{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_27597/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_27597","id":"gutenberg_27597","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27597","summary":null,"tags":["Bentham, Jeremy, 1748-1832","Category: Biographies","Category: History - British","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Philosophers -- England","Philosophy","Philosophy, English -- 18th century","Philosophy, English -- 19th century","Utilitarianism -- Great Britain -- History"],"text":"Produced by Thierry Alberto, Paul Dring, Henry Craig and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttps://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ENGLISH UTILITARIANS\n\n_By_\n\nLESLIE STEPHEN\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nLONDON\n\n_DUCKWORTH and CO._\n\n3 HENRIETTA STREET, W.C.\n\n1900\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThis book is a sequel to my _History of English Thought in the\nEighteenth Century_. The title which I then ventured to use was more\ncomprehensive than the work itself deserved: I felt my inability to\nwrite a continuation which should at all correspond to a similar title\nfor the nineteenth century. I thought, however, that by writing an\naccount of the compact and energetic school of English Utilitarians I\ncould throw some light both upon them and their contemporaries. I had\nthe advantage for this purpose of having been myself a disciple of the\nschool during its last period. Many accidents have delayed my completion\nof the task; and delayed also its publication after it was written. Two\nbooks have been published since that time, which partly cover the same\nground; and I must be content with referring my readers to them for\nfurther information. They are _The English Radicals_, by Mr. C. B.\nRoylance Kent; and _English Political Philosophy from Hobbes to Maine_,\nby Professor Graham.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                     PAGE\n  INTRODUCTORY                          1\n\n\n  CHAPTER I\n\n  POLITICAL CONDITIONS\n\n    I. The British Constitution        12\n\n   II. The Ruling Class                18\n\n  III. Legislation and Administration  22\n\n   IV. The Army and Navy               30\n\n    V. The Church                      35\n\n   VI. The Universities                43\n\n  VII. Theory                          51\n\n\n  CHAPTER II\n\n  THE INDUSTRIAL SPIRIT\n\n    I. The Manufacturers               57\n\n   II. The Agriculturists              69\n\n\n  CHAPTER III\n\n  SOCIAL PROBLEMS\n\n    I. Pauperism                       87\n\n   II. The Police                      99\n\n  III. Education                      108\n\n   IV. The Slave-Trade                113\n\n    V. The French Revolution          121\n\n   VI. Individualism                  130\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV\n\n  PHILOSOPHY\n\n    I. John Horne Tooke               137\n\n   II. Dugald Stewart                 142\n\n\n  CHAPTER V\n\n  BENTHAM'S LIFE\n\n    I. Early Life                     169\n\n   II. First Writings                 175\n\n  III. The Panopticon                 193\n\n   IV. Utilitarian Propaganda         206\n\n    V. Codification                   222\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI\n\n  BENTHAM'S DOCTRINE\n\n    I. First Principles               235\n\n   II. Springs of Action              249\n\n  III. The Sanctions                  255\n\n   IV. Criminal Law                   263\n\n    V. English Law                    271\n\n   VI. Radicalism                     282\n\n  VII. Individualism                  307\n\n\n  NOTE ON BENTHAM'S WRITINGS          319\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY\n\n\nThe English Utilitarians of whom I am about to give some account were a\ngroup of men who for three generations had a conspicuous influence upon\nEnglish thought and political action. Jeremy Bentham, James Mill, and\nJohn Stuart Mill were successively their leaders; and I shall speak of\neach in turn. It may be well to premise a brief indication of the method\nwhich I have adopted. I have devoted a much greater proportion of my\nwork to biography and to consideration of political and social\nconditions than would be appropriate to the history of a philosophy. The\nreasons for such a course are very obvious in this case, inasmuch as the\nUtilitarian doctrines were worked out with a constant reference to\npractical applications. I think, indeed, that such a reference is often\nequally present, though not equally conspicuous, in other philosophical\nschools. But in any case I wish to show how I conceive the relation of\nmy scheme to the scheme more generally adopted by historians of abstract\nspeculation.\n\nI am primarily concerned with the history of a school or sect, not with\nthe history of the arguments by which it justifies itself in the court\nof pure reason. I must therefore consider the creed as it was actually\nembodied in the dominant beliefs of the adherents of the school, not as\nit was expounded in lecture-rooms or treatises on first principles. I\ndeal not with philosophers meditating upon Being and not-Being, but with\nmen actively engaged in framing political platforms and carrying on\npopular agitations. The great majority even of intelligent partisans are\neither indifferent to the philosophic creed of their leaders or take it\nfor granted. Its postulates are more or less implied in the doctrines\nwhich guide them in practice, but are not explicitly stated or\ndeliberately reasoned out. Not the less the doctrines of a sect,\npolitical or religious, may be dependent upon theories which for the\ngreater number remain latent or are recognised only in their concrete\napplication. Contemporary members of any society, however widely they\ndiffer as to results, are employed upon the same problems and, to some\nextent, use the same methods and make the same assumptions in attempting\nsolutions. There is a certain unity even in the general thought of any\ngiven period. Contradictory views imply some common ground. But within\nthis wider unity we find a variety of sects, each of which may be\nconsidered as more or less representing a particular method of treating\nthe general problem: and therefore principles which, whether clearly\nrecognised or not, are virtually implied in their party creed and give a\ncertain unity to their teaching.\n\nOne obvious principle of unity, or tacit bond of sympathy which holds a\nsect together depends upon the intellectual idiosyncrasy of the\nindividuals. Coleridge was aiming at an important truth when he said\nthat every man was born an Aristotelian or a Platonist.[1] Nominalists\nand realists, intuitionists and empiricists, idealists and materialists,\nrepresent different forms of a fundamental antithesis which appears to\nrun through all philosophy. Each thinker is apt to take the postulates\ncongenial to his own mind as the plain dictates of reason. Controversies\nbetween such opposites appear to be hopeless. They have been aptly\ncompared by Dr. Venn to the erection of a snow-bank to dam a river. The\nsnow melts and swells the torrent which it was intended to arrest. Each\nside reads admitted truths into its own dialect, and infers that its own\ndialect affords the only valid expression. To regard such antitheses as\nfinal and insoluble would be to admit complete scepticism. What is true\nfor one man would not therefore be true--or at least its truth would not\nbe demonstrable--to another. We must trust that reconciliation is\nachievable by showing that the difference is really less vital and\ncorresponds to a difference of methods or of the spheres within which\neach mode of thought may be valid. To obtain the point of view from\nwhich such a conciliation is possible should be, I hold, one main end of\nmodern philosophising.\n\nThe effect of this profound intellectual difference is complicated by\nother obvious influences. There is, in the first place, the difference\nof intellectual horizon. Each man has a world of his own and sees a\ndifferent set of facts. Whether his horizon is that which is visible\nfrom his parish steeple or from St. Peter's at Rome, it is still\nstrictly limited: and the outside universe, known vaguely and\nindirectly, does not affect him like the facts actually present to his\nperception. The most candid thinkers will come to different conclusions\nwhen they are really provided with different sets of fact. In political\nand social problems every man's opinions are moulded by his social\nstation. The artisan's view of the capitalist, and the capitalist's view\nof the artisan, are both imperfect, because each has a first-hand\nknowledge of his own class alone: and, however anxious to be fair, each\nwill take a very different view of the working of political\ninstitutions. An apparent concord often covers the widest divergence\nunder the veil of a common formula, because each man has his private\nmode of interpreting general phrases in terms of concrete fact.\n\nThis, of course, implies the further difference arising from the\npassions which, however illogically, go so far to determine opinions.\nHere we have the most general source of difficulty in considering the\nactual history of a creed. We cannot limit ourselves to the purely\nlogical factor. All thought has to start from postulates. Men have to\nact before they think: before, at any rate, reasoning becomes distinct\nfrom imagining or guessing. To explain in early periods is to fancy and\nto take a fancy for a perception. The world of the primitive man is\nconstructed not only from vague conjectures and hasty analogies but from\nhis hopes and fears, and bears the impress of his emotional nature. When\nprogress takes place some of his beliefs are confirmed, some disappear,\nand others are transformed: and the whole history of thought is a\nhistory of this gradual process of verification. We begin, it is said,\nby assuming: we proceed by verifying, and we only end by demonstrating.\nThe process is comparatively simple in that part of knowledge which\nultimately corresponds to the physical sciences. There must be a certain\nharmony between beliefs and realities in regard to knowledge of ordinary\nmatters of fact, if only because such harmony is essential to the life\nof the race. Even an ape must distinguish poisonous from wholesome food.\nBeliefs as to physical facts require to be made articulate and distinct;\nbut we have only to recognise as logical principles the laws of nature\nwhich we have unconsciously obeyed and illustrated--to formulate\ndynamics long after we have applied the science in throwing stones or\nusing bows and arrows. But what corresponds to this in the case of the\nmoral and religious beliefs? What is the process of verification? Men\npractically are satisfied with their creed so long as they are satisfied\nwith the corresponding social order. The test of truth so suggested is\nobviously inadequate: for all great religions, however contradictory to\neach other, have been able to satisfy it for long periods. Particular\ndoctrines might be tested by experiment. The efficacy of witchcraft\nmight be investigated like the efficacy of vaccination. But faith can\nalways make as many miracles as it wants: and errors which originate in\nthe fancy cannot be at once extirpated by the reason. Their form may be\nchanged but not their substance. To remove them requires not disproof of\nthis or that fact, but an intellectual discipline which is rare even\namong the educated classes. A religious creed survives, as poetry or art\nsurvives,--not so long as it contains apparently true statements of fact\nbut--so long as it is congenial to the whole social state. A philosophy\nindeed is a poetry stated in terms of logic. Considering the natural\nconservatism of mankind, the difficulty is to account for progress, not\nfor the persistence of error. When the existing order ceases to be\nsatisfactory; when conquest or commerce has welded nations together and\nbrought conflicting creeds into cohesion; when industrial development\nhas modified the old class relations; or when the governing classes have\nceased to discharge their functions, new principles are demanded and new\nprophets arise. The philosopher may then become the mouthpiece of the\nnew order, and innocently take himself to be its originator. His\ndoctrines were fruitless so long as the soil was not prepared for the\nseed. A premature discovery if not stamped out by fire and sword is\nstifled by indifference. If Francis Bacon succeeded where Roger Bacon\nfailed, the difference was due to the social conditions, not to the men.\nThe cause of the great religious as well as of the great political\nrevolutions must be sought mainly in the social history. New creeds\nspread when they satisfy the instincts or the passions roused to\nactivity by other causes. The system has to be so far true as to be\ncredible at the time; but its vitality depends upon its congeniality as\na whole to the aspirations of the mass of mankind.\n\nThe purely intellectual movement no doubt represents the decisive\nfactor. The love of truth in the abstract is probably the weakest of\nhuman passions; but truth when attained ultimately gives the fulcrum for\na reconstruction of the world. When a solid core of ascertained and\nverifiable truth has once been formed and applied to practical results\nit becomes the fixed pivot upon which all beliefs must ultimately turn.\nThe influence, however, is often obscure and still indirect. The more\ncultivated recognise the necessity of bringing their whole doctrine into\nconformity with the definitely organised and established system; and, at\nthe present day, even the uneducated begin to have an inkling of\npossible results. Yet the desire for logical consistency is not one\nwhich presses forcibly upon the less cultivated intellects. They do not\nfeel the necessity of unifying knowledge or bringing their various\nopinions into consistency and into harmony with facts. There are easy\nmethods of avoiding any troublesome conflict of belief. The philosopher\nis ready to show them the way. He, like other people, has to start from\npostulates, and to see how they will work. When he meets with a\ndifficulty it is perfectly legitimate that he should try how far the old\nformula can be applied to cover the new applications. He may be led to a\nprocess of 'rationalising' or 'spiritualising' which is dangerous to\nintellectual honesty. The vagueness of the general conceptions with\nwhich he is concerned facilitates the adaptation; and his words slide\ninto new meanings by imperceptible gradations. His error is in taking a\nlegitimate tentative process for a conclusive test; and inferring that\nopinions are confirmed because a non-natural interpretation can be\nforced upon them. This, however, is only the vicious application of the\nnormal process through which new ideas are diffused or slowly infiltrate\nthe old systems till the necessity of a thoroughgoing reconstruction\nforces itself upon our attention. Nor can it be denied that an opposite\nfallacy is equally possible, especially in times of revolutionary\npassion. The apparent irreconcilability of some new doctrine with the\nold may lead to the summary rejection of the implicit truth, together\nwith the error involved in its imperfect recognition. Hence arises the\nnecessity for faking into account not only a man's intellectual\nidiosyncrasies and the special intellectual horizon, but all the\nprepossessions due to his personal character, his social environment,\nand his consequent sympathies and antipathies. The philosopher has his\npassions like other men. He does not really live in the thin air of\nabstract speculation. On the contrary, he starts generally, and surely\nis right in starting, with keen interest in the great religious,\nethical, and social problems of the time. He wishes--honestly and\neagerly--to try them by the severest tests, and to hold fast only what\nis clearly valid. The desire to apply his principles in fact justifies\nhis pursuit, and redeems him from the charge that he is delighting in\nbarren intellectual subtleties. But to an outsider his procedure may\nappear in a different light. His real problem comes to be: how the\nconclusions which are agreeable to his emotions can be connected with\nthe postulates which are congenial to his intellect? He may be\nabsolutely honest and quite unconscious that his conclusions were\nprearranged by his sympathies. No philosophic creed of any importance\nhas ever been constructed, we may well believe, without such sincerity\nand without such plausibility as results from its correspondence to at\nleast some aspects of the truth. But the result is sufficiently shown by\nthe perplexed controversies which arise. Men agree in their conclusions,\nthough starting from opposite premises; or from the same premises reach\nthe most diverging conclusions. The same code of practical morality, it\nis often said, is accepted by thinkers who deny each other's first\nprinciples; dogmatism often appears to its opponents to be thoroughgoing\nscepticism in disguise, and men establish victoriously results which\nturn out in the end to be really a stronghold for their antagonists.\n\nHence there is a distinction between such a history of a sect as I\ncontemplate and a history of scientific inquiry or of pure philosophy. A\nhistory of mathematical or physical science would differ from a direct\nexposition of the science, but only in so far as it would state truths\nin the order of discovery, not in the order most convenient for\ndisplaying them as a system. It would show what were the processes by\nwhich they were originally found out, and how they have been afterwards\nannexed or absorbed in some wider generalisation. These facts might be\nstated without any reference to the history of the discoverers or of the\nsociety to which they belonged. They would indeed suggest very\ninteresting topics to the general historian or 'sociologist.' He might\nbe led to inquire under what conditions men came to inquire\nscientifically at all; why they ceased for centuries to care for\nscience; why they took up special departments of investigation; and what\nwas the effect of scientific discoveries upon social relations in\ngeneral. But the two inquiries would be distinct for obvious reasons. If\nmen study mathematics they can only come to one conclusion. They will\nfind out the same propositions of geometry if they only think clearly\nenough and long enough, as certainly as Columbus would discover America\nif he only sailed far enough. America was there, and so in a sense are\nthe propositions. We may therefore in this case entirely separate the\ntwo questions: what leads men to think? and what conclusions will they\nreach? The reasons which guided the first discoverers are just as valid\nnow, though they can be more systematically stated. But in the 'moral\nsciences' this distinction is not equally possible. The intellectual and\nthe social evolution are closely and intricately connected, and each\nreacts upon the other. In the last resort no doubt a definitive system\nof belief once elaborated would repose upon universally valid truths\nand determine, instead of being determined by, the corresponding social\norder. But in the concrete evolution which, we may hope, is\napproximating towards this result, the creeds current among mankind have\nbeen determined by the social conditions as well as helped to determine\nthem. To give an account of that process it is necessary to specify the\nvarious circumstances which may lead to the survival of error, and to\nthe partial views of truth taken by men of different idiosyncrasies\nworking upon different data and moved by different passions and\nprepossessions. A history written upon these terms would show primarily\nwhat, as a fact, were the dominant beliefs during a given period, and\nstate which survived, which disappeared, and which were transformed or\nengrafted upon other systems of thought. This would of course raise the\nquestion of the truth or falsehood of the doctrines as well as of their\nvitality: for the truth is at least one essential condition of permanent\nvitality. The difference would be that the problem would be approached\nfrom a different side. We should ask first what beliefs have flourished,\nand afterwards ask why they flourished, and how far their vitality was\ndue to their partial or complete truth. To write such a history would\nperhaps require an impartiality which few people possess and which I do\nnot venture to claim. I have my own opinions for which other people may\naccount by prejudice, assumption, or downright incapacity. I am quite\naware that I shall be implicitly criticising myself in criticising\nothers. All that I can profess is that by taking the questions in this\norder, I shall hope to fix attention upon one set of considerations\nwhich are apt, as I fancy, to be unduly neglected. The result of\nreading some histories is to raise the question: how people on the other\nside came to be such unmitigated fools? Why were they imposed upon by\nsuch obvious fallacies? That may be answered by considering more fully\nthe conditions under which the opinions were actually adopted, and one\nresult may be to show that those opinions had a considerable element of\ntruth, and were held by men who were the very opposite of fools. At any\nrate I shall do what I can to write an account of this phase of thought,\nso as to bring out what were its real tenets; to what intellectual type\nthey were naturally congenial; what were the limitations of view which\naffected the Utilitarians' conception of the problems to be solved; and\nwhat were the passions and prepossessions due to the contemporary state\nof society and to their own class position, which to some degree\nunconsciously dictated their conclusions. So far as I can do this\nsatisfactorily, I hope that I may throw some light upon the intrinsic\nvalue of the creed, and the place which it should occupy in a definitive\nsystem.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[1] _Table-Talk_, 3 July 1830.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nPOLITICAL CONDITIONS\n\n\nI. THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION\n\nThe English Utilitarians represent one outcome of the speculations\ncurrent in England during the later part of the eighteenth century. For\nthe reasons just assigned I shall begin by briefly recalling some of the\nsocial conditions which set the problems for the coming generation and\ndetermined the mode of answering them. I must put the main facts in\nevidence, though they are even painfully familiar. The most obvious\nstarting-point is given by the political situation. The supremacy of\nparliament had been definitively established by the revolution of 1688,\nand had been followed by the elaboration of the system of party\ngovernment. The centre of gravity of the political world lay in the\nHouse of Commons. No minister could hold power unless he could command a\nmajority in this house. Jealousy of the royal power, however, was still\na ruling passion. The party line between Whig and Tory turned ostensibly\nupon this issue. The essential Whig doctrine is indicated by Dunning's\nfamous resolution (6 April 1780) that 'the power of the crown had\nincreased, was increasing, and ought to be diminished.' The resolution\nwas in one sense an anachronism. As in many other cases, politicians\nseem to be elaborately slaying the slain and guarding against the\nattacks of extinct monsters. There was scarcely more probability under\nGeorge III. than there is under Victoria that the king would try to\nraise taxes without consent of parliament. George III., however, desired\nto be more than a contrivance for fixing the great seal to official\ndocuments. He had good reason for thinking that the weakness of the\nexecutive was an evil. The king could gain power not by attacking the\nauthority of parliament but by gaining influence within its walls. He\nmight form a party of 'king's friends' able to hold the balance between\nthe connections formed by the great families and so break up the system\nof party government. Burke's great speech (11 Feb. 1780) upon\nintroducing his plan 'for the better security of the independence of\nparliament and the economical reformation of the civil and other\nestablishments' explains the secret and reveals the state of things\nwhich for the next half century was to supply one main theme for the\neloquence of reformers. The king had at his disposal a vast amount of\npatronage. There were relics of ancient institutions: the principality\nof Wales, the duchies of Lancaster and Cornwall, and the earldom of\nChester; each with its revenue and establishment of superfluous\nofficials. The royal household was a complex 'body corporate' founded in\nthe old days of 'purveyance.' There was the mysterious 'Board of Green\nCloth' formed by the great officers and supposed to have judicial as\nwell as administrative functions. Cumbrous mediaeval machinery thus\nremained which had been formed in the time when the distinction between\na public trust and private property was not definitely drawn or which\nhad been allowed to remain for the sake of patronage, when its functions\nhad been transferred to officials of more modern type. Reform was\nfoiled, as Burke put it, because the turnspit in the king's kitchen was\na member of parliament. Such sinecures and the pensions on the civil\nlist or the Irish establishment provided the funds by which the king\ncould build up a personal influence, which was yet occult,\nirresponsible, and corrupt. The measure passed by Burke in 1782[2] made\na beginning in the removal of such abuses.\n\nMeanwhile the Whigs were conveniently blind to another side of the\nquestion. If the king could buy, it was because there were plenty of\npeople both able and willing to sell. Bubb Dodington, a typical example\nof the old system, had five or six seats at his disposal: subject only\nto the necessity of throwing a few pounds to the 'venal wretches' who\nwent through the form of voting, and by dealing in what he calls this\n'merchantable ware' he managed by lifelong efforts to wriggle into a\npeerage. The Dodingtons, that is, sold because they bought. The 'venal\nwretches' were the lucky franchise-holders in rotten boroughs. The\n'Friends of the People'[3] in 1793 made the often-repeated statement\nthat 154 individuals returned 307 members, that is, a majority of the\nhouse. In Cornwall, again, 21 boroughs with 453 electors controlled by\nabout 15 individuals returned 42 members,[4] or, with the two county\nmembers, only one member less than Scotland; and the Scottish members\nwere elected by close corporations in boroughs and by the great\nfamilies in counties. No wonder if the House of Commons seemed at times\nto be little more than an exchange for the traffic between the\nproprietors of votes and the proprietors of offices and pensions.\n\nThe demand for the reforms advocated by Burke and Dunning was due to the\ncatastrophe of the American War. The scandal caused by the famous\ncoalition of 1783 showed that a diminution of the royal influence might\nonly make room for selfish bargains among the proprietors of\nparliamentary influence. The demand for reform was taken up by Pitt. His\nplan was significant. He proposed to disfranchise a few rotten boroughs;\nbut to soften this measure he afterwards suggested that a million should\nbe set aside to buy such boroughs as should voluntarily apply for\ndisfranchisement. The seats obtained were to be mainly added to county\nrepresentation; but the franchise was to be extended so as to add about\n99,000 voters in boroughs, and additional seats were to be given to\nLondon and Westminster and to Manchester, Leeds, Birmingham, and\nSheffield. The Yorkshire reformers, who led the movement, were satisfied\nwith this modest scheme. The borough proprietors were obviously too\nstrong to be directly attacked, though they might be induced to sell\nsome of their power.\n\nHere was a mass of anomalies, sufficient to supply topics of\ndenunciation for two generations of reformers, and, in time, to excite\nfears of violent revolution. Without undertaking the easy task of\ndenouncing exploded systems, we may ask what state of mind they implied.\nOur ancestors were perfectly convinced that their political system was\nof almost unrivalled excellence: they held that they were freemen\nentitled to look down upon foreigners as the slaves of despots. Nor can\nwe say that their satisfaction was without solid grounds. The boasting\nabout English freedom implied some misunderstanding. But it was at least\nthe boast of a vigorous race. Not only were there individuals capable of\npatriotism and public spirit, but the body politic was capable of\ncontinuous energy. During the eighteenth century the British empire\nspread round the world. Under Chatham it had been finally decided that\nthe English race should be the dominant element in the new world; if the\npolitical connection had been severed by the bungling of his successors,\nthe unbroken spirit of the nation had still been shown in the struggle\nagainst France, Spain, and the revolted colonies; and whatever may be\nthought of the motives which produced the great revolutionary wars, no\none can deny the qualities of indomitable self-reliance and high courage\nto the men who led the country through the twenty years of struggle\nagainst France, and for a time against France with the continent at its\nfeet. If moralists or political theorists find much to condemn in the\nends to which British policy was directed, they must admit that the\nqualities displayed were not such as can belong to a simply corrupt and\nmean-spirited government.\n\nOne obvious remark is that, on the whole, the system was a very good\none--as systems go. It allowed free play to the effective political\nforces. Down to the revolutionary period, the nation as a whole was\ncontented with its institutions. The political machinery provided a\nsufficient channel for the really efficient force of public opinion.\nThere was as yet no large class which at once had political aspirations\nand was unable to gain a hearing. England was still in the main an\nagricultural country: and the agricultural labourer was fairly\nprosperous till the end of the century, while his ignorance and\nisolation made him indifferent to politics. There might be a bad squire\nor parson, as there might be a bad season; but squire and parson were as\nmuch parts of the natural order of things as the weather. The farmer or\nyeoman was not much less stolid; and his politics meant at most a choice\nbetween allegiance to one or other of the county families. If in the\ntowns which were rapidly developing there was growing up a discontented\npopulation, its discontent was not yet directed into political channels.\nAn extended franchise meant a larger expenditure on beer, not the\nreadier acceptance of popular aspirations. To possess a vote was to have\na claim to an occasional bonus rather than a right to influence\nlegislation. Practically, therefore, parliament might be taken to\nrepresent what might be called 'public opinion,' for anything that\ndeserved to be called public opinion was limited to the opinions of the\ngentry and the more intelligent part of the middle classes. There was no\nwant of complaints of corruption, proposals to exclude placemen from\nparliament and the like; and in the days of Wilkes, Chatham, and Junius,\nwhen the first symptoms of democratic activity began to affect the\npolitical movement, the discontent made itself audible and alarming. But\na main characteristic of the English reformers was the constant appeal\nto precedent, even in their most excited moods. They do not mention the\nrights of man; they invoke the 'revolution principles' of 1688; they\ninsist upon the 'Bill of Rights' or Magna Charta. When keenly roused\nthey recall the fate of Charles I.; and their favourite toast is the\ncause for which Hampden died on the field and Sidney on the scaffold.\nThey believe in the jury as the 'palladium of our liberties'; and are\nconvinced that the British Constitution represents an unsurpassable\nthough unfortunately an ideal order of things, which must have existed\nat some indefinite period. Chatham in one of his most famous speeches,\nappeals, for example, to the 'iron barons' who resisted King John, and\ncontrasts them with the silken courtiers which now compete for place and\npensions. The political reformers of the time, like religious reformers\nin most times, conceive of themselves only as demanding the restoration\nof the system to its original purity, not as demanding its abrogation.\nIn other words, they propose to remedy abuses but do not as yet even\ncontemplate a really revolutionary change. Wilkes was not a 'Wilkite,'\nnor was any of his party, if Wilkite meant anything like Jacobin.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[2] 22 George III. c. 82.\n\n[3] _Parl. Hist._ xxx. 787.\n\n[4] _State Trials_, xxiv. 382.\n\n\nII. THE RULING CLASS\n\nThus, however anomalous the constitution of parliament, there was no\nthought of any far-reaching revolution. The great mass of the population\nwas too ignorant, too scattered and too poor to have any real political\nopinions. So long as certain prejudices were not aroused, it was content\nto leave the management of the state to the dominant class, which alone\nwas intelligent enough to take an interest in public affairs and strong\nenough to make its interest felt. This class consisted in the first\nplace of the great landed interest. When Lord North opposed Pitt's\nreform in 1785 he said[5] that the Constitution was 'the work of\ninfinite wisdom ... the most beautiful fabric that had ever existed\nsince the beginning of time.' He added that 'the bulk and weight' of the\nhouse ought to be in 'the hands of the country-gentlemen, the best and\nmost respectable objects of the confidence of the people,' The speech,\nthough intended to please an audience of country-gentlemen, represented\na genuine belief.[6] The country-gentlemen formed the class to which not\nonly the constitutional laws but the prevailing sentiment of the country\ngave the lead in politics as in the whole social system. Even reformers\nproposed to improve the House of Commons chiefly by increasing the\nnumber of county-members, and a county-member was almost necessarily a\ncountry-gentleman of an exalted kind. Although the country-gentleman was\nvery far from having all things his own way, his ideals and prejudices\nwere in a great degree the mould to which the other politically\nimportant class conformed. There was indeed a growing jealousy between\nthe landholders and the 'monied-men.' Bolingbroke had expressed this\ndistrust at an earlier part of the century. But the true representative\nof the period was his successful rival, Walpole, a thorough\ncountry-gentleman who had learned to understand the mysteries of finance\nand acquired the confidence of the city. The great merchants of London\nand the rising manufacturers in the country were rapidly growing in\nwealth and influence. The monied-men represented the most active,\nenergetic, and growing part of the body politic. Their interests\ndetermined the direction of the national policy. The great wars of the\ncentury were undertaken in the interests of British trade. The extension\nof the empire in India was carried on through a great commercial\ncompany. The growth of commerce supported the sea-power which was the\nmain factor in the development of the empire. The new industrial\norganisation which was arising was in later years to represent a class\ndistinctly opposed to the old aristocratic order. At present it was in a\ncomparatively subordinate position. The squire was interested in the\nland and the church; the merchant thought more of commerce and was apt\nto be a dissenter. But the merchant, in spite of some little jealousies,\nadmitted the claims of the country-gentleman to be his social superior\nand political leader. His highest ambition was to be himself admitted to\nthe class or to secure the admission of his family. As he became rich he\nbought a solid mansion at Clapham or Wimbledon, and, if he made a\nfortune, might become lord of manors in the country. He could not as yet\naspire to become himself a peer, but he might be the ancestor of peers.\nThe son of Josiah Child, the great merchant of the seventeenth century,\nbecame Earl Tylney, and built at Wanstead one of the noblest mansions in\nEngland. His contemporary Sir Francis Child, Lord Mayor, and a founder\nof the Bank of England, built Osterley House, and was ancestor of the\nearls of Jersey and Westmoreland. The daughter of Sir John Barnard, the\ntypical merchant of Walpole's time, married the second Lord Palmerston.\nBeckford, the famous Lord Mayor of Chatham's day, was father of the\nauthor of _Vathek_, who married an earl's daughter and became the father\nof a duchess. The Barings, descendants of a German pastor, settled in\nEngland early in the century and became country-gentlemen, baronets,\nand peers. Cobbett, who saw them rise, reviled the stockjobbers who were\nbuying out the old families. But the process had begun long before his\ndays, and meant that the heads of the new industrial system were being\nabsorbed into the class of territorial magnates. That class represented\nthe framework upon which both political and social power was moulded.\n\nThis implies an essential characteristic of the time. A familiar topic\nof the admirers of the British Constitution was the absence of the sharp\nlines of demarcation between classes and of the exclusive aristocratic\nprivileges which, in France, provoked the revolution. In England the\nruling class was not a 'survival': it had not retained privileges\nwithout discharging corresponding functions. The essence of\n'self-government,' says its most learned commentator,[7] is the organic\nconnection 'between State and society.' On the Continent, that is,\npowers were intrusted to a centralised administrative and judicial\nhierarchy, which in England were left to the class independently strong\nby its social position. The landholder was powerful as a product of the\nwhole system of industrial and agricultural development; and he was\nbound in return to perform arduous and complicated duties. How far he\nperformed them well is another question. At least, he did whatever was\ndone in the way of governing, and therefore did not sink into a mere\nexcrescence or superfluity. I must try to point out certain results\nwhich had a material effect upon English opinion in general and, in\nparticular, upon the Utilitarians.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[5] _Parl. Hist._ xxv. 472.\n\n[6] The country-gentlemen, said Wilberforce in 1800, are the 'very\nnerves and ligatures of the body politic.'--_Correspondence_, i. 219.\n\n[7] Gneist's _Self-Government_ (3rd edition, 1871), p. 879.\n\n\nIII. LEGISLATION AND ADMINISTRATION\n\nThe country-gentlemen formed the bulk of the law-making body, and the\nlaws gave the first point of assault of the Utilitarian movement. One\nexplanation is suggested by a phrase attributed to Sir Josiah Child.[8]\nThe laws, he said, were a heap of nonsense, compiled by a few ignorant\ncountry-gentlemen, who hardly knew how to make good laws for the\ngovernment of their own families, much less for the regulation of\ncompanies and foreign commerce. He meant that the parliamentary\nlegislation of the century was the work of amateurs, not of specialists;\nof an assembly of men more interested in immediate questions of policy\nor personal intrigue than in general principles, and not of such a\ncentralised body as would set a value upon symmetry and scientific\nprecision. The country-gentleman had strong prejudices and enough common\nsense to recognise his own ignorance. The product of a traditional\norder, he clung to traditions, and regarded the old maxims as sacred\nbecause no obvious reason could be assigned for them. He was suspicious\nof abstract theories, and it did not even occur to him that any such\nprocess as codification or radical alteration of the laws was\nconceivable. For the law itself he had the profound veneration which is\nexpressed by Blackstone. It represented the 'wisdom of our ancestors';\nthe system of first principles, on which the whole order of things\nreposed, and which must be regarded as an embodiment of right reason.\nThe common law was a tradition, not made by express legislation, but\nsomehow existing apart from any definite embodiment, and revealed to\ncertain learned hierophants. Any changes, required by the growth of new\nsocial conditions, had to be made under pretence of applying the old\nrules supposed to be already in existence. Thus grew up the system of\n'judge-made law,' which was to become a special object of the\ndenunciations of Bentham. Child had noticed the incompetence of the\ncountry-gentlemen to understand the regulation of commercial affairs.\nThe gap was being filled up, without express legislation, by judicial\ninterpretations of Mansfield and his fellows. This, indeed, marks a\ncharacteristic of the whole system. 'Our constitution,' says Professor\nDicey,[9] 'is a judge-made constitution, and it bears on its face all\nthe features, good and bad, of judge-made law.' The law of landed\nproperty, meanwhile, was of vital and immediate interest to the\ncountry-gentleman. But, feeling his own incompetence, he had called in\nthe aid of the expert. The law had been developed in mediaeval times, and\nbore in all its details the marks of the long series of struggles\nbetween king and nobles and parliaments. One result had been the\nelaborate series of legal fictions worked out in the conflict between\nprivate interests and public policy, by which lawyers had been able to\nadapt the rules fitted for an ancient state of society to another in\nwhich the very fundamental conceptions were altered. A mysterious system\nhad thus grown up, which deterred any but the most resolute students. Of\nFearne's essay upon 'Contingent remainders'(published in 1772) it was\nsaid that no work 'in any branch of science could afford a more\nbeautiful instance of analysis.' Fearne had shown the acuteness of 'a\nNewton or a Pascal.' Other critics dispute this proposition; but in any\ncase the law was so perplexing that it could only be fully understood by\none who united antiquarian knowledge to the subtlety of a great\nlogician. The 'vast and intricate machine,' as Blackstone calls it, 'of\na voluminous family settlement' required for its explanation the\ndialectical skill of an accomplished schoolman. The poor\ncountry-gentleman could not understand the terms on which he held his\nown estate without calling in an expert equal to such a task. The man\nwho has acquired skill so essential to his employer's interests is not\nlikely to undervalue it or to be over anxious to simplify the labyrinth\nin which he shone as a competent guide.\n\nThe lawyers who played so important a part by their familiarity with the\nmysteries of commercial law and landed property, naturally enjoyed the\nrespect of their clients, and were rewarded by adoption into the class.\nThe English barrister aspired to success by himself taking part in\npolitics and legislation. The only path to the highest positions really\nopen to a man of ability, not connected by blood with the great\nfamilies, was the path which led to the woolsack or to the judge's\nbench. A great merchant might be the father or father-in-law of peers; a\nsuccessful soldier or sailor might himself become a peer, but generally\nhe began life as a member of the ruling classes, and his promotion was\naffected by parliamentary influence. But a successful lawyer might fight\nhis way from a humble position to the House of Lords. Thurlow, son of a\ncountry-gentleman; Dunning, son of a country attorney; Ellenborough, son\nof a bishop and descendant of a long line of North-country 'statesmen';\nKenyon, son of a farmer; Eldon, son of a Newcastle coal merchant,\nrepresent the average career of a successful barrister. Some of them\nrose to be men of political importance, and Thurlow and Eldon had the\nadvantage of keeping George III's conscience--an unruly faculty which\nhad an unfortunately strong influence upon affairs. The leaders of the\nlegal profession, therefore, and those who hoped to be leaders, shared\nthe prejudices, took a part in the struggles, and were rewarded by the\nhonours of the dominant class.\n\nThe criminal law became a main topic of reformers. There, as elsewhere,\nwe have a striking example of traditional modes of thought surviving\nwith singular persistence. The rough classification of crimes into\nfelony and misdemeanour, and the strange technical rules about 'benefit\nof clergy' dating back to the struggles of Henry II. and Becket,\nremained like ultimate categories of thought. When the growth of social\nconditions led to new temptations or the appearance of a new criminal\nclass, and particular varieties of crime became conspicuous, the only\nremedy was to declare that some offence should be 'felony without\nbenefit of clergy,' and therefore punishable by death. By unsystematic\nand spasmodic legislation the criminal law became so savage as to shock\nevery man of common humanity. It was tempered by the growth of technical\nrules, which gave many chances of escape to the criminal; and by\npractical revolt against its excesses, which led to the remission of the\ngreat majority of capital sentences.[10] The legislators were clumsy,\nnot intentionally cruel; and the laws, though sanguinary in reality,\nwere more sanguinary in theory than in practice. Nothing, on the other\nhand, is more conspicuous than the spirit of fair play to the criminal,\nwhich struck foreign observers.[11] It was deeply rooted in the whole\nsystem. The English judge was not an official agent of an inquisitorial\nsystem, but an impartial arbitrator between the prisoner and the\nprosecutor. In political cases especially a marked change was brought\nabout by the revolution of 1688. If our ancestors talked some nonsense\nabout trial by jury, the system certainly insured that the persons\naccused of libel or sedition should have a fair trial, and very often\nsomething more. Judges of the Jeffreys type had become inconceivable,\nthough impartiality might disappear in cases where the prejudices of\njuries were actively aroused. Englishmen might fairly boast of their\nimmunity from the arbitrary methods of continental rulers; and their\nunhesitating confidence in the fairness of the system became so\ningrained as to be taken as a matter of course, and scarcely received\ndue credit from later critics of the system.\n\nThe country-gentleman, again, was not only the legislator but a most\nimportant figure in the judicial and administrative system. As justice\nof the peace, he was the representative of law and order to his country\nneighbours. The preface of 1785 to the fifteenth edition of Burn's\n_Justice of the Peace_, published originally in 1755, mentions that in\nthe interval between these dates, some three hundred statutes had been\npassed affecting the duties of justices, while half as many had been\nrepealed or modified. The justice was of course, as a rule, a\nsuperficial lawyer, and had to be prompted by his clerk, the two\nrepresenting on a small scale the general relation between the lawyers\nand the ruling class. Burn tells the justice for his comfort that the\njudges will take a lenient view of any errors into which his ignorance\nmay have led him. The discharge of such duties by an independent\ngentleman was thought to be so desirable and so creditable to him that\nhis want of efficiency must be regarded with consideration. Nor, though\nthe justices have been a favourite butt for satirists, does it appear\nthat the system worked badly. When it became necessary to appoint paid\nmagistrates in London, and the pay, according to the prevalent system,\nwas provided by fees, the new officials became known as 'trading\njustices,' and their salaries, as Fielding tells us, were some of the\n'dirtiest money upon earth.' The justices might perhaps be hard upon a\npoacher (as, indeed, the game laws became one of the great scandals of\nthe system), or liable to be misled by a shrewd attorney; but they were\non the whole regarded as the natural and creditable representatives of\nlegal authority in the country.\n\nThe justices, again, discharged functions which would elsewhere belong\nto an administrative hierarchy, Gneist observes that the power of the\njustices of the peace represents the centre of gravity of the whole\nadministrative system.[12] Their duties had become so multifarious and\nperplexed that Burn could only arrange them under alphabetical heads.\nGneist works out a systematic account, filling many pages of elaborate\ndetail, and showing how large a part they played in the whole social\nstructure. An intense jealousy of central power was one correlative\ncharacteristic. Blackstone remarks in his more liberal humour that the\nnumber of new offices held at pleasure had greatly extended the\ninfluence of the crown. This refers to the custom-house officers, excise\nofficers, stamp distributors and postmasters. But if the tax-gatherer\nrepresented the state, he represented also part of the patronage at the\ndisposal of politicians. A voter was often in search of the place of a\n'tidewaiter'; and, as we know, the greatest poet of the day could only\nbe rewarded by making him an exciseman. Any extension of a system which\nmultiplied public offices was regarded with suspicion. Walpole, the\nstrongest minister of the century, had been forced to an ignominious\nretreat when he proposed to extend the excise. The cry arose that he\nmeant to enslave the country and extend the influence of the crown over\nall the corporations in England. The country-gentleman had little reason\nto fear that government would diminish his importance by tampering with\nhis functions. The justices of the peace were called upon to take a\ngreat and increasing share in the administration of the poor-law. They\nwere concerned in all manner of financial details; they regulated such\npolice as existed; they looked after the old laws by which the trades\nwere still restricted; and, in theory at least, could fix the rate of\nwages. Parliament did not override, but only gave the necessary sanction\nto their activity. If we looked through the journals of the House of\nCommons during the American War, for example, we should get the\nimpression that the whole business of the legislature was to arrange\nadministrative details. If a waste was to be enclosed, a canal or a\nhighroad to be constructed, there was no public department to be\nconsulted. The gentry of the neighbourhood joined to obtain a private\nact of parliament which gave the necessary powers to the persons\ninterested. No general enclosure act could be passed, though often\nsuggested. It would imply a central commission, which would only, as was\nsuggested, give rise to jobbery and take power out of the natural hands.