stockjobbers. The classes which profitedby this atrocious system formed what he called the 'Thing'--the huge, intricate combination of knaves which was being denounced by theRadicals--though with a difference. Cobbett could join the reformersin so far as, like them, he thought that the rotten boroughs were avital part of the system. He meets a miserable labourer complaining ofthe 'hard times. ' The harvest had been good, but its blessings werenot for the labourer. That 'accursed hill, ' says Cobbett, pointing toold Sarum, 'is what has robbed you of your supper. '[187] The labourerrepresented the class whose blood was being sucked. 

So far, then, as the Radicals were assailing the borough-mongers, Cobbett could be their cordial ally. Two years' imprisonment for libelembittered his feelings. In the distress which succeeded the peace, Cobbett's voice was for a time loudest in the general hubbub. Hereduced the price of his _Register_, and his 'two-penny trash' reacheda circulation of 25, 000 or 30, 000 copies. He became a power in theland, and anticipated the immediate triumph of reform. The day was notyet. Sidmouth's measures of repression frightened Cobbett to America(March 1819), where he wrote his history of the 'last hundred days ofEnglish liberty. ' He returned in a couple of years, damaged inreputation and broken in fortune; but only to carry on the war withindomitable energy, although with a recklessness and extravagancewhich alienated his allies and lowered his character. He tried tocover his errors by brags and bombast, which became ridiculous, andwhich are yet not without significance. 

Cobbett came back from America with the relics of Paine. Paine, theobject of his abuse, had become his idol, not because Cobbett caredmuch for any abstract political theories, or for religious dogmas. Paine's merit was that he had attacked paper money. To Cobbett, as toPaine, it seemed that English banknotes were going the way of Frenchassignats and the provincial currency of the Americans. This becameone main topic of his tirades, and represented, as he said, the 'Alphaand Omega' of English politics. The theory was simple. The wholeborough-mongering system depended upon the inflated currency. Prickthat bubble and the whole would collapse. It was absolutelyimpossible, he said, that the nation should return to cash paymentsand continue to pay interest on the debt. Should such a thing happen, he declared, he would 'give his poor body up to be broiled on one ofCastlereagh's widest-ribbed gridirons. '[188] The 'gridiron prophecy'became famous; a gridiron was for long a frontispiece to the_Register_; and Cobbett, far from retracting, went on proving, in theteeth of facts, that it had been fulfilled. His inference was, notthat paper should be preserved, but that the debt should be treatedwith a 'sponge. '

Cobbett, therefore, was an awkward ally of political economists, whosegreat triumph was the resumption of cash payments, and who regardedrepudiation as the deadly sin. The burthen of the debt, meanwhile, wasso great that repudiation was well within the limits ofpossibility. [189] Cobbett, in their eyes, was an advocate of thegrossest dishonesty, and using the basest incentives. Cobbett fullyretorted their scorn. The economists belonged to the very class whomhe most hated. He was never tired of denouncing Scottish'feelosophers'; he sneers at Adam Smith, [190] and Ricardo was to himthe incarnation of the stock-jobbing interest. Cobbett sympathisedinstinctively with the doctrine of the French economists thatagriculture was the real source of all wealth. He nearly accepts aphrase, erroneously attributed to Windham, 'Perish Commerce'; and heargues that commerce was, in fact, of little use, and its monstrousextension at the bottom of all our worst evils. [191] Nobody could bemore heartily opposed to the spirit which animated the politicaleconomists and the whole class represented by them. At times he spokethe language of modern Socialists. He defines Capital as 'money takenfrom the labouring classes, which, being given to army tailors andsuchlike, enables them to keep foxhounds and trace their descent fromthe Normans. '[192]

The most characteristic point of his speculations is his view of thepoor-laws. Nobody could speak with more good sense and feeling of thedemoralisation which they were actually producing, of the sapping ofthe spirit of independence, and of all the devices by which theagricultural labourer was losing the happiness enjoyed in early years. But Cobbett's deduction from his principles is peculiar. 'ParsonMalthus' is perhaps the favourite object of his most virulent abuse. 'I have hated many men, ' he says, 'but never any one so much as you, ''I call you parson, ' he explains, 'because that word includes"boroughmonger" among other meanings, though no single word could besufficient. '[193] Cobbett rages against the phrase 'redundantpopulation. ' There would be plenty for all if the borough-mongers andstockjobbers could be annihilated, taxes abolished, and the debtrepudiated. The ordinary palliatives suggested were little to thetaste of this remarkable Radical. The man who approved bull-fightingand supported the slave-trade naturally sneered at 'heddekashun, ' andthought savings-banks a mean device to interest the poor in thekeeping up of the funds. His remedy was always a sponge applied to thedebt, and the abolition of taxes. 

This leads, however, to one remarkable conclusion. Cobbett's attackupon the church establishment probably did more to cause alarm thanany writings of the day. For Paine's attacks upon its creed he caredlittle enough. 'Your religion, ' said a parson to him, 'seems to bealtogether political. ' It might well be, was Cobbett's retort, sincehis creed was made for him by act of parliament. [194] In fact, hecared nothing for theology, though he called himself a member of thechurch of England, and retained an intense dislike for Unitarians, dissenters in general, 'saints' as he called the Evangelical party, Scottish Presbyterians, and generally for all religious sects. Helooked at church questions solely from one point of view. He hadlearned, it seems, from a passage in Ruggles's _History of thePoor_, [195] that the tithes had been originally intended to supportthe poor as well as the church. Gradually, as he looked back upon the'good old times, ' he developed the theory expounded in his _History ofthe Reformation_. It is a singular performance, written at the periodof his most reckless exasperation (1824-27), but with his full vigourof style. He declares[196] in 1825 that he has sold forty-fivethousand copies, and it has been often reprinted. The purpose is toshow that the Reformation was 'engendered in beastly lust, broughtforth in hypocrisy, and cherished and fed by plunder and devastation, and by rivers of English and Irish blood. '[197] Briefly, it is thecause of every evil that has happened since, including 'the debt, thebanks, the stockjobbers, and the American revolution. '[198] In provingthis, Cobbett writes in the spirit of some vehement Catholic bigot, maddened by the penal laws. Henry VIII. , Elizabeth, and William III. Are his monsters; the Marys of England and Scotland his ideal martyrs. He almost apologises for the massacre of St. Bartholomew and theGunpowder Plot; and, in spite of his patriotism, attributes the defeatof the Armada to a storm, for fear of praising Elizabeth. Thebitterest Ultramontane of to-day would shrink from some of thisRadical's audacious statements. Cobbett, in spite of his extravagance, shows flashes of his usual shrewdness. He remarks elsewhere that thetrue way of studying history is to examine acts of parliament andlists of prices of labour and of food;[199] and he argues upon suchgrounds for the prosperity of the agricultural labourer under EdwardIII. , 'when a dung-cart filler could get a fat goose and a half forhalf a day's work. ' He makes some telling hits, as when he contrastsWilliam of Wykeham with Brownlow North, the last bishop of Winchester. Protestants condemned celibacy. Well, had William been married, weshould not have had Winchester school, or New College; had BrownlowNorth been doomed to celibacy, he would not have had ten sons andsons-in-law to share twenty-four rich livings, besides prebends andother preferments; and perhaps he would not have sold small beer fromhis episcopal palace at Farnham. Cobbett's main doctrine is that whenthe Catholic church flourished, the population was actually morenumerous and richer, that the care of the priests and monks madepauperism impossible, and that ever since the hideous blunderperpetrated by the reformers everything has been going from bad toworse. When it was retorted that the census proved the population tobe growing, he replied that the census was a lie. Were the facts trulystated, he declares, we should have a population of near twenty-eightmillion in England by the end of this century, [200] a manifest_reductio ad absurdum_. If it were remarked that there was a Catholicchurch in France, and that Cobbett proves his case by the superiorityof the English poor to the French poor, he remarked summarily that theFrench laws were different. [201]

Thus, the one monster evil is the debt, and the taxes turn out to havebeen a Protestant invention made necessary by the original act ofplunder. That was Cobbett's doctrine, and, however perverse might besome of his reasonings, it was clearly to the taste of a largeaudience. The poor-law was merely a partial atonement for a vast andcontinuous process of plunder. Corrupt as might be its actualoperation, it was a part of the poor man's patrimony, extorted by fearfrom the gang of robbers who fattened upon their labours. 

Cobbett's theories need not be discussed from the logical orhistorical point of view. They are the utterances of a man madeunscrupulous by his desperate circumstances, fighting with boundlesspugnacity, ready to strike any blow, fair or foul, so long as it willvex his enemies, and help to sell the _Register_. His pugnacityalienated all his friends. Not only did Whigs and Tories agree incondemning him, but the Utilitarians hated and despised him, and hisold friends, Burnett and Hunt, were alienated from him, and reviled byhim. His actual followers were a small and insignificant remnant. YetCobbett, like Owen, represented in a crude fashion blind instincts ofno small importance in the coming years. And it is especially to benoted that in one direction the philosophic Coleridge and the keenQuarterly Reviewer Southey, and the Socialist Owen and the reactionaryRadical Cobbett, were more in agreement than they knew. What alarmedthem was the vast social change indicated by the industrialrevolution. In one way or another they connected all the evils of theday with the growth of commerce and manufactures, and the breaking upof the old system of domestic trade and village life. [202] That is tosay, that in a dumb and inarticulate logic, though in the loudesttones of denunciation, Tories and Socialists, and nondescript Radicalswere raging against the results of the great social change, which theUtilitarians regarded as the true line of advance of the day. Thisgives the deepest line of demarcation, and brings us to the politicaleconomy, which shows most fully how the case presented itself to thetrue Utilitarian. 

FOOTNOTES:

[80] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 215. 

[81] _Autobiography_, p. 104. 

[82] _Miscellaneous Works_ (Popular Edition), p. 131. 

[83] The articles from the _Encyclopædia_ upon Government, Jurisprudence, Liberty of the Press, Prisons and Prison Discipline, Colonies, Law of Nations, Education, were reprinted in a volume 'notfor sale, ' in 1825 and 1828. I quote from a reprint not dated. 

[84] 'Government, ' pp. 3-5. 

[85] 'Government, ' p. 8. 

[86] 'Government, ' p. 9. 

[87] _Ibid. _ p. 11. 

[88] _Ibid. _ p. 9. 

[89] _Ibid. _ p. 12. 

[90] 'Government, ' p. 9. 

[91] C'est une expérience éternelle que tout homme qui a du pouvoirest porté à en abuser; il va jusqu'à ce qu'il trouve deslimites. --_Esprit des Lois_, Bk. Xi. Chap 4. 

[92] 'Government, ' p. 15. 

[93] 'Government, ' p. 7. 

[94] _Ibid. _ p. 18. 

[95] 'Government, ' p. 21. 

[96] _Ibid. _ p. 22

[97] _Autobiography_, p. 104. 

[98] 'Government, ' p. 28. 

[99] _Ibid. _ p. 30. Mill especially refers to the exposure of clericalartifices in Father Paul's _Council of Trent_. 

[100] 'Education, ' p. 20

[101] _Ibid. _ p. 45. 

[102] _Autobiography_, p. 106. 

[103] 'Government, ' p. 31. 

[104] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 392. 

[105] They were reprinted in the _Miscellaneous Works_ afterMacaulay's death. I quote from the 'popular edition' of that work(1875). 

[106] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 166. 

[107] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 132. 

[108] Mill's _Autobiography_, p. 158. 

[109] 'Government, ' p. 12. 

[110] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 169. 

[111] _Fragment on Mackintosh_ (1870), pp. 275-94. 

[112] Essay on the 'Independency of Parliament. '

[113] _Fragment_, p. 292. 

[114] _Ibid. _ p. 276. 

[115] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 170. 

[116] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 173. 

[117] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 138. 

[118] _Miscellaneous Works_, pp. 135-40. 

[119] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 158, and see pp. 143-47. 

[120] _Speeches_ (Popular Edition), p. 125. 

[121] _Ibid. _ p. 128. 

[122] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 146. 

[123] _Miscellaneous Works_, p. 183. 

[124] A full analysis of this article is in Bain's _James Mill_, pp. 265-75. 

[125] Article upon Sheridan, reprinted in Jeffrey's _Essays_, iv. (1844). 

[126] _Table-Talk_, 27th April 1823. 

[127] _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_, in _Miscellaneous Works_, iii. (1846), p. 57. 

[128] Mackintosh thinks it necessary to add that this parallel wassuggested to him by William Thomson (1746-1837), a literary gentlemanwho continued Watson's _Philip III. _, and may, for anything I know, deserve Mackintosh's warm eulogy. 

[129] _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_, p. 59. 

[130] _Ibid. _ p. 51. 

[131] _Ibid. _ p. 148. 

[132] _Ibid. _ p. 68. 

[133] _Ibid. _ p. 72. 

[134] _Ibid. _ p. 125. 

[135] _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_, p. 128. 

[136] _Ibid. _ p. 84. 

[137] _Ibid. _ p. 30. 

[138] _Life of Mackintosh_, i. 125. 

[139] _Miscellaneous Works_, iii. 261-65. 

[140] _Life_, i. 309-16. 

[141] See _Miscellaneous Works_, iii. 3. 

[142] _Ibid. _ iii. 203-38 (an article highly praised by Bagehot in his_Parliamentary Reform_). 

[143] _Miscellaneous Works_, iii. 215-16. 

[144] _Ibid. _ iii. 226. Mackintosh in this article mentions the'caucus, ' and observes that the name implies that combinations havebeen already formed upon 'which the future government of theconfederacy may depend more than on the forms of election, or theletter of the present laws. ' He inclines to approve the system asessential to party government. 

[145] _Essays_ (1844), i. 84-106. 

[146] The famous 'Cevallos' article of 1808, said to be written byJeffrey and Brougham (Macvey Napier's _Correspondence_, p. 308), gavethe immediate cause of starting the _Quarterly_; and, according toBrougham, first gave a distinctly Liberal character to the_Edinburgh_. For Jeffrey's desire to avoid 'party politics, ' seeLockhart's _Life of Scott_, M. Napier's _Correspondence_, p. 435, andHomer's _Memoirs_ (1853), i. 464. 

[147] April 1805; reprinted in _Essays_, ii. 38, etc. , to show, as hesays, how early he had taken up his view of the French revolution. 

[148] Sydney Smith complains in his correspondence of this article asexaggerating the power of the aristocracy. 

[149] _Essays_, iv. 29. 

[150] I need not speak of Brougham, then the most conspicuous advocateof Whiggism. He published in 1843 a _Political Philosophy_, which, according to Lord Campbell, killed the 'Society for the Diffusion ofUseful Knowledge. ' No such hypothesis is necessary to account for thedeath of a society encumbered by a 'Dictionary of UniversalBiography. ' But the book was bad enough to kill, if a collection ofoutworn platitudes can produce that effect. 

[151] Bentham's _Works_, x. 536. 

[152] _Colloquies_, i. 253. 

[153] _Colloquies_, i. 171. 

[154] _Ibid. _ i. 178. 

[155] _Ibid. _ i. 169. 

[156] _Ibid. _ i. 167. 

[157] _Ibid. _ i. 170. 

[158] _Ibid. _ i. 194. 

[159] _Ibid. _ ii. 247. 

[160] _Colloquies_, ii. 259. 

[161] _Ibid. _ i. 109. 

[162] _Ibid. _ ii. 105-7. 

[163] _Ibid. _ i. 106. 

[164] _Ibid. _ i. 47. 

[165] _Life and Correspondence_, iv. 195; _Selections_, iii. 45. 

[166] _Colloquies_, i. 62. 

[167] _Colloquies_, i. 135. 

[168] _Ibid. _ ii. 147. Southey is here almost verbally followingBurke's _Reflections_. 

[169] _Life and Correspondence_, v. 4-6. 

[170] _Colloquies_, i. 105. 

[171] _On the Constitution of Church and State, according to the ideaof each_, 1852 (fourth edition). 

[172] _Church and State_, p. 100. 

[173] _Ibid. _ p. 97. 

[174] _Church and State_, p. 85. 

[175] _Ibid. _ p. 67. 

[176] _Church and State_, p. 142. 

[177] _Ibid. _ pp. 75-79. 

[178] _Colloquies_, i. 37. 

[179] See an early account of Dale (in 1798) in Sydney Smith's _Lifeand Letters_, i. 35, and another in Wilberforce's _Correspondence_(1840), i. 137 (in 1796). 

[180] Printed in _Political Works_, i. 302. 

[181] _Political Works_, v. 313; vi. 579. 

[182] _Political Works_, i. 473; v. 319. 

[183] _Ibid. _ ii. 285. 

[184] _Political Works_, ii. 28; iv. 388. 

[185] _Ibid. _ i. 443. 

[186] _Rural Rides_ (1853), p. 311. 

[187] _Rural Rides_, p. 386. 

[188] _Political Works_, v. 436 (22nd July 1819). 

[189] Even M'Culloch had recommended a partial repudiation. 

[190] _Political Works_, iv. 237. 

[191] _Ibid. _ ii. 19, 107, 250, 346; and iii. 423. See _ParliamentaryHistory_, xxx. , where the first use of the phrase by Hardinge isreported. 

[192] _Political Works_, vi. 176. 

[193] _Ibid. _ 395. 

[194] _Rural Rides_, p. 446. 

[195] He complains bitterly that Ruggles had suppressed this in asecond edition. _Protestant Reformation_ (1850), ii. , Introduction. 

[196] _Political Register_, 29th Jan. 1825. 

[197] _Protestant Reformation_, p. 13. 

[198] _Ibid. _ p. 262. 

[199] _Advice to Young Men_, p. 8. 

[200] _Political Works_, v. 405. If our census be not a lie, therewere twenty-seven million Englishmen in 1891. 

[201] _Protestant Reformation_, i. 311. 

[202] Coleridge in a letter to Allsop (_Conversations_, etc. , i. 20)approves one of Cobbett's articles, because it popularises the weightytruth of the 'hollowness of commercial wealth. ' Cobbett, he sadlyreflects, is an overmatch for Liverpool. See Cobbett's _PoliticalWorks_, v. 466 _n. _

CHAPTER IV

MALTHUS

I. MALTHUS'S STARTING-POINT

The political movement represented the confluence of many differentstreams of agitation. Enormous social changes had generatedmultifarious discontent. New wants and the new strains and stressesbetween the various parts of the political mechanism required newadaptations. But, if it were inquired what was the precise nature ofthe evils, and how the reform of parliament was to operate, the mostvarious answers might be given. A most important line of division didnot coincide with the line between the recognised parties. One wing ofthe Radicals agreed with many Conservatives in attributing the greatevils of the day to the industrial movement and the growth ofcompetition. The middle-class Whigs and the Utilitarians were, on thecontrary, in thorough sympathy with the industrial movement, anddesired to limit the functions of government, and trust to self-helpand free competition. The Socialistic movement appeared for thepresent to be confined to a few dreamers and demagogues. TheUtilitarians might approve the spirit of the Owenites, but held theirschemes to be chimerical. Beneath the political controversies therewas therefore a set of problems to be answered; and the Utilitariananswer defines their distinction from Radicals of a different and, asthey would have said, unphilosophical school. 

What, then, was the view really taken by the Utilitarians of theseunderlying problems? They not only had a very definite theory inregard to them, but in working it out achieved perhaps their mostimportant contribution to speculation. Beneath a political theorylies, or ought to lie, what we now call a 'sociology'--a theory ofthat structure of society which really determines the character andthe working of political institutions. The Utilitarian theory wasembodied in their political economy. I must try to define as well as Ican what were the essential first principles implied, without goinginto the special problems which would be relevant in a history ofpolitical economy. 

The two leading names in the literature of political economy duringthe first quarter of this century were undoubtedly Malthus andRicardo. Thomas Robert Malthus[203] (1766-1834) was not one of theUtilitarian band. As a clergyman, he could not share their opinion ofthe Thirty-nine Articles. Moreover, he was a Whig, not a Radical; andhe was even tainted with some economic heresy. Still, he became one ofthe prophets, if not the leading prophet, of the Utilitarians. Beliefin the Malthusian theory of population was the most essential articleof their faith, and marked the line of cleavage between the two wingsof the Radical party. 

Malthus was the son of a country gentleman in Surrey. His father wasa man of studious habits, and one of the enthusiastic admirers ofRousseau. His study of _Émile_ probably led to the rather desultoryeducation of his son. The boy, after being taught at home, was for atime a pupil of R. Graves (1715-1804), author of the _SpiritualQuixote_, a Whig clergyman who was at least orthodox enough toridicule Methodism. Malthus was next sent to attend GilbertWakefield's lectures at the Warrington 'Academy, ' the Unitarian placeof education, and in 1784 went to Jesus College, Cambridge, of whichWakefield had been a fellow. For Wakefield, who had become aUnitarian, and who was afterwards a martyr to political Radicalism, heappears to have retained a strong respect. At Jesus, again, Malthuswas under Frend, who also was to join the Unitarians. Malthus was thusbrought up under the influences of the modified rationalism which wasrepresented by the Unitarians outside the establishment and by Paleywithin. Coleridge was at Jesus while Malthus was still a fellow, andthere became an ardent admirer of Priestley, Malthus remained withinthe borders of the church. Its yoke was light enough, and he wasessentially predisposed to moderate views. He took his degree as ninthwrangler in 1788, became a fellow of his college in 1793, took orders, and in 1798 was curate of Albury, near his father's house in Surrey. Malthus's home was within a walk of Farnham, where Cobbett had beenborn and passed his childhood. He had, therefore, before his eyes thesame agricultural labourer whose degradation excited Cobbett toRadicalism. Very different views were suggested to Malthus. Therevolutionary doctrine was represented in England by the writings ofGodwin, whose _Political Justice_ appeared in 1793 and _Enquirer_ in1797. These books naturally afforded topics for discussion betweenMalthus and his father. The usual relations between senior and juniorwere inverted; the elder Malthus, as became a follower of Rousseau, was an enthusiast; and the younger took the part of suggesting doubtsand difficulties. He resolved to put down his arguments upon paper, inorder to clear his mind; and the result was the _Essay uponPopulation_, of which the first edition appeared anonymously in 1798. 

The argument upon which Malthus relied was already prepared for him. The dreams of the revolutionary enthusiasts supposed either a neglectof the actual conditions of human life or a belief that thoseconditions could be radically altered by the proposed politicalchanges. The cooler reasoner was entitled to remind them that theywere living upon solid earth, not in dreamland. The difficulty ofrealising Utopia may be presented in various ways. Malthus took apoint which had been noticed by Godwin. In the conclusion of his_Political Justice_, [204] while taking a final glance at the comingmillennium, Godwin refers to a difficulty suggested by Robert Wallace. Wallace had[205] said that all the evils under which mankind suffersmight be removed by a community of property, were it not that such astate of things would lead to an 'excessive population. ' Godwin makeslight of the difficulty. He thinks that there is some 'principle inhuman society by means of which everything tends to find its own leveland proceed in the most auspicious way, when least interfered with bythe mode of regulation. ' Anyhow, there is plenty of room on the earth, at present. Population may increase for 'myriads of centuries. ' Mind, as Franklin has said, may become 'omnipotent over matter';[206] lifemay be indefinitely prolonged; our remote descendants who have filledthe earth 'will probably cease to propagate';[207] they will not havethe trouble of making a fresh start at every generation; and in thosedays there will be 'no war, no crimes, no administration of justice';and moreover, 'no disease, anguish, melancholy, or resentment. 'Briefly, we shall be like the angels, only without the needlessaddition of a supreme ruler. Similar ideas were expressed inCondorcet's famous _Tableau historique des progrès de l'esprithumain_, [208] written while he was in daily fear of death by theguillotine, and so giving the most striking instance on record of theinvincibility of an idealist conviction under the hardest pressure offacts. 

The argument of Malthus is a product of the whole previous course ofspeculation. The question of population had occupied the Frencheconomists. The profound social evils of France gave thestarting-point of their speculations; and one of the gravest symptomshad been the decay of population under the last years of Louis XIV. Their great aim was to meet this evil by encouraging agriculture. Itcould not escape the notice of the simplest observer that if you wouldhave more mouths you must provide more food, unless, as some piouspeople assumed, that task might be left to Providence. Quesnay hadlaid it down as one of his axioms that the statesman should aim atproviding sustenance before aiming simply at stimulating population. It follows, according to Gulliver's famous maxim, that the man whomakes two blades of grass grow where one grew before deserves betterof his country than the 'whole race of politicians put together. 'Other writers, in developing this thesis, had dwelt upon theelasticity of population. The elder Mirabeau, for example, publishedhis _Ami des hommes ou traité de la population_ in 1756. He observesthat, given the means of subsistence, men will multiply like rats in abarn. [209] The great axiom, he says, [210] is 'la mesure de lasubsistance est celle de la population. ' Cultivate your fields, andyou will raise men. Mirabeau replies to Hume's essay upon the'Populousness of ancient nations' (1752), of which Wallace's firsttreatise was a criticism. The problem discussed by Hume and Wallacehad been comparatively academical; but by Malthus's time the questionhad taken a more practical shape. The sentimentalists denounced luxuryas leading to a decay of the population. Their prevailing doctrine isembodied in Goldsmith's famous passage in the _Deserted Village_(1770):

 'Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay. '

The poetical version only reflected the serious belief of Radicalpoliticians. Although, as we are now aware, the population was in factincreasing rapidly, the belief prevailed among political writers thatit was actually declining. Trustworthy statistics did not exist. In1753 John Potter, son of the archbishop, proposed to the House ofCommons a plan for a census. A violent discussion arose, [211] in thecourse of which it was pointed out that the plan would inevitably leadto the adoption of the 'canvas frock and wooden shoes. ' Englishmenwould lose their liberty, become French slaves, and, when counted, would no doubt be taxed and forcibly enlisted. The bill passed theHouse of Commons in spite of such reasoning, but was thrown out by theHouse of Lords. Till the first census was taken in 1801--a period atwhich the absolute necessity of such knowledge had become obvious--themost elementary facts remained uncertain. Was population increasing ordecreasing? That surely might be ascertainable. 

Richard Price (1723-1791) was not only a distinguished moralist and aleading politician, but perhaps the best known writer of his time uponstatistical questions. He had the credit of suggesting Pitt's sinkingfund, [212] and spoke with the highest authority upon facts andfigures. Price argued in 1780[213] that the population of England haddiminished by one-fourth since the revolution of 1688. A sharpcontroversy followed upon the few ascertainable data. The vagueness ofthe results shows curiously how much economists had to argue in thedark. Malthus observes in his first edition that he had beenconvinced by reading Price that population was restrained by 'vice andmisery, ' as results, not of political institutions, but of 'our owncreation. '[214] This gives the essential point of difference. Mirabeauhad declared that the population of all Europe was decaying. Hume'sessay, which he criticises, had been in answer to a similar statementof Montesquieu. Price had learned that other countries were increasingin number, though England, he held, was still declining. What, then, was the cause? The cause, replied both Price and Mirabeau, was'luxury, ' to which Price adds the specially English evils of the'engrossment of farms' and the enclosure of open fields. Price had toadmit that the English towns had increased; but this was an additionalevil. The towns increased simply by draining the country; and in thetowns themselves the deaths exceeded the births. The great cities werethe graves of mankind. This opinion was strongly held, too, by ArthurYoung, who ridiculed the general fear of depopulation, and declaredthat if money were provided, you could always get labour, but wholooked upon the towns as destructive cancers in the body politic. 

The prevalence of this view explains Malthus's position. To attributedepopulation to luxury was to say that it was caused by the inequalityof property. The rich man wasted the substance of the country, becamedemoralised himself, and both corrupted and plundered his neighbours. The return to a 'state of nature, ' in Rousseau's phrase, meant thereturn to a state of things in which this misappropriation shouldbecome impossible. The whole industry of the nation would then bedevoted to supporting millions of honest, simple peasants andlabourers, whereas it now went to increasing the splendour of thegreat at the expense of the poor. Price enlarges upon this theme, which was, in fact, the contemporary version of the later formula thatthe rich are growing richer and the poor poorer. The immediate effectof equalising property, then, would be an increase of population. Itwas the natural retort, adopted by Malthus, that such an increasewould soon make everybody poor, instead of making every onecomfortable. Population, the French economists had said, followssubsistence. Will it not multiply indefinitely? The rapid growth ofpopulation in America was noticed by Price and Godwin; and the theoryhad been long before expanded by Franklin, in a paper which Malthusquotes in his later editions. 'There is no bound, ' said Franklin in1751, [215] 'to the prolific nature of plants and animals but what ismade by their crowding and interfering with each other's means ofsubsistence. ' The whole earth, he infers, might be overspread withfennel, for example, or, if empty of men, replenished in a few ageswith Englishmen. There were supposed to be already one million ofEnglishmen in North America. If they doubled once in twenty-fiveyears, they would in a century exceed the number of Englishmen athome. This is identical with Mirabeau's principle of the multiplyingof rats in a barn. Population treads closely on the heels ofsubsistence. Work out your figures and see the results. [216]

Malthus's essay in the first edition was mainly an application ofthis retort, and though the logic was effective as against Godwin, hemade no elaborate appeal to facts. Malthus soon came to see that amore precise application was desirable. It was clearly desirable toknow whether population was or was not actually increasing, and underwhat conditions. I have spoken of the contemporary labours ofSinclair, Young, Sir F. Eden, and others. To collect statistics wasplainly one of the essential conditions of settling the controversy. Malthus in 1799 travelled on the continent to gather information, andvisited Sweden, Norway, Russia, and Germany. The peace of Amiensenabled him in 1802 to visit France and Switzerland. He inquiredeverywhere into the condition of the people, collected suchstatistical knowledge as was then possible, and returned to digest itinto a elaborate treatise. Meanwhile, the condition of England wasgiving a fresh significance to the argument. The first edition hadbeen published at the critical time when the poor-law was beingrelaxed, and disastrous results were following war and famine. The oldcomplaint that the poor-law was causing depopulation was being changedfor the complaint that it was stimulating pauperism. The first editionalready discussed this subject, which was occupying all seriousthinkers; it was now to receive a fuller treatment. The secondedition, greatly altered, appeared in 1803, and made Malthus a man ofauthority. His merits were recognised by his appointment in 1805 tothe professorship of history and political economy at the newlyfounded East India College at Haileybury. There he remained till theend of his life, which was placid, uneventful, and happy. He made ahappy marriage in 1804; and his calm temperament enabled him to bearan amount of abuse which might have broken the health of a moreirritable man. Cobbett's epithet, 'parson Malthus, ' strikes thekeynote. He was pictured as a Christian priest denouncing charity, andproclaiming the necessity of vice and misery. He had the ill luck tobe the centre upon which the antipathies of Jacobin and anti-Jacobinconverged. Cobbett's language was rougher than Southey's; but thepoet-laureate and the author of 'two-penny trash' were equallyvehement in sentiment. Malthus, on the other hand, was accepted by thepolitical economists, both Whig and Utilitarian. Horner andMackintosh, lights of the Whigs, were his warm friends as well as hisdisciples. He became intimate with Ricardo, and he was one of theoriginal members of the Political Economy Club. He took abuseimperturbably; was never vexed 'after the first fortnight' by the mostunfair attack; and went on developing his theories, lecturing hisstudents, and improving later editions of his treatise. Malthus diedon 23rd December 1834. 

II. THE RATIOS

The doctrine marks a critical point in political economy. Malthus'sopponents, as Mr. Bonar remarks, [217] attacked him alternately forpropounding a truism and for maintaining a paradox. A 'truism' is notuseless so long as its truth is not admitted. It would be the greatestof achievements to enunciate a law self-evident as soon as formulated, and yet previously ignored or denied. Was this the case of Malthus? Ordid he really startle the world by clothing a commonplace in paradox, and then explain away the paradox till nothing but the commonplace wasleft?

Malthus laid down in his first edition a proposition which continuedto be worried by all his assailants. Population, he said, whenunchecked, increases in the geometrical ratio; the means ofsubsistence increase only in an arithmetical ratio. Geometrical ratioswere just then in fashion. [218] Price had appealed to their wonderfulways in his arguments about the sinking fund; and had pointed out thata penny put out to 5 per cent. Compound interest at the birth ofChrist would, in the days of Pitt, have been worth some millions ofglobes of solid gold, each as big as the earth. Both Price and Malthuslay down a proposition which can easily be verified by themultiplication-table. If, as Malthus said, population doubles intwenty-five years, the number in two centuries would be to the presentnumber as 256 to 1, and in three as 4096 to 1. If, meanwhile, thequantity of subsistence increased in 'arithmetical progression, ' themultipliers for it would be only 9 and 13. It follows that, in theyear 2003, two hundred and fifty-six persons will have to live uponwhat now supports nine. So far, the case is clear. But how does theargument apply to facts? For obvious reasons, Price's penny could notbecome even one solid planet of gold. Malthus's population is alsoclearly impossible. That is just his case. The population of BritishNorth America was actually, when he wrote, multiplying at the assignedrate. What he pointed out was that such a rate must somehow bestopped; and his question was, how precisely will it be stopped? Thefirst proposition, he says[219] (that is, that population increasedgeometrically), 'I considered as proved the moment that the Americanincrease was related; and the second as soon as enunciated. ' To saythat a population increases geometrically, in fact, is simply to saythat it increases at a fixed rate. The arithmetical increasecorresponds to a statement which Malthus, at any rate, might regard asundeniable; namely, that in a country already fully occupied, thepossibility of increasing produce is restricted within much narrowerlimits. In a 'new country, ' as in the American colonies, the increaseof food might proceed as rapidly as the increase of population. Improved methods of cultivation, or the virtual addition of vasttracts of fertile territory by improved means of communication, may ofcourse add indefinitely to the resources of a population. But Malthuswas contemplating a state of things in which the actual conditionslimited the people to an extraction of greater supplies from astrictly limited area. Whether Malthus assumed too easily that thisrepresented the normal case may be questionable. At any rate, it wasnot only possible but actual in the England of the time. His problemwas very much to the purpose. His aim was to trace the way in whichthe population of a limited region is prevented from increasinggeometrically. If the descendants of Englishmen increase at a certainrate in America, why do they not increase equally in England? That, itmust be admitted, is a fair scientific problem. Finding that two racesof similar origin, and presumably like qualities, increase atdifferent rates, we have to investigate the causes of the difference. 

Malthus answered the problem in the simplest and most consistent wayin his first edition. What are the checks? The ultimate check wouldclearly be starvation. A population might multiply till it had notfood. But before this limit is actually reached, it will suffer invarious ways from scarcity. Briefly, the checks may be distinguishedinto the positive, that is, actual distress, and the preventive, or'foresight. ' We shall actually suffer unless we are restrained by theanticipation of suffering. As a fact, however, he thinks that men arebut little influenced by the prudence which foresees sufferings. Theygo on multiplying till the consequences are realised. You may beconfined in a room, to use one of his illustrations, [220] though thewalls do not touch you; but human beings are seldom satisfied tillthey have actually knocked their heads against the wall. He sums uphis argument in the first edition in three propositions. [221]Population is limited by the means of subsistence; that is obvious;population invariably increases when the means of subsistence areincreased; that is shown by experience to be practically true; andtherefore, finally, the proportion is maintained by 'misery andvice. ' That is the main conclusion which not unnaturally startled theworld. Malthus always adhered in some sense to the main doctrine, though he stated explicitly some reserves already implicitly involved. A writer must not be surprised if popular readers remember theunguarded and dogmatic utterances which give piquancy to a theory, andoverlook the latent qualifications which, when fully expressed, makeit approximate to a commonplace. The political bearing of hisreasoning is significant. The application of Godwin's theories ofequality would necessarily, as he urges, stimulate an excessivepopulation. To meet the consequent evils, two measures would beobviously necessary; private property must be instituted in order tostimulate prudence; and marriage must be instituted to make menresponsible for the increase of the population. These institutions arenecessary, and they make equality impossible. Weak, then, as foresightmay be with most men, the essential social institutions have beendeveloped by the necessity of enabling foresight to exercise someinfluence; and thus indirectly societies have in fact grown in wealthand numbers through arrangements which have by one and the same actionstrengthened prudence and created inequality. Although this is clearlyimplied, the main impression produced upon Malthus's readers was thathe held 'vice and misery' to be essential to society; nay, that insome sense he regarded them as blessings. He was accused, as he tellsus, [222] of objecting to vaccination, because it tended to preventdeaths from small-pox, and has to protest against some one who haddeclared his principles to be favourable to the slave trade. [223] Hewas represented, that is, as holding depopulation to be good initself. These perversions were grotesque, but partly explain thehorror with which Malthus was constantly regarded; and we mustconsider what made them plausible. 

I must first notice the maturer form of his doctrine. In the secondedition he turns to account the result of his later reading, hispersonal observations, and the statistical results which werebeginning to accumulate. The remodelled book opens with a survey ofthe observed action of the checks; and it concludes with a discussionof the 'moral restraint' which is now added to 'vice and misery. 'Although considerable fragments of the old treatise remained to thelast, the whole book was altered both in style and character. Thestyle certainly suffers, for Malthus was not a master of the literaryart; he inserts his additions with little care for the general effect. He tones down some of the more vivid phrases which had given offence, though he does not retract the substance. A famous passage[224] in thesecond edition, in which he speaks of 'nature's mighty feast, ' where, unluckily, the 'table is already full, ' and therefore unbidden guestsare left to starve, was suppressed in the later editions. Yet theprinciple that no man has a claim to subsistence as of right remainsunaltered. The omission injures the literary effect without alteringthe logic; and I think that, where the argument is amended, the newelement is scarcely worked into the old so as to gain thoroughconsistency. 

Malthus's survey of different countries showed how various are the'checks' by which population is limited in various countries. We takea glance at all nations through all epochs of history. In the SouthSea we find a delicious climate and a fertile soil, where populationis mainly limited by vice, infanticide, and war; and where, in spiteof these influences, the population multiplies at intervals till it iskilled off by famine. In China, a vast and fertile territory, inhabited by an industrious race, in which agriculture has always beenencouraged, marriage stimulated, and property widely diffused, hasfacilitated the production of a vast population in the most abjectstate of poverty, driven to expose children by want, and liable atintervals to destructive famines. In modern Europe, the checks appearin the most various forms; in Switzerland and Norway a frugalpopulation in small villages sometimes instinctively understands theprinciple of population, and exhibits the 'moral restraint, ' while inEngland the poor-laws are producing a mass of hopeless and inertpauperism. Consideration of these various cases, and a comparison ofsuch records as are obtainable of the old savage races, of theclassical states of antiquity, of the Northern barbarians and of themodern European nations, suggests a natural doubt. Malthus abundantlyproves what can hardly be denied, that population has everywhere beenfound to press upon the means of subsistence, and that vice and miseryare painfully abundant. But does he establish or abandon his mainproposition? He now asserts the 'tendency' of population to outrun themeans of subsistence. Yet he holds unequivocally that the increase ofpopulation has been accompanied by an increased comfort; that want hasdiminished although population has increased; and that the'preventive' check is stronger than of old in proportion to thepositive check. Scotland, he says, [225] is 'still overpeopled, but notso much as when it contained fewer inhabitants. ' Many nations, as hepoints out in general terms, have been most prosperous when mostpopulous. [226] They could export food when crowded, and have ceased toimport it when thinned. This, indeed, expresses his permanent views, though the facts were often alleged by his critics as a disproof ofthem. Was not the disproof real? Does not a real evasion lurk underthe phrase 'tendency'? You may say that the earth has a tendency tofall into the sun, and another 'tendency' to move away from the sun. But it would be absurd to argue that we were therefore in danger ofbeing burnt or of being frozen. To explain the law of a vital process, we may have to analyse it, and therefore to regard it as due toconflicting forces; but the forces do not really exist separately, andin considering the whole concrete phenomenon we must take them asmutually implied. A man has a 'tendency' to grow too fat; and another'tendency' to grow too thin. That surely means that on the whole hehas a 'tendency' to preserve the desirable mean. The phrase, then, canonly have a distinct meaning when the conflicting forces represent twoindependent or really separable forces. To use an illustration givenby Malthus, we might say that a man had a 'tendency' to grow upwards;but was restrained by a weight on his head. The man has the'tendency, ' because we may regard the weight as a separable accident. When both forces are of the essence, the separate 'tendencies'correspond merely to our way of analysing the fact. But if one can beproperly regarded as relatively accidental, the 'tendency' means theway in which the other will manifest itself in actual cases. 

In 1829, Senior put this point to Malthus. [227] What, he asked, do youunderstand by a 'tendency' when you admit that the tendency isnormally overbalanced by others? Malthus explains his meaning to bethat every nation suffers from evils 'specifically arising from thepressure of population against food. ' The wages of the labourer in oldcountries have never been sufficient to enable him to maintain a largefamily at ease. There is overcrowding, we may say, in England now asthere was in England at the Conquest; though food has increased in agreater proportion than population; and the pressure has thereforetaken a milder form. This, again, is proved by the fact that, whenevera relaxation of the pressure has occurred, when plagues havediminished population, or improvements in agriculture increased theirsupply of food, the gap has been at once filled up. The people havenot taken advantage of the temporary relaxation of the check topreserve the new equilibrium, but have taken out the improvement by amultiplication of numbers. The statement then appears to be that atany given time the population is in excess. Men would be better off ifthey were less numerous. But, on the other hand, the tendency tomultiply does not represent a constant force, an irresistible instinctwhich will always bring men down to the same level, but somethingwhich, in fact, may vary materially. Malthus admits, in fact, thatthe 'elasticity' is continually changing; and therefore repudiates theinterpretation which seemed to make all improvement hopeless. Why, then, distinguish the 'check' as something apart from the instinct?If, in any case, we accept this explanation, does not the theorybecome a 'truism, ' or at least a commonplace, inoffensive but hardlyinstructive? Does it amount to more than the obvious statement thatprudence and foresight are desirable and are unfortunately scarce?

III. MORAL RESTRAINT

The change in the theory of 'checks' raises another importantquestion. Malthus now introduced a modification upon which hissupporters laid great stress. In the new version the 'checks' whichproportion population to means of subsistence are not simply 'vice andmisery, ' but 'moral restraint, vice, and misery. '[228] How, precisely, does this modify the theory? How are the different 'checks' related?What especially is meant by 'moral' in this connection? Malthus takeshis ethical philosophy pretty much for granted, but is clearly aUtilitarian according to the version of Paley. [229] He agrees withPaley that 'virtue evidently consists in educing from the materialswhich the Creator has placed under our guidance the greatest sum ofhuman happiness. '[230] He adds to this that our 'natural impulses are, abstractedly considered, good, and only to be distinguished by theirconsequences. ' Hunger, he says, as Bentham had said, is the same initself, whether it leads to stealing a loaf or to eating your ownloaf. He agrees with Godwin that morality means the 'calculation ofconsequences, '[231] or, as he says with Paley, implies the discoveryof the will of God by observing the effect of actions upon happiness. Reason then regulates certain innate and practically unalterableinstincts by enabling us to foretell their consequences. Thereasonable man is influenced not simply by the immediategratification, but by a forecast of all the results which it willentail. In these matters Malthus was entirely at one with theUtilitarians proper, and seems to regard their doctrine asself-evident. 

He notices briefly one logical difficulty thus introduced. The'checks' are vice, misery, and moral restraint. But why distinguishvice from misery? Is not conduct vicious which causes misery, [232] andprecisely because it causes misery? He replies that to omit 'vice'would confuse our language. Vicious conduct may cause happiness inparticular cases; though its general tendency would be pernicious. Theanswer is not very clear; and Malthus, I think, would have been morelogical if he had stuck to his first theory, and regarded vice assimply one form of imprudence. Misery, that is, or the fear of misery, and the indulgence in conduct which produces misery are the 'checks'which limit population; and the whole problem is to make the ultimatesanction more operative upon the immediate conduct. Man becomes morevirtuous simply as he becomes more prudent, and is therefore governedin his conduct by recognising the wider and more remote series ofconsequences. There is, indeed, the essential difference that thevirtuous man acts (on whatever motives) from a regard to the 'greatesthappiness of the greatest number, ' and not simply from self-regard. Still the ultimate and decisive criterion is the tendency of conductto produce misery; and if Malthus had carried this through asrigorously as Bentham, he would have been more consistent. The 'moralcheck' would then have been simply a department of the prudential;including prudence for others as well as for ourselves. One reason forthe change is obvious. His assumption enables him to avoid coming intoconflict with the accepted morality of the time. On his exposition'vice' occasionally seems not to be productive of misery but analternative to misery; and yet something bad in itself. Is thisconsistent with his Utilitarianism? The vices of the South SeaIslanders, according to him, made famine less necessary; and, if theygave pleasure at the moment, were they not on the whole beneficial?Malthus again reckons among vices practices which limit the populationwithout causing 'misery' directly. [233] Could he logically call themvicious? He wishes to avoid the imputation of sanctioning suchpractices, and therefore condemns them by his moral check; but itwould be hard to prove that he was consistent in condemning them. Or, again, there is another familiar difficulty. The Catholic churchencourages marriage as a remedy for vice; and thereby stimulates bothpopulation and poverty. How would Malthus solve the problem: is itbetter to encourage chastity and a superabundance of people, or torestrict marriage at the cost of increasing temptation to vice? Heseems to evade the point by saying that he recommends both chastityand abstinence from marriage. By 'moral restraint, ' as he explains, hemeans 'restraint from marriage from prudential motives, with a conductstrictly moral during the period of this restraint. ' 'I have never, 'he adds, 'intentionally deviated from this sense. '[234] A man, thatis, should postpone taking a wife, and should not console himself bytaking a mistress. He is to refrain from increasing the illegitimateas well as from increasing the legitimate population. It is notsurprising that Malthus admits that this check has 'in past agesoperated with inconsiderable force. '[235] In fact Malthus, as athoroughly respectable and decent clergyman, manages by talking aboutthe 'moral restraint' rather to evade than to answer some awkwardproblems of conduct; but at the cost of some inconsequence. 