\nParliament was omnipotent; it could regulate the affairs of the empire\nor of a parish; alter the most essential laws or act as a court of\njustice; settle the crown or arrange for a divorce or for the alteration\nof a private estate. But it objected to delegate authority even to a\nsubordinate body, which might tend to become independent. Thus, if it\nwas the central power and source of all legal authority, it might also\nbe regarded as a kind of federal league, representing the wills of a\nnumber of partially independent persons. The gentry could meet there and\nobtain the sanction of their allies for any measure required in their\nown little sphere of influence. But they had an instinctive aversion to\nthe formation of any organised body representing the state. The\nneighbourhood which wanted a road got powers to make it, and would\nconcur in giving powers to others. But if the state were to be intrusted\nto make roads, ministers would have more places to give, and roads\nmight be made which they did not want. The English roads had long been\ninfamous, but neither was money wasted, as in France, on roads where\nthere was no traffic.[13] Thus we have the combination of an absolute\ncentralisation of legislative power with an utter absence of\nadministrative centralisation. The units meeting in parliament formed a\nsupreme assembly; but they did not sink their own individuality. They\nonly met to distribute the various functions among themselves.\n\nThe English parish with its squire, its parson, its lawyer and its\nlabouring population was a miniature of the British Constitution in\ngeneral. The squire's eldest son could succeed to his position; a second\nson might become a general or an admiral; a third would take the family\nliving; a fourth, perhaps, seek his fortune at the bar. This implies a\nconception of other political conditions which curiously illustrate some\ncontemporary conceptions.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[8] See _Dictionary of National Biography_.\n\n[9] _The Law of the Constitution_, p. 209.\n\n[10] See Sir J. F. Stephen's _History of the Criminal Law_ (1883), i.\n470. He quotes Blackstone's famous statement that there were 160\nfelonies without benefit of clergy, and shows that this gives a very\nuncertain measure of the severity of the law. A single act making\nlarceny in general punishable by death would be more severe than fifty\nseparate acts, making fifty different varieties of larceny punishable by\ndeath. He adds, however, that the scheme of punishment was 'severe to\nthe highest degree, and destitute of every sort of principle or system.'\nThe number of executions in the early part of this century varied\napparently from a fifth to a ninth of the capital sentences passed. See\nTable in Porter's _Progress of the Nation_ (1851), p. 635.\n\n[11] See the references to Cottu's report of 1822 in Stephen's\n_History_, i. 429, 439, 451. Cottu's book was translated by Blanco\nWhite.\n\n[12] Gneist's _Self-Government_ (1871), p. 194. It is characteristic\nthat J. S. Mill, in his _Representative Government_, remarks that the\n'Quarter Sessions' are formed in the 'most anomalous' way; that they\nrepresent the old feudal principle, and are at variance with the\nfundamental principles of representative government (_Rep. Gov._ (1867),\np. 113). The mainspring of the old system had become a simple anomaly to\nthe new radicalism.\n\n[13] See Arthur Young, _passim_. There was, however, an improvement even\nin the first half of the century. See Cunningham's _Growth of English\nIndustry, etc. (Modern Times)_, p. 378.\n\n\nIV. THE ARMY AND NAVY\n\nWe are often amused by the persistency of the cry against a 'standing\narmy' in England. It did not fairly die out until the revolutionary\nwars. Blackstone regards it as a singularly fortunate circumstance 'that\nany branch of the legislature might annually put an end to the legal\nexistence of the army by refusing to concur in the continuance' of the\nmutiny act. A standing army was obviously necessary; but by making\nbelieve very hard, we could shut our eyes to the facts, and pretend\nthat it was a merely temporary arrangement.[14] The doctrine had once\nhad a very intelligible meaning. If James II. had possessed a\ndisciplined army of the continental pattern, with Marlborough at its\nhead, Marlborough would hardly have been converted by the prince of\nOrange. But loyal as the gentry had been at the restoration, they had\ntaken very good care that the Stuarts should not have in their hand such\na weapon as had been possessed by Cromwell. When the Puritan army was\ndisbanded, they had proceeded to regulate the militia. The officers were\nappointed by the lords-lieutenants of counties, and had to possess a\nproperty qualification; the men raised by ballot in their own districts;\nand their numbers and length of training regulated by Act of Parliament.\nThe old 'train-bands' were suppressed, except in the city of London, and\nthus the recognised military force of the country was a body essentially\ndependent upon the country gentry. The militia was regarded with favour\nas the 'old constitutional force' which could not be used to threaten\nour liberties. It was remodelled during the Seven Years' War and\nembodied during that and all our later wars. It was, however,\nineffective by its very nature. An aristocracy which chose to carry on\nwars must have a professional army in fact, however careful it might be\nto pretend that it was a provision for a passing necessity. The pretence\nhad serious consequences. Since the army was not to have interests\nseparate from the people, there was no reason for building barracks. The\nmen might be billeted on publicans, or placed under canvas, while they\nwere wanted. When the great war came upon us, large sums had to be spent\nto make up for the previous neglect. Fox, on 22nd February 1793,\nprotested during a lively debate upon this subject that sound\nconstitutional principles condemned barracks, because to mix the army\nwith the people was the 'best security against the danger of a standing\narmy.'[15]\n\nIn fact a large part of the army was a mere temporary force. In 1762,\ntowards the end of the Seven Years' War, we had about 100,000 men in\npay; and after the peace, the force was reduced to under 20,000. Similar\nchanges took place in every war. The ruling class took advantage of the\nposition. An army might be hired from Germany for the occasion. New\nregiments were generally raised by some great man who gave commissions\nto his own relations and dependants. When the Pretender was in Scotland,\nfor example, fifteen regiments were raised by patriotic nobles, who gave\nthe commissions, and stipulated that although they were to be employed\nonly in suppressing the rising, the officers should have permanent\nrank.[16] So, as was shown in Mrs. Clarke's case, a patent for raising a\nregiment might be a source of profit to the undertaker, who again might\nget it by bribing the mistress of a royal duke. The officers had,\naccording to the generally prevalent system, a modified property in\ntheir commissions; and the system of sale was not abolished till our own\ndays. We may therefore say that the ruling class, on the one hand,\nobjected to a standing army, and, on the other, since such an army was\na necessity, farmed it from the country and were admitted to have a\ncertain degree of private property in the concern. The prejudice against\nany permanent establishment made it necessary to fill the ranks on\noccasion by all manner of questionable expedients. Bounties were offered\nto attract the vagrants who hung loose upon society. Smugglers,\npoachers, and the like were allowed to choose between military service\nand transportation. The general effect was to provide an army of\nblackguards commanded by gentlemen. The army no doubt had its merits as\nwell as its defects. The continental armies which it met were collected\nby equally demoralising methods until the French revolution led to a\nsystematic conscription. The bad side is suggested by Napier's famous\nphrase, the 'cold shade of our aristocracy'; while Napier gives facts\nenough to prove both the brutality too often shown by the private\nsoldier and the dogged courage which is taken to be characteristic even\nof the English blackguard. By others,--by such men as the duke of\nWellington and Lord Palmerston, for example, types of the true\naristocrat--the system was defended[17] as bringing men of good family\ninto the army and so providing it, as the duke thought, with the best\nset of officers in Europe. No doubt they and the royal dukes who\ncommanded them were apt to be grossly ignorant of their business; but it\nmay be admitted by a historian that they often showed the qualities of\nwhich Wellington was himself a type. The English officer was a gentleman\nbefore he was a soldier, and considered the military virtues to be a\npart of his natural endowment. But it was undoubtedly a part of his\ntraditional code of honour to do his duty manfully and to do it rather\nas a manifestation of his own spirit than from any desire for rewards or\ndecorations. The same quality is represented more strikingly by the\nnavy. The English admiral represents the most attractive and stirring\ntype of heroism in our history. Nelson and the 'band of brothers' who\nserved with him, the simple and high-minded sailors who summed up the\nwhole duty of man in doing their best to crush the enemies of their\ncountry, are among the finest examples of single-souled devotion to the\ncalls of patriotism. The navy, indeed, had its ugly side no less than\nthe army. There was corruption at Greenwich[18] and in the dockyards,\nand parliamentary intrigue was a road to professional success. Voltaire\nnotes the queer contrast between the English boast of personal liberty\nand the practice of filling up the crews by pressgangs. The discipline\nwas often barbarous, and the wrongs of the common sailor found\nsufficient expression in the mutiny at the Nore. A grievance, however,\nwhich pressed upon a single class was maintained from the necessity of\nthe case and the inertness of the administrative system. The navy did\nnot excite the same jealousy as the army; and the officers were more\nprofessionally skilful than their brethren. The national qualities come\nout, often in their highest form, in the race of great seamen upon whom\nthe security of the island power essentially depended.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[14] See _Military Forces of the Crown_, by Charles M. Clode (1869), for\na full account of the facts.\n\n[15] _Parl. Hist._ xxx. 490. Clode states (i. 222) that L9,000,000 was\nspent upon barracks by 1804, and, it seems, without proper authority.\n\n[16] Debate in _Parl. Hist._ xiii. 1382, etc., and see Walpole's\n_Correspondence_, i. 400, for some characteristic comments.\n\n[17] Clode, ii. 86.\n\n[18] See the famous case in 1778 in which Erskine made his first\nappearance, in _State Trials_, xxi. Lord St. Vincent's struggle against\nthe corruption of his time is described by Prof. Laughton in the\n_Dictionary of National Biography_, (_s.v._ Sir John Jervis). In 1801\nhalf a million a year was stolen, besides all the waste due to\ncorruption and general muddling.\n\n\nV. THE CHURCH\n\nI turn, however, to the profession which was more directly connected\nwith the intellectual development of the country. The nature of the\nchurch establishment gives the most obvious illustration of the\nconnection between the intellectual position on the one hand and the\nsocial and political order on the other, though I do not presume to\ndecide how far either should be regarded as effect and the other as\ncause.\n\nWhat is the church of England? Some people apparently believe that it is\na body possessing and transmitting certain supernatural powers. This\nview was in abeyance for the time for excellent reasons, and, true or\nfalse, is no answer to the constitutional question. It does not enable\nus to define what was the actual body with which lawyers and politicians\nhave to deal. The best answer to such questions in ordinary case would\nbe given by describing the organisation of the body concerned. We could\nthen say what is the authority which speaks in its name; and what is the\nlegislature which makes its laws, alters its arrangements, and defines\nthe terms of membership. The supreme legislature of the church of\nEngland might appear to be parliament. It is the Act of Uniformity which\ndefines the profession of belief exacted from the clergy; and no\nalteration could be made in regard to the rights and duties of the\nclergy except by parliamentary authority. The church might therefore be\nregarded as simply the religious department of the state. Since 1688,\nhowever, the theory and the practice of toleration had introduced\ndifficulties. Nonconformity was not by itself punishable though it\nexposed a man to certain disqualifications. The state, therefore,\nrecognised that many of its members might legally belong to other\nchurches, although it had, as Warburton argued, formed an 'alliance'\nwith the dominant church. The spirit of toleration was spreading\nthroughout the century. The old penal laws, due to the struggles of the\nseventeenth century, were becoming obsolete in practice and were\ngradually being repealed. The Gordon riots of 1780 showed that a\nfanatical spirit might still be aroused in a mob which wanted an excuse\nfor plunder; but the laws were not explicitly defended by reasonable\npersons and were being gradually removed by legislation towards the end\nof the century. Although, therefore, parliament was kept free from\npapists, it could hardly regard church and state as identical, or\nconsider itself as entitled to act as the representative body of the\nchurch. No other body, indeed, could change the laws of the church; but\nparliament recognised its own incompetence to deal with them. Towards\nthe end of the century, various attempts were made to relax the terms of\nsubscription. It was proposed, for example, to substitute a profession\nof belief in the Bible for a subscription to the Thirty-Nine Articles.\nBut the House of Commons sensibly refused to expose itself by venturing\nupon any theological innovations. A body more ludicrously incompetent\ncould hardly have been invented.\n\nHence we must say that the church had either no supreme body which could\nspeak in its name and modify its creed, its ritual, its discipline, or\nthe details of its organisation; or else, that the only body which had\nin theory a right to interfere was doomed, by sufficient considerations,\nto absolute inaction. The church, from a secular point of view, was not\nso much a department of the state as an aggregate of offices, the\nfunctions of which were prescribed by unalterable tradition. It\nconsisted of a number of bishops, deans and chapters, rectors, vicars,\ncurates, and so forth, many of whom had certain proprietary rights in\ntheir position, and who were bound by law to discharge certain\nfunctions. But the church, considered as a whole, could hardly be called\nan organism at all, or, if an organism, it was an organism with its\ncentral organ in a permanent state of paralysis. The church, again, in\nthis state was essentially dependent upon the ruling classes. A glance\nat the position of the clergy shows their professional position. At\ntheir head were the bishops, some of them enjoying princely revenues,\nwhile others were so poor as to require that their incomes should be\neked out by deaneries or livings held _in commendam_. The great sees,\nsuch as Canterbury, Durham, Ely, and Winchester, were valued at between,\nL20,000 and L30,000 a year; while the smaller, Llandaff, Bangor,\nBristol, and Gloucester, were worth less than L2000. The bishops had\npatronage which enabled them to provide for relatives or for deserving\nclergymen. The average incomes of the parochial clergy, meanwhile, were\nsmall. In 1809 they were calculated to be worth L255, while nearly four\nthousand livings were worth under L150; and there were four or five\nthousand curates with very small pay. The profession, therefore, offered\na great many blanks with a few enormous prizes. How were those prizes\ngenerally obtained? When the reformers published the _Black Book_ in\n1820, they gave a list of the bishops holding sees in the last year of\nGeorge III.; and, as most of these gentlemen were on their promotion at\nthe end of the previous century. I give the list in a note.[19]\n\nThere were twenty-seven bishoprics including Sodor and Man. Of these\neleven were held by members of noble families; fourteen were held by men\nwho had been tutors in, or in other ways personally connected with the\nroyal family or the families of ministers and great men; and of the\nremaining two, one rested his claim upon political writing in defence of\nPitt, while the other seems to have had the support of a great city\ncompany. The system of translation enabled the government to keep a hand\nupon the bishops. Their elevation to the more valuable places or leave\nto hold subsidiary preferments depended upon their votes in the House of\nLords. So far, then, as secular motives operated, the tendency of the\nsystem was clear. If Providence had assigned to you a duke for a father\nor an uncle, preferment would fall to you as of right. A man of rank who\ntakes orders should be rewarded for his condescension. If that\nqualification be not secured, you should aim at being tutor in a great\nfamily, accompany a lad on the grand tour, or write some pamphlet on a\ngreat man's behalf. Paley gained credit for independence at Cambridge,\nand spoke with contempt of the practice of 'rooting,' the cant phrase\nfor patronage hunting. The text which he facetiously suggested for a\nsermon when Pitt visited Cambridge, 'There is a young man here who has\nsix loaves and two fishes, but what are they among so many?' hit off the\nspirit in which a minister was regarded at the universities. The memoirs\nof Bishop Watson illustrate the same sentiment. He lived in his pleasant\ncountry house at Windermere, never visiting his diocese, and according\nto De Quincey, talking Socinianism at his table. He felt himself to be a\ndeeply injured man, because ministers had never found an opportunity\nfor translating him to a richer diocese, although he had written\nagainst Paine and Gibbon. If they would not reward their friends, he\nargued, why should he take up their cause by defending Christianity?\n\nThe bishops were eminently respectable. They did not lead immoral lives,\nand if they gave a large share of preferment to their families, that at\nleast was a domestic virtue. Some of them, Bishop Barrington of Durham,\nfor example, took a lead in philanthropic movements; and, if considered\nsimply as prosperous country-gentlemen, little fault could be found with\nthem. While, however, every commonplace motive pointed so directly\ntowards a career of subserviency to the ruling class among the laity, it\ncould not be expected that they should take a lofty view of their\nprofession. The Anglican clergy were not like the Irish priesthood, in\nclose sympathy with the peasantry, or like the Scottish ministers, the\norgans of strong convictions spreading through the great mass of the\nmiddle and lower classes. A man of energy, who took his faith seriously,\nwas, like the Evangelical clergy, out of the road to preferment, or,\nlike Wesley, might find no room within the church at all. His colleagues\ncalled him an 'enthusiast,' and disliked him as a busybody if not a\nfanatic. They were by birth and adoption themselves members of the\nruling class; many of them were the younger sons of squires, and held\ntheir livings in virtue of their birth. Advowsons are the last offices\nto retain a proprietary character. The church of that day owed such a\nrepresentative as Horne Tooke to the system which enabled his father to\nprovide for him by buying a living. From the highest to the lowest ranks\nof clergy, the church was as Matthew Arnold could still call it, an\n'appendage of the barbarians.' The clergy, that is, as a whole, were an\nintegral but a subsidiary part of the aristocracy or the great landed\ninterest. Their admirers urged that the system planted a cultivated\ngentleman in every parish in the country. Their opponents replied, like\nJohn Sterling, that he was a 'black dragoon with horse meat and man's\nmeat'--part of the garrison distributed through the country to support\nthe cause of property and order. In any case the instinctive\nprepossessions, the tastes and favourite pursuits of the profession were\nessentially those of the class with which it was so intimately\nconnected. Arthur Young,[20] speaking of the French clergy, observes\nthat at least they are not poachers and foxhunters, who divide their\ntime between hunting, drinking, and preaching. You do not in France find\nsuch advertisements as he had heard of in England, 'Wanted a curacy in a\ngood sporting country, where the duty is light and the neighbourhood\nconvivial.' The proper exercise for a country clergyman, he rather\nquaintly observes, is agriculture. The ideal parson, that is, should be\na squire in canonical dress. The clergy of the eighteenth century\nprobably varied between the extremes represented by Trulliber and the\nVicar of Wakefield. Many of them were excellent people, with a mild\ntaste for literature, contributing to the _Gentleman's Magazine_,\ninvestigating the antiquities of their county, occasionally confuting a\ndeist, exerting a sound judgment in cultivating their glebes or\nimproving the breed of cattle, and respected both by squire and farmers.\nThe 'Squarson,' in Sydney Smith's facetious phrase, was the ideal\nclergyman. The purely sacerdotal qualities, good or bad, were at a\nminimum. Crabbe, himself a type of the class, has left admirable\nportraits of his fellows. Profound veneration for his noble patrons and\nhearty dislike for intrusive dissenters were combined in his own case\nwith a pure domestic life, a keen insight into the uglier realities of\ncountry life and a good sound working morality. Miss Austen, who said\nthat she could have been Crabbe's wife, has given more delicate pictures\nof the clergyman as he appeared at the tea-tables of the time. He varies\naccording to her from the squire's excellent younger brother, who is\nsimply a squire in a white neck-cloth, to the silly but still\nrespectable sycophant, who firmly believes his lady patroness to be a\nkind of local deity. Many of the real memoirs of the day give pleasant\nexamples of the quiet and amiable lives of the less ambitious clergy.\nThere is the charming Gilbert White (1720-1793) placidly studying the\nways of tortoises, and unconsciously composing a book which breathes an\nundying charm from its atmosphere of peaceful repose; William Gilpin\n(1724-1804) founding and endowing parish schools, teaching the\ncatechism, and describing his vacation tours in narratives which helped\nto spread a love of natural scenery; and Thomas Gisborne (1758-1846),\nsquire and clergyman, a famous preacher among the evangelicals and a\npoet after the fashion of Cowper, who loved his native Needwood Forest\nas White loved Selborne and Gilpin loved the woods of Boldre; and Cowper\nhimself (1731-1800) who, though not a clergyman, lived in a clerical\natmosphere, and whose gentle and playful enjoyment of quiet country life\nrelieves the painfully deep pathos of his disordered imagination; and\nthe excellent W. L. Bowles (1762-1850), whose sonnets first woke\nColeridge's imagination, who spent eighty-eight years in an amiable and\nblameless life, and was country-gentleman, magistrate, antiquary,\nclergyman, and poet.[21] Such names are enough to recall a type which\nhas not quite vanished, and which has gathered a new charm in more\nstirring and fretful times. These most excellent people, however, were\nnot likely to be prominent in movements destined to break up the placid\nenvironment of their lives nor, in truth, to be sources of any great\nintellectual stir.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[19] The list, checked from other sources of information, is as\nfollows:--Manners Sutton, archbishop of Canterbury, was grandson of the\nthird duke of Rutland; Edward Vernon, archbishop of York, was son of the\nfirst Lord Vernon and cousin of the third Lord Harcourt, whose estates\nhe inherited; Shute Barrington, bishop of Durham, was son of the first\nand brother of the second Viscount Barrington; Brownlow North, bishop of\nWinchester, was uncle to the earl of Guildford; James Cornwallis, bishop\nof Lichfield, was uncle to the second marquis, whose peerage he\ninherited; George Pelham, bishop of Exeter, was brother of the earl of\nChichester; Henry Bathurst, bishop of Norwich, was nephew of the first\nearl; George Henry Law, bishop of Chester, was brother of the first Lord\nEllenborough; Edward Legge, bishop of Oxford, was son of the second earl\nof Dartmouth; Henry Ryder, bishop of Gloucester, was brother to the earl\nof Harrowby; George Murray, bishop of Sodor and Man, was nephew-in-law\nto the duke of Athol and brother-in-law to the earl of Kinnoul. Of the\nfourteen tutors, etc., mentioned above, William Howley, bishop of\nLondon, had been tutor to the prince of Orange at Oxford; George\nPretyman Tomline, bishop of Lincoln, had been Pitt's tutor at Cambridge;\nRichard Beadon, bishop of Bath and Wells, had been tutor to the duke of\nGloucester at Cambridge; Folliott Cornewall, bishop of Worcester, had\nbeen made chaplain to the House of Commons by the influence of his\ncousin, the Speaker; John Buckner, bishop of Chichester, had been tutor\nto the duke of Richmond; Henry William Majendie, bishop of Bangor, was\nthe son of Queen Charlotte's English master, and had been tutor to\nWilliam IV.; George Isaac Huntingford, bishop of Hereford, had been\ntutor to Addington, prime minister; Thomas Burgess, bishop of St.\nDavid's, was a personal friend of Addington; John Fisher, bishop of\nSalisbury, had been tutor to the duke of Kent; John Luxmoore, bishop of\nSt. Asaph, had been tutor to the duke of Buccleugh; Samuel Goodenough,\nbishop of Carlisle, had been tutor to the sons of the third duke of\nPortland and was connected with Addington; William Lort Mansel, bishop\nof Bristol, had been tutor to Perceval at Cambridge, and owed to\nPerceval the mastership of Trinity; Walter King, bishop of Rochester,\nhad been secretary to the duke of Portland; and Bowyer Edward Sparke,\nbishop of Ely, had been tutor to the duke of Rutland. The two remaining\nbishops were Herbert Marsh, bishop of Peterborough, who had established\na claim by defending Pitt's financial measures in an important pamphlet;\nand William Van Mildert, bishop of Llandaff, who had been chaplain to\nthe Grocers' Company and became known as a preacher in London.\n\n[20] _Travels in France_ (1892), p. 327.\n\n[21] See _A Country Clergyman of the Eighteenth Century_ (Thomas\nTwining), 1882, for a pleasant picture of the class.\n\n\nVI. THE UNIVERSITIES\n\nThe effect of these conditions is perhaps best marked in the state of\nthe universities. Universities have at different periods been great\ncentres of intellectual life. The English universities of the eighteenth\ncentury are generally noted only as embodiments of sloth and prejudice.\nThe judgments of Wesley and Gibbon and Adam Smith and Bentham coincide\nin regard to Oxford; and Johnson's love of his university is an\nequivocal testimony to its intellectual merits. We generally think of it\nas of a sleepy hollow, in which portly fellows of colleges, like the\nconvivial Warton, imbibed port wine and sneered at Methodists, though\nfew indeed rivalled Warton's services to literature. The universities in\nfact had become, as they long continued to be, high schools chiefly for\nthe use of the clergy, and if they still aimed at some wider\nintellectual training, were sinking to be institutions where the pupils\nof the public schools might, if they pleased, put a little extra polish\nupon their classical and mathematical knowledge. The colleges preserved\ntheir mediaeval constitution; and no serious changes of their statutes\nwere made until the middle of the present century. The clergy had an\nalmost exclusive part in the management, and dissenters were excluded\neven from entering Oxford as students.[22] But the clergyman did not as\na rule devote himself to a life of study. He could not marry as a\nfellow, but he made no vows of celibacy. The college, therefore, was\nmerely a stepping-stone on the way to the usual course of preferment. A\nfellow looked forwards to settling in a college living, or if he had the\nluck to act as tutor to a nobleman, he might soar to a deanery or a\nbishopric. The fellows who stayed in their colleges were probably those\nwho had least ambition, or who had a taste for an easy bachelor's life.\nThe universities, therefore, did not form bodies of learned men\ninterested in intellectual pursuits; but at most, helped such men in\ntheir start upon a more prosperous career. The studies flagged in\nsympathy. Gray's letters sufficiently reveal the dulness which was felt\nby a man of cultivation confined within the narrow society of college\ndons of the day. The scholastic philosophy which had once found\nenthusiastic cultivators in the great universities had more or less held\nits own through the seventeenth century, though repudiated by all the\nrising thinkers. Since the days of Locke and Berkeley, it had fallen\nutterly out of credit. The bright common sense of the polished society\nof the day looked upon the old doctrine with a contempt, which, if not\njustified by familiarity, was an implicit judgment of the tree by its\nfruits. Nobody could suppose the divines of the day to be the\ndepositaries of an esoteric wisdom which the vulgar were not worthy to\ncriticise. They were themselves chiefly anxious to prove that their\nsacred mysteries were really not at all mysterious, but merely one way\nof expressing plain common sense. At Oxford, indeed, the lads were still\ncrammed with Aldrich, and learned the technical terms of a philosophy\nwhich had ceased to have any real life in it. At Cambridge, ardent young\nradicals spoke with contempt of this 'horrid jargon--fit only to be\nchattered by monkies in a wilderness.'[23] Even at Cambridge, they still\nhad disputations on the old form, but they argued theses from Locke's\nessay, and thought that their mathematical studies were a check upon\nmetaphysical 'jargon.' It is indeed characteristic of the respect for\ntradition that at Cambridge even mathematics long suffered from a\nmistaken patriotism which resented any improvement upon the methods of\nNewton. There were some signs of reviving activity. The fellowships were\nbeing distributed with less regard to private interest. The mathematical\ntripos founded at Cambridge in the middle of the century became the\nprototype of all competitive examinations; and half a century later\nOxford followed the precedent by the Examination Statute of 1800. A\ncertain number of professorships of such modern studies as anatomy,\nhistory, botany, and geology were founded during the eighteenth century,\nand show a certain sense of a need of broader views. The lectures upon\nwhich Blackstone founded his commentaries were the product of the\nfoundation of the Vinerian professorship in 1751; and the most recent of\nthe Cambridge colleges, Downing College, shows by its constitution that\na professoriate was now considered to be desirable. Cambridge in the\nlast years of the century might have had a body of very eminent\nprofessors. Watson, second wrangler of 1759, had delivered lectures upon\nchemistry, of which it was said by Davy that hardly any conceivable\nchange in the science could make them obsolete.[24] Paley, senior\nwrangler in 1763, was an almost unrivalled master of lucid exposition,\nand one of his works is still a textbook at Cambridge. Isaac Milner,\nsenior wrangler in 1774, afterwards held the professorships of\nmathematics and natural philosophy, and was famous as a sort of\necclesiastical Dr. Johnson. Gilbert Wakefield, second wrangler in 1776,\npublished an edition of Lucretius, and was a man of great ability and\nenergy. Herbert Marsh, second wrangler in 1779, was divinity professor\nfrom 1807, and was the first English writer to introduce some knowledge\nof the early stages of German criticism. Porson, the greatest Greek\nscholar of his time, became professor in 1790; Malthus, ninth wrangler\nin 1788, who was to make a permanent mark upon political economy, became\nfellow of Jesus College in 1793. Waring, senior wrangler in 1757, Vince,\nsenior wrangler in 1775, and Wollaston, senior wrangler in 1783, were\nalso professors and mathematicians of reputation. Towards the end of the\ncentury ten professors were lecturing.[25] A large number were not\nlecturing, though Milner was good enough to be 'accessible to\nstudents.' Paley and Watson had been led off into the path of\necclesiastical preferment. Marsh too became a bishop in 1816. There was\nno place for such talents as those of Malthus, who ultimately became\nprofessor at Haileybury. Wakefield had the misfortune of not being able\nto cover his heterodoxy with the conventional formula. Porson suffered\nfrom the same cause, and from less respectable weaknesses; but it seems\nthat the university had no demand for services of the great scholar, and\nhe did nothing for his L40 a year. Milner was occupied in managing the\nuniversity in the interests of Pitt and Protestantism, and in waging war\nagainst Jacobins and intruders. There was no lack of ability; but there\nwas no inducement to any intellectual activity for its own sake; and\nthere were abundant temptations for any man of energy to diverge to the\ncareer which offered more intelligible rewards.\n\nThe universities in fact supplied the demand which was actually\noperative. They provided the average clergyman with a degree; they\nexpected the son of the country-gentleman or successful lawyer to\nacquire the traditional culture of his class, and to spend three or four\nyears pleasantly, or even, if he chose, industriously. But there was no\nsuch thing as a learned society, interested in the cultivation of\nknowledge for its own sake, and applauding the devotion of life to its\nextension or discussion. The men of the time who contributed to the\nprogress of science owed little or nothing to the universities, and were\nrather volunteers from without, impelled by their own idiosyncrasies.\nAmong the scientific leaders, for example, Joseph Black (1728-1799) was\na Scottish professor; Priestley (1733-1804) a dissenting minister;\nCavendish (1731-1810) an aristocratic recluse, who, though he studied at\nCambridge, never graduated; Watt (1736-1819) a practical mechanician;\nand Dalton (1766-1844) a Quaker schoolmaster. John Hunter (1728-1793)\nwas one of the energetic Scots who forced their way to fame without help\nfrom English universities. The cultivation of the natural sciences was\nonly beginning to take root; and the soil, which it found congenial, was\nnot that of the great learned institutions, which held to their old\ntraditional studies.\n\nI may, then, sum up the result in a few words. The church had once\nclaimed to be an entirely independent body, possessing a supernatural\nauthority, with an organisation sanctioned by supernatural powers, and\nentitled to lay down the doctrines which gave the final theory of life.\nTheology was the queen of the sciences and theologians the interpreters\nof the first principles of all knowledge and conduct. The church of\nEngland, on the other hand, at our period had entirely ceased to be\nindependent: it was bound hand and foot by acts of parliament: there was\nno ecclesiastical organ capable of speaking in its name, altering its\nlaws or defining its tenets: it was an aggregate of offices the\nappointment to which was in the hands either of the political ministers\nor of the lay members of the ruling class. It was in reality simply a\npart of the ruling class told off to perform divine services: to\nmaintain order and respectability and the traditional morality. It had\nno distinctive philosophy or theology, for the articles of belief\nrepresented simply a compromise; an attempt to retain as much of the old\nas was practicable and yet to admit as much of the new as was made\ndesirable by political considerations. It was the boast of its more\nliberal members that they were not tied down to any definite dogmatic\nsystem; but could have a free hand so long as they did not wantonly come\ninto conflict with some of the legal formulae laid down in a previous\ngeneration. The actual teaching showed the effects of the system. It had\nbeen easy to introduce a considerable leaven of the rationalism which\nsuited the lay mind; to explain away the mysterious doctrines upon which\nan independent church had insisted as manifestations of its spiritual\nprivileges, but which were regarded with indifference or contempt by the\neducated laity now become independent. The priest had been disarmed and\nhad to suit his teaching to the taste of his patrons and congregations.\nThe divines of the eighteenth century had, as they boasted, confuted the\ndeists; but it was mainly by showing that they could be deists in all\nbut the name. The dissenters, less hampered by legal formulae, had\ndrifted towards Unitarianism. The position of such divines as Paley,\nWatson, and Hey was not so much that the Unitarians were wrong, as that\nthe mysterious doctrines were mere sets of words, over which it was\nsuperfluous to quarrel. The doctrine was essentially traditional; for it\nwas impossible to represent the doctrines of the church of England as\ndeductions from any abstract philosophy. But the traditions were not\nregarded as having any mysterious authority. Abstract philosophy might\nlead to deism or infidelity. Paley and his like rejected such philosophy\nin the spirit of Locke or even Hume. But it was always possible to treat\na tradition like any other statement of fact. It could be proved by\nappropriate evidence. The truth of Christianity was therefore merely a\nquestion of facts like the truth of any other passages of history. It\nwas easy enough to make out a case for the Christian miracles, and then\nthe mysteries, after it had been sufficiently explained that they really\nmeant next to nothing, could be rested upon the authority of the\nmiracles. In other words, the accepted doctrines, like the whole\nconstitution of the church, could be so modified as to suit the\nprejudices and modes of thought of the laity. The church, it may be\nsaid, was thoroughly secularised. The priest was no longer a wielder of\nthreats and an interpreter of oracles, but an entirely respectable\ngentleman, who fully sympathised with the prejudices of his patron and\npractically admitted that he had very little to reveal, beyond\nexplaining that his dogmas were perfectly harmless and eminently\nconvenient. He preached, however, a sound common sense morality, and was\nnot divided from his neighbours by setting up the claims characteristic\nof a sacerdotal caste. Whether he has become on the whole better or\nworse by subsequent changes is a question not to be asked here; but\nperhaps not quite so easily answered as is sometimes supposed.\n\nThe condition of the English church and universities may be contrasted\nwith that of their Scottish rivals. The Scottish church and universities\nhad no great prizes to offer and no elaborate hierarchy. But the church\nwas a national institution in a sense different from the English. The\nGeneral Assembly was a powerful body, not overshadowed by a great\npolitical rival. To rise to be a minister was the great ambition of poor\nsons of farmers and tradesmen. They had to study at the universities in\nthe intervals, perhaps, of agricultural labour; and if the learning was\nslight and the scholarship below the English standard, the young\naspirant had at least to learn to preach and to acquire such philosophy\nas would enable him to argue upon grace and freewill with some\nhard-headed Davie Deans. It was doubtless owing in part to these\nconditions that the Scottish universities produced many distinguished\nteachers throughout the century. Professors had to teach something which\nmight at least pass for philosophy, though they were more or less\nrestrained by the necessity of respecting orthodox prejudices. At the\nend of the century, the only schools of philosophy in the island were to\nbe found in Scotland, where Reid (1710-1796) and Adam Smith (1723-1790)\nhad found intelligent disciples, and where Dugald Stewart, of whom I\nshall speak presently, had become the recognised philosophical\nauthority.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[22] At Cambridge subscription was abolished for undergraduates in 1775;\nand bachelors of arts had only to declare themselves '_bona-fide_\nmembers of the church of England.'\n\n[23] Gilbert Wakefield's _Memoirs_, ii. 149.\n\n[24] De Quincey, _Works_ (1863), ii. 106.\n\n[25] Wordsworth's _University Life, etc._ (1874), 83-87.\n\n\nVII. THEORY\n\nWhat theory corresponds to this practical order? It implies, in the\nfirst place, a constant reference to tradition. The system has grown up\nwithout any reference to abstract principles or symmetrical plan. The\nlegal order supposes a traditional common law, as the ecclesiastical\norder a traditional creed, and the organisation is explicable only by\nhistorical causes. The system represents a series of compromises, not\nthe elaboration of a theory. If the squire undertook by way of\nsupererogation to justify his position he appealed to tradition and\nexperience. He invoked the 'wisdom of our ancestors,' the system of\n'checks and balances' which made our Constitution an unrivalled mixture\nof monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy deserving the 'dread and envy\nof the world.' The prescription for compounding that mixture could\nobviously be learned by nothing but experiment. Traditional means\nempirical. By instinct, rather than conscious reasoning, Englishmen had\nfelt their way to establishing the 'palladia of our liberties': trial by\njury, the 'Habeas Corpus' Act, and the substitution of a militia for a\nstanding army. The institutions were cherished because they had been\ndeveloped by long struggles and were often cherished when their real\njustification had disappeared. The Constitution had not been 'made' but\nhad 'grown'; or, in other words, the one rule had been the rule of\nthumb. That is an excellent rule in its way, and very superior to an\nabstract rule which neglects or overrides experience. The 'logic of\nfacts,' moreover, may be trusted to produce a certain harmony: and\ngeneral principles, though not consciously invoked, tacitly govern the\ndevelopment of institutions worked out under uniform conditions. The\nsimple reluctance to pay money without getting money's worth might\ngenerate the important principle that representation should go with\ntaxation, without embodying any theory of a 'social contract' such as\nwas offered by an afterthought to give a philosophical sanction.\nEnglishmen, it is said, had bought their liberties step by step, because\nat each step they were in a position to bargain with their rulers. What\nthey had bought they were determined to keep and considered to be their\ninalienable property. One result is conspicuous. In England the ruling\nclasses did not so much consider their privileges to be something\ngranted by the state, as the power of the state to be something derived\nfrom their concessions. Though the lord-lieutenant and the justices of\nthe peace were nominated by the crown, their authority came in fact as\nan almost spontaneous consequence of their birthright or their acquired\nposition in the country. They shone by their own light and were really\nthe ultimate sources of authority. Seats in parliament, preferments in\nthe church, commissions in the army belonged to them like their estates;\nand they seemed to be qualified by nature, rather than by appointment,\nto act in judicial and administrative capacities. The system of\n'self-government' embodies this view. The functions of government were\nassigned to men already powerful by their social position. The absence\nof the centralised hierarchy of officials gave to Englishmen the sense\nof personal liberty which compelled the admiration of Voltaire and his\ncountrymen in the eighteenth century. In England were no _lettres de\ncachet_, and no Bastille. A man could say what he thought and act\nwithout fear of arbitrary rule. There was no such system as that which,\nin France, puts the agents of the central power above the ordinary law\nof the land. This implies what has been called the 'rule of the law' in\nEngland. 'With us every official from the prime minister down to a\nconstable or a collector of taxes' (as Professor Dicey explains the\nprinciple) 'is under the same responsibility for every act done without\nlegal justification as any other citizen.'[26] The early centralisation\nof the English monarchy had made the law supreme, and instead of\ngenerating a new structure had combined and regulated the existing\nsocial forces. The sovereign power was thus farmed to the aristocracy\ninstead of forming an organ of its own. Instead of resigning power they\nwere forced to exercise it on condition of thorough responsibility to\nthe central judiciary. Their privileges were not destroyed but were\ncombined with the discharge of corresponding duties. Whatever their\nshortcomings, they were preserved from the decay which is the inevitable\nconsequence of a divorce of duties from privileges.\n\nAnother aspect of the case is equally clear. If the privilege is\nassociated with a duty, the duty may also be regarded as a privilege.\nThe doctrine seems to mark a natural stage in the evolution of the\nconception of duty to the state. The power which is left to a member of\nthe ruling class is also part of his dignity. Thus we have an\namalgamation between the conceptions of private property and public\ntrust. 'In so far as the ideal of feudalism is perfectly realised,' it\nhas been said,[27] 'all that we can call public law is merged in private\nlaw; jurisdiction is property; office is property; the kingship itself\nis property.' This feudal ideal was still preserved with many of the\ninstitutions descended from feudalism. The king's right to his throne\nwas regarded as of the same kind as the right to a private estate. His\nrights as king were also his rights as the owner of the land.[28]\nSubordinate landowners had similar rights, and as the royal power\ndiminished greater powers fell to the aggregate of constitutional\nkinglets who governed the country. Each of them was from one point of\nview an official, but each also regarded his office as part of his\nproperty. The country belonged to him and his class rather than he to\nthe country. We occasionally find the quaint theory which deduced\npolitical rights from property in land. The freeholders were the owners\nof the soil and might give notice to quit to the rest of the\npopulation.[29] They had therefore a natural right to carry on\ngovernment in their own interests. The ruling classes, however, were not\nmarked off from others by any deep line of demarcation; they could sell\ntheir own share in the government to anybody who was rich enough to buy\nit, and there was a constant influx of new blood. Moreover, they did in\nfact improve their estate with very great energy, and discharged\nroughly, but in many ways efficiently, the duties which were also part\nof their property. The nobleman or even the squire was more than an\nindividual; as head of a family he was a life tenant of estates which he\ndesired to transmit to his descendants. He was a 'corporation sole' and\nhad some of the spirit of a corporation. A college or a hospital is\nfounded to discharge a particular function; its members continue perhaps\nto recognise their duty; but they resent any interference from outside\nas sacrilege or confiscation. It is for them alone to judge how they can\nbest carry out, and whether they are actually carrying out, the aims of\nthe corporate life. In the same way the great noble took his part in\nlegislation, church preferment, the command of the army, and so forth,\nand fully admitted that he was bound in honour to play his part\neffectively; but he was equally convinced that he was subject to nothing\noutside of his sense of honour. His duties were also his rights. The\nnaif expression of this doctrine by a great borough proprietor, 'May I\nnot do what I like with my own?' was to become proverbial.[30]\n\nThis, finally, suggests that a doctrine of 'individualism' is implied\nthroughout. The individual rights are the antecedent and the rights of\nthe state a consequent or corollary. Every man has certain sacred rights\naccruing to him in virtue of 'prescription' or tradition, through his\ninherited position in the social organism. The 'rule of law' secures\nthat he shall exercise them without infringing the privileges of his\nneighbour. He may moreover be compelled by the law to discharge them on\ndue occasion. But, as there is no supreme body which can sufficiently\nsuperintend, stimulate, promote, or dismiss, the active impulse must\ncome chiefly from his own sense of the fitness of things. The efficiency\ntherefore depends upon his being in such a position that his duty may\ncoincide with his personal interest. The political machinery can only\nwork efficiently on the assumption of a spontaneous activity of the\nruling classes, prompted by public spirit or a sense of personal\ndignity. Meanwhile, 'individualism' in a different sense was represented\nby the forces which made for progress rather than order, and to them I\nmust now turn.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[26] Professor Dicey's _Lectures on the Law of the Constitution_ (1885),\np. 178. Professor Dicey gives an admirable exposition of the 'rule of\nlaw.'\n\n[27] Pollock and Maitland's _History of English Law_, i. 208.\n\n[28] A characteristic consequence is that Hale and Blackstone make no\ndistinction between public and private law. Austin (_Jurisprudence_\n(1869), 773-76) applauds them for this peculiarity, which he regards as\na proof of originality, though it would rather seem to be an acceptance\nof the traditional view. Austin, however, retorts the charge of\n_Verwirrung_ upon German critics.\n\n[29] This is the theory of Defoe in his _Original Power of the People of\nEngland_ (Works by Hazlitt, vol iii. See especially p. 57).\n\n[30] The fourth duke of Newcastle in the House of Lords, 3 Dec. 1830.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL SPIRIT\n\n\nI. THE MANUFACTURERS\n\nThe history of England during the eighteenth century shows a curious\ncontrast between the political stagnancy and the great industrial\nactivity. The great constitutional questions seemed to be settled; and\nthe statesmen, occupied mainly in sharing power and place, took a very\nshortsighted view (not for the first time in history) of the great\nproblems that were beginning to present themselves. The British empire\nin the East was not won by a towering ambition so much as forced upon a\nreluctant commercial company by the necessities of its position. The\nEnglish race became dominant in America; but the political connection\nwas broken off mainly because English statesmen could only regard it\nfrom the shopkeeping point of view. When a new world began to arise at\nthe Antipodes, our rulers saw an opportunity not for planting new\noffshoots of European civilisation, but for ridding themselves of the\nsocial rubbish no longer accepted in America. With purblind energy, and\neyes doggedly fixed upon the ground at their feet, the race had somehow\npressed forwards to illustrate the old doctrine that a man never goes so\nfar as when he does not know whither he is going. While thinking of\nearning an honest penny by extending the trade, our 'monied-men' were\nlaying the foundation of vast structures to be developed by their\ndescendants.\n\nPoliticians, again, had little to do with the great 'industrial\nrevolution' which marked the last half of the century. The main facts\nare now a familiar topic of economic historians; nor need I speak of\nthem in detail. Though agriculture was still the main industry, and the\nlandowners almost monopolised political power, an ever growing\nproportion of the people was being collected in towns; the artisans were\ncongregating in large factories; and the great cloud of coal-smoke,\nwhich has never dwindled, was already beginning to darken our skies. The\nchange corresponds to the difference between a fully developed organism\npossessed of a central brain, with an elaborate nervous system, and some\nlower form in which the vital processes are still carried on by a number\nof separate ganglia. The concentration of the population in the great\nindustrial centres implied the improvement of the means of commerce; new\norganisation of industry provided with a corresponding apparatus of\nmachinery; and the systematic exploitation of the stored-up forces of\nnature. Each set of changes was at once cause and effect, and each was\ncarried on separately, although in relation to the other. Brindley,\nArkwright, and Watt may be taken as typical representatives of the three\noperations. Canals, spinning-jennies, and steam-engines were changing\nthe whole social order.\n\nThe development of means of communication had been slow till the last\nhalf of the century. The roads had been little changed since they had\nbeen first laid down as part of the great network which bound the Roman\nempire together. Turnpike acts, sanctioning the construction of new\nroads, became numerous. Palmer's application of the stage-coaches to the\ncarriage of the mails marked an epoch in 1784; and De Quincey's prose\npoem, 'The Mail-coach,' shows how the unprecedented speed of Palmer's\ncoaches, then spreading the news of the first battles in the Peninsula,\nhad caused them to tyrannise over the opium-eater's dreams. They were\ndischarging at once a political and an industrial function. Meanwhile\nthe Bridgewater canal, constructed between 1759 and 1761, was the first\nlink in a great network which, by the time of the French revolution,\nconnected the seaports and the great centres of industry. The great\ninventions of machinery were simultaneously enabling manufacturers to\ntake advantage of the new means of communication. The cotton manufacture\nsprang up soon after 1780 with enormous rapidity. Aided by the\napplication of steam (first applied to a cotton mill in 1785) it passed\nthe woollen trade, the traditional favourite of legislators, and became\nthe most important branch of British trade. The iron trade had made a\ncorresponding start. While the steam-engine, on which Watt had made the\nfirst great improvement in 1765, was transforming the manufacturing\nsystem, and preparing the advent of the steamship and railroad, Great\nBritain had become the leading manufacturing and commercial country in\nthe world. The agricultural interest was losing its pre-eminence; and\nhuge towns with vast aggregations of artisan population were beginning\nto spring up with unprecedented rapidity. The change was an\nillustration upon a gigantic scale of the doctrines expounded in the\n_Wealth of Nations_. Division of labour was being applied to things more\nimportant than pin-making, involving a redistribution of functions not\nas between men covered by the same roof, but between whole classes of\nsociety; between the makers of new means of communication and the\nmanufacturers of every kind of material. The whole industrial community\nmight be regarded as one great organism. Yet the organisation was formed\nby a multitude of independent agencies without any concerted plan. It\nwas thus a vast illustration of the doctrine that each man by pursuing\nhis own interests promoted the interests of the whole, and that\ngovernment interference was simply a hindrance. The progress of\nimprovement, says Adam Smith, depends upon 'the uniform, constant, and\nuninterrupted effort of every man to better his condition,' which often\nsucceeds in spite of the errors of government, as nature often overcomes\nthe blunders of doctors. It is, as he infers, 'the highest impertinence\nand presumption for kings and ministers to pretend to watch over the\neconomy of private people' by sumptuary laws and taxes upon imports.[31]\nTo the English manufacturer or engineer government appeared as a\nnecessary evil. It allowed the engineer to make roads and canals, after\na troublesome and expensive process of application. It granted patents\nto the manufacturer, but the patents were a source of perpetual worry\nand litigation. The Chancellor of the Exchequer might look with\ncomplacency upon the development of a new branch of trade; but it was\nbecause he was lying in wait to come down upon it with a new tax or\nsystem of duties.\n\nThe men who were the chief instruments of the process were 'self-made';\nthey were the typical examples of Mr. Smiles's virtue of self-help; they\nowed nothing to government or to the universities which passed for the\norgans of national culture. The leading engineers began as ordinary\nmechanics. John Metcalf (1717-1810), otherwise 'blind Jack of\nKnaresborough,' was a son of poor parents. He had lost his sight by\nsmallpox at the age of six, and, in spite of his misfortune, became a\ndaring rider, wrestler, soldier, and carrier, and made many roads in the\nnorth of England, executing surveys and constructing the works himself.\nJames Brindley (1716-1772), son of a midland collier, barely able to\nread or write, working out plans by processes which he could not\nexplain, and lying in bed till they took shape in his brain, a rough\nmechanic, labouring for trifling weekly wages, created the canals which\nmainly enabled Manchester and Liverpool to make an unprecedented leap in\nprosperity. The two great engineers, Thomas Telford (1757-1834), famous\nfor the Caledonian canal and the Menai bridge; and John Rennie\n(1761-1821), drainer of Lincolnshire fens, and builder of Waterloo\nbridge and the Plymouth breakwater, rose from the ranks. Telford\ninherited and displayed in a different direction the energies of Eskdale\nborderers, whose achievements in the days of cattle-stealing were to be\nmade famous by Scott: Rennie was the son of an East Lothian farmer. Both\nof them learned their trade by actual employment as mechanics. The\ninventors of machinery belonged mainly to the lower middle classes. Kay\nwas a small manufacturer; Hargreaves a hand-loom weaver; Crompton the\nson of a small farmer; and Arkwright a country barber. Watt, son of a\nGreenock carpenter, came from the sturdy Scottish stock, ultimately of\ncovenanting ancestry, from which so many eminent men have sprung.\n\nThe new social class, in which such men were the leaders, held\ncorresponding principles. They owed whatever success they won to their\nown right hands. They were sturdy workers, with eyes fixed upon success\nin life, and success generally of course measured by a money criterion.\nMany of them showed intellectual tastes, and took an honourable view of\ntheir social functions. Watt showed his ability in scientific inquiries\noutside of the purely industrial application; Josiah Wedgwood, in whose\nearly days the Staffordshire potters had led a kind of gipsy life,\nsettling down here and there to carry on their trade, had not only\nfounded a great industry, but was a man of artistic taste, a patron of\nart, and a lover of science. Telford, the Eskdale shepherd, was a man of\nliterary taste, and was especially friendly with the typical man of\nletters, Southey. Others, of course, were of a lower type. Arkwright\ncombined the talents of an inventor with those of a man of business. He\nwas a man, says Baines (the historian of the cotton trade), who was sure\nto come out of an enterprise with profit, whatever the result to his\npartners. He made a great fortune, and founded a county family. Others\nrose in the same direction. The Peels, for example, represented a line\nof yeomen. One Peel founded a cotton business; his son became a baronet\nand an influential member of parliament; and his grandson went to\nOxford, and became the great leader of the Conservative party, although\nlike Walpole, he owed his power to a kind of knowledge in which his\nadopted class were generally deficient.\n\nThe class which owed its growing importance to the achievements of such\nmen was naturally imbued with their spirit. Its growth meant the\ndevelopment of a class which under the old order had been strictly\nsubordinate to the ruling class, and naturally regarded it with a\nmingled feeling of respect and jealousy. The British merchant felt his\nsuperiority in business to the average country-gentleman; he got no\ndirect share of the pensions and sinecures which so profoundly affected\nthe working of the political machinery, and yet his highest ambition was\nto rise to be himself a member of the class, and to found a family which\nmight flourish in the upper atmosphere. The industrial classes were\ninclined to favour political progress within limits. They were\ndissenters because the church was essentially part of the aristocracy;\nand they were readiest to denounce the abuses from which they did not\nprofit. The agitators who supported Wilkes, solid aldermen and rich\nmerchants, represented the view which was popular in London and other\ngreat cities. They were the backbone of the Whig party when it began to\ndemand a serious reform. Their radicalism, however, was not thoroughly\ndemocratic. Many of them aspired to become members of the ruling class,\nand a shopkeeper does not quarrel too thoroughly with his customers. The\npolitics of individuals were of course determined by accidents. Some of\nthem might retain the sympathy of the class from which they sprang, and\nothers might adopt an even extreme version of the opinions of the class\nto which they desired to rise. But, in any case, the divergence of\ninterest between the capitalists and the labourers was already making\nitself felt. The self-made man, it is said, is generally the hardest\nmaster. He approves of the stringent system of competition, of which he\nis himself a product. It clearly enables the best man to win, for is he\nnot himself the best man? The class which was the great seat of movement\nhad naturally to meet all the prejudices which are roused by change. The\nfarmers near London, as Adam Smith tells us,[32] petitioned against an\nextension of turnpike roads, which would enable more distant farmers to\ncompete in their market. But the farmers were not the only prejudiced\npersons. All the great inventors of machinery, Kay and Arkwright and\nWatt, had constantly to struggle against the old workmen who were\ndisplaced by their inventions. Although, therefore, the class might be\nWhiggish, it did not share the strongest revolutionary passions. The\ngenuine revolutionists were rather the men who destroyed the\nmanufacturer's machines, and were learning to regard him as a natural\nenemy. The manufacturer had his own reasons for supporting government.\nOur foreign policy during the century was in the long run chiefly\ndetermined by the interests of our trade, however much the trade might\nat times be hampered by ill-conceived regulations. It is remarkable that\nAdam Smith[33] argues that, although the capitalist is acuter that the\ncountry-gentleman, his acuteness is chiefly displayed by knowing his own\ninterests better. Those interests, he thinks, do not coincide so much as\nthe interests of the country-gentleman with the general interests of the\ncountry. Consequently the country-gentleman, though less intelligent,\nis more likely to favour a national and liberal policy. The merchant, in\nfact, was not a free-trader because he had read Adam Smith or\nconsciously adopted Smith's principles, but because or in so far as\nparticular restrictions interfered with him. Arthur Young complains\nbitterly of the manufacturers who supported the prohibition to export\nEnglish wool, and so protected their own class at the expense of\nagriculturists. Wedgwood, though a good liberal and a supporter of\nPitt's French treaty in 1786, joined in protesting against the proposal\nfor free-trade with Ireland. The Irish, he thought, might rival his\npotteries. Thus, though as a matter of fact the growing class of\nmanufacturers and merchants were inclined in the main to liberal\nprinciples, it was less from adhesion to any general doctrine than from\nthe fact that the existing restrictions and prejudices generally\nconflicted with their plain interests.\n\nAnother characteristic is remarkable. Though the growth of manufactures\nand commerce meant the growth of great towns, it did not mean the growth\nof municipal institutions. On the contrary, as I shall presently have to\nnotice, the municipalities were sinking to their lowest ebb.\nManufactures, in the first instance, spread along the streams into\ncountry districts: and to the great manufacturer, working for his own\nhand, his neighbours were competitors as much as allies. The great\ntowns, however, which were growing up, showed the general tendencies of\nthe class. They were centres not only of manufacturing but of\nintellectual progress. The population of Birmingham, containing the\nfamous Soho works of Boulton and Watt, had increased between 1740 and\n1780 from 24,000 to 74,000 inhabitants. Watt's partner Boulton started\nthe 'Lunar Society' at Birmingham.[34] Its most prominent member was\nErasmus Darwin, famous then for poetry which is chiefly remembered by\nthe parody in the _Anti-Jacobin_; and now more famous as the advocate of\na theory of evolution eclipsed by the teaching of his more famous\ngrandson, and, in any case, a man of remarkable intellectual power.\nAmong those who joined in the proceedings was Edgeworth, who in 1768 was\nspeculating upon moving carriages by steam, and Thomas Day, whose\n_Sandford and Merton_ helped to spread in England the educational\ntheories of Rousseau. Priestley, who settled at Birmingham in 1780,\nbecame a member, and was helped in his investigations by Watt's counsels\nand Wedgwood's pecuniary help. Among occasional visitors were Smeaton,\nSir Joseph Banks, Solander, and Herschel of scientific celebrity; while\nthe literary magnate, Dr. Parr, who lived between Warwick and\nBirmingham, occasionally joined the circle. Wedgwood, though too far off\nto be a member, was intimate with Darwin and associated in various\nenterprises with Boulton. Wedgwood's congenial partner, Thomas Bentley\n(1731-1780), had been in business at Manchester and at Liverpool. He had\ntaken part in founding the Warrington 'Academy,' the dissenting seminary\n(afterwards moved to Manchester) of which Priestley was tutor\n(1761-1767), and had lectured upon art at the academy founded at\nLiverpool in 1773. Another member of the academy was William Roscoe\n(1753-1831), whose literary taste was shown by his lives of Lorenzo de\nMedici and Leo X., and who distinguished himself by opposing the\nslave-trade, then the infamy of his native town. Allied with him in this\nmovement were William Rathbone and James Currie (1756-1805) the\nbiographer of Burns, a friend of Darwin and an intelligent physician. At\nManchester Thomas Perceval (1740-1804) founded the 'Literary and\nPhilosophical Society' in 1780. He was a pupil of the Warrington\nAcademy, which he afterwards joined on removing to Manchester, and he\nformed the scheme afterwards realised by Owens College. He was an early\nadvocate of sanitary measures and factory legislation, and a man of\nscientific reputation. Other members of the society were: John Ferriar\n(1761-1815), best known by his _Illustrations of Sterne_, but also a man\nof literary and scientific reputation; the great chemist, John Dalton\n(1766-1844), who contributed many papers to its transactions; and, for a\nshort time, the Socialist Robert Owen, then a rising manufacturer. At\nNorwich, then important as a manufacturing centre, was a similar circle.\nWilliam Taylor, an eminent Unitarian divine, who died at the Warrington\nAcademy in 1761, had lived at Norwich. One of his daughters married\nDavid Martineau and became the mother of Harriet Martineau, who has\ndescribed the Norwich of her early years. John Taylor, grandson of\nWilliam, was father of Mrs. Austin, wife of the jurist. He was a man of\nliterary tastes, and his wife was known as the Madame Roland of Norwich.\nMrs. Opie (1765-1853) was daughter of James Alderson, a physician of\nNorwich, and passed most of her life there. William Taylor (1761-1836),\nanother Norwich manufacturer, was among the earliest English students of\nGerman literature. Norwich had afterwards the unique distinction of\nbeing the home of a provincial school of artists. John Crome\n(1788-1821), son of a poor weaver, and John Sell Cotman (1782-1842) were\nits leaders; they formed a kind of provincial academy, and exhibited\npictures which have been more appreciated since their death. At Bristol,\ntowards the end of the century, were similar indications of intellectual\nactivity. Coleridge and Southey found there a society ready to listen to\ntheir early lectures, and both admired Thomas Beddoes (1760-1808), a\nphysician, a chemist, a student of German, an imitator of Darwin in\npoetry, and an assailant of Pitt in pamphlets. He had married one of\nEdgeworth's daughters. With the help and advice of Wedgwood and Watt, he\nfounded the 'Pneumatic Institute' at Clifton in 1798, and obtained the\nhelp of Humphry Davy, who there made some of his first discoveries. Davy\nwas soon transported to the Royal Institution, founded at the suggestion\nof Count Rumford in 1799, which represented the growth of a popular\ninterest in the scientific discoveries.\n\nThe general tone of these little societies represents, of course, the\ntendency of the upper stratum of the industrial classes. In their own\neyes they naturally represented the progressive element of society. They\nwere Whigs--for 'radicalism' was not yet invented--but Whigs of the left\nwing; accepting the aristocratic precedency, but looking askance at the\naristocratic prejudices. They were rationalists, too, in principle, but\nagain within limits: openly avowing the doctrines which in the\nEstablished church had still to be sheltered by ostensible conformity to\nthe traditional dogmas. Many of them professed the Unitarianism to which\nthe old dissenting bodies inclined. 'Unitarianism,' said shrewd old\nErasmus Darwin, 'is a feather-bed for a dying Christian.' But at present\nsuch men as Priestley and Price were only so far on the road to a\nthorough rationalism as to denounce the corruptions of Christianity, as\nthey denounced abuses in politics, without anticipating a revolutionary\nchange in church and state. Priestley, for example, combined\n'materialism' and 'determinism' with Christianity and a belief in\nmiracles, and controverted Horsley upon one side and Paine on the other.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[31] _Wealth of Nations_, bk. ii. ch. iii.\n\n[32] _Wealth of Nations_, bk. i. ch. xi. Sec. 1.\n\n[33] _Ibid._ bk. i. ch. xi. conclusion.\n\n[34] Smiles's _Watt and Boulton_, p. 292.\n\n\nII. THE AGRICULTURISTS\n\nThe general spirit represented by such movements was by no means\nconfined to the commercial or manufacturing classes; and its most\ncharacteristic embodiment is to be found in the writings of a leading\nagriculturist.\n\nArthur Young,[35] born in 1741, was the son of a clergyman, who had also\na small ancestral property at Bradfield, near Bury St. Edmunds.\nAccidents led to his becoming a farmer at an early age. He showed more\nzeal than discretion, and after trying three thousand experiments on his\nfarm, he was glad to pay L100 to another tenant to take his farm off his\nhands. This experience as a practical agriculturist, far from\ndiscouraging him, qualified him in his own opinion to speak with\nauthority, and he became a devoted missionary of the gospel of\nagricultural improvement. The enthusiasm with which he admired more\nsuccessful labourers in the cause, and the indignation with which he\nregards the sluggish and retrograde, are charming. His kindliness, his\nkeen interest in the prosperity of all men, rich or poor, his ardent\nbelief in progress, combined with his quickness of observation, give a\ncharm to the writings which embody his experience. Tours in England and\na temporary land-agency in Ireland supplied him with materials for books\nwhich made him known both in England and on the Continent. In 1779 he\nreturned to Bradfield, where he soon afterwards came into possession of\nhis paternal estate, which became his permanent home. In 1784 he tried\nto extend his propaganda by bringing out the _Annals of Agriculture_--a\nmonthly publication, of which forty-five half-yearly volumes appeared.\nHe had many able contributors and himself wrote many interesting\narticles, but the pecuniary results were mainly negative. In 1791 his\ncirculation was only 350 copies.[36] Meanwhile his acquaintance with the\nduc de Liancourt led to tours in France from 1788 to 1790. His _Travels\nin France_, first published in 1792, has become a classic. In 1793 Young\nwas made secretary to the Board of Agriculture, of which I shall speak\npresently. He became known in London society as well as in agricultural\ncircles. He was a handsome and attractive man, a charming companion, and\nwidely recognised as an agricultural authority. The empress of Russia\nsent him a snuff-box; 'Farmer George' presented a merino ram; he was\nelected member of learned societies; he visited Burke at Beaconsfield,\nPitt at Holmwood, and was a friend of Wilberforce and of Jeremy Bentham.\n\nYoung had many domestic troubles. His marriage was not congenial; the\nloss of a tenderly loved daughter in 1797 permanently saddened him; he\nbecame blind, and in his later years sought comfort in religious\nmeditation and in preaching to his poorer neighbours. He died 20th April\n1820. He left behind him a gigantic history of agriculture, filling ten\nfolio volumes of manuscript, which, though reduced to six by an\nenthusiastic disciple after his death, have never found their way to\npublication.\n\nThe _Travels in France_, Young's best book, owes one merit to the advice\nof a judicious friend, who remarked that the previous tours had suffered\nfrom the absence of the personal details which interest the common\nreader. The insertion of these makes Young's account of his French tours\none of the most charming as well as most instructive books of the kind.\nIt gives the vivid impression made upon a keen and kindly observer in\nall their freshness. He sensibly retained the expressions of opinion\nmade at the time. 'I may remark at present,' he says,[37] 'that although\nI was totally mistaken in my prediction, yet, on a revision, I think I\nwas right in it.' It was right, he means, upon the data then known to\nhim, and he leaves the unfulfilled prediction as it was. The book is\nfrequently cited in justification of the revolution, and it may be\nfairly urged that his authority is of the more weight, because he does\nnot start from any sympathy with revolutionary principles. Young was in\nParis when the oath was taken at the tennis-court; and makes his\nreflections upon the beauty of the British Constitution, and the folly\nof visionary reforms, in a spirit which might have satisfied Burke. He\nwas therefore not altogether inconsistent when, after the outrages, he\ncondemned the revolution, however much the facts which he describes may\ntend to explain the inevitableness of the catastrophe. At any rate, his\nviews are worth notice by the indications which they give of the mental\nattitude of a typical English observer.\n\nYoung in his vivacious way struck out some of the phrases which became\nproverbial with later economists. 'Give a man the secure possession of a\nbleak rock and he will turn it into a garden. Give him a nine years'\nlease of a garden, and he will convert it into a desert.'[38] 'The magic\nof PROPERTY turns sand to gold.'[39] He is delighted with the comfort of\nthe small proprietors near Pau, which reminds him of English districts\nstill inhabited by small yeomen.[40] Passing to a less fortunate region,\nhe explains that the prince de Soubise has a vast property there. The\nproperty of a grand 'seigneur' is sure to be a desert.[41] The signs\nwhich indicate such properties are 'wastes, _landes_, deserts, fern,\nling.' The neighbourhood of the great residences is well peopled--'with\ndeer, wild boars, and wolves,' 'Oh,' he exclaims, 'if I was the\nlegislator of France for a day, I would make such great lords skip\nagain!' 'Why,' he asked, 'were the people miserable in lower Savoy?'\n'_Because_', was the reply, '_there are seigneurs everywhere_'.[42]\nMisery in Brittany was due 'to the execrable maxims of despotism or the\nequally detestable prejudices of a feudal nobility.'[43] There was\nnothing, he said, in the province but 'privileges and poverty,'[44]\nprivileges of the nobles and poverty of the peasants.\n\nYoung was profoundly convinced, moreover, that, as he says more than\nonce[45] 'everything in this world depends on government.' He is\nastonished at the stupidity and ignorance of the provincial population,\nand ascribes it to the lethargy produced by despotism.[46] He contrasts\nit with 'the energetic and rapid circulation of wealth, animation, and\nintelligence of England,' where 'blacksmiths and carpenters' would\ndiscuss every political event. And yet he heartily admires some of the\nresults of a centralised monarchy. He compares the miserable roads in\nCatalonia on the Spanish side of the frontier with the magnificent\ncauseways and bridges on the French side. The difference is due to the\n'one all-powerful cause that instigates mankind ... government.'[47] He\nadmires the noble public works, the canal of Languedoc, the harbours at\nCherbourg and Havre, and the _ecole veterinaire_ where agriculture is\ntaught upon scientific principles. He is struck by the curious contrast\nbetween France and England. In France the splendid roads are used by few\ntravellers, and the inns are filthy pothouses; in England there are\ndetestable roads, but a comparatively enormous traffic. When he wished\nto make the great nobles 'skip' he does not generally mean confiscation.\nHe sees indeed one place where in 1790 the poor had seized a piece of\nwaste land, declaring that the poor were the nation, and that the waste\nbelonged to the nation. He declares[48] that he considers their action\n'wise, rational, and philosophical,' and wishes that there were a law to\nmake such conduct legal in England. But his more general desire is that\nthe landowners should be compelled to do their duty. He complains that\nthe nobles live in 'wretched holes' in the country in order to save the\nmeans of expenditure upon theatres, entertainments, and gambling in the\ntowns.[49] 'Banishment alone will force the French nobility to do what\nthe English do for pleasure--to reside upon and adorn their\nestates.'[50] He explains to a French friend that English agriculture\nhas flourished 'in spite of the teeth of our ministers'; we have had\nmany Colberts, but not one Sully[51]; and we should have done much\nbetter, he thinks, had agriculture received the same attention as\ncommerce. This is the reverse of Adam Smith's remark upon the superior\nliberality of the English country-gentleman, who did not, like the\nmanufacturers, invoke protection and interference. In truth, Young\ndesired both advantages, the vigour of a centralised government and the\nenergy of an independent aristocracy. His absence of any general theory\nenables him to do justice in detail at the cost of consistency in\ngeneral theory. In France, as he saw, the nobility had become in the\nmain an encumbrance, a mere dead weight upon the energies of the\nagriculturist. But he did not infer that large properties in land were\nbad in themselves; for in England he saw that the landowners were the\nreally energetic and improving class. He naturally looked at the problem\nfrom the point of view of an intelligent land-agent. He is full of\nbenevolent wishes for the labourer, and sympathises with the attempt to\nstimulate their industry and improve their dwellings, and denounces\noppression whether in France or Ireland with the heartiest goodwill. But\nit is characteristic of the position that such a man--an enthusiastic\nadvocate of industrial progress--was a hearty admirer of the English\nlandowner. He sets out upon his first tour, announcing that he does not\nwrite for farmers, of whom not one in five thousand reads anything, but\nfor the country-gentlemen, who are the great improvers. Tull, who\nintroduced turnips; Weston, who introduced clover; Lord Townshend and\nAllen, who introduced 'marling' in Norfolk, were all country-gentlemen,\nand it is from them that he expects improvement. He travels everywhere,\ndelighting in their new houses and parks, their picture galleries, and\ntheir gardens laid out by Kent or 'Capability Brown'; he admires\nscenery, climbs Skiddaw, and is rapturous over views of the Alps and\nPyrenees; but he is thrown into a rage by the sight of wastes, wherever\nimprovement is possible. What delights him is an estate with a fine\ncountry-house of Palladian architecture ('Gothic' is with him still a\nterm of abuse),[52] with grounds well laid out and a good home-farm,\nwhere experiments are being tried, and surrounded by an estate in which\nthe farm-buildings show the effects of the landlord's good example and\njudicious treatment of his tenantry. There was no want of such examples.\nHe admires the marquis of Rockingham, at once the most honourable of\nstatesmen and most judicious of improvers. He sings the praises of the\nduke of Portland, the earl of Darlington, and the duke of\nNorthumberland. An incautious announcement of the death of the duke of\nGrafton, remembered chiefly as one of the victims of Junius, but known\nto Young for his careful experiments in sheep-breeding, produced a burst\nof tears, which, as he believed, cost him his eyesight. His friend, the\nfifth duke of Bedford (died 1802), was one of the greatest improvers for\nthe South, and was succeeded by another friend, the famous Coke of\nHolkham, afterwards earl of Leicester, who is said to have spent half a\nmillion upon the improvement of his property. Young appeals to the class\nin which such men were leaders, and urges them, not against their\nwishes, we may suppose, and, no doubt, with much good sense, to take to\ntheir task in the true spirit of business. Nothing, he declares, is more\nout of place than the boast of some great landowners that they never\nraise their rents.[53] High rents produce industry. The man who doubles\nhis rents benefits the country more than he benefits himself. Even in\nIreland,[54] a rise of rents is one great cause of improvement, though\nthe rent should not be excessive, and the system of middlemen is\naltogether detestable. One odd suggestion is characteristic.[55] He\nhears that wages are higher in London than elsewhere. Now, he says, in a\ntrading country low wages are essential. He wonders, therefore, that the\nlegislature does not limit the growth of London.\n\nThis, we may guess, is one of the petulant utterances of early years\nwhich he would have disavowed or qualified upon maturer reflection. But\nYoung is essentially an apostle of the 'glorious spirit of\nimprovement,'[56] which has converted Norfolk sheep-walks into arable\nfields, and was spreading throughout the country and even into Ireland.\nHis hero is the energetic landowner, who makes two blades of grass grow\nwhere one grew before; who introduces new breeds of cattle and new\ncourses of husbandry. He is so far in sympathy with the _Wealth of\nNations_, although he says of that book that, while he knows of 'no\nabler work,' he knows of none 'fuller of poisonous errors.'[57] Young,\nthat is, sympathised with the doctrine of the physiocrats that\nagriculture was the one source of real wealth, and took Smith to be too\nmuch on the side of commerce. Young, however, was as enthusiastic a\nfree-trader as Smith. He naturally denounces the selfishness of the\nmanufacturers who, in 1788, objected to the free export of English\nwool,[58] but he also assails monopoly in general. The whole system, he\nsays (on occasion of Pitt's French treaty), is rotten to the core. The\n'vital spring and animating soul of commerce is LIBERTY.'[59] Though he\ntalks of the balance of trade, he argues in the spirit of Smith or\nCobden that we are benefited by the wealth of our customers. If we have\nto import more silk, we shall export more cloth. Young, indeed, was\neverything but a believer in any dogmatic or consistent system of\nPolitical Economy, or, as he still calls it, Political Arithmetic. His\nopinions were not of the kind which can be bound to any rigid formulae.\nAfter investigating the restrictions of rent and wages in different\ndistricts, he quietly accepts the conclusion that the difference is due\nto accident.[60] He has as yet no fear of Malthus before his eyes. He\nis roused to indignation by the pessimist theory then common, that\npopulation was decaying.[61] Everywhere he sees signs of progress;\nbuildings, plantations, woods, and canals. Employment, he says, creates\npopulation, stimulates industry, and attracts labour from backward\ndistricts. The increase of numbers is an unqualified benefit. He has no\ndread of excess. In Ireland, he observes, no one is fool enough to deny\nthat population is increasing, though people deny it in England, 'even\nin the most productive period of her industry and wealth.'[62] One cause\nof this blessing is the absence or the poor-law. The English poor-law is\ndetestable to him for a reason which contrasts significantly with the\nlater opinion. The laws were made 'in the very spirit of depopulation';\nthey are 'monuments of barbarity and mischief'; for they give to every\nparish an interest in keeping down the population. This tendency was in\nthe eyes of the later economist a redeeming feature in the old system;\nthough it had been then so modified as to stimulate what they took to be\nthe curse, as Young held it to be the blessing, of a rapid increase of\npopulation.\n\nWith such views Young was a keen advocate of the process of enclosure\nwhich was going on with increasing rapidity. He found a colleague, who\nmay be briefly noticed as a remarkable representative of the same\nmovement. Sir John Sinclair (1754-1835)[63] was heir to an estate of\nsixty thousand acres in Caithness which produced only L2300 a year,\nsubject to many encumbrances. The region was still in a primitive\nstate. There were no roads: agriculture was of the crudest kind; part of\nthe rent was still paid in feudal services; the natives were too\nignorant or lazy to fish, and there were no harbours. Trees were scarce\nenough to justify Johnson, and a list of all the trees in the country\nincluded currant-bushes.[64] Sinclair was a pupil of the poet Logan:\nstudied under Blair at Edinburgh and Millar at Glasgow; became known to\nAdam Smith, and, after a short time at Oxford, was called to the English\nbar. Sinclair was a man of enormous energy, though not of vivacious\nintellect. He belonged to the prosaic breed, which created the 'dismal\nscience,' and seems to have been regarded as a stupendous bore. Bores,\nhowever, represent a social force not to be despised, and Sinclair was\nno exception.\n\nHis father died when he was sixteen. When twenty years old he collected\nhis tenants, and in one night made a road across a hill which had been\npronounced impracticable. He was an enthusiastic admirer of Gaelic\ntraditions; defended the authenticity of Ossian; supported Highland\ngames, and brought Italian travellers to listen to the music of the\nbagpipes. When he presented himself to his tenants in the Highland\ncostume, on the withdrawal of its prohibition, they expected him to lead\nthem in a foray upon the lowlands in the name of Charles Edward. He\nafterwards raised a regiment of 'fencibles' which served in Ireland in\n1798, and, when disbanded, sent a large contingent to the Egyptian\nexpedition. But he rendered more peaceful services to his country. He\nformed new farms; he enclosed several thousand acres; as head of the\n'British Wool Society,' he introduced the Cheviots or 'long sheep' to\nthe North--an improvement which is said to have doubled the rents of\nmany estates; he introduced agricultural shows; he persuaded government\nin 1801 to devote the proceeds of the confiscated estates of Jacobites\nto the improvement of Scottish communications; he helped to introduce\nfisheries and even manufactures; and was a main agent in the change\nwhich made Caithness one of the most rapidly improving parts of the\ncountry. His son assures us that he took every means to obviate the\nincidental evils which have been the pretexts of denunciators of similar\nimprovements. Sinclair gained a certain reputation by a _History of the\nRevenue_ (1785-90), and, like Malthus, travelled on the Continent to\nimprove his knowledge. His first book finished, he began the great\nstatistical work by which he is best remembered. He is said to have\nintroduced into English the name of 'statistics,' for the researches of\nwhich all economical writers were beginning to feel the necessity. He\ncertainly did much to introduce the reality. Sinclair circulated a\nnumber of queries (upon 'natural history,' 'population,' 'productions,'\nand 'miscellaneous' informations) to every parish minister in Scotland.\nHe surmounted various jealousies naturally excited, and the ultimate\nresult was the _Statistical Account of Scotland_, which appeared in\ntwenty-one volumes between 1791 and 1799.[65] It gives an account of\nevery parish in Scotland, and was of great value as supplying a basis\nfor all social investigations. Sinclair bore the expense, and gave the\nprofits to the 'Sons of the Clergy.' In 1793 Sinclair, who had been in\nparliament since 1780, made himself useful to Pitt in connection with\nthe issue of exchequer bills to meet the commercial crisis. He begged in\nreturn for the foundation of a Board of Agriculture. He became the\npresident and Arthur Young the secretary;[66] and the board represented\ntheir common aspirations. It was a rather anomalous body, something\nbetween a government office and such an institution as the Royal\nSociety; and was supported by an annual grant of L3000. The first aim of\nthe board was to produce a statistical account of England on the plan of\nthe Scottish account. The English clergy, however, were suspicious; they\nthought, it seems, that the collection of statistics meant an attack\nupon tithes; and Young's frequent denunciation of tithes as discouraging\nagricultural improvement suggests some excuse for the belief. The plan\nhad to be dropped; a less thoroughgoing description of the counties was\nsubstituted; and a good many 'Views' of the agriculture of different\ncounties were published in 1794 and succeeding years. The board did its\nbest to be active with narrow means. It circulated information,\ndistributed medals, and brought agricultural improvers together. It\nencouraged the publication of Erasmus Darwin's _Phytologia_ (1799), and\nprocured a series of lectures from Humphry Davy, afterwards published as\n_Elements of Agricultural Chemistry_ (1813). Sinclair also claims to\nhave encouraged Macadam (1756-1836), the road-maker, and Meikle, the\ninventor of the thrashing-machine. One great aim of the board was to\npromote enclosures. Young observes in the introductory paper to the\n_Annals_ that within forty years nine hundred bills had been passed\naffecting about a million acres. This included wastes, but the greater\npart was already cultivated under the 'constraint and imperfection of\nthe open field system,' a relic of the 'barbarity of our ancestors.'\nEnclosures involved procuring acts of parliament--a consequent\nexpenditure, as Young estimates, of some L2000 in each case;[67] and as\nthey were generally obtained by the great landowners, there was a\nfrequent neglect of the rights of the poor and of the smaller holders.\nThe remedy proposed was a general enclosure act; and such an act passed\nthe House of Commons in 1798, but was thrown out by the Lords. An act\nwas not obtained till after the Reform Bill. Sinclair, however, obtained\nsome modification of the procedure; which, it is said, facilitated the\npassage of private bills. They became more numerous in later years,\nthough other causes obviously co-operated. Meanwhile, it is\ncharacteristic that Sinclair and Young regarded wastes as a backwoodsman\nregarded a forest. The incidental injury to poor commoners was not\nunnoticed, and became one of the topics of Cobbett's eloquence. But to\nthe ardent agriculturist the existence of a bit of waste land was a\nsimple proof of barbarism. Sinclair's favourite toast, we are told, was\n'May commons become uncommon'--his one attempt at a joke. He prayed that\nEpping Forest and Finchley Common might pass under the yoke as well as\nour foreign enemies. Young is driven out of all patience by the sight of\n'fern, ling, and other trumpery' usurping the place of possible arable\nfields.[68] He groans in spirit upon Salisbury Plain, which might be\nmade to produce all the corn we import.[69] Enfield Chase, he declares,\nis a 'real nuisance to the public.'[70] We may be glad that the zeal for\nenclosure was not successful in all its aims; but this view of\nphilanthropic and energetic improvers is characteristic.\n\nIt is said[71] that Young and Sinclair ruined the Board of Agriculture\nby making it a kind of political debating club. It died in 1822.\nSinclair obtained an appointment in Scotland, and continued to labour\nunremittingly. He carried on a correspondence with all manner of people,\nincluding Washington, Eldon, Catholic bishops in Ireland, financiers and\nagriculturists on the Continent, and the most active economists in\nEngland. He suggested a subject for a poem to Scott.[72] He wrote\npamphlets about cash-payments, Catholic Emancipation, and the Reform\nBill, always disagreeing with all parties. He projected four codes which\nwere to summarise all human knowledge upon health, agriculture,\npolitical economy, and religion. _The Code of Health_ (4 vols., 1807)\nwent through six editions; _The Code of Agriculture_ appeared in 1829;\nbut the world has not been enriched by the others. He died at Edinburgh\non the 21st September 1835.\n\nI have dwelt so far upon Young because he is the best representative of\nthat 'glorious spirit of improvement' which was transforming the whole\nsocial structure. Young's view of the French revolution indicates one\nmarked characteristic of that spirit. He denounces the French seigneur\nbecause he is lethargic. He admires the English nobleman because he is\nenergetic. The French noble may even deserve confiscation; but he has\nnot the slightest intention of applying the same remedy in England,\nwhere squires and noblemen are the very source of all improvement. He\nholds that government is everything, and admires the great works of the\nFrench despotism: and yet he is a thorough admirer of the liberties\nenjoyed under the British Constitution, the essential nature of which\nmakes similar works impossible. I need not ask whether Young's logic\ncould be justified; though it would obviously require for justification\na thoroughly 'empirical' view, or, in other words, the admission that\ndifferent circumstances may require totally different institutions. The\nview, however, which was congenial to the prevalent spirit of\nimprovement must be noted.\n\nIt might be stated as a paradox that, whereas in France the most\npalpable evils arose from the excessive power of the central government,\nand in England the most palpable evils arose from the feebleness of the\ncentral government, the French reformers demanded more government and\nthe English reformers demanded less government. 'Everything for the\npeople, nothing by the people,' was, as Mr. Morley remarks,[73] the\nmaxim of the French economists. The solution seems to be easy. In\nFrance, reformers such as Turgot and the economists were in favour of an\nenlightened despotism, because the state meant a centralised power which\nmight be turned against the aristocracy. Once 'enlightened' it would\nsuppress the exclusive privileges of a class which, doing nothing in\nreturn, had become a mere burthen or dead weight encumbering all social\ndevelopment. But in England the privileged class was identical with the\ngoverning class. The political liberty of which Englishmen were\nrightfully proud, the 'rule of law' which made every official\nresponsible to the ordinary course of justice, and the actual discharge\nof their duties by the governing order, saved it from being the objects\nof a jealous class hatred. While in France government was staggering\nunder an ever-accumulating resentment against the aristocracy, the\ncontemporary position in England was, on the whole, one of political\napathy. The country, though it had lost its colonies, was making\nunprecedented progress in wealth; commerce, manufactures, and\nagriculture were being developed by the energy of individuals; and Pitt\nwas beginning to apply Adam Smith's principles to finance. The cry for\nparliamentary reform died out: neither Whigs nor Tories really cared for\nit; and the 'glorious spirit of improvement' showed itself in an energy\nwhich had little political application. The nobility was not an incubus\nsuppressing individual energy and confronted by the state, but was\nitself the state; and its individual members were often leaders in\nindustrial improvement. Discontent, therefore, took in the main a\ndifferent form. Some government was, of course, necessary, and the\nexisting system was too much in harmony, even in its defects, with the\nsocial order to provoke any distinct revolutionary sentiment. Englishmen\nwere not only satisfied with their main institutions, but regarded them\nwith exaggerated complacency. But, though there was no organic disorder,\nthere were plenty of abuses to be remedied. The ruling class, it seemed,\ndid its duties in the main, but took unconscionable perquisites in\nreturn. If it 'farmed' them, it was right that it should have a\nbeneficial interest in the concern; but that interest might be\nexcessive. In many directions abuses were growing up which required\nremedy, though not a subversion of the system under which they had been\ngenerated. It was not desired--unless by a very few theorists--to make\nany sweeping redistribution of power; but it was eminently desirable to\nfind some means of better regulating many evil practices. The attack\nupon such practices might ultimately suggest--as, in fact, it did\nsuggest--the necessity of far more thoroughgoing reforms. For the\npresent, however, the characteristic mark of English reformers was this\nlimitation of their schemes, and a mark which is especially evident in\nBentham and his followers. I will speak, therefore, of the many\nquestions which were arising, partly for these reasons and partly\nbecause the Utilitarian theory was in great part moulded by the\nparticular problems which they had to argue.