But another result of this mode of patching up his argument is moreimportant. The 'vices of mankind, ' he says in an unusually rhetoricalsummary of his historical inquiry, [236] 'are active and able ministersof depopulation. They are the precursors in the great army ofdestruction, and often finish the dreadful work themselves. But shouldthey fail in the war of extermination, sickly seasons, epidemics, pestilence, and plague advance in terrific array, and sweep off theirthousands and ten thousands. Should success still be incomplete, gigantic inevitable famine stalks in the rear, and at one mighty blowlevels the population with the food of the world. ' The life of therace, then, is a struggle with misery; its expansion is constantlyforcing it upon this array of evils; and in proportion to theelasticity is the severity of the evils which follow. This is not onlya 'gloomy view, ' but again seems to suggest that 'vice' is analternative to 'misery. ' Vices are bad, it would seem, but at leastthey obviate the necessity for disease and famine. Malthus probablysuppressed the passage because he thought it liable to thisinterpretation. It indicates, however, a real awkwardness, if notsomething more, in his exposition. He here speaks as if there was roomfor a fixed number of guests at his banquet. Whatever, therefore, keeps the population to that limit must be so far good. If he hadconsidered his 'moral check' more thoroughly, he might have seen thatthis does not correspond to his real meaning. The 'moral' and theprudential checks are not really to be contrasted as alternative, butco-operative. Every population, vicious or virtuous, must of courseproportion its numbers to its means of support. That gives theprudential check. But the moral check operates by altering thecharacter of the population itself. From the purely economic point ofview, vice is bad because it lowers efficiency. A lazy, drunken, andprofligate people would starve where an industrious, sober, and honestpeople would thrive. The check of vice thus brings the check of miseryinto play at an earlier stage. It limits by lowering the vitality andsubstituting degeneration for progress. The check, therefore, isessentially mischievous. Though it does not make the fields barren, itlowers the power of cultivation. Malthus had recognised this when hepointed out, as we have seen, that emergence from the savage statemeant the institution of marriage and property and, we may infer, thecorrelative virtues of chastity, industry, and honesty. If men canform large societies, and millions can be supported where once a fewthousands were at starvation point, it is due to the civilisationwhich at every stage implies 'moral restraint' in a wider sense thanMalthus used the phrase. An increase of population by such means was, of course, to be desired. If Malthus emphasises this inadequately, itis partly, no doubt, because the Utilitarian view of morality tendedto emphasise the external consequences rather than the alteration ofthe man himself. Yet the wider and sounder view is logically impliedin his reasoning--so much so that he might have expressed his real aimmore clearly if he had altered the order of his argument. He mighthave consistently taken the same line as earlier writers and declaredthat he desired, above all things, the increase of population. Hewould have had indeed to explain that he desired the increase of asound and virtuous population; and that hasty and imprudent increaseled to misery and to a demoralisation which would ultimately limitnumbers in the worst way. We shall see directly how nearly he acceptsthis view. Meanwhile, by insisting upon the need of limitation, he wasled to speak often as if limitation by any means was good and the onething needful, and the polemic against Godwin in the first edition hadgiven prominence to this side of the question. Had he put his views ina different shape, he would perhaps have been so edifying that hewould have been disregarded. He certainly avoided that risk, and hadwhatever advantage is gained by stating sound doctrine paradoxically. 

We shall, I think, appreciate his real position better by consideringhis approximation to the theory which, as we know, was suggested toDarwin by a perusal of Malthus. [237] There is a closer resemblancethan appears at first. The first edition concludes by two chaptersafterwards omitted, giving the philosophical application of histheory. He there says that the 'world is a mighty process of God notfor the trial but for the creation and formation of the mind. '[238] Itis not, as Butler thought, a place of 'probation, ' but a scene inwhich the higher qualities are gradually developed. Godwin had quotedFranklin's view that 'mind' would become 'omnipotent over matter. 'Malthus holds that, as he puts it, 'God is making matter into mind. 'The difference is that Malthus regards evil in general not as a sortof accident of which we can get rid by reason; but as the essentialstimulus which becomes the efficient cause of intellectual activity. The evils from which men suffer raise savage tribes from theirindolence, and by degrees give rise to the growth of civilisation. Theargument, though these chapters were dropped by Malthus, was taken upby J. B. Sumner, to whom he refers in later editions. [239] It is, infact, an imperfect way of stating a theory of evolution. This appearsin his opening chapters upon the 'moral restraint. '[240] He explainsthat moral and physical evils are 'instruments employed by the Deity'to admonish us against such conduct as is destructive of happiness. Diseases are indications that we have broken a law of nature. Theplague of London was properly interpreted by our ancestors as a hintto improve the sanitary conditions of the town. Similarly, we have toconsider the consequences of obeying our instincts. The desire of foodand necessaries is the most powerful of these instincts, and next toit the passion between the sexes. They are both good, for they areboth natural; but they have to be properly correlated. To 'virtuouslove' in particular we owe the 'sunny spots' in our lives, where theimagination loves to bask. Desire of necessaries gives us the stimulusof the comfortable fireside; and love adds the wife and children, without whom the fireside would lose half its charm. Now, as a rule, the sexual passion is apt to be in excess. The final cause of thisexcess is itself obvious. We cannot but conceive that it is an objectof 'the Creator that the earth should be replenished. '[241] To securethat object, it is necessary that 'there should be a tendency in thepopulation to increase faster than food. ' If the two instincts weredifferently balanced, men would be content though the population of afertile region were limited to the most trifling numbers. Hence theinstinct has mercifully been made so powerful as to stimulatepopulation, and thus indirectly and eventually to produce a populationat once larger and more comfortable. On the one hand, it is of thevery utmost importance to the happiness of mankind that they shouldnot increase too fast, [242] but, on the other hand, if the passionwere weakened, the motives which make a man industrious and capable ofprogress would be diminished also. It would, of course, be simpler toomit the 'teleology'; to say that sanitary regulations are madenecessary by the plague, not that the plague is divinely appointed toencourage sanitary regulations. Malthus is at the point of view ofPaley which becomes Darwinism when inverted; but the conclusion ismuch the same. He reaches elsewhere, in fact, a more precise view ofthe value of the 'moral restraint. ' In a chapter devoted for once toan ideal state of things, [243] he shows how a race thoroughly imbuedwith that doctrine would reconcile the demands of the two instincts. Population would in that case increase, but, instead of beginning byan increase, it would begin by providing the means of supporting. Noman would become a father until he had seen his way to provide for afamily. The instinct which leads to increasing the population wouldthus be intrinsically as powerful as it now is; but when regulated byprudence it would impel mankind to begin at the right end. Food wouldbe ready before mouths to eat it. 

IV. SOCIAL REMEDIES

This final solution appears in Malthus's proposed remedies for theevils of the time. Malthus[244] declares that 'an increase ofpopulation when it follows in its natural order is both a greatpositive good in itself, and absolutely necessary' to an increase ofwealth. This natural order falls in, as he observes, with the view towhich Mirabeau had been converted, that 'revenue was the source ofpopulation, ' and not population of revenue. [245] Malthus holdsspecifically that, 'in the course of some centuries, ' the populationof England might be doubled or trebled, and yet every man be 'muchbetter fed and clothed than he is at present. '[246] He parts companywith Paley, who had considered the ideal state to be 'that of alaborious frugal people ministering to the demands of an opulentluxurious nation. '[247] That, says Malthus, is 'not an invitingprospect. ' Nothing but a conviction of absolute necessity couldreconcile us to the 'thought of ten millions of people condemned toincessant toil, and to the privation of everything but absolutenecessaries, in order to minister to the excessive luxuries of theother million. ' But he denies that any such necessity exists. Hewishes precisely to see luxury spread among the poorer classes. Adesire for such luxury is the best of all checks to population, andone of the best means of raising the standard. It would, in fact, contribute to his 'moral restraint. ' So, too, he heartily condemnsthe hypocrisy of the rich, who professed a benevolent desire tobetter the poor, and yet complained of high wages. [248] If, he sayselsewhere, [249] a country can 'only be rich by running a successfulrace for low wages, I should be disposed to say, Perish such riches!'No one, in fact, could see more distinctly than Malthus thedemoralising influence of poverty, and the surpassing importance ofraising the people from the terrible gulf of pauperism. He refers toColquhoun's account of the twenty thousand people who rose everymorning in London without knowing how they were to be supported; andobserves that 'when indigence does not produce overt acts of vice, itpalsies every virtue. '[250] The temptations to which the poor man isexposed, and the sense of injustice due to an ignorance of the truecause of misery, tend to 'sour the disposition, to harden the heart, and deaden the moral sense. ' Unfortunately, the means which have beenadopted to lessen the evil have tended to increase it. In the firstplace, there was the master-evil of the poor-laws. Malthus points outthe demoralising effects of these laws in chapters full of admirablecommon sense, which he was unfortunately able to enforce by freshillustrations in successive editions. He attends simply to thestimulus to population. He thinks that if the laws had never existed, the poor would now have been much better off. [251] If the laws hadbeen fully carried out, every labourer might have been certain thatall his children would be supported, or, in other words, every checkto population would have been removed. [252] Happily, the becomingpride of the English peasantry was not quite extinct; and the poor-lawhad to some extent counteracted itself, or taken away with one handwhat it gave with the other, by placing the burthen upon theparishes. [253] Thus landlords have been more disposed to pull downthan to build cottages, and marriage has been checked. On the whole, however, Malthus could see in the poor-laws nothing but a vast agencyfor demoralising the poor, tempered by a system of petty tyrannicalinterference. He proposes, therefore, that the poor-law should beabolished. Notice should be given that no children born after acertain day should be entitled to parish help; and, as he quaintlysuggests, the clergyman might explain to every couple, afterpublishing the banns, the immorality of reckless marriage, and thereasons for abolishing a system which had been proved to frustrate theintentions of the founders. [254] Private charity, he thinks, wouldmeet the distress which might afterwards arise, though humanityimperiously requires that it should be 'sparingly administered. ' Uponthis duty he writes a sensible chapter. [255] To his negative proposalsMalthus adds a few of the positive kind. He is strongly in favour of anational system of education, and speaks with contempt of the'illiberal and feeble' arguments opposed to it. The schools, heobserves, might confer 'an almost incalculable benefit' upon society, if they taught 'a few of the simplest principles of politicaleconomy. '[256] He had been disheartened by the prejudices of theignorant labourer, and felt the incompatibility of a free governmentwith such ignorance. A real education, such as was given in Scotland, would make the poor not, as alarmists had suggested, more inflammable, but better able to detect the sophistry of demagogues. [257] He is, ofcourse, in favour of savings banks, [258] and approves friendlysocieties, though he is strongly opposed to making them compulsory, asthey would then be the poor-law in a new form. [259] The value of everyimprovement turns upon its effect in encouraging the 'moralrestraint. ' Malthus's ultimate criterion is always, Will the measuremake people averse to premature marriage? He reaches the apparentlyinconsistent result that it might be desirable to make an allowancefor every child beyond six. [260] But this is on the hypothesis thatthe 'moral restraint' has come to be so habitual that no man marriesuntil he has a fair prospect of maintaining a family of six. If thiswere the practical code, the allowance in cases where the expectationwas disappointed would not act as an encouragement to marriage, but asa relief under a burthen which could not have been anticipated. Thusall Malthus's teaching may be said to converge upon this practicalpoint. Add to the Ten Commandments the new law, 'Thou shalt not marryuntil there is a fair prospect of supporting six children. ' Thenpopulation will increase, but sufficient means for subsistence willalways be provided beforehand. We shall make sure that there is aprovision for additional numbers before, not after, we add to ournumbers. Food first and population afterwards gives the rule; thus weachieve the good end without the incidental evils. 

Malthus's views of the appropriate remedy for social evilsundoubtedly show an imperfect appreciation of the great problemsinvolved. Reckless propagation is an evil; but Malthus regards it asan evil which can be isolated and suppressed by simply adding a newarticle to the moral code. He is dealing with a central problem ofhuman nature and social order. Any modification of the sexualinstincts or of the constitution of the family involves a profoundmodification of the whole social order and of the dominant religiousand moral creeds. Malthus tacitly assumes that conduct is determinedby the play of two instincts, unalterable in themselves, but capableof modification in their results by a more extensive view ofconsequences. To change men's ruling motives in regard to the mostimportant part of their lives is to alter their whole aims andconceptions of the world, and of happiness in every other relation. Itsupposes, therefore, not a mere addition of knowledge, but atransformation of character and an altered view of all the theorieswhich have been embodied in religious and ethical philosophy. Heoverlooks, too, considerations which would be essential to a completestatement. A population which is too prudent may suffer itself to becrowded out by more prolific races in the general struggle forexistence; and cases may be suggested such as that of the Americancolonies, in which an increase of numbers might be actually anadvantage by facilitating a more efficient organisation of labour. 

The absence of a distinct appreciation of such difficulties gives tohis speculation that one-sided character which alienated his moresentimental contemporaries. It was natural enough in a man who wasconstantly confronted by the terrible development of pauperism inEngland, and was too much tempted to assume that the tendency toreckless propagation was not only a very grave evil, but the ultimatesource of every evil. The doctrine taken up in this unqualifiedfashion by some of his disciples, and preached by them with the utmostfervour as the one secret of prosperity, shocked both the conservativeand orthodox whose prejudices were trampled upon, and such Radicals asinherited Godwin's or Condorcet's theory of perfectibility. Harsh andone-sided as it might be, however, we may still hold that it was ofvalue, not only in regard to the most pressing difficulty of the day, but also as calling attention to a vitally important condition ofsocial welfare. The question, however, recurs whether, when thedoctrine is so qualified as to be admissible, it does not also becomea mere truism. 

An answer to this question should begin by recognising one specificresemblance between his speculations and Darwin's. Facts, which appearfrom an older point of view to be proofs of a miraculousinterposition, become with Malthus, as with Darwin, the normal resultsof admitted conditions. Godwin had admitted that there was some'principle which kept population on a level with subsistence. ' 'Thesole question is, ' says Malthus, [261] 'what is this principle? Is itsome obscure and occult cause? a mysterious interference of heaven, 'inflicting barrenness at certain periods? or 'a cause open to ourresearches and within our view?' Other writers had had recourse to themiraculous. One of Malthus's early authorities was Süssmilch, who hadpublished his _Göttliche Ordnung_ in 1761, to show how Providence hadtaken care that the trees should not grow into the sky. Theantediluvians had been made long-lived in order that they might havelarge families and people an empty earth, while life was divinelyshortened as the world filled up. Süssmilch, however, regardedpopulation as still in need of stimulus. Kings might help Providence. A new Trajan would deserve to be called the father of his people, ifhe increased the marriage-rate. Malthus replies that the statisticswhich the worthy man himself produced showed conclusively that themarriages depended upon the deaths. The births fill up the vacancies, and the prince who increased the population before vacancies arosewould simply increase the rate of mortality. [262] If you want toincrease your birth-rate without absolutely producing famine, as heremarks afterwards, [263] make your towns unhealthy, and encouragesettlement by marshes. You might thus double the mortality, and wemight all marry prematurely without being absolutely starved. His ownaim is not to secure the greatest number of births, but to be surethat the greatest number of those born may be supported. [264] Theingenious M. Muret, again, had found a Swiss parish in which the meanlife was the highest and the fecundity smallest known. He piouslyconjectures that it may be a law of God that 'the force of life ineach country should be in the inverse ratio of its fecundity. ' Heneeds not betake himself to a miracle, says Malthus. [265] The case issimply that in a small and healthy village, where people had becomeaware of the importance of the 'preventive check, ' the young peopleput off marriage till there was room for them, and consequently bothlowered the birth-rate and raised the average duration of life. 

Nothing, says Malthus very forcibly, has caused more errors than theconfusion between 'relative and positive, and between cause andeffect. '[266] He is here answering the argument that because the poorwho had cows were the most industrious, the way to make themindustrious was to give them cows. Malthus thinks it more probablethat industry got the cow than that the cow produced industry. This isa trifling instance of a very general truth. People had been contentto notice the deaths caused by war and disease, and to infer at oncethat what caused death must diminish population. Malthus shows thenecessity of observing other collateral results. The gap may be madeso great as to diminish population; but it may be compensated by amore rapid reproduction; or, the rapidity of reproduction may itselfbe the cause of the disease; so that to remove one kind of mortalitymay be on some occasion to introduce others. The stream is dammed onone breach to flow more strongly through other outlets. [267]

This is, I conceive, to say simply that Malthus was introducing areally scientific method. The facts taken in the true order became atonce intelligible instead of suggesting mysterious and irregularinterferences. Earlier writers had been content to single out oneparticular set of phenomena without attending to its place in the moregeneral and complex processes, of which they formed an integral part. Infanticide, as Hume had pointed out, might tend to increasepopulation. [268] In prospect, it might encourage people to havebabies; and when babies came, natural affection might prevent theactual carrying out of the intention. To judge of the actual effect, we have to consider the whole of the concrete case. It may be carriedout, as apparently in the South Sea Islands, so generally as to limitpopulation; or it may be, as in China, an indication that the pressureis so great that a number of infants become superfluous. Itssuppression might, in the one case, lead to an increase of thepopulation; in the other, to the increase of other forms of mortality. Malthus's investigations illustrate the necessity of referring everyparticular process to its place in the whole system, of noting how anygiven change might set up a set of actions and reactions in virtue ofthe general elasticity of population, and thus of constantly referringat every step to the general conditions of human life. He succeeded inmaking many points clear, and of showing how hastily many inferenceshad been drawn. He explained, for example, why the revolutionary warshad not diminished the population of France, in spite of the greatnumber of deaths, [269] and thus gave an example of a sound method ofinquiry which has exercised a great influence upon later observers. Malthus was constantly misunderstood and misrepresented, and hisopponents often allege as fatal objections to his doctrine the veryfacts by which it was really supported. But we may, I think, say, thatsince his writing no serious economical writer has adopted the oldhasty guesses, or has ventured to propose a theory without regard tothe principles of which he first brought out the full significance. 

V. POLITICAL APPLICATION

This I take to indicate one real and permanent value of Malthus'swritings. He introduced a new method of approaching the great socialproblems. The value of the method may remain, however inaccurate maybe the assumptions of facts. The 'tendency, ' if interpreted to meanthat people are always multiplying too rapidly, may be a figment. Ifit is taken as calling attention to one essential factor in the case, it is a most important guide to investigation. This brings out anothervital point. The bearing of the doctrine upon the political as well asupon the economical views of the Utilitarians is of conspicuousimportance. Malthus's starting-point, as we have seen, was theopposition to the doctrine of 'perfectibility. ' Hard facts, whichGodwin and Condorcet had neglected, were fatal to their dreams. Youhave, urged Malthus, neglected certain undeniable truths as to theunalterable qualities of human nature, and, therefore, your theorieswill not work. The revolutionists had opposed an ideal 'state ofnature' to the actual arrangements of society. They imagined that the'state of nature' represented the desirable consummation, and that theconstitution of the 'natural' order could be determined from certainabstract principles. The equality of man, and the absolute rightswhich could be inferred by a kind of mathematical process, suppliedthe necessary dogmatic basis. The antithesis to the state of naturewas the artificial state, marked by inequality, and manifesting itsspirit by luxury. Kings, priests, and nobles had somehow establishedthis unnatural order; and to sweep them away summarily was the way ofbringing the natural order into full activity. The ideal system wasalready potentially in existence, and would become actual when men'sminds were once cleared from superstition, and the political made tocorrespond to the natural rights of man. To this Malthus had replied, as we have seen, that social inequality was not a mere arbitraryproduct of fraud and force, but an expedient necessary to restrain theprimitive instincts of mankind. He thus coincides with Bentham'spreference of 'security' to 'equality, ' and illustrates the realsignificance of that doctrine. Property and marriage, though theyinvolve inequality, were institutions of essential importance. Godwinhad pushed his theories to absolute anarchy; to the destruction of alllaw, for law in general represented coercion or an interference withthe state of nature. Malthus virtually asserted that the metaphysicaldoctrine was inapplicable because, men being what they are, theseconclusions were incompatible with even the first stages of socialprogress. This means, again, that for the metaphysical method Malthusis substituting a scientific method. Instead of regarding allgovernment as a kind of mysterious intervention from without, whichhas somehow introduced a fatal discord into the natural order, heinquires what are the facts; how law has been evolved; and for whatreason. His answer is, in brief, that law, order, and inequality havebeen absolutely necessary in order to limit tendencies which wouldotherwise keep men in a state of hopeless poverty and depression. 

This gives the 'differentia' of the Utilitarian considered as onespecies of the genus 'Radical. ' Malthus's criticism of Paine issignificant. [270] He agrees with Paine that the cause of popularrisings is 'want of happiness. ' But Paine, he remarks, was 'in manyimportant points totally ignorant of the structure of society'; andhas fallen into the error of attributing all want of happiness togovernment. Consequently, Paine advocates a plan for distributingtaxes among the poorest classes, which would aggravate the evils ahundredfold. He fully admits with Paine that man has rights. The trueline of answer would be to show what those rights are. To give thisanswer is not Malthus's present business; but there is one right, atany rate, which a man does not and cannot possess: namely, the 'rightto subsistence when his labour will not fairly purchase it. ' He doesnot possess it because he cannot possess it; to try to secure it is totry to 'reverse the laws of nature, ' and therefore to produce cruelsuffering by practising an 'inhuman deceit. ' The Abbé Raynal had saidthat a man had a right to subsist 'before all social laws. ' Man hadthe same right, replied Malthus, as he had to live a hundred or athousand years. He may live, _if he can_ without interfering withothers. Social laws have, in fact, enlarged the power of subsistence;but neither before nor after their institution could an unlimitednumber subsist. Briefly, the question of fact comes before thequestion of right, and the fault of the revolutionary theorists was tosettle the right without reference to the possibility of making theright correspond to the fact. 

Hence Malthus draws his most emphatic political moral. The admissionthat all evil is due to government is the way to tyranny. Make menbelieve that government is the one cause of misery, and they willinevitably throw the whole responsibility upon their rulers; seek forredress by cures which aggravate the disease; and strengthen the handsof those who prefer even despotism to anarchy. This, he intimates, isthe explanation of the repressive measures in which thecountry-gentlemen had supported Pitt. The people had fancied that bydestroying government they would make bread cheap; government wasforced to be tyrannical in order to resist revolution; while itssupporters were led to 'give up some of the most valuable privilegesof Englishmen. '[271] It is then of vital importance to settle what isand what is not to be set down to government. Malthus, in fact, holdsthat the real evils are due to underlying causes which cannot bedirectly removed, though they may be diminished or increased, bylegislators. Government can do something by giving security toproperty, and by making laws which will raise the self-respect of thelower classes. But the effect of such laws must be slow and gradual;and the error which has most contributed to that delay in the progressof freedom, which is 'so disheartening to every liberal mind, '[272] isthe confusion as to the true causes of misery. Thus, as he has alreadyurged, professed economists could still believe, so long after thepublication of Adam Smith's work, that it was 'in the power of thejustices of the peace or even of the omnipotence of parliament toalter by a _fiat_ the whole circumstances of the country. '[273] Yetmen who saw the absurdity of trying to fix the price of provisionswere ready to propose to fix the rate of wages. They did not see thatone term of the proportion implied the other. Malthus's wholecriticism of the poor-law, already noticed, is a commentary upon thistext. It is connected with a general theory of human nature. Theauthor of nature, he says, has wisely made 'the passion of self-lovebeyond expression stronger than the passion of benevolence. '[274] Hemeans, as he explains, that every man has to pursue his own welfareand that of his family as his primary object. Benevolence, of course, is the 'source of our purest and most refined pleasures, ' and soforth; but it should come in as a supplement to self-love. Thereforewe must never admit that men have a strict right to relief. That is toinjure the very essential social force. 'Hard as it may seem inindividual instances, dependent poverty ought to be helddisgraceful. '[275] The spirit of independence or self-help is the onething necessary. 'The desire of bettering our condition and the fearof making it worse, like the _vis medicatrix_ in physics, is the _vismedicatrix naturae_ in politics, and is continually counteracting thedisorders arising from narrow human institutions. '[276] It is onlybecause the poor-laws have not quite destroyed it, that they have notquite ruined the country. The pith of Malthus's teaching is fairlyexpressed in his last letter to Senior. [277] He holds that theimprovement in the condition of the great mass of the labouringclasses should be considered as the main interest of society. Toimprove their condition, it is essential to impress them with theconviction that they can do much more for themselves than others cando for them, and that the _only_ source of permanent improvement isthe improvement of their moral and religious habits. What governmentcan do, therefore, is to maintain such institutions as may strengthenthe _vis medicatrix_, or 'desire to better our condition, ' whichpoor-laws had directly tended to weaken. He maintains in his letter toSenior, that this desire is 'perfectly feeble' compared with thetendency of the population to increase, and operates in a very slightdegree upon the great mass of the labouring class. [278] Still, heholds that on the whole the 'preventive checks' have become strongerrelatively to the positive, [279] and, at any rate, all proposals mustbe judged by their tendency to strengthen the preventive. 

Malthus was not a thoroughgoing supporter of the 'do-nothing'doctrine. He approved of a national system of education, and of theearly factory acts, though only as applied to infant labour. So, as weshall see, did all the Utilitarians. The 'individualism, ' however, isnot less decided; and leads him to speak as though the elasticity ofpopulation were not merely an essential factor in the social problem, but the sole principle from which all solutions must be deduced. He isthus led, as I have tried to show, to a narrow interpretation of his'moral check. ' He is apt to take 'vice' simply as a product ofexcessive pressure, and, in his general phrases at least, to overlookits reciprocal tendency to cause pressure. The 'moral check' is onlypreventive or negative, not a positive cause of superior vigour. Asimilar defect appears in his theory of the _vis medicatrix_. He was, I hold, perfectly right in emphasising the importance of individualresponsibility. No reform can be permanent which does not raise themorality of the individual. His insistence upon this truth was of thehighest importance, and it is to be wished that its importance mightbe more fully recognised to-day. The one-sidedness appears in hisproposal to abolish the poor-law simply. That became the mostconspicuous and widely accepted doctrine. All men of 'sense, ' saidSydney Smith--certainly a qualified representative of the class--in1820, agree, first, that the poor-law must be abolished; and secondly, that it must be abolished very gradually. [280] That is really toassume that by refusing to help people at all, you will force them tohelp themselves. There is another alternative, namely, that they may, as Malthus himself often recognises, become demoralised by excessivepoverty. To do simply nothing may lead to degeneration instead ofincreased energy. The possibility of an improved law, which might actas a moral discipline instead of a simply corrupting agency, is simplyleft out of account; and the tendency to stimulate reckless populationis regarded not only as one probable consequence, but as the veryessence of all poor-laws. Upon Malthus's assumptions, the statementthat sound political and social theories must be based upon systematicinquiry into facts, meant that the individual was the ultimateunalterable unit, whose interest in his own welfare gave the onefulcrum for all possible changes. The ideal 'state of nature' was afiction. The true basis of our inquiries is the actual man known to usby observation. The main fault of this being was the excess of theinstinct of multiplication, and the way to improve him was to show howit might conflict with the instinct of self-preservation. In thisshape the doctrine expressed the most characteristic tendency of theUtilitarians, and divided them from the Socialists or believers inabstract rights of man. 

VI. RENT

Here, then, we are at a central point of the Utilitarian creed. Theexpansive force of population is, in a sense, the great motive powerwhich moulds the whole social structure; or, rather, it forcestogether the independent units, and welds them into an aggregate. Theinfluence of this doctrine upon other economical speculations is ofthe highest importance. One critical stage in the process is marked bythe enunciation of the theory of rent, which was to become anotheressential article of the true faith. The introduction of this doctrineis characteristic, and marks the point at which Ricardo supersededMalthus as chief expositor of the doctrine. 

Malthus's views were first fully given in his _Inquiry into Rent_, thesecond of three pamphlets which he published during the corn-lawcontroversy of 1814-15. [281] The opinions now stated had, he says, been formed in the course of his lecturing at Haileybury; and he madethem public on account of their bearing upon the most absorbingquestions of the time. The connection of the theory with Malthus'sspeculations and with the contemporary difficulties is indeed obvious. The landlord had clearly one of the reserved seats at the banquet ofnature. He was the most obvious embodiment of 'security' as opposed toequality. Malthus, again, had been influenced by the French economistsand their theory of the 'surplus fund, ' provided by agriculture. According to them, as he says, [282] this fund or rent constitutes thewhole national wealth. In his first edition he had defended theeconomists against some of Adam Smith's criticisms; and though healtered his views and thought that they had been led into preposterouserrors, he retained a certain sympathy for them. Agriculture has stilla certain 'pre-eminence. ' God has bestowed upon the soil the'inestimable quality of being able to maintain more persons than arenecessary to work it. '[283] It has the special virtue that the supplyof necessaries generates the demand. Make more luxuries and the pricemay fall; but grow more food and there will be more people to eat it. This, however, seems to be only another way of stating an unpleasantfact. The blessing of 'fertility' counteracts itself. As he argues inthe essay, [284] an equal division of land might produce such anincrease of population as would exhaust any conceivable increase offood. These views--not, I think, very clear or consistently workedout--lead apparently to the conclusion that the fertility is indeed ablessing, but on condition of being confined to a few. The result, inany case, is the orthodox theory of rent. The labourer gets less thanhe would if the products of the soil were equally distributed. Bothwages and profits must fall as more is left to rent, and that thisactually happens, he says, with unusual positiveness, is an'incontrovertible truth. '[285] The fall enables the less fertile landto be cultivated, and gives an excess of produce on the more fertile. 'This excess is rent. '[286] He proceeds to expound his doctrine bycomparing land to a set of machines for making corn. [287] If, inmanufacture, a new machine is introduced every one adopts it. Inagriculture the worst machines have still to be used; and those whohave the best and sell at the same price, can appropriate the surplusadvantage. This, he declares, is a law 'as invariable as the action ofthe principle of gravity. '[288] Yet Smith and others have overlooked a'principle of the highest importance'[289] and have failed to see thatthe price of corn, as of other things, must conform to the cost ofproduction. The same doctrine was expounded in the same year by SirEdward West;[290] and, as it seems to me, more clearly and simply. West, like Malthus, says that he has to announce a principleoverlooked by Adam Smith. This is briefly that 'each equal additionalquantity of work bestowed on agriculture yields an actually diminishedreturn. ' He holds that profits fall as wealth increases, but he deniesAdam Smith's view that this is a simple result of increasedcompetition. [291] Competition would equalise, but would not lowerprofits, for 'the productive powers of manufactures are constantlyincreasing. ' In agriculture the law is the opposite one of diminishingreturns. Hence the admitted fall of profits shows that the necessityof taking inferior soils into cultivation is the true cause of thefall. 

Such coincidences as that between Malthus and West are common enough, for very obvious reasons. In this case, I think, there is less roomfor surprise than usual. The writer generally credited with thediscovery of the rent doctrine is James Anderson, who had stated itas early as 1777. [292] The statement, however, did not attractattention until at the time of West and Malthus it was forced uponobservers by the most conspicuous facts of the day. Adam Smith andother economists had, as Malthus notices, observed what is obviousenough, that rent in some way represented a 'net produce'--a somethingwhich remained after paying the costs of production. So much wasobvious to any common-sense observer. In a curious paper of December1804, [293] Cobbett points out that the landlords will always keep theprofits of farmers down to the average rate of equally agreeablebusinesses. This granted, it is a short though important step to thetheory of rent. The English system had, in fact, spontaneouslyanalysed the problem. The landlord, farmer, and labourer representedthe three interests which might elsewhere be combined. Prices raisedby war and famine had led to the enclosure of wastes and the breakingup of pastures. The 'margin of cultivation' was thus illustrated byfacts. Farmers were complaining that they could not make a profit ifprices were lowered. The landed classes were profiting by a rise ofprice raised, according to a familiar law, in greater proportion thanthe deficiency of the harvest. Facts of this kind were, one mustsuppose, familiar to every land-agent; and to discover the law ofrent, it was only necessary for Malthus and West to put them in theirnatural order. The egg had only to be put on its end, though that, aswe know, is often a difficult task. When the feat was accomplishedconsequences followed which were fully developed by Ricardo. 

FOOTNOTES:

[203] Mr. James Bonar's _Malthus and his Work_ (1885) gives anadmirable account of Malthus. The chief original authorities are alife by Bishop Otter, prefixed to a second edition of the _PoliticalEconomy_ (1831), and an article by Empson, Malthus's colleague, in the_Edinburgh Review_ for January 1837. 

[204] _Political Justice_ (3rd edition, 1798), ii. Bk. Viii. Chap. Ix. , p. 514. 

[205] Wallace wrote in answer to Hume, _A Dissertation on the Numbersof Mankind in Ancient and Modern Times_ (1753), and _Various Prospectsof Mankind_, and _Nature and Providence_ (1761). Godwin refers to thelast. 

[206] _Political Justice_, ii. 520. 

[207] _Ibid. _ ii. 528. 

[208] First published in 1795, after the first edition, as Godwinremarks, of the _Political Justice_. 

[209] _Ami des hommes_ (reprint of 1883), p. 15. 

[210] _Ami des hommes_, p. 26. 

[211] See the curious debate in _Parl. Hist. _ xiv. 1318-1365. 

[212] The seventh edition of Price's _Observations on ReversionaryPayments_, etc. (1812), contains a correspondence with Pitt (i. 216, etc. ). The editor, W. Morgan, accuses Pitt of adopting Price's planswithout due acknowledgment and afterwards spoiling them. 

[213] _Essay on Population_, p. 18. In _Observations_, ii. 141, heestimates the diminution at a million and a half. Other booksreferring to the same controversy are Howlett's _Examination of Dr. Price's Essay_ (1781); _Letter to Lord Carlisle_, by William Eden(1744-1814), first Lord Auckland; William Wales's _Enquiry intoPresent State of Population_, etc. (1781); and Geo. Chalmers's_Estimate of the Comparative Strength of Great Britain_ (1782 andseveral later editions). 

[214] _Essay_ (first edition), p. 339. 

[215] _Memoirs_, etc. (1819), ii. 10. 

[216] So Sir James Stewart, whose light was extinguished by AdamSmith, begins his _Enquiry into the Principles of Political Economy_(1767) by discussing the question of population, and compares the'generative faculty' to a spring loaded with a weight, and exertingitself in proportion to the diminution of resistance (_Works_, 1805, i. 22). He compares population to 'rabbits in a warren. ' JosephTownsend, in his _Journey Through Spain_ (1792), to whom Malthusrefers, had discussed the supposed decay of the Spanish population, and illustrates his principles by a geometric progression: see ii. 213-56, 386-91. Eden, in his book on the poor (i. 214), quotes a tractattributed to Sir Matthew Hale for the statement that the poorincrease on 'geometrical progression. '

[217] _Malthus and his Work_, p. 85. 

[218] Voltaire says in the _Dictionnaire Philosophique_ (art. 'Population'): 'On ne propage point en Progression Géométrique. Tousles calculs qu'on a faits sur cette prétendue multiplication sont deschimères absurdes. ' They had been used to reconcile the story of thedeluge with the admitted population of the world soon afterwards. 

[219] _Essay_ (1826), ii 453 _n. _ I cite from this, the last editionpublished in Malthus's lifetime, unless otherwise stated. 

[220] _Essay_, ii. 251 (bk. Iii. Ch. Xiv. ). 

[221] _Ibid. _ (1798), p. 141. 

[222] _Essay_, ii. 449 (Appendix). 

[223] _Essay_, ii. 473 (Appendix). 

[224] _Ibid. _ (Second Edition), p. 400. The passage is given in fullin _Malthus and his Work_, p. 307. 

[225] _Essay_, i. 469 (bk. Ii. Ch. X. ). Eden had made the same remark. 

[226] _Ibid. _ ii. 229 (bk. Iii. Ch. Xiv. ). 

[227] Correspondence in Senior's _Three Essays on Population_ (1829). 

[228] _Essay_, i. 234 (bk. I. Ch. Ii. ). 

[229] Mr. Bonar thinks (_Malthus and his Work_, p. 324) that Malthusfollowed Paley's predecessor, Abraham Tucker, rather than Paley. Thedifference is not for my purpose important. In any case, Malthus'sreferences are to Paley. 

[230] _Essay_, ii. 266 (bk. Iv. Ch. I. ). 

[231] _Essay_ (first edition), p. 212. 

[232] _Ibid. _ i. 16 _n. _ (bk. I. Ch. Ii. ). 

[233] See _e. G. _ his remarks upon Condorcet in _Essay_, ii. 8 (bk. Iii. Ch. I. ); and Owen in _Ibid. _ ii. 48 (bk. Iii ch. Ii. ). 

[234] _Essay_, i. 15 _n. _ (bk. I. Ch. Ii. ); and see _Ibid. _ (edit. Of1807) ii. 128. 

[235] _Ibid. _ (1807) ii. 128. 

[236] _Ibid. _ (1807) ii. 3 (bk. Ii. Ch. Ii. ). (Omitted in latereditions. )

[237] Mr. A. R. Wallace, Darwin's fellow-discoverer of the doctrine, also learned it from Malthus. See Clodd's _Pioneers of Evolution_. Malthus uses the phrase 'struggle for existence' in relation to afight between two savage tribes in the first edition of his _Essay_, p. 48. In replying to Condorcet, Malthus speaks (_Essay_, ii. 12, bk. Iii. Ch. I. ) of the possible improvement of living organisms. Heargues that, though a plant may be improved, it cannot be indefinitelyimproved by cultivation. A carnation could not be made as large as atulip. It has been said that this implies a condemnation byanticipation of theories of the development of species. This is hardlycorrect. Malthus simply urges against Condorcet that our inability tofix limits precisely does not imply that there are no limits. This, itwould seem, must be admitted on all hands. Evolution implies definitethough not precisely definable limits. Life may be lengthened, but notmade immortal. 

[238] _Essay_ (first edition), 353. 

[239] _Ibid. _ 42 _n. _ (bk. Iii. Ch. Iii. )

[240] _Essay_, ii. 301-36 (bk. Iv. Ch. I. And ii. ). Sumner's _Treatiseon the Records of the Creation, and on the Moral Attributes of theCreator: with Particular Reference to the Jewish History and theConsistency of the Principle of Population with the Wisdom andGoodness of the Creator_ (1815), had gained the second Burnett prize. It went through many editions; and shows how Cuvier confirms Genesis, and Malthus proves that the world was intended to involve acompetition favourable to the industrious and sober. Sumner's view ofMalthus is given in Part ii. , chaps, v. And vi. In previous chaptershe has supported Malthus's attack on Godwin and Condorcet. 

[241] _Essay_, ii. 266 (bk. Iv. Ch. I. ). 

[242] _Essay_, ii 268 (bk. Iv. Ch. I. ). 

[243] _Ibid. _ (bk. Iv. Ch. Ii. ). 

[244] _Essay_, 241 (bk. Iii. Ch. Iv. ). 

[245] _Ibid. _ ii. 241 (bk. Iii. Ch. Xiv. ). 

[246] _Ibid. _ ii. 293 (bk. Iv. Ch. Iv. ). 

[247] _Ibid. _ ii. 425 (bk. Iv. Ch. Xiii. ). Malthus expresses a hopethat Paley had modified his views upon population, and refers to apassage in the _Natural Theology_. 

[248] _Essay_, ii. 292 (bk. Iv. Ch. Iv. ). 

[249] _Political Economy_ (1836), p. 214. 

[250] _Essay_, ii. 298 (bk. Iv. Ch. Iv. ). 

[251] _Ibid. _ ii. 86 (bk. Iii. Ch. Vi. ). 

[252] _Ibid. _ ii. 87 (bk. Iii. Ch. Vi. ). 

[253] _Essay_, ii. 90 (bk. Iii. Ch. Vi. ). 

[254] _Ibid. _ ii. 338 (bk. Iv. Ch. Viii. ). 

[255] _Ibid. _ ii. (bk. Iv. Ch. X. ). 

[256] _Ibid. _ ii. 353 (bk. Iv. Ch. Ix. ). 

[257] _Essay_, ii. 356 (bk. Iv. Ch. Ix. ). 

[258] _Ibid. _ ii. 407 (bk. Iv. Ch. Xii. ). 

[259] _Ibid. _ ii. 375 (bk. Iv. Ch. Xi. ). 

[260] _Ibid. _ ii. 429 (bk. Iv. Ch. Xiii. ). 

[261] _Essay of 1807_ (bk. Iii. Ch. Ii. , and vol. Ii. P. 111). Thephrases quoted are toned down in later editions. 

[262] _Essay_, i. 330 (bk. Ii. Ch. Iv. ). 

[263] _Ibid. _ ii. 300 (bk. Iv. Ch. V. ). 

[264] _Ibid. _ ii. 405 (bk. Iv. Ch. Xiii. ). 

[265] _Ibid. _ i. 343 (bk. Ii. Ch. V. ). 

[266] _Essay_, ii. 424 (bk. Iv. Ch. Xiii. ). 

[267] _Ibid. _ ii. 304 (bk. Iv. Ch. V. ). 

[268] _Essay_, i. 75 (bk. I. Ch. V. ). 

[269] _Ibid. _ (bk. Ii. Ch. Vi. ). 

[270] _Essay_, ii. 318 (bk. Iv. Ch. Vi. ). 

[271] _Essay_, ii. 315 (bk. Iv. Ch. V. ). 

[272] _Ibid. _ ii. 326 (bk. Iv. Ch. Vi. ). 

[273] _Ibid. _ ii. 78 (bk. Iii. Ch. V. ). 

[274] _Essay_, ii. 454 (Appendix). 

[275] _Ibid. _ ii. 82 (bk. Iii. Ch. Vi. ). 

[276] _Ibid. _ ii. 90 (bk. Iii. Ch. Vi. ). 

[277] Senior's _Three Lectures_, p. 86. 

[278] Senior's _Three Lectures_, p. 60. 

[279] _Essay_, i. 534 (bk. Ii. Ch. Xiii. ). 

[280] Smith's _Works_ (1859), i. 295. 

[281] _Observations on the Effects of the Corn-laws, 1814; Inquiryinto the Nature and Progress of Rent, 1815_; and _The Grounds of anOpinion on the Policy of restricting the Importation of Foreign Corn_, intended as an appendix to the _Observations on the Corn-laws_, 1815. 

[282] _Inquiry into Rent_, p. 1. 

[283] _Ibid. _ p. 16. 

[284] _Essay_, ii. 35 (bk. Iii. Ch. Ii. ). 

[285] _Inquiry into Rent_, p. 20. 

[286] _Ibid. _ p. 18. 

[287] _Ibid. _ p. 38. 

[288] _Inquiry into Rent_, p. 20. 

[289] _Ibid. _ p. 37. 

[290] _Essay on the Application of Capital to Land, by a Fellow ofUniversity College, Oxford, 1815. _

[291] _Essay_, p. 19. 

[292] _In An Inquiry into the Nature of the Corn-laws_, and again(1801) in _Observations on Agriculture_, etc. , vol. V. 401-51. 

[293] _Political Works_, i. 485, etc. In this paper, I may add, Cobbett, not yet a Radical, accepts Malthus's view of the tendency ofthe human species to multiply more quickly than its support. He doesnot mention Malthus, but speaks of the belief as universally admitted, and afterwards illustrates it amusingly by saying that, in hisploughboy days, he used to wonder that there was always just enoughhay for the horses and enough horses for the hay. 

CHAPTER V

RICARDO

I. RICARDO'S STARTING-POINT

David Ricardo, [294] born 19th April 1772, was the son of a Dutch Jewwho had settled in England, and made money upon the Stock Exchange. Ricardo had a desultory education, and was employed in business fromhis boyhood. He abandoned his father's creed, and married anEnglishwoman soon after reaching his majority. He set up for himselfin business, and, at a time when financial transactions upon anunprecedented scale were giving great opportunities for speculators, he made a large fortune, and about 1814 bought an estate at GatcombePark, Gloucestershire. He withdrew soon afterwards from business, andin 1819 became member of parliament. His death on 11th September 1823cut short a political career from which his perhaps too sanguinefriends anticipated great results. His influence in his own departmentof inquiry had been, meanwhile, of the greatest importance. He hadshown in his youth some inclination for scientific pursuits; heestablished a laboratory, and became a member of scientific societies. The perusal of Adam Smith's _Wealth of Nations_ in 1799 gave him aninterest in the application of scientific methods to the questionswith which he was most conversant. Accepting Adam Smith as the leadingauthority, he proceeded to think out for himself certain doctrines, which appeared to him to have been insufficiently recognised by histeacher. The first result of his speculations was a pamphlet publishedin 1809 upon the depreciation of the currency. Upon that topic hespoke as an expert, and his main doctrines were accepted by the famousBullion Committee. Ricardo thus became a recognised authority on onegreat set of problems of the highest immediate interest. Malthus's_Inquiry into Rent_ suggested another pamphlet; and in 1817, encouraged by the warm pressure of his friend, James Mill, hepublished his chief book, the _Principles of Political Economy andTaxation_. This became the economic Bible of the Utilitarians. Thetask of a commentator or interpreter is, for various reasons, adifficult one. 

There is a certain analogy between Ricardo and a very differentwriter, Bishop Butler. Each of them produced a great effect by a shorttreatise, and in each case the book owed very little to the ordinaryliterary graces. Ricardo's want of literary training, or his naturaldifficulty of utterance, made his style still worse than Butler's;but, like Butler, he commands our respect by his obvious sincerity andearnestness. He is content when he has so expressed his argument thatit can be seized by an attentive reader. He is incapable of, orindifferent to, clear and orderly exposition of principles. The logicis there, if you will take the trouble to look for it. Perhaps weought to be flattered by this tacit reliance upon our patience. 'You, 'Ricardo, like Butler, seems to say to us, 'are anxious for truth: youdo not care for ornament, and may be trusted to work out the fullapplication of my principles. ' In another respect the two are alike. Butler's argument has impressed many readers as a demolition of hisown case. It provokes revolt instead of adhesion. Ricardo, an orthodoxeconomist, laid down principles which were adopted by Socialists toupset his own assumptions. Such a God as you worship, said Butler'sopponents, is an unjust being, and therefore worse than no God. Such asystem as you describe, said Ricardo's opponents, is an embodiment ofinjustice, and therefore to be radically destroyed. Admitting thelogic, the argument may be read as a _reductio ad absurdum_ in bothcases. 

Ricardo has involved himself in certain special difficulties. In thefirst place, he presupposes familiarity with Adam Smith. The_Principles_ is a running comment upon some of Smith's theories, andno attempt is made to reduce them to systematic order. He starts bylaying down propositions, the proof of which comes afterwards, and isthen rather intimated than expressly given. He adopts the terminologywhich Smith had accepted from popular use, [295] and often applies itin a special significance, which is at least liable to bemisunderstood by his readers, or forgotten by himself. It isdifficult, again, to feel sure whether some of his statements are tobe taken as positive assertions of fact, or merely as convenientassumptions for the purposes of his argument. Ricardo himself, asappears in his letters, was painfully aware of his own awkwardness ofexpression, and upon that point alone all his critics seem to be intolerable agreement. Happily, it will be enough for my purpose if Ican lay down his essential premises without following him to theremoter deductions. 

Ricardo's pamphlet upon Malthus (1815) gives a starting-point. Ricardocordially adopts Malthus's theory of rent, but declares that it isfatal to some of Malthus's conclusions. Malthus, we have seen, wishedto regard rent as in some sense a gift of Providence--a positiveblessing due to the fertility of the soil. Ricardo maintains, on thecontrary, that 'the interest of the landlord is necessarily opposed tothe interest of every other class in the community. '[296] The landlordis prosperous when corn is scarce and dear; all other persons when itis plentiful and cheap. This follows upon Malthus's own showing. Asmen are forced to have recourse to inferior soils, the landlordobtains a larger share of the whole produce; and, moreover, since cornalso becomes more valuable, will have a larger share of a morevaluable product. The question apparently in dispute--whether weshould be glad that some land is better than the worst, or sorrybecause all is not equal to the best--seems rather idle. The realquestion, however, is whether rent, being a blessing, should be keptup by protection, [297] or, being a curse, should be brought down bycompetition? What is the real working of the system? Set the tradefree, says Ricardo, and the capital will be withdrawn from the poorland and employed upon manufactures, to be exchanged for the corn ofother countries. [298] The change must correspond to a moreadvantageous distribution of capital, or it would not be adopted. Theprinciple involved in this last proposition is, he adds, one of the'best established in the science of political economy, and by no oneis more readily admitted than by Mr. Malthus. ' To enforce protectionwould be, on Malthus's illustration, to compel us to use the 'worstmachines, when, at a less expense, we could hire the very best fromour neighbours. '[299] Briefly, then, the landlord's interest isopposed to the national interest, because it enforces a worsedistribution of capital. He compels us to get corn from his worstland, instead of getting it indirectly, but in greater quantity, fromour spinning-jennies. 

For Ricardo, as for Malthus, the ultimate driving force is thepressure of population. The mass of mankind is always struggling toobtain food, and is able to multiply so rapidly as to exhaust anyconceivable increase of supplies. The landlord class alone profits. The greater the struggle for supply the greater will be the share ofthe whole produce which must be surrendered to it. Beyond this, however, lies the further problem which specially occupied Ricardo. How will the resulting strain affect the relations of the tworemaining classes, the labourers and the capitalists? The ultimateevil of protection is the bad distribution of capital. But capitalalways acts by employing labour. The farmer's capital does not act byitself, but by enabling his men to work. Hence, to understand theworking of the industrial machinery, we have to settle the relation ofwages and profits. Ricardo states this emphatically in his preface. Rent, profit, and wages, he says, represent the three parts into whichthe whole produce of the earth is divided. 'To determine the lawswhich regulate this distribution is the principal problem in politicaleconomy'; and one, he adds, which has been left in obscurity byprevious writers. [300] His investigations are especially directed bythe purpose thus defined. He was the first writer who fairly broughtunder distinct consideration what he held, with reason, to be the mostimportant branch of economical inquiry. 

There was clearly a gap in the economic doctrine represented by the_Wealth of Nations_. Adam Smith was primarily concerned with thetheory of the 'market. ' He assumes the existence of the socialarrangement which is indicated by that phrase. The market implies aconstitution of industrial agencies such that, within it, only oneprice is possible for a given commodity, or, rather, such that adifference of price cannot be permanent. According to the acceptedillustration, the sea is not absolutely level, but it is alwaystending to a level. [301] A permanent elevation at one point isimpossible. The agency by which this levelling or equilibratingprocess is carried out is competition, involving what Smith called the'higgling of the market. ' The momentary fluctuation, again, supposesthe action of 'supply and demand, ' which, as they vary, raise anddepress prices. To illustrate the working of this machinery, to showhow previous writers had been content to notice a particular changewithout following out the collateral results, and had thus been ledinto fallacies such as that of the 'mercantile system, ' was Smith'sprimary task. 

Beyond or beneath these questions lie difficulties, which Smith, though not blind to their existence, treated in a vacillating andinconsistent fashion. Variations of supply and demand causefluctuations in the price; but what finally determines the point towhich the fluctuating prices must gravitate? We follow the process bywhich one wave propagates another; but there is still the question, What ultimately fixes the normal level? Upon this point Ricardo couldfind no definite statement in his teacher. 'Supply and demand' was asacred phrase which would always give a verbal answer, or indicate theimmediate cause of variations on the surface. Beneath the surfacethere must be certain forces at work which settle why a quarter ofcorn 'gravitates' to a certain price; why the landlord can get just somany quarters of corn for the use of his fields; and why the produce, which is due jointly to the labourer and the farmer, is divided in acertain fixed proportion. To settle such points it is necessary toanswer the problem of distribution, for the play of the industrialforces is directed by the constitution of the classes which co-operatein the result. Ricardo saw in Malthus's doctrines of rent and ofpopulation a new mode of approaching the problem. What was wanted, inthe first place, was to systematise the logic adopted by hispredecessors. Rent, it was clear, could not be both a cause and aneffect of price, though at different points of his treatise Smith hadapparently accepted each view of the relation. We must first settlewhich is cause and which effect; and then bring our whole system intothe corresponding order. For the facts, Ricardo is content to trustmainly to others. The true title of his work should be that which hiscommentator, De Quincey, afterwards adopted, the _Logic of PoliticalEconomy_. This aim gives a partial explanation of the characteristicfor which Ricardo is most generally criticised. He is accused of beingabstract in the sense of neglecting facts. He does not deny thecharge. 'If I am too theoretical (which I really believe to be thecase) you, ' he says to Malthus, 'I think, are too practical. '[302] IfMalthus is more guided than Ricardo by a reference to facts, he has ofcourse an advantage. But so far as Malthus or Adam Smiththeorised--and, of course, their statement of facts involved atheory--they were at least bound to be consistent. It is one thing torecognise the existence of facts which your theory will not explain, and to admit that it therefore requires modification. It is quiteanother thing to explain each set of facts in turn by theories whichcontradict each other. That is not to be historical but to bemuddleheaded. Malthus and Smith, as it seemed to Ricardo, hadoccasionally given explanations which, when set side by side, destroyed each other. He was therefore clearly justified in theattempt to exhibit these logical inconsistencies and to supply atheory which should be in harmony with itself. He was so far neithermore nor less 'theoretical' than his predecessors, but simply moreimpressed by the necessity of having at least a consistent theory. 

There was never a time at which logic in such matters was more wanted, or its importance more completely disregarded. Rash and ignoranttheorists were plunging into intricate problems and propoundingabstract solutions. The enormous taxation made necessary by the warsuggested at every point questions as to the true incidence of thetaxes. Who really gained or suffered by the protection of corn? Werethe landlords, the farmers, or the labourers directly interested?Could they shift the burthen upon other shoulders or not? What, again, it was of the highest importance to know, was the true 'incidence' oftithes, of a land-tax, of the poor-laws, of an income-tax, and of allthe multitudinous indirect taxes from which the national income wasderived? The most varying views were held and eagerly defended. Whoreally paid? That question interested everybody, and occupies a largepart of Ricardo's book. The popular answers involved innumerableinconsistencies, and were supported by arguments which only requiredto be confronted in order to be confuted. Ricardo's aim was tosubstitute a clear and consistent theory for this tangle of perplexedsophistry. In that sense his aim was in the highest degree'practical, ' although he left to others the detailed application ofhis doctrines to the actual facts of the day. 

II. THE DISTRIBUTION PROBLEM

The rent doctrine gives one essential datum. A clear comprehension ofrent is, as he was persuaded, 'of the utmost importance to politicaleconomy. '[303] The importance is that it enables him to separate oneof the primary sources of revenue from the others. It is as though, inthe familiar illustration, we were considering the conditions ofequilibrium of a fluid; and we now see that one part may be consideredas a mere overflow, resulting from (not determining) the otherconditions. The primary assumption in the case of the market is thelevel of price. When we clearly distinguish rent on one side fromprofits and wages on the other, we see that we may also assume a levelof profits. There cannot, as Ricardo constantly says, 'be two rates ofprofit, ' that is, at the same time and in the same country. But solong as rent was lumped with other sources of revenue it wasimpossible to see, what Malthus and West had now made clear, that inagriculture, as in manufactures, the profits of the producer mustconform to the principle. Given their theory, it follows that thepower of land to yield a great revenue does not imply a varying rateof profit or a special bounty of nature bestowed upon agriculture. Itmeans simply that, since the corn from the good and bad land sells atthe same price, there is a surplus on the good. But as that surplusconstitutes rent, the farmer's rate of profit will still be uniform. Thus we have got rid of one complication, and we are left with acomparatively simple issue. We have to consider the problem, Whatdetermines the distribution as between the capitalist and thelabourer? That is the vital question for Ricardo. 

Ricardo's theory, in the first place, is a modification of AdamSmith's. He accepts Smith's statement that wages are determined by the'supply and demand of labourers, ' and by the 'price of commodities onwhich their wages are expended. '[304] The appeal to 'supply anddemand' implies that the rate of wages depends upon unchangeableeconomic conditions. He endorses[305] Malthus's statement about theabsurdity of considering 'wages' as something which may be fixed byhis Majesty's 'Justices of the Peace, ' and infers with Malthus thatwages should be left to find their 'natural level. ' But what preciselyis this 'natural level?' If the Justice of the Peace cannot fix therate of wages, what does fix them? Supply and demand? What, then, isprecisely meant in this case by the supply and demand? The 'supply' oflabour, we may suppose, is fixed by the actual labouring population ata given time. The 'demand, ' again, is in some way clearly related to'capital. ' As Smith again had said, [306] the demand for labourincreases with the 'increase of revenue and "stock, " and cannotpossibly increase without it. ' Ricardo agrees that 'populationregulates itself by the funds which are to employ it, and thereforealways increases or diminishes with the increase or diminution ofcapital. '[307] It was indeed a commonplace that the increase ofcapital was necessary to an increase of population, as it is obviousenough that population must be limited by the means of subsistenceaccumulated. Smith, for example, goes on to insist upon this in one ofthe passages which partly anticipates Malthus. [308] But this does notenable us to separate profit from wages, or solve Ricardo's problem. When we speak of supply and demand as determining the price of acommodity, we generally have in mind two distinct though relatedprocesses. One set of people is growing corn, and another working coalmines. Each industry, therefore, has a separate existence, though eachmay be partly dependent upon the other. But this is not true of labourand capital. They are not products of different countries orprocesses. They are inseparable constituents of a single process. Labour cannot be maintained without capital, nor can capital producewithout labour. Capital, according to Ricardo's definition, is the'part of the wealth of a country which is employed in production, andconsists of food, clothing, raw materials, machinery, etc. , necessaryto give effect to labour. '[309] That part, then, of capital which isapplied to the support of the labourer--his food, clothing, and soforth--is identical with wages. To say that, if it increases, hiswages increase is to be simply tautologous. If, on the other hand, weinclude the machinery and raw materials, it becomes difficult to sayin what sense 'capital' can be taken as a demand for labour. Ricardotells Malthus that an accumulation of profit does not, as Malthus hadsaid, necessarily raise wages[310]; and he ultimately decided, muchto the scandal of his disciple, M'Culloch, that an increase of 'fixedcapital' or machinery might be actually prejudicial, under certaincircumstances, to the labourer. The belief of the labouring class thatmachinery often injures them is not, he expressly says, 'founded onprejudice and error, but is conformable to the correct principles ofpolitical economy. '[311] The word 'capital, ' indeed, was used with avagueness which covered some of the most besetting fallacies of thewhole doctrine. Ricardo himself sometimes speaks as though he had inmind merely the supply of labourers' necessaries, though he regularlyuses it in a wider sense. The generalities, therefore, about supplyand demand, take us little further. 

From these difficulties Ricardo escapes by another method. Malthus'stheory of population gives him what he requires. The 'natural price oflabour' (as distinguished from its 'market price') is, as he asserts, 'that price which is necessary to enable the labourers, one withanother, to subsist and perpetuate their race without either increaseor diminution. '[312] This is the true 'natural price, ' about which the'market price' oscillates. An increase of capital may raise wages fora time above the natural price, but an increase of population willbring back the previous rate. Ricardo warns us, indeed, that thisnatural price of labour is not to be regarded as something 'absolutelyfixed and constant. '[313] It varies in different times and countries, and even in the same country at different times. An English cottagernow possesses what would once have been luxuries. Ricardo admitsagain[314] that the wages of different classes of labourers may bedifferent, although he does not consider that this fact affects hisargument. We may allow for it by considering the skilled labourer as 2or 1-1/2 labourers rolled into one. The assumption enables him to getout of a vicious circle. He is seeking to discover the proportions inwhich produce will be divided between the two classes, and whichco-operate in the production. The 'demand and supply' principle mayshow that an increase of capital will tend to increase wages, but eventhat tendency, as he carefully points out, can only be admittedsubject to certain important reservations. In any case, if it explainstemporary fluctuations, it will not ascertain the point round whichthe fluctuations take place. But the two variables, wages and profit, are clearly connected, and if we can once assume that one of thesevariables is fixed by an independent law, we may explain in what waythe other will be fixed. Having got rid of 'rent, ' the remainingproduce has to be divided between wages and profit. If the produce befixed, the greater the share of the labourer the less will be theshare of the capitalist, and _vice versa_. But the labourer's shareagain is determined by the consideration that it must be such as toenable him to keep up the population. The capitalist will get thesurplus produce after allowing to the labourer the share sodetermined. Everything turns ultimately upon this 'natural price'--theconstant which underlies all the variations. 

One other point is implied. The population is limited, as we see, bythe necessity of raising supplies of food from inferior soils. Moreover, this is the sole limit. A different view had been takenwhich greatly exercised the orthodox economists. It was generallyadmitted that in the progress of society the rate of profit declined. Adam Smith explained this by arguing that, as capital increased, thecompetition of capitalists lowered the rate. To this it was replied(as by West) that though competition equalised profits, it could notfix the rate of profit. The simple increase of capital does not provethat it will be less profitably employed. The economists hadconstantly to argue against the terrible possibility of a general'glut. ' The condition of things at the peace had suggested this alarm. The mischief was ascribed to 'over-production' and not to misdirectedproduction. The best cure for our evils, as some people thought, wouldbe to burn all the goods in stock. On this version of the argument, itwould seem that an increase of wealth might be equivalent to anincrease of poverty. To confute the doctrine in this form, it was onlynecessary to have a more intelligent conception of the true nature ofexchange. As James Mill had argued in his pamphlet against Spence, every increase of supply is also an increase of demand. The more thereis to sell, the more there is to buy. The error involved in the theoryof a 'glut' is the confusion between a temporary dislocation of themachinery of exchange, which can and will be remedied by a newdirection of industry, and the impossible case of an excess of wealthin general. [315] Malthus never quite cleared his mind of this error, and Ricardo had to argue the point with him. Abundance of capitalcannot by itself, he says, 'make capital less in demand. ' The 'demandfor capital is infinite. '[316] The decline in the rate of profit, therefore, depends upon another cause. 'If, with every accumulation ofprofit, we could tack a piece of fresh fertile land to our Island, profits would never fall. '[317] Fertile land, however, is limited. Wehave to resort to inferior soil, and therefore to employ capital at aless advantage. In the _Principles_ he enforces the same doctrine withthe help of Say, who had shown 'most satisfactorily' that any amountof capital might be employed. [318] If, in short, labour and capitalwere always equally efficient, there would be no limit to the amountproducible. If the supply of food and raw materials can be multiplied, wealth can be multiplied to any amount. The admitted tendency ofprofits to fall must therefore be explained simply and solely by thegrowing difficulty of producing the food and the raw material. 

Ricardo's doctrine, then, is Malthus carried out more logically. Takea nation in a state of industrial equilibrium. The produce of theworst soil just supports the labourer, and leaves a profit to thecapitalist. The labourer gets just enough to keep up his numbers tothe standard; the capitalist just enough profit to induce him to keepup the capital which supports the labourer. Since there can be onlyone rate of wages and only one rate of profit, this fixes the sharesinto which the whole produce of the nation is divided, after leavingto the landlord the surplus produce of the more fertile soils. Accepting this scheme as a starting-point, we get a method forcalculating the results of any changes. We can see how a tax imposedupon rents or profits or wages will affect the classes which are thusrelated; how improvements in cultivation or machinery, or a new demandfor our manufactures, will act, assuming the conditions implied inthis industrial organisation; how, in short, any disturbance of thebalance will work, so as to produce a new equilibrium. Ricardo exertsall his ingenuity in working out the problem which, with the help of afew assumptions, becomes mathematical. The arithmetical illustrationswhich he employed for the purpose became a nuisance in the hands ofhis disciples. They are very useful as checks to general statements, but lend themselves so easily to the tacit introduction of erroneousassumptions as often to give a totally false air of precision to theresults. Happily I need not follow him into that region, and may omitany consideration of the logical value of his deductions. I must becontent to say that, so far as he is right, his system gives aneconomic calculus for working out the ultimate result of assignedeconomic changes. The pivot of the whole construction is the 'marginof cultivation'--the point at which the food for a pressing populationis raised at the greatest disadvantages. 'Profits, ' as he says, [319]'depend on high and low wages; wages on the price of necessaries; andthe price of necessaries chiefly on the price of food, because allother requisites may be increased almost without limit. '

Ricardo takes the actual constitution of society for granted. Thethreefold division into landowners, capitalists, and labourers isassumed as ultimate. For him that is as much a final fact as to achemist it is a final fact that air and water are composed of certainelements. Each class represents certain economic categories. Thelandlord sits still and absorbs the overflow of wealth created byothers. The labourer acts a very important but in one respect a purelypassive part. His whole means of subsistence are provided by thecapitalist, and advanced to him in the shape of wages. His share inthe process is confined to multiplying up to a fixed standard. Thecapitalist is the really active agent. The labourer is simply one ofthe implements used in production. His wages are part of thecapitalist's 'costs of production. ' The capitalist virtually raiseslabourers, one may say, so long as raising them is profitable, just ashe raises horses for his farm. Ricardo, in fact, points out that insome cases it may be for the farmer's interest to substitute horsesfor men. [320] If it be essential to any product that there should be acertain number of labourers or a certain number of horses, that numberwill be produced. But when the expense becomes excessive, and in thecase of labourers that happens as worse soils have to be broken up forfood, the check is provided through its effect upon the accumulationof capital. That, therefore, becomes the essential point. The wholeaim of the legislator should be to give facilities for theaccumulation of capital, and the way to do that is to abstain from allinterference with the free play of the industrial forces. The test, for example, of the goodness of a tax--or rather of its comparativefreedom from the evils of every tax--is that it should permit ofaccumulation by interfering as little as possible with the tendencyof the capital to distribute itself in the most efficient way. 

III. VALUE AND LABOUR

To solve the distribution problem, then, it is necessary to get behindthe mere fluctuations of the market, and to consider what are theultimate forces by which the market is itself governed. What effecthas this upon the theory of the market itself? This leads to a famousdoctrine. 

According to his disciple, M'Culloch, Ricardo's great merit was thathe 'laid down the fundamental theorem of the science of value. ' Hethus cleared up what had before been an 'impenetrable mystery, ' andshowed the true relations of profit, wages, and prices. [321] Ricardo'stheory of value, again, was a starting-point of the chief modernSocialist theories. It marked, as has been said, [322] the point atwhich the doctrine of the rights of man changes from a purelypolitical to an economical theory. Ricardo remarks in his firstchapter that the vagueness of theories of value has been the mostfertile source of economic errors. He admitted to the end of his lifethat he had not fully cleared up the difficulty. Modern economistshave refuted and revised and discussed, and, let us hope, now madeeverything quite plain. They have certainly shown that some ofRicardo's puzzles implied confusions singular in so keen a thinker. That may serve as a warning against dogmatism. Boys in the nextgeneration will probably be asked by examiners to expose the palpablefallacies of what to us seem to be demonstrable truths. At any rate, I must try to indicate the critical point as briefly as possible. 

The word 'value, ' in the first place, has varying meanings, which givean opportunity for writers of text-books to exhibit their powers oflucid exposition. The value of a thing in one sense is what it willfetch; the quantity of some other thing for which it is actuallyexchanged in the market. In that sense, as Ricardo incidentallyobserves, [323] the word becomes meaningless unless you can say what isthe other thing. It is self-contradictory to speak as if a thing byitself could have a constant or any value. Value, however, may take adifferent sense. It is the economic equivalent of the 'utility' ofBentham's 'felicific calculus. ' It means the 'lot of pleasure' whichcauses a thing to be desirable. If we could tell how many units ofutility it contained we could infer the rate of exchange for otherthings. The value of anything 'in use' will correspond to the numberof units of utility which it contains; and things which have the samequantity of 'utilities' will have the same 'exchangeable value. 'Ricardo can thus consider the old problem of finding 'an invariablemeasure of value. ' He points out the difficulty of finding anyparticular thing which will serve the purpose, inasmuch as therelations of everything to everything else are constantly varying. Hetherefore proposes to make use of an imaginary measure. If gold werealways produced under exactly the same circumstances, with the samelabour and the same capital, it would serve approximately for astandard. Accordingly he gives notice that, for the purposes of hisbook, he will assume this to be the case, and money to be 'invariablein value. '[324] We can thus, on the one hand, compare values atdifferent periods. A thing has the same value at all times which atall times requires 'the same sacrifice of toil and labour to produceit. '[325] The 'sacrifice' measures the 'utility, ' and we may assumethat the same labour corresponds in all ages to the same psychologicalunit. But, on the other hand, at any given period things will exchangein proportion to the labour of producing them. This follows at oncefrom Ricardo's postulates. Given the single rate of wages and profits, and assuming the capital employed to be in the same proportion, thingsmust exchange in proportion to the quantity of labour employed; for ifI got the same value by employing one labourer as you get by employingtwo, my profits would be higher. Ricardo, indeed, has to allow formany complexities arising from the fact that very different quantitiesof capital are required in different industries; but the generalprinciple is given by the simplest case. Hence we have a measure ofvalue, applicable at any given time and in comparing different times. It implies, again, what M'Culloch sums up as the 'fundamentaltheorem, ' that the value of 'freely produced commodities' depends onthe quantity of labour required for their 'production. ' What is madeby two men is worth twice what is made by one man. That gives whatM'Culloch calls the 'clue to the labyrinth. '

The doctrine leads to a puzzle. If I can measure the 'sacrifice, ' canI measure the 'utility' which it gains? The 'utility' of an ounce ofgold is not something 'objective' like its physical qualities, butvaries with the varying wants of the employer. Iron or coal may beused for an infinite variety of purposes and the utility will bedifferent in each. The thing may derive part of its 'utility' from itsrelation to other things. The utility of my food is not reallyseparate from the utility of my hat; for unless I eat I cannot wearhats. My desire for any object, again, is modified by all my otherdesires, and even if I could isolate a 'desire' as a psychologicalunit, it would not give me a fixed measure. Twice the article does notgive twice the utility; a double stimulus may only add a smallpleasure or convert it into agony. These and other difficulties implythe hopelessness of searching for this chimerical unit of 'utility'when considered as a separate thing. It shifts and escapes from ourhands directly we grasp it. Ricardo discusses some of these points inhis interesting chapter on 'Value and Riches. ' Gold, he says, may costtwo thousand times more than iron, but it is certainly not twothousand times as useful. [326] Suppose, again, that some inventionenables you to make more luxuries by the same labour, you increasewealth but not value. There will be, say, twice as many hats, but eachhat may have half its former value. There will be more things toenjoy, but they will only exchange for the same quantity of otherthings. That is, he says, the amount of 'riches' varies, while theamount of value is fixed. This, according to him, proves that valuedoes not vary with 'utility. ' 'Utility, ' as he declares in his firstchapter, is 'absolutely essential to value, ' but it is 'not themeasure of exchangeable value. '[327] A solution of these puzzles maybe sought in any modern text-book. Ricardo escapes by an apparentlyparadoxical conclusion. He is undertaking an impossible problem whenhe starts from the buyers' desire of an 'utility. ' Therefore he turnsfrom the buyers to the sellers. The seller has apparently a measurableand definable motive--the desire to make so much per cent. On hiscapital. [328] Ricardo, unfortunately, speaks as though the two partiesto the bargain somehow represented mutually exclusive processes. 'Supply and demand' determine the value of 'monopolised articles, ' butthe cost of other articles depends _not_ 'on the state of demand andsupply, ' _but_ 'on the increased or diminished cost of theirproduction. '[329] Why 'not' and 'but'? If supply and demandcorresponds to the whole play of motives which determines the bargain, this is like saying, according to the old illustration, that we mustattribute the whole effect of a pair of scissors to one blade and notto the other. His view leads to the apparent confusion of taking forthe cause of value not our desire for a thing, but the sacrifice wemust make to attain it. Bentham[330] said, for example, that Ricardoconfused 'cost' with 'value. ' The denial that utility must in somesense or other determine value perplexes an intelligible andconsistent meaning. It is clearly true, upon his postulates, that thevalue of goods, other than 'monopolised, ' must conform to the cost ofproduction. He speaks as if he confounded a necessary condition withan 'efficient cause, ' and as if one of two correlative processes couldbe explained without the other. But the fact that there is aconformity, however brought about, was enough for his purpose. Thedemand of buyers, he would say, determines the particular direction ofproduction: it settles whether hats should be made of silk or beaver;whether we should grow corn or spin cotton. But the ultimate force isthe capitalist's desire for profit. So long as he can raise labourers'necessaries by employing part of his capital, he can employ the labouras he chooses. He can always produce wealth; all the wealth producedcan be exchanged, and the demand always be equal to the supply, sincethe demand is merely the other side of the supply. The buyer's tastesdecide how the capital shall be applied, but does not settle how muchwealth there shall be, only what particular forms it shall take. Somehow or other it must always adjust itself so that the value ofeach particular kind shall correspond to the 'cost of production. ' Thecost of production includes the tools and the raw materials, which arethemselves products of previous labour. All capital itself isultimately the product of labour, and thus, as Ricardo incidentallysays, may be regarded as 'accumulated labour. '[331]

This phrase sums up the doctrine which underlies his theory of valueand indicates its connection with the theory of distribution. Ricardohad perceived that the supply and demand formula which would servesufficiently in problems of exchange, or the fluctuations ofmarket-price, could not be made to solve the more fundamental problemof distribution. We must look beneath the superficial phenomena andask what is the nature of the structure itself: what is the drivingforce or the mainspring which works the whole mechanism. We seem, indeed, to be inquiring into the very origin of industrialorganisation. The foundation of a sound doctrine comes from AdamSmith. Smith had said that in a primitive society the only rule wouldbe that things should exchange in proportion to the labour of gettingthem. If it cost twice as much labour to kill a beaver as to kill adeer, one beaver would be worth two deer. In accepting this bit ofwhat Smith's commentator, Dugald Stewart, [332] calls 'theoretical' or'conjectural' history, Ricardo did not mean to state a historicalfact. He was not thinking of actual Choctaws or Cherokees. The beaverwas exchanged for the deer about the time when the primitive mansigned the 'social contract. ' He is a hypothetical person used forpurposes of illustration and simplification. Ricardo is not reallydealing with the question of origins; but he is not the less implyinga theory of structure. It did not matter that the 'social contract'was historically a figment; it would serve equally well to explaingovernment. It did not matter that actual savages may have exchangedbeavers and deer by the help of clubs instead of competition in themarket. The industrial fabric is what would have been had it been thusbuilt up. It can be constructed from base to summit by the applicationof his formula. As in the imaginary state of deer and beaver, we havea number of independent persons making their bargains upon thisprinciple of the equivalence of labour; and that principle is supposedto be carried out so that the most remote processes of the industrialmachinery can be analysed into results of this principle. This gives asufficient clue to the whole labyrinth of modern industry, and thereis no need of considering the extinct forms of social structure, whichwe know to have existed, and under which the whole system ofdistribution took place under entirely different conditions. [333] Agreat change has taken place since the time of the deer and beaver:the capitalist has been developed, and has become the motive power. The labourer's part is passive; and the 'value' is fixed by thebargaining between the proprietors of 'accumulated labour, ' forced bycompetition to make equal profits, instead of being fixed by theequitable bargain between the two hunters exchanging the products oftheir individual labour. Essentially, however, the principle is thesame. In the last as in the first stage of society, things areexchanged in proportion to the labour necessary to produce them. Nowit is plain enough that such a doctrine cannot lead to a completesolution of the problem of distribution. It would be a palpablyinadequate account of historical processes which have determined theactual relation of classes. The industrial mechanism has beendeveloped as a part of the whole social evolution; and, howeverimportant the economic forces, they have been inextricably blendedwith all the other forces by which a society is built up. For the samereason, Ricardo's theorem would be inadequate 'sociologically, ' or asa formula which would enable us to predict the future distribution ofwealth. It omits essential factors in the process, and thereforesupposes forces to act automatically and invariably which will in factbe profoundly modified in societies differently organised andcomposed of individuals differing in character. The very fundamentalassumptions as to the elasticity of population, and the accumulationof capital as wages and profits fluctuate, are clearly not absolutetruths. An increase of the capitalist's share, for example, at theexpense of wages, may lead to the lowered efficiency of the labourer;and, instead of the compensating process supposed to result from thestimulus to accumulation, the actual result may be a generaldegeneration of the industry. Or, again, the capacity of labourers tocombine both depends and reacts upon their intelligence and moralcharacter, and will profoundly modify the results of the generalcompetition. [334] Such remarks, now familiar enough, are enough tosuggest that a full explanation of the economic phenomena wouldrequire reference to considerations which lie beyond the proper sphereof the economist. Yet the economist may urge that he is making a fairand perhaps necessary abstraction. He may consider the forces to beconstant, although he may be fully aware that the assumption requiresto be corrected when his formulæ are applied to facts. He may considerwhat is the play at any given time of the operations of the market, though the market organisation is itself dependent upon the largerorganisation of which it is a product. He does not profess to deal in'sociology, ' but 'pure political economy. ' In that more limitedsphere he may accept Ricardo's postulates. The rate of wages is fixedat any given moment by the 'labour market. ' That is the immediateorgan through which the adjustment is effected. Wages rise and falllike the price of commodities, when for any reason the number ofhirers or the number of purchasers varies. The 'supply and demand'formula, however, could not, as Ricardo saw, be summarily identifiedwith labour and capital. We must go behind the immediate phenomena toconsider how they are regulated by the ultimate moving power. Then, with the help of the theories of population and rent, we find that thewages are one product of the whole industrial process. We must lookbeyond the immediate market fluctuation to the effect upon thecapitalists who constitute the market. The world is conceived as onegreat market, in which the motives of the capitalist supply the motivepower; and the share which goes to the labourer is an incidental orcollateral result of the working of the whole machinery. Now, thoughthe sociologist would say that this is quite inadequate for hispurpose, and that we must consider the whole social structure, he mayalso admit that the scheme has a validity in its own sphere. Itdescribes the actual working of the mechanism at any given time; andit may be that in Ricardo's time it gave an approximate account of thefacts. To make it complete, it requires to be set, so to speak, in amore general framework of theory; and we may then see that it cannotgive a complete solution. Still, as a consistent scheme whichcorresponds to the immediate phenomena, it helps us to understand theplay of the industrial forces which immediately regulate the market. 

Ricardo's position suggested a different line of reply. The doctrinesthat capital is 'accumulated labour' and that all value is inproportion to the labour fell in with the Socialist theory. If valueis created by labour, ought not 'labour' to possess what it makes? Theright to the whole produce of labour seemed to be a naturalconclusion. Ricardo might answer that when I buy your labour, itbecomes mine. I may consider myself to have acquired the rights of thereal creator of the wealth, and to embody all the labourers, whose'accumulated labour' is capital. Still, there is a difficulty. Thebeaver and deer case has an awkward ethical aspect. To say that theyare exchanged at such a rate seems to mean that they ought to beexchanged at the rate. This again implies the principle that a man hasa right to what he has caught; that is, to the whole fruits of hislabour. James Mill, as we have seen, starts his political treatise byassuming this as obvious. [335] He did not consider the possibleinferences; for it is certainly a daring assumption that the principleis carried out by the economic system. According to Ricardo rent ispaid to men who don't labour at all. The fundholder was a weight uponall industry, and as dead a weight as the landlord. The capitalist, Ricardo's social mainspring, required at least cross-examination. Herepresents 'accumulated labour' in some fashion, but it is not plainthat the slice which he takes out of the whole cake is proportionedaccurately to his personal labour. The right and the fact whichcoincided in the deer and beaver period have somehow come to diverge. 

Here, then, we are at a point common to the two opposing schools. Both are absolute 'individualists' in different senses. Society isbuilt up, and all industrial relations determined, by the competitionof a multitude of independent atoms, each aiming at self-preservation. Malthus's principle applies this to the great mass of mankind. Systematically worked out, it has led to Ricardo's identification ofvalue with quantities of labour. Keeping simply to the matter of fact, it shows how a small minority have managed to get advantages in thestruggle, and to raise themselves upon the shoulders of the strugglingmass. Malthus shows that the resulting inequality prevents thestruggle from lowering every one to starvation point. But theadvantage was not obvious to the struggling mass which exemplified thestruggle for existence. If equality meant not the initial facts butthe permanent right, society was built upon injustice. Apply thepolitical doctrine of rights of man to the economic right to wealth, and you have the Socialist doctrine of right to the whole produce oflabour. It is true that it is exceedingly difficult to say what eachman has created when he is really part of a complex machinery; butthat is a problem to which Socialists could apply their ingenuity. Thereal answer of the political economists was that although the existingorder implied great inequalities of wealth it was yet essential toindustrial progress, and therefore to an improvement in the generalstandard of comfort. This, however, was the less evident the more theyinsisted upon the individual interest. The net result seemed to bethat by accident or inheritance, possibly by fraud or force, a smallnumber of persons have got a much larger share of wealth than theirrivals. Ricardo may expound the science accurately; and, if so, wehave to ask, What are the right ethical conclusions?

For the present, the Utilitarians seem to have considered thisquestion as superfluous. They were content to take the existing orderfor granted; and the question remains how far their conclusions uponthat assumption could be really satisfactory. 

IV. THE CLASSICAL POLITICAL ECONOMY. 

Ricardo had worked out the main outlines of the 'Classical PoliticalEconomy': the system which to his disciples appeared to be as clear, consistent, and demonstrable as Euclid; and which was denounced bytheir opponents as mechanical, materialistic, fatalistic, anddegrading. After triumphing for a season, it has been of late yearsoften treated with contempt, and sometimes banished to the limbo ofextinct logomachies. It is condemned as 'abstract. ' Of all delusionson the subject, replies a very able and severe critic, [336] there isnone greater than the belief that it was 'wholly abstract andunpractical. ' Its merits lay in its treatment of certain specialquestions of the day; while in the purely scientific questions it washopelessly confused and inconsistent. Undoubtedly, as I have tried topoint out, Malthus and Ricardo were reasoning upon the contemporarystate of things. The doctrine started from observation of facts; itwas too 'abstract' so far as it neglected elements in the concreterealities which were really relevant to the conclusions. One cause ofconfusion was the necessity of starting from the classificationimplied in ordinary phrases. It is exemplified by the vague use ofsuch words as 'capital, ' 'value, ' 'supply and demand. ' Definitions, asis often remarked, [337] come at the end of an investigation, thoughthey are placed at the beginning of an exposition. When the primaryconceptions to be used were still so shifting and contradictory as isimplied in the controversies of the day, it is no wonder that theformulæ should be wanting in scientific precision. Until we havedetermined what is meant by 'force' we cannot have a complete scienceof dynamics. The economists imagined that they had reached the goalbefore they had got rid of ambiguities hidden in the acceptedterminology. Meanwhile it will be enough if I try to consider broadlywhat was the nature of the body of statements which thus claimed to bean elaborated science. 

Ricardo's purpose was to frame a calculus, to give a method ofreasoning which will enable us to clinch our economic reasoning. Weare to be sure that we have followed out the whole cycle of cause andeffect. Capitalists, landowners, labourers form parts of a roundedsystem, implying reciprocal actions and reactions. The imposition of atax or a tariff implies certain changes in existing relations: thatchange involves other changes; and to trace out the total effect, wemust understand what are the ultimate conditions of equilibrium, orwhat are the processes by which the system will adjust itself to thenew conditions. To describe, again, the play of a number of reciprocalforces, we have to find what mathematicians call an 'independentvariable': some one element in the changes on which all other changeswill depend. That element, roughly speaking, ultimately comes out tobe 'labour. ' The simplicity of the system gave an impression both ofclearness and certainty, which was transferred from the reasoning tothe premises. The facts seemed to be established, because they werenecessary to the system. The first step to an estimate of the value ofthe doctrine would be to draw up a statement of the 'postulates'implied. Among them, we should have such formulæ as the single rate ofprofits and wages; which imply the 'transferability' of labour andcapital, or the flow of either element to the best-paid employment. Weshould have again the Malthusian doctrine of the multiplication oflabour up to a certain standard; and the fact that scarcity meansdearness and plenty cheapness. These doctrines at least are taken forgranted; and it may perhaps be said that they are approximations whichonly require qualifications, though sometimes very importantqualifications, to hold good of the society actually contemplated. 

They were true enough to give the really conclusive answer to manypopular fallacies. The type of sophistry which Ricardo speciallyassailed was that which results from neglecting the necessaryimplications of certain changes. The arguments for the old 'mercantiletheory'--for 'protection' of industry, for the poor-law, for resistingthe introduction of machinery, the fear of 'gluts' and all manner ofdoctrines about the currency--were really exposed by the economistsupon the right grounds. It was absurd to suppose that by simplyexpanding the currency, or by making industry less efficient, orforcing it to the least profitable employments, you were increasingthe national wealth; or to overlook the demoralising effects of aright to support because you resolved only to see the immediatebenefits of charity to individuals. It is true, no doubt, that in somecases there might be other arguments, and that the economists were aptto take a narrow view of the facts. Yet they decisively exploded manybad arguments, and by the right method of enforcing the necessity oftracing out the whole series of results. It was partly to theirsuccess in confuting absurd doctrines that their confidence was due;though the confidence was excessive when it was transferred to theaxioms from which they professed to start. A doctrine may be trueenough to expose an error, and yet not capable of yielding definiteand precise conclusions. If I know that nothing can come out ofnothing, I am on the way to a great scientific principle and able toconfute some palpable fallacies; but I am still a very long way fromunderstanding the principle of the 'conservation of energy. ' The truththat scarcity meant dearness was apparently well known to Joseph inEgypt, and applied very skilfully for his purpose. Economists haveframed a 'theory of value' which explains more precisely the way inwhich this is brought about. A clear statement may be valuable topsychologists; but for most purposes of political economy Joseph'sknowledge is quite sufficient. It is the doctrine which is really usedin practice whatever may be its ultimate justification. 

The postulates, however, were taken by the economists to representsomething more than approximate statements of the fact. They implycertain propositions which might be regarded as axioms. Men desirewealth and prefer their own interests. The whole theory might then beregarded as a direct deduction from the axioms. It thus seemed tohave a kind of mathematical certainty. When facts failed to conform tothe theory the difficulty could be met by speaking, as Malthus spoke, of 'tendencies, ' or by appealing to the analogy of 'friction' inmechanics. The excuse might be perfectly valid in some cases, but itoften sanctioned a serious error. It was assumed that the formula wasstill absolutely true of something, and that the check or friction wasa really separable and accidental interference. Thus it became easy todiscard, as irrelevant, objections which really applied to theprinciple itself, and to exaggerate the conformity between fact andtheory. The economic categories are supposed to state the essentialfacts, and the qualifications necessary to make them accurate were aptto slip out of sight. Ricardo, [338] to mention a familiar instance, carefully points out that the 'economic rent, ' which clearlyrepresents an important economic category, is not to be confounded, asin 'popular' use, with the payments actually made, which often includemuch that is really profit. The distinction, however, was constantlyforgotten, and the abstract formula summarily applied to the concretefact. 

The economists had constructed a kind of automaton which fairlyrepresented the actual working of the machinery. But then, eachelement of their construction came to represent a particular formula, and to represent nothing else. The landlord is simply the receiver ofsurplus value; the capitalist the one man who saves, and who saves inproportion to profit; and the labourer simply the embodiment ofMalthus's multiplying tendency. Then the postulates as to the ebb andflow of capital and labour are supposed to work automatically andinstantaneously. Ricardo argues that a tax upon wages will fall, not, as Buchanan thought, upon the labourer, nor, as Adam Smith thought, upon rent, but upon profits; and his reason is apparently that ifwages were 'lowered the requisite population would not be keptup. '[339] The labourer is able to multiply or diminish so rapidly thathe always conforms at once to the required standard. This would seemto neglect the consideration that, after all, some time is required toalter the numbers of a population, and that other changes of a totallydifferent character may be meanwhile set up by rises and falls ofwages. Ricardo, as his letters show, [340] was well aware of thenecessity of making allowance for such considerations in applying histheorems. He simplified the exposition by laying them down tooabsolutely; and the doctrine, taken without qualification, gives the'economic man, ' who must be postulated to make the doctrine worksmoothly. The labourer is a kind of constant unit--absolutely fixed inhis efficiency, his wants, and so forth; and the same at one period asat another, except so far as he may become more prudent, and thereforefix his 'natural price' a little higher. An 'iron law' must followwhen you have invented an iron unit. In short, when society isrepresented by this hypothetical mechanism, where each man is anembodiment of the required formula, the theory becomes imperfect sofar as society is made up of living beings, varying, thoughgradually, in their whole character and attributes, and forming partof an organised society incomparably too complex in its structure tobe adequately represented by the three distinct classes, each of whichis merely a formula embodied in an individual man. The general rulesmay be very nearly true in a great many cases, especially on thestock-exchange; but before applying them to give either a history or atrue account of the actual working of concrete institutions, a muchcloser approximation must be made to the actual data. 

I need not enlarge, however, upon a topic which has been so oftenexpounded. I think that at present the tendency is rather to doinjustice to the common-sense embodied in this system, to thesoundness of its aims, and to its value in many practical andimmediate questions, than to overestimate its claim to scientificaccuracy. That claim may be said to have become obsolete. 

One point, however, remains. The holders of such a doctrine must, itis said, have been without the bowels of compassion. Ricardo, ascritics observe with undeniable truth, was a Jew and a member of thestock-exchange. Now Jews, in spite of Shylock's assertions, andcertainly Jewish stockbrokers, are naturally without human feeling. Ifyou prick them, they only bleed banknotes. They are fitted to becapitalists, who think of wages as an item in an account, and of thelabourer as part of the tools used in business. Ricardo, however, wasnot a mere money-dealer, nor even a walking treatise. He was a kindly, liberal man, desirous to be, as he no doubt believed himself to be, insympathy with the leaders of political and scientific thought, andfully sharing their aspirations. No doubt he, like his friends, wasmore conspicuous for coolness of head than for impulsivephilanthropy. Like them, he was on his guard against 'sentimentalism'and 'vague generalities, ' and thought that a hasty benevolence was aptto aggravate the evils which it attacked. The Utilitarians naturallytranslated all aspirations into logical dogmas; but some people whodespised them as hard-hearted really took much less pains to giveeffect to their own benevolent impulses. Now Ricardo, in this matter, was at one with James Mill and Bentham, and especially Malthus. [341]The essential doctrine of Malthus was that the poor could be made lesspoor by an improved standard of prudence. In writing to Malthus, Ricardo incidentally remarks upon the possibility of raising thecondition of the poor by 'good education' and the inculcation offoresight in the great matter of marriage. [342] Incidental referencesin the _Principles_ are in the same strain. He accepts Malthus's viewof the poor-laws, and hopes that, by encouraging foresight, we may bydegrees approach 'a sounder and more healthful state. '[343] Herepudiates emphatically a suggestion of Say that one of his argumentsimplies 'indifference to the happiness' of the masses, [344] and holdsthat 'the friends of humanity' should encourage the poor to raisetheir standard of comfort and enjoyment. The labourers, as heelsewhere incidentally observes, are 'by far the most important classin society. '[345] How should they not be if the greatest happiness ofthe greatest number be the legitimate aim of all legislation?

It is true that in his argument Ricardo constantly assumes that his'natural price' will also be the real price of labour. The assumptionthat the labourers' wages tend to a minimum is a base for his generalarguments. The inconsistency, if there be one, is easily intelligible. Ricardo agreed with Malthus that, though the standard might be raised, and though a rise was the only way to improvement, the chances of sucha rise were not encouraging. Improved wages, as he says, [346] mightenable the labourer to live more comfortably if only he would notmultiply. But 'so great are the delights of domestic society, that inpractice it is invariably found that an increase of population followsan amended condition of the labourer, ' and thus the advantage is lostas soon as gained. 

I have tried to show what was the logical convenience of theassumption. Ricardo, who has always to state an argument at the costof an intellectual contortion, is content to lay down a rule withoutintroducing troublesome qualifications and reserves. Yet he probablyheld that his postulate was a close approximation to the facts. Looking at the actual state of things at the worst time of thepoor-law, and seeing how small were the prospects of stirring thelanguid mind of the pauper to greater forethought, he thought that hemight assume the constancy of an element which varied so slowly. Theindifference of the Ricardo school generally to historical inquiry hadled them no doubt to assume such constancy too easily. Malthus, whohad more leaning to history, had himself called attention to manycases in which the 'prudential check' operated more strongly than itdid among the English poor. Probably Ricardo was in this, as in othercases, too hasty in assuming facts convenient for his argument. Thepoor man's character can, it is clear, be only known empirically; and, in fact, Ricardo simply appeals to experience. He thinks that, as afact, men always do multiply in excess. But he does not deny thatbetter education might change their character in this respect. Indeed, as I have said, an even excessive faith in the possible modificationof character by education was one of the Utilitarian tenets. IfRicardo had said broadly that a necessary condition of the improvementof the poor was a change of the average character, I think that hewould have been saying what was perfectly true and very much to thepurpose both then and now. The objection to his version of a mostsalutary doctrine is that it is stated in too narrow terms. Theultimate unit, the human being, is indeed supposed to be capable ofgreat modification, but it is solely through increasing his foresightas to the effects of multiplication that the change is supposed to beattainable. The moral thus drawn implied a very limited view of thetrue nature and influence of great social processes, and in practicecame too often to limiting possible improvement to the one conditionof letting things alone. Let a man starve if he will not work, and hewill work. That, as a sole remedy, may be insufficient; though, evenin that shape, it is a doctrine more likely to be overlooked thanovervalued. And meanwhile the acquiescence in the painful doctrinethat, as a matter of fact, labourers would always multiply tostarvation point, was calculated to produce revolt against the wholesystem. Macaulay's doctrine that the Utilitarians had made politicaleconomy unpopular was so far true that the average person resented theunpleasant doctrines thus obtruded upon him in their most unpleasantshape; and, if he was told that they were embodied logic, revoltedagainst logic itself. 