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[35] Young's _Travels in France_ was republished in 1892, with a preface\nand short life by Miss Betham Edwards. She has since (1898) published\nhis autobiography. See also the autobiographical sketch in the _Annals\nof Agriculture_, xv. 152-97. Young's _Farmer's Letters_ first appeared\nin 1767; his _Tours_ in the Southern, Northern, and Eastern Counties in\n1768, 1770, and 1771; his _Tour in Ireland_ in 1780; and his _Travels in\nFrance_ in 1792. A useful bibliography, containing a list of his many\npublications, is appended to the edition of the _Tour in Ireland_ edited\nby Mr. A. W. Hutton in 1892.\n\n[36] _Annals_, xv. 166.\n\n[37] _Travels in France_ (1892), p. 184 _n._\n\n[38] _Travels in France_, p. 54.\n\n[39] _Ibid._ p. 109.\n\n[40] _Ibid._ p. 61.\n\n[41] _Ibid._ p. 70.\n\n[42] _Ibid._ p. 279.\n\n[43] _Travels in France_, p. 125.\n\n[44] _Ibid._ p. 131.\n\n[45] _Ibid._ pp. 198, 298.\n\n[46] _Ibid._ pp. 55, 193, 199, 237.\n\n[47] _Ibid._ p. 43.\n\n[48] _Travels in France_, pp. 291-92.\n\n[49] _Ibid._ p. 132.\n\n[50] _Ibid._ p. 66.\n\n[51] _Ibid._ p. 131.\n\n[52] e.g. _Southern Tour_, p. 103; _Northern Tour_, p. 180 (York\nCathedral).\n\n[53] _Northern Tour_, iv. 344, 377.\n\n[54] _Irish Tour_, ii. 114.\n\n[55] _Southern Tour_, p. 326.\n\n[56] _Southern Tour_, p. 22.\n\n[57] _Annals_, i. 380.\n\n[58] _Ibid._ vol, x.\n\n[59] _Ibid._ iv. 17.\n\n[60] _Southern Tour_, p. 262; _Northern Tour_, ii. 412.\n\n[61] _Northern Tour_, iv. 410, etc.\n\n[62] _Irish Tour_, ii. 118-19.\n\n[63] _Memoirs of Sir John Sinclair_, by his son. 2 vols., 1837.\n\n[64] _Memoirs_, i. 338.\n\n[65] _A New Statistical Account_, replacing this, appeared in\ntwenty-four volumes from 1834 to 1844.\n\n[66] He was president for the first five years, and again, from 1806\ntill 1813. For an account of this, see Sir Ernest Clarke's _History of\nthe Board of Agriculture_, 1898.\n\n[67] _Northern Tour_, i. 222-32.\n\n[68] _Northern Tour_, ii. 186.\n\n[69] _Southern Tour_, p. 20.\n\n[70] _Northern Tour_, iii. 365.\n\n[71] Arthur Young had a low opinion of Sinclair, whom he took to be a\npushing and consequential busybody, more anxious to make a noise than to\nbe useful. See Young's _Autobiography_ (1898), pp. 243, 315, 437. Sir\nErnest Clarke points out the injury done by Sinclair's hasty and\nblundering extravagance; but also shows that the board did great service\nin stimulating agricultural improvement.\n\n[72] Scott's _Letters_, i. 202.\n\n[73] Essay on 'Turgot.' See, in Daire's Collection of the _Economistes_,\nthe arguments of Quesnay (p. 81), Dupont de Nemours (p. 360), and\nMercier de la Riviere in favour of a legal (as distinguished from an\n'arbitrary') despotism.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nSOCIAL PROBLEMS\n\n\nI. PAUPERISM\n\nPerhaps the gravest of all the problems which were to occupy the coming\ngeneration was the problem of pauperism. The view taken by the\nUtilitarians was highly characteristic and important. I will try to\nindicate the general position of intelligent observers at the end of the\ncentury by referring to the remarkable book of Sir Frederick Morton\nEden. Its purport is explained by the title: 'The State of the Poor; or,\nan History of the Labouring Classes of England from the Norman Conquest\nto the present period; in which are particularly considered their\ndomestic economy, with respect to diet, dress, fuel, and habitation; and\nthe various plans which have from time to time been proposed and adopted\nfor the relief of the poor' (3 vols. 4to, 1797). Eden[74] (1766-1809)\nwas a man of good family and nephew of the first Lord Auckland, who\nnegotiated Pitt's commercial treaty. He graduated as B.A. from Christ\nChurch, Oxford, in 1787; married in 1792, and at his death (14th Nov.\n1809) was chairman of the Globe Insurance Company. He wrote various\npamphlets upon economical topics; contributed letters signed\n'Philanglus' to Cobbett's _Porcupine_, the anti-jacobin paper of the\nday; and is described by Bentham[75] as a 'declared disciple' and a\n'highly valued friend.' He may be reckoned, therefore, as a Utilitarian,\nthough politically he was a Conservative. He seems to have been a man of\nliterary tastes as well as a man of business, and his book is a clear\nand able statement of the points at issue.\n\nEden's attention had been drawn to the subject by the distress which\nfollowed the outbreak of the revolutionary war. He employed an agent who\ntravelled through the country for a year with a set of queries drawn up\nafter the model of those prepared by Sinclair for his _Statistical\nAccount of Scotland_. He thus anticipated the remarkable investigation\nmade in our own time by Mr. Charles Booth. Eden made personal inquiries\nand studied the literature of the subject. He had a precursor in Richard\nBurn (1709-1785), whose _History of the Poor-laws_ appeared in 1764, and\na competitor in John Ruggles, whose _History of the Poor_ first appeared\nin Arthur Young's _Annals_, and was published as a book in 1793 (second\nedition, 1797). Eden's work eclipsed Ruggles's. It has a permanent value\nas a collection of facts; and was a sign of the growing sense of the\nimportance of accurate statistical research. The historian of the social\ncondition of the people should be grateful to one who broke ground at a\ntime when the difficulty of obtaining a sound base for social inquiries\nbegan to make itself generally felt. The value of the book for\nhistorical purposes lies beyond my sphere. His first volume, I may say,\ngives a history of legislation from the earliest period; and contains\nalso a valuable account of the voluminous literature which had grown up\nduring the two preceding centuries. The other two summarise the reports\nwhich he had received. I will only say enough to indicate certain\ncritical points. Eden's book unfortunately was to mark, not a solution\nof the difficulty but, the emergence of a series of problems which were\nto increase in complexity and ominous significance through the next\ngeneration.\n\nThe general history of the poor-law is sufficiently familiar.[76] The\nmediaeval statutes take us to a period at which the labourer was still\nregarded as a serf; and a man who had left his village was treated like\na fugitive slave. A long series of statutes regulated the treatment of\nthe 'vagabond.' The vagabond, however, had become differentiated from\nthe pauper. The decay of the ancient order of society and its\ncorresponding institutions had led to a new set of problems; and the\nfamous statute of Elizabeth (1601) had laid down the main lines of the\nsystem which is still in operation.\n\nWhen the labourer was regarded as in a servile condition, he might be\nsupported from the motives which lead an owner to support his slaves, or\nby the charitable energies organised by ecclesiastical institutions. He\nhad now ceased to be a serf, and the institutions which helped the poor\nman or maintained the beggar were wrecked. The Elizabethan statute gave\nhim, therefore, a legal claim to be supported, and, on the other hand,\ndirected that he should be made to work for his living. The assumption\nis still that every man is a member of a little social circle. He\nbelongs to his parish, and it is his fellow-parishioners who are bound\nto support him. So long as this corresponded to facts, the system could\nwork satisfactorily. With the spread of commerce, and the growth of a\nless settled population, difficulties necessarily arose. The pauper and\nthe vagabond represent a kind of social extravasation; the 'masterless\nman' who has strayed from his legitimate place or has become a\nsuperfluity in his own circle. The vagabond could be flogged, sent to\nprison, or if necessary hanged, but it was more difficult to settle what\nto do with a man who was not a criminal, but simply a product in excess\nof demand. All manner of solutions had been suggested by philanthropists\nand partly adopted by the legislature. One point which especially\nconcerns us is the awkwardness or absence of an appropriate\nadministrative machinery.\n\nThe parish, the unit on which the pauper had claims, meant the persons\nupon whom the poor-rate was assessed. These were mainly farmers and\nsmall tradesmen who formed the rather vague body called the vestry.\n'Overseers' were appointed by the ratepayers themselves; they were not\npaid, and the disagreeable office was taken in turn for short periods.\nThe most obvious motive with the average ratepayer was of course to keep\ndown the rates and to get the burthen of the poor as much as possible\nout of his own parish. Each parish had at least an interest in economy.\nBut the economical interest also produced flagrant evils.\n\nIn the first place, there was the war between parishes. The law of\nsettlement--which was to decide to what parish a pauper\nbelonged--originated in an act of 1662. Eden observes that the short\nclause in this short act had brought more profit to the lawyers than\n'any other point in the English jurisprudence.'[77] It is said that the\nexpense of such a litigation before the act of 1834 averaged from\nL300,000 to L350,000 a year.[78] Each parish naturally endeavoured to\nshift the burthen upon its neighbours; and was protected by laws which\nenabled it to resist the immigration of labourers or actually to expel\nthem when likely to become chargeable. This law is denounced by Adam\nSmith[79] as a 'violation of natural liberty and justice.' It was often\nharder, he declared, for a poor man to cross the artificial boundaries\nof his parish than to cross a mountain ridge or an arm of the sea. There\nwas, he declared, hardly a poor man in England over forty who had not\nbeen at some time 'cruelly oppressed' by the working of this law. Eden\nthinks that Smith had exaggerated the evil: but a law which operated by\npreventing a free circulation of labour, and made it hard for a poor man\nto seek the best price for his only saleable commodity, was, so far,\nopposed to the fundamental principles common to Smith and Eden. The law,\ntoo, might be used oppressively by the niggardly and narrow-minded. The\noverseer, as Burn complained,[80] was often a petty tyrant: his aim was\nto depopulate his parish; to prevent the poor from obtaining a\nsettlement; to make the workhouse a terror by placing it under the\nmanagement of a bully; and by all kinds of chicanery to keep down the\nrates at whatever cost to the comfort and morality of the poor. This\nexplains the view taken by Arthur Young, and generally accepted at the\nperiod, that the poor-law meant depopulation. Workhouses had been\nstarted in the seventeenth century[81] with the amiable intention of\nproviding the industrious poor with work. Children might be trained to\nindustry and the pauper might be made self-supporting. Workhouses were\nexpected that is, to provide not only work but wages. Defoe, in his\n_Giving Alms no Charity_, pointed out the obvious objections to the\nworkhouse considered as an institution capable of competing with the\nordinary industries. Workhouses, in fact, soon ceased to be profitable.\nTheir value, however, in supplying a test for destitution was\nrecognised; and by an act of 1722, parishes were allowed to set up\nworkhouses, separately or in combination, and to strike off the lists of\nthe poor those who refused to enter them. This was the germ of the later\n'workhouse test.'[82] When grievances arose, the invariable plan, as\nNicholls observes,[83] was to increase the power of the justices. Their\ndiscretion was regarded 'as a certain cure for every shortcoming of the\nlaw and every evil arising out of it.' The great report of 1834 traces\nthis tendency[84] to a clause in an act passed in the reign of William\nIII., which was intended to allow the justices to check the extravagance\nof parish officers. They were empowered to strike off persons improperly\nrelieved. This incidental regulation, widened by subsequent\ninterpretations, allowed the magistrates to order relief, and thereby\nintroduced an incredible amount of demoralisation.\n\nThe course was natural enough, and indeed apparently inevitable. The\njustices of the peace represented the only authority which could be\ncalled in to regulate abuses arising from the incapacity and narrow\nlocal interests of the multitudinous vestries. The schemes of\nimprovement generally involved some plan for a larger area. If a hundred\nor a county were taken for the unit, the devices which depopulated a\nparish would no longer be applicable.[85] The only scheme actually\ncarried was embodied in 'Gilbert's act' (1782), obtained by Thomas\nGilbert (1720-1798), an agent of the duke of Bridgewater, and an active\nadvocate of poor-law reform in the House of Commons. This scheme was\nintended as a temporary expedient during the distress caused by the\nAmerican War; and a larger and more permanent scheme which it was to\nintroduce failed to become law. It enabled parishes to combine if they\nchose to provide common workhouses, and to appoint 'guardians.' The\njustices, as usual, received more powers in order to suppress the harsh\ndealing of the old parochial authorities. The guardians, it was assumed,\ncould always find 'work,' and they were to relieve the able-bodied\nwithout applying the workhouse test. The act, readily adopted, thus\nbecame a landmark in the growth of laxity.[86]\n\nAt the end of the century a rapid development of pauperism had taken\nplace. The expense, as Eden had to complain, had doubled in twenty\nyears. This took place simultaneously with the great development of\nmanufactures. It is not perhaps surprising, though it may be melancholy,\nthat increase of wealth shall be accompanied by increase of pauperism.\nWhere there are many rich men, there will be a better field for thieves\nand beggars. A life of dependence becomes easier though it need not\nnecessarily be adopted. Whatever may have been the relation of the two\nphenomena, the social revolution made the old social arrangements more\ninadequate. Great aggregations of workmen were formed in towns, which\nwere still only villages in a legal sense. Fluctuations of trade, due to\nwar or speculation, brought distress to the improvident; and the old\nassumption that every man had a proper place in a small circle, where\nhis neighbours knew all about him, was further than ever from being\nverified. One painful result was already beginning to show itself.\nNeglected children in great towns had already excited compassion. Thomas\nCoram (1668?-1751) had been shocked by the sight of dying children\nexposed in the streets of London, and succeeded in establishing the\nFoundling Hospital (founded in 1742). In 1762, Jonas Hanway (1712-1786)\nobtained a law for boarding out children born within the bills of\nmortality. The demand for children's labour, produced by the factories,\nseemed naturally enough to offer a better chance for extending such\ncharities. Unfortunately among the people who took advantage of it were\nparish officials, eager to get children off their hands, and\nmanufacturers concerned only to make money out of childish labour.\nHence arose the shameful system for which remedies (as I shall have to\nnotice) had to be sought in a later generation.\n\nMeanwhile the outbreak of the revolutionary war had made the question\nurgent. When Manchester trade suffered, as Eden tells us in his reports,\nmany workmen enlisted in the army, and left their children to be\nsupported by the parish. Bad seasons followed in 1794 and 1795, and\nthere was great distress in the agricultural districts. The governing\nclasses became alarmed. In December 1795 Whitbread introduced a bill\nproviding that the justices of the peace should fix a minimum rate of\nwages. Upon a motion for the second reading, Pitt made the famous speech\n(12th December) including the often-quoted statement that when a man had\na family, relief should be 'a matter of right and honour, instead of a\nground of opprobrium and contempt.'[87] Pitt had in the same speech\nshown his reading of Adam Smith by dwelling upon the general objections\nto state interference with wages, and had argued that more was to be\ngained by removing the restrictions upon the free movement of labour. He\nundertook to produce a comprehensive measure; and an elaborate bill of\n130 clauses was prepared in 1796.[88] The rates were to be used to\nsupplement inadequate wages; 'schools of industry' were to be formed for\nthe support of superabundant children; loans might be made to the poor\nfor the purchase of a cow;[89] and the possession of property was not to\ndisqualify for the receiving relief. In short, the bill seems to have\nbeen a model of misapplied benevolence. The details were keenly\ncriticised by Bentham, and the bill never came to the birth. Other\ntopics were pressing enough at this time to account for the failure of a\nmeasure so vast in its scope. Meanwhile something had to be done. On 6th\nMay 1795 the Berkshire magistrates had passed certain resolutions called\nfrom their place of meeting, the 'Speenhamland Act of Parliament.' They\nprovided that the rate of wages of a labourer should be increased in\nproportion to the price of corn and to the number of his family--a rule\nwhich, as Eden observes, tended to discourage economy of food in times\nof scarcity. They also sanctioned the disastrous principle of paying\npart of the wages out of rates. An act passed in 1796 repealed the old\nrestrictions upon out-door relief; and thus, during the hard times that\nwere to follow, the poor-laws were adapted to produce the state of\nthings in which, as Cobbett says (in 1821) 'every labourer who has\nchildren is now regularly and constantly a pauper.'[90] The result\nrepresents a curious compromise. The landowners, whether from\nbenevolence or fear of revolution, desired to meet the terrible distress\nof the times. Unfortunately their spasmodic interference was guided by\nno fixed principles, and acted upon a class of institutions not\norganised upon any definite system. The general effect seems to have\nbeen that the ratepayers, no longer allowed to 'depopulate,' sought to\nturn the compulsory stream of charity partly into their own pockets. If\nthey were forced to support paupers, they could contrive to save the\npayment of wages. They could use the labour of the rate-supported\npauper instead of employing independent workmen. The evils thus produced\nled before long to most important discussions.[91] The ordinary view of\nthe poor-law was inverted. The prominent evil was the reckless increase\nof a degraded population instead of the restriction of population.\nEden's own view is sufficiently indicative of the light in which the\nfacts showed themselves to intelligent economists. As a disciple of Adam\nSmith, he accepts the rather vague doctrine of his master about the\n'balance' between labour and capital. If labour exceeds capital, he\nsays, the labourer must starve 'in spite of all political\nregulations.'[92] He therefore looks with disfavour upon the whole\npoor-law system. It is too deeply rooted to be abolished, but he thinks\nthat the amount to be raised should not be permitted to exceed the sum\nlevied on an average of previous years. The only certain result of\nPitt's measure would be a vast expenditure upon a doubtful experiment:\nand one main purpose of his publication was to point out the objections\nto the plan. He desires what seemed at that time to be almost hopeless,\na national system of education; but his main doctrine is the wisdom of\nreliance upon individual effort. The truth of the maxim '_pas trop\ngouverner_,' he says,[93] has never been better illustrated than by the\ncontrast between friendly societies and the poor-laws. Friendly\nsocieties had been known, though they were still on a humble scale, from\nthe beginning of the century, and had tended to diminish pauperism in\nspite of the poor-laws. Eden gives many accounts of them. They seem to\nhave suggested a scheme proposed by the worthy Francis Maseres[94]\n(1731-1824) in 1772 for the establishment of life annuities. A bill to\ngive effect to this scheme passed the House of Commons in 1773 with the\nsupport of Burke and Savile, but was thrown out in the House of Lords.\nIn 1786 John Acland (died 1796), a Devonshire clergyman and justice of\nthe peace, proposed a scheme for uniting the whole nation into a kind of\nfriendly society for the support of the poor when out of work and in old\nage. It was criticised by John Howlett (1731-1804), a clergyman who\nwrote much upon the poor-laws. He attributes the growth of pauperism to\nthe rise of prices, and calculates that out of an increased expenditure\nof L700,000, L219,000 had been raised by the rich, and the remainder\n'squeezed out of the flesh, blood, and bones of the poor,' An act for\nestablishing Acland's crude scheme failed next year in parliament.[95]\nThe merit of the societies, according to Eden, was their tendency to\nstimulate self-help; and how to preserve that merit, while making them\ncompulsory, was a difficult problem. I have said enough to mark a\ncritical and characteristic change of opinion. One source of evil\npointed out by contemporaries had been the absence of any central power\nwhich could regulate and systematise the action of the petty local\nbodies. The very possibility of such organisation, however, seems to\nhave been simply inconceivable. When the local bodies became lavish\ninstead of over-frugal, the one remedy suggested was to abolish the\nsystem altogether.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[74] See _Dictionary of National Biography_.\n\n[75] _Works_, i. 255.\n\n[76] See Sir G. Nicholls's _History of the Poor-law_, 1854. A new\nedition, with life by H. G. Willink, appeared in 1898.\n\n[77] _History_, i. 175.\n\n[78] M'Culloch's note to _Wealth of Nations_, p. 65. M'Culloch in his\nappendix makes some sensible remarks upon the absence of any properly\nconstituted parochial 'tribunal.'\n\n[79] _Wealth of Nations_, bk. i. ch. x.\n\n[80] See passage quoted in Eden's _History_, i. 347.\n\n[81] Thomas Firmin (1632-1677), a philanthropist, whose Socinianism did\nnot exclude him from the friendship of such liberal bishops as Tillotson\nand Fowler, started a workhouse in 1676.\n\n[82] Nicholls (1898), ii. 14.\n\n[83] _Ibid._ (1898), ii. 123.\n\n[84] _Report_, p. 67.\n\n[85] William Hay, for example, carried resolutions in the House of\nCommons in 1735, but failed to carry a bill which had this object. See\nEden's _History_, i. 396. Cooper in 1763 proposed to make the hundred\nthe unit.--Nicholls's _History_, i. 58. Fielding proposes a similar\nchange in London. Dean Tucker speaks of the evil of the limited area in\nhis _Manifold Causes of the Increase of the Poor_ (1760).\n\n[86] Nicholls, ii. 88.\n\n[87] _Parl. Hist._ xxxii. 710.\n\n[88] A full abstract is given in Edens _History_, iii. ccclxiii. etc.\n\n[89] Bentham observes (_Works_, viii. 448) that the cow will require the\nthree acres to keep it.\n\n[90] Cobbett's _Political Works_, vi. 64\n\n[91] I need only note here that the first edition of Malthus's _Essay_\nappeared in 1798, the year after Eden's publication.\n\n[92] Eden's _History_, i. 583.\n\n[93] _Ibid._ i. 587.\n\n[94] Maseres, an excellent Whig, a good mathematician, and a respected\nlawyer, is perhaps best known at present from his portrait in Charles\nLamb's _Old Benchers_.\n\n[95] It maybe noticed as an anticipation of modern schemes that in 1792\nPaine proposed a system of 'old age pensions,' for which the necessary\nfunds were to be easily obtained when universal peace had abolished all\nmilitary charges. See _State Trials_, xxv. 175.\n\n\nII. THE POLICE\n\nThe system of 'self-government' showed its weak side in this direction.\nIt meant that an important function was intrusted to small bodies, quite\nincompetent of acting upon general principles, and perfectly capable of\npetty jobbing, when unrestrained by any effective supervision. In\nanother direction the same tendency was even more strikingly\nillustrated. Municipal institutions were almost at their lowest point of\ndecay. Manchester and Birmingham were two of the largest and most\nrapidly growing towns. By the end of the century Manchester had a\npopulation of 90,000 and Birmingham of 70,000. Both were ruled, as far\nas they were ruled, by the remnants of old manorial institutions.\nAikin[96] observes that 'Manchester (in 1795) remains an open town;\ndestitute (probably to its advantage) of a corporation, and\nunrepresented in parliament.' It was governed by a 'boroughreeve' and\ntwo constables elected annually at the court-leet. William Hutton, the\nquaint historian of Birmingham, tells us in 1783 that the town was still\nlegally a village, with a high and low bailiff, a 'high and low taster,'\ntwo 'affeerers,' and two 'leather-sealers,' In 1752 it had been provided\nwith a 'court of requests' for the recovery of small debts, and in 1769\nwith a body of commissioners to provide for lighting the town. This was\nthe system by which, with some modifications, Birmingham was governed\ntill after the Reform Bill.[97] Hutton boasts[98] that no town was\nbetter governed or had fewer officers. 'A town without a charter,' he\nsays, 'is a town without a shackle.' Perhaps he changed his opinions\nwhen his warehouses were burnt in 1791, and the town was at the mercy of\nthe mob till a regiment of 'light horse' could be called in. Aikin and\nHutton, however, reflect the general opinion at a time when the town\ncorporations had become close and corrupt bodies, and were chiefly\n'shackles' upon the energy of active members of the community. I must\nleave the explanation of this decay to historians. I will only observe\nthat what would need explanation would seem to be rather the absence\nthan the presence of corruption. The English borough was not stimulated\nby any pressure from a central government; nor was it a semi-independent\nbody in which every citizen had the strongest motives for combining to\nsupport its independence against neighbouring towns or invading nobles.\nThe lower classes were ignorant, and probably would be rather hostile\nthan favourable to any such modest interference with dirt and disorder\nas would commend themselves to the officials. Naturally, power was left\nto the little cliques of prosperous tradesmen, who formed close\ncorporations, and spent the revenues upon feasts or squandered them by\ncorrupt practices. Here, as in the poor-law, the insufficiency of the\nadministrative body suggests to contemporaries, not its reform, but its\nsuperfluity.\n\nThe most striking account of some of the natural results is in\nColquhoun's[99] _Treatise on the Police of the Metropolis_. Patrick\nColquhoun (1745-1820), an energetic Scot, was born at Dumbarton in 1745,\nhad been in business at Glasgow, where he was provost in 1782 and 1783,\nand in 1789 settled in London. In 1792 he obtained through Dundas an\nappointment to one of the new police magistracies created by an act of\nthat year. He took an active part in many schemes of social reform; and\nhis book gives an account of the investigations by which his schemes\nwere suggested and justified. It must be said, however, parenthetically,\nthat his statistics scarcely challenge implicit confidence. Like\nSinclair and Eden, he saw the importance of obtaining facts and figures,\nbut his statements are suspiciously precise and elaborate.[100] The\nbroad facts are clear enough.\n\nLondon was, he says, three miles broad and twenty-five in circumference.\nThe population in 1801 was 641,000. It was the largest town, and\napparently the most chaotic collection of dwellings in the civilised\nworld. There were, as Colquhoun asserts[101] in an often-quoted passage,\n20,000 people in it, who got up every morning without knowing how they\nwould get through the day. There were 5000 public-houses, and 50,000\nwomen supported, wholly or partly, by prostitution. The revenues raised\nby crime amounted, as he calculates, to an annual sum of, L2,000,000.\nThere were whole classes of professional thieves, more or less organised\nin gangs, which acted in support of each other. There were gangs on the\nriver, who boarded ships at night, or lay in wait round the warehouses.\nThe government dockyards were systematically plundered, and the same\narticle often sold four times over to the officials. The absence of\npatrols gave ample chance to the highwaymen then peculiar to England.\nTheir careers, commemorated in the _Newgate Calendar_, had a certain\nflavour of Robin Hood romance, and their ranks were recruited from\ndissipated apprentices and tradesmen in difficulty. The fields round\nLondon were so constantly plundered that the rent was materially\nlowered. Half the hackney coachmen, he says,[102] were in league with\nthieves. The number of receiving houses for stolen goods had increased\nin twenty years from 300 to 3000.[103] Coining was a flourishing trade,\nand according to Colquhoun employed several thousand persons.[104]\nGambling had taken a fresh start about 1777 and 1778[105]; and the\nkeepers of tables had always money enough at command to make convictions\nalmost impossible. French refugees at the revolution had introduced\n_rouge et noir_; and Colquhoun estimates the sums yearly lost in\ngambling-houses at over L7,000,000. The gamblers might perhaps appeal\nnot only to the practices of their betters in the days of Fox, but to\nthe public lotteries. Colquhoun had various correspondents, who do not\nventure to propose the abolition of a system which sanctioned the\npractice, but who hope to diminish the facility for supplementary\nbetting on the results of the official drawing.\n\nThe war had tended to increase the number of loose and desperate\nmarauders who swarmed in the vast labyrinth of London streets. When we\nconsider the nature of the police by which these evils were to be\nchecked, and the criminal law which they administered, the wonder is\nless that there were sometimes desperate riots (as in 1780) than that\nLondon should have been ever able to resist a mob. Colquhoun, though a\npatriotic Briton, has to admit that the French despots had at last\ncreated an efficient police. The emperor, Joseph II., he says, inquired\nfor an Austrian criminal supposed to have escaped to Paris. You will\nfind him, replied the head of the French police, at No. 93 of such a\nstreet in Vienna on the second-floor room looking upon such a church;\nand there he was. In England a criminal could hide himself in a herd of\nhis like, occasionally disturbed by the inroad of a 'Bow Street runner,'\nthe emissary of the 'trading justices,' formerly represented by the two\nFieldings. An act of 1792 created seven new offices, to one of which\nColquhoun had been appointed. They had one hundred and eighty-nine paid\nofficers under them. There were also about one thousand constables.\nThese were small tradesmen or artisans upon whom the duty was imposed\nwithout remuneration for a year by their parish, that is, by one of\nseventy independent bodies. A 'Tyburn ticket,' given in reward for\nobtaining the conviction of a criminal exempted a man from the discharge\nof such offices, and could be bought for from L15 to L25. There were\nalso two thousand watchmen receiving from 8-1/2d. up to 2s. a night.\nThese were the true successors of Dogberry; often infirm or aged persons\nappointed to keep them out of the workhouse. The management of this\ndistracted force thus depended upon a miscellaneous set of bodies; the\npaid magistrates, the officials of the city, the justices of the peace\nfor Middlesex, and the seventy independent parishes.\n\nThe law was as defective as the administration. Colquhoun represents the\nphilanthropic impulse of the day, and notices[106] that in 1787 Joseph\nII. had abolished capital punishment. His chief authority for more\nmerciful methods is Beccaria; and it is worth remarking, for reasons\nwhich will appear hereafter, that he does not in this connection refer\nto Bentham, although he speaks enthusiastically[107] of Bentham's model\nprison, the Panopticon. Colquhoun shows how strangely the severity of\nthe law was combined with its extreme capaciousness. He quotes\nBacon[108] for the statement that the law was a 'heterogeneous mass\nconcocted too often on the spur of the moment,' and gives sufficient\nproofs of its truth. He desires, for example, a law to punish receivers\nof stolen goods, and says that there were excellent laws in existence.\nUnfortunately one law applied exclusively to the case of pewter-pots,\nand another exclusively to the precious metals; neither could be used as\nagainst receivers of horses or bank notes.[109] So a man indicted under\nan act against stealing from ships on navigable rivers escaped, because\nthe barge from which he stole happened to be aground. Gangs could afford\nto corrupt witnesses or to pay knavish lawyers skilled in applying these\nvagaries of legislation. Juries also disliked convicting when the\npenalty for coining sixpence was the same as the penalty for killing a\nmother. It followed, as he shows by statistics, that half the persons\ncommitted for trial escaped by petty chicanery or corruption, or the\nreluctance of juries to convict for capital offences. Only about\none-fifth of the capital sentences were executed; and many were pardoned\non condition of enlisting to improve the morals of the army. The\ncriminals, who were neither hanged nor allowed to escape, were sent to\nprisons, which were schools of vice. After the independence of the\nAmerican colonies, the system of transportation to Australia had begun\n(in 1787); but the expense was enormous, and prisoners were huddled\ntogether in the hulks at Woolwich and Portsmouth, which had been used as\na temporary expedient. Thence they were constantly discharged, to return\nto their old practices. A man, says Colquhoun,[110] would deserve a\nstatue who should carry out a plan for helping discharged prisoners. To\nmeet these evils, Colquhoun proposes various remedies, such as a\nmetropolitan police, a public prosecutor, or even a codification or\nrevision of the Criminal Code, which he sees is likely to be delayed. He\nalso suggested, in a pamphlet of 1799, a kind of charity organisation\nsociety to prevent the waste of funds. Many other pamphlets of similar\ntendencies show his active zeal in promoting various reforms. Colquhoun\nwas in close correspondence with Bentham from the year 1798,[111] and\nBentham helped him by drawing the Thames Police Act, passed in 1800, to\ngive effect to some of the suggestions in the _Treatise_.[112]\n\nAnother set of abuses has a special connection with Bentham's activity.\nBentham had been led in 1778 to attend to the prison question by reading\nHoward's book on _Prisons_; and he refers to the 'venerable friend who\nhad lived an apostle and died a martyr.'[113] The career of John Howard\n(1726-1790) is familiar. The son of a London tradesman, he had inherited\nan estate in Bedfordshire. There he erected model cottages and village\nschools; and, on becoming sheriff of the county in 1773, was led to\nattend to abuses in the prisons. Two acts of parliament were passed in\n1774 to remedy some of the evils exposed, and he pursued the inquiry at\nhome and abroad. His results are given in his _State of the Prisons in\nEngland and Wales_ (1779, fourth edition, 1792), and his _Account of the\nPrincipal Lazarettos in Europe_ (1789). The prisoners, he says, had\nlittle food, sometimes a penny loaf a day, and sometimes nothing; no\nwater, no fresh air, no sewers, and no bedding. The stench was\nappalling, and gaol fever killed more than died on the gallows. Debtors\nand felons, men, women and children, were huddled together; often with\nlunatics, who were shown by the gaolers for money. 'Garnish' was\nextorted; the gaolers kept drinking-taps; gambling flourished: and\nprisoners were often cruelly ironed, and kept for long periods before\ntrial. At Hull the assizes had only been held once in seven years, and\nafterwards once in three. It is a comfort to find that the whole number\nof prisoners in England and Wales amounted, in 1780, to about 4400, 2078\nof whom were debtors, 798 felons, and 917 petty offenders. An act passed\nin 1779 provided for the erection of two penitentiaries. Howard was to\nbe a supervisor. The failure to carry out this act led, as we shall see,\nto one of Bentham's most characteristic undertakings. One peculiarity\nmust be noted. Howard found prisons on the continent where the\ntreatment was bad and torture still occasionally practised; but he\nnowhere found things so bad as in England. In Holland the prisons were\nso neat and clean as to make it difficult to believe that they were\nprisons: and they were used as models for the legislation of 1779. One\ncause of this unenviable distinction of English prisons had been\nindicated by an earlier investigation. General Oglethorpe (1696-1785)\nhad been started in his philanthropic career by obtaining a committee of\nthe House of Commons in 1729 to inquire into the state of the gaols. The\nfoundation of the colony of Georgia as an outlet for the population was\none result of the inquiry. It led, in the first place, however, to a\ntrial of persons accused of atrocious cruelties at the Fleet\nprison.[114] The trial was abortive. It appeared in the course of the\nproceedings that the Fleet prison was a 'freehold,' A patent for\nrebuilding it had been granted to Sir Jeremy Whichcot under Charles II.,\nand had been sold to one Higgins, who resold it to other persons for\nL5000. The proprietors made their investment pay by cruel ill-treatment\nof the prisoners, oppressing the poor and letting off parts of the\nprison to dealers in drink. This was the general plan in the prisons\nexamined by Howard, and helps to account for the gross abuses. It is one\nmore application of the general system. As the patron was owner of a\nliving, and the officer of his commission, the keeper of a prison was\nowner of his establishment. The paralysis of administration which\nprevailed throughout the country made it natural to farm out paupers to\nthe master of a workhouse, and prisoners to the proprietor of a gaol.\nThe state of prisoners may be inferred not only from Howard's authentic\nrecord but from the fictions of Fielding, Smollett and Goldsmith; and\nthe last echoes of the same complaints may be found in _Pickwick_ and\n_Little Dorrit_. The Marshalsea described in the last was also a\nproprietary concern. We shall hereafter see how Bentham proposed to\ntreat the evils revealed by Oglethorpe and Howard.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[96] Aikin's _Country Round Manchester_.\n\n[97] Bunce's _History of the Corporation of Birmingham_ (1878).\n\n[98] _History of Birmingham_ (2nd edition), p. 327.\n\n[99] The first edition, 1795, the sixth, from which I quote, in 1800. In\nBenthams _Works_, x. 330, it is said that in 1798, 7500 copies of this\nbook had been sold.\n\n[100] In 1814 Colquhoun published an elaborate account of the _Resources\nof the British Empire_, showing similar qualities.\n\n[101] _Police_, p. 310.\n\n[102] _Police_, p. 105.\n\n[103] _Ibid._ p. 13.\n\n[104] _Ibid._ p. 211.\n\n[105] _Ibid._ p. 136.\n\n[106] _Police_, p. 60.\n\n[107] _Ibid._ p. 481.\n\n[108] _Ibid._ p. 7.\n\n[109] _Ibid._ p. 298.\n\n[110] _Police_, p. 99.\n\n[111] Bentham's _Works_, x. 329 _seq._\n\n[112] _Ibid._ v. 335.\n\n[113] Bentham's _Works_, iv. 3, 121.\n\n[114] Cobbett's _State Trials_, xvii. 297-626.\n\n\nIII. EDUCATION\n\nAnother topic treated by Colquhoun marks the initial stage of\ncontroversies which were soon to grow warm. Colquhoun boasts of the\nnumber of charities for which London was already conspicuous. A growing\nfacility for forming associations of all kinds, political, religious,\nscientific, and charitable, is an obvious characteristic of modern\nprogress. Where in earlier times a college or a hospital had to be\nendowed by a founder and invested by charter with corporate personality,\nit is now necessary only to call a meeting, form a committee, and appeal\nfor subscriptions. Societies of various kinds had sprung up during the\ncentury. Artists, men of science, agriculturists, and men of literary\ntastes, had founded innumerable academies and 'philosophical\ninstitutes.' The great London hospitals, dependent upon voluntary\nsubscriptions, had been founded during the first half of the century.\nColquhoun counts the annual revenue of various charitable institutions\nat L445,000, besides which the endowments produced L150,000, and the\npoor-rates L255,000.[115] Among these a considerable number were\nintended to promote education. Here, as in some other cases, it seems\nthat people at the end of the century were often taking up an impulse\ngiven a century before. So the Society for promoting Christian\nKnowledge, founded in 1699, and the Society for the Propagation of the\nGospel, founded in 1701, were supplemented by the Church Missionary\nSociety and the Religious Tract Society, both founded in 1799. The\nsocieties for the reformation of manners, prevalent at the end of the\nseventeenth century, were taken as a model by Wilberforce and his\nfriends at the end of the eighteenth.[116] In the same way, the first\nattempts at providing a general education for the poor had been made by\nArchbishop Tenison, who founded a parochial school about 1680 in order\n'to check the growth of popery.' Charity schools became common during\nthe early part of the eighteenth century and received various\nendowments. They were attacked as tending to teach the poor too much--a\nvery needless alarm--and also by free thinkers, such as Mandeville, as\nintended outworks of the established church. This last objection was a\nforetaste of the bitter religious controversies which were to accompany\nthe growth of an educational system. Colquhoun says that there were 62\nendowed schools in London, from Christ's Hospital downwards, educating\nabout 5000 children; 237 parish schools with about 9000 children, and\n3730 'private schools.' The teaching was, of course, very imperfect, and\nin a report of a committee of the House of Commons in 1818, it is\ncalculated that about half the children in a large district were\nentirely uneducated. There was, of course, nothing in England deserving\nthe name of a system in educational more than in any other matters. The\ngrammar schools throughout the country provided more or less for the\nclasses which could not aspire to the public schools and universities.\nAbout a third of the boys at Christ's Hospital were, as Coleridge tells\nus, sons of clergymen.[117] The children of the poor were either not\neducated, or picked up their letters at some charity school or such a\ncountry dame's school as is described by Shenstone. A curious proof,\nhowever, of rising interest in the question is given by the Sunday\nSchools movement at the end of the century. Robert Raikes (1735-1811), a\nprinter in Gloucester and proprietor of a newspaper, joined with a\nclergyman to set up a school in 1780 at a total cost of 1s. 6d. a week.\nWithin three or four years the plan was taken up everywhere, and the\nworthy Raikes, whose newspaper had spread the news, found himself\nrevered as a great pioneer of philanthropy. Wesley took up the scheme\nwarmly; bishops condescended to approve; the king and queen were\ninterested, and within three or four years the number of learners was\nreckoned at two or three hundred thousand. A Sunday School Association\nwas formed in 1785 with well known men of business at its head. Queen\nCharlotte's friend, Mrs. Trimmer (1741-1810), took up the work near\nLondon, and Hannah More (1745-1833) in Somersetshire. Hannah More gives\na strange account of the utter absence of any civilising agencies in the\ndistrict around Cheddar where she and her sisters laboured. She was\naccused of 'methodism' and a leaning to Jacobinism, although her views\nwere of the most moderate kind. She wished the poor to be able to read\ntheir Bibles and to be qualified for domestic duties, but not to write\nor to be enabled to read Tom Paine or be encouraged to rise above their\nposition. The literary light of the Whigs, Dr. Parr (1747-1825), showed\nhis liberality by arguing that the poor ought to be taught, but admitted\nthat the enterprise had its limits. The 'Deity Himself had fixed a great\ngulph between them and the poor.' A scanty instruction given on Sundays\nalone was not calculated to facilitate the passage of that gulf. By the\nend of the century, however, signs of a more systematic movement were\nshowing themselves. Bell and Lancaster, of whom I shall have to speak,\nwere rival claimants for the honour of initiating a new departure in\neducation. The controversy which afterwards raged between the supporters\nof the two systems marked a complete revolution of opinion. Meanwhile,\nalthough the need of schools was beginning to be felt, the appliances\nfor education in England were a striking instance of the general\ninefficiency in every department which needed combined action. In\nScotland the system of parish schools was one obvious cause of the\nsuccess of so many of the Scotsmen which excited the jealousy of\nsouthern competitors. Even in Ireland there appears to have been a more\nefficient set of schools. And yet, one remark must be suggested. There\nis probably no period in English history at which a greater number of\npoor men have risen to distinction. The greatest beyond comparison of\nself-taught poets was Burns (1759-1796). The political writer who was at\nthe time producing the most marked effect was Thomas Paine (1737-1809),\nson of a small tradesman. His successor in influence was William Cobbett\n(1762-1835), son of an agricultural labourer, and one of the pithiest of\nall English writers. William Gifford (1756-1826), son of a small\ntradesman in Devonshire, was already known as a satirist and was to lead\nConservatives as editor of the _The Quarterly Review_. John Dalton\n(1766-1842), son of a poor weaver, was one of the most distinguished men\nof science. Porson (1759-1808), the greatest Greek scholar of his time,\nwas son of a Norfolk parish clerk, though sagacious patrons had sent him\nto Eton in his fifteenth year. The Oxford professor of Arabic, Joseph\nWhite (1746-1814), was son of a poor weaver in the country and a man of\nreputation for learning, although now remembered only for a rather\ndisreputable literary squabble. Robert Owen and Joseph Lancaster, both\nsprung from the ranks, were leaders in social movements. I have already\nspoken of such men as Watt, Telford, and Rennie; and smaller names might\nbe added in literature, science, and art. The individualist virtue of\n'self-help' was not confined to successful money-making or to the\nwealthier classes. One cause of the literary excellence of Burns, Paine,\nand Cobbett may be that, when literature was less centralised, a writer\nwas less tempted to desert his natural dialect. I mention the fact,\nhowever, merely to suggest that, whatever were then the difficulties of\ngetting such schooling as is now common, an energetic lad even in the\nmost neglected regions might force his way to the front.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[115] _Police_, p. 340.\n\n[116] Wilberforce started on this plan a 'society for enforcing the\nking's proclamation' in 1786, which was supplemented by the society for\n'the Suppression of Vice' in 1802. I don't suppose that vice was much\nsuppressed. Sydney Smith ridiculed its performances in the _Edinburgh_\nfor 1809. The article is in his works. A more interesting society was\nthat for 'bettering the condition of the poor,' started by Sir Thomas\nBernard and Wilberforce in 1796.\n\n[117] _Biographia Literaria_ (1847), ii. 327.\n\n\nIV. THE SLAVE-TRADE\n\nI have thus noticed the most conspicuous of the contemporary problems\nwhich, as we shall see, provided the main tasks of Bentham and his\nfollowers. One other topic must be mentioned as in more ways than one\ncharacteristic of the spirit of the time. The parliamentary attack upon\nthe slave-trade began just before the outbreak of the revolution. It is\ngenerally described as an almost sudden awakening of the national\nconscience. That it appealed to that faculty is undeniable, and,\nmoreover, it is at least a remarkable instance of legislative action\nupon purely moral grounds. It is true that in this case the conscience\nwas the less impeded because it was roused chiefly by the sins of men's\nneighbours. The slave-trading class was a comparative excrescence. Their\ntrade could be attacked without such widespread interference with the\nsocial order as was implied, for example, in remedying the grievances of\npaupers or of children in factories. The conflict with morality, again,\nwas so plain as to need no demonstration. It seems to be a questionable\nlogic which assumes the merit of a reformer to be in proportion to the\nflagrancy of the evil assailed. The more obvious the case, surely the\nless the virtue needed in the assailant. However this may be, no one can\ndeny the moral excellence of such men as Wilberforce and Clarkson, nor\nthe real change in the moral standard implied by the success of their\nagitation. But another question remains, which is indicated by a later\ncontroversy. The followers of Wilberforce and of Clarkson were jealous\nof each other. Each party tried to claim the chief merit for its hero.\nEach was, I think, unjust to the other. The underlying motive was the\ndesire to obtain credit for the 'Evangelicals' or their rivals as the\noriginators of a great movement. Without touching the personal details\nit is necessary to say something of the general sentiments implied. In\nhis history of the agitation,[118] Clarkson gives a quaint chart,\nshowing how the impulse spread from various centres till it converged\nupon a single area, and his facts are significant.\n\nThat a great change had taken place is undeniable. Protestant England\nhad bargained with Catholic Spain in the middle of the century for the\nright of supplying slaves to America, while at the peace of 1814 English\nstatesmen were endeavouring to secure a combination of all civilised\npowers against the trade. Smollett, in 1748, makes the fortune of his\nhero, Roderick Random, by placing him as mate of a slave-ship under the\nideal sailor, Bowling. About the same time John Newton (1725-1807),\nafterwards the venerated teacher of Cowper and the Evangelicals, was in\ncommand of a slaver, and enjoying 'sweeter and more frequent hours of\ndivine communion' than he had elsewhere known. He had no scruples,\nthough he had the grace to pray 'to be fixed in a more humane calling.'\nIn later years he gave the benefit of his experience to the\nabolitionists.[119] A new sentiment, however, was already showing\nitself. Clarkson collects various instances. Southern's Oroonoco,\nfounded on a story by Mrs. Behn, and Steele's story of Inkle and Yarico\nin an early _Spectator_, Pope's poor Indian in the _Essay on Man_, and\nallusions by Thomson, Shenstone, and Savage, show that poets and\nnovelists could occasionally turn the theme to account. Hutcheson, the\nmoralist, incidentally condemns slavery; and divines such as Bishops\nHayter and Warburton took the same view in sermons before the Society\nfor the Propagation of Christian Knowledge. Johnson, 'last of the\nTories' though he was, had a righteous hatred for the system.[120] He\ntoasted the next insurrection of negroes in the West Indies, and asked\nwhy we always heard the 'loudest yelps for liberty among the drivers of\nnegroes'? Thomas Day (1748-1789), as an ardent follower of Rousseau,\nwrote the _Dying Negro_ in 1773, and, in the same spirit, denounced the\ninconsistencies of slave-holding champions of American liberty.\n\nSuch isolated utterances showed a spreading sentiment. The honour of the\nfirst victory in the practical application must be given to Granville\nSharp[121] (1735-1813), one of the most charming and, in the best sense,\n'Quixotic' of men. In 1772 his exertions had led to the famous decision\nby Lord Mansfield in the case of the negro Somerset.[122] Sharp in 1787\nbecame chairman of the committee formed to attack the slave-trade by\ncollecting the evidence of which Wilberforce made use in parliament. The\ncommittee was chiefly composed of Quakers; as indeed, Quakers are pretty\nsure to be found in every philanthropic movement of the period. I must\nleave the explanation to the historian of religious movements; but the\nfact is characteristic. The Quakers had taken the lead in America. The\nQuaker was both practical and a mystic. His principles put him outside\nof the ordinary political interests, and of the military world. He\ndirected his activities to helping the poor, the prisoner, and the\noppressed. Among the Quakers of the eighteenth century were John Woolman\n(1720-1772), a writer beloved by the congenial Charles Lamb and Antoine\nBenezet (1713-1784), born in France, and son of a French refugee who\nsettled in Philadelphia. When Clarkson wrote the prize essay upon the\nslave-trade (1785), which started his career, it was from Benezet's\nwritings that he obtained his information. By their influence the\nPennsylvanian Quakers were gradually led to pronounce against\nslavery[123]; and the first anti-slavery society was founded in\nPhiladelphia in 1775, the year in which the skirmish at Lexington began\nthe war of independence. That suggests another influence. The\nRationalists of the eighteenth century were never tired of praising the\nQuakers. The Quakers were, by their essential principles, in favour of\nabsolute toleration, and their attitude towards dogma was not\ndissimilar. 'Rationalisation' and 'Spiritualisation' are in some\ndirections similar. The general spread of philanthropic sentiment,\nwhich found its formula in the _Rights of Man_, fell in with the Quaker\nhatred of war and slavery. Voltaire heartily admires Barclay, the Quaker\napologist. It is, therefore, not surprising to find the names of the\ndeists, Franklin and Paine, associated with Quakers in this movement.\nFranklin was an early president of the new association, and Paine wrote\nan article to support the early agitation.[124] Paine himself was a\nQuaker by birth, who had dropped his early creed while retaining a\nrespect for its adherents. When the agitation began it was in fact\ngenerally approved by all except the slave-traders. Sound Whig divines,\nWatson and Paley and Parr; Unitarians such as Priestley and Gilbert\nWakefield and William Smith; and the great methodist, John Wesley, were\nunited on this point. Fox and Burke and Pitt rivalled each other in\ncondemning the system. The actual delay was caused partly by the\nstrength of the commercial interests in parliament, and partly by the\ngrowth of the anti-Jacobin sentiment.\n\nThe attempt to monopolise the credit of the movement by any particular\nsect is absurd. Wilberforce and his friends might fairly claim the glory\nof having been worthy representatives of a new spirit of philanthropy;\nbut most certainly they did not create or originate it. The general\ngrowth of that spirit throughout the century must be explained, so far\nas 'explanation' is possible, by wider causes. It was, as I must venture\nto assume, a product of complex social changes which were bringing\nclasses and nations into closer contact, binding them together by new\nties, and breaking up the old institutions which had been formed under\nobsolete conditions. The true moving forces were the same whether these\nrepresentatives announced the new gospel of the 'rights of man'; or\nappealed to the traditional rights of Englishmen; or rallied supporters\nof the old order so far as it still provided the most efficient\nmachinery for the purpose. The revival of religion under Wesley and the\nEvangelicals meant the direction of the stream into one channel. The\nparalytic condition of the Church of England disqualified it for\nappropriating the new energy. The men who directed the movements were\nmainly stimulated by moral indignation at the gross abuses, and the\nindolence of the established priesthood naturally gave them an\nanti-sacerdotal turn. They simply accepted the old Protestant tradition.\nThey took no interest in the intellectual questions involved.\nRationalism, according to them, meant simply an attack upon the\ntraditional sanctions of morality; and it scarcely occurred to them to\nask for any philosophical foundation of their creed. Wilberforce's book,\n_A Practical View_, attained an immense popularity, and is\ncharacteristic of the position. Wilberforce turns over the infidel to be\nconfuted by Paley, whom he takes to be a conclusive reasoner. For\nhimself he is content to show what needed little proof, that the\nso-called Christians of the day could act as if they had never heard of\nthe New Testament. The Evangelical movement had in short no distinct\nrelation to speculative movements. It took the old tradition for\ngranted, and it need not here be further considered.\n\nOne other remark is suggested by the agitation against the slave-trade.\nIt set a precedent for agitation of a kind afterwards familiar. The\ncommittee appealed to the country, and got up petitions. Sound Tories\ncomplained of them in the early slave-trade debates, as attempts to\ndictate to parliament by democratic methods. Political agitators had\nformed associations, and found a convenient instrument in the 'county\nmeetings,' which seems to have possessed a kind of indefinite legal\ncharacter.[125] Such associations of course depend for the great part of\ntheir influence upon the press. The circulation of literature was one\ngreat object. Paine's _Rights of Man_ was distributed by the\nrevolutionary party, and Hannah More wrote popular tracts to persuade\nthe poor that they had no grievances. It is said that two millions of\nher little tracts, 'Village Politics by Will Chip,' the 'Shepherd of\nSalisbury Plain,' and so forth were circulated. The demand, indeed,\nshowed rather the eagerness of the rich to get them read than the\neagerness of the poor to read them. They failed to destroy Paine's\ninfluence, but they were successful enough to lead to the foundation of\nthe Religious Tract Society. The attempt to influence the poor by cheap\nliterature shows that these opinions were beginning to demand\nconsideration. Cobbett and many others were soon to use the new weapon.\nMeanwhile the newspapers circulated among the higher ranks were passing\nthrough a new phase, which must be noted. The great newspapers were\ngaining power. The _Morning Chronicle_ was started by Woodfall in 1769,\nthe _Morning Post_ and _Morning Herald_ by Dudley Bate in 1772 and 1780,\nand the _Times_ by Walter in 1788. The modern editor was to appear\nduring the war. Stoddart and Barnes of the _Times_, Perry and Black of\nthe _Morning Chronicle_, were to become important politically. The\nrevolutionary period marks the transition from the old-fashioned\nnewspaper, carried on by a publisher and an author, to the modern\nnewspaper, which represents a kind of separate organism, elaborately\n'differentiated' and worked by a whole army of co-operating editors,\ncorrespondents, reporters, and contributors. Finally, one remark may be\nmade. The literary class in England was not generally opposed to the\ngoverning classes. The tone of Johnson's whole circle was conservative.\nIn fact, since Harley's time, government had felt the need of support in\nthe press, and politicians on both sides had their regular organs. The\nopposition might at any time become the government; and their supporters\nin the press, poor men who were only too dependent, had no motive for\ngoing beyond the doctrines of their principals. They might be bought by\nopponents, or they might be faithful to a patron. They did not form a\nband of outcasts, whose hand would be against every one. The libel law\nwas severe enough, but there had been no licensing system since the\nearly days of William and Mary. A man could publish what he chose at his\nown peril. When the current of popular feeling was anti-revolutionary,\ngovernment might obtain a conviction, but even in the worst times there\nwas a chance that juries might be restive. Editors had at times to go to\nprison, but even then the paper was not suppressed. Cobbett, for\nexample, continued to publish his _Registrar_ during an imprisonment of\ntwo years (1810-12). Editors had very serious anxieties, but they could\nexpress with freedom any opinion which had the support of a party.\nEnglish liberty was so far a reality that a very free discussion of the\npolitical problems of the day was permitted and practised. The English\nauthor, therefore, as such, had not the bitterness of a French man of\nletters, unless, indeed, he had the misfortune to be an uncompromising\nrevolutionist.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[118] _History of the Rise, Progress, and Accomplishment of the\nAbolition of the Slave-trade by the British Parliament_ (1808). Second\nenlarged edition 1839. The chart was one cause of the offence taken by\nWilberforce's sons.\n\n[119] Cf. Sir J. Stephen's _Ecclesiastical Biography_ (The Evangelical\nSuccession).\n\n[120] See passages collected in Birkbeck Hill's _Boswell_, ii. 478-80,\nand cf. iii. 200-204. Boswell was attracted by Clarkson, but finally\nmade up his mind that the abolition of the slave-trade would 'shut the\ngates of mercy on mankind.'\n\n[121] See the account of G. Sharp in Sir J. Stephen's _Ecclesiastical\nBiography_ (Clapham Sect).\n\n[122] Cobbett's _State Trials_, xx. 1-82.\n\n[123] The Society determined in 1760 'to disown' any Friend concerned in\nthe slave-trade.\n\n[124] Mr. Conway, in his _Life of Paine_, attributes, I think, a little\nmore to his hero than is consistent with due regard to his predecessors;\nbut, in any case, he took an early part in the movement.\n\n[125] See upon this subject Mr. Jephson's interesting book on _The\nPlatform_.\n\n\nV. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION\n\nThe English society which I have endeavoured to characterise was now to\nbe thrown into the vortex of the revolutionary wars. The surpassing\ndramatic interest of the French Revolution has tended to obscure our\nperception of the continuity of even English history. It has been easy\nto ascribe to the contagion of French example political movements which\nwere already beginning in England and which were modified rather than\nmaterially altered by our share in the great European convulsion. The\nimpression made upon Englishmen by the French Revolution is, however, in\nthe highest degree characteristic. The most vehement sympathies and\nantipathies were aroused, and showed at least what principles were\ncongenial to the various English parties. To praise or blame the\nrevolution, as if it could be called simply good or bad, is for the\nhistorian as absurd as to praise or blame an earthquake. It was simply\ninevitable under the conditions. We may, of course, take it as an\nessential stage in a social evolution, which if described as progress is\ntherefore to be blessed, or if as degeneration may provoke lamentation.\nWe may, if we please, ask whether superior statesmanship might have\nattained the good results without the violent catastrophes, or whether a\nwise and good man who could appreciate the real position would have\napproved or condemned the actual policy. But to answer such problems\nwith any confidence would imply a claim to a quasi-omniscience.\nPartisans at the time, however, answered them without hesitation, and\nsaw in the Revolution the dawn of a new era of reason and justice, or\nthe outburst of the fires of hell. Their view is at any rate indicative\nof their own position. The extreme opinions need no exposition. They are\nrepresented by the controversy between Burke and Paine. The general\ndoctrine of the 'Rights of Men'--that all men are by nature free and\nequal--covered at least the doctrine that the inequality and despotism\nof the existing order was hateful, and people with a taste for abstract\nprinciples accepted this short cut to political wisdom. The 'minor'\npremise being obviously true, they took the major for granted. To Burke,\nwho idealised the traditional element in the British Constitution, and\nso attached an excessive importance to historical continuity, the new\ndoctrine seemed to imply the breaking up of the very foundations of\norder and the pulverisation of society. Burke and Paine both assumed too\neasily that the dogmas which they defended expressed the real and\nultimate beliefs, and that the belief was the cause, not the\nconsequence, of the political condition. Without touching upon the logic\nof either position, I may notice how the problem presented itself to the\naverage English politician whose position implied acceptance of\ntraditional compromises and who yet prided himself on possessing the\nliberties which were now being claimed by Frenchmen. The Whig could\nheartily sympathise with the French Revolution so long as it appeared to\nbe an attempt to assimilate British principles. When Fox hailed the\nfall of the Bastille as the greatest and best event that had ever\nhappened, he was expressing a generous enthusiasm shared by all the\nardent and enlightened youth of the time. The French, it seemed, were\nabolishing an arbitrary despotism and adopting the principles of Magna\nCharta and the 'Habeas Corpus' Act. Difficulties, however, already\nsuggested themselves to the true Whig. Would the French, as Young asked\njust after the same event, 'copy the constitution of England, freed from\nits faults, or attempt, from theory, to frame something absolutely\nspeculative'?[126] On that issue depended the future of the country. It\nwas soon decided in the sense opposed to Young's wishes. The reign of\nterror alienated the average Whig. But though the argument from\natrocities is the popular one, the opposition was really more\nfundamental. Burke put the case, savagely and coarsely enough, in his\n'Letter to a noble Lord.' How would the duke of Bedford like to be\ntreated as the revolutionists were treating the nobility in France? The\nduke might be a sincere lover of political liberty, but he certainly\nwould not be prepared to approve the confiscation of his estates. The\naristocratic Whigs, dependent for their whole property and for every\nprivilege which they prized upon ancient tradition and prescription,\ncould not really be in favour of sweeping away the whole complex social\nstructure, levelling Windsor Castle as Burke put it in his famous\nmetaphor, and making a 'Bedford level' of the whole country. The Whigs\nhad to disavow any approval of the Jacobins; Mackintosh, who had given\nhis answer to Burke's diatribes, met Burke himself on friendly terms\n(9th July 1797), and in 1800 took an opportunity of public recantation.\nHe only expressed the natural awakening of the genuine Whig to the\naspects of the case which he had hitherto ignored. The effect upon the\nmiddle-class Whigs is, however, more to my purpose. It may be\nillustrated by the history of John Horne Tooke[127] (1736-1812), who at\nthis time represented what may be called the home-bred British\nradicalism. He was the son of a London tradesman, who had distinguished\nhimself by establishing, and afterwards declining to enforce, certain\nlegal rights against Frederick Prince of Wales. The prince recognised\nthe tradesman's generosity by making his antagonist purveyor to his\nhousehold. A debt of some thousand pounds was thus run up before the\nprince's death which was never discharged. Possibly the son's hostility\nto the royal family was edged by this circumstance. John Horne, forced\nto take orders in order to hold a living, soon showed himself to have\nbeen intended by nature for the law. He took up the cause of Wilkes in\nthe early part of the reign; defended him energetically in later years;\nand in 1769 helped to start the 'Society for supporting the Bill of\nRights.' He then attacked Wilkes, who, as he maintained, misapplied for\nhis own private use the funds subscribed for public purposes to this\nsociety; and set up a rival 'Constitutional Society.' In 1775, as\nspokesman of this body, he denounced the 'king's troops' for 'inhumanly\nmurdering' their fellow-subjects at Lexington for the sole crime of\n'preferring death to slavery.' He was imprisoned for the libel, and thus\nbecame a martyr to the cause. When the country associations were formed\nin 1780 to protest against the abuses revealed by the war, Horne became\na member of the 'Society for Constitutional Information,' of which Major\nCartwright--afterwards the revered, but rather tiresome, patriarch of\nthe Radicals--was called the 'father.' Horne Tooke (as he was now\nnamed), by these and other exhibitions of boundless pugnacity, became a\nleader among the middle-class Whigs, who found their main support among\nLondon citizens, such as Beckford, Troutbeck and Oliver; supported them\nin his later days; and after the American war, preferred Pitt, as an\nadvocate of parliamentary reform, to Fox, the favourite of the\naristocratic Whigs. He denounced the Fox coalition ministry, and in\nlater years opposed Fox at Westminster. The 'Society for Constitutional\nInformation' was still extant in the revolutionary period, and Tooke, a\nbluff, jovial companion, who had by this time got rid of his clerical\ncharacter, often took the chair at the taverns where they met to talk\nsound politics over their port. The revolution infused new spirit into\npolitics. In March 1791[128] Tooke's society passed a vote of thanks to\nPaine for the first part of his _Rights of Man_. Next year Thomas Hardy,\na radical shoemaker, started a 'Corresponding Society.' Others sprang up\nthroughout the country, especially in the manufacturing towns.[129]\nThese societies took Paine for their oracle, and circulated his writings\nas their manifesto. They communicated occasionally with Horne Tooke's\nsociety, which more or less sympathised with them. The Whigs of the\nupper sphere started the 'Friends of the People' in April 1792, in order\nto direct the discontent into safer channels. Grey, Sheridan and Erskine\nwere members; Fox sympathised but declined to join; Mackintosh was\nsecretary; and Sir Philip Francis drew up the opening address, citing\nthe authority of Pitt and Blackstone, and declaring that the society\nwished 'not to change but to restore.'[130] It remonstrated cautiously\nwith the other societies, and only excited their distrust. Grey, as its\nrepresentative, made a motion for parliamentary reform which was\nrejected (May 1793) by two hundred and eighty-two to forty-one. Later\nmotions in May 1797 and April 1800 showed that, for the present,\nparliamentary reform was out of the question. Meanwhile the English\nJacobins got up a 'convention' which met at Edinburgh at the end of\n1793. The very name was alarming: the leaders were tried and\ntransported; the cruelty of the sentences and the severity of the\njudges, especially Braxfield, shocked such men as Parr and Jeffrey, and\nunsuccessful appeals for mercy were made in parliament. The Habeas\nCorpus Act was suspended in 1794: Horne Tooke and Hardy were both\narrested and tried for high treason in November. An English jury\nfortunately showed itself less subservient than the Scottish; the judge\nwas scrupulously fair: and both Hardy and Horne Tooke were acquitted.\nThe societies, however, though they were encouraged for a time, were\nattacked by severe measures passed by Pitt in 1795. The 'Friends of the\nPeople' ceased to exist The seizure of the committee of the\nCorresponding Societies in 1798 put an end to their activity. A report\npresented to parliament in 1799[131] declares that the societies had\ngone to dangerous lengths: they had communicated with the French\nrevolutionists and with the 'United Irishmen' (founded 1791); and\nsocieties of 'United Englishmen' and 'United Scotsmen' had had some\nconcern in the mutinies of the fleet in 1797 and in the Irish rebellion\nof 1798. Place says, probably with truth, that the danger was much\nexaggerated: but in any case, an act for the suppression of the\nCorresponding Societies was passed in 1799, and put an end to the\nmovement.\n\nThis summary is significant of the state of opinion. The genuine\nold-fashioned Whig dreaded revolution, and guarded himself carefully\nagainst any appearance of complicity. Jacobinism, on the other hand, was\nalways an exotic. Such men as the leading Nonconformists Priestley and\nPrice were familiar with the speculative movement on the continent, and\nsympathised with the enlightenment. Young men of genius, like Wordsworth\nand Coleridge, imbibed the same doctrines more or less thoroughly, and\ntook Godwin for their English representative. The same creed was\naccepted by the artisans in the growing towns, from whom the\nCorresponding Societies drew their recruits. But the revolutionary\nsentiment was not so widely spread as its adherents hoped or its enemies\nfeared. The Birmingham mob of 1791 acted, with a certain unconscious\nhumour, on the side of church and king. They had perhaps an instinctive\nperception that it was an advantage to plunder on the side of the\nconstable. In fact, however, the general feeling in all classes was\nanti-Jacobin. Place, an excellent witness, himself a member of the\nCorresponding Societies, declares that the repressive measures were\ngenerally popular even among the workmen.[132] They were certainly not\npenetrated with revolutionary fervour. Had it been otherwise, the\nrepressive measures, severe as they were, would have stimulated rather\nthan suppressed the societies, and, instead of silencing the\nrevolutionists, have provoked a rising.\n\nAt the early period the Jacobin and the home-bred Radical might combine\nagainst government. A manifesto of the Corresponding Societies begins by\ndeclaring that 'all men are by nature free and equal and independent of\neach other,' and argues also that these are the 'original principles of\nEnglish government.'[133] Magna Charta is an early expression of the\nDeclaration of Rights, and thus pure reason confirms British tradition.\nThe adoption of a common platform, however, covered a profound\ndifference of sentiment. Horne Tooke represents the old type of\nreformer. He was fully resolved not to be carried away by the enthusiasm\nof his allies. 'My companions in a stage,' he said to Cartwright, 'may\nbe going to Windsor: I will go with them to Hounslow. But there I will\nget out: no further will I go, by God!'[134] When Sheridan supported a\nvote of sympathy for the French revolutionists, Tooke insisted upon\nadding a rider declaring the content of Englishmen with their own\nconstitution.[135] He offended some of his allies by asserting that the\n'main timbers' of the constitution were sound though the dry-rot had\ngot into the superstructure. He maintained, according to Godwin,[136]\nthat the best of all governments had been that of England under George\nI. Though Cartwright said at the trial that Horne Tooke was taken to\n'have no religion whatever,' he was, according to Stephens, 'a great\nstickler for the church of England': and stood up for the House of Lords\nas well as the church on grounds of utility.[137] He always ridiculed\nPaine and the doctrine of abstract rights,[138] and told Cartwright that\nthough all men had an equal right to a share of property, they had not a\nright to an equal share. Horne Tooke's Radicalism (I use the word by\nanticipation) was that of the sturdy tradesman. He opposed the\ngovernment because he hated war, taxation and sinecures. He argued\nagainst universal suffrage with equal pertinacity. A comfortable old\ngentleman, with a good cellar of Madeira, and proud of his wall-fruit in\na well-tilled garden, had no desire to see George III. at the\nguillotine, and still less to see a mob supreme in Lombard Street or\nbanknotes superseded by assignats. He might be jealous of the great\nnobles, but he dreaded mob-rule. He could denounce abuses, but he could\nnot desire anarchy. He is said to have retorted upon some one who had\nboasted that English courts of justice were open to all classes: 'So is\nthe London tavern--to all who can pay.'[139] That is in the spirit of\nBentham; and yet Bentham complains that Horne Tooke's disciple, Burdett,\nbelieved in the common law, and revered the authority of Coke.[140] In\nbrief, the creed of Horne Tooke meant 'liberty' founded upon tradition.\nI shall presently notice the consistency of this with what may be called\nhis philosophy. Meanwhile it was only natural that radicals of this\nvariety should retire from active politics, having sufficiently burnt\ntheir fingers by flirtation with the more thoroughgoing party. How they\ncame to life again will appear hereafter. Horne Tooke himself took\nwarning from his narrow escape. He stayed quietly in his house at\nWimbledon.[141] There he divided his time between his books and his\ngarden, and received his friends to Sunday dinners. Bentham, Mackintosh,\nColeridge, and Godwin were among his visitors. Coleridge calls him a\n'keen iron man,' and reports that he made a butt of Godwin as he had\ndone of Paine.[142] Porson and Boswell encountered him in drinking\nmatches and were both left under the table.[143] The house was thus a\nsmall centre of intellectual life, though the symposia were not\naltogether such as became philosophers. Horne Tooke was a keen and\nshrewd disputant, well able to impress weaker natures. His neighbour,\nSir Francis Burdett, became his political disciple, and in later years\nwas accepted as the radical leader. Tooke died at Wimbledon 18th March\n1812.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[126] _France_, p. 206 (20th July 1789).\n\n[127] See the _Life of Horne Tooke_, by Alexander Stephens (2 vols. 8vo,\n1813). John Horne added the name Tooke in 1782.\n\n[128] _Parl. Hist._ xxxi. 751.\n\n[129] The history of these societies may be found in the trials reported\nin the twenty-third, twenty-fourth, and twenty-fifth volumes of\nCobbett's _State Trials_, and in the reports of the secret committees in\nthe thirty-first and thirty-fourth volumes of the _Parl. History_. There\nare materials in Place's papers in the British Museum which have been\nused in E. Smith's _English Jacobins_.\n\n[130] _Parl. Hist._ xxix. 1300-1341.\n\n[131] _Parl. Hist._ xxxiv. 574-655.\n\n[132] Mr. Wallas's _Life of Place_, p. 25 _n._\n\n[133] _State Trials_, xxiv. 575.\n\n[134] _Ibid._ xxv. 330.\n\n[135] _Ibid._ xxv. 390.\n\n[136] Paul's _Godwin_, i. 147.\n\n[137] Stephens, ii. 48, 477.\n\n[138] _Ibid._ ii. 34-41, 323, 478-481.\n\n[139] _Ibid._ ii. 483.\n\n[140] Bentham's _Works_, x. 404.\n\n[141] He was member for Old Sarum 1801-2; but his career ended by a\ndeclaratory act disqualifying for a seat men who had received holy\norders.\n\n[142] Bentham's _Works_, x. 404; _Life of Mackintosh_, i. 52; Paul's\n_Godwin_, i. 71; Coleridge's _Table-Talk_, 8th May 1830 and 16th August\n1833.\n\n[143] Stephens, ii. 316, 334, 438.\n\n\nVI. INDIVIDUALISM\n\nThe general tendencies which I have so far tried to indicate will have\nto be frequently noticed in the course of the following pages. One\npoint may be emphasised before proceeding: a main characteristic of the\nwhole social and political order is what is now called its\n'individualism.' That phrase is generally supposed to convey some\ncensure. It may connote, however, some of the most essential virtues\nthat a race can possess. Energy, self-reliance, and independence, a\nstrong conviction that a man's fate should depend upon his own character\nand conduct, are qualities without which no nation can be great. They\nare the conditions of its vital power. They were manifested in a high\ndegree by the Englishmen of the eighteenth century. How far they were\ndue to the inherited qualities of the race, to the political or social\nhistory, or to external circumstances, I need not ask. They were the\nqualities which had especially impressed foreign observers. The fierce,\nproud, intractable Briton was elbowing his way to a high place in the\nworld, and showing a vigour not always amiable, but destined to bring\nhim successfully through tremendous struggles. In the earlier part of\nthe century, Voltaire and French philosophers admired English freedom of\nthought and free speech, even when it led to eccentricity and brutality\nof manners, and to barbarism in matters of taste. Englishmen, conscious\nand proud of their 'liberty,' were the models of all who desired liberty\nfor themselves. Liberty, as they understood it, involved, among other\nthings, an assault upon the old restrictive system, which at every turn\nhampered the rising industrial energy. This is the sense in which\n'Individualism,' or the gospel according to Adam Smith--_laissez faire_,\nand so forth--has been specially denounced in recent times. Without\nasking at present how far such attacks are justifiable, I must be\ncontent to assume that the old restrictive system was in its actual form\nmischievous, guided by entirely false theories, and the great barrier to\nthe development of industry. The same spirit appeared in purely\npolitical questions. 'Liberty,' as is often remarked, may be interpreted\nin two ways; not necessarily consistent with each other. It means\nsometimes simply the diminution of the sphere of law and the power of\nlegislators, or, again, the transference to subjects of the power of\nlegislating, and, therefore, not less control, but control by self-made\nlaws alone. The Englishman, who was in presence of no centralised\nadministrative power, who regarded the Government rather as receiving\npower from individuals than as delegating the power of a central body,\ntook liberty mainly in the sense of restricting law. Government in\ngeneral was a nuisance, though a necessity; and properly employed only\nin mediating between conflicting interests, and restraining the violence\nof individuals forced into contact by outward circumstances. When he\ndemanded that a greater share of influence should be given to the\npeople, he always took for granted that their power would be used to\ndiminish the activity of the sovereign power; that there would be less\ngovernment and therefore less jobbery, less interference with free\nspeech and free action, and smaller perquisites to be bestowed in return\nfor the necessary services. The people would use their authority to tie\nthe hands of the rulers, and limit them strictly to their proper and\nnarrow functions.\n\nThe absence, again, of the idea of a state in any other sense implies\nanother tendency. The 'idea' was not required. Englishmen were concerned\nrather with details than with first principles. Satisfied, in a general\nway, with their constitution, they did not want to be bothered with\ntheories. Abstract and absolute doctrines of right, when imported from\nFrance, fell flat upon the average Englishman. He was eager enough to\ndiscuss the utility of this or that part of the machinery, but without\ninquiring into first principles of mechanism. The argument from\n'utility' deals with concrete facts, and presupposes an acceptance of\nsome common criterion of the useful. The constant discussion of\npolitical matters in parliament and the press implied a tacit acceptance\non all hands of constitutional methods. Practical men, asking whether\nthis or that policy shall be adopted in view of actual events, no more\nwant to go back to right reason and 'laws of nature' than a surveyor to\ninvestigate the nature of geometrical demonstration. Very important\nquestions were raised as to the rights of the press, for example, or the\nsystem of representation. But everybody agreed that the representative\nsystem and freedom of speech were good things; and argued the immediate\nquestions of fact. The order, only established by experience and\ntradition, was accepted, subject to criticism of detail, and men turned\nimpatiently from abstract argument, and left the inquiry into 'social\ncontracts' to philosophers, that is, to silly people in libraries.\nPolitics were properly a matter of business, to be discussed in a\nbusiness-like spirit. In this sense, 'individualism' is congenial to\n'empiricism,' because it starts from facts and particular interests, and\nresents the intrusion of first principles.\n\nThe characteristic individualism, again, suggests one other remark.\nIndividual energy and sense of responsibility are good--as even extreme\nsocialists may admit--if they do not exclude a sense of duties to\nothers. It may be a question how far the stimulation of individual\nenterprise and the vigorous spirit of industrial competition really led\nto a disregard of the interests of the weaker. But it would be a\ncomplete misunderstanding of the time if we inferred that it meant a\ndecline of humane feeling. Undoubtedly great evils had grown up, and\nsome continued to grow which were tolerated by the indifference, or even\nstimulated by the selfish aims, of the dominant classes. But, in the\nfirst place, many of the most active prophets of the individualist\nspirit were acting, and acting sincerely, in the name of humanity. They\nwere attacking a system which they held, and to a great extent, I\nbelieve, held rightly, to be especially injurious to the weakest\nclasses. Possibly they expected too much from the simple removal of\nrestrictions; but certainly they denounced the restrictions as unjust to\nall, not simply as hindrances to the wealth of the rich. Adam Smith's\nposition is intelligible: it was, he thought, a proof of a providential\norder that each man, by helping himself, unintentionally helped his\nneighbours. The moral sense based upon sympathy was therefore not\nopposed to, but justified, the economic principles that each man should\nfirst attend to his own interest. The unintentional co-operation would\nthus become conscious and compatible with the established order. And, in\nthe next place, so far from there being a want of humane feeling, the\nmost marked characteristic of the eighteenth century was precisely the\ngrowth of humanity. In the next generation, the eighteenth century came\nto be denounced as cold, heartless, faithless, and so forth. The\nestablished mode of writing history is partly responsible for this\nperversion. Men speak as though some great man, who first called\nattention to an evil, was a supernatural being who had suddenly dropped\ninto the world from another sphere. His condemnation of evil is\ntherefore taken to be a proof that the time must be evil. Any century is\nbad if we assume all the good men to be exceptions. But the great man is\nreally also the product of his time. He is the mouthpiece of its\nprevailing sentiments, and only the first to see clearly what many are\nbeginning to perceive obscurely. The emergence of the prophet is a proof\nof the growing demand of his hearers for sound teaching. Because he is\nin advance of men generally, he sees existing abuses more clearly, and\nwe take his evidence against his contemporaries as conclusive. But the\nfact that they listened shows how widely the same sensibility to evil\nwas already diffused. In fact, as I think, the humane spirit of the\neighteenth century, due to the vast variety of causes which we call\nsocial progress or evolution--not to the teaching of any individual--was\npermeating the whole civilised world, and showed itself in the\nphilosophic movement as well as in the teaching of the religious\nleaders, who took the philosophers to be their enemies. I have briefly\nnoticed the various philanthropic movements which were characteristic of\nthe period. Some of them may indicate the growth of new evils; others,\nthat evils which had once been regarded with indifference were now\nattracting attention and exciting indignation. But even the growth of\nnew evils does not show general indifference so much as the incapacity\nof the existing system to deal with new conditions. It may, I think, be\nsafely said that a growing philanthropy was characteristic of the whole\nperiod, and in particular animated the Utilitarian movement, as I shall\nhave to show in detail. Modern writers have often spoken of the Wesleyan\npropaganda and the contemporary 'evangelical revival' as the most\nimportant movements of the time. They are apt to speak, in conformity\nwith the view just described, as though Wesley or some of his\ncontemporaries had originated or created the better spirit. Without\nasking what was good or bad in some aspects of these movements, I fully\nbelieve that Wesley was essentially a moral reformer, and that he\ndeserves corresponding respect. But instead of holding that his\ncontemporaries were bad people, awakened by a stimulus from without, I\nhold that the movement, so far as really indicating moral improvement,\nmust be set down to the credit of the century itself. It was one\nmanifestation of a general progress, of which Bentham was another\noutcome. Though Bentham might have thought Wesley a fanatic or perhaps a\nhypocrite, and Wesley would certainly have considered that Bentham's\nheart was much in need of a change, they were really allies as much as\nantagonists, and both mark a great and beneficial change.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nPHILOSOPHY\n\n\nI. JOHN HORNE TOOKE\n\nI have so far dwelt upon the social and political environment of the\nearly Utilitarian movement; and have tried also to point out some of the\nspeculative tendencies fostered by the position. If it be asked what\nphilosophical doctrines were explicitly taught, the answer must be a\nvery short one. English philosophy barely existed. Parr was supposed to\nknow something about metaphysics--apparently because he could write good\nLatin. But the inference was hasty. Of one book, however, which had a\nreal influence, I must say something, for though it contained little\ndefinite philosophy, it showed what kind of philosophy was congenial to\nthe common sense of the time.\n\nThe sturdy radical, Horne Tooke, had been led to the study of philology\nby a characteristic incident. The legal question had arisen whether the\nwords, '_She, knowing that Crooke had been indicted for forgery_,' did\nso and so, contained an averment that Crooke had been indicted. Tooke\nargued in a letter to Dunning[144] that they did; because they were\nequivalent to the phrase, 'Crooke had been indicted for forgery: she,\n_knowing that_,' did so and so. This raises the question: What is the\nmeaning of 'that'? Tooke took up the study, thinking, as he says, that\nit would throw light upon some philosophical questions. He learned some\nAnglo-Saxon and Gothic to test his theory and, of course, confirmed\nit.[145] The book shows ingenuity, shrewdness, and industry, and Tooke\ndeserves credit for seeing the necessity of applying a really historical\nmethod to his problem, though his results were necessarily crude in the\npre-scientific stage of philology.\n\nThe book is mainly a long string of etymologies, which readers of\ndifferent tastes have found intolerably dull or an amusing collection of\ncuriosities. Tooke held, and surely with reason, that an investigation\nof language, the great instrument of thought, may help to throw light\nupon the process of thinking. He professes to be a disciple of Locke in\nphilosophy as in politics. Locke, he said,[146] made a lucky mistake in\ncalling his book an essay upon human understanding; for he thus\nattracted many who would have been repelled had he called it what it\nreally was, 'a treatise upon words and language.' According to Tooke, in\nfact,[147] what we call 'operations of mind' are only 'operations of\nlanguage.' The mind contemplates nothing but 'impressions,' that is,\n'sensations or feelings,' which Locke called 'ideas,' Locke mistook\ncomposition of terms for composition of ideas. To compound ideas is\nimpossible. We can only use one term as a sign of many ideas. Locke,\nagain, supposed that affirming and denying were operations of the mind,\nwhereas they are only artifices of language.[148]\n\nThe mind, then, can only contemplate, separately or together, aggregates\nof 'ideas,' ultimate atoms, incapable of being parted or dissolved.\nThere are, therefore, only two classes of words, nouns and verbs; all\nothers, prepositions, conjunctions, and so forth, being abbreviations, a\nkind of mental shorthand to save the trouble of enumerating the separate\nitems. Tooke, in short, is a thoroughgoing nominalist. The realities,\naccording to him, are sticks, stones, and material objects, or the\n'ideas' which 'represent' them. They can be stuck together or taken\napart, but all the words which express relations, categories, and the\nlike, are in themselves meaningless. The special objects of his scorn\nare 'Hermes' Harris, and Monboddo, who had tried to defend Aristotle\nagainst Locke. Monboddo had asserted that 'every kind of relation' is a\npure 'idea of the intellect' not to be apprehended by sense.[149] If so,\naccording to Tooke, it would be a nonentity.\n\nThis doctrine gives a short cut to the abolition of metaphysics. The\nword 'metaphysics,' says Tooke,[150] is nonsense. All metaphysical\ncontroversies are 'founded on the grossest ignorance of words and the\nnature of speech.' The greatest part of his second volume is concerned\nwith etymologies intended to prove that an 'abstract idea' is a mere\nword. Abstract words, he says,[151] are generally 'participles without\na substantive and therefore in construction used as substantives.' From\na misunderstanding of this has arisen 'metaphysical jargon' and 'false\nmorality.' In illustration he gives a singular list of words, including\n'fate, chance, heaven, hell, providence, prudence, innocence, substance,\nfiend, angel, apostle, spirit, true, false, desert, merit, faith, etc.,\nall of which are mere participles poetically embodied and substantiated\nby those who use them.' A couple of specific applications, often quoted\nby later writers, will sufficiently indicate his drift.\n\nSuch words, he remarks,[152] as 'right' and 'just' mean simply that\nwhich is ordered or commanded. The chapter is headed 'rights of man,'\nand Tooke's interlocutor naturally observes that this is a singular\nresult for a democrat. Man, it would seem, has no rights except the\nrights created by the law. Tooke admits the inference to be correct, but\nreplies that the democrat in disobeying human law may be obeying the law\nof God, and is obeying the law of God when he obeys the law of nature.\nThe interlocutor does not inquire what Tooke could mean by the 'law of\nnature.' We can guess what Tooke would have said to Paine in the\nWimbledon garden. In fact, however, Tooke is here, as elsewhere,\nfollowing Hobbes, though, it seems, unconsciously. Another famous\netymology is that of 'truth' from 'troweth.'[153] Truth is what each man\nthinks. There is no such thing, therefore, as 'eternal, immutable,\neverlasting truth, unless mankind, _such as they are at present_, be\neternal, immutable, everlasting.' Two persons may contradict each other\nand yet each may be speaking what is true for him. Truth may be a vice\nas well as a virtue; for on many occasions it is wrong to speak the\ntruth.\n\nThese phrases may possibly be interpreted in a sense less paradoxical\nthan the obvious one. Tooke's philosophy, if so it is to be called, was\nnever fully expounded. He burned his papers before his death, and we do\nnot know what he would have said about 'verbs,' which must have led, one\nwould suppose, to some further treatment of relations, nor upon the\nsubject, which as Stephens tells us, was most fully treated in his\ncontinuation, the value of human testimony.\n\nIf Tooke was not a philosopher he was a man of remarkably shrewd cynical\ncommon sense, who thought philosophy idle foppery. His book made a great\nsuccess. Stephens tells us[154] that it brought him L4000 or L5000.\nHazlitt in 1810 published a grammar professing to incorporate for the\nfirst time Horne Tooke's 'discoveries.' The book was admired by\nMackintosh,[155] who, of course, did not accept the principles, and had\na warm disciple in Charles Richardson (1775-1865), who wrote in its\ndefence against Dugald Stewart and accepted its authority in his\nelaborate dictionary of the English language.[156] But its chief\ninterest for us is that it was a great authority with James Mill. Mill\naccepts the etymologies, and there is much in common between the two\nwriters, though Mill had learned his main doctrines elsewhere,\nespecially from Hobbes. What the agreement really shows is how the\nintellectual idiosyncrasy which is congenial to 'nominalism' in\nphilosophy was also congenial to Tooke's matter of fact radicalism and\nto the Utilitarian position of Bentham and his followers.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[144] Published originally in 1778; reprinted in edition of EPEA\nPTEROENTA or _Diversions of Purley_, by Richard Taylor (1829), to which\nI refer. The first part of the _Diversions of Purley_ appeared in 1786;\nand the second part (with a new edition of the first) in 1798.\n\n[145] _Diversions of Purley_ (1829), i. 12, 131.\n\n[146] _Ibid._ ii. 362. Locke's work, says Prof. Max Mueller in his\n_Science of Thought_, p. 295, 'is, as Lange in his _History of\nMaterialism_ rightly perceived, a critique of language which, together\nwith Kant's _Critique of the Pure Reason_, forms the starting-point of\nmodern philosophy.' _See_ Lange's _Materialism_, (1873), i. 271.\n\n[147] _Ibid._ i. 49.\n\n[148] _Diversions of Purley_, i. 36, 42.\n\n[149] _Ibid._ i. 373.\n\n[150] _Ibid._ i. 374.\n\n[151] _Diversions of Purley_, ii. 18. Cf. Mill's statement in\n_Analysis_, i. 304, that 'abstract terms are concrete terms with the\nconnotation dropped.'\n\n[152] _Ibid._ ii. 9, etc.\n\n[153] _Ibid._ ii. 399.\n\n[154] Stephens, ii. 497.\n\n[155] _Life of Mackintosh_, ii. 235-37.\n\n[156] Begun for the _Encyclopaedia Metropolitana_ in 1818; and published\nin 1835-37. Dugald Stewart's chief criticism is in his Essays (_Works_,\nv. 149-188). John Fearn published his _Anti-Tooke_ in 1820.\n\n\nII. DUGALD STEWART\n\nIf English philosophy was a blank, there was still a leader of high\nreputation in Scotland. Dugald Stewart (1753-1828) had a considerable\ninfluence upon the Utilitarians. He represented, on the one hand, the\ndoctrines which they thought themselves specially bound to attack, and\nit may perhaps be held that in some ways he betrayed to them the key of\nthe position. Stewart[157] was son of a professor of mathematics at\nEdinburgh. He studied at Glasgow (1771-72) where he became Reid's\nfavourite pupil and devoted friend. In 1772 he became the assistant, and\nin 1775 the colleague, of his father, and he appears to have had a\nconsiderable knowledge of mathematics. In 1785 he succeeded Adam\nFerguson as professor of moral philosophy and lectured continuously\nuntil 1810. He then gave up his active duties to Thomas Brown, devoting\nhimself to the completion and publication of the substance of his\nlectures. Upon Brown's death in 1820, he resigned a post to which he was\nno longer equal. A paralytic stroke in 1822 weakened him, though he was\nstill able to write. He died in 1828.\n\nIf Stewart now makes no great mark in histories of philosophy, his\npersonal influence was conspicuous. Cockburn describes him as of\ndelicate appearance, with a massive head, bushy eyebrows, gray\nintelligent eyes, flexible mouth and expressive countenance. His voice\nwas sweet and his ear exquisite. Cockburn never heard a better reader,\nand his manners, though rather formal, were graceful and dignified.\nJames Mill, after hearing Pitt and Fox, declared that Stewart was their\nsuperior in eloquence. At Edinburgh, then at the height of its\nintellectual activity, he held his own among the ablest men and\nattracted the loyalty of the younger. Students came not only from\nScotland but from England, the United States, France and Germany.[158]\nScott won the professor's approval by an essay on the 'Customs of the\nNorthern Nations.' Jeffrey, Horner, Cockburn and Mackintosh were among\nhis disciples. His lectures upon Political Economy were attended by\nSydney Smith, Jeffrey and Brougham, and one of his last hearers was Lord\nPalmerston. Parr looked up to him as a great philosopher, and\ncontributed to his works an essay upon the etymology of the word\n'sublime,' too vast to be printed whole. Stewart was an upholder of Whig\nprinciples, when the Scottish government was in the hands of the\nstaunchest Tories. The irreverent young Edinburgh Reviewers treated him\nwith respect, and to some extent applied his theory to politics.