V. THE RICARDIANS

It will be quite sufficient to speak briefly of the minor prophets whoexpounded the classical doctrine; sometimes falling into fallacies, against which Ricardo's logical instinct had warned him; and sometimesperhaps unconsciously revealing errors which really lurked in hispremises. When Ricardo died, James Mill told M'Culloch that they were'the two and only genuine disciples' of their common friend. [347] Millwrote what he intended for a Schoolbook of Political Economy. [348]Brief, pithy, and vigorous, it purports to give the essentialprinciples in their logical order; but, as his son remarks, [349] hadonly a passing importance. M'Culloch took a more important place byhis writings in the _Edinburgh Review_ and elsewhere, and by hislectures at Edinburgh and at London. He was one of the firstprofessors of the new university. His _Principles of PoliticalEconomy_[350] became a text-book, to be finally superseded by JohnStuart Mill. Other works statistical and bibliographical showed greatindustry, and have still their value. He was so much the typicaleconomist of the day that he has been identified with Carlyle's_M'Crowdy_, the apostle of the dismal science. [351] He writes, however, with enough vivacity and fervour of belief in his creed toredeem him from the charge of absolute dulness. An abler thinker wasColonel (Robert) Torrens (1780-1864). [352] He had served withdistinction in the war; but retired on half-pay, and was drawn by somenatural idiosyncrasy into the dry paths of economic discussion. He wasalready confuting the French economists in 1808; and was writing uponthe Bank-charter Act and the Ten Hours' Bill in 1844. Torrens heldhimself, apparently with justice, to be rather an independent allythan a disciple of Ricardo. His chief works were an essay upon the'External Corn-trade' (1815)[353] and an 'Essay on the Production ofWealth' (1821). Ricardo pronounced his arguments upon the Corn-tradeto be 'unanswered and unanswerable, '[354] and he himself claimed to bean independent discoverer of the true theory of rent. [355] He wascertainly a man of considerable acuteness and originality. In thesewritings we find the most sanguine expressions of the belief thatpolitical economy was not only a potential, but on the verge ofbecoming an actual, science. Torrens observes that all sciences haveto pass through a period of controversy; but thinks that economistsare emerging from this stage, and rapidly approaching unanimity. Intwenty years, says this hopeful prophet, there will scarcely exist a'doubt of its' (Political Economy's) 'fundamental principles. '[356]Torrens thinks that Ricardo has generalised too much, and Malthus toolittle; but proposes, with proper professions of modesty, to take thetrue _via media_, and weld the sound principles into a harmoniouswhole by a due combination of observation and theory. The science, hethinks, is 'analogous to the mixed mathematics. '[357] As from the lawsof motion we can deduce the theory of dynamics, so from certain simpleaxioms about human nature we can deduce the science of PoliticalEconomy. M'Culloch, at starting, insists in edifying terms upon thenecessity of a careful and comprehensive induction, and of the studyof industrial phenomena in different times and places, and undervarying institutions. [358] This, however, does not prevent him fromadopting the same methods of reasoning. 'Induction' soon does itsoffice, and supplies a few simple principles, from which we may make aleap to our conclusions by a rapid, deductive process. 

The problems appear to be too simple to require long preliminaryinvestigations of fact. Torrens speaks of proving by 'strictlydemonstrative evidence' or of 'proceeding to demonstrate' by strictanalysis. [359] This is generally the preface to one of thosecharacteristic arithmetical illustrations to which Ricardo's practicegave a sanction. We are always starting an imaginary capitalist withso many quarters of corn and suits of clothes, which he can transmuteinto any kind of product, and taking for granted that he represents atypical case. This gives a certain mathematical air to the reasoning, and too often hides from the reasoner that he may be begging thequestion in more ways than one by the arrangement of his imaginarycase. One of the offenders in this kind was Nassau Senior (1790-1864), a man of remarkable good sense, and fully aware of the necessity ofcaution in applying his theories to facts. He was the first professorof Political Economy at Oxford (1825-1830), and his treatise[360] laysdown the general assumption of his orthodox contemporaries clearly andbriefly. The science, he tells us, is deducible from four elementarypropositions: the first of which asserts that every 'man desires toobtain additional wealth with as little sacrifice as possible'; whilethe others state the first principles embodied in Malthus's theory ofpopulation, and in the laws corresponding to the increasing facilityof manufacturing and the decreasing facility of agriculturalindustry. [361] As these propositions include no reference to theparticular institutions or historical development of the socialstructure, they virtually imply that a science might be constructedequally applicable in all times and places; and that, having obtainedthem, we need not trouble ourselves any further with inductions. Henceit follows that we can at once get from the abstract 'man' to theindustrial order. We may, it would seem, abstract from history ingeneral. This corresponds to the postulate explicitly stated byM'Culloch. 'A state, ' he tells us, 'is nothing more than an aggregateof individuals': men, that is, who 'inhabit a certain tract ofcountry. '[362] He infers that 'whatever is most advantageous to them'(the individuals) 'is most advantageous to the state. ' Self-interest, therefore, the individual's desire of adding to his 'fortune, ' is themainspring or _causa causans_ of all improvement. [363] This is, ofcourse, part of the familiar system, which applies equally in ethicsand politics. M'Culloch is simply generalising Adam Smith's congenialdoctrine that statesmen are guilty of absurd presumption when they tryto interfere with a man's management of his own property. [364] Thistheory, again, is expressed by the familiar maxim _pas tropgouverner_, which is common to the whole school, and often acceptedexplicitly. [365]

It will be quite enough to notice one or two characteristic results. The most important concern the relation between the labourer and thecapitalist. Malthus gives the starting-point. Torrens, for example, says that the 'real wages of labour have a constant tendency to settledown' to the amount rendered necessary by 'custom and climate' inorder to keep up his numbers. [366] Mill observes in his terse way thatthe capitalist in the present state of society 'is as much the ownerof the labour' as the manufacturer who operates with slaves. The only'difference is in the mode of purchasing. '[367] One buys a man's wholelabour; the other his labour for a day. The rate of wages cantherefore be raised, like the price of slaves, only by limiting thesupply. Hence the 'grand practical problem is to find the means oflimiting the number of births. '[368] M'Culloch is equally clear, andinfers that every scheme 'not bottomed on' the principle ofproportioning labour to capital must be 'completely nugatory andineffectual. '[369]

The doctrine common to the whole school led M'Culloch to conclusionswhich became afterwards notorious enough to require a word of notice. Torrens, like Ricardo, speaks of capital as 'accumulated labour, ' butmakes a great point of observing that, although this is true, the caseis radically changed in a developed state of society. The value ofthings no longer depends upon the labour, but upon the amount ofcapital employed in their production. [370] This, indeed, may seem tobe the most natural way of stating the accepted principle. M'Cullochreplies that the change makes no difference in the principle, [371]inasmuch as capital being 'accumulated labour, ' value is stillproportioned to labour, though in a transubstantiated shape. M'Cullochsupposed that by carrying out this principle systematically he wassimplifying Ricardo and bringing the whole science into unity. Allquestions, whether of value in exchange, or of the rate of wages, canthen be reduced to comparing the simple unit called labour. Both Milland M'Culloch regard capital as a kind of labour, so that things maybe produced by capital alone, 'without the co-operation of anyimmediate labour'[372]--a result which can hardly be realised with thediscovery of a perpetual motion. So, again, the value of a jointproduct is the 'sum' of these two values. [373] All value, therefore, can be regarded as proportioned to labour in one of its two states. M'Culloch advanced to an unfortunate conclusion, which excited someridicule. Though Ricardo and Torrens[374] rejected it, it was acceptedby Mill in his second edition. [375] Wine kept in a cask might increasein value. Could that value be ascribed to 'additional labour actuallylaid out'? M'Culloch gallantly asserted that it could, though 'labour'certainly has to be interpreted in a non-natural sense. [376] Not onlyis capital labour, but fermentation is labour, or how can we say thatall value is proportioned to labour? This is only worth notice as apathetic illustration of the misfortunes of a theorist ridden by adogma of his own creation. Another conclusion is more important. The'real value' of anything is measured by the labour required to produceit. Nothing 'again is more obvious' than that equal labour implies the'same sacrifice' in all states of society. [377] It might seem tofollow that the value of anything was measured by the labour which itwould command. This doctrine, however, though maintained by Malthus, was, according to M'Culloch, a pestilent heresy, first exploded byRicardo's sagacity. [378] Things exchange, as he explains, inproportion to the labour which produces them, but the share given tothe labourer may vary widely. The labourer, he says, 'gives aconstant, but receives a variable quantity in its stead. ' He makes thesame sacrifice when he works for a day, but may get for it what heproduces in ten hours, or only in one. In every case, however, he getsless than he produces, for the excess 'constitutes profits. '[379] Thecapitalist must get his interest, that is, the wages of theaccumulated labour. Here we come again to the Socialist position, onlythat the Socialist infers that the labourer is always cheated by thecapitalist, and does not consider that the machine can ask for 'wages'on the pretext that it is accumulated labour. What, however, determines the share actually received? After all, as a machine is notactually a labourer, and its work not a separable product, we cannoteasily see how much wages it is entitled to receive. M'Culloch followsthe accepted argument. 'No proposition, ' he says, 'can be betterestablished than that the market rate of wages . . . Is exclusivelydetermined by the proportion between capital and population. '[380] Wehave ultimately here, as elsewhere, 'the grand principle to which wemust always come at last, ' namely, 'the cost of production. '[381]Wages must correspond to the cost of raising the labourer. This leadsto a formula, which afterwards became famous. In a pamphlet[382]devoted to the question, he repeats the statement that wages dependupon the proportion between population and capital; and then, as ifthe phrase were identical, substitutes that portion of capital whichis required for the labourer's consumption. This is generally cited asthe first statement of the 'wage-fund' theory, to which I shall haveto return. 

I need not pursue these illustrations of the awkward results ofexcessive zeal in a disciple. It is worth noticing, however, thatM'Culloch's practical conclusions are not so rigid as might beinferred. His abstract doctrines do not give his true theory, so muchas what he erroneously took to be his theory. The rules with which heworks are approximately true under certain conditions, and heunconsciously assumes the conditions to be negligible, and the rulestherefore absolute. It must be added that he does not apply hisconclusions so rigidly as might be expected. By the help of'friction, ' or the admission that the ride is only true in nineteencases out of twenty, he can make allowance for many deviations fromrigid orthodoxy. He holds, for example, that government interferenceis often necessary. He wishes in particular for the establishment of a'good system of public education. '[383] He seems to have become moresentimental in later years. In the edition of 1843 he approves theFactory Acts, remarking that the last then passed 'may not, in somerespects, have gone far enough. '[384] He approves a provision for the'impotent poor, ' on the principle of the Elizabethan act, though hedisapproves the centralising tendency of the new poor-law. Though heis a good Malthusian, [385] and holds the instinct of population to bea 'constant quantity, '[386] he does not believe in the impossibilityof improvement. The 'necessary' rate of wages fixes only a minimum:an increase of population has been accompanied by an increase ofcomfort. [387] Wages rise if the standard of life be raised, and a riseof wages tends to raise the standard. He cordially denounces thebenevolent persons who held that better wages only meant moredissipation. Better wages are really the great spur to industry andimprovement. [388] Extreme poverty causes apathy; and the worst ofevils is the sluggishness which induces men to submit to reductions ofwages. A sense of comfort will raise foresight; and the _vismedicatrix_ should be allowed to act upon every rank of society. He isno doubt an individualist, as looking to the removal of restrictions, such as the Conspiracy Laws, [389] rather than to a positive action ofthe government; but it is worth notice that this typical economist isfar from accepting some of the doctrines attributed to the school ingeneral. 

The classical school blundered when it supposed that the rules whichit formulated could be made absolute. To give them that character, itwas necessary to make false assumptions as to the ultimateconstitution of society; and the fallacy became clear when the formulæwere supposed to give a real history or to give first principles, fromwhich all industrial relations could be deduced. Meanwhile, theformulæ, as they really expressed conditional truths, might be veryuseful so long as, in point of fact, the conditions existed, and werevery effective in disposing of many fallacies. The best illustrationwould probably be given by the writings of Thomas Tooke(1774-1858), [390] one of the founders of the Political Economy Club. The _History of Prices_ is an admirable explanation of phenomena whichhad given rise to the wildest theories. The many oscillations of tradeand finance during the great struggle, the distress which had followedthe peace, had bewildered hasty reasoners. Some people, of course, found consolation in attributing everything to the mysterious actionof the currency; others declared that the war-expenditure had suppliedmanufacturers and agriculturists with a demand for their wares, apparently not the less advantageous because the payment came out oftheir own pockets. [391] Tooke very patiently and thoroughly explodesthese explanations, and traces the fluctuations of price to suchcauses as the effect of the seasons and the varying events of the warwhich opened or closed the channels of commerce. The explanation ingeneral seems to be thoroughly sound and conclusive, and falls in, asfar as it goes, with the principles of his allies. He shows, forexample, very clearly what were the conditions under which theorthodox theory of rent was really applicable; how bad seasons broughtgain instead of loss to the 'agricultural interest, ' that is, as Tookeexplains, to the landlord and farmer; how by a rise of price out ofproportion to the diminution of supply, the farmer made large profits;how rents rose, enclosure bills increased, and inferior land wasbrought under the plough. The landlord's interest was for the timeclearly opposed to that of all other classes, however inadequate thedoctrine might become when made absolute by a hasty generalisation. Ineed not dwell upon the free-trade argument which made the popularreputation of the economists. It is enough to note briefly that theerror as to the sphere of applicability of the doctrine did notprevent many of the practical conclusions from being of the highestvalue. 

FOOTNOTES:

[294] A life of Ricardo by M'Culloch is prefixed to his _Works_. Icite the edition of 1880. Ricardo's letters to Malthus were publishedby Mr. Bonar in 1887; his letters to M'Culloch, edited by Mr. Hollander for the American Economic Association, in 1895; and hisletters to H. Trower, edited by Mr. Bonar and Mr. Hollander, have justappeared (1900). 

[295] He remarks upon this difficulty in the case of Smith'streatment of rent, and gives a definition to which he scarcelyadheres. --_Works_, p. 34 ('Principles, ' ch. Ii. , 1888). 

[296] _Works_, p. 378. Ricardo, it should be said, complained whenMalthus interpreted him to mean that this opposition of interests waspermanent and absolute. 

[297] Malthus admits the general principle of free trade, but supportssome degree of protection to corn, mainly upon political grounds. Heholds, however, with Adam Smith, that 'no equal quantity of productivelabour employed in manufactures could ever occasion so great areproduction as in agriculture' (_Grounds of an Opinion, etc. _, p. 35)--a relic of the 'physiocrat' doctrine. 

[298] _Works_, p. 385. 

[299] _Ibid. _ p. 386. 

[300] See also _Letters to Malthus_, p. 175. 

[301] 'Your modern political economists say that it is a principle intheir science that all things find their level; which I deny, and say, on the contrary, that it is the true principle that all things arefinding their level, like water in a storm. '--Coleridge's_Table-Talk_, 17th May 1833. 

[302] _Letters to Malthus_, p. 96; and see the frequently quotedpassage where he complains that Malthus has taken his book as more'practical' than he had intended it to be, and speaks of his method ofimagining 'strong cases. '--_Ibid. _ p. 167. 

[303] _Works_, p. 40 _n. _ (ch. Ii. ). 

[304] _Works_, p. 53 (ch. V. ), and p. 124 (ch. Xvi. ), where he quotesfrom the _Wealth of Nations_ (M'Culloch), p. 390 (bk. V. Ch. Ii. Art. 3). 

[305] _Works_, p. 131. 

[306] _Wealth of Nations_ (M'Culloch), p. 31 (bk. I. Ch. Viii. ). 

[307] _Works_, p. 41 (ch. Ii. ). 

[308] _Wealth of Nations_ (M'Culloch), p. 36. 

[309] _Works_, p. 51 (ch. V. ). 

[310] _Letters to Malthus_, p. 98. 

[311] _Works_, p. 239 (ch. Xxxi. , added in third edition, 1821). 

[312] _Ibid. _ p. 50 (ch. V. ). 

[313] _Ibid. _ p. 52. 

[314] _Ibid. _ p. 15 (ch. I. Sec. Ii. ). 

[315] There is, indeed, a difficulty which I happily need not discuss. Undoubtedly the doctrine of gluts was absurd. There is, of course, nolimit to the amount of wealth which can be used or exchanged. Butthere certainly seems to be a great difficulty in effecting such areadjustment of the industrial system as is implied in increasedproduction of wealth; and the disposition to save may at a given timebe greater than the power of finding profitable channels for employingwealth. This involves economical questions beyond my ability toanswer, and happily not here relevant. 

[316] _Letters to Malthus_, p. 101. 

[317] _Ibid. _ p. 52. 

[318] _Works_, p. 174 (ch. Xxi. ). 

[319] _Works_, p. 66 (ch. Vi. ). 

[320] _Works_, p. 240 (ch. Xxxi. ). 

[321] Ricardo, _Works_, p. Xxiv. 

[322] Menger's _Das Recht auf den vollen Arbeitsertrag_ (1891), p. 38. 

[323] _Works_, p. 228 (ch. Xxviii. ). 

[324] _Works_, pp. 29, 60. 

[325] _Ibid. _ p. 166. 

[326] _Works_, p. 170 (ch. Xx. ). 

[327] _Ibid. _ p. 7. 

[328] So he tells Malthus (_Letters_, pp. 173, 174) that the buyer has'the least to do in the world' with the regulation of prices. It isall the competition of the sellers. 'Demand' influences price for themoment, but 'supply follows close upon its heels, and takes up theregulation of price. '

[329] _Works_, p. 234. 

[330] Bentham's _Works_, x. 498. 

[331] _Works_, p. 250 (ch. Xxxii. ). 

[332] Stewart's _Works_, x. 34. 

[333] See Bagehot's remarks upon J. S. Mill's version of this doctrinein _Economic Studies_: chapter on 'Cost of Production. '

[334] Another illustration of the need of such considerations isgiven, as has been pointed out, in Adam Smith's famous chapter uponthe variation in the rate of wages. He assumes that the highest wageswill be paid for the least agreeable employments, whereas, in fact, the least agreeable are generally the worst paid. His doctrine, thatis, is only true upon a tacit assumption as to the character andposition of the labourer, which must be revised before the rule can beapplied. 

[335] J. S. Mill, too, in his _Political Economy_ makes the foundationof private property 'the right of producers to what they themselveshave produced. ' (Bk. Ii. Ch. Ii. § 1. )

[336] Mr. Edwin Cannan, in _Production and Distribution_ (1894), p. 383. 

[337] A definition, says Burke in his essay on the 'Sublime andBeautiful' (introduction) 'seems rather to follow than to precede ourinquiry, of which it ought to be considered as the result. '

[338] _Works_, p. 34 (chap. Ii. ). Rent is there defined as the sumpaid for the original and indestructible powers of the soil. 

[339] _Works_, p. 132 (chap. Xvii. ). He admits (_Ibid. _ p. 210 _n. _)that the labourer may have a little more than what is absolutelynecessary, and that his inference is therefore 'expressed toostrongly. '

[340] See _Letters to M'Culloch_, p. Xxi. 

[341] 'The assaults upon Malthus's "great work, "' he says (_Works_, p. 243, ch. Xxxii. ), 'have only served to prove its strength. '

[342] _Letters to Malthus_, p. 226. 

[343] _Works_, p. 58 (ch. V. ). 

[344] _Ibid. _ p. 211 _n. _ (ch. Xxvi. ). 

[345] _Ibid. _ p. 258 (ch. Xxxii. ). 

[346] _Works_, p. 248 (ch. Xxii. ). 

[347] Bain's _James Mill_, p. 211. 

[348] Editions in 1821, 1824, and 1826. 

[349] _Autobiography_, p. 204. 

[350] The first edition, an expanded version of an article in the_Encyclopædia Britannica_, appeared in 1825. 

[351] _Latter-day Pamphlets_ (New Downing Street). M'Crowdy isobviously a type, not an individual. 

[352] See Mr. Hewin's life of him in _Dictionary of NationalBiography_. 

[353] Fourth edition in 1827. 

[354] Ricardo's _Works_, p. 164 _n. _

[355] _External Corn-trade_, preface to fourth edition. J. S. Millobserves in his chapter upon 'International Trade' that Torrens wasthe earliest expounder of the doctrine afterwards worked out byRicardo and Mill himself. For Ricardo's opinion of Torrens, see_Letters to Trower_, p. 39. 

[356] _Production of Wealth_ (Preface). 

[357] _Production of Wealth_ (Preface). 

[358] _Political Economy_ (1825), p. 21. 

[359] _External Corn-trade_, pp. Xviii, 109, 139; _Production ofWealth_, p. 375. 

[360] Originally in the _Encyclopædia Metropolitana_, 1836. 

[361] Senior's _Political Economy_ (1850), p. 26. 

[362] _Ibid. _ (1825), pp. 55, 129-131. 

[363] Senior's _Political Economy_ (150), p. 125. 

[364] _Ibid. _ p. 135. M'Culloch admits the possibility that a man mayjudge his own interests wrongly, but thinks that this will not happenin one case out of twenty (_Ibid. _ p. 15). 

[365] See Torrens's _Production of Wealth_, p. 208; and M'Culloch's_Political Economy_ (1843), p. 294, where he admits some exceptions. 

[366] _External Corn-trade_, p. 87, etc. 

[367] _Political Economy_ (second edition), pp. 21, 22. 

[368] _Ibid. _ p. 67. 

[369] _Political Economy_ (1825), p. 329. 

[370] _Production of Wealth_, p. 34, etc. 

[371] _Political Economy_ (1825), p. 318. 

[372] Mill's _Political Economy_ (second edition), p. 102; M'Culloch's_Political Economy_ (1825), pp. 289-291. 

[373] M'Culloch's _Political Economy_, p. 290. 

[374] Preface to _External Corn-trade_. 

[375] _Ibid. _ p. 95. 

[376] _Political Economy_ (1825), pp. 313-18. This argument disappearsin later editions. 

[377] _Ibid. _ p. 217. 

[378] _Political Economy_, p. 221. De Quincey makes a great point ofthis doctrine, of which it is not worth while to examine the meaning. 

[379] _Political Economy_, p. 221 _n. _

[380] _Ibid. _ p. 336. 

[381] _Ibid. _ p. 337. 

[382] 'Essay upon the Circumstances which determine the Rate of Wages'(1826), p. 113. This was written for Constable's _Miscellany_, and ismainly repetition from the _Political Economy_. It was republished, with alterations, in 1851. 

[383] _Political Economy_, pp. 359-61. 

[384] _Ibid. _ (1843), p. 178. And see his remarks on the unfavourableside of the Factory System, p. 186 _seq. _

[385] 'Wherever two persons have the means of subsisting, ' as hequaintly observes, 'a marriage invariably takes place' (_PoliticalEconomy_, p. 154). 

[386] _Political Economy_, p. 206. 

[387] _Political Economy_, p. 344. 

[388] _Ibid. _ pp. 349-52. 

[389] See pamphlet on the rate of wages, pp. 178-204. 

[390] Tooke's _Thoughts and Details on the High and Low Prices of thelast Thirty Years_ appeared in 1823 (second edition 1824). This wasrewritten and embodied in the _History of Prices_, the first twovolumes of which appeared in 1838. Four later volumes appeared in1839, 1848, and 1857. 

[391] The popular view is given by Southey. The Radicals, he says in1823, desire war because they expect it to lead to revolution. 'Inthis they are greatly deceived, for it would restore agriculturalprosperity, and give a new spur to our manufactures' (_Selections fromSouthey's Letters_, iii. 382. See also _Life and Correspondence_, iv. 228, 386). 

CHAPTER VI

ECONOMIC HERETICS

I. THE MALTHUSIAN CONTROVERSY

The Economic theory became triumphant. Expounded from new universitychairs, summarised in text-books for schools, advocated in the press, and applied by an energetic party to some of the most importantpolitical discussions of the day, it claimed the adhesion of allenlightened persons. It enjoyed the prestige of a scientific doctrine, and the most popular retort seemed to be an involuntary concession ofits claims. When opponents appealed from 'theorists' to practical men, the Utilitarians scornfully set them down as virtually appealing fromreason to prejudice. No rival theory held the field. If Malthus andRicardo differed, it was a difference between men who accepted thesame first principles. They both professed to interpret Adam Smith asthe true prophet, and represented different shades of opinion ratherthan diverging sects. There were, however, symptoms of opposition, which, at the time, might be set down as simple reluctance to listento disagreeable truths. In reality, they were indications of adissatisfaction which was to become of more importance and to lead intime to a more decided revolt. I must indicate some of them, thoughthe expressions of dissent were so various and confused that it is notvery easy to reduce them to order. 

Malthus's doctrine was really at the base of the whole theory, thoughit must be admitted that neither Malthus himself nor his opponentswere clear as to what his doctrine really was. His assailants oftenattacked theories which he disavowed, or asserted principles which heclaimed as his own. [392] I mention only to set aside some respectableand wearisome gentlemen such as Ingram, Jarrold, Weyland, and Grahame, who considered Malthus chiefly as impugning the wisdom of Providence. They quote the divine law, 'Increase and multiply'; think that Malthusregards vice and misery as blessings, and prove that population doesnot 'tend' to increase too rapidly. Jarrold apparently accepts thedoctrine which Malthus attributes to Süssmilch, that lives have beenshortened since the days of the patriarchs, and the reproductiveforces diminished as the world has grown fuller. Grahame believes in aprovidential 'ordeal, ' constituted by infant mortality, which is not, like war and vice, due to human corruption, but a beneficentregulating force which correlates fertility with the state of society. This might be taken by Malthus as merely amounting to another versionof his checks. Such books, in fact, simply show, what does not requireto be further emphasised, that Malthus had put his version of thestruggle for existence into a form which seemed scandalous to theaverage orthodox person. The vagueness of Malthus himself and theconfused argument of such opponents makes it doubtful whether they arereally answering his theories or reducing them to a less repulsiveform of statement. 

In other directions, the Malthusian doctrine roused keen feeling onboth sides, and the line taken by different parties is significant. Malthus had appeared as an antagonist of the revolutionary party. Hehad laid down what he took to be an insuperable obstacle to therealisation of their dreams. Yet his views were adopted and extendedby those who called themselves thorough Radicals. As, in our days, Darwinism has been claimed as supporting both individualist andsocialistic conclusions, the theory of his predecessor, Malthus, mightbe applied in a Radical or a Conservative sense. In point of fact, Malthus was at once adopted by the Whigs, as represented by the_Edinburgh Review_. They were followers of Adam Smith and DugaldStewart; they piqued themselves, and, as even James Mill admitted, with justice, upon economic orthodoxy. They were at the same timepredisposed to a theory which condemned the revolutionary Utopias. Itprovided them with an effective weapon against the agitators whom theyespecially dreaded. The Tories might be a little restrained byorthodox qualms. In 1812 Southey was permitted to make an onslaughtupon Malthus in the _Quarterly_;[393] but more complimentaryallusions followed, and five years later the essay was elaboratelydefended in an able article. [394] An apology was even insinuated forthe previous assault, though the blame was thrown upon Malthus forputting his doctrines in an offensive shape. A reference to Owensuggests that the alarm excited by Socialism had suggested the need ofsome sound political economy. 

Another controversy which was being carried on at intervals indicatesthe line of cleavage between the capitalist and the landed interest. James Mill's early pamphlet, _Commerce Defended_ (1808), and Torrens'spamphlet, _Economists Refuted_, were suggested by this discussion. Although the war was partly in defence of British trade, itsvicissitudes produced various commercial crises; and the patrioticTories were anxious to show that we could thrive even if our trade wasshut out from the Continent. The trading classes maintained that theyreally supplied the sinews of war, and had a right to some control ofthe policy. The controversy about the orders in council and Berlindecrees emphasised these disputes, and called some attention to thequestions involved in the old controversy between the 'mercantile' andthe 'agricultural' systems. A grotesque exaggeration of one theory wasgiven by Mill's opponent, William Spence[395] (1783-1860), in his_Britain independent of Commerce_, which went through several editionsin 1808, and refurbished or perverted the doctrine of the Frencheconomists. The argument, at least, shows what fallacies then neededconfutation by the orthodox. In the preface to his collected tracts, Spence observes that the high price of corn was the cause of 'all ourwealth and prosperity during the war. ' The causes of the high price('assisted, ' he admits, 'by occasional bad seasons') were the'national debt, in other words, taxation, ' which raised the price, first, of necessaries, and then of luxuries (thus, he says, 'neutralising its otherwise injurious effects'), and the virtualmonopoly by the agriculturist of the home market. [396] All our wealth, that is, was produced by taxation aided by famine, or, in brief, bythe landowner's power of squeezing more out of the poor. Foreigntrade, according to Spence, is altogether superfluous. Its effect issummed up by the statement that we give hardware to America, and, inreturn, get only 'the vile weed, tobacco. '[397] Spence's writings onlyshow the effect of strong prejudices on a weak brain. A similarsentiment dictated a more noteworthy argument to a much abler writer, whose relation to Malthus is significant--Thomas Chalmers(1780-1847), [398] probably best remembered at present for hisleadership of the great disruption of 1843. He had a reputation foreloquence and philosophic ability not fully intelligible at thepresent day. His appearance was uncouth, and his written style isoften clumsy. He gave an impression at times of indolence and oftimidity. Yet his superficial qualities concealed an ardenttemperament and cordial affections. Under a sufficient stimulus hecould blaze out in stirring speech and vigorous action. Hisintellectual training was limited. He had, we are told, been muchinfluenced in his youth by the French philosophers of the time, andhad appeared on the side of the more freethinking party in the famousLeslie controversy. Soon afterwards, however, he was converted to'evangelical' views. He still accepted Thomas Brown as a greatmetaphysician, [399] but thought that in moral questions Brown'sdeistical optimism required to be corrected by an infusion of Butler'stheory of conscience. He could adapt Butler's _Analogy_, and write anedifying Bridgewater Treatise. I need only say, however, that, thoughhis philosophy was not very profound, he had an enthusiasm whichenables him at times to write forcibly and impressively. 

Chalmers was from 1803 to 1815 minister of Kilmany, Fifeshire, and hisattention had already been drawn to the question of pauperism. He tookpart in the Spence controversy, by an essay upon the _Extent andStability of National Resources_. [400] In this he expounds a doctrinewhich is afterwards given in his _Political Economy in Connection withthe Moral State and Moral Aspects of Society_. [401] The main purposeof his early book is the patriotic. It is meant, like Spence'spamphlet, to prove that Napoleon could do us no vital injury. Shouldhe succeed, he would only lop off superfluous branches, not hew downthe main trunk. Chalmers's argument to show the ease with which acountry may recover the effects of a disastrous war is highly praisedby J. S. Mill[402] as the first sound explanation of the facts. Chalmers's position, however, is radically different from theposition of either James or J. S. Mill. Essentially it is thedevelopment of the French economists' theory, though Chalmers israther unwilling to admit his affinity to a discredited school. [403]He has reached some of their conclusions, he admits, but by adifferent path. [404] He coincides, in this respect, with Malthus, whowas equally impressed by the importance of 'subsistence, ' or of thefood-supply of the labourer. The great bulk of the food required mustbe raised within our own borders. As Chalmers says, in 1832, the totalimportation of corn, even in the two famine years, 1800 and 1801, taken together, had only provided food for five weeks, [405] and couldnormally represent a mere fringe or superfluous addition to ourresources. His main argument is simple. The economists have falleninto a fatal error. A manufacturer, he observes, only makes his ownarticle. [406] The economists somehow imagine that he also supportshimself. You see a prosperous 'shawl-making village. ' You infer thatits ruin would cause the destitution of so many families. It wouldonly mean the loss of so many shawls. The food which supports theshawl-makers would still be produced, and would be only diverted tosupport makers of some other luxury. [407] There would be a temporaryinjury to individuals, but no permanent weakening of nationalresources. Hence we have his division of the population. Theagriculturists, and those who make the 'second necessaries' (thecottages, ploughs, and so forth, required by the agriculturist), create the great wealth of the country. Besides these we have the'disposable' population, which is employed in making luxuries for thelandowners, and, finally, the 'redundant' or what he calls in hislater book the 'excrescent' or 'superinduced' population, [408] whichis really supported by foreign trade. Commerce, then, is merely 'theefflorescence of our agriculture. '[409] Were it annihilated thisinstant, we should still retain our whole disposable population. Theeffect of war is simply to find a different employment for this partof the nation. Napoleon, he says, is 'emptying our shops and fillingour battalions. '[410] All the 'redundant' population might besupported by simply diminishing the number of our cart-horses. [411]Similarly, the destruction of the commerce of France 'created herarmies. ' It only transferred men from trade to war, and 'millions ofartisans' were 'transformed into soldiers. '[412] Pitt was reallystrengthening when he supposed himself to be ruining his enemy. 'Excrescence' and 'efflorescence' are Chalmers's equivalent for the'sterility' of the French economists. The backbone of all industry isagriculture, and the manufacturers simply employed by the landownerfor such purposes as he pleases. Whether he uses them to make hisluxuries or to fight his battles, the real resources of the nationremain untouched. The Ricardians insist upon the vital importance of'capital. ' The one economic end of the statesmen, as the capitalistclass naturally thinks, should be to give every facility for itsaccumulation, and consequently for allowing it to distribute itself inthe most efficient way. Chalmers, on the contrary, argues that we mayeasily have too much capital. He was a firm believer in gluts. Headmits that the extension of commerce was of great good at the end ofthe feudal period, but not as the 'efficient cause' of wealth, only as'unlocking the capabilities of the soil. '[413] This change producedthe illusion that commerce has a 'creative virtue, ' whereas itsabsolute dependence upon agriculture is a truth of capital importancein political economy. More Malthusian than Malthus, Chalmers arguesthat the case of capital is strictly parallel to the case ofpopulation. [414] Money may be redundant as much as men, and the realcauses of every economic calamity are the 'over-speculation ofcapitalists, ' and the 'over-population of the community atlarge. '[415] In this question, however, Chalmers gets intodifficulties, which show so hopeless a confusion between 'capital, 'income, and money, that I need not attempt to unravel hismeaning. [416] Anyhow, he is led to approve the French doctrine of thesingle tax. Ultimately, he thinks, all taxes fall upon rent. [417]Agriculture fills the great reservoir from which all the subsidiarychannels are filled. Whether the stream be tapped at the source orfurther down makes no difference. Hence he infers that, as thelandlords necessarily pay the taxes, they should pay them openly. Byan odd coincidence, he would tax rents like Mill, though uponopposite grounds. He holds that the interest of the landowners is notopposed to, but identical with, the interest of all classes. Politically, as well as economically, they should be supreme. Theyare, 'naturally and properly, the lords of the ascendant, ' and, as heoddly complains in the year of the Reform Bill, not 'sufficientlyrepresented in parliament. '[418] A 'splendid aristocracy' is, hethinks, a necessary part of the social edifice;[419] the law ofprimogeniture is necessary to support them; and the division of landwill cause the decay of France. The aristocracy are wanted to keep upa high standard of civilisation and promote philosophy, science, andart. [420] The British aristocracy in the reign of George IV. Scarcelyrealised this ideal, and would hardly have perceived that to place allthe taxes upon their shoulders would be to give them a blessing indisguise. According to Chalmers, however, an established churchrepresents an essential part of the upper classes, and is required topromote a high standard of life among the poor. [421] In connectionwith this, he writes a really forcible chapter criticising theeconomical distinction of productive and unproductive labour, andshows at least that the direct creation of material wealth is not asufficient criterion of the utility of a class. 

Chalmers's arguments are of interest mainly from their bearing uponhis practical application of the Malthusian problem. His interest inthe problem of pauperism had been stimulated by his residence inGlasgow, where from 1815 to 1823 he had been actively engaged inparochial duties. In 1819 he had set up an organised system ofcharity in a poor district, which both reduced the expenditure andimproved the condition of the poor. The experiment, though droppedsome years later, became famous, and in later years Chalmerssuccessfully started a similar plan in Edinburgh. It was thisexperience which gave shape to his Malthusian theories. He was, thatis, a Malthusian in the sense of believing that the great problem wasessentially the problem of raising the self-respect and spirit ofindependence of the poor. The great evil which confronted him inGlasgow was the mischief connected with the growth of the factorysystem. He saw, as he thought, the development of wealth leading tothe degradation of the labourer. The great social phenomenon was thetendency to degeneration, the gradual dissolution of an organism, andcorruption destroying the vital forces. On the one hand, thisspectacle led him, as it led others, to look back fondly to the goodold times of homely food and primitive habits, to the peasantry asrepresented in Burns's _Cotter's Saturday Night_ or Scott's _Heart ofMidlothian_, when the poor man was part of a social, political, andecclesiastical order, disciplined, trained, and self-respecting, not aloose waif and stray in a chaotic welter of separate atoms. These werethe facts which really suggested his theory of the 'excrescent'population, produced by the over-speculation of capitalists. Thepaupers of Glasgow were 'excrescent, ' and the 'gluts' were visible inthe commercial crises which had thrown numbers of poor weavers out ofemployment and degraded them into permanent paupers. The facts werebefore his eyes, if the generalisation was hasty and crude. He held, on the other hand, that indiscriminate charity, and still more theestablishment by poor-laws of a legal right to support, wasstimulating the evil. The poor-law had worked incalculable mischiefsin England, [422] and he struggled vigorously, though unavailingly, toresist its introduction into Scotland. Chalmers, however, did notaccept the theory ascribed to the Utilitarians, that the remedy forthe evils was simply to leave things alone. He gives his theory in anarticle upon the connection between the extension of the church andthe extinction of pauperism. He defends Malthus against the'execrations' of sentimentalism. Malthus, he thinks, would notsuppress but change the direction of beneficence. A vast expenditurehas only stimulated pauperism. The true course is not to diminish therates but to make them 'flow into the wholesome channel of maintainingan extended system of moral and religious instruction. '[423] In otherwords, suppress workhouses but build schools and churches; organisecharity and substitute a systematic individual inspection for recklessand indiscriminate almsgiving. Then you will get to the root of themischief. The church, supported from the land, is to become the greatcivilising agent. Chalmers, accordingly, was an ardent advocate of achurch establishment. He became the leader of the Free Church movementnot as objecting to an establishment on principle, but because hethought that the actual legal fetters of the Scottish establishmentmade it impossible to carry out an effective reorganisation andtherefore unable to discharge its true functions. 

Here Chalmers's economical theories are crossed by various politicaland ecclesiastical questions with which I am not concerned. Hispeculiarities as an economist bring out, I think, an important point. He shows how Malthus's views might be interpreted by a man who, instead of sharing, was entirely opposed to the ordinary capitalistprejudices. It would be idle to ask which was the more logicaldevelopment of Malthus. When two systems are full of doubtfulassumptions of fact and questionable logic and vague primaryconceptions, that question becomes hardly intelligible. We can onlynote the various turns given to the argument by the preconceivedprejudices of the disputants. By most of them the Malthusian view wasinterpreted as implying the capitalist as distinguished from thelandowning point of view. 

To Southey as to Chalmers the great evil of the day was the growth ofthe disorganised populace under the factory system. The difference isthat while Chalmers enthusiastically adopted Malthus's theory asindicating the true remedy for the evil, Southey regards it withhorror as declaring the evil to be irremediable. Chalmers, a shrewdScot actively engaged in parochial work, had his attention fixed uponthe reckless improvidence of the 'excrescent' population, and welcomeda doctrine which laid stress upon the necessity of raising thestandard of prudence and morality. He recognised and pointed out withgreat force the inadequacy of such palliatives as emigration, home-colonisation, and so forth. [424] Southey, an ardent and impulsiveman of letters, with no practical experience of the difficulties ofsocial reform, has no patience for such inquiries. His remedy, in allcases, was a 'paternal government' vigorously regulating society; andMalthus appears to him to be simply an opponent of all such action. Southey had begun the attack in 1803 by an article in the _AnnualReview_ (edited by A. Aikin) for which the leading hints were given byColeridge, then with Southey at Keswick. [425] In his letters and hislater articles he never mentions Malthus without abhorrence. [426]Malthus, according to his article in the _Annual Review_, regards'vice' and 'misery' as desirable; thinks that the 'gratification oflust' is a 'physical necessity'; and attributes to the 'physicalconstitution of our nature' what should be ascribed to the 'existingsystem of society. ' Malthus, that is, is a fatalist, a materialist, and an anarchist. His only remedy is to abolish the poor-rates, andstarve the poor into celibacy. The folly and wickedness of the bookhave provoked him, he admits, to contemptuous indignation; and Malthusmay be a good man personally. Still, the 'farthing candle' ofMalthus's fame as a political philosopher must soon go out. So in the_Quarterly Review_ Southey attributes the social evils to thedisintegrating effect of the manufacturing system, of which Adam Smithwas the 'tedious and hard-hearted' prophet. The excellent Malthusindeed becomes the 'hard-hearted' almost as Hooker was the'judicious. ' This sufficiently represents the view of the sentimentalTory. Malthus, transformed into a monster, deserves the 'execrations'noticed by Chalmers. There is a thorough coincidence between this viewand that of the sentimental Radicals. Southey observes that Malthus(as interpreted by him) does not really answer Godwin. Malthus arguesthat 'perfectibility' gives an impossible end because equality wouldlead to vice and misery. But why should we not suppose with Godwin achange of character which would imply prudence and chastity? Men asthey are may be incapable of equality because they have brutalpassions. But men as they are to be may cease to be brutal and becomecapable of equality. This, indeed, represents a serious criticism. What Malthus was really concerned to prove was that the social stateand the corresponding character suppose each other; and that realimprovement supposes that the individual must somehow acquire theinstincts appropriate to an improved state. The difference between himand his opponents was that he emphasised the mischief of legislation, such as that embodied in the poor-law, which contemplated a forciblechange, destroying poverty without raising the poor man's character. Such a rise required a long and difficult elaboration, and hetherefore dwells mainly upon the folly of the legislative, unsupportedby the moral, remedy. To Godwin, on the other hand, who professed anunlimited faith in the power of reason, this difficulty wascomparatively unimportant. Remove political inequalities and men willspontaneously become virtuous and prudent. 

Godwin accordingly, when answering Dr. Parr and Mackintosh, [427] in1801, welcomed Malthus's first version of the essay. He declares it tobe as 'unquestionable an addition to the theory of political economy'as has been made by any writer for a century past; and 'admits theratios to their full extent. '[428] In this philosophical spirit heproceeds to draw some rather startling conclusions. He hopes that, asmankind improves, such practices as infanticide will not be necessary;but he remarks that it would be happier for a child to perish ininfancy than to spend seventy years in vice and misery. [429] He refersto the inhabitants of Ceylon as a precedent for encouraging otherpractices restrictive of population. In short, though he hopes thatsuch measures may be needless, he does not shrink from admitting theirpossible necessity. So far, then, Godwin and Malthus might form analliance. Equality might be the goal of both; and both might admit thenecessity of change in character as well as in the politicalframework; only that Malthus would lay more stress upon the evil oflegislative changes outrunning or independent of moral change. Here, however, arose the real offence. Malthus had insisted upon thenecessity of self-help. He had ridiculed the pretensions of governmentto fix the rate of wages; and had shown how the poor-laws defeatedtheir own objects. This was the really offensive ground to thepolitical Radicals. They had been in the habit of tracing all evils tothe selfishness and rapacity of the rulers; pensions, sinecures, public debts, huge armies, profligate luxuries of all kinds, were thefruits of bad government and the true causes of poverty. Kings andpriests were the harpies who had settled upon mankind, and wereruining their happiness. Malthus, they thought, was insinuating a baseapology for rulers when he attributed the evil to the character of thesubjects instead of attributing it to the wickedness of their rulers. He was as bad as the old Tory, Johnson, [430] exclaiming:--

 'How small of all that human hearts endure That part which kings and laws can cause or cure!'

He was, they held, telling the tyrants that it was not their fault ifthe poor were miserable. The essay was thus an apology for theheartlessness of the rich. This view was set forth by Hazlitt in anattack upon Malthus in 1807. [431] It appears again in the _Enquiry_ byG. Ensor (1769-1843)--a vivacious though rather long-winded Irishman, who was known both to O'Connell and to Bentham. [432] Godwin himselfwas roused by the appearance of the fifth edition of Malthus's _Essay_to write a reply, which appeared in 1820. He was helped by David Booth(1766-1846), [433] a man of some mathematical and statisticalknowledge. Hazlitt's performance is sufficiently significant of thegeneral tendency. Hazlitt had been an enthusiastic admirer of Godwin, and retained as much of the enthusiasm as his wayward prejudices wouldallow. He was through life what may be called a sentimental Radical, so far as Radicalism was compatible with an ardent worship ofNapoleon. To him Napoleon meant the enemy of Pitt and Liverpool andCastlereagh and the Holy Alliance. Hazlitt could forgive any policywhich meant the humiliation of the men whom he most heartily hated. His attack upon Malthus was such as might satisfy even Cobbett, whosecapacity for hatred, and especially for this particular object ofhatred, was equal to Hazlitt's. The personal rancour of which Hazlittwas unfortunately capable leads to monstrous imputations. Not onlydoes Malthus's essay show the 'little low rankling malice of a parishbeadle . . . Disguised in the garb of philosophy, ' and bury 'falselogic' under 'a heap of garbled calculations, '[434] and so forth; buthe founds insinuations upon Malthus's argument as to the constancy ofthe sexual passion. Malthus, he fully believes, has none of theordinary passions, anger, pride, avarice, or the like, but declaresthat he must be a slave to an 'amorous complexion, ' and believe allother men to be made 'of the same combustible materials. '[435] Thisfoul blow is too characteristic of Hazlitt's usual method; butindicates also the tone which could be taken by contemporaryjournalism. 

The more serious argument is really that the second version of Malthusis an answer to his first. Briefly, the 'moral check' which came inonly as a kind of afterthought is a normal part of the process bywhich population is kept within limits, and prevents the monstrousresults of the 'geometrical ratio. ' Hazlitt, after insisting uponthis, admits that there is nothing in 'the general principles herestated that Mr. Malthus is at present disposed to deny, or that he hasnot himself expressly insisted upon in some part or other of hisvarious works. '[436] He only argues that Malthus's concessions aremade at the cost of self-contradiction. Why then, it may be asked, should not Hazlitt take the position of an improver and harmoniser ofthe doctrine rather than of a fierce opponent? The answer has beenalready implied. He regards Malthus as an apologist for an unjustinequality. Malthus, he says, in classifying the evils of life, has'allotted to the poor all the misery, and to the rich as much vice asthey please. '[437] The check of starvation will keep down the numbersof the poor; and the check of luxury and profligacy will restrain themultiplication of the rich. 'The poor are to make a formal surrenderof their right to provoke charity or parish assistance that the richmay be able to lay out all their money on their vices. '[438] Themisery of the lower orders is the result of the power of the upper. Aman born into a world where he is not wanted has no right, saidMalthus, to a share of the food. That might be true if the poor were aset of lazy supernumeraries living on the industrious. But the truthis that the poor man does the work, and is forced to put up in returnwith a part of the produce of his labour. [439] The poor-laws recognisethe principle that those who get all from the labour of others shouldprovide from their superfluities for the necessities of those inwant. [440] The 'grinding necessity' of which Malthus had spoken doesnot raise but lower the standard; and a system of equality wouldlessen instead of increasing the pressure. Malthus, again, hasproposed that parents should be responsible for their children. Thatis, says Hazlitt, Malthus would leave children to starvation, thoughhe professes to disapprove infanticide. He would 'extinguish everyspark of humanity . . . Towards the children of others' on pretence ofpreserving the 'ties of parental affection. ' Malthus tries to arguethat the 'iniquity of government' is not the cause of poverty. Thatbelief, he says, has generated discontent and revolution. That is, says Hazlitt, the way to prevent revolutions and produce reforms is topersuade people that all the evils which government may inflict aretheir own fault. Government is to do as much mischief as it pleases, without being answerable for it. [441] The poor-laws, as Hazlittadmits, are bad, but do not show the root of the evil. The evils arereally due to increasing tyranny, dependence, indolence, andunhappiness due to other causes. Pauperism has increased because thegovernment and the rich have had their way in everything. They havesquandered our revenues, multiplied sinecures and pensions, doubledsalaries, given monopolies and encouraged jobs, and depressed the poorand industrious. The 'poor create their own fund, ' and the necessityfor it has arisen from the exorbitant demands made by the rich. [442]Malthus is a Blifil, [443] hypocritically insinuating arguments infavour of tyranny under pretence of benevolence. 

Hazlitt's writing, although showing the passions of a bitter partisan, hits some of Malthus's rather cloudy argumentation. His successor, Ensor, representing the same view, finds an appropriate topic in thewrongs of Ireland. Irish poverty, he holds, is plainly due not toover-population but to under-government, [444] meaning, we mustsuppose, misgovernment. But the same cause explains other cases. The'people are poor and are growing poorer, '[445] and there is no mysteryabout it. The expense of a court, the waste of the profits and moneyin the House of Commons, facts which are in striking contrast to therepublican virtues of the United States, are enough to account foreverything; and Malthus's whole aim is to 'calumniate the people. 'Godwin in 1820 takes up the same taunts. Malthus ought, he thinks, towelcome war, famine, pestilence, and the gallows. [446] He has taughtthe poor that they have no claim to relief, and the rich that, byindulging in vice, they are conferring a benefit upon the country. Thepoor-laws admit a right, and he taunts Malthus for proposing toabolish it, and refusing food to a poor man on the ground that he hadnotice not to come into the world two years before he was born. [447]

Godwin, whose earlier atheism had been superseded by a vague deism, now thinks with Cobbett that the poor were supported by the piety ofthe mediæval clergy, who fed the hungry and clothed the naked fromtheir vast revenues, while dooming themselves to spare living. [448] Heappeals to the authority of the Christian religion, which indeed mightbe a fair _argumentum ad hominem_ against 'Parson Malthus. ' Hedeclares that Nature takes more care of her work than such irreverentauthors suppose, and 'does not ask our aid to keep down the excess ofpopulation. '[449] In fact, he doubts whether population increases atall. Malthus's whole theory, he says, rests upon the case of America;and with the help of Mr. Booth and some very unsatisfactorystatistics, he tries to prove that the increase shown in the Americancensus has been entirely due to immigration. Malthus safely declinedto take any notice of a production which in fact shows that Godwinhad lost his early vigour. The sound Utilitarian, Francis Place, tookup the challenge, and exploded some of Godwin's statistics. He showshis Radicalism by admitting that Malthus, to whose general benevolencehe does justice, had not spoken of the poor as one sprung like himselffrom the poor would naturally do; and he accepts modes of limiting thepopulation from which Malthus himself had shrunk. For improvement, helooks chiefly to the abolition of restrictive laws. 

II. SOCIALISM

The arguments of Hazlitt and his allies bring us back to the Socialistposition. Although it was represented by no writer of much literaryposition, Owen was becoming conspicuous, and some of his sympathiserswere already laying down principles more familiar to-day. Already, inthe days of the Six Acts, the government was alarmed by certain'Spencean Philanthropists. ' According to Place they were a very feeblesect, numbering only about fifty, and perfectly harmless. Theirprophet was a poor man called Thomas Spence (1750-1815), [450] who hadstarted as a schoolmaster, and in 1775 read a paper at Newcastlebefore a 'Philosophical Society. '[451] He proposed that the land inevery village should belong to all the inhabitants--a proposal whichMr. Hyndman regards as a prophecy of more thoroughgoing schemes ofLand Nationalisation. Spence drifted to London, picked up a precariousliving, partly by selling books of a revolutionary kind, and died in1815, leaving, it seems, a few proselytes. A writer of higher literarycapacity was Charles Hall, a physician at Tavistock, who in 1805published a book on _The Effects of Civilisation_. [452] The effects ofcivilisation, he holds, are simply pernicious. Landed propertyoriginated in violence, and has caused all social evils. A greatlandlord consumes unproductively as much as would keep eight thousandpeople. [453] He gets everything from the labour of the poor; whilethey are forced to starvation wages by the raising of rents. Trade andmanufactures are equally mischievous. India gets nothing but jewelleryfrom Europe, and Europe nothing but muslin from India, while so muchless food is produced in either country. [454] Manufactures generallyare a cause and sign of the poverty of nations. [455]

Such sporadic protests against the inequalities of wealth may be takenas parts of that 'ancient tale of wrong' which has in all ages beensteaming up from the suffering world, and provoking a smile fromepicurean deities. As Owenism advanced, the argument took a moredistinct form. Mill[456] mentions William Thompson of Cork as a 'veryestimable man, ' who was the 'principal champion' of the Owenites intheir debates with the Benthamites. He published in 1824 a book uponthe distribution of wealth. [457] It is wordy, and is apt to remain inthe region of 'vague generalities' just at the points where specificstatements would be welcome. But besides the merit of obvioussincerity and good feeling, it has the interest of showing veryclearly the relation between the opposing schools. Thompson had acommon ground with the Utilitarians, though they undoubtedly wouldconsider his logic to be loose and overridden by sentimentalism. Inthe first place, he heartily admired Bentham: 'the most profound andcelebrated writer on legislation in this or any other country. '[458]He accepts the 'greatest happiness principle' as applicable to thesocial problem. He argues for equality upon Bentham's ground. Take apenny from a poor man to give it to the rich man, and the poor manclearly loses far more happiness than the rich man gains. WithBentham, too, he admits the importance of 'security, ' and agrees thatit is not always compatible with equality. A man should have thefruits of his labour; and therefore the man who labours most shouldhave most. But, unlike Bentham, he regards equality as more importantthan security. To him the main consideration is the monstrous mass ofevil resulting from vast accumulations of wealth in a few hands. Inthe next place, he adapts to his own purpose the Ricardian theory ofvalue. All value whatever, he argues, is created by labour. Thelabourer, he infers, should have the value which he creates. As thingsare, the labourer parts with most of it to the capitalist or the ownerof rents. The capitalist claims a right to the whole additionalproduction due to the employment of capital. The labourer, on theother hand, may claim a right to the whole additional production, after replacing the wear and tear and allowing to the capitalistenough to support him in equal comfort with the productivelabourers. [459] Thompson holds that while either system would becompatible with 'security, ' the labourer's demand is sanctioned by'equality. ' In point of fact, neither system has been fully carriedout; but the labourer's view would tend to prevail with the spread ofknowledge and justice. While thus anticipating later Socialism, hediffers on a significant point. Thompson insists upon the importanceof 'voluntary exchange' as one of his first principles. No one is tobe forced to take what he does not himself think a fair equivalent forhis labour. Here, again, he would coincide with the Utilitarians. They, not less than he, were for free trade and the abolition of everykind of monopoly. But that view may lead by itself to the simpleadoption of the do-nothing principle, or, as modern Socialists wouldsay, to the more effectual plunder of the poor. The modern Socialistinfers that the means of production must be in some way nationalised. Thompson does not contemplate such a consummation. He denounces, likeall the Radicals of the day, monopolies and conspiracy laws. Sinecuresand standing armies and State churches are the strongholds of tyrannyand superstition. The 'hereditary possession of wealth' is one of themaster-evils, and with sinecures will disappear the systems of entailsand unequal distribution of inheritance. [460] Such institutions haveencouraged the use of fraud and force, and indirectly degraded thelabourer into a helpless position. He would sweep them all away, andwith them all disqualifications imposed upon women. [461] This oncedone, it will be necessary to establish a universal and thoroughgoingsystem of education. Then the poor man, freed from the shackles ofsuperstition and despotism, will be able to obtain his rights asknowledge and justice spread through the whole community. The desireto accumulate for selfish purposes will itself disappear. The labourerwill get all that he creates; the aggregate wealth will be enormouslymultiplied, though universally diffused; and the form taken by the newsociety will, as he argues at great length, be that of voluntaryco-operative associations upon Owen's principles. 

The economists would, of course, reject the theory that thecapitalists should have no profits; but, in spite of this, they mightagree to a great extent with Thompson's aspirations. Thompson, however, holds the true Socialist sentiment of aversion to Malthus. Hedenies energetically what he takes to be the Malthusian doctrine: thatincreased comfort will always produce increased numbers. [462] This hasbeen the 'grand scarecrow to frighten away all attempts at socialimprovement. ' Thompson accordingly asserts that increased comfortalways causes increased prudence ultimately; and looks forward to astationary state in which the births will just balance the deaths. Ineed not inquire here which theory puts the cart before the horse. Theopposition possibly admits of reconciliation; but here I only remarkonce more how Malthus stood for the appeal to hard facts which alwaysprovoked the Utopians as much as it corresponded to the sternUtilitarian view. 

Another writer, Thomas Hodgskin, honorary secretary of the BirkbeckInstitution, who published a tract called _Labour defended against theClaims of Capital, or the Unproductiveness of Capital proved_ (1825), and afterwards gave some popular lectures on political economy, hasbeen noticed as anticipating Socialist ideas. He can see, he says, whysomething should go to the maker of a road and something be paid bythe person who gets the benefit of it. But he does not see why theroad itself should have anything. [463] Hodgskin writes withoutbitterness, if without much logic. It is not for me to say whethermodern Socialists are well advised in admitting that these crudesuggestions were anticipations of their own ideas. The most naturalinference would be that vague guesses about the wickedness of the richhave been in all ages current among the poor, and now and then takemore pretentious form. Most men want very naturally to get as much andto work as little as they can, and call their desire a first principleof justice. 

Perhaps, however, it is fairer to notice in how many points there wasunconscious agreement; and how by converting very excellent maximsinto absolute dogmas, from which a whole system was deducible, thetheories appeared to be mutually contradictory, and, taken separately, became absurd. The palpable and admitted evil was the growth ofpauperism and demoralisation of the labourer. The remedy, according tothe Utilitarians, is to raise the sense of individual responsibility, to make a man dependent upon his own exertions, and to give himsecurity that he will enjoy their fruit. Let government give educationon one hand and security on the other, and equality will follow in duetime. The sentimental Radical naturally replies that leaving a man tostarve does not necessarily make him industrious; that, in point offact, great and growing inequality of wealth has resulted; and thatthe rights of man should be applied not only to political privilege, but to the possession of property. The Utilitarians have left outjustice by putting equality in the background. Justice, as Benthamreplied, has no meaning till you have settled by experience what lawswill produce happiness; and your absolute equality would destroy thevery mainspring of social improvement. Meanwhile the Conservativethinks that both parties are really fostering the evils by makingindividualism supreme, and that organisation is necessary toimprovement; while one set of Radicals would perpetuate a mere blindstruggle for existence, and the other enable the lowest class toenforce a dead level of ignorance and stupidity. They therefore callupon government to become paternal and active, and to teach not onlymorality but religion; and upon the aristocracy to discharge itsfunctions worthily, in order to stamp out social evils and prevent aservile insurrection. But how was the actual government of George IV. And Sidmouth and Eldon to be converted to a sense of its duties? Oneach side appeal is made to a sweeping and absolute principle, andamazingly complex and difficult questions of fact are taken forgranted. The Utilitarians were so far right that they appealed toexperience, as, in fact, such questions have to be settled by the slowco-operation of many minds in many generations. Unfortunately theUtilitarians had, as we have seen, a very inadequate conception ofwhat experience really meant, and were fully as rash and dogmatic astheir opponents. I must now try to consider what were the intellectualconceptions implied by their mode of treating these problems. 

FOOTNOTES:

[392] The discussions of population most frequently mentioned are:--W. Godwin, _Thoughts occasioned by Dr. Parr's Spital Sermon_, etc. , 1801;R. Southey, in (Aikin's) _Annual Review for 1803_, pp. 292-301; ThomasJarrold, _Dissertations on Man_, etc. , 1806; W. Hazlitt, _Reply to theEssay on Population_, 1807; A. Ingram, _Disquisitions on Population_, 1808; John Weyland, _Principles of Population_, etc. , 1806; JamesGrahame, _Inquiry into the Principle of Population_, 1816; GeorgeEnsor, _Inquiry concerning the Population of Nations_, 1818; W. Godwin, _On Population_, 1820; Francis Place, _Principles ofPopulation_, 1822; David Booth, _Letter to the Rev. T. R. Malthus_, 1823; M. T. Sadler, _Law of Population_, 1830; A. Alison, _Principlesof Population_, 1840; T. Doubleday, _True Law of Population_, 1842. 

[393] _Quarterly Review_, Dec. 1812 (reprinted in Southey's _Moral andPolitical Essays_, 1832). 

[394] _Quarterly Review_, July 1817, by (Archbishop) Sumner, Malthus'scommentator in the _Records of Creation_. Ricardo's _Letters toTrower_, p. 47. 

[395] _Spence's Tracts on Political Economy_ were collected with apreface in 1822. Spence is better known as an entomologist, andcollaborated with William Kirby. 

[396] _Tracts_ (1822), p. Xiii. 

[397] _Ibid. _ p. 59. 

[398] Chalmers's _Works_ were published in twenty-five volumes in1841-42. 

[399] Chalmers's _Works_, i. 237. 

[400] This essay is not in his collected _Works_, though in vol. Xxi. It is promised for the next volume. 

[401] _Works_, xix. And xx. 

[402] Mill's _Political Economy_, bk. I. Ch. V. § 7 and 8. SeeChalmers, xix. 140. 

[403] _National Resources_ (Appendix). 

[404] _Works_, xix. 306. 

[405] _Ibid. _ xix. 226, 233. 

[406] _National Resources_, p. 48. 

[407] _Works_, xix. 64. 

[408] _Works_, xix. 226. 

[409] _Ibid. _ xix. 235. 

[410] _National Resources_, p. 158. 

[411] _Ibid. _ p. 160. 

[412] _Works_, xix. 262. 

[413] _Works_, xix. 75. 

[414] _Ibid. _ xix. 118-47. 

[415] _Ibid. _ xix. 343. 

[416] See _Ibid. _ xix. 171. J. S. Mill speaks of Chalmers'sspeculations with a respect which it is difficult to understand. 

[417] Chalmers holds that the Ricardian doctrine of rent inverts thetrue order. Fertile lands do not pay rent because poor lands arebrought into cultivation, but poor lands are cultivated becausefertile lands pay rent. He apparently wishes, like Malthus, to regardrent as a blessing, not a curse. The point is not worth arguing. See_Works_, xix. 320. 

[418] _Works_, xix. 304-5. 

[419] _Ibid. _ xix. 370. 

[420] _Ibid. _ xix. 366. 

[421] _Ibid. _ xix. 322. 

[422] _Works_, xx. 247, 296. 

[423] _Ibid. _ xx. 290. 

[424] _Works_, xix. 380. 

[425] The copy of Malthus's second edition with Coleridge's notes usedby Southey is in the British Museum. 

[426] See Southey's _Political_. 

[427] _Thoughts occasioned by Dr. Parr's Spital Sermon. _ A copyannotated by Coleridge is in the British Museum. 

[428] _Thoughts_, etc. , pp. 56, 61, 62. 

[429] _Ibid. _ p. 71. 

[430] Lines added to Goldsmith's _Traveller_. 

[431] _Reply to the Essay on Population_, etc. , 1807. The book wasanonymous. The first three letters had appeared in Cobbett's_Register_. Two others with an appendix are added. 

[432] Bentham's _Works_, x. 603, 604; and _Dictionary of NationalBiography_. 

[433] See _Dictionary of National Biography_. 

[434] Hazlitt's _Reply_, p. 19. 

[435] _Ibid. _ pp. 139-41. 

[436] _Ibid. _ p. 117. 

[437] _Reply_, p. 263. 

[438] _Ibid. _ p. 344. 

[439] _Ibid. _ p. 284. 

[440] _Ibid. _ p. 287. 

[441] _Reply_, p. 351. 

[442] _Ibid. _ pp. 362-64. 

[443] _Ibid. _ p. 352. 

[444] Ensor's _Enquiry_, p. 294. 

[445] _Ibid. _ p. 441. 

[446] _Godwin on Population_, p. 506. 

[447] _Ibid. _ p. 553. 

[448] _Ibid. _ p. 558. 

[449] Godwin, p. 219. 

[450] See account of him reprinted from Mackenzie's _History ofNewcastle_ and _Dictionary of National Biography_. 

[451] Reprinted by Mr. Hyndman in 1822, with a preface. 

[452] See _Dictionary of National Biography_. Hall's book wasreprinted by J. M. Morgan in the 'Phoenix Library, ' 1850. See AntonMenger's _Das Recht auf den vollen Arbeitsertrag_ (second edition, 1891), for notices of Hall, Thompson, and others. 

[453] _Effects of Civilisation_ (1850), p. 86. 

[454] _Ibid. _ p. 71. 

[455] _Ibid. _ p. 115. 

[456] _Autobiography_, p. 125. See Holyoake's _History ofCo-operation_, i. 16, 109, 278-83, 348, for some interesting noticesof Thompson. Menger (_Recht auf den vollen Arbeitsertrag_, p. 100_n. _) holds that Thompson not only anticipated but inspired Marx:Rodbertus, he says, drew chiefly upon St. Simon and Proudhon. 

[457] _An Inquiry into the Principles of the Distribution of Wealthmost conducive to Human Happiness; applied to the Newly ProposedSystem of Voluntary Equality of Wealth. _--1824. 

[458] _Distribution of Wealth_, p. 327. 

[459] _Distribution of Wealth_, p. 167, etc. 

[460] _Ibid. _ p. 310. 

[461] He wrote, as J. S. Mill observes, an _Appeal_ [1825] againstJames Mill's views on this matter--a fact which no doubt commended himto the son. 

[462] _Distribution of Wealth_, pp. 425, 535, etc. 

[463] _Labour Defended_, p. 16. 

CHAPTER VII

PSYCHOLOGY

I. THOMAS BROWN

The politicians and economists, of whom I have spoken, took firstprinciples for granted. The intellectual temperament, which madecertain methods congenial to them, would no doubt have led them to ananalogous position in philosophy. Bentham had touched uponphilosophical points in a summary way, and James Mill, as we shallsee, gave a more explicit statement. But such men as Ricardo andMalthus had no systematic philosophy, though a certain philosophy wascongenial to their methods. Desire to reach a solid groundwork offact, hearty aversion to mere word-juggling, and to effeminatesentimentalism, respect for science and indifference to, if notcontempt for, poetry, resolution to approve no laws or institutionswhich could not be supported on plain grounds of utility, and toaccept no theory which could not be firmly based on verifiableexperience, imply moral and intellectual tendencies, in which we mayperhaps say that the Utilitarians represent some of the strongest andmost valuable qualities of the national character. Taking thesequalities for granted, let us consider how the ultimate problemspresented themselves to the school thus distinguished. 

I have already observed that the Scottish philosophy, taught by Reidand Dugald Stewart, represented the only approach to a livingphilosophical system in these islands at the beginning of the century. It held this position for a long period. Mill, who had heard DugaldStewart's lectures, knew nothing of German thought. He was well readin French philosophers, and in harmony with one leading sect. Theso-called _idéologues_, [464] who regarded Condillac as representingthe true line of intellectual progress, were in France the analoguesof the English Utilitarians. Destutt de Tracy and Cabanis were theirmost conspicuous leaders in this generation. The philosophy of Reidand Stewart crossed the channel, and supplied the first assailants ofthe _idéologues_ with their controversial weapons. Thus, until theGerman influence came to modify the whole controversy, the vital issueseemed to lie between the doctrine of Reid or 'intuitionism' on theone hand, and the purely 'experiential' school on the other, whether, as in France, it followed Condillac, or, as in England, looked backchiefly to Hartley. Both sections traced their intellectual ancestryto Locke and Hobbes, with some reference to Bacon, and, by the Frenchwriters, to Descartes. Stewart, again, as I have said, was theaccepted Whig philosopher. It is true that the Whig sat habitually inthe seat of Gallio. Jeffrey, whether he fully realised the fact ornot, was at bottom a sceptic in philosophy as in politics. John Allen, the prophet of Holland House, was a thorough sceptic, and says[465]that Horner, one of Stewart's personal admirers, was really afollower of Hume. The Whigs were inclined to Shaftesbury's doctrinethat sensible men had all one religion, and that sensible men neversaid what it was. Those who had a more definite and avowable creedwere content to follow Stewart's amiable philosophising. Broughamprofessed, let us hope, sincerely, to be an orthodox theist, andexplained the argument from design in a commentary upon Paley. SydneySmith expounded Reid and Stewart in lectures which showed at leastthat he was still a wit when talking 'philosophy' at the RoyalInstitution; and, though he hated 'enthusiasm' in dissenters, evangelicals, and tractarians, and kept religion strictly in itsplace--a place well outside of practical politics--managed to preach awholesome, commonplace morality in terms of Christian theology. Thedifference between the Whig and the Radical temper showed itself inphilosophical as in political questions. The Radical prided himself onbeing logical and thoroughgoing, while the Whig loved compromise, andthought that logic was very apt to be a nuisance. The systematicreticence which the Utilitarians held to be necessary prevented thiscontrast from showing itself distinctly on the surface. TheUtilitarians, however, though they avoided such outspoken scepticismas would startle the public, indicated quite sufficiently to theinitiated their essential position. It implied what they fullyrecognised in private conversation--a complete abandonment oftheology. They left the obvious inferences to be drawn by others. Inphilosophy they could speak out in a well-founded confidence that fewpeople were able to draw inferences. I will begin by considering thedoctrine against which they protested; for the antagonism reveals, Ithink, the key to their position. 

When Stewart was obliged by infirmity to retire from the activedischarge of his duties, he was succeeded by Thomas Brown (1778-1820). Brown had shown early precocity, and at the age of fifteen hadattracted Stewart's notice by some remarks on a psychological point. He published at twenty a criticism of Darwin's _Zoonomia_, and hebecame one of the _Edinburgh Review_ circle. When the _Review_ wasstarted he contributed an article upon Kant. In those happy days itwas so far from necessary to prepare oneself for such a task bystudying a library of commentators that the young reviewer couldfrankly admit his whole knowledge to be derived from Villers'_Philosophie de Kant_ (1801). [466] Soon afterwards he took animportant share in a once famous controversy. John Leslie, justelected to the mathematical chair at Edinburgh, was accused of havingwritten favourably of Hume's theory of causation. Whigs and Toriestook this up as a party question, [467] and Brown undertook to explainin a pamphlet what Hume's theory was, and to show that it did not leadto atheism. Leslie's friends triumphed, though it does not appear howfar Brown's arguments contributed to their success. The pamphlet wasrewritten and enlarged, and a third edition of 1818 gives a fullexposition of his theory. Brown had meanwhile become Stewart's leadingdisciple, and in 1810 was elected to be his colleague. Brown held theposition, doing all the active duties, until his premature death in1820. Brown, according to his biographer, wrote his lecturesimmediately before delivery, and completed them during his first twoyears of office. His theories, as well as his words, were often, according to the same authority, extemporised. Brown found that hecould not improve what he had written under 'very powerfulexcitement. ' Moreover, he had an unlucky belief that he was a poet. From 1814 till 1819 he brought out yearly what he supposed to be apoem. These productions, the _Paradise of Coquets_ and the rest, arein the old-fashioned taste, and have long passed into oblivion. 

The lectures, published posthumously, became a text-book for students, and reached a nineteenth edition in 1851. Their faults, considered asphilosophical treatises, are palpable. They have the wordiness ofhasty composition, and the discursive rhetoric intended to catch theattention of an indolent audience. Brown does not see that he isinsulting his hearers when he apologises for introducing logic intolectures upon metaphysics, and indemnifies them by quotations fromAkenside and the _Essay on Man_. Brown, however, showed greatacuteness and originality. He made deviations, and took pains to markhis deviations, from Reid, though he spoke more guardedly of his ownfriend, Stewart. Stewart, who had strongly supported Brown's election, was shocked when, on the publication of the lectures, he came todiscover that his colleague had been preaching heresy, and wrote withobvious annoyance of Brown's hastiness and dangerous concessions tothe enemy. [468] Brown, however, impressed his contemporaries by hisability. Sydney Smith is probably reporting the current judgment ofhis own circle when he says[469] that in metaphysics Stewart was a'humbug' compared with Brown. I certainly think that Stewart, whom Ishould be sorry to call a humbug, shows less vigour and subtlety. Brown, at any rate, impressed both the Mills, and his relation to themis significant. 

Brown's essay upon Causation indicates this relation. In this, indeed, there is little, if any, divergence from Stewart, though he attacksReid with considerable asperity. He urges that Reid, while reallyagreeing with Hume, affected to answer him under cover of merelyverbal distinctions. [470] The main point is simple. Hume had assertedthat all events seem to be 'entirely loose and separate, ' or, in otherwords, 'conjoined but never connected. ' Yet he points out that, infact, when we have found two events to be 'conjoined, ' we call onecause and the other effect, and assume a 'necessary connection'between them. He then asks, What is the origin of this belief, andwhat, therefore, is the logical warrant for its validity? Brownentirely accepts Hume's statement of the facts. The real meaning ofour statements is evaded by appealing to the conception of 'power. 'When the loadstone (in his favourite illustration) attracts the iron, we say it has a 'power' of attracting iron. But to speak thus of apower is simply to describe the same facts in other words. We assertthis, and nothing more than this, that when the loadstone comes nearthe iron, each moves towards the other. 'Power' is a word which onlycovers a statement of 'invariable antecedence. ' Brown traces thevarious confusions which have obscured the true nature of this belief. He insists especially that we can no more discover power in mentalthan in physical sequences. The will had been supposed to be the typeof causal power; but volition, according to Brown, reveals simplyanother succession of desires and bodily actions. The hypothesis of'power' has been really the source of 'illusion. ' The tendency topersonify leads us to convert metaphor into fact, to invent a subjectof this imaginary 'power, ' and thus to create a mythology of beings tocarry on the processes of nature. In other words, Brown here followsHume or even anticipates Comte. As J. S. Mill remarks, [471] thiserroneous identification of 'power' with 'will' gives the'psychological rationale of Comte's great historical generalisation';and, so far, Brown, as a follower of Hume, is clearly on the way topositivism. 

The world, then, is a vast aggregate of 'loose' phenomena. Acontemplation of things reveals no reason for one order rather thananother. You may look at your loadstone as long as you please, but youwill find no reason for its attracting iron. You may indeedinterpolate a number of minute intervening sequences, and the processoften suggests a vague something more than sequence; but this is amere illusion. [472] Could we, in fact, see all the minute changes inbodies we should actually perceive that cause means nothing but 'theimmediate invariable antecedence of an event. '[473] Brown especiallyargues against the attempts of d'Alembert and Euler to deduce thefirst laws of motion from the principle of 'sufficient reason. '[474]That, as he argues in detail, is merely begging the question, byintroducing the principle of causation under an alias. 

What, then, is the principle? We believe, he says, [475] that 'everyevent must have a cause, ' and that circumstances exactly 'similar musthave results exactly similar. ' This belief, though applicable to allevents, does not give us the 'slightest aid' to determining, independently of experience, any particular event. We observe that Bfollows A, but, for all we can say, it might as well follow any otherletter of the alphabet. Yet we are entitled to say in general that itdoes uniformly follow some particular letter. The metaphor whichdescribes cause and effect as a 'bond' tying A and B together isperfectly appropriate if taken to express the bare fact ofsequence;[476] but we fall into error if we fancy there is really anybond whatever beside the events themselves. 

The belief, then, in causation has precisely the same import accordingto Hume and Brown; and both agree that it is not produced by'reasoning. ' The proposition 'B has once succeeded A, ' or 'hassucceeded A a thousand times, ' is entirely different from theproposition 'B will for ever succeed A. '[477] No process of logicalinference can extract one from the other. Shall we, then, give up abelief in causation? The belief in any case exists as a fact. Humeexplains it by custom or association. Brown argues, and I think withmuch force, that Hume's explanation is insufficient. Association mayexplain (if it does more than restate) the fact that one 'idea' callsup another idea, but such association may and often does occur withoutsuggesting any belief. The belief, too, precedes the association. Webegin by believing too much, not too little, and assume a necessaryconnection of many phenomena which we afterwards find to beindependent. The true answer is therefore different. There are threesources of belief, 'perception, ' 'reasoning, ' and 'intuition. '[478]Now, we cannot 'perceive' anything but a present coincidence; neithercan we establish a connection by any process of 'reasoning, ' andtherefore the belief must be an 'intuition. ' This, accordingly, isBrown's conclusion. 'There are principles, ' he says, 'independent ofreasoning, in the mind which save it from the occasional follies ofall our ratiocinations';[479] or rather, as he explains, whichunderlie all reasoning. The difference, then, between Hume and Brown(and, as Brown argues, between Hume and Reid's real doctrine) is notas to the import, but as to the origin, of the belief. It is an'intuition' simply because it cannot be further analysed. It does notallow us to pass a single step beyond experience; it merely authorisesus to interpret experience. We can discover any actual law ofconnection between phenomena only by observing that they occur insuccession. We cannot get beyond or behind the facts--and thereforeintuitionism in this sense is not opposed to empiricism, but a warrantfor empirical conclusions. An 'intuition, ' briefly, is an unanalysablebelief. Brown asserts that a certain element of thought has not beenexplained, and assumes it to be therefore inexplicable or ultimate. Brown's account of causation had a great influence upon both theMills, and especially affected the teaching of the younger Mill. 

Another point is important. Reid, as I have said, had specially pridedhimself upon his supposed overthrow of Berkeley's idealism. He wasconsidered to have shown, in spite of sceptics, that the common beliefin an external world was reasonable. Brown in his lectures ridiculedReid's claim. This 'mighty achievement, ' the 'supposed overthrow of agreat system, ' was 'nothing more than the proof that certain phrasesare metaphorical, which were intended by their authors to beunderstood _only_ as metaphors. '[480] The theory was dead before Reidslew it, though the phrases were still used as a mere 'relic, ' orsurvival of an obsolete doctrine. [481] The impossibility ofconstructing extension out of our sensations is the _experimentumcrucis_ upon which Reid was ready to stake his case. If the attempt atsuch a construction could succeed, he would 'lay his hand upon hismouth' and give up the argument. [482] Brown takes up the challengethus thrown out. He holds that our knowledge of an external world isderived from a source which Reid overlooked. He modifies the Scottishpsychology by introducing the muscular senses. His theory is that theinfant which has learned to move discovers that on some occasions itsmovements are modified by a sense of 'impeded effort. '[483] The suddeninterruption to a well-known series excites in its mind the notion of'a cause which is not in itself. ' This is the source of our belief inan external world. That belief is essentially the belief in some causewhich we know to be other than our own mental constitution or theseries of 'internal' phenomena, and of which we can know nothing else. It is enough to indicate a theory which has been elaborated by laterpsychologists, and plays a great part (for example) in the theories ofMill, Bain, and Mr. Herbert Spencer. It shows the real tendency ofBrown's speculations. In the first place, it must be noticed that thetheory itself had been already emphatically stated by Destutt deTracy. Hamilton accuses Brown of plagiarism. [484] Whether hisaccusation be justifiable or not, it is certainly true that Brown hadin some way reached the same principles which had been already setforth by a leading 'ideologist. ' Brown, that is, though the officialexponent of the Scottish philosophy, was in this philosophical tenetat one with the school which they regarded as materialistic orsceptical. The path by which he reaches his conclusions is alsocharacteristic. 

Brown has reversed the interpretation of Reid's _experimentum crucis_. I will give up my case, says Reid, if you can make the external worldout of sensations. That, replies Brown, is precisely what we can do. How from sensations do we get what Berkeley called 'outness'? We getit, says Brown, from the sense of resistance or 'impeded effort. ' Thatreveals to us the fact that there is something independent ofourselves, and the belief in such a something is precisely what wemean, and all that we mean, by the belief in an external world. Consistently with this, Brown rejects Reid's distinction between theprimary and secondary qualities. The distinction corresponds no doubtto some real differences, but there is no difference of the kindsuggested by Reid. 'All [the qualities] are relative and equallyrelative--our perception of extension and resistance as much as ourperception of fragrance and bitterness. '[485] We ascribe thesensations to 'external objects, ' but the objects are only known bythe 'medium' of our sensations. In other words, the whole world may beregarded as a set of sensations, whether of sight, smell, touch, orresistance to muscular movement, accompanied by the belief that theyare caused by something not ourselves, and of which something we canonly say that it is not ourselves. 

Once more, the analysis of the process by which the belief isgenerated is significant. From resistance, or the sensation producedwhen something 'resists our attempts to grasp it, ' we get the'outness. ' Then perception is 'nothing more than the association ofthis complex notion with our other sensations--the notion of somethingextended and resisting, suggested by these sensations, when thesuggestions themselves have previously arisen, and suggested in thesame manner and on the same principle as any other associate feelingsuggests any other associate feeling. '[486] The odour or colour of arose recalls the sensation of touching and of resistance to our grasp. Thus we regard the whole group of sensations as due to the externalcause which produces the sensation of resistance. Brown seems tohesitate a little as to whether he shall appeal to an 'intuition' orto 'association, ' but 'as I rather think, ' he says, the belief isfounded 'on associations as powerful as intuition. '[487]

Whatever, then, may be the origin of the belief--'intuition' or'association'--it is clear that it can give us no knowledge exceptsuch as is derived from sensations. Moreover, Brown is thus led, as inthe doctrine of causation, to accept a really sceptical position. Hedeclares that he is in this respect at one with both Reid and Hume. They both accept two propositions: first, that we cannot 'by merereasoning' prove the existence of an external world; secondly, that itis 'absolutely impossible for us not to believe' in its existence. Hume, he says, pronounces the first proposition in a 'loud toneof voice' and 'whispers' the second. Reid, conversely, passesover the first rapidly and 'dwells on the second with a tone ofconfidence. '[488] Brown accepts both statements. He has already saidthat there is no argument against Berkeley's denial of matter any morethan against the 'infinite divisibility of matter. ' But he adds, it is'physically impossible' for us to admit the conclusion, at leastwithout 'an instant dissent from a momentary logical admission. '[489]This, indeed, is but a version of Hume's familiar statement thatBerkeley's arguments admit of no reply and produce no conviction. 

Another essential doctrine of the Mills, the 'association' theory, istreated differently by Brown. Brown, as we have seen, both in histheory of causation and in his theory of our belief in an externalworld, speaks of principles in the mind which somehow override'ratiocination. ' In the first case, he speaks of 'intuition, ' but inthe other, as I have said, he seems to prefer association. Thedifference is remarkable because the belief in an external world isupon his showing simply a case of causation. It means essentially thereference of our sensations as to an external cause. Now, in theargument upon causation, he has insisted upon the insufficiency ofassociation to generate the belief; and he would have found itdifficult to meet his own arguments if applied to the belief in anexternal world. Yet it does not seem to occur to him that there is anydifficulty in explaining this belief in an external world as a caseof what Mill called 'indissoluble association. ' Brown, as Millthought, was not sufficiently aware of the power of this principle, and the difference between them is marked by this divergence. Brownhad a great deal to say about association, though he chose generallyto substitute the word 'suggestion, ' previously familiar to Reid andBerkeley. [490] He considers it, however, mainly in another relation. He proposes to trace the order in which 'trains' of ideas succeed eachother in our minds. He does not dwell upon the influence ofassociation in producing belief. His question is not primarily as tothe logic, but as to the actual succession of our thoughts. Heexplains that he uses the word 'suggestion' in order to avoid thehypothesis that the sequence of two ideas necessarily implies aprevious state of mind in which they were brought together; andendeavours to explain various cases (as, for example, association by'contrast' as well as by 'likeness' or 'continuity') by a more'subtile' analysis. [491] He then works out an elaborate theory of'simple' and 'relative' suggestion. Simple 'suggestion'[492]corresponds mainly to ordinary association, as when a friend's name orhis book calls up the thought of the man himself. 'Relativesuggestion' arises when two or more objects are perceived and suggestvarious relations of likeness and so forth. [493] This provides ascheme for working out the whole doctrine of the sequences of ideas sofar as the sequences depend upon the mind itself and not upon externalcauses. It thus leads to problems of abstraction and generalisationand to his whole theory of what he calls the 'intellectual states. ' Heagain closely coincides with the French ideologists. He starts byexamining Locke and Condillac. He of course professes to hold thatCondillac's version of Locke is illegitimate, and ridicules the famousformula _penser c'est sentir_. He is, however, equally unwilling toadmit Reid's 'variety of powers. '[494] In fact, his criticism ofCondillac shows more affinity than contrast. Condillac erred, he says, in holding that thoughts are 'transformed sensations. ' This was afalse simplification into which he considers Condillac to have beenled partly by the ambiguity of the word _sentir_. [495] Condillacapplied to the mind the theory, true in 'the chemistry of the materialchemists, ' that the 'compounds are the elements themselves. '[496] Heerrs when he infers from the analogy that a feeling which arises outof others can be resolved into them. 'Love and hate' and otheremotions are fundamentally different from the sensations by which theyare occasioned, not mere 'transformations' of those sensations. We, onthe other hand (that is to say, Reid and Stewart), have erred byexcessive amplification. Instead of identifying different things, wehave admitted a superfluous number of 'ultimate principles. '

The result is that besides the original sensations, we have toconsider a number of feelings, which, while essentially different, are'suggested' or caused by them. These are parts of the wholeintellectual construction, and, though not transformed sensations, arestill 'feelings' arising in consequence of the sensations. They areparts of the 'trains' or sequences of 'ideas. ' It is accordinglycharacteristic of Brown that he habitually describes an intellectualprocess as a 'feeling. ' The statement of a mathematical proportion, for example, is a case of 'relative suggestion. ' When we considertwo numbers together we have a '_feeling_ of the relation ofproportion. '[497] The 'profoundest reasonings' are 'nothing more thana continued analysis of our thought, ' by which we resolve the 'complex_feelings_ of our minds' into the simpler conceptions out of whichthey were constructed. [498] In other words, Brown, it would seem, really accepts the _penser c'est sentir_, only that he regards the_sentir_ as including separate classes of feeling, which cannot beregarded as simple 'transformations' of sensation. They are 'states ofthe mind' caused by, that is, invariably following upon, the simplerstates, and, of course, combining in an endless variety of differentforms. Reasoning is nothing more than a series of relative'suggestions of which the separate subjects are felt by us to bemutually related. '[499] Hence, too, arises his theory ofgeneralisation. He is, he says, not a 'nominalist' but a'conceptualist, ' and here, for once, agrees with Reid as againstStewart. [500] The 'general term, ' according to him, expresses the'feeling or general notion of resemblance, ' which arises upon acontemplation of two objects. 'In Nature, ' as he observeselsewhere, [501] 'there are no classes, ' but the observation of anumber of particular cases and a certain feeling to which we give aname. Here, again, Brown's view coincides with that of his Frenchcontemporaries. 

We may then say briefly that Brown carries out in his own fashion theconception of psychology which makes it an inductive science parallelto the physical sciences, and to be pursued by the same methods. Wehave to do with 'feelings' instead of atoms, and with mental insteadof 'material' chemistry. Our sole method is still an analysis such asguides us in unravelling complex physical phenomena. We have, indeed, to admit certain first truths--the belief in our own identity is oneof them--which are necessary to our very existence, although theassertion of such principles was carried to an extravagant andridiculous length 'by Reid and some of his friends. ' When, however, wecome to ask what these principles are, it must be admitted that theyare very innocent. They are not dangerous things, like 'innate ideas, 'capable of leading us to a transcendental world, but simply assertionsthat we are warranted in trusting our sensations and applying athoroughly inductive and empirical method. They are the cement whichjoins the feelings, and which, as Mill thought, could be supplanted by'indissoluble associations. ' The indefinite power thus attributed toassociation became, as we shall see, Mill's most characteristicdoctrine. Meanwhile, I will only mention one inference whichillustrates Brown's philosophical tendencies. Stewart had spokendoubtfully of the ontological argument for theology. Brown throws itover altogether. He does not even change it into an 'intuition. ' Hehas always, he says, regarded it as 'absolutely void of force' unlessit tacitly assumes the 'physical argument. ' Nay, it is one proof ofthe force of this physical argument that it has saved us from doubtswhich would be rather strengthened than weakened by the 'metaphysicalarguments. '[502] The 'physical argument' means the argument fromdesign, which thus becomes the sole support of theology. 

Hamilton naturally regards Brown as a mere sceptic in disguise. Histheory of perception destroys his theory of personal identity. He hasrefused to accept our intuitive belief in one case, and cannot appealto it in the other. He leaves no room for 'liberty of will, ' andadvances 'no argument in support of this condition of our moralbeing. '[503] Indeed, as Stewart complained, Brown, by identifying'will' and 'desire, ' has got rid of the will altogether. It is onlynatural that a man who is making a scientific study of the laws ofhuman nature should find no room for an assertion that within acertain sphere there are no laws. A physiologist might as well admitthat some vital processes are uncaused. 

Brown thus illustrates the gravitation of the 'common-sense'philosophy to pure empiricism. He was the last in the genuine line ofScottish common-sense philosophers. When after what may be called theunphilosophical interregnum which followed Brown's death, Hamiltonbecame professor, the Scottish tradition was blended with the verydifferent theories derived from Kant. Upon Brown's version, theScottish philosophy had virtually declared itself bankrupt. Thesubstance of his teaching was that of the very school which hispredecessors had attempted to confute, carefully as the fact might behidden by dexterous rhetoric and manipulation of technical terms. Heagrees with Hume's premises, and adopts the method of Condillac. Thiswas perceived by his most remarkable hearer. Carlyle went to Edinburghat the end of 1809. Brown, 'an eloquent, acute little gentleman, fullof enthusiasm about simple suggestions, relative, etc. , ' was 'utterlyunprofitable' to him, disspiriting 'as the autumn winds among witheredleaves. '[504] In _Signs of the Times_ (1829) Carlyle gave his view ofthe Scottish philosophy generally. They had, he says, started from the'mechanical' premises suggested by Hume. 'They let loose instinct asan indiscriminatory bandog to guard them against (his) conclusions':'they tugged lustily at the logical chain by which Hume was so coldlytowing them and the world into bottomless abysses of Atheism andFatalism. But the chain somehow snapped between them, and the issuehas been that nobody now cares about either--any more than aboutHartley's, Darwin's, or Priestley's contemporaneous doings inEngland. '[505] The judgment goes to the root of the matter. The methodof Reid inevitably led to this result. Consider the philosophy asbased upon, if not identical with, an inductive science of psychology, and the end is clear. You may study and analyse the phenomena ascarefully as you please; and may, as the Scottish professors did, produce, if not a scientific psychology, yet a mass of acuteprolegomena to a science. But the analysis can only reveal the actualcombinations, chemical or mechanical, of thought. The ultimateprinciples which the teachers profess to discover are simplyprovisional; products not yet analysed, but not therefore incapable ofanalysis. It was very desirable to point them out: an insistence uponthe insufficiency of Hume's or Condillac's theories was a mostvaluable service; but it was valuable precisely because everyindication of such an unresolved element was a challenge to the nextcomer to resolve it by closer analysis. And thus, in fact, theintuitions, which had played so great a part with Reid, come inBrown's hands to be so clearly limited to the materials given bysensation or experience that any show of 'philosophy, ' meaning anindependent theory of the universe, was an illusory combination offine phrases. [506]

II. JAMES MILL'S 'ANALYSIS'

James Mill's _Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind_ is on theone hand an exposition of the principles implied in Bentham'swritings, and, on the other hand, a statement of the position fromwhich the younger Mill started. J. S. Mill discussed the book with hisfather during its composition, and in 1869 he published a new edition, with elaborate notes by himself, George Grote, Professor Bain, andAndrew Findlater. [507] The commentary is of great importance indefining the relation between the two successors to the throne ofBentham. 

Mill's _Analysis_, though not widely read, made a deep impression uponMill's own disciples. It is terse, trenchant, and uncompromising. Itreminds us in point of style of the French writers, with whom hesympathised, rather than of the English predecessors, to whom much ofthe substance was owing. The discursive rhetoric of Brown or Stewartis replaced by good, hard, sinewy logic. The writer is plainly inearnest. If over confident, he has no petty vanity, and at leastbelieves every word that he says. Certain limitations are at onceobvious. Mill, as a publicist, a historian, and a busy official, hadnot had much time to spare for purely philosophic reading. He was nota professor in want of a system, but an energetic man of business, wishing to strike at the root of the superstitions to which hispolitical opponents appealed for support. He had heard of Kant, andseen what 'the poor man would be at. ' Later German systems, had heheard of them, would have been summarily rejected by him as so muchtranscendental moonshine. The problem of philosophy was, he held, avery simple one, if attacked in a straightforward, scientific method. 