\nStewart was the philosophical heir of Reid; and, one may say, was a Whig\nboth in philosophy and in politics. He was a rationalist, but within the\nlimits fixed by respectability; and he dreaded the revolution in\npolitics, and believed in the surpassing merits of the British\nConstitution as interpreted by the respectable Whigs.\n\nStewart represents the 'common sense' doctrine. That name, as he\nobserves, lends itself to an equivocation. Common sense is generally\nused as nearly synonymous with 'mother wit,' the average opinion of\nfairly intelligent men; and he would prefer to speak of the 'fundamental\nlaws of belief.'[159] There can, however, be no doubt that the doctrine\nderived much of its strength from the apparent confirmation of the\n'average opinion' by the 'fundamental laws.' On one side, said Reid, are\nall the vulgar; on the other all the philosophers. 'In this division, to\nmy great humiliation, I find myself classed with the vulgar.'[160] Reid,\nin fact, had opposed the theories of Hume and Berkeley because they led\nto a paradoxical scepticism. If it be, as Reid held, a legitimate\ninference from Berkeley that a man may as well run his head against a\npost, there can be no doubt that it is shocking to common sense in every\nacceptation of the word. The reasons, however, which Reid and Stewart\nalleged for not performing that feat took a special form, which I am\ncompelled to notice briefly because they set up the mark for the whole\nintellectual artillery of the Utilitarians. Reid, in fact, invented what\nJ. S. Mill called 'intuitions.' To confute intuitionists and get rid of\nintuitions was one main purpose of all Mill's speculations. What, then,\nis an 'intuition'? To explain that fully it would be necessary to write\nonce more that history of the philosophical movement from Descartes to\nHume, which has been summarised and elucidated by so many writers that\nit should be as plain as the road from St. Paul's to Temple Bar. I am\nforced to glance at the position taken by Reid and Stewart because it\nhas a most important bearing upon the whole Utilitarian scheme. Reid's\nmain service to philosophy was, in his own opinion,[161] that he refuted\nthe 'ideal system' of Descartes and his followers. That system, he says,\ncarried in its womb the monster, scepticism, which came to the birth in\n1739,[162] the date of Hume's early _Treatise_. To confute Hume,\ntherefore, which was Reid's primary object, it was necessary to go back\nto Descartes, and to show where he deviated from the right track. In\nother words, we must trace the genealogy of 'ideas.' Descartes, as Reid\nadmitted, had rendered immense services to philosophy. He had exploded\nthe scholastic system, which had become a mere mass of logomachies and\nan incubus upon scientific progress. He had again been the first to\n'draw a distinct line between the material and the intellectual\nworld'[163]; and Reid apparently assumes that he had drawn it correctly.\nOne characteristic of the Cartesian school is obvious. Descartes, a\ngreat mathematician at the period when mathematical investigations were\nshowing their enormous power, invented a mathematical universe.\nMathematics presented the true type of scientific reasoning and\ndetermined his canons of inquiry. The 'essence' of matter, he said, was\nspace. The objective world, as we have learned to call it, is simply\nspace solidified or incarnate geometry. Its properties therefore could\nbe given as a system of deductions from first principles, and it forms a\ncoherent and self-subsistent whole. Meanwhile the essence of the soul is\nthought. Thought and matter are absolutely opposed. They are contraries,\nhaving nothing in common. Reality, however, seems to belong to the world\nof space. The brain, too, belongs to that world, and motions in the\nbrain must be determined as a part of the material mechanism. In some\nway or other 'ideas' correspond to these motions; though to define the\nway tried all the ingenuity of Descartes' successors. In any case an\nidea is 'subjective': it is a thought, not a thing. It is a shifting,\nephemeral entity not to be fixed or grasped. Yet, somehow or other, it\nexists, and it 'represents' realities; though the divine power has to be\ncalled in to guarantee the accuracy of the representation. The objective\nworld, again, does not reveal itself to us as simply made up of 'primary\nqualities'; we know of it only as somehow endowed with 'secondary' or\nsense-given qualities: as visible, tangible, audible, and so forth.\nThese qualities are plainly 'subjective'; they vary from man to man, and\nfrom moment to moment: they cannot be measured or fixed; and must be\nregarded as a product in some inexplicable way of the action of matter\nupon mind; unreal or, at any rate, not independent entities.\n\nIn Locke's philosophy, the 'ideas,' legitimate or illegitimate\ndescendants of the Cartesian theories, play a most prominent part.\nLocke's admirable common sense made him the leader who embodied a\ngrowing tendency. The empirical sciences were growing; and Locke, a\nstudent of medicine, could note the fallacies which arise from\nneglecting observation and experiment, and attempting to penetrate to\nthe absolute essences and entities. Newton's great success was due to\nneglecting impossible problems about the nature of force in\nitself--'action at a distance' and so forth--and attention to the sphere\nof visible phenomena. The excessive pretensions of the framers of\nmetaphysical systems had led to hopeless puzzles and merely verbal\nsolutions. Locke, therefore, insisted upon the necessity of ascertaining\nthe necessary limits of human knowledge. All our knowledge of material\nfacts is obviously dependent in some way upon our sensations--however\nfleeting or unreal they may be. Therefore, the material sciences must\ndepend upon sense-given data or upon observation and experiment. Hume\ngives the ultimate purpose, already implied in Locke's essay, when he\ndescribes his first treatise (on the title page) as an 'attempt to\nintroduce the experimental mode of reasoning into moral subjects.' Now,\nas Reid thinks, the effect of this was to construct our whole knowledge\nout of the representative ideas. The empirical factor is so emphasised\nthat we lose all grasp of the real world. Locke, indeed, though he\ninsists upon the derivation of our whole knowledge from 'ideas,' leaves\nreality to the 'primary qualities' without clearly expounding their\nrelation to the secondary. But Berkeley, alarmed by the tendency of the\nCartesian doctrines to materialism and mechanical necessity, reduces the\n'primary' to the level of the 'secondary,' and proceeds to abolish the\nwhole world of matter. We are thus left with nothing but 'ideas,' and\nthe ideas are naturally 'subjective' and therefore in some sense\nunreal. Finally Hume gets rid of the soul as well as the outside world;\nand then, by his theory of 'causation,' shows that the ideas themselves\nare independent atoms, cohering but not rationally connected, and\ncapable of being arbitrarily joined or separated in any way whatever.\nThus the ideas have ousted the facts. We cannot get beyond ideas, and\nyet ideas are still purely subjective. The 'real' is separated from the\nphenomenal, and truth divorced from fact. The sense-given world is the\nwhole world, and yet is a world of mere accidental conjunctions and\nseparation. That is Hume's scepticism, and yet according to Reid is the\nlegitimate development of Descartes' 'ideal system.' Reid, I take it,\nwas right in seeing that there was a great dilemma. What was required to\nescape from it? According to Kant, nothing less than a revision of\nDescartes' mode of demarcation between object and subject. The 'primary\nqualities' do not correspond in this way to an objective world radically\nopposed to the subjective. Space is not a form of things, but a form\nimposed upon the data of experience by the mind itself. This, as Kant\nsays, supposes a revolution in philosophy comparable to the revolution\nmade by Copernicus in astronomy. We have completely to invert our whole\nsystem of conceiving the world. Whatever the value of Kant's doctrine,\nof which I need here say nothing, it was undoubtedly more prolific than\nReid's. Reid's was far less thoroughgoing. He does not draw a new line\nbetween object and subject, but simply endeavours to show that the\ndilemma was due to certain assumptions about the nature of 'ideas.'\n\nThe real had been altogether separated from the phenomenal, or truth\ndivorced from fact. You can only have demonstrations by getting into a\nregion beyond the sensible world; while within that world--that is, the\nregion of ordinary knowledge and conduct--you are doomed to hopeless\nuncertainty. An escape, therefore, must be sought by some thorough\nrevision of the assumed relation, but not by falling back upon the\nexploded philosophy of the schools. Reid and his successors were quite\nas much alive as Locke to the danger of falling into mere scholastic\nlogomachy. They, too, will in some sense base all knowledge upon\nexperience. Reid constantly appeals to the authority of Bacon, whom he\nregards as the true founder of inductive science. The great success of\nBacon's method in the physical sciences, encouraged the hope, already\nexpressed by Newton, that a similar result might be achieved in 'moral\nphilosophy.'[164] Hume had done something to clear the way, but Reid\nwas, as Stewart thinks, the first to perceive clearly and justly the\n'analogy between these two different branches of human knowledge.' The\nmind and matter are two co-ordinate things, whose properties are to be\ninvestigated by similar methods. Philosophy thus means essentially\npsychology. The two inquiries are two 'branches' of inductive science,\nand the problem is to discover by a perfectly impartial examination what\nare the 'fundamental laws of mind' revealed by an accurate analysis of\nthe various processes of thought. The main result of Reid's\ninvestigations is given most pointedly in his early _Inquiry_, and was\nfully accepted by Stewart. Briefly it comes to this. No one can doubt\nthat we believe, as a fact, in an external world. We believe that there\nare sun and moon, stones, sticks, and human bodies. This belief is\naccepted by the sceptic as well as by the dogmatist, although the\nsceptic reduces it to a mere blind custom or 'association of ideas.' Now\nReid argues that the belief, whatever its nature, is not and cannot be\nderived from the sensations. We do not construct the visible and\ntangible world, for example, simply out of impressions made upon the\nsenses of sight and touch. To prove this, he examines what are the\nactual data provided by these senses, and shows, or tries to show, that\nwe cannot from them alone construct the world of space and geometry.\nHence, if we consider experience impartially and without preconception,\nwe find that it tells us something which is not given by the senses. The\nsenses are not the material of our perceptions, but simply give the\noccasions upon which our belief is called into activity. The sensation\nis no more like the reality in which we believe than the pain of a wound\nis like the edge of the knife. Perception tells us directly and\nimmediately, without the intervention of ideas, that there is, as we all\nbelieve, a real external world.\n\nReid was a vigorous reasoner, and credit has been given to him by some\ndisciples of Kant's doctrine of time and space. Schopenhauer[165] says\nthat Reid's 'excellent work' gives a complete 'negative proof of the\nKantian truths'; that is to say, that Reid proves satisfactorily that we\ncannot construct the world out of the sense-given data alone. But,\nwhereas Kant regards the senses as supplying the materials moulded by\nthe perceiving mind, Reid regards them as mere stimuli exciting certain\ninevitable beliefs. As a result of Reid's method, then, we have\n'intuitions.' Reid's essential contention is that a fair examination of\nexperience will reveal certain fundamental beliefs, which cannot be\nexplained as mere manifestations of the sensations, and which, by the\nvery fact that they are inexplicable, must be accepted as an\n'inspiration.'[166] Reid professes to discover these beliefs by\naccurately describing facts. He finds them there as a chemist finds an\nelement. The 'intuition' is made by substituting for 'ideas' a\nmysterious and inexplicable connection between the mind and matter.[167]\nThe chasm exists still, but it is somehow bridged by a quasi-miracle.\nAdmitting, therefore, that Reid shows a gap to exist in the theory, his\nresult remains 'negative.' The philosopher will say that it is not\nenough to assert a principle dogmatically without showing its place in a\nreasoned system of thought. The psychologist, on the other hand, who\ntakes Reid's own ground, may regard the statement only as a useful\nchallenge to further inquiry. The analysis hitherto given may be\ninsufficient, but where Reid has failed, other inquirers may be more\nsuccessful. As soon, in fact, as we apply the psychological method, and\nregard the 'philosophy of mind' as an 'inductive science,' it is\nperilous, if not absolutely inconsistent, to discover 'intuitions' which\nwill take us beyond experience. The line of defence against empiricism\ncan only be provisional and temporary. In his main results, indeed, Reid\nhad the advantage of being on the side of 'common sense.' Everybody was\nalready convinced that there were sticks and stones, and everybody is\nprepared to hear that their belief is approved by philosophy. But a\ndifficulty arises when a similar method is applied to a doctrine\nsincerely disputed. To the statement, 'this is a necessary belief,' it\nis a sufficient answer to reply, 'I don't believe it,' In that case, an\nintuition merely amounts to a dogmatic assumption that I am infallible,\nand must be supported by showing its connection with beliefs really\nuniversal and admittedly necessary.\n\nDugald Stewart followed Reid upon this main question, and with less\nforce and originality represents the same point of view. He accepts\nReid's view of the two co-ordinate departments of knowledge; the science\nof which mind, and the science of which body, is the object. Philosophy\nis not a 'theory of knowledge' or of the universe; but, as it was then\ncalled, 'a philosophy of the human mind.' 'Philosophy' is founded upon\ninductive psychology; and it only becomes philosophy in a wider sense in\nso far as we discover that as a fact we have certain fundamental\nbeliefs, which are thus given by experience, though they take us in a\nsense beyond experience. Jeffrey, reviewing Stewart's life of Reid, in\nthe _Edinburgh Review_ of 1804, makes a significant inference from this.\nBacon's method, he said, had succeeded in the physical sciences, because\nthere we could apply experiment. But experiment is impossible in the\nscience of mind; and therefore philosophy will never be anything but a\nplaything or a useful variety of gymnastic. Stewart replied at some\nlength in his _Essays_,[168] fully accepting the general conception, but\narguing that the experimental method was applicable to the science of\nmind. Jeffrey observes that it was now admitted that the 'profoundest\nreasonings' had brought us back to the view of the vulgar, and this,\ntoo, is admitted by Stewart so far as the cardinal doctrine of 'the\ncommon sense' philosophy, the theory of perception, is admitted.\n\nFrom this, again, it follows that the 'notions we annex to the words\nMatter and Mind are merely relative.'[169] We know that mind exists as\nwe know that matter exists; or, if anything, we know the existence of\nmind more certainly because more directly. The mind is suggested by 'the\nsubjects of our consciousness'; the body by the objects 'of our\nperception.' But, on the other hand, we are totally 'ignorant of the\nessence of either.'[170] We can discover the laws either of mental or\nmoral phenomena; but a law, as he explains, means in strictness nothing\nbut a 'general fact.'[171] It is idle, therefore, to explain the nature\nof the union between the two unknowable substances; we can only discover\nthat they are united and observe the laws according to which one set of\nphenomena corresponds to the other. From a misunderstanding of this\narise all the fallacies of scholastic ontology, 'the most idle and\nabsurd speculation that ever employed the human faculties.'[172] The\ndestruction of that pseudo-science was the great glory of Bacon and\nLocke; and Reid has now discovered the method by which we may advance to\nthe establishment of a truly inductive 'philosophy of mind.'\n\nIt is not surprising that Stewart approximates in various directions to\nthe doctrines of the empirical school. He leans towards them whenever he\ndoes not see the results to which he is tending. Thus, for example, he\nis a thoroughgoing nominalist;[173] and on this point he deserts the\nteaching of Reid. He defends against Reid the attack made by Berkeley\nand Hume upon 'abstract ideas.' Rosmini,[174] in an elaborate criticism,\ncomplains that Stewart did not perceive the inevitable tendency of\nnominalism to materialism.[175] Stewart, in fact, accepts a good deal of\nHorne Tooke's doctrine,[176] though calling Tooke an 'ingenious\ngrammarian, not a very profound philosopher,' but holds, as we shall\nsee, that the materialistic tendency can be avoided. As becomes a\nnominalist, he attacks the syllogism upon grounds more fully brought out\nby J. S. Mill. Upon another essential point, he agrees with the pure\nempiricists. He accepts Hume's view of causation in all questions of\nphysical science. In natural philosophy, he declares causation means\nonly conjunction. The senses can never give us the 'efficient' cause of\nany phenomenon. In other words, we can never see a 'necessary\nconnection' between any two events. He collects passages from earlier\nwriters to show how Hume had been anticipated; and holds that Bacon's\ninadequate view of this truth was a main defect in his theories.[177]\nHence we have a characteristic conclusion. He says, when discussing the\nproofs of the existence of God,[178] that we have an 'irresistible\nconviction of the _necessity_ of a cause' for every change. Hume,\nhowever, has shown that this can never be a logical necessity. It must\nthen, argues Stewart, be either a 'prejudice' or an 'intuitive\njudgment.' Since it is shown by 'universal consent' not to be a\nprejudice, it must be an intuitive judgment. Thus Hume's facts are\naccepted; but his inference denied. The actual causal nexus is\ninscrutable. The conviction that there must be a connection between\nevents attributed by Hume to 'custom' is attributed by Stewart to\nintuitive belief. Stewart infers that Hume's doctrine is really\nfavourable to theology. It implies that God gives us the conviction, and\nperhaps, as Malebranche held, that God is 'the constantly operating\nefficient Cause in the material world.'[179] Stewart's successor, Thomas\nBrown, took up this argument on occasion of the once famous 'Leslie\ncontroversy'; and Brown's teaching was endorsed by James Mill and by\nJohn Stuart Mill.\n\nAccording to J. S. Mill, James Mill and Stewart represented opposite\npoles of philosophic thought. I shall have to consider this dictum\nhereafter. On the points already noticed Stewart must be regarded as an\nally rather than an opponent of the Locke and Hume tradition. Like them\nhe appeals unhesitatingly to experience, and cannot find words strong\nenough to express his contempt for 'ontological' and scholastic methods.\nHis 'intuitions' are so far very harmless things, which fall in with\ncommon sense, and enable him to hold without further trouble the beliefs\nwhich, as a matter of fact, are held by everybody. They are an excuse\nfor not seeking any ultimate explanation in reason. He is, indeed,\nopposed to the school which claimed to be the legitimate successor to\nLocke, but which evaded Hume's scepticism by diverging towards\nmaterialism. The great representative of this doctrine in England had\nbeen Hartley, and in Stewart's day Hartley's lead had been followed by\nPriestley, who attacked Reid from a materialist point of view, by\nPriestley's successor, Thomas Belsham, and by Erasmus Darwin. We find\nStewart, in language which reminds us of later controversy, denouncing\nthe 'Darwinian School'[180] for theories about instinct incompatible\nwith the doctrine of final causes. It might appear that a philosopher\nwho has re-established the objective existence of space in opposition to\nBerkeley, was in danger of that materialism which had been Berkeley's\nbugbear. But Stewart escapes the danger by his assertion that our\nknowledge of matter is 'relative' or confined to phenomena. Materialism\nis for him a variety of ontology, involving the assumption that we know\nthe essence of matter. To speak with Hartley of 'vibrations,' animal\nspirits, and so forth, is to be led astray by a false analogy. We can\ndiscover the laws of correspondence of mind and body, but not the\nultimate nature of either.[181] Thus he regards the 'physiological\nmetaphysics of the present day' as an 'idle waste of labour and\ningenuity on questions to which the human mind is altogether\nincompetent.'[182] The principles found by inductive observation are as\nindependent of these speculations as Newton's theory of gravitation of\nan ultimate mechanical cause of gravitation.\n\nHartley's followers, however, could drop the 'vibration' theory; and\ntheir doctrine then became one of 'association of ideas.' To this famous\ntheory, which became the sheet-anchor of the empirical school, Stewart\nis not altogether opposed. We find him speaking of 'indissoluble\nassociation' in language which reminds us of the Mills.[183] Hume had\nspoken of association as comparable to gravitation--the sole principle\nby which our 'ideas' and 'impressions' are combined into a whole; a\ntheory, of course, corresponding to his doctrine of 'belief' as a mere\ncustom of associating. Stewart uses the principle rather as Locke had\ndone, as explaining fallacies due to 'casual associations.' It supposes,\nas he says, the previous existence of certain principles, and cannot be\nan ultimate explanation. The only question can be at what point we have\nreached an 'original principle,' and are therefore bound to stop our\nanalysis.[184] Over this question he glides rather too lightly, as is\nhis custom; but from his point of view the belief, for example, in an\nexternal world, cannot be explained by association, inasmuch as it\nreveals itself as an ultimate datum.\n\nIn regard to the physical sciences, then, Stewart's position\napproximates very closely to the purely 'empirical' view. When we come\nto a different application of his principles, we find him taking a\ncuriously balanced position between different schools. 'Common sense'\nnaturally wishes to adapt itself to generally accepted beliefs; and with\nso flexible a doctrine as that of 'intuitions' it is not difficult to\ndiscover methods of proving the ordinary dogmas. Stewart's theology is\ncharacteristic of this tendency. He describes the so-called _a priori_\nproof, as formulated by Clarke. But without denying its force, he does\nnot like to lay stress upon it. He dreads 'ontology' too much. He\ntherefore considers that the argument at once most satisfactory to the\nphilosopher and most convincing to ordinary men is the argument from\ndesign. The belief in God is not 'intuitive,' but follows immediately\nfrom two first principles: the principle that whatever exists has a\ncause, and the principle that a 'combination of means implies a\ndesigner.'[185] The belief in a cause arises on our perception of change\nas our belief in the external world arises upon our sensations. The\nbelief in design must be a 'first principle' because it includes a\nbelief in 'necessity' which cannot arise from mere observation of\n'contingent truths.'[186] Hence Stewart accepts the theory of final\ncauses as stated by Paley. Though Paley's ethics offended him, he has\nnothing but praise for the work upon _Natural Theology_.[187] Thus,\nalthough 'common sense' does not enable us to lay down the central\ndoctrine of theology as a primary truth, it does enable us to interpret\nexperience in theological terms. In other words, his theology is of the\npurely empirical kind, which was, as we shall see, the general\ncharacteristic of the time.\n\nIn Stewart's discussion of ethical problems the same doctrine of 'final\ncauses' assumes a special importance. Stewart, as elsewhere, tries to\nhold an intermediate position; to maintain the independence of morality\nwithout committing himself to the 'ontological' or purely logical view;\nand to show that virtue conduces to happiness without allowing that its\ndictates are to be deduced from its tendency to produce happiness. His\ndoctrine is to a great extent derived from the teaching of Hutcheson and\nBishop Butler. He really approximates most closely to Hutcheson, who\ntakes a similar view of Utilitarianism, but he professes the warmest\nadmiration of Butler. He explicitly accepts Butler's doctrine of the\n'supremacy of the conscience'--a doctrine which as he says, the bishop,\n'has placed in the strongest and happiest light.'[188] He endeavours,\nagain, to approximate to the 'intellectual school,' of which Richard\nPrice (1723-1791) was the chief English representative at the time. Like\nKant, Price deduces the moral law from principles of pure reason. The\ntruth of the moral law, 'Thou shalt do to others as you wish that they\nshould do to you,' is as evident as the truth of the law in geometry,\n'things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other.'\nStewart so far approves that he wishes to give to the moral law what is\nnow called all possible 'objectivity,' while the 'moral sense' of\nHutcheson apparently introduced a 'subjective' element. He holds,\nhowever, that our moral perceptions 'involve a feeling of the heart,' as\nwell as a 'judgment of the understanding,'[189] and ascribes the same\nview to Butler. But then, by using the word 'reason' so as to include\nthe whole nature of a rational being, we may ascribe to it the 'origin\nof those simple ideas which are not excited in the mind by the operation\nof the senses, but which arise in consequence of the operation of the\nintellectual powers among the various objects.'[190] Hutcheson, he says,\nmade his 'moral sense' unsatisfactory by taking his illustrations from\nthe 'secondary' instead of the 'primary qualities,'[191] and thus with\nthe help of intuitive first principles, Stewart succeeds in believing\nthat it would be as hard for a man to believe that he ought to sacrifice\nanother man's happiness to his own as to believe that three angles of a\ntriangle are equal to one right angle.[192] It is true that a feeling\nand a judgment are both involved; but the 'intellectual judgment' is the\ngroundwork of the feeling, not the feeling of the judgment.[193] In\nspite, however, of this attempt to assimilate his principles to those of\nthe intellectual school, the substance of Stewart's ethics is\nessentially psychological. It rests, in fact, upon his view that\nphilosophy depends upon inductive psychology, and, therefore,\nessentially upon experience subject to the cropping up of convenient\n'intuitions.'\n\nThis appears from the nature of his argument against the Utilitarians.\nIn his time, this doctrine was associated with the names of Hartley,\nTucker, Godwin, and especially Paley. He scarcely refers to\nBentham.[194] Paley is the recognised anvil for the opposite school. Now\nhe agrees, as I have said, with Paley's view of natural theology and\nentirely accepts therefore the theory of 'final causes.' The same theory\nbecomes prominent in his ethical teaching. We may perhaps say that\nStewart's view is in substance an inverted Utilitarianism. It may be\nbest illustrated by an argument familiar in another application. Paley\nand his opponents might agree that the various instincts of an animal\nare so constituted that in point of fact they contribute to his\npreservation and his happiness. But from one point of view this appears\nto be simply to say that the conditions of existence necessitate a\ncertain harmony, and that the harmony is therefore to be a consequence\nof his self-preservation. From the opposite point of view, which Stewart\naccepts, it appears that the self-preservation is the consequence of a\npre-established harmony, which has been divinely appointed in order that\nhe may live. Stewart, in short, is a 'teleologist' of the Paley variety.\nPsychology proves the existence of design in the moral world, as anatomy\nor physiology proves it in the physical.\n\nStewart therefore fully agrees that virtue generally produces happiness.\nIf it be true (a doctrine, he thinks, beyond our competence to decide)\nthat 'the sole principle of action in the Deity' is benevolence, it may\nbe that he has commanded us to be virtuous because he sees virtue to be\nuseful. In this case utility may be the final cause of morality; and the\nfact that virtue has this tendency gives the plausibility to utilitarian\nsystems.[195] But the key to the difficulty is the distinction between\n'final' and 'efficient' causes; for the efficient cause of morality is\nnot the desire for happiness, but a primitive and simple instinct,\nnamely, the moral faculty.\n\nThus he rejects Paley's notorious doctrine that virtue differs from\nprudence only in regarding the consequences in another world instead of\nconsequences in this.[196] Reward and punishment 'presuppose the notions\nof right and wrong' and cannot be the source of those notions. The\nfavourite doctrine of association, by which the Utilitarians explained\nunselfishness, is only admissible as accounting for modifications, such\nas are due to education and example, but 'presupposes the existence of\ncertain principles which are common to all mankind.' The evidence of\nsuch principles is established by a long and discursive psychological\ndiscussion. It is enough to say that he admits two rational principles,\n'self-love' and the 'moral faculty,' the coincidence of which is learned\nonly by experience. The moral faculty reveals simple 'ideas' of right\nand wrong, which are incapable of any further analysis. But besides\nthese, there is a hierarchy of other instincts or desires, which he\ncalls 'implanted' because 'for aught we know' they may be of 'arbitrary\nappointment.'[197] Resentment, for example, is an implanted instinct, of\nwhich the 'final cause' is to defend us against 'sudden violence.'[198]\nStewart's analysis is easygoing and suggests more problems than it\nsolves. The general position, however, is clear enough, and not, I\nthink, without much real force as against the Paley form of\nutilitarianism.\n\nThe acceptance of the doctrine of 'final causes' was the inevitable\ncourse for a philosopher who wishes to retain the old creeds and yet to\nappeal unequivocally to experience. It suits the amiable optimism for\nwhich Stewart is noticeable. To prove the existence of a perfect deity\nfrom the evidence afforded by the world, you must of course take a\nfavourable view of the observable order. Stewart shows the same tendency\nin his Political Economy, where he is Adam Smith's disciple, and fully\nshares Smith's beliefs that the harmony between the interests of the\nindividual and the interests of the society is an evidence of design in\nthe Creator of mankind. In this respect Stewart differs notably from\nButler, to whose reasonings he otherwise owed a good deal. With Butler\nthe conscience implies a dread of divine wrath and justifies the\nconception of a world alienated from its maker. Stewart's 'moral\nfaculty' simply recognises or reveals the moral law; but carries no\nsuggestion of supernatural penalties. The doctrines by which Butler\nattracted some readers and revolted others throw no shadow over his\nwritings. He is a placid enlightened professor, whose real good feeling\nand frequent shrewdness should not be overlooked in consequence of the\nrather desultory and often superficial mode of reasoning. This, however,\nsuggests a final remark upon Stewart's position.\n\nIn the preface[199] to his _Active and Moral Powers_ (1828) Stewart\napologises for the large space given to the treatment of Natural\nReligion. The lectures, he says, which form the substance of the book,\nwere given at a time when 'enlightened zeal for liberty' was associated\nwith the 'reckless boldness of the uncompromising freethinker.' He\nwished, therefore, to show that a man could be a liberal without being\nan atheist. This gives the position characteristic of Stewart and his\nfriends. The group of eminent men who made Edinburgh a philosophical\ncentre was thoroughly in sympathy with the rationalist movement of the\neighteenth century. The old dogmatic system of belief could be held very\nlightly even by the more educated clergy. Hume's position is\nsignificant. He could lay down the most unqualified scepticism in his\nwritings; but he always regarded his theories as intended for the\nenlightened; he had no wish to disturb popular beliefs in theology, and\nwas a strong Tory in politics. His friends were quite ready to take him\nupon that footing. The politeness with which 'Mr. Hume's' speculations\nare noticed by men like Stewart and Reid is in characteristic contrast\nto the reception generally accorded to more popular sceptics. They were\nintellectual curiosities not meant for immediate application. The real\nopinion of such men as Adam Smith and Stewart was probably a rather\nvague and optimistic theism. In the professor's chair they could talk to\nlads intended for the ministry without insulting such old Scottish\nprejudice (there was a good deal of it) as survived: and could cover\nrationalising opinions under language which perhaps might have a\ndifferent meaning for their hearers. The position was necessarily one of\ntacit compromise. Stewart considers himself to be an inductive\nphilosopher appealing frankly to experience and reason; and was in\npractice a man of thoroughly liberal and generous feelings. He was\nheartily in favour of progress as he understood it. Only he will not\nsacrifice common sense; that is to say, the beliefs which are in fact\nprevalent and congenial to existing institutions. Common sense, of\ncourse, condemns extremes: and if logic seems to be pushing a man\ntowards scepticism in philosophy or revolution in practice, he can\nalways protest by the convenient device of intuitions.\n\nI have gone so far in order to illustrate the nature of the system which\nthe Utilitarians took to be the antithesis of their own. It may be\nfinally remarked that at present both sides were equally ignorant of\ncontemporary developments of German thought. When Stewart became aware\nthat there was such a thing as Kant's philosophy, he tried to read it in\na Latin version. Parr, I may observe, apparently did not know of this\nversion, and gave up the task of reading German. Stewart's example was\nnot encouraging. He had abandoned the 'undertaking in despair' partly\nfrom the scholastic barbarism of the style, partly 'my utter inability\nto comprehend the author's meaning.' He recognises similarity between\nKant and Reid, but thinks Reid's simple statement of the fact that space\ncannot be derived from the senses more philosophical than Kant's\n'superstructure of technical mystery.'[200]\n\nI have dwelt upon the side in which Stewart's philosophy approximates to\nthe empirical school, because the Utilitarians were apt to misconceive\nthe position. They took Stewart to be the adequate representative of all\nwho accepted one branch of an inevitable dilemma. The acceptance of\n'intuitions,' that is, was the only alternative to thoroughgoing\nacceptance of 'experience.' They supposed, too, that persons vaguely\ndescribed as 'Kant and the Germans' taught simply a modification of the\n'intuitionist' view. I have noticed how emphatically Stewart claimed to\nrely upon experience and to base his philosophy upon inductive\npsychology, and was so far admitting the first principles and the\ngeneral methods of his opponents. The Scottish philosophy, however,\nnaturally presented itself as an antagonistic force to the Utilitarians.\nThe 'intuitions' represented the ultimate ground taken, especially in\nreligious and ethical questions, by men who wished to be at once liberal\nphilosophers and yet to avoid revolutionary extremes. 'Intuitions' had\nin any case a negative value, as protests against the sufficiency of the\nempirical analysis. It might be quite true, for example, that Hume's\nanalysis of certain primary mental phenomena--of our belief in the\nexternal world or of the relation of cause and effect--was radically\ninsufficient. He had not given an adequate explanation of the facts. The\nrecognition of the insufficiency of his reasoning was highly important\nif only as a stimulus to inquiry. It was a warning to his and to\nHartley's followers that they had not thoroughly unravelled the\nperplexity but only cut the knot. But when the insufficiency of the\nexplanation was interpreted as a demonstration that all explanation was\nimpossible, and the 'intuition' an ultimate 'self-evident' truth, it\nbecame a refusal to inquire just where inquiry was wanted; a positive\ncommand to stop analysis at an arbitrary point; and a round assertion\nthat the adversary could not help believing precisely the doctrine which\nhe altogether declined to believe. Naturally the empiricists refused to\nbow to an authority which was simply saying, 'Don't inquire further,'\nwithout any ground for the prohibition except the '_ipse dixitism_'\nwhich declared that inquiry must be fruitless. Stewart, in fact, really\nillustrated the equivocation between the two meanings of 'common sense.'\nIf by that name he understood, as he professed to understand, ultimate\n'laws of thought,' his position was justifiable as soon as he could\nspecify the laws and prove that they were ultimate. But so far as he\nvirtually took for granted that the average beliefs of intelligent\npeople were such laws, and on that ground refused to examine the\nevidence of their validity, he was inconsistent, and his position only\ninvited assault. As a fact, I believe that his 'intuitions' covered many\nmost disputable propositions; and that the more clearly they were\nstated, the more they failed to justify his interpretations. He was not\nreally answering the most vital and critical questions, but implicitly\nreserving them, and putting an arbitrary stop to investigations\ndesirable on his own principles.\n\nThe Scottish philosophy was, however, accepted in England, and made a\nconsiderable impression in France, as affording a tenable barrier\nagainst scepticism. It was, as I have said, in philosophy what\nWhiggism was in politics. Like political Whiggism it included a large\nelement of enlightened and liberal rationalism; but like Whiggism it\ncovered an aversion to thoroughgoing logic. The English politician was\nsuspicious of abstract principles, but could cover his acceptance of\ntradition and rule of thumb by general phrases about liberty and\ntoleration. The Whig in philosophy equally accepted the traditional\ncreed, sufficiently purified from cruder elements, and sheltered his\ndoctrine by speaking of 'intuitions and laws of thought.' In both\npositions there was really, I take it, a great deal of sound practical\nwisdom; but they also implied a marked reluctance to push inquiry too\nfar, and a tacit agreement to be content with what the Utilitarians\ndenounced as 'vague generalities'--phrases, that is, which might be\nused either to conceal an underlying scepticism, or really to stop\nshort in the path which led to scepticism. In philosophy as in\npolitics, the Utilitarians boasted of being thoroughgoing Radicals,\nand hated compromises which to them appeared to be simply obstructive.\nI need not elaborate a point which will meet us again. If I were\nwriting a history of thought in general I should have to notice other\nwriters, though there were none of much distinction, who followed the\nteaching of Stewart or of his opponents of the Hartley and Darwin\nschool. It would be necessary also to insist upon the growing interest\nin the physical sciences, which were beginning not only to make\nenormous advances, but to attract popular attention. For my purpose,\nhowever, it is I think sufficient to mention these writers, each of\nwhom had a very special relation to the Utilitarians. I turn,\ntherefore, to Bentham.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[157] Nine volumes of Dugald Stewart's works, edited by Sir W. Hamilton,\nappeared from 1854 to 1856; a tenth, including a life of Stewart by J.\nVeitch, appeared in 1858, and an eleventh, with an index to the whole,\nin 1860. The chief books are the _Elements of the Philosophy of the\nHuman Mind_ (in vols. ii., iii. and iv., originally in 1792, 1814,\n1827); _Philosophical Essays_ (in vol. v., originally 1810); _Philosophy\nof the Active and Moral Powers of Man_ (vols. vi. and vii., originally\nin 1828); _Dissertation on the Progress of Philosophy_ (in vol. i.;\noriginally in _Encyclopaedia Britannica_, in 1815 and 1821). The lectures\non Political Economy first appeared in the _Works_, vols. viii. and ix.\n\n[158] _Works_, vi. ('Preface').\n\n[159] _Works_ (Life of Reid), x. 304-8.\n\n[160] Reid's _Works_ (Hamilton), p. 302.\n\n[161] Reid's _Works_ (Hamilton), p. 88.\n\n[162] _Ibid._ 206.\n\n[163] _Ibid._ 267.\n\n[164] Stewart's remarks on his life of Reid: Reid's _Works_, p. 12, etc.\n\n[165] _The World as Will and Idea_ (Haldane & Kemp), ii. 186. Reid's\n'_Inquiry_,' he adds, is ten times better worth reading than all the\nphilosophy together which has been written since Kant.\n\n[166] 'We are inspired with the sensation, as we are inspired with the\ncorresponding perception, by means unknown.'--Reid's _Works_, 188.\n'This,' says Stewart, 'is a plain statement of fact.'--Stewart's\n_Works_, ii. 111-12.\n\n[167] See Rosmini's _Origin of Ideas_ (English translation), i. p. 91,\nwhere, though sympathising with Reid's aim, he admits a 'great blunder.'\n\n[168] Stewart's _Works_, v. 24-53. Hamilton says in a note (p. 41) that\nJeffrey candidly confessed Stewart's reply to be satisfactory.\n\n[169] _Ibid._ ii. 46.\n\n[170] _Ibid._ ii. 45-67.\n\n[171] _Ibid._ ii. 159.\n\n[172] _Ibid._ v. 21.\n\n[173] Stewart's _Works_, ii. 165-93; iii. 81-97. Schopenhauer (_The\nWorld as Will and Idea_, ii. 240) admires Reid's teaching upon this\npoint, and recommends us not 'to waste an hour over the scribblings of\nthis shallow writer' (Stewart).\n\n[174] Rosmini's _Origin of Ideas_ (English translation), i. 96-176.\n\n[175] _Ibid._ i. 147 _n._\n\n[176] Stewart's _Works_, iv. 29, 35, 38, and v. 149-88.\n\n[177] _Ibid._ ii. 97, etc., and iii. 235, 389, 417.\n\n[178] _Works_, vii. 13-34.\n\n[179] _Ibid._ vii. 26, etc.\n\n[180] _Works_, iv. 265.\n\n[181] _Ibid._ ii. 52.\n\n[182] _Ibid._ v. 10.\n\n[183] _Works_, ii. 155.\n\n[184] _Ibid._ ii. 337.\n\n[185] _Works_, vi. 46; vii. 11.\n\n[186] _Ibid._ vii. 46.\n\n[187] _Ibid._ i. 357.\n\n[188] _Works_, vi. 320.\n\n[189] _Ibid._ vi. 279.\n\n[190] _Ibid._ vi. 297.\n\n[191] _Works_, vi. 295. Cf. v. 83.\n\n[192] _Ibid._ vi. 298-99.\n\n[193] _Ibid._ v. 84.\n\n[194] In _Works_, vi. 205-6, he quotes Dumont's _Bentham_; but his\ngeneral silence is the more significant, as in the lectures on Political\nEconomy he makes frequent and approving reference to Bentham's tract\nupon usury.\n\n[195] _Works_, vii. 236-38.\n\n[196] _Ibid._ vi. 221.\n\n[197] _Works_, vi. 213.\n\n[198] _Ibid._ vi. 199.\n\n[199] _Works_, vi. 111.\n\n[200] _Works_, v. 117 18. I have given some details as to Stewart's\nsuffering under an English proselyte of Kant in my _Studies of a\nBiographer_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nBENTHAM'S LIFE\n\n\nI. EARLY LIFE\n\nJeremy Bentham,[201] the patriarch of the English Utilitarians, sprang\nfrom the class imbued most thoroughly with the typical English\nprejudices. His first recorded ancestor, Brian Bentham, was a\npawnbroker, who lost money by the stop of the Exchequer in 1672, but was\nneither ruined, nor, it would seem, alienated by the king's dishonesty.\nHe left some thousands to his son, Jeremiah, an attorney and a strong\nJacobite. A second Jeremiah, born 2nd December 1712, carried on his\nfather's business, and though his clients were not numerous, increased\nhis fortune by judicious investments in houses and lands. Although\nbrought up in Jacobite principles, he transferred his attachment to the\nHanoverian dynasty when a relation of his wife married a valet of George\nII. The wife, Alicia Grove, was daughter of a tradesman who had made a\nsmall competence at Andover. Jeremiah Bentham had fallen in love with\nher at first sight, and wisely gave up for her sake a match with a\nfortune of L10,000. The couple were fondly attached to each other and to\ntheir children. The marriage took place towards the end of 1744, and the\neldest son, Jeremy, was born in Red Lion Street, Houndsditch, 4th\nFebruary 1747-48 (o.s.) The only other child who grew up was Samuel,\nafterwards Sir Samuel Bentham, born 11th January 1757. When eighty years\nold, Jeremy gave anecdotes of his infancy to his biographer, Bowring,\nwho says that their accuracy was confirmed by contemporary documents,\nand proved his memory to be as wonderful as his precocity. Although the\nchild was physically puny, his intellectual development was amazing.\nBefore he was two he burst into tears at the sight of his mother's\nchagrin upon his refusal of some offered dainty. Before he was\n'breeched,' an event which happened when he was three and a quarter, he\nran home from a dull walk, ordered a footman to bring lights and place a\nfolio _Rapin_ upon the table, and was found plunged in historical\nstudies when his parents returned to the house. In his fourth year he\nwas imbibing the Latin grammar, and at the age of five years nine months\nand nineteen days, as his father notes, he wrote a scrap of Latin,\ncarefully pasted among the parental memoranda. The child was not always\nimmured in London. His parents spent their Sundays with the grandfather\nBentham at Barking, and made occasional excursions to the house of Mrs.\nBentham's mother at Browning Hill, near Reading. Bentham remembered the\nlast as a 'paradise,' and a love of flowers and gardens became one of\nhis permanent passions.\n\nJeremy cherished the memory of his mother's tenderness. The father,\nthough less sympathetic, was proud of his son's precocity, and\napparently injudicious in stimulating the unformed intellect. The boy\nwas almost a dwarf in size. When sixteen he grew ahead,[202] and was so\nfeeble that he could scarcely drag himself upstairs. Attempts to teach\nhim dancing failed from the extreme weakness of his knees.[203] He\nshowed a taste for music, and could scrape a minuet on the fiddle at six\nyears of age. He read all such books as came in his way. His parents\nobjected to light literature, and he was crammed with such solid works\nas _Rapin_, Burnet's _Theory of the Earth_, and Cave's _Lives of the\nApostles_. Various accidents, however, furnished him with better food\nfor the imagination. He wept for hours over _Clarissa Harlowe_, studied\n_Gulliver's Travels_ as an authentic document, and dipped into a variety\nof such books as then drifted into middle-class libraries. A French\nteacher introduced him to some remarkable books. He read _Telemaque_,\nwhich deeply impressed him, and, as he thought, implanted in his mind\nthe seeds of later moralising. He attacked unsuccessfully some of\nVoltaire's historical works, and even read _Candide_, with what emotions\nwe are not told. The servants meanwhile filled his fancy with ghosts and\nhobgoblins. To the end of his days he was still haunted by the imaginary\nhorrors in the dark,[204] and he says[205] that they had been among the\ntorments of his life. He had few companions of his own age, and though\nhe was 'not unhappy' and was never subjected to corporal punishment, he\nfelt more awe than affection for his father. His mother, to whom he was\nstrongly attached, died on 6th January 1759.\n\nBentham was thus a strangely precocious, and a morbidly sensitive child,\nwhen it was decided in 1755 to send him to Westminster. The headmaster,\nDr. Markham, was a friend of his father's. Westminster, he says,\nrepresented 'hell' for him when Browning Hill stood for paradise. The\ninstruction 'was wretched,' The fagging system was a 'horrid despotism.'\nThe games were too much for his strength. His industry, however, enabled\nhim to escape the birch, no small achievement in those days,[206] and he\nbecame distinguished in the studies such as they were. He learned the\ncatechism by heart, and was good at Greek and Latin verses, which he\nmanufactured for his companions as well as himself. He had also the\nrarer accomplishment, acquired from his early tutor, of writing more\neasily in French than English. Some of his writings were originally\ncomposed in French. He was, according to Bowring, elected to one of the\nKing's scholarships when between nine and ten, but as 'ill-usage was\napprehended' the appointment was declined.[207] He was at a\nboarding-house, and the life of the boys on the foundation was probably\nrougher. In June 1760 his father took him to Oxford, and entered him as\na commoner at Queen's College. He came into residence in the following\nOctober, when only twelve years old. Oxford was not more congenial than\nWestminster. He had to sign the Thirty-nine Articles in spite of\nscruples suppressed by authority. The impression made upon him by this\nchildish compliance never left him to the end of his life.