Mill, like his Scottish rivals, applies 'Baconian' principles. Theinductive method, which had already been so fruitful in the physicalsciences, will be equally effective in philosophy, and ever sinceLocke, philosophy had meant psychology. The 'philosophy of the mind'and the philosophy of the body may be treated as co-ordinate andinvestigated by similar methods. In the physical sciences we comeultimately to the laws of movement of their constituent atoms. In themoral sciences we come in the same way to the study of 'ideas. ' Thequestions, How do ideas originate? and how are they combined so as toform the actual state of consciousness? are therefore the generalproblems to be solved. Hume had definitely proposed the problem. Hartley had worked out the theory of association of ideas which Humehad already compared[508] to the universal principle of gravitation inthe physical world; and had endeavoured to show how this might beconnected with physiological principles. Hartley's followers had beencontent to dwell upon the power of association. Abraham Tucker, Priestley, Erasmus Darwin, and Belsham represented this tendency, andwere the normal antagonists of Reid and Stewart. In France the'ideologists' mainly followed Condillac, and apparently knew nothingof Hartley. Mill, as his son testifies, had been profoundly influencedby Hartley's treatise--the 'really master-production, ' as he esteemedit, 'in the philosophy of mind. '[509] Hartley's work, as the youngerMill thought, and the elder apparently agreed, was very superior tothe 'merely verbal generalisation of Condillac. ' James Mill, however, admired Condillac and his successors. In his article upon education, Mill traces the association theory to Hobbes, Locke, and Hume, thelast of whom, he says, was succeeded by the two 'more sober-minded'philosophers, Condillac and Hartley; while he especially praisesErasmus Darwin, Helvétius, and Cabanis. Mill, therefore, may beregarded as an independent ally of the ideologists whose influenceupon Brown has been already noticed. Mill had not read Brown's_Lectures_ when he began his _Analysis_, and after reading themthought Brown 'but poorly read in the doctrine of association. '[510]He had, however, read the essay upon causation, which he rather oddlydescribes as 'one of the most valuable contributions to science forwhich we are indebted to the last generation. '[511] He acceptedBrown's view _minus_ the 'intuition. '

The pith of Mill's book is thus determined. His aim is to give acomplete analysis of mental phenomena, and therefore to resolve thosephenomena into their primitive constituent atoms. Here we have at oncea tacit assumption which governs his method. Philosophy, speakingroughly, is by some people supposed to start from truths, and thus tobe in some way an evolution of logic. According to Mill it must startfrom facts, and therefore from something not given by logic. To stateclearly, indeed, the relation between truth and fact may suggest veryintricate problems. Mill, at any rate, must find a basis in fact, andfor him the ultimate facts must be feelings. The reality at least of afeeling is undeniable. The _Penser c'est sentir_, or the doctrine thatall 'ideas' are transformed sensations is his starting-point. The word'feeling, ' according to him, includes every 'phenomenon of the mind. ''Think, ' he says elsewhere, [512] does not include all our experience, but 'there is nothing to which we could not extend the term "I feel. "'He proceeds to infer that our experience is either a knowledge of thefeelings separately, or 'a knowledge of the order in which they followeach other; and this is all. ' We may add that the knowledge is thefeeling. Reid, Kant, and the Germans have indeed tried to show thatthere are feelings not derived from the sensations, but this, asHartley and Condillac have shown, is a mistake. This is his firstprinciple in a nutshell, and must give a clue to the variousapplications. 

The next step is familiar. Hume had distinguished impressions andideas. 'Ideas' are copies of previous 'impressions. ' It is forpsychology to say what are the laws by which they are related to theiroriginals. The ultimate origin cannot be explained by psychologyalone. Impressions are caused by the outward world acting in some wayupon the mind; and the psychologist can only classify the variousmodes in which they present themselves. Mill therefore begins by theusual account of the five senses, through which comes all knowledge ofthe external world. He adds to Reid's list muscular sensations, andthose derived from the internal organs, to which last Cabanis inparticular had called attention. So far he is following the steps ofhis predecessors. He is, he says, simply asserting an 'indisputable'fact. [513] We have sensations and we have ideas, which are 'copies ofsensations. ' We may then consider how far these facts will enable usto explain the whole series of mental phenomena. 'Ideation, ' which hesuggests as a new word--the process by which a continuous series ofthoughts goes on in our minds--is the general phenomenon to beconsidered. Without, as yet, pronouncing that sensations and copies ofsensations will turn out to form the whole contents of ourconsciousness, he tries to show for what part of those contents theywill account. 

Here we come to the doctrine which for him and his school gave thekey to all psychological problems. It was James Mill's real merit, according to his son, that he carried the principle of association ofideas further than it had been carried by Hartley or otherpredecessors. [514] The importance of the doctrine, indeed, is impliedin the very statement of the problem. If it be true, or so far as itis true, that our consciousness reveals to us simply a series of'sensations' and 'ideas, ' the question must be how they are combined. 'Thought succeeds thought, idea follows idea incessantly, '[515] saysMill; and this phrase assumes 'thoughts' and 'ideas' to be separableatoms. How, then, do they come to coalesce into an apparentlycontinuous stream? The mind is a stream of 'ideas. ' If the stream iscomposed of drops, we must, of course, consider the drops as composingthe stream. The question is, What laws can we assign which willdetermine the process of composition? The phrase 'association'admittedly expresses some general and very familiar truths. Innumerable connections may be established when there is no assignableground of connection in the ideas themselves other than the fact of aprevious contact. One idea not only calls up the other, but in someway generates a belief in an independent connection. We hear thunder, for example, and think of lightning. The two ideas are entirelydistinct and separate, for they are due to different senses. Yet wenot only think of lightning when we hear thunder, but we have no doubtthat there is a causal connection. We believe in this connection, again, though no further explanation can be given of the fact. Thunder and lightning have occurred together, and we infer that theywill, and even must, occur together. When we examine our wholestructure of belief, we find such 'arbitrary' associations pervade itin every direction. Language itself is learned simply by association. There is no connection whatever between the sound of the word 'man'and the 'ideas' which the word excites, beyond the fact that the soundhas been previously heard when the ideas were excited. Here, then, isa phenomenon to be explained or generalised. We have in countlesscases a certain connection established for which no further reason canbe assigned than the fact of its previous occurrence. On such aground, we believe that fire burns, that bread is wholesome, thatstones fall; and but for such beliefs could know nothing of theoutside world. 'Contingent' truth, therefore, or truth derived frommere contact, pervades, if it does not constitute, the whole fabric ofour whole knowledge. To prove that all our knowledge is derived fromexperience is, according to Mill, to prove that in some sense or otherassociation of ideas lies at the base of all intellectual processes. When Locke introduced a chapter upon 'Association of Ideas' into thefourth edition of his essay, he treated it as the exceptional case. Some ideas had a connection traceable by reason; others were onlyconnected by 'chance and custom. ' Association does not explainreasoning, only the deviations from reasoning. But with Hume andHartley the relation is inverted. The principle, instead of being anexceptional case, is simply the universal rule from which logicalconnection may be deduced as a special case. 

The facts upon which Mill relied, and the account of them which hegave, require notice and embodiment in any sound psychology. In someshape or other they form the starting-point of all later systems. Mill's vigorous application of his principle, worked out withimperfect appreciation and with many oversights, had therefrom, atleast, the merit of preparing the ground for a more scientific method. In any case, however, his conclusions, so far as sound, must be placedin a different framework of theory. It becomes necessary to dwellchiefly upon the curious defects of his theory, if taken as he wishedit to be taken, for an ultimate scientific statement. The fact thatthere is a synthesis and an analysis is expressed by 'association. 'But what more can we say? What are the 'laws' of association? Unlesssome rule can be given, we shall get nothing that can be called atheory. One idea is not suggested by the other through any logicalprocess. They are still 'conjoined' but not 'connected. ' Theconnection, therefore, must be given by something different from theideas themselves. Now the order of the original 'sensations' dependsupon the 'objects of nature, ' and is therefore left to 'physicalphilosophy. '[516] They occur, however, either in 'synchronous' or in'successive' order. Then 'ideas' spring up in the order of'sensations, ' and this is the 'general law of association ofideas. '[517] The synchronous sensations produce synchronous ideas andthe successive sensations successive ideas. Finally, the strength ofthe association between the ideas depends upon 'the vividness of theassociated feelings, and the frequency of the association. '[518] Humehad said that association depended upon three principles, 'contiguityin time and place, ' 'causation, ' and 'resemblance. ' Contiguity in timecorresponds to the successive, and contiguity in place to thesynchronous, order. Causation, as Brown had finally proved, [519] meanssimply antecedence and consequence. 'Resemblance' remains and is, asMill afterwards says, [520] a most important principle; but in anunlucky moment he is half inclined to reduce even 'resemblance' to'contiguity. '[521] Resemblance is, he even suggests, merely 'a case offrequency, ' because we generally see like things together. When we seeone tree or sheep, we generally see several trees or sheep. J. S. Millmildly remarks upon this quaint suggestion as the 'least successfulsimplification' in the book. He argues the point gravely. Sheep, it isclear, are not seen to be like because they often compose a flock, butare considered to be a flock because they are seen to be like. To doJames Mill justice, he drops the argument as soon as he has struck itout. It is only worth notice as showing his aim. 'Likeness' seems toimply a relation dependent on the ideas themselves; not purelyexternal and arbitrary. If we could get rid of likeness, allassociation would ultimately be 'contiguity. ' 'The fundamental law ofassociation, ' as he says elsewhere, [522] 'is that when two things havebeen frequently found together, we never perceive or think of the onewithout thinking of the other. ' The two ideas are associated as twoballs are associated when they are in the same box. So far as they arethemselves concerned, they might be separated without any alterationin their own properties. What, then, corresponds to the 'box'?Association depends upon relations of time and space. Things areassociated by occurring in succession or together; the red colour of arose is in the same place with the shape of the leaf; the scent isperceived at the same time with the colour. The thunder follows thelightning. What, then, he might ask, are 'time' and 'space'? Are they'ideas' or 'sensations' or qualities of the objects? or, in any case, as supplying the ultimate principle of association, do they notrequire investigation? Before coming to that problem, however, we haveto settle other knotty points. We must clear away illusions which seemto introduce something more than association. Elements of thought notat first sight expressible simply in terms of sensations and ideasmust be analysed to show that they are only disguises for differentcombinations of the facts. Reasoning, according to most logicians, supposes, first, concepts, and therefore some process ofclassification of the objects of thought; and, secondly, some processof combining these concepts to bring out hitherto unknown truths. What, then, is the meaning of the general or abstract symbols employedin the process? Mill's provision of raw materials consists so far ofsensations and ideas, which are worked up so as to form 'clusters'(the word is taken from Hartley) and 'trains. ' This corresponds tosynchronous and successive associations. How does the logicalterminology express these 'clusters' and 'trains'? Mill answers by atheory of 'naming. ' Language fulfils two purposes; it is required inorder to make our ideas known to others; and in order to fix our ownideas. Ideas are fluctuating, transitory, and 'come into the mindunbidden. ' We must catch and make a note of these shifting crowds ofimpalpable entities. We therefore put marks upon the simplesensations or upon the 'clusters. ' We ticket them as a tradesmantickets bundles of goods in his warehouse, and can refer to them forour own purposes or those of others. As the number of objects to bemarked is enormous, as there are countless ideas and clusters andclusters of clusters of endless variety to be arranged in variousways, one main object of naming is economy. A single word has to beused to mark a great number of individuals. This will account for suchgeneral names as are represented by noun-substantives: man, horse, dog, and so forth. Mill then proceeds, with the help of Horne Tooke, to explain the other grammatical forms. An adjective is another kindof noun marking a cross division. Verbs, again, are adjectives markingother sets of facts, and enabling us to get rid of the necessity ofusing a new mark for every individual or conceivable combination intoclusters. J. S. Mill remarks that this omits the special function ofverbs--their 'employment in predication. '[523] James Mill, however, has his own view of 'predication. ' 'Man' is a mark of John, Peter, Thomas, and the rest. When I say 'John is a man, ' I mean that 'man isanother mark to that idea of which John is a mark. '[524] I am thenable to make a statement which will apply to all the individuals, andsave the trouble of repeating the assertion about each. 'Predication, 'therefore, is simply a substitution of one name for another. So, forexample, arithmetic is simply naming. What I call two and two, I alsocall four. The series of thoughts in this case is merely 'a series ofnames applicable to the same thing and meaning the same thing. '[525]This doctrine, as J. S. Mill remarks, is derived from Hobbes, whomLeibniz in consequence called _plus quam nominalis_. [526] My beliefthat two and two make four explains why I give the same name tocertain numbers; but the giving the name does not explain the belief. Meanwhile, if a class name be simply the mark which is put upon abundle of things, we have got rid of a puzzle. Mill triumphs over theunfortunate realists who held that a class meant a mysterious entity, existing somewhere apart from all the individuals in which it isembodied. There is really nothing mysterious; a name is first the markof an individual, the individual corresponding to a 'cluster' or a setof 'simple ideas, concreted into a complex idea. '[527] Then the nameand the complex idea are associated reciprocally; each 'calls up' theother. The complex idea is 'associated' with other resembling ideas. The name becomes a talisman calling up the ideas of an indefinitenumber of resembling individuals, and the name applied to onein the first instance becomes a mark which calls up all, or, ashe says, is the 'name of the whole combination. ' Classification, therefore, 'is merely a process of naming, and is all resolvable intoassociation. '[528] The peculiarity of this theory, as his commentatorsagain remark, is that it expressly omits any reference to abstraction. The class simply means the aggregate of resembling individuals withoutany selection of the common attributes which are, in J. S. Mill'sphrase, 'connoted' by the class-name. Abstraction, as James Millexplains, is a subsidiary process, corresponding to the 'formation of_sub-species_. '[529]

Mill has now shown how the various forms of language correspond toideas, formed into clusters of various orders by the principle ofassociation. The next step will naturally be to show how theseclusters are connected in the process of reasoning. Here thedifficulty about predication recurs. J. S. Mill[530] remarks that hisfather's theory of predication consistently omits 'the elementBelief. ' When I say, 'John is a man, ' I make an affirmation or asserta belief. I do not simply mean to call up in the mind of my hearer acertain 'cluster' or two coincident clusters of ideas, but to conveyknowledge of truths. The omission of reference to belief is certainlyno trifle. Mill has classified the various ideas and combinations ofideas which are used in judgment, but the process of judgment itselfseems to have slipped out of account. He may have given us, or be ableto give us, a reasoned catalogue of the contents of our minds, but hasnot explained how the mind itself acts. It is a mere passive recipientof ideas, or rather itself a cluster of ideas cohering in variousways, without energy of its own. One idea, as he tells us, calls upanother 'by its own associating power. '[531] Ideas are things whichsomehow stick together and revive each other, without reference to themind in which they exist or which they compose. This explains hisfrequent insistence upon one assertion. As we approach the question ofjudgment he finds it essential. 'Having a sensation and having afeeling, ' he says, 'are not two things. ' To 'feel an idea and beconscious of that feeling are not two things; the feeling and theconsciousness are but two names for the same thing. '[532] So, again, 'to have a sensation and to believe that we have it, are notdistinguishable things. '[533] Locke's reflection thus becomes nothingbut simple consciousness, and having a feeling is the same asattending to it. [534] The point is essential. It amounts to sayingthat we can speak of a thought as though it were simply a thing. 

Thus belief not only depends upon, but actually _is_ association. 'Itis not easy, ' he says, 'to treat of memory, belief, and judgmentseparately. '[535] As J. S. Mill naturally asks, 'How is it possible totreat of belief without including in it memory and judgment?' Memoryis a case of belief, and judgment an 'act of belief. '[536] To JamesMill, however, it appears that as these different functions allinvolve association, they may be resolved into varying applications ofthat universal power. Memory involves 'an idea of my present self' andan 'idea of my past self, ' and to remember is to 'run over theintervening states of consciousness called up by association. '[537]Belief involves association at every step. The belief in externalobjects is, as 'all men admit' . . . 'wholly resolvable intoassociation. '[538] 'That a cause means and can mean nothing to thehuman mind but constant antecedence' (and therefore 'inseparableassociation, ' as he thinks) 'is no longer a point in dispute. '[539]Association, it is true, may produce wrong as well as right beliefs;right beliefs when 'in conformity with the connections ofthings, '[540] and wrong beliefs when not in conformity. In both casesthe belief is produced by 'custom, ' though, happily, the right customis by far the commonest. The 'strength of the association follows thefrequency. ' The crow flies east as well as west; but the stone alwaysfalls downwards. [541] Hence I form an 'inseparable association'corresponding to a belief in gravitation, but have no particularbelief about the direction of a crow's flight. 

This gives the doctrine of 'indissoluble association'--the pivot ofthe whole scheme--the doctrine, says J. S. Mill, which, 'if it can beproved, is the greatest of all the triumphs of the AssociationPhilosophy. '[542] The younger Mill always insisted upon the vastimportance of the principle; but he here admits a difficulty. In along note[543] upon James Mill's chapter on 'Belief, ' conspicuous forhis usual candour, he confesses the inadequacy of his father's view. The comment indicates the point of divergence and yet shows curiouslythe ground common to both. James Mill's theory states facts in somesense undeniable. Our 'ideas' cohere and combine to form a tissue: animagery or series of pictures which form the content and are somehowthe ground of our beliefs. The process of formation clearly involves'association. ' The scent of the rose is associated with the colour:both with the visible form and so forth. But is this process the samething as believing, or have we to explain the belief by some mentalactivity different from, however closely connected with, theimagination, or in his phrase the 'ideation'? Here J. S. Mill finds adifficulty. The statement, 'I believe that thunder will followlightning, ' is something more than the statement, 'the sight suggestsor calls up the sound. ' The mental picture considered by itself may bedescribed as a fact, without considering what belief, or whether anybelief, is implied. J. S. Mill therefore makes a distinction intendedto clear up his father's confusion. There is a difference, he says, between remembering 'a real fact' and remembering a 'thought. '[544] Heillustrates this by the difference between the idea of Lafayette andthe idea of Falstaff. Lafayette was real, and had been seen by therememberer. Falstaff is a figment who, having never existed, can neverhave been seen. Yet the idea of Falstaff may be quite as vivid as theidea of Lafayette. What, then, is the difference between the twostates of mind? One, says J. S. Mill, is a belief about 'real facts';the other about 'thoughts. ' This, he observes, corresponds to JamesMill's distinction between a 'sensation' and an 'idea, '[545] adifference which he had admitted to be 'primordial. ' Then, says J. S. Mill, we may as well admit that there is an 'element' in theremembrance of a real fact not implied in the remembrance of a thoughtand not dependent on any difference in the 'ideas' themselves. It, too, may be taken as 'primordial, ' or incapable of further analysis. This doctrine becomes important in some of Mill's logicalspeculations, [546] and is connected with his whole theory of belief inan external world. It has an uncomfortable likeness to Reid's'common-sense' view, and even to the hated 'intuitionism'; and Milldeserves the more credit for his candour. 

Meanwhile it seems clear that the criticism implies an importantconfusion. The line of distinction is drawn in the wrong place. Sofar as the simple 'imagination' is concerned, there may be no questionof belief or disbelief. The picture of Falstaff or of Lafayette, ahorse or a centaur, arises equally, and is put together, let ussuppose, by simple association. But as soon as I think about either Ibelieve or disbelieve, and equally whether I judge the object to be athought or to be a 'real fact, ' whether I say that I could have seenLafayette, or that I could not have seen Falstaff. It is not aquestion between reality or unreality, but between two classes ofreality. A dream is a real dream, just as a man is a real man. Thequestion is simply where or how it exists, not whether it exists. Thepicture is, in one case, put together by my mind; in the other, due toa stimulus from without; but it exists in both cases; and belief isequally present whether I put it in one class of reality or the other:as we form a judgment equally when we pronounce a man to be lying, andwhen we pronounce him to be speaking the truth. J. S. Mill seems tosuppose that association can explain the imagination of a centaur or aFalstaff, but cannot explain the belief in a horse or Lafayette. Theimagination or 'ideation, ' he should have said, accounts in both casesfor the mere contents of the thought; but in neither case can it byitself explain the judgment as to 'reality. ' That is to say, JamesMill may have described accurately a part of the process by which themental picture is constructed, but has omitted to explain the actionof the mind itself. Belief, we may agree, is a 'primordial' orultimate faculty; but we must not interpret it as belief in a 'realfact' as distinguished from belief in 'a thought': that is a secondaryand incidental distinction. 

This confusion, as I have said, apparently prevents J. S. Mill fromseeing how deeply his very frank admissions cut into the verystructure of his father's system. He has, as I have said, remarkedupon the singular absence of any reference to 'belief, ' 'abstraction, 'and so forth; but he scarcely observes how much is implied by theomission. His criticism should have gone further. James Mill has notonly omitted a faculty which enables us to distinguish between'thoughts' and 'things, ' images of fancy and pictures of reality, butalso the faculty which is equally present whenever we properly thinkinstead of simply seeing images passively; and equally whether werefer an image to fact or fancy. His 'analysis of the mind' seems toget rid of the mind itself. 

The omission becomes important at the next step. 'Under the modesttitle of an explanation of the meaning of several names, ' says hisson, James Mill discusses 'some of the deepest and most intricatequestions in all metaphysics. ' A treatise on chemistry might almost aswell be 'described as an explanation of the names, air, water, potass, sulphuric acid, and so forth. '[547] Why does the chapter come in thisplace and in this peculiar form? Probably because James Mill waspartly conscious of the inadequacy of his previous chapters. Theproblems which he has been considering could not be adequately treatedby regarding ideas as 'things' bound together by association. What, after all, is a proposition? What is meant by 'true' or 'false, ' asdistinguished from real and unreal? If an association actually _is_ atruth, what is the difference between right and wrong associations?Both are facts, and the very words 'right' and 'wrong, ' that is, trueand false, apply not to facts but to propositions. [548] The judgmentis tested in some way by correspondence to the 'order of Nature, ' orof our sensations and ideas. What precisely is meant by this order? Sofar as we have gone, it seems as if ideas might be combined in anyorder whatever, and the most various beliefs generated in differentminds. Perhaps, however, the principle of association itself mayreveal something as to the possible modes of coalescence. Mill makescontiguity an ultimate ground of association; and contiguity impliesthat things have certain relations expressible in terms of space andtime and so forth. These primitive relations now come up forconsideration, and should enable us to say more precisely what kind oforder is possible. In fact, Mill now endeavours to analyse themeanings of such words as relation in general, time, space, number, likeness, personal identity and others. The effect of his analysis isthat the principles, whatever they may be, which might be supposed tounderlie association appear to be products of association. He beginsby asking what is the meaning of 'relative terms. ' Their peculiarityis that they 'always exist in pairs, ' such as 'father and son, ' 'highand low, ' 'right and left. ' 'If it is asked, Why do we give names inpairs? the general answer immediately suggests itself; it is becausethe things named present themselves in pairs, that is, are joined byassociation. '[549] J. S. Mill thinks that no part of the _Analysis_is more valuable than the 'simple explanation' which follows. There isno 'mystical bond called a relation' between two things, but 'a verysimple peculiarity in the concrete fact' marked by the names. In'ordinary names of objects, the fact connoted by a name . . . Concernsone object only'; in the case of relative names, 'the fact connotedconcerns two objects, and cannot be understood without thinking ofthem both. ' A 'fact concerning an object' is a curiously awkwardexpression; but one point is clear. If the two objects concerned arethe same, whether considered apart or together, the 'relation' must besomething more than the facts, and therefore requires to be specified. If they are, in fact, one thing, or parts of a continuous process, wemust ask how they come to be distinguished, and what ground there isfor speaking of association. James Mill, by considering the problem asa mere question of 'names, ' seems to intimate that the relation is amere figment. In fact, as J. S. Mill perceives, the 'explanations'become nugatory. They simply repeat the thing to be explained. Hebegins with 'resemblance. ' To feel two things to be alike is, he says, the same thing as to have the two feelings. He means to say, apparently, that when there are two 'ideas' there is not also a thirdidea of 'likeness. ' That would be what Bentham called a 'fictitiousentity. ' But this cannot 'explain' the likeness of the ideas. 'Theirbeing alike, ' as his son interprets, 'is nothing but their being feltto be alike--which does not help us. '[550] So 'antecedence andconsequence' are 'explained' by saying that one of two feelings callsup the other; or, as the son again remarks, antecedence is explainedby antecedence, and succession by succession. Antecedence andconsequence, like likeness and unlikeness, must therefore, accordingto J. S. Mill, be 'postulated as universal conditions of Nature, inherent in all our feelings whether of external or internalconsciousness. '[551] In other words, apparently, time is an ultimateform of thought. Time and space, generally, as James Mill thinks, arethe 'abstract names' respectively of successive and simultaneousorder, which become 'indissolubly associated with the idea of everyobject. '[552] Space, of course, is said to be a product of touch andmuscular sensations, and the problem as to how these varyingsensations and these alone give rise to apparently necessary andinvariable beliefs is not taken into consideration. Mill is heredealing with the questions which Kant attempted to answer by showinghow the mind imposes its forms upon sense-given materials, forms theminto concepts, and combines the concepts into judgments and reasoning. Mill evades the mysterious and transcendental at the cost of omittingreason altogether. He represents the result of accepting one horn of adilemma, which presses upon philosophies of loftier pretensions. Thosewho accept the other horn speak of a 'fact' as though it were a truth, and argue as though the world could be spun out of pure logic, or atissue be made of relations without any things to be related. Mill, with scarcely a glance at such doctrines, tries systematically tospeak of a truth as if it were a fact. The world for him is made up ofideas sticking together; and nothing else exists. The relation is thefact; belief is the association; consciousness and reflection, considered apart, are nothing but the sensations, ideas, clusters, and trains. The attempt to base all truth upon experience, to bringphilosophy into harmony with science was, as I hold, perfectly right. Only, upon these assumptions it could not be carried out. Mill had themerit which is implied even by an unsuccessful attempt to hold byfact. He raises a number of interesting questions; and I think that itis more remarkable that so many of his observations have still aninterest for psychologists than that so much is obviously wrong. Mill, it may be said, took an essay upon association for a treatise uponpsychology in general. He was writing what might be one importantchapter in such a treatise, and supposes that he has written thewhole, and can deduce 'philosophy' from it, if, indeed, any philosophycan be said to remain. Meanwhile, I may observe, that by pushing hisprinciples to extremes, even his 'association' doctrine is endangered. His _Analysis_ seems to destroy even the elements which are needed togive the simplest laws of association. It is rather difficult to saywhat is meant by the 'contiguity, ' 'sequence, ' and 'resemblance, 'which are the only conditions specified, and which he seems to explainnot as the conditions but as the product of association. J. S. Millperceived that something was wanting which he afterwards tried tosupply. I will just indicate one or two points, which may show whatproblems the father bequeathed to the son. James Mill, at one place, discusses the odd problem 'how it happens that all trains of thoughtare not the same. '[553] The more obvious question is, on hishypothesis, how it happens that any two people have the same beliefs, since the beliefs are made of the most varying materials. If, again, two ideas when associated remain distinct, we have Hume's difficulty. Whatever is distinguishable, he argued, is separable. If two ideassimply lie side by side, as is apparently implied by 'contiguity, ' sothat each can be taken apart without change, why should we supposethat they will never exist apart, or, indeed, that they should everagain come together? The contiguity does not depend upon them, butupon some inscrutable collocation, of which we can only say that itexists now. This is the problem which greatly occupied J. S. Mill. 

The 'indissoluble' or 'inseparable' association, which became thegrand arcanum of the school, while intended to answer some of thesedifficulties, raises others. Mill seems to insist upon splitting aunit into parts in order that it may be again brought together byassociation. So J. S. Mill, in an admiring note, confirms his father'sexplanation ('one of the most important thought in the wholetreatise') of the infinity of space. [554] We think space infinitebecause we always 'associate' position with extension. Surely space isextension; and to think of one without the other implies acontradiction. We think space infinite, because we think of a space asonly limited by other space, and therefore indefinitely extensible. There is no 'association, ' simply repetition. Elsewhere we have theproblem, How does one association exclude another? Only, as J. S. Millreplies, when one idea includes the idea of the absence of theothers. [555] We cannot combine the ideas of a plane and a convexsurface. Why? Because we have never had both sets of sensationstogether. The 'commencement' of one set has always been 'simultaneouswith the cessation of another set, ' as, for instance, when we bend aflat sheet of paper. The difficulty seems to be that one fact cannotbe contradictory of another, since contradiction only applies toassertions. When I say that A is above B, however, I surely assertthat B is below A; and I cannot make both assertions about A and B atthe same time without a contradiction. To explain this by anassociation of simultaneous and successive sensations seems to be acuriously roundabout way of 'explaining. ' Every assertion is also adenial; and, if I am entitled to say anything, I am enabled withoutany help from association to deny its contradictory. On Mill'sshowing, the assertion and the denial of its contradiction, instead ofbeing identical, are taken to be two beliefs accidentally associated. Finally, I need only make one remark upon the fundamental difficulty. It is hard to conceive of mere loose 'ideas' going about in theuniverse at large and sticking accidentally to others. After all, thehuman being is in true sense also an organised whole, and hisconstitution must be taken into account in discovering the laws of'ideation. ' This is the point of view to which Mill, in his anxiety toget rid of everything that had a savour of _a priori_ knowledge aboutit, remains comparatively blind. It implies a remarkable omission. Mill's great teacher, Hartley, had appealed to physiology in anecessarily crude fashion. He had therefore an organism: a brain or anervous system which could react upon the external world and modifyand combine sensations. Mill's ideas would have more apparentconnection if they could be made to correspond to 'vibratiuncles' orphysical processes of some kind. But this part of Hartley's hypothesishad been dropped: and all reality is therefore reduced to the whirlof vagrant and accidentally cohering ideas in brains and clusters. Hisone main aim is to get rid of everything that can be called mysticaland to trace all mental processes to 'experience, ' as he understandsexperience--to show that we are never entitled to assert that twoideas may not be joined in any way whatever. 

The general tendency of the 'Association Philosophy' is sufficientlyclear. It may be best appreciated by comparing it to the method of thephysical sciences, which it was intended to rival. The physicistexplains the 'laws of nature' by regarding a phenomenon as due to thevarying arrangements of an indefinite multitude of uniform atoms. Ineed not ask whether these atoms are to be regarded as realities, eventhe sole realities, or, on the other hand, as a kind of logicalscaffolding removable when the laws are ascertained. In any case, theassumption is necessary and most fruitful in the search for accurateand quantitative formulæ. Mill virtually assumes that the same thingcan be done by breaking up the stream of consciousness into the ideaswhich correspond to the primitive atoms. What precisely these atomsmay be, how the constantly varying flow of thought can be resolvedinto constituent fractions, is not easy to see. The physicist at leastsupposes his atoms to have definite space relations, but there isnothing clearly corresponding to space in the 'ideas. ' They arecapable of nothing but co-existence, sequence, and likeness; but theattempt to explain the meaning of those words ends in nothing butrepeating them. One result is the curious combination of the absoluteand the indefinitely variable. We get absolute statements because theultimate constituents are taken to be absolutely constant. We haveindefinite variability because they may be collocated in anyconceivable or inconceivable way. This becomes evident when we have todo with organisms of any kind: with characters or societies anorganism varies, but varies along definite lines. But, on Mill'sshowing, the organic relations correspond to the indefinitelyvariable. Education is omnipotent; state constitutions can bemanufactured at will, and produce indefinite consequences. And yet hecan lay down laws of absolute validity, because he seems to bededucing them from one or two formulæ corresponding to the essentialand invariable properties of the ultimate unit--whether man or ideas. From this follows, too, the tendency to speak as if human desirescorresponded to some definite measurable things, such as utility inethics, value in political economy, and self-interest in politics. This point appears in the application of Mill's theories to the moralsciences. 

III. JAMES MILL'S ETHICS

James Mill in his ethical doctrine follows Bentham with littlevariation; but he shows very clearly what was the psychology whichBentham virtually assumed. I may pass very briefly over Mill's theoryof conduct[556] in general. The 'phenomena of thought, ' he says, maybe divided into the 'intellectual' and the 'active' powers. Hithertohe has considered 'sensations' and 'ideas' merely as existing; he willnow consider them as 'exciting to action. '[557] The phenomena consistin both cases of sensations and ideas, combined into 'clusters, ' andformed into trains 'according to the sense laws. ' We have now toconsider the ideas as active, and 'to demonstrate the simple laws intowhich the phenomena of human life, so numerous and apparently sodiversified, may all be easily resolved. '

A desire is an 'idea' of a pleasant sensation; an 'aversion' an ideaof painful sensation. The idea and the sensation are not two things, but two names for the same thing. Desire, again, has a 'tacitreference to future time' when applied to a given case. We associatethese pains and pleasures with the causes; and in the important caseour own actions are the causes. Thus the association produces themotive, and the readiness to obey the motive is, as Bentham says, the'disposition. ' Then, following Hartley, Mill explains the will. Bodilyactions are muscular contractions, which are slowly co-ordinated byhabit--association, of course, acting at every stage of the process. Now, it is a plain fact that muscular contractions follow 'ideas. ' Itis easy, then, to see how the 'idea of a pleasure should excite theidea of the action which is the cause of it; and how, when the ideaexists, the action should follow. '[558] An 'end' is a pleasuredesired, and gives the 'motive. ' When we start from the motive and getthe pleasure the same association is called 'will. ' 'Free-will' is ofcourse nonsense. We have a full account of the human mechanism, andcan see that it is throughout worked by association, admitting theprimary fact of experience that the idea causes the muscularcontraction. 

This, and the ethical conclusions which follow, substantiallycoincide with Bentham's doctrine, or supply the first principles fromwhich Bentham might be deduced. A fuller exposition of the ethics isgiven in the _Fragment on Mackintosh_. Mackintosh, in 1829, wrote aDissertation upon 'Ethical Philosophy, ' for the _EncyclopædiaBritannica_. [559] The book stirred Mill's 'indignation against anevil-doer. '[560] He wrote a _Fragment on Mackintosh_, which wassuppressed for a time in consequence of his antagonist's death in1832, but published in the year of his own death, 1835. [561] Accordingto Professor Bain, the book was softened in consequence ofremonstrances from Bickersteth. It would be curious to see theprevious version. Professor Bain says that there are 'thousands' ofbooks which contain 'far worse severities of language. ' I confess thatI cannot remember quite 'a thousand. ' It is at least difficult toimagine more unmitigated expressions of contempt and aversion. Mackintosh, says Mill, uses 'macaroni phrases, ' 'tawdry talk, ''gabble'; he gets 'beyond drivelling' into something more like'raving'; he 'deluges' us with 'unspeakable nonsense. ' 'Good God!'sums up the comment which can be made upon one sentence. [562] SirJames, he declares, 'has got into an intellectual state so thoroughlydepraved that I doubt whether a parallel to it is possible to befound. '[563] There is scarcely a mention of Mackintosh without aninsult. A partial explanation of Mill's wrath may be suggested by thechapter upon Bentham. Mackintosh there accused the Utilitariansgenerally of 'wantonly wounding the most respectable feelings ofmankind'; of 'clinging to opinions because they are obnoxious'; oftaking themselves to be a 'chosen few, ' despising the multitude, andretorting the dislike which their arrogance has provoked by usingstill more exasperating language. [564] He suggested that they shoulddo more justice to 'the Romillys and the Broughams, ' who had been thereal and judicious reformers; and he illustrated the errors of Benthamby especial reference to Mill's arguments upon government andeducation. There had long been an antipathy. Mackintosh, said Mill in1820, 'lives but for London display; _parler et faire parler de lui_in certain circles is his heaven. '[565]

Mackintosh would have been most at home in a professorial chair. Hewas, indeed, professor at Haileybury from 1818 to 1824, and spoken ofas a probable successor to Brown at Edinburgh. But he could neverdecidedly concentrate himself upon one main purpose. Habits ofprocrastination and carelessness about money caused embarrassmentwhich forced him to write hastily. His love of society interfered withstudy, and his study was spread over an impossible range of subjects. His great abilities, wasted by these infirmities, were seconded byvery wide learning. Macaulay describes the impression which he made atHolland House. [566] He passed among his friends as the profoundphilosopher; the man of universal knowledge of history; of ripe andmost impartial judgment in politics; the oracle to whom all men mightappeal with confidence, though a little too apt to find out that allsides were in the right. When he went to India he took with him someof the scholastic writers and the works of Kant and Fichte, then knownto few Englishmen. One of Macaulay's experiences at Holland House wasa vision of Mackintosh verifying a quotation from Aquinas. [567] Itmust have been delightful. The ethical 'dissertation, ' however, had tobe shortened by omitting all reference to German philosophy, and theaccount of the schoolmen is cursory. It is easy to see why the suaveand amiable Mackintosh appeared to Mill to be a 'dandy' philosopher, an unctuous spinner of platitudes to impose upon the frequenters ofHolland House, and hopelessly confused in the attempt to makecompromises between contradictory theories. It is equally easy to seewhy to Mackintosh the thoroughgoing and strenuous Mill appeared to bea one-sided fanatic, blind to the merits of all systems outside thenarrow limits of Benthamism, and making even philanthropy hateful. HadMackintosh lived to read Mill's _Fragment_, he would certainly havethought it a proof that the Utilitarians were as dogmatic and acrid ashe had ever asserted. 

Mackintosh's position in ethics explains Mill's antagonism. NeitherAquinas nor Kant nor Fichte influenced him. His doctrine is thenatural outcome of the Scottish philosophy. Hutcheson had bothinvented Bentham's sacred formula, and taught the 'Moral Sense' theorywhich Bentham attacked. To study the morality from the point of viewof 'inductive psychology' is to study the moral faculty, and to rejectthe purely 'intellectual' system. To assign the position of the moralfaculty in the psychological system is to show its utility. On theother hand, it was the very aim of the school to avoid the scepticalconclusions of Hume in philosophy, and in ethics to avoid the completeidentification of morality with utility. There must be a distinctionbetween the judgments, 'this is right, ' and 'this is useful'; even'useful to men in general. ' Hence, on the one hand, morality isimmediately dictated by a special sense or faculty, and yet itsdictates coincide with the dictates of utility. I have spoken of thisview as represented by Dugald Stewart; and Brown had, according to hiscustom, moved a step further by diminishing the list of original firstprinciples, and making 'virtue' simply equivalent to 'feelings' ofapproval and disapproval. [568] Virtue, he said, is useful; the utility'accompanies our moral approbation; but the perception of that utilitydoes not constitute our moral approbation, nor is it necessarilypresupposed by it. '[569] He compares the coincidence between virtueand utility to Leibniz's pre-established harmony. [570] The position isfamiliar. The adaptation of an organism to its conditions may be takeneither as an explanation of its development or as a proof of acreative purpose. 

Mackintosh takes nearly the same position. Ethical inquiries, he says, relate to 'two perfectly distinct subjects. ' We have the problem ofthe 'criterion' (What is the distinction between right and wrong?) andthe problem of the 'moral sentiments' (What are the feelings producedby the contemplation of right and wrong?). In treating of thefeelings, again, we must avoid the confusion caused in the olderphilosophy by the reduction of 'feeling' to 'thought. '[571] Reasonand sensation are distinct though inseparably combined; and hence, heargues, it is a fallacy to speak with Clarke as if reason could byitself be a motive. An argument to influence conduct must always be inthe last resort an appeal to a 'feeling. '[572] It is idle to tell aman that conduct is infamous unless he _feels_ infamy to be painful. We have then to ask what are the feelings which prompt to morality. Sofar as the criterion is concerned, Mackintosh fully agrees with Hume, whose theory that 'general utility constitutes a general ground ofmoral distinctions can never be impugned until some example can beproduced of a virtue generally pernicious or a vice generallybeneficial. '[573] Hume, however, overlooks the 'rightful supremacy ofthe moral faculty over every other principle of human action. 'Mackintosh thought that his best service, as he told MacveyNapier, [574] had been his 'endeavour to slip in a foundation underButler's doctrine of the supremacy of the conscience, which he leftbaseless. ' To slip in a foundation is a very delicate operation inlogical as in material architecture; and the new foundation seems hereto be in danger of inverting the edifice. The 'supremacy ofconscience'[575] means with him that the 'moral sentiments' form aseparate class. They are the feelings with which we contemplatevoluntary actions in general, and therefore those aroused by thecharacter and conduct of the agent. Mackintosh thus takes an æstheticview of morality. We have a 'moral taste' or perception of beauty. Thesame qualities which make a horse beautiful make him also swift andsafe, but we perceive the beauty without thinking of the utility, orrather when we do not think of it. So we admire a hero or martyr forthe beauty of his character without reference to his services tous. [576] This moral taste, though not identical with the conscience, becomes 'absorbed into it. ' The conscience differs from the 'moraltaste' because it acts upon the will. But its supremacy seems to bethis quality which it shares with or derives from the taste--itsimmediate and spontaneous operation. It is, he seems to mean, a directperception of beauty in character applied to the regulation ofconduct. Virtue corresponds to an instinctive and so far ultimateappreciation of beauty of character. Mackintosh insists upon thisintrinsic charm of virtue in the language which struck Mill as simplyfoppish affectation. The pleasure of 'benevolence' itself, saysMackintosh, is infinitely superior to the pleasures to which it maylead. Could it become 'lasting and intense, ' it would convert theheart into a heaven. [577] To love virtue, you must love it 'for itsown sake. '[578] The delights of being virtuous (as he interprets thephrase) are greater than any delight from the consequences of virtue. And he holds up as a model Fletcher of Saltoun, who would 'lose hislife to serve his country, but would not do a base thing to saveit. '[579]

How, then, is this view to be reconciled with the unreserved admissionof 'utility' as the 'criterion' of right and wrong? One answer is thatMackintosh fully accepts Hartley's doctrine of association. He evencriticises previous philosophers for not pushing it far enough. Hesays that association, instead of merely combining a 'thought' and a'feeling, ' 'forms them into a new compound, in which the properties ofthe component parts are no longer discoverable, and which may itselfbecome a substantive principle of human virtue. '[580] The question oforigin, therefore, is different from the question of nature. Hefollows Hartley in tracing the development of various desires, and inshowing how the 'secondary desires' are gradually formed from theprimitive by transference to different objects. [581] We must startfrom feelings which lie beneath any intellectual process, and thus thejudgment of utility is from the first secondary. We arrive at thehigher feelings which are 'as independent as if they wereunderived, '[582] and yet, as happiness has been involved at everystage as an end of each desire, it is no wonder that the ultimateresult should be to make the general happiness the end. Thecoincidence, then, of the criterion with the end of the moralsentiments is 'not arbitrary, ' but arises necessarily from 'the lawsof human nature and the circumstances in which mankind areplaced. '[583] Hence we reach the doctrine which 'has escaped Hartleyas well as every other philosopher. '[584] That doctrine is that themoral faculty is one; it is compound, indeed, in its origin; butbecomes an independent unit, which can no longer be resolved even inthought into its constituent elements. 

The doctrine approximates, it would seem, to Mill's; but was all themore unpalatable to him on that account. The agreement impliesplagiarism, and the difference hopeless stupidity. To Mill Bentham wasthe legitimate development of Hartley, while to Mackintosh Benthamwas the plausible perverter of Hartley. Mill regarded Mackintosh as asophist, whose aim was to mislead honest Utilitarians into the pathsof orthodoxy, and who also ignored the merits of Mill himself. 'It wasMr. Mill, ' he says, 'who first made known the great importance of theprinciple of the indissoluble association';[585] 'Mr. Mill' who hadtaken up Hartley's speculations and 'prosecuted the inquiry to itsend';[586] 'Mr. Mill' who explained affections and motives anddispositions;[587] and 'Mr. Mill' who had cleared up mistakes aboutclassification which 'had done more to perpetuate darkness on thesubject of mind than any other cause, perhaps than all other causestaken together. '[588] Sir James blundered because he had not readMill's book, as he pretended to have done. Mill does not say all thisfrom vanity; he is simply stating an obvious matter of fact. 

Mill's polemic against the Moral Sense theory, even against a moralsense produced by association, reveals the really critical points ofthe true Utilitarian doctrine. Mill would cut down the moral senseroot and branch. The 'moral sense' means a 'particular faculty'necessary to discern right and wrong. But no particular faculty isnecessary to discern 'utility. '[589] Hence the distinction between the'criterion' and the 'moral sentiments' is absurd. The utility is notthe 'criterion' of the morality but itself constitutes the morality. To say that conduct is right, according to the Utilitarians, is thesame thing as to say that it produces happiness. If the moral senseorders conduct opposed to the criterion, it is so far bad. If itnever orders such conduct, it is superfluous. Happiness, as withBentham, is a definite thing--a currency of solid bullion; and'virtue' means nothing except as calculated in this currency. Mill, again, like Bentham, regards the 'utility' principle as giving thesole 'objective' test. The complaint that it sanctions 'expediency' isa simple fallacy. 

If you do not love virtue 'for its own sake, ' said Mackintosh, youwill break a general law wherever the law produces a balance ofpainful consequences. Mill replies with great vigour. [590] All generalrules, it is true, imply exceptions, but only when they conflict withthe supreme rule. 'There is no exception to a rule of morality, ' saysMill, 'but what is made by a rule of morality. '[591] There arenumerous cases in which the particular laws conflict; and one law mustthen be broken. The question which to break must then be decided bythe same unequivocal test, 'utility. ' If a rule for increasing utilitydiminishes utility in a given case, it must be broken in that case. Mackintosh's Fletcher of Saltoun illustrates the point. [592] What isthe 'base' thing which Fletcher would not do to save his country?Would he not be the basest of men if he did not save his country atany cost? To destroy half a population and reduce the other half tomisery has been thought a sacrifice not too great for such an end. Would not Mackintosh himself allow Fletcher, when intrusted with animportant fortress, to sacrifice the lives and properties of innocentpeople in defence of his position?[593] What, then, does the love ofvirtue 'for its own sake' come to? If you refuse to save your country, because you think the means base, your morality is mischievous, thatis, immoral. If, on the other hand, you admit that the means cease tobe base, the supposed supremacy is an empty brag. The doctrine is thenverbally maintained, but interpreted so as to conform to the criterionof utility. In other words, Mackintosh cannot reconcile his admissionof utility as a 'criterion' with his support of a moral sense entitledto override the criterion. Mackintosh's moral sense is meant todistinguish the moral motive from 'expediency. ' To this, again, Millhas a very forcible answer. A man is blameable who makes exceptions tolaws in his own private interest. But if a man consistently andinvariably acted for the 'greatest happiness of the greatest number, 'and paid no more attention to his own happiness than to otherpeople's, he would certainly have a very lofty and inflexible test, assuming--as we must allow Mill to assume--that we can calculate theeffect of conduct upon happiness at large. Again, upon the assumptionthat 'moral' is equivalent to 'felicific, ' we get a general ruleentitled to override any individual tastes or fancies, such as Millsupposes to be meant by the 'Moral Sense. ' The rule is derived fromthe interests of all, and gives an ultimate 'objective criterion. ' J. S. Mill, describing his father's system, observes that the teaching ofsuch a man was not likely to err on 'the side of laxity orindulgence. '[594] It certainly did not. And, in fact, his criterion, however obtained, had in his eyes the certainty of a scientific law. This or that is right as surely as this or that food is wholesome. Mytaste has nothing to do with it. And, moreover, the criterioncertainly gives a moral ground. If I know that any conduct willproduce more happiness than misery that is a moral reason for adoptingit. A 'moral sense' which should be radically inconsistent with thatcriterion, which should order me to inflict suffering as suffering, orwithout some ulterior reason, would be certainly at fault. Mackintoshindeed would have agreed to this, though, if Mill was right, at theexpense of consistency. 

Mill, however, deduces from his criterion doctrines which involve aremarkable paradox. The mode in which he is led to them ischaracteristic of the whole method. Mill, like Bentham, puts moralityupon the same plane with law. Conduct is influenced either by the'community in its conjunct capacity'--that is, by law; or by'individuals in their individual capacity'--that is, by morality. [595]The sanction of one, we may infer, is force; of the other, approvaland disapproval. With this we must take another Benthamite doctrine, of which I have already spoken. [596] 'Mr. Bentham demonstrated, ' saysMill, 'that the morality of an act does not depend upon the motive, 'and, further, that it 'is altogether dependent on the intention. '[597]Upon this he constantly insists. Mackintosh's view that virtue dependsupon motive will be 'scorned by every man who has any knowledge of thephilosophy of the human mind. . . . The virtue does not depend upon themotive. There is no bad motive. Every motive is the desire of good; tothe agent himself or to some one else. '[598] He gives an analysis ofaction to put the point beyond doubt. Action supposes a 'motive, ' a'volition, ' and an 'external act' or muscular contraction. So farthere is nothing moral. But then an act has consequences, good or bad, to human beings, which constitute its utility. To make it moral, theagent must anticipate 'beneficial consequences, ' and must have noreason to anticipate a balance of evil consequences. Intention meansthe calculation of consequences, and without that calculation therecan be no morality. [599] Hence the morality is equivalent to a'conviction of the general utility' of the action. [600] 'All this, ' heconcludes, 'is settled by universal consent. It is vain, therefore, tothink of disputing it. ' One may, however, ask what it means. I havealready observed that the view of the non-moral character of motivewas a natural corollary from the purely legal point of view. I mustnow consider the results of applying it unreservedly in theinappropriate sphere of ethics. 

In the first place, the denial of any moral quality in motive seems tobe inconsistent with Mill's own principles. The Utilitarian, accordingto him, holds that the moral law is essentially the statement thatcertain conduct produces general happiness. If, then, we ask, Who is agood man? we first reply that he is a man whose conduct produceshappiness. Another conclusion is obviously necessary, and is impliedin Mill's statement that the 'intention' is essential to morality. Theman, that is, must foresee that his conduct will produce happiness. The 'calculation' is precisely what makes an action moral as well asaccidentally useful. In other words, the man is good to whom theknowledge that an act will produce happiness is the same thing as acommand to perform the act. The 'intention' could not affect conductwithout the corresponding motive, and Mill can at times recognise theobvious consequence. The 'physical law' (meaning the law enforced byphysical coercion), he says incidentally, has 'extrinsic'sanctions;[601] the moral law is different, because it sanctions goodactions for their goodness. 'Moral approval' must therefore includeapproval of character. A man, to be moral, must be one who does usefulthings simply because they are useful. He must then, it would seem, beat least benevolent. The same thing is implied by the doctrine of'intention' or 'calculation. ' An action may be useful or the reversewithout being moral when the consequences are unknown to the agent. Tomake it moral he must know the consequences--for otherwise he ismerely acting at random; and the foreseen consequences constitute the'intention. ' To this Mill adds that he must have taken into accountthe consequences which 'might have been foreseen. '[602] Otherwise weshould have to excuse a man because he had neglected to calculate, whereas to calculate is the very essence of virtue. A man who fired agun down a crowded street would not be excusable because he had notthought of the result. He 'ought' to have thought of it. The questionof moral approval of any given action turns upon these questions. Dida man foresee evil consequences and disregard them? He is then cruel. Did he neglect to consider them? He is then culpably careless, thoughnot actually malignant. Were the consequences altogether beyond thepowers of reasonable calculation? Then he may be blameless. The wholemoral question, therefore, depends upon the character indicated; thatis, upon the motives which induce a man to calculate consequences andwhich determine his conduct when the calculation is made. 

The truth is, I think, and it is characteristic of Mill's modes ofanalysis, that he is making an impossible abstraction. He isseparating parts of a single process and treating them as independent. If actions are bad because they have bad consequences, motives are badbecause they are causes of bad actions. You cannot suppress the effectwithout suppressing the cause, and therefore the cause of the cause. Mill relies chiefly upon one argument. The same conduct will producethe same consequences whatever the motives. That is undeniable. It isthe same to me whether I am burnt because the persecutor loves my soulor because he hates me as a rebel to his authority. But when isconduct 'the same'? If we classify acts as the legislator has toclassify them by 'external' or 'objective' relations, we put togetherthe man who is honest solely from fear of the gallows and the man whois honest from hatred of stealing. So long as both act alike, the'consequences' to their neighbours are alike. Neither is legallypunishable. But if acts are classified by their motives, one is arogue and the other virtuous; and it is only then that the question ofmorality properly arises. In that case, it is idle to separate thequestion of motive and consequences, because the character determinesthe motive and therefore the action. Nobody should have seen this moreclearly than Mill as a good 'determinist. ' Conduct and character arerelated as the convex and concave of the curve; conduct is simply themanifestation of character, and to separate them is absurd. 

Why did he not see this? For reasons, I think, which illustrate hiswhole method. From a scientific point of view, the ethical problemraises the wide questions, What are the moral sentiments? and, Whatfunctions do they discharge in regard to the society or to itsindividual members? We might hold that morality is justified by'utility' in the sense that the moral rules and the character whichthey indicate are essential to the welfare of the race or itsindividual constituents. But to Mill this proposition is interpretedas identical with the proposition that conduct must be estimated byits 'consequences. ' We are to consider not the action itself, but itseffects; and the effects are clearly independent of the motive whenonce the action has been done. We may therefore get a calculus of'utility': general rules stating what actions will be usefulconsidered abstractedly from their motives. The method, again, mightbe plausible if we could further assume that all men were the same anddiffered only in external circumstances. That is the point of view towhich Mill, like Bentham, is always more or less consciouslyinclining. The moral and the positive law are equally enforced by'sanctions'; by something not dependent upon the man himself, andwhich he is inclined to suppose will operate equally upon all men. Such language could be justifiable only of an average and uniform'man, ' a kind of constant unit, whose varying behaviour must always beexplained by difference in circumstance. We have sufficiently seen theresults elsewhere, and in this ethical doctrine they are especiallymanifest. 

Mackintosh recognised the fact that morality is essentially afunction of character. Mill cannot fully admit that, because hevirtually assumes all character to be the same. Regarding morality assomething co-ordinate with law, he does not perceive that the verypossibility of law implies the moral instincts, which correspond tothe constitution of character, and belong to a sphere underlying, noton the same plane with, the legislative sphere. They are the source ofall order; not themselves the product of the order. It is impossibleto deduce them, therefore, from the organisation which presupposesthem. Now, in one direction, Mill's theory leads, as his son remarked, not to laxity but to excessive strictness. The 'criterion' is laiddown absolutely. The 'moral sense' is rejected because it means anautocratic faculty, entitled to override the criterion by its ownauthority. To appeal to 'motives' is to allow the individual to makehis own feeling the ultimate test of right and wrong. If we followMill in this we are not really assuming the moral neutrality of motiveor the indifference, but an impossible profession of character. Menare not governed by abstract principles but by their passions andaffections. The emotions, as Mackintosh rightly said, cannot beresolved into the mere logic. Utility may give the true criterion ofmorality, but it does not follow that the perception of utility isimplied in moral conduct. The motives are good which in fact produceuseful conduct, though the agent does not contemplate the abstractprinciple. It is impossible that men should be moved simply by adesire for the 'greatest happiness of the greatest number. ' What doesand always must guide men is their personal relation to the littlecircle which they actually influence. The good man is the man soconstituted that he will spontaneously fulfil his duties. The morallaw, that is, will be also the law of his character and conduct. Themother is good because she loves her child, not because she sees thatcare of her child is dictated by the general maxim of utility. The'utility' of character means the fitness of the agent to be anefficient member of the social structure to which he belongs. Inparticular cases this may lead to such problems as that of Fletcher ofSaltoun. His sense of honour and his general benevolence, though bothuseful, might come into collision; and the most difficult of allquestions of casuistry arise from such conflicts between private andpublic affections. Mill is justified in holding that a sense of honourcannot give an ultimate and autocratic decision. Under some pretext orother, we shall have to ask the Utilitarian question whether on thewhole it may not be causing more misery than the virtuous action isworth. But that only means that the character must be so balanced asto give due weight to each motive; not that we can abstract fromcharacter altogether, as though human beings could be mere colourlessand uniform atoms, embodying abstract formulæ. 

Mill is following Bentham, and only brings out more clearly thepsychological assumptions. A man, he says, acts from the 'same motive'whether he steals five shillings or earns it by a day's labour. Themotive, in this sense, regards only one consequence, whereas the'intention' regards all. The 'motive, ' that is, is only one of themotives or a part of the character, and this way of speaking is one ofthe awkward results of turning 'motives' into 'things. ' The obviousanswer is that which Mill himself makes to Mackintosh. Mackintosh andButler, he thinks, personify particular 'appetites. '[603] It is notreally the 'conscience' which decides, but the man. That is quitetrue, and similarly it is the whole man who steals or works, not the'personified' motive; and it is accordingly from the whole characterthat we judge. We have to consider the relation of the love of fiveshillings to the other qualities of industry and honesty. The sameview appears in Mill's characteristic dislike of 'sentimentalism. 'Wishing to attack Mackintosh's rhetoric about the delight of virtuousfeeling, he for once quotes a novel to illustrate this point. WhenParson Adams defined charity as a 'generous disposition to relieve thedistressed, ' Peter Pounce approved; 'it is, as you say, a disposition, and does not so much consist in the act as in the disposition to doit. '[604] When, therefore, Mackintosh says that he finds it difficultto separate the virtue from the act, Mill replies that nothing iseasier. The virtue is 'in the act and its consequences'; the feeling amere removable addition. Apparently he would hold that the goodSamaritan and the Pharisee had the same feeling, though it promptedone to relieve the sufferer and the other to relieve himself of thesight of the sufferer. They had, of course, a feeling in common, but afeeling which produced diametrically opposite effects, becauseentering into totally different combinations. 

If Mill's doctrine leads to an impossible strictness in one direction, it leads to less edifying results in another. We have omitted 'motive'and come to the critical question, How, after all, is the moral codeto be enforced? By overlooking this question and declaring 'motive' tobe irrelevant, we get the paradox already accepted by Bentham. Hisdefinition of virtue is action for the good of others as well as ofourselves. In what way is the existence of such action to bereconciled with this doctrine? What are the motives which make mencount the happiness of others to be equally valuable with their own?or, in the Utilitarian language, What is the 'sanction' of morality?After all Bentham's insistence upon the 'self-preference principle'and Mill's account of selfishness in his political theory, we aresuddenly told that morality means a lofty and rigid code in which thehappiness of all is the one end. Here again Mill is entangled by thecharacteristic difficulty of his psychology. To analyse is to divideobjects into separate units. When he has to do with complex objectsand relations apparently reciprocal, he is forced to represent them bya simple sequence. The two factors are not mutually dependent butdistinct things somehow connected in time. One result is his accountof 'ends' or 'motives' (the two, as he observes, are synonymous). [605]The end is something to be gained by the act, the 'association' ofwhich with the act constitutes a 'desire. ' This, we have seen, alwaysrefers to the future. [606] In acting, then, I am always guided bycalculations of future pleasures or pains. I believe this to be one ofthe most unfortunate because one of the most plausible of Utilitarianfallacies. If we are determined by pains and pleasures, it is in onesense as contradictory to speak of our being determined by futurepains and pleasures as to speak of our being nourished to-day byto-morrow's dinner. The 'future pleasure' does not exist; theanticipated pleasure acts by making the present action pleasant; andwe then move (as it is said) along the line of least resistance. Certain conduct is intrinsically pleasurable or painful, and thefuture pleasure only acts through the present foretaste. When, however, we regard the pleasure as future and as somehow a separablething, we can only express these undeniable facts by accepting apurely egoistic conclusion. We are, of course, moved by our ownfeelings, as we breathe with our own lungs and digest with our ownstomachs. But when we accept the doctrine of 'ends' this harmless andself-evident truth is perverted into the statement that our 'end' mustbe our own pleasure; that we cannot be really or directly unselfish. The analysis, indeed, is so defective that it can hardly be appliedintelligibly. Hume observes that no man would rest his footindifferently upon a stool or a gouty toe. The action itself of givingpain would be painful, and cannot be plausibly resolved into ananticipation of an 'end. ' This, again, is conspicuously true of allthe truly social emotions. Not only the conscience, but the sense ofshame or honour, or pride and vanity act powerfully andinstantaneously as present motives without necessary reference to anyfuture results. The knowledge that I am giving pain or causing futurepain is intrinsically and immediately painful to the normal humanbeing, and the supposed 'analysis' is throughout a fiction. Mill, however, like Bentham, takes it for granted, but perceives moreclearly than Bentham the difficulty to which it leads. How, from atheory of pure selfishness, are we to get a morality of generalbenevolence? The answer is given by the universal 'association. ' Weare governed, he holds, by our own emotions; our end is our ownpleasure, and we have to consider how this end dictates a desire forgeneral happiness. He expounds with great vigour the process by whichthe love of friends, children and parents and country may be graduallydeveloped through the association of our pleasures with thefellow-creatures who caused them. J. S. Mill regards his exposition as'almost perfect, '[607] and says that it shows how the 'acquiredsentiments'--the moral sentiments and so forth--may be graduallydeveloped; may become 'more intense and powerful than any of theelements out of which they may have been formed, and may also in theirmaturity be perfectly disinterested. ' James Mill declares that theanalysis does not affect the reality of the sentiments analysed. Gratitude remains gratitude, and generosity generosity, just as awhite ray remains white after Newton had decomposed it into rays ofdifferent colours. [608] Here once more we have the great principle ofindissoluble association or mental chemistry. 

Granting that the emotions so generated may be real, we may still askwhether the analysis be sufficient. James Mill's account of the way inwhich they are generated leaves a doubt. Morality is first impressedupon us by authority. Our parents praise and blame, reward andpunish. Thus are formed associations of praise and blame with certainactions. Then, we form further associations with the causes of praiseand blame and thus acquire the sentiments of 'praiseworthiness' and'blameworthiness. ' The sensibility to praise and blame generally formsthe 'popular sanction, ' and this, when praiseworthiness is concerned, becomes the moral sanction. [609] Here we see that morality is regardedas somehow the product of a 'sanction'; that is, of the action ofpraise and blame with their usual consequences upon the individual. His sensibility causes him through association to acquire the habitswhich generally bring praise and blame; and ultimately these qualitiesbecome attractive for their own sake. The difficulty is to see wherethe line is crossed which divides truly moral or altruistic conductfrom mere prudence. Admitting that association may impel us to conductwhich involves self-sacrifice, we may still ask whether such conductis reasonable. Association produces belief in error as well as intruth. If I love a man because he is useful and continue to love himwhen he can no longer be useful, am I not misguided? If I wear aragged coat, because it was once smart, my conduct is easily explainedas a particular kind of folly. If I am good to my old mother when shecan no longer nurse me, am I not guilty of a similar folly? In short, a man who inferred from Mill's principles that he would never do goodwithout being paid for it, would be hardly inconsistent. Yourassociations, Mill would say, are indissoluble. He might answer, Iwill try--it is surely not so hard to dissolve a tie of gratitude!Granting, in short, that Mill gives an account of such virtue as maybe made of enlightened self-interest, he does not succeed in makingintelligible the conduct which alone deserves the name of virtuous. The theory always halts at the point where something more is requiredthan an external sanction, and supposes a change of character as wellas a wider calculation of personal interest. 

The imperfection of this theory may be taken for granted. It has beenexposed by innumerable critics. It is more important to observe onecause of the imperfection. Mill's argument contains an element of realworth. It may be held to represent fairly the historical developmentof morals. That morality is first conceived as an external lawderiving its sanctity from authority; that it is directed againstobviously hurtful conduct; and that it thus serves as a protectionunder which the more genuine moral sentiments can develop themselves, I believe to be in full accordance with sound theories of ethics. ButMill was throughout hampered by the absence of any theory ofevolution. He had to represent a series of changes as taking place inthe individual which can only be conceived as the product of a longand complex social change. He is forced to represent the growth ofmorality as an accretion of new 'ends' due to association, not as anintrinsic development of the character itself. He has to make moralityout of atomic sensations and ideas collected in clusters and trainswithout any distinct reference to the organic constitution of theindividual or of society, and as somehow or other deducible from theisolated human being, who remains a constant, though he collects intogroups governed by external sanctions. He sees that morality isformed somehow or other, but he cannot show that it is eitherreasonable or an essential fact of human nature. Here, again, we shallsee what problem was set to his son. Finally, if Mill did not explainethical theory satisfactorily, it must be added in common justice thathe was himself an excellent example of the qualities for which hetried to account. A life of devotion to public objects and aconscientious discharge of private duties is just the phenomenon forwhich a cluster of 'ideas' and 'associations' seems to be aninadequate account. How, it might have been asked, do you explainJames Mill? His main purpose, too, was to lay down a rule of duty, almost mathematically ascertainable, and not to be disturbed by anysentimentalism, mysticism, or rhetorical foppery. If, in the attemptto free his hearers from such elements, he ran the risk of reducingmorality to a lower level and made it appear as unamiable as soundmorality can appear, it must be admitted that in this respect too histheories reflected his personal character. 

FOOTNOTES:

[464] For an account of these writers and their relation to thepre-revolutionary schools, see _Les Idéologues_ by F. Picavet (1891). 

[465] Macvey Napier's _Correspondence_, p. 424. 

[466] Charles François Dominique de Villers (1767-1815) was a Frenchofficer, who emigrated in 1792, and took refuge at Lübeck. He becameprofoundly interested in German life and literature, and endeavouredto introduce a knowledge of German speculation to his countrymen. Hischief books were this exposition of Kant and an essay upon the_Reformation of Luther_ (1803), which went through several editions, and was translated by James Mill in 1805. An interesting account ofVillers is in the _Biographie Universelle_. 

[467] See Cockburn's _Memorials_ for a good notice of this. 

[468] Stewart's _Works_, iv. 345. 

[469] Lady Holland's _Life of Smith_, ii. 388. 

[470] _Inquiry into the Relations of Cause and Effect_ (thirdedition), pp. 178, 180, and part iv. Sec. 6. 

[471] _Examination of Hamilton_ (fourth edition), p. 379. 

[472] _Cause and Effect_, pp. 184-87. 

[473] _Cause and Effect_, p. 197. 

[474] _Ibid. _ p. 239 _seq. _

[475] _Ibid. _ p. 244. 

[476] _Ibid. _ p. 150. 

[477] _Ibid. _ p. 357. 

[478] _Cause and Effect_, p. 313. 

[479] _Cause and Effect_, p. 482. Brown thinks that we can logicallydisprove the existence of motion by the hare and tortoise argument, and should therefore disregard logic. 

[480] Brown's _Lectures_, (1851), p. 167, Lect. Xxvi. 

[481] Lecture xxv. This question as to whether Brown had or had notgrossly misrepresented Reid and other philosophers, led to anentangled argument, in which Mill defended Brown against Hamilton. Iwill not ask whether Reid was a 'natural realist' or a 'cosmotheticidealist, ' or what Descartes or Arnauld thought about the question. 

[482] Reid's _Works_, p. 128. 

[483] _Lectures_, pp. 150, 158-59. 

[484] _Dissertations_, p. 98. Compare Brown's Twenty-fourth Lecturewith Tracy's _Idéologie_, ch. Vii. , and the account of the way inwhich the infant learns from resistance to infer a cause, and make ofthe cause _un être qui n'est pas moi_. The resemblance is certainlyclose. Brown was familiar with French literature, and shows it by manyquotations, though he does not, I think, refer to Tracy. Brown, itmust be noticed, did not himself publish his lectures, and a professoris not bound to give all his sources in popular lectures. Anexplanation would have been due in a treatise. Picavet quotesRhétoré's _Philosophie de Thomas Brown_ (a book which I have not seen)for the statement that Brown's lectures often read like a translationof Laromiguière, with whom Brown was 'perhaps' acquainted. As, however, the _Leçons_, to which reference is apparently made, did notappear till 1815 and 1818, when Brown's lectures were already written, this seems to be impossible. The coincidence, which to me seems to beexaggerated by the statement, is explicable by a common relation toprevious writers. 

[485] _Lectures_, p. 166 (Lect. Xxvi. ). 

[486] _Lectures_, p. 158 (Lect. Xxv. ). 

[487] _Ibid. _ p. 151 (Lect. Xxiv. ). 

[488] _Lectures_, p. 177 (ch. Xxviii. ). Brown made the same remark toMackintosh in 1812. (Mackintosh's _Ethical Philosophy_, 1872, 236_n. _)

[489] _Ibid. _ p. 154 (Lect. Xxiv. ). 

[490] See Hamilton's note to Reid's _Works_, p. 111. 

[491] _Lectures_, p. 255 (Lect. Xl. ). 

[492] _Ibid. _ (Lect. Xxxiii. And following). 

[493] _Ibid. _ p. 214-15 (Lect. Xxxiii. ). The phrase is revived byProfessor Stout in his _Analytic Psychology_. 

[494] _Lectures_, p. 213 (Lect. Xxxiii. ). 

[495] This is one of the coincidences with Laromiguière (_Leçons_(1837), i. 103). 

[496] _Lectures_, p. 210. 

[497] _Lectures_, p. 315 (Lect. Xlviii. ). 

[498] _Ibid. _ p. 314. 

[499] _Lectures_, p. 335 (Lect. Li. ). See Lect. Xi. For a generalexplanation. The mind is nothing but a 'series of feelings'; and tosay that 'I am conscious of feeling' is simply to say 'I feel. ' Thesame phrase often occurs in James Mill. 

[500] _Ibid. _ p. 298 (Lect. Xlvi. ). 

[501] _Ibid. _ p. 498 (Lect. Lxxiv. ). 

[502] _Lectures_, p. 622 (Lect. Xciii. ). 

[503] _Dissertations_, p. 98. 

[504] Froude's _Carlyle_, p. 25. 

[505] _Miscellanies_ (1858), ii. 104. See, too, _Miscellanies_, i. 60, on German Literature, where he thinks that the Germans attacked thecentre instead of the outworks of Hume's citadel. Carlyle speaks withmarked respect of Dugald Stewart, who, if he knew what he was about, would agree with Kant. 

[506] In Caroline Fox's _Memories of Old Friends_ (second edition), ii. 314, is a letter from J. S. Mill, expressing a very high opinionof Brown, whom he had just been re-reading (1840) with a view to theLogic. Brown's 'analysis in his early lectures of the amount of whatwe can learn of the phenomena of the world seems to me perfect, andhis mode of inquiry into the mind is strictly founded upon thatanalysis. '

[507] I quote from this edition. Andrew Findlater (1810-1885), aScottish schoolmaster, and editor of Chambers's _Cyclopædia_, was aphilologist (_Dictionary of National Biography_), and his noteschiefly concern Mill's adaptations of Horne Tooke. 

[508] _Treatise_ (bk. I. Pt. I. Sec. Iv. ). 

[509] J. S. Mill's _Autobiography_, p. 68. 

[510] _Fragment on Mackintosh_, p. 314. 

[511] _Analysis_, ii. 42. 'Odd, ' because Brown was six years youngerthan Mill. 

[512] 'Education, ' p. 6. 

[513] _Analysis_, i. 52. 

[514] _Analysis_, i. Xvii. 

[515] _Ibid. _ i. 70. 

[516] _Analysis_, i. 71. 

[517] _Ibid. _ i. 78. 

[518] _Ibid. _ i. 83. 

[519] _Analysis_, ii. 42. 

[520] _Ibid. _ i. 270. 

[521] _Ibid. _ i. 111. 

[522] _Ibid. _ i. 362. 

[523] _Analysis_, i. 154 _n. _

[524] _Ibid. _ i. 161. 

[525] _Analysis_, i. 189. 

[526] _Ibid. _ i. 163 _n. _

[527] _Ibid. _ i. 266. 

[528] _Ibid. _ i. 269. 

[529] _Ibid. _ i. 295. 

[530] _Analysis_, i. 162 _n. _, 187 _n. _

[531] _Ibid. _ ii. 21. 

[532] _Ibid. _ i. 224-25. 

[533] _Analysis_, i. 342. 

[534] _e. G. _ _Ibid. _ ii. 176. 

[535] _Ibid. _ i. 341. 

[536] _Ibid. _ i. 342 _n. _

[537] _Ibid. _ i. 331. 

[538] _Ibid. _ i. 345. 

[539] _Ibid. _ i. 352. 

[540] _Ibid. _ i. 381. 

[541] _Analysis_, i. 363. 

[542] _Ibid. _ i. 402. 

[543] _Ibid. _ i. 402-23. 

[544] _Analysis_, i. 423. 

[545] _Ibid. _ i. 413, 419. 

[546] See especially his account of definition, _Logic_, bk. I. Ch. Viii. , and the problem about the serpent and the dragon. 

[547] _Analysis_, ii. 2. 

[548] This point puzzles Destutt de Tracy. All error, he says, arisesin judgments: 'Cependant les jugements, les perceptions de rapports, en tant que perceptions que nous avons actuellement, sont aussicertaines et aussi réelles que toutes les autres. '--_Élémentsd'Idéologie_ (1865), iii. 449. 

[549] _Analysis_, ii. 6, 7. 

[550] _Analysis_, ii. 18 _n. _

[551] _Analysis_, ii. 24 _n. _

[552] _Ibid. _ ii. 132-33. 

[553] _Analysis_, ii. 67-69. 

[554] _Analysis_, ii. 113 _n. _

[555] _Ibid. _ i. 97 _n. _

[556] Professor Bain points out that Mill is occasionally confused byhis ignorance of the triple division, intellect, feelings: and will, introduced in the next generation. --_Analysis_, ii. 180 _n. _

[557] _Analysis_, ii. 181-83. 

[558] _Analysis_, ii. 351. 

[559] Also privately printed in 1830. Later editions, edited byWhewell, appeared in 1836, 1862, 1873. I quote the last. See M. Napier's _Correspondence_, pp. 57-59, for the composition. 

[560] Mill's _Fragment_ (Preface). 

[561] See Bain's _James Mill_, pp. 374, 415-18. 

[562] _Fragment_, pp. 190, 192, 213, 298, 307, 326. 

[563] _Ibid. _ p. 210. 

[564] _Ethical Philosophy_ (1873), pp. 188, 193. 

[565] M. Napier's _Correspondence_, p. 25. 

[566] _Essay on Sir J. Mackintosh. _

[567] _Essay on Lord Holland. _

[568] _Lectures_, p. 500 (Lect. Lxxv. ). 

[569] _Ibid. _ p. 519 (Lect. Lxxvii. ). 

[570] _Ibid. _ p. 522 (Lect. Lxxviii. ). 

[571] _Ethical Philosophy_ (Hobbes), pp. 62-64. 

[572] _Ibid. _ p. 85. 

[573] _Ibid. _ p. 145. 

[574] _Ibid. _ p. 9. 

[575] _Ibid. _ p. 120. 

[576] _Ethical Philosophy_, pp. 14, 170. 

[577] _Ibid. _ p. 197. 

[578] _Ibid. _ p. 248. 

[579] _Ibid. _ p. 204. 

[580] _Ethical Philosophy_ p. 242. 

[581] _Ibid. _ p. 251. 

[582] _Ibid. _ p. 262. 

[583] _Ibid. _ p. 264. 

[584] _Ibid. _ p. 169. 

[585] _Fragment_, p. 173. 

[586] _Ibid. _ p. 323. 

[587] _Ibid. _ p. 221. 

[588] _Fragment_, p. 247. Mackintosh quotes Mill's _Analysis_ at p. 197. It had only just appeared. 

[589] _Fragment_, p. 11. 

[590] _Fragment_, p. 246, etc. 

[591] _Ibid. _ p. 246. 

[592] _Ibid. _ pp. 269, 270. 

[593] Cf. Newman's _Apologia_. 'The Catholic Church holds it betterfor the sun and moon to drop from heaven, for the earth to fail, andfor all the millions on it to die of starvation in extremest agony, sofar as temporal affliction goes, than that one soul, --I will not sayshould be lost, but should commit one single venial sin, tell onewilful untruth, or should steal one poor farthing without excuse. ' Ishould steal the farthing and assume the 'excuse. ' I confess that Iwould not only lie, but should think lying right under the supposedcircumstances. 

[594] _Autobiography_, p. 51. 

[595] _Fragment_, p. 251. 

[596] Vol. I. P. 257. 

[597] _Fragment_, p. 161. 

[598] _Fragment_, pp. 315-16. 

[599] _Ibid. _ p. 164. 

[600] _Ibid. _ pp. 320-22. 

[601] _Fragment_, p. 102. 

[602] _Ibid. _ p. 162. 

[603] _Analysis_, p. 73. 

[604] _Fragment_, p. 209. 

[605] _Fragment_, p. 316. 

[606] At one point, as J. S. Mill notes, he speaks of an 'unsatisfieddesire' as a motive, which seems to indicate a present feeling; butthis is not his usual view. --_Analysis_, ii. 361, 377 _n. _

[607] _Analysis_, ii. 233 _n. _ Mill adds that though his fatherexplains the 'intellectual, ' he does not explain the 'animal' elementin the affections. This, however, is irrelevant for my purpose. 

[608] _Fragment_, pp. 51-52. 

[609] _Analysis_, ii. 292-300; _Fragment_, pp. 247-65. Note Mill'sinterpretation of this theory of 'praiseworthiness. '--_Analysis_, ii. 298 _n. _

CHAPTER VIII

RELIGION

I. PHILIP BEAUCHAMP

The application of Mill's _Analysis_ to the views of orthodoxtheologians required, one might have supposed, as littleinterpretation as a slap in the face. But a respectable philosophermay lay down what premises he pleases if he does not avowedly draw hisconclusions. Mill could argue in perfect safety against thefoundations of theology, while Richard Carlile was being sent to gaolagain and again for attacking the superstructure. The Utilitariansthought themselves justified in taking advantage of the illogicalityof mankind. Whether it was that the ruling powers had no philosophicalprinciples themselves, or that they did not see what inferences wouldfollow, or that they thought that the average person was incapable ofdrawing inferences, they drew the line at this point. You may openlymaintain doctrines inconsistent with all theology, but you must notpoint out the inconsistency. The Utilitarians contented themselveswith sapping the fort instead of risking an open assault. If itsdefenders were blind to the obvious consequences of the procedure, somuch the better. In private, there was obviously no want of plainspeaking. In Bentham's MSS. The Christian religion is nicknamed 'Jug'as the short for 'Juggernaut. ' He and his friends were as anxious asVoltaire to crush the 'infamous, ' but they would do it by indirectmeans. They argued resolutely for more freedom; and Samuel Bailey'sessay upon the formation of opinions--a vigorous argument on behalf ofthe widest possible toleration--was enthusiastically praised by JamesMill in the _Westminster Review_. For the present they carefullyabstained from the direct avowal of obnoxious opinions, which werestill legally punishable, and which would undoubtedly excite thestrongest hostility. Bentham, as we have seen, had ventured, thoughanonymously, to assail the church catechism and to cross-examine St. Paul. One remarkable manifesto gave a fuller utterance to hisopinions. A book called _The Analysis of the Influence of NaturalReligion on the Temporal Happiness of Mankind_, by 'Philip Beauchamp, 'appeared in 1822. The publisher was Richard Carlile, who was then'safe in Dorchester gaol. ' No legal notice was taken of 'PhilipBeauchamp. ' The reason may have been that the book excited very littleattention in general. Yet it is probably as forcible an attack as hasoften been written upon the popular theology. The name of 'PhilipBeauchamp' covered a combination of Bentham and George Grote. [610] Thebook, therefore, represents the view of representative Utilitarians ofthe first and third generation, and clearly expressed the realopinions of the whole party. In his posthumous essays J. S. Millspeaks of it as the only explicit discussion known to him of thequestion of the utility, as distinguished from the question of thetruth, of religion. Obviously, it was desirable to apply the universaltest to religious belief, and this very pithy and condensed statementshows the result. 

A short summary may indicate the essence of the argument. It is onlynecessary to observe that the phrase 'natural religion' is part of thedisguise. It enables the author to avoid an explicit attack uponrevelation; but it is superabundantly obvious that the word 'natural'is superfluous. Revelation is really a fiction, and all religions are'natural. ' A religion is called a 'superstition, ' as 'PhilipBeauchamp' remarks at starting, when its results are thought to bebad; and allowed to be a religion only when they are thought to begood. [611] That device covers the familiar fallacy of distinguishingbetween uses and abuses, and, upon that pretence, omitting to take badconsequences into account. We must avoid it by defining religion andthen tracing all the consequences, good or bad. Religion isaccordingly taken to mean the belief in the existence of 'an AlmightyBeing, by whom pains and pleasures will be dispensed to mankind duringan infinite and future state of existence. ' The definition is alreadycharacteristic. 'Religion' may be used in a far wider sense, corresponding to a philosophy of the universe, whether thatphilosophy does or does not include this particular doctrine. But'Philip Beauchamp's' assumption is convenient because it gives arational reasoning to the problem of utility. Religion is taken to besomething adventitious or superimposed upon other beliefs, and we cantherefore intelligibly ask whether it does good or harm. Taking thisdefinition for granted, let us consider the results. 

The first point is that we are of necessity in absolute ignorance asto a posthumous state. Now, fear is from our earliest infancy the'never-failing companion and offspring of ignorance. ' Knowledge alonecan rescue us from perpetual suffering, because all security dependsupon knowledge. Pain, moreover, is far more 'pungent' and distinctthan pleasure. 'Want and pain are natural; satisfaction and pleasureartificial and invented. ' Pain, therefore, as the strongest, willdictate our anticipations. The hope of immortality is by the orthodoxdescribed as a blessing; but the truth, deducible from theseprinciples of human nature and verified by experience, is that naturalreligion, instead of soothing apprehensions, adds fresh grounds ofapprehension. A revelation, as 'Philip Beauchamp' admits, mightconceivably dispel our fears; but he would obviously say that thereligion which is taken to be revealed gives a far more vivid pictureof hell than of heaven. [612] In the next place, it is 'obvious atfirst sight' that natural religion can properly give 'no rule ofguidance. ' It refers us to a region of 'desperate and unfathomable'darkness. [613] But it nevertheless indirectly suggests a perniciousrule. It rests entirely upon conjectures as to the character of theinvisible Being who apportions pain or pleasure for inscrutablereasons. Will this Being be expected to approve useful or perniciousconduct? From men's language we might suppose that he is thought to bepurely benevolent. Yet from their dogmas it would seem that he is acapricious tyrant. How are we to explain the discrepancy? Thediscrepancy is the infallible result of the circumstances alreadystated. [614] The Deity has limitless power, and therefore is thenatural object of our instinctive fears. The character of the Deity isabsolutely incomprehensible, and incomprehensibility in human affairsis identical with caprice and insanity. [615] The ends and the means ofthe Deity are alike beyond our knowledge; and the extremes both ofwisdom and of folly are equally unaccountable. Now, we praise or blamehuman beings in order to affect their conduct towards us, to attractfavours or repel injuries. A tyrant possessed of unlimited powerconsiders that by simple abstinence from injury he deserves boundlessgratitude. The weak will only dare to praise, and the strong will onlyblame. The slave-owner never praises and the slave never blames, because one can use the lash while the other is subject to the lash. If, then, we regard the invisible Being as a capricious despot, and, moreover, as a despot who knows every word we utter, we shall neverspeak of him without the highest eulogy, just because we attribute tohim the most arbitrary tyranny. Hence, the invisible despot willspecially favour the priests whose lives are devoted to supporting hisauthority, and, next to priests, those who, by the practice ofceremonies painful or useless to themselves, show that their sole aimis to give him pleasure. He will specially detest the atheists, and, next to atheists, all who venture to disregard his arbitrary laws. Ahuman judge may be benevolent, because he is responsible to thecommunity. They give and can take away his power. But the invisibleand irresponsible ruler will have no motives for benevolence, andapprove conduct pernicious to men because it is the best proof of acomplete subservience to himself. [616] In spite of this, it has beengenerally asserted that religion supplies a motive, and the onlyadequate motive, to moral conduct. But the decay of religion wouldleave the sources of pain and pleasure unchanged. To say, then, thatthe conduct prescribed by religion would disappear if the religiousmotives were removed is virtually to admit that it produces no'temporal benefit. ' Otherwise, the motives for practising such conductwould not be affected. In fact, morality is the same in all countries, though the injunctions of religion are various and contradictory. Ifreligion ordered only what is useful, it would coincide with humanlaws, and be at worst superfluous. As a fact, it condemns the mostharmless pleasures, such as the worst of human legislators have neversought to suppress. People have become tolerant, that is, they haverefused to enforce religious observances, precisely because they haveseen that such observances cannot be represented as conducive totemporal happiness. 

Duty, again, may be divided into duty to God and duty to man. Our'duty to God' is a 'deduction from the pleasures of the individualwithout at all benefiting the species. ' It must therefore be taken asa tax paid for the efficacy supposed to be communicated to the otherbranch--the 'duty to man. '[617] Does religion, then, stimulate ourobedience to the code of duty to man? 'Philip Beauchamp' admits foronce that, in certain cases, it '_might possibly_' be useful. It mightaffect 'secret crimes, ' that is, crimes where the offender isundiscoverable. That, however, is a trifle. These cases, he thinks, would be 'uncommonly rare' under a well-conceived system. The extentof evil in this life would therefore be trifling were superhumaninducements entirely effaced from the human bosom, and if 'humaninstitutions were ameliorated according to the progress ofphilosophy. '[618] On the other hand, the imaginary punishments aresingularly defective in the qualities upon which Bentham had insistedin human legislation. They are remote and uncertain, and to make upfor this are represented as boundless in intensity and durability. Forthat reason, they precisely reverse the admitted principle thatpunishment should be so devised as to produce the greatest possibleeffect by the smallest infliction of pain. Supernatural sanctions aresupposed to maximise pain with a minimum of effect. The fear of hellrarely produces any effect till a man is dying, and then inflictsgreat suffering, though it has been totally inefficient as apreventive at the time of temptation. The influence of supernaturalpenalties is therefore in 'an inverse ratio to the demand forit. '[619] In reality, the efficacy of the sanctions is due to theirdependence upon public opinion. Our real motive for acting rightly isour desire for the praise of our fellows and our interest in theirgood conduct. We conceal this motive even from ourselves, because wewish to have the credit of serving the Deity exclusively. This isconfirmed by the familiar instances of a conflict between publicopinion and religious sanctions. Duelling, fornication, and perjuryare forbidden by the divine law, but the prohibition is ineffectualwhenever the real sentiment of mankind is opposed to it. The divinelaw is set aside as soon as it conflicts with the popular opinion. Inexceptional cases, indeed, the credit attached to unreasonablepractices leads to fanaticism, asceticism, and even insanity; butsuperhuman terrors fail at once when they try to curb the action ofgenuine substantial motives. Hence we must admit that they are uselessin the case even of 'secret crimes. ' Religion, in short, prescribesmischievous practices, becomes impotent except for the production ofmisery, and is really, though not avowedly, dependent on the popularsanction. [620]

We can now classify the evils actually produced. Religion injuresindividuals by prescribing useless and painful practices: fasting, celibacy, voluntary self-torture, and so forth. It suggests vagueterrors which often drive the victim to insanity, and it causesremorse for harmless enjoyments. [621] Religion injures society bycreating antipathies against unbelievers, and in a less degree againstheretics and nonconformists. It perverts public opinion by makinginnocent actions blameable; by distorting the whole science ofmorality and sanctioning the heterogeneous dictates of a certain blindand unaccountable impulse called the 'moral instinct orconscience. '[622] Morality becomes a 'mere catalogue of reigningsentiments, ' because it has cast away the standard of utility. Aspecial aversion to improvement is generated, because whateverchanges our conceptions of the 'sequences of phenomena' is supposed tobreak the divine 'laws of nature. ' 'Unnatural' becomes a'self-justifying' epithet forbidding any proposed change of conduct, which will counteract the 'designs of God. ' Religion necessarilyinjures intellectual progress. It disjoins belief from its only safeground, experience. The very basis, the belief in an inscrutable andarbitrary power, sanctions supernatural or 'extra-experimental'beliefs of all kinds. You reject in the case of miracles all the testsapplicable to ordinary instruction, and appeal to trial by ordealinstead of listening to witnesses. Instead of taking the trouble toplough and sow, you expect to get a harvest by praying to aninscrutable Being. You marry without means, because you hold that Godnever sends a child without sending food for it to eat. Meanwhile yousuborn 'unwarranted belief' by making belief a matter of reward andpenalty. It is made a duty to dwell upon the arguments upon one sidewithout attending to those upon the other, and 'the weaker theevidence the greater the merit in believing. '[623] The temper isdepraved not only by the antipathies generated, but by the 'fitful andintermittent character' of the inducements to conduct. [624]

The final result of all this is still more serious. It is thatreligion, besides each separate mischief, 'subsidises a standing armyfor the perpetuation of all the rest. '[625] The priest gains power asa 'wonder-worker, ' who knows how to propitiate the invisible Being, and has a direct interest in 'depraving the intellect, ' cherishingsuperstition, surrounding himself with mysteries, representing thewill of the Deity as arbitrary and capricious, and forming anorganised 'array of human force and fraud. '[626] The priesthood setsup an infallible head, imposes upon the weak and dying, stimulatesantipathy, forms the mass of 'extra-experimental' beliefs into thelikeness of a science, and allies itself with the state. Heresybecomes a crime. The ruler helps the priests to raise a tax for theirown comfort, while they repay him by suppressing all seditiousopinions. Thus is formed an unholy alliance between the authorities of'natural religion' and the 'sinister interests of the earth. ' Thealliance is so complete that it is even more efficient than if it hadbeen openly proclaimed. 'Prostration and plunder of the community isindeed the common end of both' (priests and rulers). The only chanceof dissension is about the 'partition of the spoil. '[627]

The book is as characteristic of the Utilitarians in style as inspirit. It is terse, vigorous reasoning, with no mere rhetoricalflourishes. The consequences of the leading principle are deducedwithout flinching and without reserve. Had the authors given theirnames, they would no doubt have excited antipathies injurious to thepropaganda of Utilitarianism. They held, for that reason presumably, that they were not bound to point out the ultimate goal of theirspeculations. No intelligent reader of their other writings could failto see what that goal must be; but an 'open secret' is still for manypurposes a real secret. Whatever might be the suspicions of theirantagonists, they could only be accused of a tendency. The bookamounts to an admission that the suspicions were well founded. Utilitarianism, the Utilitarians clearly recognised, logically impliedthe rejection of all theology. Religion--on their understanding of theword--must, like everything else, be tested by its utility, and it wasshown to be either useless or absolutely pernicious. The aim of theUtilitarians was, in brief, to be thoroughly scientific. The man ofscience must be opposed to the belief in an inscrutable agent ofboundless power, interfering at every point with the laws of nature, and a product of the fancy instead of the reason. Such a conception, so far as accepted, makes all theory of human conduct impossible, suggests rules conflicting with the supreme rule of utility, and givesauthority to every kind of delusion, imposture, and 'sinisterinterest. '

It would, I think, be difficult to mention a more vigorous discussionof the problem stated. As anonymous, it could be ignored instead ofanswered; and probably such orthodox persons as read it assumed it tobe a kind of _reductio ad absurdum_ of the Utilitarian creed. It mightfollow, they could admit, logically from the Utilitarian analysis ofhuman nature, but it could only prove that the analysis wasfundamentally wrong. Yet its real significance is precisely itsthorough applicability to the contemporary state of opinion. Beauchamp's definition coincides with Paley's. The coincidence wasinevitable. Utilitarians both in ethical and philosophical questionsstart from the same assumptions as Paley, and the Paley doctrine gavethe pith of the dominant theology. I have observed that the Scottishphilosophers had abandoned the _a priori_ argument, and laid the wholestress of their theological doctrine upon Paley's argument from finalcauses. The change of base was an inevitable consequence of theirwhole system. They appealed to experience, to 'Baconian' methods, andto 'inductive psychology. ' The theory of 'intuitions, ' effective whereit fell in with admitted beliefs, was idle against an atheist, whodenied that he had the intuition. The 'final causes' argument, however, rested upon common ground, and supplied a possible line ofdefence. The existence of the Deity could perhaps be provedempirically, like the existence of the 'watchmaker. ' Accordingly, thiswas the argument upon which reliance was really placed by the averagetheologian of the time. Metaphysical or ontological reasoning had beendiscarded for plain common-sense. The famous _Bridgewater Treatises_are the characteristic product of the period. It had occurred to theearl of Bridgewater, who died in 1829, that £8000 from his estatemight be judiciously spent in proving the existence of a benevolentcreator. The council of the Royal Society employed eight eminent menof science to carry out this design. [628] They wrote some interestingmanuals of popular science, interspersed with proper theologicalapplications. The arguments were sincere enough, though they now seemto overlook with singular blindness the answer which would besuggested by the 'evolutionist. ' The logical result is, in any case, apurely empirical theology. The religion which emerges is not aphilosophy or theory of the world in general, but corresponds to abelief in certain matters of fact (or fiction). The existence of theDeity is to be proved, like the existence of Caesar, by specialevidence. 