[208] His\nexperience resembled that of Adam Smith and Gibbon. Laziness and vice\nwere prevalent. A gentleman commoner of Queen's was president of a\n'hellfire club,' and brutal horseplay was still practised upon the\nweaker lads. Bentham, still a schoolboy in age, continued his schoolboy\ncourse. He wrote Latin verses, and one of his experiments, an ode upon\nthe death of George II., was sent to Johnson, who called it 'a very\npretty performance for a young man.' He also had to go through the form\nof disputation in the schools. Queen's College had some reputation at\nthis time for teaching logic.[209] Bentham was set to read Watt's\n_Logic_ (1725), Sanderson's _Compendium artis Logicae_ (1615), and\nRowning's _Compendious System of Natural Philosophy_ (1735-42). Some\ntraces of these studies remained in his mind.\n\nIn 1763 Bentham took his B.A. degree, and returned to his home. It is\nsignificant that when robbed of all his money at Oxford he did not\nconfide in his father. He was paying by a morbid reserve for the\nattempts made to force him into premature activity. He accepted the\ncareer imposed by his father's wishes, and in November 1763 began to eat\nhis dinners in Lincoln's Inn. He returned, however, to Oxford in\nDecember to hear Blackstone's lectures. These lectures were then a\nnovelty at an English university. The Vinerian professorship had been\nfounded in 1758 in consequence of the success of a course voluntarily\ngiven by Blackstone; and his lectures contained the substance of the\nfamous Commentaries, first published 1765-1769. They had a great effect\nupon Bentham. He says that he 'immediately detected Blackstone's fallacy\nrespecting natural rights,' thought other doctrines illogical, and was\nso much occupied by these reflections as to be unable to take notes.\nBentham's dissatisfaction with Blackstone had not yet made him an\nopponent of the constituted order. He was present at some of the\nproceedings against Wilkes, and was perfectly bewitched by Lord\nMansfield's '_Grim-gibber_,' that is, taken in by his pompous\nverbiage.[210]\n\nIn 1765 his father married Mrs. Abbot, the mother of Charles Abbot,\nafterwards Lord Colchester. Bentham's dislike of his step-mother\nincreased the distance between him and his father. He took his M.A.\ndegree in 1766 and in 1767 finally left Oxford for London to begin, as\nhis father fondly hoped, a flight towards the woolsack. The lad's\ndiffidence and extreme youth had indeed prevented him from forming the\nusual connections which his father anticipated as the result of a\ncollege life. His career as a barrister was short and grievously\ndisappointing to the parental hopes. His father, like the Elder Fairford\nin _Redgauntlet_, had 'a cause or two at nurse' for the son. The son's\nfirst thought was to 'put them to death,' A brief was given to him in a\nsuit, upon which L50 depended. He advised that the suit should be\ndropped and the money saved. Other experiences only increased his\nrepugnance to his profession.[211] A singularly strong impression had\nbeen made upon him by the _Memoirs_ of Teresa Constantia Phipps, in\nwhich there is an account of vexatious legal proceedings as to the\nheroine's marriage. He appears to have first read this book\nin 1759. Then, he says, the 'Demon of Chicane appeared to me\nin all his hideousness. I vowed war against him. My vow has been\naccomplished!'[212] Bentham thus went to the bar as a 'bear to the\nstake.' He diverged in more than one direction. He studied chemistry\nunder Fordyce (1736-1802), and hankered after physical science. He was\nlong afterwards (1788) member of a club to which Sir Joseph Banks, John\nHunter, R. L. Edgeworth, and other men of scientific reputation\nbelonged.[213] But he had drifted into a course of speculation, which,\nthough more germane to legal studies, was equally fatal to professional\nsuccess. The father despaired, and he was considered to be a 'lost\nchild.'\n\nNOTES:\n\n[201] The main authority for Bentham's Life is Bowring's account in the\ntwo last volumes of the _Works_. Bain's _Life of James Mill_ gives some\nuseful facts as to the later period. There is comparatively little\nmention of Bentham in contemporary memoirs. Little is said of him in\nRomilly's _Life_. Parr's _Works_, i. and viii., contains some letters.\nSee also R. Dale Owen's _Threading my Way_ pp. 175-78. A little book\ncalled _Utilitarianism Unmasked_, by the Rev. J. F. Colls, D.D. (1844),\ngives some reminiscences by Colls, who had been Bentham's amanuensis for\nfourteen years. Colls, who took orders, disliked Bentham's religious\nlevity, and denounces his vanity, but admits his early kindness.\nVoluminous collections of the papers used by Bowring are at University\nCollege, and at the British Museum.\n\n[202] _Works_, x. 33.\n\n[203] _Ibid._ x. 31.\n\n[204] _Ibid._ ix. 84.\n\n[205] _Ibid._ x. 18.\n\n[206] Southey was expelled from Westminster in 1792 for attacking the\nbirch in a schoolboy paper.\n\n[207] _Works_, x. 38. Bowring's confused statement, I take it, means\nthis. Bentham, in any case, was not on the foundation. See Welsh's\n_Alumni West_.\n\n[208] _Works_, x. 37.\n\n[209] _Ibid._ viii. 113, 217.\n\n[210] _Works_, x. 45.\n\n[211] _Ibid._ x. 51, 78, 83.\n\n[212] _Works_, x. 35, 77. References are given to this book in _Works_,\nvii. 219-20 ('Rationale of Evidence'). Several editions appeared from\n1725 to 1761. See _Works_, vi. 465, for a recollection of similar\nexperiences.\n\n[213] _Ibid._ viii. 148 _n._; x. 183.\n\n\nII. FIRST WRITINGS\n\nThough lost to the bar, he had really found himself. He had taken the\nline prescribed by his idiosyncrasy. His father's injudicious forcing\nhad increased his shyness at the bar, and he was like an owl in\ndaylight. But no one, as we shall see, was less diffident in\nspeculation. Self-confidence in a philosopher is often the private\ncredit which he opens with his imagination to compensate for his\nincapacity in the rough struggles of active life. Bentham shrank from\nthe world in which he was easily browbeaten to the study in which he\ncould reign supreme. He had not the strong passions which prompt\ncommonplace ambition, and cared little for the prizes for which most men\nwill sacrifice their lives. Nor, on the other hand, can he be credited\nwith that ardent philanthropy or vehement indignation which prompts to\nan internecine struggle with actual wrongdoers. He had not the ardour\nwhich led Howard to devote a life to destroy abuses, or that which\nturned Swift's blood to gall in the struggle against triumphant\ncorruption. He was thoroughly amiable, but of kindly rather than\nenergetic affections. He, therefore, desired reform, but so far from\nregarding the ruling classes with rancour, took their part against the\ndemocrats. 'I was a great reformist,' he says, 'but never suspected that\nthe \"people in power\" were against reform. I supposed they only wanted\nto know what was good in order to embrace it.'[214] The most real of\npleasures for him lay in speculating upon the general principles by\nwhich the 'people in power' should be guided. To construct a general\nchart for legislation, to hunt down sophistries, to explode mere noisy\nrhetoric, to classify and arrange and re-classify until his whole\nintellectual wealth was neatly arranged in proper pigeon-holes, was a\ndelight for its own sake. He wished well to mankind; he detested abuses,\nbut he hated neither the corrupted nor the corruptors; and it might\nalmost seem that he rather valued the benevolent end, because it gave\nemployment to his faculties, than valued the employment because it led\nto the end. This is implied in his remark made at the end of his life.\nHe was, he said, as selfish as a man could be; but 'somehow or other'\nselfishness had in him taken the form of benevolence.[215] He was at any\nrate in the position of a man with the agreeable conviction that he has\nonly to prove the wisdom of a given course in order to secure its\nadoption. Like many mechanical inventors, he took for granted that a\nprocess which was shown to be useful would therefore be at once adopted,\nand failed to anticipate the determined opposition of the great mass of\n'vested interests' already in possession.\n\nAt this period he made the discovery, or what he held to be the\ndiscovery, which governed his whole future career. He laid down the\nprinciple which was to give the clue to all his investigations; and, as\nhe thought, required only to be announced to secure universal\nacceptance. When Bentham revolted against the intellectual food provided\nat school and college, he naturally took up the philosophy which at that\nperiod represented the really living stream of thought. To be a man of\nenlightenment in those days was to belong to the school of Locke. Locke\nrepresented reason, free thought, and the abandonment of prejudice.\nBesides Locke, he mentions Hume, Montesquieu, Helvetius, Beccaria, and\nBarrington. Helvetius especially did much to suggest to him his leading\nprinciple, and upon country trips which he took with his father and\nstep-mother, he used to lag behind studying Helvetius' _De\nl'Esprit_.[216] Locke, he says in an early note (1773-1774), should give\nthe principles, Helvetius the matter, of a complete digest of the law.\nHe mentions with especial interest the third volume of Hume's _Treatise\non Human Nature_ for its ethical views: 'he felt as if scales fell from\nhis eyes' when he read it.[217] Daines Barrington's _Observations on the\nStatutes_ (1766) interested him by miscellaneous suggestions. The book,\nhe says,[218] was a 'great treasure.' 'It is everything, _a propos_ of\neverything; I wrote volumes upon this volume.' Beccaria's treatise upon\ncrimes and punishments had appeared in 1764, and had excited the\napplause of Europe. The world was clearly ready for a fundamental\nreconstruction of legislative theories. Under the influence of such\nstudies Bentham formulated his famous principle--a principle which to\nsome seemed a barren truism, to others a mere epigram, and to some a\ndangerous falsehood. Bentham accepted it not only as true, but as\nexpressing a truth of extraordinary fecundity, capable of guiding him\nthrough the whole labyrinth of political and legislative speculation.\nHis 'fundamental axiom' is that 'the greatest happiness of the greatest\nnumber is the measure of right and wrong.'[219] Bentham himself[220]\nattributes the authorship of the phrase to Beccaria or Priestley. The\ngeneral order of thought to which this theory belongs was of course not\nthe property of any special writer or any particular period. Here I need\nonly observe that this embodiment of the general doctrine of utility or\nmorality had been struck out by Hutcheson in the attempt (as his title\nsays) 'to introduce a mathematical calculation on subjects of morality.'\nThis defines the exact reason which made it acceptable to Bentham. For\nthe vague reference to utility which appears in Hume and other writers\nof his school, he substituted a formula, the terms of which suggest the\npossibility of an accurate quantitative comparison of different sums of\nhappiness. In Bentham's mind the difference between this and the more\ngeneral formula was like the difference between the statement that the\nplanets gravitate towards the sun, and the more precise statement that\nthe law of gravitation varies inversely as the square of the distance.\nBentham hoped for no less an achievement than to become the Newton of\nthe moral world.\n\nBentham, after leaving Oxford, took chambers in Lincoln's Inn. His\nfather on his second marriage had settled some property upon him, which\nbrought in some L90 a year. He had to live like a gentleman upon this,\nand to give four guineas a year to the laundress, four to his barber,\nand two to his shoeblack. In spite of Jeremy's deviation from the path\nof preferment, the two were on friendly terms, and when the hopes of the\nson's professional success grew faint, the father showed sympathy with\nhis literary undertakings. Jeremy visited Paris in 1770, but made few\nacquaintances, though he was already regarded as a 'philosopher.' In\n1778 he was in correspondence with d'Alembert, the abbe Morellet, and\nother philanthropic philosophers, but it does not appear at what time\nthis connection began.[221] He translated Voltaire's _Taureau\nBlanc_[222]--a story which used to 'convulse him with laughter.' A\nreference to it will show that Bentham by this time took the Voltairean\nview of the Old Testament. Bentham, however, was still on the side of\nthe Tories. His first publication was a defence of Lord Mansfield in\n1770 against attacks arising out of the prosecution of Woodfall for\npublishing Junius's letter to the king. This defence, contained in two\nletters, signed Irenaeus, was published in the _Gazetteer_. Bentham's\nnext performance was remarkable in the same sense. Among the few friends\nwho drifted to his chambers was John Lind (1737-1781), who had been a\nclergyman, and after acting as tutor to a prince in Poland, had returned\nto London and become a writer for the press. He had business relations\nwith the elder Bentham, and the younger Bentham was to some extent his\ncollaborator in a pamphlet[223] which defended the conduct of ministers\nto the American colonies. Bentham observes that he was prejudiced\nagainst the Americans by the badness of their arguments, and thought\nfrom the first, as he continued to think, that the Declaration of\nIndependence was a hodge-podge of confusion and absurdity, in which the\nthing to be proved is all along taken for granted.[224] Two other\nfriendships were formed by Bentham about this time: one with James\nTrail, an unsuccessful barrister, who owed a seat in Parliament and\nsome minor offices to Lord Hertford, and is said by Romilly to have been\na man of great talent; and one with George Wilson, afterwards a leader\nof the Norfolk circuit, who had become known to him through a common\ninterest in Dr. Fordyce's lectures upon chemistry. Wilson became a bosom\nfriend, and was one of Bentham's first disciples, though they were\nultimately alienated.[225]\n\nAt this time, Bentham says, that his was 'truly a miserable life.'[226]\nYet he was getting to work upon his grand project. He tells his father\non 1st October 1776 that he is writing his _Critical Elements of\nJurisprudence_, the book of which a part was afterwards published as the\n_Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation_.[227] In the\nsame year he published his first important work, the _Fragment on\nGovernment_. The year was in many ways memorable. The Declaration of\nIndependence marked the opening of a new political era. Adam Smith's\n_Wealth of Nations_ and Gibbon's _Decline and Fall_ formed landmarks in\nspeculation and in history; and Bentham's volume, though it made no such\nimpression, announced a serious attempt to apply scientific methods to\nproblems of legislation. The preface contained the first declaration of\nhis famous formula which was applied to the confutation of Blackstone.\nBentham was apparently roused to this effort by recollections of the\nOxford lectures. The _Commentaries_ contained a certain quantity of\nphilosophical rhetoric; and as Blackstone was much greater in a literary\nthan in a philosophical sense, the result was naturally unsatisfactory\nfrom a scientific point of view. He had vaguely appealed to the sound\nWhig doctrine of social compact, and while disavowing any strict\nhistorical basis had not inquired too curiously what was left of his\nsupposed foundation. Bentham pounced upon the unfortunate bit of\nverbiage; insisted upon asking for a meaning when there was nothing but\na rhetorical flourish, and tore the whole flimsy fabric to rags and\ntatters. A more bitter attack upon Blackstone, chiefly, as Bowring says,\nupon his defence of the Jewish law, was suppressed for fear of the law\nof libel.[228] The _Fragment_ was published anonymously, but Bentham had\nconfided the secret to his father by way of suggesting some slight\nset-off against his apparent unwillingness to emerge from obscurity. The\nbook was at first attributed to Lord Mansfield, Lord Camden, and to\nDunning. It was pirated in Dublin; and most of the five hundred copies\nprinted appear to have been sold, though without profit to the author.\nThe father's indiscretion let out the secret; and the sale, when the\nbook was known to be written by a nobody, fell off at once, or so\nBentham believed. The anonymous writer, however, was denounced and\naccused of being the author of much ribaldry, and among other\naccusations was said to be not only the translator but the writer of the\n_White Bull_.[229]\n\nBentham had fancied that all manner of 'torches from the highest\nregions' would come to light themselves at his 'farthing candle.' None\nof them came, and he was left for some years in obscurity, though still\nlabouring at the great work which was one day to enlighten the world.\nAt last, however, partial recognition came to him in a shape which\ngreatly influenced his career. Lord Shelburne, afterwards marquis of\nLansdowne, had been impressed by the _Fragment_, and in 1781 sought out\nBentham at his chambers. Shelburne's career was to culminate in the\nfollowing year with his brief tenure of the premiership (3rd July 1782\nto 24th February 1783). Rightly or wrongly his contemporaries felt the\ndistrust indicated by his nickname 'Malagrida,' which appears to have\nbeen partly suggested by a habit of overstrained compliment. He incurred\nthe dislike not unfrequently excited by men who claim superiority of\nintellect without possessing the force of character which gives a\ncorresponding weight in political affairs. Although his education had\nbeen bad, he had something of that cosmopolitan training which enabled\nmany members of the aristocracy to look beyond the narrow middle-class\nprejudices and share in some degree the wider philosophical movements of\nthe day. He had enjoyed the friendship of Franklin, and had been the\npatron of Priestley, who made some of his chemical discoveries at\nBowood, and to whom he allowed an annuity. He belonged to that section\nof the Whigs which had most sympathy with the revolutionary movement.\nHis chief political lieutenants were Dunning and Barre, who at the time\nsat for his borough Calne. He now rapidly formed an intimacy with\nBentham, who went to stay at Bowood in the autumn of 1781. Bentham now\nand then in later years made some rather disparaging remarks upon\nShelburne, whom he apparently considered to be rather an amateur than a\nserious philosopher, and who in the House of Lords talked 'vague\ngeneralities'--the sacred phrase by which the Utilitarians denounced all\npreaching but their own--in a way to impose upon the thoughtless. He\nrespected Shelburne, however, as one who trusted the people, and was\ndistrusted by the Whig aristocracy. He felt, too, a real affection and\ngratitude for the patron to whom he owed so much. Shelburne had done him\na great service.[230] 'He raised me from the bottomless pit of\nhumiliation. He made me feel I was something.' The elder Bentham was\nimpressed by his son's acquaintance with a man in so eminent a position,\nand hoped that it might lead by a different path to the success which\nhad been missed at the bar. At Bowood Bentham stayed over a month upon\nhis first visit, and was treated in the manner appropriate to a\nphilosopher. The men showed him friendliness, dashed with occasional\ncontempt, and the ladies petted him. He met Lord Camden and Dunning and\nyoung William Pitt, and some minor adherents of the great man. Pitt was\n'very good-natured and a little raw.' I was monstrously 'frightened at\nhim,' but, when I came to talk with him, he seemed 'frightened at\nme.'[231] Bentham, however, did not see what ideas they were likely to\nhave in common. In fact there was the usual gulf between the speculative\nthinker and the practical man. 'All the statesmen,' so thought the\nphilosopher, 'were wanting in the great elements of statesmanship': they\nwere always talking about 'what was' and seldom or never about 'what\nought to be.'[232] Occasionally, it would seem, they descended lower,\nand made a little fun of the shy and over-sensitive intruder.[233] The\nladies, however, made it up to him. Shelburne made him read his 'dry\nmetaphysics' to them,[234] and they received it with feminine docility.\nLord Shelburne had lately (1779) married his second wife, Louisa,\ndaughter of the first earl of Upper Ossory. Her sister, Lady Mary\nFitz-Patrick, married in 1766 to Stephen Fox, afterwards Lord Holland,\nwas the mother of the Lord Holland of later days and of Miss Caroline\nFox, who survived till 1845, and was at this time a pleasant girl of\nthirteen or fourteen. Lady Shelburne had also two half-sisters,\ndaughters of her mother's second marriage to Richard Vernon. Lady\nShelburne took a fancy to Bentham, and gave him the 'prodigious\nprivilege' of admission to her dressing-room. Though haughty in manner,\nshe was mild in reality, and after a time she and her sister indulged in\n'innocent gambols.' In her last illness, Bentham was one of the only two\nmen whom she would see, and upon her death in 1789, he was the only male\nfriend to whom her husband turned for consolation. Miss Fox seems to\nhave been the only woman who inspired Bentham with a sentiment\napproaching to passion. He wrote occasional letters to the ladies in the\ntone of elephantine pleasantry natural to one who was all his life both\na philosopher and a child.[235] He made an offer of marriage to Miss Fox\nin 1805, when he was nearer sixty than fifty, and when they had not met\nfor sixteen years. The immediate occasion was presumably the death of\nLord Lansdowne. She replied in a friendly letter, regretting the pain\nwhich her refusal would inflict. In 1827 Bentham, then in his eightieth\nyear, wrote once more, speaking of the flower she had given him 'in the\ngreen lane,' and asking for a kind answer. He was 'indescribably hurt\nand disappointed' by a cold and distant reply. The tears would come into\nthe old man's eyes as he dealt upon the cherished memories of\nBowood.[236] It is pleasant to know that Bentham was once in love;\nthough his love seems to have been chiefly for a memory associated with\nwhat he called the happiest time of his life.\n\nShelburne had a project for a marriage between Bentham and the widow of\nLord Ashburton (Dunning), who died in 1783.[237] He also made some\novertures of patronage. 'He asked me,' says Bentham,[238] 'what he could\ndo for me? I told him, nothing,' and this conduct--so different from\nthat of others, 'endeared me to him.' Bentham declined one offer in\n1788; but in 1790 he suddenly took it into his head that Lansdowne had\npromised him a seat in parliament; and immediately set forth his claims\nin a vast argumentative letter of sixty-one pages.[239] Lansdowne\nreplied conclusively that he had not made the supposed promise, and had\nhad every reason to suppose that Bentham preferred retirement to\npolitics. Bentham accepted the statement frankly, though a short\ncoolness apparently followed. The claim, in fact, only represented one\nof those passing moods to which Bentham was always giving way at odd\nmoments.\n\nBentham's intimacy at Bowood led to more important results. In 1788 he\nmet Romilly and Dumont at Lord Lansdowne's table.[240] He had already\nmet Romilly in 1784 through Wilson, but after this the intimacy became\nclose. Romilly had fallen in love with the _Fragment_, and in later\nlife he became Bentham's adviser in practical matters, and the chief if\nnot the sole expounder of Bentham's theories in parliament.[241] The\nalliance with Dumont was of even greater importance. Dumont, born at\nGeneva in 1759, had become a Protestant minister; he was afterwards\ntutor to Shelburne's son, and in 1788 visited Paris with Romilly and\nmade acquaintance with Mirabeau. Romilly showed Dumont some of Bentham's\npapers written in French. Dumont offered to rewrite and to superintend\ntheir publication. He afterwards received other papers from Bentham\nhimself, with whom he became personally acquainted after his return from\nParis.[242] Dumont became Bentham's most devoted disciple, and laboured\nunweariedly upon the translation and condensation of his master's\ntreatise. One result is odd enough. Dumont, it is said, provided\nmaterials for some of Mirabeau's 'most splendid' speeches; and some of\nthese materials came from Bentham.[243] One would like to see how\nBentham's prose was transmuted into an oratory by Mirabeau. In any case,\nDumont's services to Bentham were invaluable. It is painful to add that\naccording to Bowring the two became so much alienated in the end, that\nin 1827 Bentham refused to see Dumont, and declared that his chief\ninterpreter did 'not understand a word of his meaning.' Bowring\nattributes this separation to a remark made by Dumont about the\nshabbiness of Bentham's dinners as compared with those at Lansdowne\nHouse--a comparison which he calls 'offensive, uncalled-for, and\ngroundless.'[244] Bentham apparently argued that a man who did not like\nhis dinners could not appreciate his theories: a fallacy excusable only\nby the pettishness of old age. Bowring, however, had a natural dulness\nwhich distorted many anecdotes transmitted through him; and we may hope\nthat in this case there was some exaggeration.\n\nBentham's emergence was, meanwhile, very slow. The great men whom he met\nat Lord Lansdowne's were not specially impressed by the shy philosopher.\nWedderburn, so he heard, pronounced the fatal word 'dangerous' in regard\nto the _Fragment_.[245] How, thought Bentham, can utility be dangerous?\nIs this not self-contradictory? Later reflection explained the puzzle.\nWhat is useful to the governed need not be therefore useful to the\ngovernors. Mansfield, who was known to Lind, said that in some parts the\nauthor of the _Fragment_ was awake and in others was asleep. In what\nparts? Bentham wondered. Awake, he afterwards considered, in the parts\nwhere Blackstone, the object of Mansfield's personal 'heart-burning,'\nwas attacked; asleep where Mansfield's own despotism was threatened.\nCamden was contemptuous; Dunning only 'scowled' at him; and Barre, after\ntaking in his book, gave it back with the mysterious information that he\nhad 'got into a scrape.'[246] The great book, therefore, though printed\nin 1781,[247] 'stuck for eight years,'[248] and the writer continued his\nobscure existence in Lincoln's Inn.[249] An opinion which he gave in\nsome question as to the evidence in Warren Hastings's trial made, he\nsays, an impression in his favour. Before publication was achieved,\nhowever, a curious episode altered Bentham's whole outlook. His brother\nSamuel (1757-1831), whose education he had partly superintended,[250]\nhad been apprenticed to a shipwright at Woolwich, and in 1780 had gone\nto Russia in search of employment. Three years later he was sent by\nPrince Potemkin to superintend a great industrial establishment at\nKritchev on a tributary of the Dnieper. There he was to be\n'Jack-of-all-trades--building ships, like Harlequin, of odds and ends--a\nrope-maker, a sail-maker, a distiller, brewer, malster, tanner,\nglass-man, glass-grinder, potter, hemp-spinner, smith, and\ncoppersmith.'[251] He was, that is, to transplant a fragment of\nready-made Western civilisation into Russia. Bentham resolved to pay a\nvisit to his brother, to whom he was strongly attached. He left England\nin August 1785, and stayed some time at Constantinople, where he met\nMaria James (1770-1836), the wife successively of W. Reveley and of John\nGisborne, and the friend of Shelley. Thence he travelled by land to\nKritchev, and settled with his brother at the neighbouring estate of\nZadobras. Bentham here passed a secluded life, interested in his\nbrother's occupations and mechanical inventions, and at the same time\nkeeping up his own intellectual labours. The most remarkable result was\nthe _Defence of Usury_, written in the beginning of 1787. Bentham\nappends to it a respectful letter to Adam Smith, who had supported the\nlaws against usury inconsistently with his own general principles. The\ndisciple was simply carrying out those principles to the logical\napplication from which the master had shrunk. The manuscript was sent to\nWilson, who wished to suppress it.[252] The elder Bentham obtained it,\nand sent it to the press. The book met Bentham as he was returning. It\nwas highly praised by Thomas Reid,[253] and by the _Monthly Review_; it\nwas translated into various languages, and became one of the sacred\nbooks of the Economists. Wilson is described as 'cold and cautious,' and\nhe suppressed another pamphlet upon prison discipline.[254] In a letter\nto Bentham, dated 26th February 1787, however, Wilson disavows any\nresponsibility for the delay in the publication of the great book. 'The\ncause,' he says, 'lies in your constitution. With one-tenth part of your\ngenius, and a common degree of steadiness, both Sam and you would long\nsince have risen to great eminence. But your history, since I have known\nyou, has been to be always running from a good scheme to a better. In\nthe meantime life passes away and nothing is completed.' He entreated\nBentham to return, and his entreaties were seconded by Trail, who\npointed out various schemes of reform, especially of the poor-laws, in\nwhich Bentham might be useful. Wilson had mentioned already another\ninducement to publication. 'There is,' he says, on 24th September 1786,\n'a Mr. Paley, a parson and archdeacon of Carlisle, who has written a\nbook called _Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy_, in quarto,\nand it has gone through two editions with prodigious applause.' He fears\nthat Bentham will be charged with stealing from Paley, and exhorts him\nto come home and 'establish a great literary reputation in your own\nlanguage, and in this country which you despise.'[255] Bentham at last\nstarted homewards. He travelled through Poland, Germany, and Holland,\nand reached London at the beginning of February 1788. He settled at a\nlittle farmhouse at Hendon, bought a 'superb harpsichord,' resumed his\noccupations, and saw a small circle of friends. Wilson urged him to\npublish his _Introduction_ without waiting to complete the vast scheme\nto which it was to be a prologue. Copies of the printed book were\nalready abroad, and there was a danger of plagiarism. Thus urged,\nBentham at last yielded, and the _Introduction to the Principles of\nMorals and Legislation_ appeared in 1789. The preface apologised for\nimperfections due to the plan of his work. The book, he explained, laid\ndown the principles of all his future labours, and was to stand to him\nin the relation of a treatise upon pure mathematics to a treatise upon\nthe applied sciences. He indicated ten separate departments of\nlegislation, each of which would require a treatise in order to the\ncomplete execution of his scheme.\n\nThe book gives the essence of Bentham's theories, and is the one large\ntreatise published by himself. The other works were only brought to\nbirth by the help of disciples. Dumont, in the discourse prefixed to the\n_Traites_, explains the reason. Bentham, he says, would suspend a whole\nwork and begin a new one because a single proposition struck him as\ndoubtful. A problem of finance would send him to a study of Political\nEconomy in general. A question of procedure would make him pause until\nhe had investigated the whole subject of judicial organisation. While at\nwork, he felt only the pleasure of composition. When his materials\nrequired form and finish, he felt only the fatigue. Disgust succeeded to\ncharm; and he could scarcely be induced to interrupt his labours upon\nfresh matter in order to give to his interpreter the explanations\nnecessary for the elucidation of his previous writings. He was without\nthe literary vanity or the desire for completion which may prompt to\npremature publication, but may at least prevent the absolute waste of\nwhat has been already achieved. His method of writing was\ncharacteristic. He began by forming a complete logical scheme for the\ntreatment of any subject, dividing and subdividing so as to secure an\nexhaustive classification of the whole matter of discussion. Then taking\nup any subdivision, he wrote his remarks upon sheets, which were put\naside after being marked with references indicating their place in the\nfinal treatise. He never turned to these again. In time he would exhaust\nthe whole subject, and it would then be the duty of his disciples simply\nto put together the bricks according to the indications placed upon each\nin order to construct the whole edifice.[256] As, however, the plan\nwould frequently undergo a change, and as each fragment had been written\nwithout reference to the others, the task of ultimate combination and\nadaptation of the ultimate atoms was often very perplexing. Bentham, as\nwe shall see, formed disciples ardent enough to put together these\nscattered documents as the disciples of Mahomet put together the Koran.\nBentham's revelation was possibly less influential than Mahomet's; but\nthe logical framework was far more coherent.\n\nBentham's mind was for the present distracted. He had naturally returned\nfull of information about Russia. The English ministry were involved in\nvarious negotiations with Russia, Sweden, and Denmark, the purpose of\nwhich was to thwart the designs of Russia in the East. Bentham wrote\nthree letters to the _Public Advertiser_, signed Anti-Machiavel,[257]\nprotesting against the warlike policy. Bentham himself believed that the\neffect was decisive, and that the 'war was given up' in consequence of\nhis arguments. Historians[258] scarcely sanction this belief, which is\nonly worth notice because it led to another belief, oddly characteristic\nof Bentham. A letter signed 'Partizan' in the _Public Advertiser_\nreplied to his first two letters. Who was 'Partizan'? Lord Lansdowne\namused himself by informing Bentham that he was no less a personage than\nGeorge III. Bentham, with even more than his usual simplicity, accepted\nthis hoax as a serious statement. He derived no little comfort from the\nthought; for to the antipathy thus engendered in the 'best of kings' he\nattributed the subsequent failure of his Panopticon scheme.[259]\n\nNOTES:\n\n[214] _Works_, x. 66.\n\n[215] _Ibid._ xi. 95.\n\n[216] _Works_, x. 54.\n\n[217] _Ibid._ i. 268 _n._\n\n[218] _Works_, x. 121.\n\n[219] _Ibid._ i. 227.\n\n[220] _Ibid._ x. 79, 142. See also _Deontology_, i. 298-302, where\nBentham speaks of discovering the phrase in Priestley's _Essay on\nGovernment_ in 1768. Priestley says (p. 17) that 'the good and happiness\nof the members, that is of the majority of the members, of any state is\nthe great standard by which everything relating to that state must be\nfinally determined.' So Le Mercier de la Riviere says, in 1767, that the\nultimate end of society is _assurer le plus grand bonheur possible a la\nplus grande population possible_ (Daire's _Economistes_, p. 470).\nHutcheson's _Enquiry concerning Moral Good and Evil_, 1725, see iii. Sec.\n8, says 'that action is best which secures the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number.' Beccaria, in the preface to his essay, speaks of _la\nmassima felicita divisa nel maggior numero_. J. S. Mill says that he\nfound the word 'Utilitarian' in Galt's _Annals of the Parish_, and gave\nthe name to the society founded by him in 1822-1823 (_Autobiography_, p.\n79). The word had been used by Bentham himself in 1781, and he suggested\nit to Dumont in 1802 as the proper name of the party, instead of\n'Benthamite' (_Works_, x. 92, 390). He afterwards thought it a bad name,\nbecause it gave a 'vague idea' (_Works_, x. 582), and substituted\n'greatest happiness principle' for 'principle of utility' (_Works_, i.\n'Morals and Legislation').\n\n[221] A letter in the Additional MSS. 33, 537, shows that Bentham sent\nhis 'Fragment' and his 'Hard Labour' pamphlet to d'Alembert in 1778,\napparently introducing himself for the first time. Cf. _Works_, x.\n87-88, 193-94.\n\n[222] The translation of 1774. See Lowndes' _Manual_ under Voltaire,\n_Works_, x. 83 _n._\n\n[223] _Review of the Acts of the Thirteenth Parliament, etc._ (1775).\n\n[224] _Works_, x. 57, 63.\n\n[225] _Works_, x. 133-35.\n\n[226] _Ibid._ x. 84.\n\n[227] _Ibid._ x. 77.\n\n[228] _Works_, x. 82.\n\n[229] _Works_, x. 77-82. Blackstone took no notice of the work, except\nby some allusions in the preface to his next edition. Bentham criticised\nBlackstone respectfully in the pamphlet upon the Hard Labour Bill\n(1778). Blackstone sent a courteous but 'frigidly cautious' reply to the\nauthor.--_Works_, i. 255.\n\n[230] _Works_, x. 115-17, 186\n\n[231] _Ibid._ x. 100.\n\n[232] _Ibid._ x. 122.\n\n[233] _Ibid._ x. 118; i. 253.\n\n[234] _Works_, x. 97; i. 252.\n\n[235] _Ibid._ x. 219, 265.\n\n[236] _Works_, x. 118, 419, 558.\n\n[237] _Ibid._ i. 253.\n\n[238] _Ibid._ x. 116, 182.\n\n[239] _Ibid._ x. 228-42.\n\n[240] _Ibid._ x. 186.\n\n[241] _Works_, v. 370.\n\n[242] _Souvenirs sur Mirabeau_ (preface).\n\n[243] _Works_, x. 185.\n\n[244] _Works_, x. 185. Colls (p. 41) tells the same story.\n\n[245] _Works_ ('Fragment, etc.'), i. 245, and _Ibid._ ii. 463 _n._\n\n[246] _Ibid._ i. 246, 250, 251.\n\n[247] _Ibid._ i. 252.\n\n[248] _Ibid._ x. 185.\n\n[249] Bentham says (_Works_, i. 240) that he was a member of a club of\nwhich Johnson was the despot. The only club possible seems to be the\nEssex Street Club, of which Daines Barrington was a member. If so, it\nwas in 1783, though Bentham seems to imply an earlier date.\n\n[250] _Works_, x. 77.\n\n[251] _Ibid._ x. 147.\n\n[252] _Works_, x. 176.\n\n[253] Reid's _Works_ (Hamilton), p. 73.\n\n[254] _Works_, x. 171.\n\n[255] _Works_, x. 163-64. Cf. _Ibid._ x. 195, where Wilson is often\n'tempted to think'--erroneously, of course--that Paley must have known\nsomething of Bentham's work. Paley's chief source was Abraham Tucker.\n\n[256] See J. H. Burton in _Works_, i. 11.\n\n[257] Given in _Works_, x. 201-12.\n\n[258] See Lecky's _Eighteenth Century_, x. 210-97, for an account of\nthese transactions.\n\n[259] Bowring tells this gravely, and declares that George III. also\nwrote letters to the _Gazette de Leyde_. George III. certainly\ncontributed some letters to Arthur Young's _Annals of Agriculture_, and\nis one of the suggested authors of Junius.\n\n\nIII. THE PANOPTICON\n\nThe crash of the French revolution was now to change the whole course of\nEuropean politics, and to bring philosophical jurists face to face with\na long series of profoundly important problems. Bentham's attitude\nduring the early stages of the revolution and the first war period is\nsignificant, and may help to elucidate some characteristics of the\nUtilitarian movement. Revolutions are the work of passion: the product\nof a social and political condition in which the masses are permeated\nwith discontent, because the social organs have ceased to discharge\ntheir functions. They are not ascribable to the purely intellectual\nmovement alone, though it is no doubt an essential factor. The\nrevolution came in any case because the social order was out of joint,\nnot simply because Voltaire or Rousseau or Diderot had preached\ndestructive doctrines. The doctrines of the 'rights of man' are obvious\nenough to have presented themselves to many minds at many periods. The\ndoctrines became destructive because the old traditions were shaken, and\nthe traditions were shaken because the state of things to which they\ncorresponded had become intolerable. The French revolution meant (among\nother things) that in the mind of the French peasant there had\naccumulated a vast deposit of bitter enmity against the noble who had\nbecome a mere parasite upon the labouring population, retaining, as\nArthur Young said, privileges for himself, and leaving poverty to the\nlower classes. The peasant had not read Rousseau; he had read nothing.\nBut when his discontent began to affect the educated classes, men who\nhad read Rousseau found in his works the dialect most fitted to express\nthe growing indignation. Rousseau's genius had devised the appropriate\nformula; for Rousseau's sensibility had made him prescient of the rising\nstorm. What might be a mere commonplace for speculative students\nsuddenly became the warcry in a social upheaval. In England, as I have\ntried to show, there was no such popular sentiment behind the political\ntheories: and reformers were content with measures which required no\nappeal to absolute rights and general principles. Bentham was no\nRousseau; and the last of men to raise a warcry. Passion and\nsentimentalism were to him a nuisance. His theories were neither\nsuggested nor modified by the revolution. He looked on with curious\ncalmness, as though the revolutionary disturbances were rather a\ntransitory interruption to the progress of reform than indicative of a\ngeneral convulsion. His own position was isolated. He had no strong\nreforming party behind him. The Whigs, his main friends, were powerless,\ndiscredited, and themselves really afraid to support any vigorous\npolicy. They had in the main to content themselves with criticising the\nwarlike policy which, for the time, represented the main current of\nnational sentiment. Bentham shared many of their sympathies. He hated\nthe abstract 'rights of man' theory as heartily as Burke. It was to him\na 'hodge-podge' of fallacies. On the other hand, he was absolutely\nindifferent to the apotheosis of the British Constitution constructed by\nBurke's imagination. He cared nothing for history in general, or\nregarded it, from a Voltairean point of view, as a record of the follies\nand crimes of mankind. He wished to deal with political, and especially\nwith legal, questions in a scientific spirit--but 'scientific' would\nmean not pure mathematics but pure empiricism. He was quite as far from\nPaine's abstract methods as from Burke's romantic methods. Both of\nthem, according to him, were sophists: though one might prefer logical\nand the other sentimental sophistries. Dumont, when he published (1802)\nhis versions of Bentham, insisted upon this point. Nothing, he says, was\nmore opposed to the trenchant dogmatism of the abstract theorists about\n'rights of man' and 'equality' than Bentham's thoroughly scientific\nprocedure (_Discours Preliminaire_). Bentham's intellectual position in\nthis respect will require further consideration hereafter. All his\nprejudices and sympathies were those of the middle class from which he\nsprang. He was no democrat: he had no particular objection to the\nnobility, though he preferred Shelburne to the king's friends or to the\nWhig aristocracy. The reforms which he advocated were such as might be\nadopted by any enlightened legislator, not only by Shelburne but even by\nBlackstone. He had only, he thought, to convert a few members of\nparliament to gain the acceptance for a rational criminal code. It had\nhardly even occurred to him that there was anything wrong in the general\npolitical order, though he was beginning to find out that it was not so\nmodifiable as he could have wished by the new ideas which he propounded.\n\nBentham's activity during the first revolutionary war corresponded to\nthis position. The revolution, whatever else it might do, obviously gave\na chance to amateur legislators. There was any amount of work to be done\nin the way of codifying and reforming legislative systems. The deviser\nof Utopias had such an opening as had never occurred in the world's\nhistory. Lord Lansdowne, on the 3rd January 1789, expresses his pleasure\nat hearing that Bentham intends to 'take up the cause of the people in\nFrance.'[260] Bentham, as we have seen, was already known to some of the\nFrench leaders, and he was now taking time by the forelock. He sent to\nthe abbe Morellet a part of his treatise on Political Tactics, hoping to\nhave it finished by the time of the meeting of the States General.[261]\nThis treatise, civilly accepted by Morellet, and approved with some\nqualifications by Bentham's counsellors, Romilly, Wilson, and Trail, was\nan elaborate account of the organisation and procedure of a legislative\nassembly, founded chiefly on the practice of the House of Commons. It\nwas published in 1816 by Dumont in company with _Anarchic Fallacies_, a\nvigorous exposure of the _Declaration of Rights_, which Bentham had\njudiciously kept on his shelf. Had the French known of it, he remarks\nafterwards, they would have been little disposed to welcome him.[262] An\nelaborate scheme for the organisation of the French judiciary was\nsuggested by a report to the National Assembly, and published in March\n1790. In 1791, Bentham offered to go to France himself in order to\nestablish a prison on his new scheme (to be mentioned directly), and\nbecome 'gratuitously the gaoler thereof.'[263] The Assembly acknowledged\nhis 'ardent love of humanity,' and ordered an extract from his scheme to\nbe printed for their instruction. The tactics actually adopted by the\nFrench revolutionists for managing assemblies and their methods of\nexecuting justice form a queer commentary on the philosopher who, like\nVoltaire's Mamres in the _White Bull_, continued to 'meditate\nprofoundly' in placid disregard of facts. He was in fact proposing that\nthe lava boiling up in a volcanic eruption should arrange itself\nentirely according to his architectural designs. But his proposal to\nbecome a gaoler during the revolution reaches the pathetic by its\namiable innocence. On 26th August 1792, Bentham was one of the men upon\nwhom the expiring Assembly, anxious to show its desire of universal\nfraternity, conferred the title of citizen. With Bentham were joined\nPriestley, Paine, Wilberforce, Clarkson, Washington, and others. The\nSeptember massacres followed. On 18th October the honour was\ncommunicated to Bentham. He replied in a polite letter, pointing out\nthat he was a royalist in London for the same reason which would make\nhim a republican in France. He ended by a calm argument against the\nproscription of refugees.[264] The Convention, if it read the letter,\nand had any sense of humour, must have been amused. The war and the\nReign of Terror followed. Bentham turned the occasion to account by\nwriting a pamphlet (not then published) exhorting the French to\n'emancipate their colonies.' Colonies were an aimless burthen, and to\nget rid of them would do more than conquest to relieve their finances.\nBritish fleets and the insurrection of St. Domingo were emancipating by\nvery different methods.\n\nBentham was, of course, disgusted by the divergence of his clients from\nthe lines chalked out by proper respect for law and order. On 31st\nOctober 1793 he writes to a friend, expressing his wish that Jacobinism\ncould be extirpated; no price could be too heavy to pay for such a\nresult: but he doubts whether war or peace would be the best means to\nthe end, and protests against the policy of appropriating useless and\nexpensive colonies instead of 'driving at the heart of the\nmonster.'[265] Never was an adviser more at cross-purposes with the\nadvised. It would be impossible to draw a more striking portrait of the\nabstract reasoner, whose calculations as to human motives omit all\nreference to passion, and who fancied that all prejudice can be\ndispelled by a few bits of logic.\n\nMeanwhile a variety of suggestions more or less important and connected\nwith passing events were seething in his fertile brain. He wrote one of\nhis most stinging pamphlets, '_Truth versus Ashhurst_' in December 1792,\ndirected against a judge who, in the panic suggested by the September\nmassacres, had eulogised the English laws. Bentham's aversion to Jacobin\nmeasures by no means softened his antipathy to English superstitions;\nand his attack was so sharp that Romilly advised and obtained its\nsuppression for the time. Projects as to war-taxes suggested a couple of\ninteresting pamphlets written in 1793, and published in 1795. In\nconnection with this, schemes suggested themselves to him for improved\nsystems of patents, for limited liability companies and other\nplans.[266] His great work still occupied him at intervals. In 1793 he\noffers to Dundas to employ himself in drafting Statutes, and remarks\nincidentally that he could legislate for Hindostan, should legislation\nbe wanted there, as easily as for his own parish.[267] In 1794, Dumont\nis begging him to 'conquer his repugnance' to bestowing a few hints upon\nhis interpreter.[268] In 1796, Bentham writes long letters suggesting\nthat he should be sent to France with Wilberforce, in order to\nre-establish friendly relations.[269] In 1798 he is corresponding at\ngreat length with Patrick Colquhoun upon plans for improving the\nMetropolitan police.[270] In 1801 he says[271] that for two years and a\nhalf 'he has thought of scarce anything else' than a plan for\ninterest-bearing notes, which he carefully elaborated and discussed with\nNicholas Vansittart and Dr. Beeke. In September 1800, however, he had\nfound time to occupy himself with a proposed _frigidarium_ or ice-house\nfor the preservation of fish, fruits, and vegetables; and invited Dr.\nRoget, a nephew of Romilly, to come to his house and carry out the\nnecessary experiments.[272] In January 1802 he writes to Dumont[273]\nproposing to send him a trifling specimen of the Panopticon, a set of\nhollow fire-irons invented by his brother, which may attract the\nattention of Buonaparte and Talleyrand. He proceeds to expound the\nmerits of Samuel's invention for making wheels by machinery. Dumont\nreplies, that fire-irons are 'superfluities'--(fire-arms might have been\nmore to Buonaparte's taste)--and that the Panopticon itself was coldly\nreceived.\n\nThis Panopticon was to be Bentham's masterpiece. It occupied his chief\nattention from his return to England until the peace of Amiens. His\nbrother had returned from Russia in 1791. Their father died 28th March\n1792, dividing his property equally between his sons. Jeremy's share\nconsisted of the estate at Queen's Square Place, Westminster, and of\nlanded property producing L500 or L600 a year. The father, spite of the\ndistance between them, had treated his son with substantial kindness,\nand had learned to take a pride in achievements very unlike those which\nhe had at first desired.