The main results are obvious. The logical base of the whole creed is'natural theology, ' and 'natural theology' is simply a branch ofscience, amenable to the ordinary scientific tests. It is intended toprove the existence of an agent essential to the working of themachinery, as from the movements of a planet we infer the existence ofa disturbing planet. The argument from design, in this acceptation, isbriefly mentioned by 'Philip Beauchamp. ' It is, he argues, 'completelyextra-experimental'; for experience only reveals design in livingbeings: it supposes a pre-existing chaos which can never be shown tohave existed, and the 'omnipotent will' introduced to explain thefacts is really no explanation at all, but a collection of meaninglesswords. [629] The argument is briefly dismissed as concerning the truth, not the utility, of religion, but one point is sufficiently indicated. The argument from 'design' is always plausible, because it appliesreasoning undeniably valid when it is applied within its propersphere. The inference from a watch to a watchmaker is clearlyconclusive. We know sufficiently what is meant by the watchmaker andby 'making. ' We therefore reason to a _vera causa_--an agent alreadyknown. When the inference is to the action of an inconceivable Beingperforming an inconceivable operation upon inconceivable materials, itreally becomes illusory, or amounts to the simple assertion that thephenomenon is inexplicable. Therefore, again, it is essentiallyopposed to science though claiming to be scientific. The action ofthe creator is supposed to begin where the possibility of knowledgeends. It is just the inexplicable element which suggests the creativeagency. Conversely, the satisfactory explanation of any phenomenontakes it out of the theological sphere. As soon as the process becomes'natural' it ceases to demand the supernatural artificer. 'Making, 'therefore, is contradistinguished from 'growing. ' If we see how theeye has come into existence, we have no longer any reason to assumethat it was put together mechanically. In other words, 'teleology' ofthis variety is dispelled by theories of evolution. The hypothesis ofinterference becomes needless when we see how things came to be byworking out perfectly natural processes. As science, therefore, expands, theology recedes. This was to become more evident at a laterperiod. For the present, the teleological argument in the Paley form, triumphantly set forth in Bridgewater Treatises and the like, restedthe defence of theology on the proofs of the discontinuity of theuniverse and the consequent necessity for admitting supernaturalinterference. Science was therefore invoked to place absolute limitson its own progress. 

But other vital difficulties were already felt. The argument fromcontrivance naturally implies limitation. The maker of a machine isstrictly limited by the properties of the matter upon which he works. The inference might be verbally saved by saying that the maker was'potentially' omnipotent; but the argument, so far as it goes, is moreeasily satisfied by the hypothesis of a Being of great but stilllimited powers. The Deity so proved, if the proof be valid, is nothimself the ground of the universe, the source from which natureitself emanates, as well as the special laws of nature, but a part ofthe whole system; interfering, guiding, and controlling, but stillonly one of the powers which contribute to the formation of the whole. Hence arise questions which theologians rather evaded than attemptedto answer. If with the help of Paley we can prove the existence of aninvisible Being--potentially omnipotent, though always operating asthough limited--there would still remain the question as to hisattributes. He is skilful, we may grant, but is he benevolent or is hemoral? The benevolence could of course be asserted by optimists, iffacts were amenable to rhetoric. But a theory which is essentiallyscientific or empirical, and consistently argues from the effect tothe cause, must start from an impartial view of the facts, and mustmake no presupposition as to the nature of the cause. The cause isknown only through the effects, and our judgment of them cannot bemodified by simply discovering that they are caused. If, then, contrivance is as manifest in disease as in health, in all thesufferings which afflict mankind as well as in the pleasures whichsolace him, we must either admit that the creator is not benevolent, or frankly admit that he is not omnipotent and fall into Manichæism. Nature, we are frequently told, is indifferent if not cruel; andthough Paley and his followers choose to shut their eyes to uglyfacts, it could be only by sacrificing their logic. They were bound toprove from observation that the world was so designed as to secure the'greatest happiness' before they could logically infer a purelybenevolent designer. It was of the very essence of their position thatobserved facts should be the ultimate basis of the whole theory; andto alter the primary data by virtue of deductions drawn from themcould obviously not be logically justifiable. 

Such reflections, though sufficiently obvious, might be too far frompractical application to have much immediate effect. But the questionof the moral bearing of theology was of more interest; and, here, thecoincidence of the Utilitarianism with the accepted theology of theday is especially important. The Deity regarded as the artificerappears to be far from purely benevolent. In respect to morality, ishe not simply indifferent? Does he not make men fragile and place themamidst pitfalls? Does he not constantly slay the virtuous and save thewicked? How, indeed, from the purely empirical or scientific base, doyou deduce any moral attributes whatever? 'Natural theology, ' as itwas called, might reveal a contriver, but could it reveal a judge or amoral guide? Here the difficulty of a purely matter-of-fact theologymade itself felt on many sides. The remarkable influence of Butlerupon many minds was partly due to a perception of this omission. Butler avowedly appeals to the conscience, and therefore at leastrecognises God as directly revealed in a moral character. That seemedto supply a gap in the ordinary theology. But in the purely empiricalview Butler's argument was untenable. It appealed to one of the'intuitions' which were incompatible with its fundamental assumptions. The compunctions of conscience were facts to be explained by'association, ' not to be regarded as intimations of wrath. Butler'sview might be inverted. The 'conscience' does, in truth, suggest thedivine wrath; but that only means that it suggests the quack remediesupon which 'wonder-working' priests establish their power. Instead ofproving the truth of the religion, it explains the origin ofsuperstition. To James Mill, as we have seen, Butler's argument wouldlogically prove not a righteous governor but a cruel creator. Theologians, again, of the Paley school, were bound in consistency tothe empirical or Utilitarian view of morality. Paley accepted theconsequences unreservedly; and if such philosophers as Brown andMackintosh persisted in regarding the coincidence between morality andhappiness as indicative of a pre-established harmony, not of anidentification of morality with the pursuit of general happiness, theystill admitted that 'utility' was the 'criterion' of morality. Themoral law, that is, coincides in its substance with the law, 'maximisehappiness, ' and happiness means, as 'Philip Beauchamp' calls it, 'temporal' happiness--the happiness of actual men living in this worldand knowing nothing of any external world. How, then, is the moral lawrelated to theology? To know what is moral, we must appeal toexperience and 'utility. ' We must discover what makes for happiness, just as in medicine we must discover what makes for health orpleasure, by the ordinary methods of observation. What place is leftfor any supernatural intervention? The ostensible answer was thatthough the moral code could be deduced from its utility, the motivesby which it was to be enforced required some supernatural agency. Thenatural man might see what was right, but need not therefore do whatwas right. Here 'Philip Beauchamp' comes to a direct issue with thetheologians. He denies that the supernatural motive will be on theside of morality. When J. S. Mill remarked that there had been fewdiscussions of the 'utility' as distinguished from the truth ofreligion, he scarcely recognises one conspicuous fact. The greatargument of divines had always been the absolute necessity of religionto morality; and if morality be understood to mean utility, this issimply an argument from utility. The point, indeed, was often takenfor granted; but it certainly represents one of the strongestpersuasives, if not one of the strongest reasons. The divines, infact, asserted that religion was of the highest utility as supplyingthe motive for moral conduct. What motives, then, can be derived fromsuch knowledge of the Deity as is attainable from the 'Naturaltheology' argument? How can we prove from it that he who puts theworld together is more favourable to the virtues than to the viceswhich are its results; or, if more favourable, that he shows any otherfavour than can be inferred from experience? He has, it is agreed, putmen, as Bentham had said, under the command of two sovereign masters, Pleasure and Pain; and has enabled them to calculate consequences, andtherefore to seek future pleasure and avoid future pain. That onlyproves that we can increase our happiness by prudence; but it suggestsno additional reasons either for seeking happiness or for altering ourestimate of happiness. As 'Philip Beauchamp' argues, we cannot fromthe purely empirical ground get any motive for taking into accountanything beyond our 'temporal' or secular interests. This, again, wasin fact admitted by Paley. His mode of escape from the dilemma isfamiliar. The existence of a supreme artificer is inferred from theinterventions in the general order of nature. The existence of a moralruler, or the fact that the ruler approves morality, is inferred fromhis interference by the particular manifestations of power which wecall miraculous. We know that actions will have other consequencesthan those which can be inferred from our own experience, because sometwo thousand years ago a Being appeared who could raise the dead andheal the sick. If sufficient evidence of the fact be forthcoming, weare entitled to say upon his authority that the wicked will be damnedand the virtuous go to heaven. Obedience to the law enforced by thesesanctions is obviously prudent, and constitutes the true _differentia_of moral conduct. Virtue, according to the famous definition, is doinggood 'for the sake of everlasting happiness. ' The downright bluntnesswith which Paley announced these conclusions startled contemporaries, and yet it must be admitted that they were a natural outcome of hisposition. 

In short, the theological position of the Paley school and theUtilitarian position of 'Philip Beauchamp' start from the commonground of experience. Religion means the knowledge of certain facts, which are to be inferred from appropriate evidence. It does not modifythe whole system of thought, but simply adds certain corollaries; andthe whole question is whether the corollaries are or are not proved bylegitimate reasoning. Can we discover heaven and hell as we discoveredAmerica? Can observation of nature reveal to us a supernatural world?'The first difficulty is that the argument for natural theology has torest upon interference, not upon order, and therefore comes intoconflict with the first principles of scientific procedure. The Deityis revealed not by the rational but by the arbitrary; and the more theworld is explained, the less the proof that he exists, because thenarrower the sphere of his action. Then, as such a Deity, even ifproved, is not proved to be benevolent or moral, we have to rely forthe moral element upon the evidence of 'miracles, ' that is, again, ofcertain interruptions of order. The scientific tendency more or lessembodied in Protestantism, so far as it appealed to reason or to'private judgment, ' had, moreover, made it necessary to relegatemiracles to a remote period, while denying them at the present. Toprove at once that there are no miracles now, and that there were afew miracles two thousand years ago, was really hopeless. In fact, theargument had come to be stated in an artificial form which had no realrelation to the facts. If the apostles had been a jury convinced by acareful legal examination of the evidence; if they had pronouncedtheir verdict, in spite of the knowledge that they would be put todeath for finding it, there would have been some force in Paley'sargument. But then they had not. To assume such an origin for anyreligion implied a total misconception of the facts. Paley assumedthat the apostles resembled twelve respectable deans of Carlislesolemnly declaring, in spite of the most appalling threats, that JohnWesley had been proved to have risen from the dead. Paley mightplausibly urge that such an event would require a miracle. But, meanwhile, his argument appeared to rest the whole case for moralityand religion upon this narrow and perilous base. We can only know thatit is our interest to be moral if we know of heaven and hell; and weonly know of heaven and hell if we accept the evidence of miracles, and infer that the worker of miracles had supernatural sources ofinformation. The moral difficulty which emerges is obvious. The Paleyconception of the Deity is, in fact, coincident with Bentham'sconception of the sovereign. He is simply an invisible sovereign, operating by tremendous sanctions. The sanctions are 'external, ' thatis to say, pains and pleasures, annexed to conduct by the volition ofthe sovereign, not intrinsic consequences of the conduct itself. Sucha conception, thoroughly carried through, makes the relation betweenreligion and morality essentially arbitrary. Moreover, if with 'PhilipBeauchamp' we regard the miracle argument as obviously insufficient, and consider what are the attributes really attributed to thesovereign, we must admit that they suggest such a system as hedescribes rather than the revelation of an all-wise and benevolentruler. It is true, as 'Philip Beauchamp' argues, that the system hasall the faults of the worst human legislation; that the punishment ismade atrociously--indeed infinitely--severe to compensate for itsuncertainty and remoteness; and that (as he would clearly add), toprevent it from shocking and stunning the intellect, it is regarded asremissible in consideration of vicarious suffering. If, then, thereligion is really what its dogmas declare, it is easier to assumethat it represents the cunning of a priesthood operating upon theblind fears and wild imaginations of an inaccessible world; and theostensible proofs of a divine origin resting upon miraculous proofsare not worth consideration. It professes to be a sanction to allmorality, but is forced to construct a mythology which outrages allmoral considerations. Taken as a serious statement of fact, theanthropomorphism of the vulgar belief was open to the objections whichSocrates brought against the Pagan mythology. The supreme ruler wasvirtually represented as arbitrary, cruel, and despotic. 

If we ask the question, whether in point of fact the religion attackedby 'Philip Beauchamp' fairly represented the religion of the day, weshould have, of course, to admit that it was in one sense a grosscaricature. If, that is, we asked what were the real roots of thereligious zeal of Wilberforce and the Evangelicals, or of thephilanthropists with whom even James Mill managed to associate onfriendly terms, it would be the height of injustice to assume thatthey tried to do good simply from fear of hell and hope of heaven, orthat their belief in Christianity was due to a study of Paley's_Evidences_. Their real motives were far nobler: genuine hatred ofinjustice and sympathy for suffering, joined to the conviction thatthe sects to which they belonged were working on the side of justiceand happiness; while the creeds which they accepted were somehowcongenial to their best feelings, and enabled them to give utteranceto their deepest emotions. But when they had to give a ground for thatbelief they could make no adequate defence. They were better thantheir ostensible creed, because the connection of their creed withtheir morality was really arbitrary and traditional. We must alwaysdistinguish between the causes of strong convictions and the reasonsofficially assigned for them. The religious creed, as distinguishedfrom the religious sentiment, was really traditional, and rested uponthe simple fact that it was congenial to the general frame of mind. Its philosophy meanwhile had become hopelessly incoherent. It wishedto be sensible, and admitted in principle the right of 'privatejudgment' or rationalism so far as consistent with Protestantism. Theeffect had been that in substance it had become Utilitarian andempirical; while it had yet insisted upon holding on to theessentially irrational element. 

The religious tradition was becoming untenable in this sense at thesame time as the political tradition. If radicalism in both were to beeffectually resisted, some better foundation must be found forconservatism. I should be tempted to say that a critical period wasapproaching, did I not admit that every period can always be describedas critical. In fact, however, thoughtful people, perceiving on theone hand that the foundations of their creed were shaking, and yetholding it to be essential to their happiness, began to take a newposition. The 'Oxford movement, ' started soon afterwards, implied aconviction that the old Protestant position was as untenable as theradical asserted. Its adherents attempted to find a living and visiblebody whose supernatural authority might maintain the old dogmaticsystem. Liberal thinkers endeavoured to spiritualise the creed andprove its essential truths by philosophy, independently of theparticular historical evidence. The popular tendency was to admit insubstance that the dogmas most assailed were in fact immoral: but toput them into the background, or, if necessary, to explain them away. The stress was to be laid not upon miracles, but upon the moralelevation of Christianity or the beauty of character of its founder. The 'unsectarian' religion, represented in the most characteristicwritings of the next generation, in Tennyson and Browning, Thackerayand Dickens, reflects this view. Such men detested the coarse andbrutalising dogmas which might be expounded as the true 'scheme ofsalvation' by ignorant preachers seeking to rouse sluggish natures toexcitement; but they held to religious conceptions which, as theythought, really underlay these disturbing images, and which, indeed, could hardly be expressed in any more definite form than that of ahope or a general attitude of the whole character. The problem seemedto be whether we shall support a dogmatic system by recognising aliving spiritual authority, or frankly accept reason as the soleauthority, and, while explaining away the repulsive dogmas, try toretain the real essence of religious belief. 

II. CONTEMPORARY THOUGHT

If I were writing a general history of opinion, it would be necessaryto discuss the views of Mill's English contemporaries; to note theirattitude in regard to the Utilitarian position, and point out how theyprepared the way for the later developments of thought. TheUtilitarians were opposed to a vague sentiment rather than to anydefinite system. They were a small and a very unpopular sect. Theyexcited antipathy on all sides. As advocating republicanism, they werehardly more disliked by the Tories, who directly opposed them, than bythe Whigs, who might be suspected of complicity. As enthusiasticpolitical economists, they were equally detested by sentimentalRadicals, Socialists, and by all who desired a strong government, whether for the suppression of social evils or the maintenance ofsocial abuses. And now, as suspected of atheism, they were hated bytheologians. But though the Utilitarians were on all sides condemnedand denounced, they were met by no definite and coherent scheme ofphilosophy. The philosophy of Stewart and Brown had at least a strongdrift in their direction. Though 'political economy' was denounced ingeneral terms, all who spoke with authority accepted Adam Smith. Theirpolitical opponents generally did not so much oppose their theories asobject to theory in general. The Utilitarian system might be bothimperfect and dogmatic; but it had scarcely to contend with any clearand assignable rival. The dislike of Englishmen to any systematicphilosophy, whether founded upon the national character or chiefly dueto special conditions, was still conspicuous outside of the smallUtilitarian camp. 

To discover, therefore, the true position of contemporary opinion, weshould have to look elsewhere. Instead of seeking for the philosopherswho did not exist, we should have to examine the men of letters whoexpressed the general tendencies. In Germany, philosophical theoriesmay be held to represent the true drift of the national mind, and ahistorian of German thought would inquire into the various systemselaborated by professors of philosophy. He would at least be in nowant of materials for definite logical statements. In England, therewas no such intellectual movement. There we should have to considerpoetry and literature; to read Wordsworth and Coleridge, Scott andByron and Shelley, if we would know what men were really thinking andfeeling. The difficulty is, of course, that none of these men, unlessColeridge be an exception, had any conscious or systematic philosophy. We can only ask, therefore, what they would have said if they hadbeen requested to justify their views by abstract reasoning; and thatis a rather conjectural and indefinite enterprise. It lies, fortunately, outside of my field; and it will be enough if I try tosuggest one or two sufficiently vague hints. In the first place, thecontrast between the Utilitarians and their opponents may almost beidentified with the contrast between the prosaic and the poeticalaspects of the world in general. Bentham frankly objected to poetry ingeneral. It proved nothing. The true Utilitarian was the man who heldon to fact, and to nothing but the barest, most naked and unadornedfact. Poetry in general came within the sweep of his denunciations of'sentimentalism' and 'vague generalities. ' It was the 'production of arude age'; the silly jingling which might be suitable to savages, butwas needless for the grown-up man, and was destined to disappear alongwith the whole rubbish of mythology and superstition in whose serviceit had been enlisted. There is indeed a natural sympathy between anyserious view of life and a distrust of the æsthetic tendencies. Theologians of many different types have condemned men for dallyingwith the merely pleasurable, when they ought to be preoccupied withthe great ethical problems or the safety of their souls. James Millhad enough of the old Puritan in him to sympathise with Carlyle'saspiration, 'May the devil fly away with the fine arts!' To such menit was difficult to distinguish between fiction and lying; and if someconcession might be made to human weakness, poets and novelists mightsupply the relaxations and serve to fill up the intervals of life, butmust be sternly excluded if they tried to intrude into seriousstudies. Somehow love of the beautiful only interfered with thescientific investigation of hard facts. 

Poets, indeed, may take the side of reform, or may perhaps benaturally expected to take that side. The idealist and the dreamershould be attracted most powerfully by the visions of a better worldand the restoration of the golden age. Shelley was among the mostenthusiastic prophets of the coming era. His words, he hoped, were tobe 'the trumpet of a prophecy' to 'unawakened earth. ' Shelley had satat the feet of Godwin, and represented that vague metaphysicaldreaming to which the Utilitarians were radically hostile. To theliterary critic, Shelley's power is the more remarkable because from aflimsy philosophy he span an imaginative tissue of such magical andmarvellous beauty. But Shelley dwelt in an ethereal region, whereordinary beings found breathing difficult. There facts seemed todissolve into thin air instead of supplying a solid and substantialbase. His idealism meant unreality. His 'trumpet' did not in factstimulate the mass of mankind, and his fame at this period wasconfined to a few young gentlemen of literary refinement. The man whohad really stirred the world was Byron; and if the decline of Byron'sfame has resulted partly from real defects, it is partly due also tothe fact that his poetry was so admirably adapted to hiscontemporaries. Byron at least could see facts as clearly as anyUtilitarian, though fact coloured by intense passion. He, like theUtilitarians, hated solemn platitudes and hypocritical conventions. Ihave noticed the point at which he came into contact with Bentham'sdisciples. His pathetic death shortly afterwards excited a singularlystrong movement of sympathy. 'The news of his death, ' said Carlyle atthe time, 'came upon my heart like a mass of lead; and yet the thoughtof it sends a painful twinge through all my being, as if I had lost abrother. ' At a later time he defines Byron as 'a dandy of sorrows andacquainted with grief. '[630] That hits off one aspect of Byronism. Byron was the Mirabeau of English literature, in so far as he was atonce a thorough aristocrat and a strong revolutionist. He had thequalification of a true satirist. His fate was at discord with hischaracter. He was proud of his order, and yet despised its actualleaders. He was ready alternately to boast of his vices and to beconscious that they were degrading. He shocked the respectable worldby mocking 'Satanically, ' as they held, at moral conventions, and yetrather denounced the hypocrisy and the heartlessness of precisiansthan insulted the real affections. He covered sympathy with humansuffering under a mask of misanthropy, and attacked war and oppressionin the character of a reckless outlaw. Full of the affectation of a'dandy, ' he was yet rousing all Europe by a cry of puresentimentalism. It would be absurd to attribute any definite doctrineto Byron. His scepticism in religious matters was merely part of ageneral revolt against respectability. What he illustrates is thevague but profound revolutionary sentiment which indicated a beliefthat the world seemed to be out of joint, and a vehement protestagainst the selfish and stolid conservatism which fancied that the oldorder could be preserved in all its fossil institutions andcorresponding dogmas. 

What was the philosophy congenial to Conservatism? There is, ofcourse, the simple answer, None. Toryism was a 'reaction' due to thegreat struggle of the war and the excesses of the revolution. A'reaction' is a very convenient phrase. We are like our fathers; thenthe resemblance is only natural. We differ; then the phrase 'reaction'makes the alteration explain itself. No doubt, however, there was insome sense a reaction. Many people changed their minds as therevolutionary movement failed to fulfil their hopes. I need not arguenow that such men were not necessarily corrupt renegades. I can onlytry to indicate the process by which they were led towards certainphilosophical doctrines. Scott, Wordsworth, and Coleridge represent itenough for my purpose. When Mill was reproaching Englishmen for theirwant of interest in history, he pointed out that Thierry, 'theearliest of the three great French historians' (Guizot and Micheletare the two others), ascribed his interest in his subject to_Ivanhoe_. [631] Englishmen read _Ivanhoe_ simply for amusement. Frenchmen could see that it threw a light upon history, or at leastsuggested a great historical problem. Scott, it is often said, was thefirst person to teach us that our ancestors were once as much alive asourselves. Scott, indeed, the one English writer whose fame upon theContinent could be compared to Byron's, had clearly no interest in, orcapacity for, abstract speculations. An imaginative power, justfalling short of the higher poetical gift, and a masculinecommon-sense were his most conspicuous faculties. The two qualitieswere occasionally at issue; his judgment struggled with hisprejudices, and he sympathised too keenly with the active leaders andconcrete causes to care much for any abstract theory. Yet hisinfluence upon thought, though indirect, was remarkable. The vividnessof his historical painting--inaccurate, no doubt, and delightfullyreckless of dates and facts--stimulated the growing interest inhistorical inquiries even in England. His influence in one directionis recognised by Newman, who was perhaps thinking chiefly of hismediævalism. [632] But the historical novels are only one side ofScott. Patriotic to the core, he lived at a time when patrioticfeeling was stimulated to the utmost, and when Scotland in particularwas still a province, and yet in many ways the most vigorous andprogressive part of a great empire. He represents patriotismstimulated by contact with cosmopolitan movements. Loving every localpeculiarity, painting every class from the noble to the peasant, loving the old traditions, and yet sharing the great impulses of theday, Scott was able to interest the world at large. While the mostfaithful portrayer of the special national type, he has too much sensenot to be well aware that picturesque cattle-stealers and Jacobitechiefs were things of the past; but he loves with his whole heart theinstitutions rooted in the past and rich in historical associations. He transferred to poetry and fiction the political doctrine of Burke. To him, the revolutionary movement was simply a solvent, corroding allthe old ties because it sapped the old traditions, and tended tosubstitute a mob for a nation. The continuity of national life seemedto him the essential condition; and a nation was not a mere aggregateof separate individuals, but an ancient organism, developing on anorderly system--where every man had his rightful place, and thebeggar, as he observes in the _Antiquary_, was as ready as the nobleto rise against foreign invasion. To him, the kings or priests who, tothe revolutionist, represented simple despotism, represented part of arough but manly order, in which many virtues were conspicuous and thegoverning classes were discharging great functions. Though he did notuse the phrase, the revolutionary or radical view was hateful to himon account of its 'individualism. ' It meant the summary destruction ofall that he cherished most warmly in order to carry out theoriesaltogether revolting to his common-sense. The very roots of a soundsocial order depend upon the traditions and accepted beliefs whichbind together clans or families, and assign to every man asatisfactory function in life. The vivid realisation of history goesnaturally with a love--excessive or reasonable--of the old order; andScott, though writing carelessly to amuse idle readers, wasstimulating the historical conceptions, which, for whatever reason, were most uncongenial to the Utilitarian as to all the revolutionists. 

The more conscious philosophical application is illustrated byWordsworth and Coleridge. Both of them had shared the trulyrevolutionary enthusiasm, and both came in time to be classed with theTories. Both, as will be seen, had a marked influence upon J. S. Mill. Wordsworth has written in the _Prelude_ one of the most remarkable ofintellectual autobiographies. He was to be, though he never quitesucceeded in being, a great philosophical poet. He never succeeded, because, in truth, he was not a great philosopher. But no one hasmore clearly indicated the history of his mental evolution. Hissympathy with the revolution was perfectly genuine, but involved avast misconception. A sturdy, independent youth, thoroughly imbuedwith the instincts of his northern dalesmen, he had early leaned to arepublican sentiment. His dislike of the effete conventionalism of theliterary creed blended with his aversion to the political rule of thetime. He caught the contagion of revolutionary enthusiasm in France, and was converted by the sight of the 'hunger-bitten' peasantgirl--the victim of aristocratic oppression. 'It is against that, 'said his friend, 'that we are fighting, ' and so far Wordsworth was aconvert. The revolution, therefore, meant to him the restoration of anidyllic state, in which the homely virtues of the independent peasantshould no longer be crushed and deprived of reward by the instrumentsof selfish despotism. The outbreak of war put his principles at issuewith his patriotism. He suffered keenly when called upon to triumphover the calamities of his countrymen. But gradually he came to thinkthat his sympathies were misplaced. The revolution had not alteredhuman nature. The atrocities disturbed him, but for a time he couldregard them as a mere accident. As the war went on, he began toperceive that the new power could be as tyrannical and selfish as theold. Instead of reconstructing a simple social ideal, it was forming amilitary despotism. When the French armies put down the simple Swisspeasantry, to whom he had been drawn by his home-bred sympathies, hefinally gave up the revolutionary cause. He had gone through a mentalagony, and his distracted sympathies ultimately determined a changewhich corresponded to the adoption of a new philosophy. Wordsworth, indeed, had little taste for abstract logic. He had imbibed Godwin'sdoctrine, but when acceptance of Godwin's conclusions involved aconflict with his strongest affections--the sacrifice not only of hispatriotism but of the sympathies which bound him to his fellows--herevolted. Godwin represents the extreme of 'individualism, ' theabsolute dissolution of all social and political bonds. Wordsworthescaped, not by discovering a logical defect in the argument, but byyielding to the protest of his emotions. The system, he thought, wasfatal to all the affections which had made life dear to him; to thevague 'intimations' which, whatever else they might be, had yet powerto give harmony to our existence. 

By degrees he adopted a new diagnosis of the great political evils. Onone side, he sympathised with Scott's sense of the fatal effects uponthe whole social organism. Among his noblest poems are the 'Brothers'and 'Michael, ' to which he specially called the attention of Fox. Theywere intended, he explained, to show the surpassing value of thedomestic affections conspicuous among the shepherds and 'statesmen' ofthe northern dales. He had now come to hold that the principles ofGodwin and his like were destructive to the most important elements ofhuman welfare. The revolutionists were not simply breaking the fettersof the simple peasant, but destroying the most sacred ties to whichthe peasant owed whatever dignity or happiness he possessed. Revolution, in short, meant anarchy. It meant, therefore, thedestruction of all that gives real value to life. It was, as he held, one product of the worship of the 'idol proudly named the "wealth ofnations, "'[633] selfishness and greed replacing the old motives to'plain living and high thinking. ' Wordsworth, in short, saw the uglyside of the industrial revolution, the injury done to domestic life bythe factory system, or the substitution of a proletariate for apeasantry, and the replacement of the lowest social order by a vastinorganic mob. The contemporary process, which was leading topauperism and to the evils of the factory system, profoundly affectedWordsworth, as well as the impulsive Southey; and their frequentdenunciations gave colour to the imputations that they were opposed toall progress. Certainly they were even morbidly alive to the evilaspects of the political economy of Malthus and Ricardo, which to themseemed to prescribe insensibility and indifference to most serious andrapidly accumulating evils. 

Meanwhile, Wordsworth was also impressed by the underlyingphilosophical difficulties. The effect of the revolutionary principleswas to destroy the religious sentiment, not simply by disproving thisor that historical statement, but by making the whole world prosaicand matter-of-fact. His occasional outbursts against the man ofscience--the 'fingering slave' who would 'peep and botanise upon hismother's grave'--are one version of his feeling. The whole scientificmethod tended to materialism and atomism; to a breaking up of theworld into disconnected atoms, and losing the life in dissecting themachinery. His protest is embodied in the pantheism of the noble lineson Tintern Abbey, and his method of answering might be divined fromthe ode on the 'Intimations of Immortality. ' Somehow or other theworld represents a spiritual and rational unity, not a mere chaos ofdisconnected atoms and fragments. We 'see into the heart of things'when we trust to our emotions and hold by the instincts, clearlymanifested in childhood, but clouded and overwhelmed in our laterstruggles with the world. The essential thing is the cultivation ofour 'moral being, ' the careful preservation and assimilation of thestern sense of duty, which alone makes life bearable and gives ameaning to the universe. 

Wordsworth, it is plain, was at the very opposite pole from theUtilitarians. He came to consider that their whole method meant thedissolution of all that was most vitally sacred, and to hold that therevolution had attracted his sympathies on false pretences. Yet it isobvious that, however great the stimulus which he exerted, and howeverlofty his highest flights of poetry, he had no distinct theory tooffer. His doctrine undoubtedly was congenial to certain philosophicalviews, but was not itself an articulate philosophy. He appeals toinstincts and emotions, not to any definite theory. In a remarkableletter, Coleridge told Wordsworth why he was disappointed with the_Excursion_. [634] He had hoped that it would be the 'first and onlytrue philosophical poem in existence. ' Wordsworth was to have startedby exposing the 'sandy sophisms of Locke, ' and after exploding Pope's_Essay on Man_, and showing the vanity of (Erasmus) Darwin's belief inan 'ourang-outang state, ' and explaining the fall of man and the'scheme of redemption, ' to have concluded by 'a grand didactic swellon the identity of a true philosophy with true religion. ' He wouldshow how life and intelligence were to be substituted for the'philosophy of mechanism. ' Facts would be elevated into theory, theoryinto laws, and laws into living and intelligent powers--true idealismnecessarily perfecting itself in realism, and realism refining itselfinto idealism. '

The programme was a large one. If it represents what Coleridgeseriously expected from Wordsworth, it also suggests that he wasunconsciously wandering into an exposition of one of the gigantic butconstantly shifting schemes of a comprehensive philosophy, which hewas always proposing to execute. To try to speak of Coleridgeadequately would be hopeless and out of place. I must briefly mentionhim, because he was undoubtedly the most conspicuous representative ofthe tendencies opposed to Utilitarianism. The young men who foundBentham exasperating imbibed draughts of mingled poetry and philosophyfrom Coleridge's monologues at Hampstead. Carlyle has told us, in afamous chapter of his _Life of Sterling_, what they went out to see:at once a reed shaken by the wind and a great expounder oftranscendental truth. The fact that Coleridge exerted a very greatinfluence is undeniable. To define precisely what that influence wasis impossible. His writings are a heap of fragments. He contemplatedinnumerable schemes for great works, and never got within measurabledistance of writing any. He poured himself out indefinitely upon themargins of other men's books; and the piety of disciples has collecteda mass of these scattered and incoherent jottings, which announceconclusions without giving the premises, or suggest difficultieswithout attempting to solve them. He seems to have been almost asindustrious as Bentham in writing; but whereas Bentham's fragmentscould be put together as wholes, Coleridge's are essentiallydistracted hints of views never really elaborated. He was alwaysthinking, but seems always to be making a fresh start at any pointthat strikes him for the moment. Besides all this, there is thepainful question of plagiarism. His most coherent exposition (in the_Biographia Literaria_) is simply appropriated from Schelling, thoughhe ascribes the identity to a 'genial coincidence' of thought. I needmake no attempt to make out what Coleridge really thought for himself, and then to try to put his thoughts together, --and indeed hold theattempt to be impossible. The most remarkable thing is the apparentdisproportion between Coleridge's definite services to philosophy andthe effect which he certainly produced upon some of his ablestcontemporaries. That seems to prove that he was really aiming at someimportant aspect of truth, incapable as he may have been ofdefinitively reaching it. I can only try to give a hint or two as toits general nature. Coleridge, in the first place, was essentially apoet, and, moreover, his poetry was of the type most completelydivorced from philosophy. Nobody could say more emphatically thatpoetry should not be rhymed logic; and his most impressive poems aresimply waking dreams. They are spontaneous incarnations of sensuousimagery, which has no need of morals or definite logical schemes. Although he expected Wordsworth to transmute philosophy into poetry, he admitted that the achievement would be unprecedented. Even inLucretius, he said, what was poetry was not philosophy, and what wasphilosophy was not poetry. Yet Coleridge's philosophy was essentiallythe philosophy of a poet. He had, indeed, great dialecticalingenuity--a faculty which may certainly be allied with the highestimagination, though it may involve certain temptations. A poet who hasalso a mastery of dialectics becomes a mystic in philosophy. Coleridgehad, it seems, been attracted by Plotinus in his schooldays. At alater period he had been attracted by Hartley, Berkeley, andPriestley. To a brilliant youth, anxious to be in the van ofintellectual progress, they represented the most advanced theories. But there could never be a full sympathy between Coleridge and theforefathers of English empiricism; and he went to Germany partly tostudy the new philosophy which was beginning to shine--though veryfeebly and intermittingly--in England. When he had returned he beganto read Kant and Schelling, or rather to mix excursions into theirbooks with the miscellaneous inquiries to which his versatileintellect attracted him. 

Now, it is abundantly clear that Coleridge never studied anyphilosophy systematically. He never acquired a precise acquaintancewith the technical language of various schemes, or cared for theirprecise logical relations to each other. The 'genial coincidence' withSchelling, though an unlucky phrase, represents a real fact. He dippedinto Plotinus or Behmen or Kant or Schelling, or any one whointerested him, and did not know whether they were simply embodyingideas already in his own mind, or suggesting new ideas; or, what wasprobably more accurate, expressing opinions which, in a general way, were congenial to his own way of contemplating the world. His power ofstimulating other minds proves sufficiently that he frequently hitupon impressive and suggestive thoughts. He struck out illuminatingsparks, but he never diffused any distinct or steady daylight. Hisfavourite position, for example, of the distinction between the Reasonand the Understanding is always coming up and being enforced with thestrongest asseverations of its importance. That he had adopted it moreor less from Kant is obvious, though I imagine it to be also obviousthat he did not clearly understand his authority. [635] To what, precisely, it amounts is also unintelligible to me. Somehow or other, it implies that the mind can rise into transcendental regions, and, leaving grovelling Utilitarians and the like to the conduct of theunderstanding in matters of practical expediency, can perceive thatthe universe is in some way evolved from the pure reason, and the mindcapable of ideas which correspond to stages of the evolution. How thisleads to the conclusions that the Christian doctrines of the Logos andthe Trinity are embodiments of pure philosophy is a problem upon whichI need not touch. When we have called Coleridge a mystic, with flashesof keen insight into the weakness of the opposite theory, I do not seehow we are to get much further, or attribute to him any articulate anddefinite scheme. 

Hopelessly unsystematic as Coleridge may have been, his significancein regard to the Utilitarians is noteworthy. It is indicated in afamous article which J. S. Mill contributed to the _WestminsterReview_ in March 1840. [636] Mill's concessions to Coleridge ratherscandalised the faithful; and it is enough to observe here that itmarks the apogee of Mill's Benthamism. Influences, of which I shallhave to speak, had led him to regard his old creed as imperfect, andto assent to great part of Coleridge's doctrine. Mill does not discussthe metaphysical or theological views of the opposite school, thoughhe briefly intimates his dissent. But it is interesting to observe howColeridge impressed a disciple of Bentham. The 'Germano-Coleridgiandoctrine, ' says Mill, was a reaction against the philosophy of theeighteenth century: 'ontological, ' 'conservative, ' 'religious, ''concrete and historical, ' and finally 'poetical, ' because the otherwas 'experimental, ' 'innovative, ' 'infidel, ' 'abstract andmetaphysical, ' and 'matter-of-fact and prosaic. ' Yet the twoapproximate, and each helps to restore the balance and comes a littlenearer to a final equilibrium. The error of the French philosophershad been their negative and purely critical tendency. They had thoughtthat it was enough to sweep away superstition, priestcraft, anddespotism, and that no constructive process was necessary. They hadnot perceived the necessity of social discipline, of loyalty torulers, or of patriotic feeling among the subjects. They had, therefore, entirely failed to recognise the historical value of oldcreeds and institutions, and had tried to remodel society 'without thebinding forces which hold society together. '[637] Hence, too, the_philosophes_ came to despise history; and D'Alembert is said to havewished that all record of past events could be blotted out. Theirtheory, in its popular version at least, came to be that states andchurches had been got up 'for the sole purpose of picking people'spockets. '[638] This had become incredible to any intelligent reasoner, and any Tory could prove that there was something good in the past. The peculiarity of the 'Germano-Coleridgian' school was that they sawbeyond the immediate controversy. They were the first to inquire withany power into 'the inductive laws of the existence and growth ofhuman society'; the first to recognise the importance of the greatconstructive principles; and the first to produce not a piece of partyadvocacy, but 'a philosophy of society in the only form in which it isyet possible, that of a philosophy of history. ' Hence arose that'series of great writers and thinkers, from Herder to Michelet, ' whohave given to past history an intelligible place in the gradualevolution of humanity. [639] This very forcible passage is interestingin regard to Mill, and shows a very clear perception of some defectsin his own philosophy. It also raises an important question. 

Accepting Mill's view, it is remarkable that the great error of hisown school, which professed to be based upon experience, was therejection of history; and the great merit of the _a priori_ and'intuitionist' school was precisely their insistence upon history. Tothis I shall have to return hereafter. Meanwhile, Mill proceeds toshow how Coleridge, by arguing from the 'idea' of church and state, had at least recognised the necessity of showing that political andsocial institutions must have a sufficient reason, and be justified bysomething more than mere obstinate prejudice. Men like Pitt and SirRobert Peel, if they accepted Coleridge's support, would have to altertheir whole position. Coleridge's defence of his ideal church was atonce the severest satire upon the existing body and a proof, asagainst Bentham and Adam Smith, of the advantages of an endowed classfor the cultivation and diffusion of learning. Coleridge, moreover, though he objected to the Reform Bill, showed himself a betterreformer than Lord John Russell. He admitted what the Whigs refused tosee, the necessity of diminishing the weight of the landownerinterest. Landowners were not to be ultimate sources of power, but torepresent one factor in a reasoned system. In short, by admitting thatall social arrangements in some sense were embodiments of reason, headmitted that they must also be made to conform to reason. 

Coleridge and Bentham, then, are not really enemies but allies, andthey wield powers which are 'opposite poles of one great force ofprogression. '[640] The question, however, remains, how the philosophyof each leader is really connected with his practical conclusions. Mill's view would apparently be that Coleridge somehow managed tocorrect the errors or fill the gaps of the Utilitarian system--a verynecessary task, as Mill admits--while Coleridge would have held thatthose errors were the inevitable fruit of the whole empirical systemof thought. The Reason must be restored to its rightful supremacy overthe Understanding, which had been working its wicked will since thedays of Locke and eighteenth century. The problem is a wide one. Imust be content to remark the inevitable antithesis. Whether enemiesor allies, the Utilitarians and their antagonists were separated by agulf which could not be bridged for the time. The men ofcommon-sense, who had no philosophy at all, were shocked by theimmediate practical applications of Utilitarianism, its hostility tothe old order which they loved, its apparent helplessness in socialquestions, its relegation of all progress to the conflict of selfishinterests, its indifference to all the virtues associated withpatriotism and local ties. By more reflective minds, it was condemnedas robbing the world of its poetry, stifling the religious emotions, and even quenching sentiment in general. The few who wished for aphilosophy found the root of its errors in the assumptions whichreduced the world to a chaos of atoms, outwardly connected andcombined into mere dead mechanism. The world, for the poet and thephilosopher alike, must be not a congeries of separate things, but insome sense a product of reason. Thought, not fact, must be theultimate reality. Unfortunately or otherwise, the poetical sentimentcould never get itself translated into philosophical theory. Coleridge's random and discursive hints remained mere hints--asuggestion at best for future thought. Mill's criticism shows how farthey could be assimilated by a singularly candid Utilitarian. To him, we see, they represented mainly the truth that his own party, following the general tendency of the eighteenth century, had been ledto neglect the vital importance of the constructive elements ofsociety; that they had sacrificed order to progress, and thereforeconfounded progress with destruction, and failed to perceive the realimportance in past times even of the institutions which had becomeobsolete. Social atomism or individualism, therefore, implied a totalmisconception of what Mill calls the 'evolution of humanity. ' Thismarks a critical point. The 'Germano-Coleridgians' had a theory ofevolution. By evolution, indeed, was meant a dialectical evolution;the evolution of 'ideas' or reason, in which each stage of historyrepresents a moment of some vast and transcendental process ofthought. Evolution, so understood, seemed rightly or wrongly to bemere mysticism or intellectual juggling. It took leave of fact, ormanaged by some illegitimate process to give to a crude generalisationfrom experience the appearance of a purely logical deduction. In thisshape, therefore, it was really opposed to science, although the timewas to come in which evolution would present itself in a scientificform. [641] Meanwhile, the concessions made by J. S. Mill were notapproved by his fellows, and would have been regarded as little shortof treason by the older Utilitarians. The two schools, if Coleridge'sfollowers could be called a school, regarded each other's doctrines assimply contradictory. In appealing to experience and experience alone, the Utilitarians, as their opponents held, had reduced the world to adead mechanism, destroyed every element of cohesion, made society astruggle of selfish interests, and struck at the very roots of allorder, patriotism, poetry, and religion. They retorted that theircritics were blind adherents of antiquated prejudice, and sought tocover superstition and despotism either by unprovable dogmaticassertions, or by taking refuge in a cloudy mystical jargon, whichreally meant nothing. 

They did not love each other. 

FOOTNOTES:

[610] See _Dictionary of National Biography_, under 'George Grote. 'Bentham's MS. Is in the British Museum, and shows, I think, thatGrote's share in the work was a good deal more than mere editing. Iquote from a reprint by Truelove (1875). It was also privatelyreprinted by Grote himself in 1866. 

[611] Cf. Hobbes's definition: 'Fear of power invisible feigned by themind, or imagined from tales publicly allowed, [is] Religion: notallowed, Superstition. And when the power imagined is truly such as weimagine, True Religion. '--_Works_ (Molesworth), iii. 45. 

[612] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' ch. Ii. Pp. 11-15. 

[613] _Ibid. _ p. 17. 

[614] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' p. 21. 

[615] _Ibid. _ pp. 22 and 104. 

[616] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' ch. Iii. 

[617] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' ch. Iv. 

[618] _Ibid. _ p. 45, ch. V. 

[619] _Ibid. _ p. 52, ch. Vi. 

[620] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' ch. Viii. 

[621] _Ibid. _ part ii. Ch. I. 

[622] _Ibid. _ p. 80, part ii. Ch. Ii. 

[623] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' pp. 97, 99. 

[624] _Ibid. _ p. 101. 

[625] _Ibid. _ p. 103. 

[626] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' p. 163. 

[627] _Ibid. _ p. 122. 

[628] The writers were Chalmers, Kidd, Whewell, Sir Charles Bell, Roget, Buckland, Kirby, and Prout. The essays appeared from 1833 to1835. The versatile Brougham shortly afterwards edited Paley's_Natural Theology_. 

[629] 'Philip Beauchamp, ' p. 88. 

[630] Froude's _Carlyle_, i. 215; ii. 93. 

[631] Mill's _Dissertations_, i. 235; ii. 130. 

[632] George Borrow's vehement dislike of Scott as the inventor ofPuseyism and modern Jesuitism of all kinds is characteristic. 

[633] _Prelude_, bk. Xiii. 

[634] Coleridge's _Letters_ (1890), pp. 643-49. 

[635] Mr. Hutchison Stirling insists upon this in the _FortnightlyReview_ for July 1867. He proves, I think, that Coleridge's knowledgeof the various schemes of German philosophy and of the preciserelation of Kant, Fichte, and Schelling was altogether desultory andconfused. How far this is important depends upon whether we attachmuch or little importance to precise combinations of words used bythese philosophers. 

[636] _Dissertations_, i. 392-474. 

[637] _Ibid. _ i. 424. 

[638] _Dissertations_, i. 437. 

[639] _Ibid. _ i. 425-27. 

[640] _Dissertations_, i. 437. 

[641] Coleridge's _Hints towards the Formation of a more ComprehensiveTheory of Life_, edited by S. B. Watson, in 1848, is a curious attemptto apply his evolution doctrine to natural science. Lewes, in his_Letters on Comte's Philosophy of the Sciences_, says that it is a'shameless plagiarism' from Schelling's _Erster Entwurf_, etc. Itseems, as far as I can judge, that Coleridge's doctrines aboutmagnetism, reproduction, irritability, sensibility, etc. , are, infact, adapted from Schelling. The book was intended, as Mr. E. H. Coleridge tells me, for a chapter in a work on Scrophula, projected byGillman. As Coleridge died long before the publication, he cannot bedirectly responsible for not acknowledging obligations to Schelling. Unfortunately he cannot claim the benefit of a good character in suchmatters. Anyhow, Coleridge's occasional excursions into science canonly represent a vague acceptance of the transcendental methodrepresented, as I understand, by Oken. 

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