[274] Bentham's position, however, was improved\nby the father's death. The Westminster estate included the house in\nwhich he lived for the rest of his life. There was a garden in which he\ntook great delight, though London smoke gradually destroyed the plants:\nand in the garden was the small house where Milton had once lived.[275]\nHere, with the co-operation of his brother and his increased income, he\nhad all the means necessary for launching his grand scheme.\n\nThe Panopticon, as defined by its inventor to Brissot, was a 'mill for\ngrinding rogues honest, and idle men industrious.'[276] It was suggested\nby a plan designed by his brother in Russia for a large house to be\noccupied by workmen, and to be so arranged that they could be under\nconstant inspection. Bentham was working on the old lines of\nphilanthropic reform. He had long been interested in the schemes of\nprison reform, to which Howard's labours had given the impetus.\nBlackstone, with the help of William Eden, afterwards Lord Auckland, had\nprepared the 'Hard Labour Bill,' which Bentham had carefully criticised\nin 1778. The measure was passed in 1779, and provided for the management\nof convicts, who were becoming troublesome, as transportation to America\nhad ceased to be possible. Howard, whose relation to Bentham I have\nalready noticed, was appointed as one of the commissioners to carry out\nthe provisions of the Act. The commissioners disagreed; Howard resigned;\nand though at last an architect (William Blackburn) was appointed who\npossessed Howard's confidence, and who constructed various prisons in\nthe country, the scheme was allowed to drop. Bentham now hoped to solve\nthe problem with his Panopticon. He printed an account of it in 1791. He\nwrote to his old antagonist, George III., describing it, together with\nanother invention of Samuel's for enabling armies to cross rivers, which\nmight be more to his Majesty's taste.[277] In March 1792 he made a\nproposal to the government offering to undertake the charge of a\nthousand convicts upon the Panopticon system.[278] After delays\nsuspicious in the eyes of Bentham, but hardly surprising at such a\nperiod, an act of parliament was obtained in 1794 to adopt his schemes.\nBentham had already been making preparations. He says[279] (14th\nSeptember 1794) that he has already spent L6000, and is spending at the\nrate of L2000 a year, while his income was under L600 a year. He\nobtained, however, L2000 from the government. He had made models and\narchitectural plans, in which he was helped by Reveley, already known to\nhim at Constantinople. This sum, it appears, was required in order to\nkeep together the men whom he employed. The nature of their employment\nis remarkable.[280] Samuel, a man of singular mechanical skill, which\nwas of great use to the navy during the war, had devised machinery for\nwork in wood and metal. Bentham had joined his brother, and they were\nlooking out for a steam-engine. It had now occurred to them to employ\nconvicts instead of steam, and thus to combine philanthropy with\nbusiness. Difficulties of the usual kind arose as to the procurement of\na suitable site. The site secured under the provisions of the 'Hard\nLabour Bill' was for some reason rejected; and Bentham was almost in\ndespair. It was not until 1799 that he at last acquired for L12,000 an\nestate at Millbank, which seemed to be suitable. Meanwhile Bentham had\nfound another application for his principle. The growth of pauperism was\nalarming statesmen. Whitbread proposed in February 1796 to fix a minimum\nrate of wages. The wisest thing that government could do, he said, was\nto 'offer a liberal premium for the encouragement of large families.'\nPitt proceeded to prepare the abortive Poor-law Bill,[281] upon which\nBentham (in February 1797) sent in some very shrewd criticisms. They\nwere not published, but are said to have 'powerfully contributed to the\nabandonment of the measure.'[282] They show Bentham's power of incisive\ncriticism, though they scarcely deal with the general principle. In the\nfollowing autumn Bentham contributed to Arthur Young's _Annals of\nAgriculture_ upon the same topic. It had struck him that an application\nof his Panopticon would give the required panacea. He worked out details\nwith his usual zeal, and the scheme attracted notice among the\nphilanthropists of the time. It was to be a 'succedaneum' to Pitt's\nproposal. Meanwhile the finance committee, appointed in 1797, heard\nevidence from Bentham's friend, Patrick Colquhoun, upon the Panopticon,\nand a report recommending it was proposed by R. Pole Carew, a friend of\nSamuel Bentham. Although this report was suppressed, the scheme\napparently received an impetus. The Millbank estate was bought in\nconsequence of these proceedings, and a sum of only L1000 was wanted to\nbuy out the tenant of one piece of land. Bentham was constantly in\nattendance at a public office, expecting a final warrant for the money.\nIt never came, and, as Bentham believed, the delay was due to the malice\nof George III. Had any other king been on the throne, Panopticon in both\n'the prisoner branch and the pauper branch' would have been set at\nwork.[283] Such are the consequences of newspaper controversies with\nmonarchs! After this, in any case, the poor Panopticon, as the old\nlawyers said, 'languishing did live,' and at last 'languishing did die.'\nPoor Bentham seems to have struggled vainly for a time. He appealed to\nPitt's friend, Wilberforce; he appealed to his step-brother Abbot; he\nwrote to members of parliament, but all was in vain.\n\nRomilly induced him in 1802 to suppress a statement of his grievances\nwhich could only have rendered ministers implacable.[284] But he found\nout what would hardly have been a discovery to most people, that\nofficials can be dilatory and evasive; and certain discoveries about the\ntreatment of convicts in New South Wales convinced him that they could\neven defy the laws and the Constitution when they were beyond\ninspection. He published (1803) a _Plea for the Constitution_, showing\nthe enormities committed in the colony, 'in breach of Magna Charta, the\nPetition of Right, the Habeas Corpus Act, and the Bill of Rights.'\nRomilly in vain told him that the attorney-general could not recommend\nthe author of such an effusion to be keeper of a Panopticon.[285] The\nactual end did not come till 1811. A committee then reported against the\nscheme. They noticed one essential and very characteristic weakness. The\nwhole system turned upon the profit to be made from the criminals'\nlabour by Bentham and his brother. The committee observed that, however\nunimpeachable might be the characters of the founders, the scheme might\nlead to abuses in the hands of their successors. The adoption of this\nprinciple of 'farming' had in fact led to gross abuses both in gaols and\nin workhouses; but it was, as I have said, in harmony with the whole\n'individualist' theory. The committee recommended a different plan; and\nthe result was the foundation of Millbank penitentiary, opened in\n1816.[286] Bentham ultimately received L23,000 by way of compensation in\n1813.[287] The objections of the committee would now be a commonplace,\nbut Bentham saw in them another proof of the desire to increase\ngovernment patronage. He was well out of the plan. There were probably\nfew men in England less capable of managing a thousand convicts, in\nspite of his theories about 'springs of action.' If anything else had\nbeen required to ensure failure, it would have been association with a\nsanguine inventor of brilliant abilities.\n\nBentham's agitation had not been altogether fruitless. His plan had been\npartly adopted at Edinburgh by one of the Adams,[288] and his work\nformed an important stage in the development of the penal system.\n\nBentham, though he could not see that his failure was a blessing in\ndisguise, had learned one lesson worth learning. He was ill-treated,\naccording to impartial observers. 'Never,' says Wilberforce,[289] 'was\nany one worse used. I have seen the tears run down the cheeks of that\nstrong-minded man through vexation at the pressing importunity of his\ncreditors, and the indolence of official underlings when day after day\nhe was begging at the Treasury for what was indeed a mere matter of\nright.' Wilberforce adds that Bentham was 'quite soured,' and attributes\nhis later opinions to this cause. When the _Quarterly Review_ long\nafterwards taunted him as a disappointed man, Bentham declared himself\nto be in 'a state of perpetual and unruffled gaiety,' and the\n'mainspring' of the gaiety of his own circle.[290] No one, indeed, could\nbe less 'soured' so far as his habitual temper was concerned. But\nWilberforce's remark contained a serious truth. Bentham had made a\ndiscovery. He had vowed war in his youth against the 'demon of chicane.'\nHe had now learned that the name of the demon was 'Legion.' To cast him\nout, it would be necessary to cast out the demon of officialism; and we\nshall see what this bit of knowledge presently implied.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[260] _Works_, x. 195.\n\n[261] _Ibid._ x. 198-99.\n\n[262] _Ibid._ x. 317.\n\n[263] _Ibid._ x. 270.\n\n[264] _Works_, x. 282.\n\n[265] _Works_, x. 296.\n\n[266] _Ibid._ x. 304.\n\n[267] _Ibid._ x. 292.\n\n[268] _Ibid._ x. 300.\n\n[269] _Works_, x. 315.\n\n[270] _Ibid._ x. 329.\n\n[271] _Ibid._ x. 366.\n\n[272] _Ibid._ x. 346.\n\n[273] _Ibid._ x. 381.\n\n[274] See his letter to Lansdowne, sending a portrait to\nJeremy.--_Works_, x. 224.\n\n[275] _Works_, xi. 81.\n\n[276] _Ibid._ x. 226.\n\n[277] _Works_, x. 260. It is doubtful whether the letter was sent.\n\n[278] The Panopticon story is confusedly told in Bowring's life. The\n_Panopticon Correspondence_, in the eleventh volume, gives fragments\nfrom a 'history of the war between Jeremy Bentham and George III.,'\nwritten by Bentham in 1830-31, and selections from a voluminous\ncorrespondence.\n\n[279] _Works_, x. 301.\n\n[280] _Ibid._ xi. 167.\n\n[281] The plan, according to Bentham (_Works_, xi. 102), was suggested\nby Ruggles, author of the work upon the poor-laws, first printed in\nYoung's _Annals_.\n\n[282] _Works_, viii. 440.\n\n[283] _Works_, xi. 102-3.\n\n[284] _Ibid._ x. 400.\n\n[285] _Works_, xi. 144.\n\n[286] For its later history see _Memorials of Millbank_, by Arthur\nGriffiths. 2 vols., 1875.\n\n[287] _Works_, xi. 106.\n\n[288] _Ibid._ x. 294.\n\n[289] Wilberforce's _Life_, ii. 71.\n\n[290] _Works_, x. 541.\n\n\nIV. THE UTILITARIAN PROPAGANDA\n\nBentham in 1802 had reached the respectable age of fifty-four. He had\npublished his first work twenty-six years, and his most elaborate\ntreatise thirteen years, previously. He had been brought into contact\nwith many of the eminent politicians and philanthropists of the day.\nLansdowne had been a friendly patron: his advice had been treated with\nrespect by Pitt, Dundas, and even by Blackstone; he was on friendly\nterms with Colquhoun, Sir F. Eden, Arthur Young, Wilberforce, and others\ninterested in philanthropic movements, and his name at least was known\nto some French politicians. But his reputation was still obscure; and\nhis connections did not develop into intimacies. He lived as a recluse\nand avoided society. His introduction to great people at Bowood had\napparently rather increased than softened his shyness. The little circle\nof intimates, Romilly and Wilson and his own brother, must have\nsatisfied his needs for social intercourse. It required an elaborate\nnegotiation to bring about a meeting between him and Dr. Parr, the great\nWhig prophet, although they had been previously acquainted, and Parr\nwas, as Romilly said by way of introduction, a profound admirer and\nuniversal panegyrist.[291] He refused to be introduced by Parr to Fox,\nbecause he had 'nothing particular to say' to the statesman, and\nconsidered that to be 'always a sufficient reason for declining\nacquaintance.'[292]\n\nBut, at last, Bentham's fame was to take a start. Bentham, I said, had\nlong before found himself. Dumont had now found Bentham. After long and\ntedious labours and multiplied communications between the master and the\ndisciple, Dumont in the spring of 1802 brought out his _Traites de\nLegislation de M. Jeremie Bentham_. The book was partly a translation\nfrom Bentham's published and unpublished works,[293] and partly a\nstatement of the pith of the new doctrine in Dumont's own language. It\nhad the great merit of putting Bentham's meaning vigorously and\ncompactly, and free from many of the digressions, minute discussions of\nminor points and arguments requiring a special knowledge of English law,\nwhich had impeded the popularity of Bentham's previous works.\n\nThe Jacobin controversies were passing into the background: and Bentham\nbegan to attain a hearing as a reformer upon different lines. In 1803\nDumont visited St. Petersburg, and sent home glowing reports of\nBentham's rising fame. As many copies of the _Traites_ had been sold\nthere as in London. Codes were wanted; laws were being digested; and\nBentham's work would supply the principles and the classification. A\nmagnificent translation was ordered, and Russian officials wrote glowing\nletters in which Bentham was placed in a line with Bacon, Newton, and\nAdam Smith--each the founder of a new science.[294] At home the new book\nwas one of the objects of what Dumont calls the 'scandalous irreverence'\nof the _Edinburgh Review_.[295] This refers to a review of the _Traites_\nin the _Edinburgh Review_ of April 1804. Although patronising in tone,\nand ridiculing some of Bentham's doctrines as commonplace and condemning\nothers as criminal, it paid some high compliments to his ability. The\nirreverence meant at least that Bentham had become one of the persons\nworth talking about, and that he was henceforth to influence the rising\ngeneration. In January 1807 the _Edinburgh_ itself (probably Jeffrey)\nsuggested that Bentham should be employed in a proposed reform of the\nScottish judicial system. His old friend, Lansdowne, died on 7th May\n1805, and in one of his last letters expresses a hope that Bentham's\nprinciples are at last beginning to spread.[296] The hope was\nfulfilled.\n\nDuring the eighteenth century Benthamism had gone through its period of\nincubation. It was now to become an active agency, to gather proselytes,\nand to have a marked influence not only upon legislative but upon\npolitical movements. The immediate effect upon Bentham of the decline of\nthe Panopticon, and his consequent emancipation from immediately\npractical work, was apparently his return to his more legitimate\nemployment of speculative labour. He sent to Dumont at St.\nPetersburg[297] part of the treatise upon Political Economy, which had\nbeen naturally suggested by his later work: and he applied himself to\nthe Scottish judiciary question, to which many of his speculations had a\nclose application. He published a work upon this subject in 1808. To the\nperiod between 1802 and 1812 belongs also the book, or rather the\ncollection of papers, afterwards transformed into the book, upon\nEvidence, which is one of his most valuable performances.\n\nA letter, dated 1st November 1810, gives a characteristic account of his\nposition. He refers to hopes of the acceptance of some of his principles\nin South America. In Spain Spaniards are prepared to receive his laws\n'as oracles.' 'Now at length, when I am just ready to drop into the\ngrave' (he had still twenty years of energetic work before him), 'my\nfame has spread itself all over the civilised world.' Dumont's\npublication of 1802 is considered to have superseded all previous\nwritings on legislation. In Germany and France codes have been prepared\nby authorised lawyers, who have 'sought to do themselves credit by\nreferences to that work.'[298] It has been translated into Russian. Even\nin England he is often mentioned in books and in parliament. 'Meantime I\nam here scribbling on in my hermitage, never seeing anybody but for some\nspecial reason, always bearing relation to the service of mankind.'[299]\nMaking all due allowance for the deceptive views of the outer world\nwhich haunt every 'hermitage,' it remains true that Bentham's fame was\nemerging from obscurity.\n\nThe end of this period, moreover, was bringing him into closer contact\nwith English political life. Bentham, as we have seen, rejected the\nwhole Jacobin doctrine of abstract rights. So long as English politics\nmeant either the acceptance of a theory which, for whatever reason,\ngathered round it no solid body of support, or, on the other hand, the\nacceptance of an obstructive and purely conservative principle, to which\nall reform was radically opposed, Bentham was necessarily in an isolated\nposition. He had 'nothing particular to say' to Fox. He was neither a\nTory nor a Jacobin, and cared little for the paralysed Whigs. He allied\nhimself therefore, so far as he was allied with any one, with the\nphilanthropic agitators who stood, like him, outside the lines of party.\nThe improvement of prisons was not a party question. A marked\nchange--not always, I think, sufficiently emphasised by historians--had\nfollowed the second war. The party-divisions began to take the form\nwhich was to become more marked as time went on. The old issues between\nJacobin and Anti-Jacobin no longer existed. Napoleon had become the heir\nof the revolution. The great struggle was beginning in which England\ncommanded the ocean, while the Continent was at the feet of the empire.\nFor a time the question was whether England, too, should be invaded.\nAfter Trafalgar invasion became hopeless. The Napoleonic victories\nthreatened to exclude English trade from the Continent: while England\nretorted by declaring that the Continent should trade with nobody else.\nUpon one side the war was now appealing to higher feelings. It was no\nlonger a crusade against theories, but a struggle for national existence\nand for the existence of other nations threatened by a gigantic\ndespotism. Men like Wordsworth and Coleridge, who could not be\nAnti-Jacobins, had been first shocked by the Jacobin treatment of\nSwitzerland, and now threw themselves enthusiastically into the cause\nwhich meant the rescue of Spain and Germany from foreign oppression. The\ngenerous feeling which had resented the attempt to forbid Frenchmen to\nbreak their own bonds, now resented the attempts of Frenchmen to impose\nbonds upon others. The patriotism which prompted to a crusade had seemed\nunworthy, but the patriotism which was now allied with the patriotism of\nSpain and Germany involved no sacrifice of other sentiment. Many men had\nsympathised with the early revolution, not so much from any strong\nsentiment of evils at home as from a belief that the French movement was\nbut a fuller development of the very principles which were partially\nembodied in the British Constitution. They had no longer to choose\nbetween sympathising with the enemies of England and sympathising with\nthe suppressors of the old English liberties.\n\nBut, on the other hand, an opposite change took place. The\ndisappearance of the Jacobin movement allowed the Radicalism of home\ngrowth to display itself more fully. English Whigs of all shades had\nopposed the war with certain misgivings. They had been nervously anxious\nnot to identify themselves with the sentiments of the Jacobins. They\ndesired peace with the French, but had to protest that it was not for\nlove of French principles. That difficulty was removed. There was no\nlonger a vision--such as Gillray had embodied in his caricatures--of a\nguillotine in St. James's Street: or of a Committee of Public Safety\nformed by Fox, Paine, and Horne Tooke. Meanwhile Whig prophecies of the\nfailure of the war were not disproved by its results. Though the English\nnavy had been victorious, English interference on the Continent had been\nfutile. Millions of money had been wasted: and millions were flowing\nfreely. Even now we stand astonished at the reckless profusion of the\nfinanciers of the time. And what was there to show for it? The French\nempire, so far from being destroyed, had been consolidated. If we\nescaped for the time, could we permanently resist the whole power of\nEurope? When the Peninsular War began we had been fighting, except for\nthe short truce of Amiens, for sixteen years; and there seemed no reason\nto believe that the expedition to Portugal in 1808 would succeed better\nthan previous efforts. The Walcheren expedition of 1809 was a fresh\nproof of our capacity for blundering. Pauperism was still increasing\nrapidly, and forebodings of a war with America beginning to trouble men\ninterested in commerce. The English Opposition had ample texts for\ndiscourses; and a demand for change began to spring up which was no\nlonger a reflection of foreign sympathies. An article in the _Edinburgh_\nof January 1808, which professed to demonstrate the hopelessness of the\nPeninsular War, roused the wrath of the Tories. The _Quarterly Review_\nwas started by Canning and Scott, and the _Edinburgh_, in return, took a\nmore decidedly Whig colour. The Radicals now showed themselves behind\nthe Whigs. Cobbett, who had been the most vigorous of John Bull\nAnti-Jacobins, was driven by his hatred of the tax-gatherer and the\nmisery of the agricultural labourers into the opposite camp, and his\n_Register_ became the most effective organ of Radicalism. Demands for\nreform began again to make themselves heard in parliament. Sir Francis\nBurdett, who had sat at the feet of Horne Tooke, and whose return with\nCochrane for Westminster in 1807 was the first parliamentary triumph of\nthe reformers, proposed a motion on 15th June 1809, which was, of\ncourse, rejected, but which was the first of a series, and marked the\nrevival of a serious agitation not to cease till the triumph of 1832.\n\nMeanwhile Bentham, meditating profoundly upon the Panopticon, had at\nlast found out that he had begun at the wrong end. His reasoning had\nbeen thrown away upon the huge dead weight of official indifference, or\nworse than indifference. Why did they not accept the means for producing\nthe greatest happiness of the greatest number? Because statesmen did not\ndesire the end. And why not? To answer that question, and to show how a\ngovernment could be constructed which should desire it, became a main\noccupation of Bentham's life. Henceforward, therefore, instead of merely\ntreating of penal codes and other special reforms, his attention is\ndirected to the previous question of political organisation; while at\ntimes he diverges to illustrate incidentally the abuses of what he\nironically calls the 'matchless constitution.' Bentham's principal\noccupation, in a word, was to provide political philosophy for radical\nreformers.[300]\n\nBentham remained as much a recluse as ever. He seldom left Queen's\nSquare Place except for certain summer outings. In 1807 he took a house\nat Barrow Green, near Oxted, in Surrey, lying in a picturesque hollow at\nthe foot of the chalk hills.[301] It was an old-fashioned house,\nstanding in what had been a park, with a lake and a comfortable kitchen\ngarden. Bentham pottered about in the grounds and under the old\nchestnut-trees, codifying, gardening, and talking to occasional\ndisciples. He returned thither in following years; but in 1814, probably\nin consequence of his compensation for the Panopticon, took a larger\nplace, Ford Abbey, near Chard in Somersetshire. It was a superb\nresidence,[302] with chapel, cloisters, and corridors, a hall eighty\nfeet long by thirty high, and a great dining parlour. Parts of the\nbuilding dated from the twelfth century or the time of the Commonwealth,\nor had undergone alterations attributed to Inigo Jones. No Squire\nWestern could have cared less for antiquarian associations, but Bentham\nmade a very fair monk. The place, for which he paid L315 a year, was\ncongenial. He rode his favourite hobby of gardening, and took his\nregular 'ante-jentacular' and 'post-prandial' walks, and played\nbattledore and shuttlecock in the intervals of codification. He liked it\nso well that he would have taken it for life, but for the loss of L8000\nor L10,000 in a Devonshire marble-quarry.[303] In 1818 he gave it up,\nand thenceforward rarely quitted Queen's Square Place. His life was\nvaried by few incidents, although his influence upon public affairs was\nfor the first time becoming important. The busier journalists and\nplatform orators did not trouble themselves much about philosophy. But\nthey were in communication with men of a higher stamp, Romilly, James\nMill, and others, who formed Bentham's innermost council. Thus the\nmovements in the outside world set up an agitation in Bentham's study;\nand the recluse was prompted to set himself to work upon elaborating his\nown theories in various directions, in order to supply the necessary\nsubstratum of philosophical doctrine. If he had not the power of gaining\nthe public ear, his oracles were transmitted through the disciples who\nalso converted some of his raw materials into coherent books.\n\nThe most important of Bentham's disciples for many years was James Mill,\nand I shall have to say what more is necessary in regard to the active\nagitation when I speak of Mill himself. For the present, it is enough to\nsay that Mill first became Bentham's proselyte about 1808. Mill stayed\nwith Bentham at Barrow Green and at Ford Abbey. Though some differences\ncaused superficial disturbances of their harmony, no prophet could have\nhad a more zealous, uncompromising, and vigorous disciple. Mill's force\nof character qualified him to become the leader of the school; but his\ndoctrine was always essentially the doctrine of Bentham, and for the\npresent he was content to be the transmitter of his master's message to\nmankind. He was at this period a contributor to the _Edinburgh Review_;\nand in October 1809 he inserted some praises of Bentham in a review of a\nbook upon legislation by S. Scipion Bexon. The article was cruelly\nmangled by Jeffrey, according to his custom, and Jeffrey's most powerful\nvassal, Brougham, thought that the praises which remained were\nexcessive.[304]\n\nObviously the orthodox Whigs were not prepared to swear allegiance to\nBentham. He was drawing into closer connection with the Radicals. In\n1809 Cobbett was denouncing the duke of York in consequence of the Mrs.\nClarke scandal. Bentham wrote to him, but anonymously and cautiously, to\nobtain documents in regard to a previous libel case,[305] and proceeded\nto write a pamphlet on the _Elements of the Art of Packing (as applied\nto Special Juries)_, so sharp that his faithful adviser, Romilly,\nprocured its suppression for the time.[306] Copies, however, were\nprinted and privately given to a few who could be trusted. Bentham next\nwrote (1809) a 'Catechism of Parliamentary Reform,' which he\ncommunicated to Cobbett (16th November 1810), with a request for its\npublication in the _Register_.[307] Cobbett was at this time in prison\nfor his attack upon flogging militia men; and, though still more hostile\nto government, was bound to be more cautious in his line of assault. The\nplan was not published, whether because too daring or too dull; but it\nwas apparently printed. Bentham's opinion of Cobbett was anything but\nflattering. Cobbett, he thought in 1812, was a 'vile rascal,' and was\nafterwards pronounced to be 'filled with the _odium humani generis_--his\nmalevolence and lying beyond everything.'[308] Cobbett's radicalism, in\nfact, was of the type most hostile to the Utilitarians. John Hunt, in\nthe _Examiner_, was 'trumpeting' Bentham and Romilly in 1812, and was\npraised accordingly.[309] Bentham formed an alliance with another\nleading Radical. He had made acquaintance by 1811 with Sir F. Burdett,\nto whom he then appealed for help in an attack upon the delays of\nChancery.[310] Burdett, indeed, appeared to him to be far inferior to\nRomilly and Brougham, but he thought that so powerful a 'hero of the\nmob' ought to be turned to account in the good cause.[311] Burdett seems\nto have courted the old philosopher; and a few years later a closer\nalliance was brought about. The peace of 1815 was succeeded by a period\nof distress, the more acutely felt from the disappointment of natural\nhopes of prosperity; and a period of agitation, met by harsh repression,\nfollowed. Applications were made, to Bentham for permission to use his\n'Catechism,' which was ultimately published (1818) in a cheap form by\nWooler, well known as the editor of the democratic _Black Dwarf_.[312]\nBurdett applied for a plan of parliamentary reform. Henry Bickersteth\n(1783-1851), afterwards Lord Langdale and Master of the Rolls, at this\ntime a rising barrister of high character, wrote an appeal to Bentham\nand Burdett to combine in setting forth a scheme which, with such\nauthority, must command general acceptance. The result was a series of\nresolutions moved by Burdett in the House of Commons on 2nd June\n1818,[313] demanding universal suffrage, annual parliaments, and vote by\nballot. Bentham had thus accepted the conclusions reached in a different\nway by the believers in that 'hodge-podge' of absurdities, the\ndeclaration of the rights of man. Curiously enough, his assault upon\nthat document appeared in Dumont's French version in the year 1816, at\nthe very time when he was accepting its practical conclusions.\n\nThe schemes in which Mill was interested at this time drew Bentham's\nattention in other directions. In 1813 the Quaker, William Allen, who\nhad been a close ally of Mill, induced Bentham to invest money in the\nNew Lanark establishment. Owen, whose benevolent schemes had been\nhampered by his partners, bought them out, the new capital being partly\nprovided by Allen, Bentham, and others. Bentham afterwards spoke\ncontemptuously of Owen, who, as he said, 'began in vapour and ended in\nsmoke,'[314] and whose disciples came in after years into sharp conflict\nwith the Utilitarians. Bentham, however, took pleasure, it seems, in\nOwen's benevolent schemes for infant education, and made money by his\ninvestment, for once combining business with philanthropy\nsuccessfully.[315] Probably he regarded New Lanark as a kind of\nPanopticon. Owen had not as yet become a prophet of Socialism.\n\nAnother set of controversies in which Mill and his friends took an\nactive part, started Bentham in a whole series of speculations. A plan\n(which I shall have to mention in connection with Mill), was devised in\n1815 for a 'Chrestomathic school,' which was to give a sound education\nof proper Utilitarian tendencies to the upper and middle classes.\nBrougham, Mackintosh, Ricardo, William Allen, and Place were all\ninterested in this undertaking.[316] Bentham offered a site at Queen's\nSquare Place, and though the scheme never came to the birth, it set him\nactively at work. He wrote a series of papers during his first year at\nFord Abbey[317] upon the theory of education, published in 1816 as\n_Chrestomathia_; and to this was apparently due a further excursion\nbeyond the limits of jurisprudence. Educational controversy in that\nignorant day was complicated by religious animosity; the National\nSociety and the 'British and Foreign' Society were fighting under the\nbanners of Bell and Lancaster, and the war roused excessive bitterness.\nBentham finding the church in his way, had little difficulty in\ndiscovering that the whole ecclesiastical system was part of the general\ncomplex of abuse against which he was warring. He fell foul of the\nCatechism; he exposed the abuses of non-residence and episcopal wealth;\nhe discovered that the Thirty-nine Articles contained gross fallacies;\nhe went on to make an onslaught upon the Apostle St Paul, whose evidence\nas to his conversion was exposed to a severe cross-examination; and,\nfinally, he wrote, or supplied the materials for, a remarkable _Analysis\nof Natural Religion_, which was ultimately published by Grote under the\npseudonym 'Philip Beauchamp,' in 1822. This procedure from the\nparticular case of the Catechism in schools up to the general problem of\nthe utility of religion in general, is curiously characteristic of\nBentham.\n\nBentham's mind was attracted to various other schemes by the disciples\nwho came to sit at his feet, and professed, with more or less sincerity,\nto regard him as a Solon. Foreigners had been resorting to him from all\nparts of the world, and gave him hopes of new fields for codifying. As\nearly as 1808 he had been visited at Barrow Green by the strange\nadventurer, politician, lawyer, and filibuster, Aaron Burr, famous for\nthe duel in which he killed Alexander Hamilton, and now framing wild\nschemes for an empire in Mexico. Unscrupulous, restlessly active and\ncynical, he was a singular contrast to the placid philosopher, upon whom\nhis confidences seem to have made an impression of not unpleasing\nhorror. Burr's conversation suggested to Bentham a singular scheme for\nemigrating to Mexico. He applied seriously for introductions to Lord\nHolland, who had passed some time in Spain, and to Holland's friend,\nJovellanos (1749-1812), a member of the Spanish Junta, who had written\ntreatises upon legislation (1785), of which Bentham approved.[318] The\ndream of Mexico was succeeded by a dream of Venezuela. General Miranda\nspent some years in England, and had become well known to James Mill. He\nwas now about to start upon an unfortunate expedition to Venezuela, his\nnative country. He took with him a draft of a law for the freedom of the\npress, which Bentham drew up, and he proposed that when his new state\nwas founded, Bentham should be its legislator.[319] Miranda was betrayed\nto the Spanish government in 1812, and died (1816) in the hands of the\nInquisition. Bolivar, who was also in London in 1810 and took some\nnotice of Joseph Lancaster, applied in flattering terms to Bentham. Long\nafterwards, when dictator of Columbia, he forbade the use of Bentham's\nworks in the schools, to which, however, the privilege of reading him\nwas restored, and, let us hope, duly valued, in 1835.[320] Santander,\nanother South American hero, was also a disciple, and encouraged the\nstudy of Bentham. Bentham says in 1830 that forty thousand copies of\nDumont's _Traites_ had been sold in Paris for the South American\ntrade.[321] What share Bentham may have had in modifying South American\nideas is unknown to me. In the United States he had many disciples of a\nmore creditable kind than Burr. He appealed in 1811 to Madison, then\nPresident, for permission to construct a 'Pannomion' or complete body of\nlaw, for the use of the United States; and urged his claims both upon\nMadison and the Governor of Pennsylvania in 1817, when peace had been\nrestored. He had many conversations upon this project with John Quincy\nAdams, who was then American minister in England.[322] This, of course,\ncame to nothing, but an eminent American disciple, Edward Livingston\n(1764-1836), between 1820 and 1830 prepared codes for the State of\nLouisiana, and warmly acknowledged his obligations to Bentham.[323] In\n1830 Bentham also acknowledges a notice of his labours, probably\nresulting from this, which had been made in one of General Jackson's\npresidential messages.[324] In his later years the United States became\nhis ideal, and he never tired of comparing its cheap and honest\nenactment with the corruption and extravagance at home.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[291] _Works_, x. 403.\n\n[292] _Ibid._ x. 62.\n\n[293] Bentham had himself written some of his papers in French.\n\n[294] _Works_, x. 407, 410, 413, 419.\n\n[295] _Ibid._ x. 415.\n\n[296] Lord E. Fitzmaurice's _Life of Shelburne_.\n\n[297] _Works_, x. 413.\n\n[298] This statement, I believe, refers to a complimentary reference to\nBentham in the preface to the French Code.\n\n[299] _Works_, x. 458.\n\n[300] Bentham says that he reached these conclusions some time before\n1809: _Works_, iii. 435. Cf. _Ibid._ v. 278.\n\n[301] _Works_, x. 425.\n\n[302] See description in Bain's _James Mill_, 129-36.\n\n[303] _Works_, x. 479, 573.\n\n[304] _Works_, x. 452-54.; Bain's _James Mill_, 104.\n\n[305] The case of the 'King _v._ Cobbett,' (1804), which led to the\nproceedings against Mr. Justice Johnson in 1805.--Cobbett's _State\nTrials_, xxix.\n\n[306] _Works_, x. 448-49.\n\n[307] _Ibid._ x. 458.\n\n[308] _Works_, x. 471, 570.\n\n[309] _Ibid._ x. 471.\n\n[310] _Ibid._ x. 461.\n\n[311] _Ibid._ x. 471.\n\n[312] _Ibid._ x. 490.\n\n[313] Printed in _Works_, x. 495-97.\n\n[314] _Ibid._ x. 570.\n\n[315] _Ibid._ x. 476.\n\n[316] _Works_, x. 485.\n\n[317] Bain's _James Mill_, 136. _Church of Englandism_ and _Not Paul but\nJesus_ were also written at Ford Abbey.\n\n[318] _Works_, x. 433, 448.\n\n[319] _Ibid._ x. 457-58; Bain's _James Mill_, 79.\n\n[320] _Works_, 553-54, 565.\n\n[321] _Ibid._ xi. 53.\n\n[322] See _Memoirs of J. Q. Adams_ (1874), iii. 511, 520, 532, 535-39,\n540, 544, 560, 562-63. and Bentham's letter to Adams in _Works_, x. 554.\n\n[323] _Works_, xi. 23.\n\n[324] _Ibid._ xi. 40.\n\n\nV. CODIFICATION\n\nThe unsettled conditions which followed the peace in various European\ncountries found Bentham other employment. In 1809 Dumont did some\ncodifying for the Emperor of Russia, and in 1817 was engaged to do the\nsame service for Geneva. He was employed for some years, and is said to\nhave introduced a Benthamite Penal Code and Panopticon, and an\napplication of the Tactics.[325] In 1820 and 1821 Bentham was consulted\nby the Constitutional party in Spain and Portugal, and wrote elaborate\ntracts for their enlightenment. He made an impression upon at least one\nSpaniard. Borrow, when travelling in Spain some ten years after\nBentham's death, was welcomed by an Alcalde on Cape Finisterre, who had\nupon his shelves all the works of the 'grand Baintham,' and compared him\nto Solon, Plato, and even Lope de Vega.[326] The last comparison\nappeared to Borrow to be overstrained. Bentham even endeavoured in\n1822-23 to administer some sound advice to the government of Tripoli,\nbut his suggestions for 'remedies against misrule' seem never to have\nbeen communicated.[327] In 1823 and 1824 he was a member of the Greek\nCommittee; he corresponded with Mavrocordato and other leaders; and he\nbegged Parr to turn some of his admonitions into 'Parrian' Greek for the\nbenefit of the moderns.[328] Blaquiere and Stanhope, two ardent members\nof the committee, were disciples; and Stanhope carried with him to\nGreece Bentham's _Table of the Springs of Action_, with which he tried\nto indoctrinate Byron. The poet, however, thought with some plausibility\nthat he was a better judge of human passions than the philosopher.\nParry, the engineer, who joined Byron at the same time, gives a queer\naccount of the old philosopher trotting about London in the service of\nthe Greeks.[329] The coarse and thoughtless might laugh, and perhaps\nsome neither coarse nor thoughtless might smile. But Bowring tells us\nthat these were days of boundless happiness for Bentham.[330] Tributes\nof admiration were pouring in from all sides, and the true Gospel was\nspreading across the Atlantic and along the shores of the Mediterranean.\n\nAt home the Utilitarian party was consolidating itself; and the struggle\nwhich resulted in the Reform Bill was slowly beginning. The veteran\nCartwright, Bentham's senior by eight years, tried in 1821 to persuade\nhim to come out as one of a committee of 'Guardians of Constitutional\nReform,' elected at a public meeting.[331] Bentham wisely refused to be\ndrawn from his privacy. He left it to his friends to agitate, while he\nreturned to labour in his study. The demand for legislation which had\nsprung up in so many parts of the world encouraged Bentham to undertake\nthe last of his great labours. The Portuguese Cortes voted in December\n1821 that he should be invited to prepare an 'all-comprehensive code';\nand in 1822 he put out a curious 'Codification proposal,' offering to do\nthe work for any nation in need of a legislator, and appending\ntestimonials to his competence for the work. He set to work upon a\n'Constitutional Code,' which occupied him at intervals during the\nremainder of his life, and embodied the final outcome of his\nspeculations. He diverged from this main purpose to write various\npamphlets upon topics of immediate interest; and was keenly interested\nin the various activities of his disciples. The Utilitarians now thought\nthemselves entitled to enter the field of politics as a distinct body.\nAn organ to defend their cause was desirable, and Bentham supplied the\nfunds for the _Westminster Review_, of which the first number appeared\nin April 1824.\n\nThe editorship fell chiefly into the hands of Bowring (1792-1872).\nBowring had travelled much upon the Continent for a commercial house,\nand his knowledge of Spanish politics had brought him into connection\nwith Bentham, to whom Blaquiere recommended him in 1820.[332] A strong\nattachment sprang up between the two. Bentham confided all his thoughts\nand feelings to the young man, and Bowring looked up to his teacher with\naffectionate reverence. In 1828 Bentham says that Bowring is 'the most\nintimate friend he has.'[333] Bowring complains of calumnies, by which\nhe was assailed, though they failed to alienate Bentham. What they may\nhave been matters little; but it is clear that a certain jealousy arose\nbetween this last disciple and his older rivals. James Mill's stern and\nrigid character had evidently produced some irritation at intervals; and\nto him it would naturally appear that Bowring was the object of a senile\nfavouritism. In any case it is to be regretted that Bentham thus became\npartly alienated from his older friends[334]. Mill was too proud to\ncomplain; and never wavered in his allegiance to the master's\nprinciples. But one result, and to us the most important, was that the\nnew attachment led to the composition of one of the worst biographies in\nthe language, out of materials which might have served for a\nmasterpiece. Bowring was a great linguist, and an energetic man of\nbusiness. He wrote hymns, and one of them, 'In the cross of Christ I\nglory,' is said to have 'universal fame.' A Benthamite capable of so\nsingular an eccentricity judiciously agreed to avoid discussions upon\nreligious topics with his master. To Bowring we also owe the\n_Deontology_, which professes to represent Bentham's dictation. The\nMills repudiated this version, certainly a very poor one, of their\nteacher's morality, and held that it represented less Bentham than such\nan impression of Bentham as could be stamped upon a muddle-headed\ndisciple.[335]\n\nThe last years of his life brought Bentham into closer connection with\nmore remarkable men. The Radicals had despised the Whigs as trimmers and\nhalf-hearted reformers, and James Mill expressed this feeling very\nfrankly in the first numbers of the _Westminster Review_. Reform,\nhowever, was now becoming respectable, and the Whigs were gaining the\ncourage to take it up seriously. Foremost among the Edinburgh Reviewers\nwas the great Henry Brougham, whose fame was at this time almost as\ngreat as his ambition could desire, and who considered himself to be the\nnatural leader of all reform. He had shown eagerness to distinguish\nhimself in lines fully approved by Bentham. His admirers regarded him\nas a giant; and his opponents, if they saw in him a dash of the\ncharlatan, could not deny his amazing energy and his capacity as an\norator. The insatiable vanity which afterwards ruined his career already\nmade it doubtful whether he fought for the cause or the glory. But he\nwas at least an instrument worth having. He was a kind of half-disciple.\nIf in 1809 he had checked Mill's praise of Bentham, he was soon\nafterwards in frequent communication with the master. In July 1812\nBentham announces that Brougham is at last to be admitted to a dinner,\nfor which he had been 'intriguing any time this six months,' and expects\nthat his proselyte will soon be the first man in the House of Commons,\nand eclipse even Romilly.[336] In later years they had frequent\ncommunications; and when in 1827 Brougham was known to be preparing an\nutterance upon law reform, Bentham's hopes rose high. He offered to his\ndisciple 'some nice little sweet pap of my own making,' sound teaching\nthat is, upon evidence, judicial establishments and codification.\nBrougham thanks his 'dear grandpapa,' and Bentham offers further\nsupplies to his 'dear, sweet little poppet.'[337] But when the orator\nhad spoken Bentham declares (9th February 1828) that the mountain has\nbeen delivered of a mouse. Brougham was 'not the man to set up' simple\nand rational principles. He was the sham adversary but the real\naccomplice of Peel, pulling up lies by the root to plant others equally\nnoxious.[338] In 1830 Bentham had even to hold up 'Master Peel' as a\n'model good boy' to the self-styled reformer. Brougham needs a dose of\njalap instead of pap, for he cannot even spell the 'greatest happiness\nprinciple' properly.[339] Bentham went so far as to write what he fondly\ntook to be an epigram upon Brougham:\n\n    'So foolish and so wise, so great, so small,\n     Everything now, to-morrow nought at all.'[340]\n\nIn September 1831 Brougham as Chancellor announced a scheme for certain\nchanges in the constitution of the courts. The proposal called forth\nBentham's last pamphlet, _Lord Brougham displayed_.[341] Bentham laments\nthat his disciple has 'stretched out the right hand of fellowship to\njobbers of all sorts.'[342] In vain had Brougham in his speech called\nBentham 'one of the great sages of the law.' Bentham acknowledges his\namiability and his genius; but laments over the untrustworthy character\nof a man who could only adopt principles so far as they were subservient\nto his own vanity.\n\nAnother light of the _Edinburgh Review_, who at this time took Brougham\nat his own valuation, did an incidental service to Bentham. Upon the\npublication of the _Book of Fallacies_ in 1825, Sydney Smith reviewed or\nrather condensed it in the _Edinburgh Review_, and gave the pith of the\nwhole in his famous _Noodle's Oration_. The noodle utters all the\ncommonplaces by which the stupid conservatives, with Eldon at their\nhead, met the demands of reformers. Nothing could be wittier than\nSmith's brilliant summary. Whigs and Radicals for the time agreed in\nridiculing blind prejudice. The day was to come when the Whigs at least\nwould see that some principles might be worse than prejudice. All the\nfools, said Lord Melbourne, 'were against Catholic Emancipation, and\nthe worst of it is, the fools were in the right.' Sydney Smith was glad\nto be Bentham's mouthpiece for the moment: though, when Benthamism was\napplied to church reform, Smith began to perceive that Noodle was not so\nsilly as he seemed.\n\nOne other ally of Bentham deserves notice. O'Connell had in 1828, in\nspeaking of legal abuses, called himself 'an humble disciple of the\nimmortal Bentham.'[343] Bentham wrote to acknowledge the compliment. He\ninvited O'Connell to become an inmate of his hermitage at Queen's Square\nPlace, and O'Connell responded warmly to the letters of his 'revered\nmaster.' Bentham's aversion to Catholicism was as strong as his\nobjection to Catholic disqualifications, and he took some trouble to\nsmooth down the difficulties which threatened an alliance between ardent\nbelievers and thoroughgoing sceptics. O'Connell had attacked some who\nwere politically upon his side. 'Dan, dear child,' says Bentham, 'whom\nin imagination I am at this moment pressing to my fond bosom, put off,\nif it be possible, your intolerance.'[344] Their friendship, however,\ndid not suffer from this discord, and their correspondence is in the\nsame tone till the end. In one of Bentham's letters he speaks of a\ncontemporary correspondence with another great man, whom he does not\nappear to have met personally. He was writing long letters, entreating\nthe duke of Wellington to eclipse Cromwell by successfully attacking the\nlawyers. The duke wrote 'immediate answers in his own hand,' and took\ngood-humouredly a remonstrance from Bentham upon the duel with Lord\nWinchilsea in 1829.[345] Bentham was ready to the end to seek allies in\nany quarter. When Lord Sidmouth took office in 1812, Bentham had an\ninterview with him, and had some hopes of being employed to prepare a\npenal code.[346] Although experience had convinced him of the futility\nof expectations from the Sidmouths and Eldons, he was always on the look\nout for sympathy; and the venerable old man was naturally treated with\nrespect by people who had little enough of real interest in his\ndoctrines.\n\nDuring the last ten years of his life, Bentham was cheered by symptoms\nof the triumph of his creed. The approach of the millennium seemed to be\nindicated by the gathering of the various forces which carried Roman\nCatholic Emancipation and the Reform Bill. Bentham still received\ntestimonies of his fame abroad. In 1825 he visited Paris to consult some\nphysicians. He was received with the respect which the French can always\npay to intellectual eminence.[347] All the lawyers in a court of justice\nrose to receive him, and he was placed at the president's right hand. On\nthe revolution of 1830, he addressed some good advice to the country of\nwhich he had been made a citizen nearly forty years before. In 1832,\nTalleyrand, to whom he had talked about the Panopticon in 1792, dined\nwith him alone in his hermitage.[348] When Bowring observed to the\nprince that Bentham's works had been plundered, the polite diplomatist\nreplied, _et pille de tout le monde, il est toujours riche_. Bentham was\nby this time failing. At eighty-two he was still, as he put it,\n'codifying like any dragon.'[349] On 18th May 1832 he did his last bit\nof his lifelong labour, upon the 'Constitutional Code.' The great\nreform agitation was reaching the land of promise, but Bentham was to\ndie in the wilderness. He sank without a struggle on 6th June 1832, his\nhead resting on Bowring's bosom. He left the characteristic direction\nthat his body should be dissected for the benefit of science. An\nincision was formally made; and the old gentleman, in his clothes as he\nlived, his face covered by a wax mask, is still to be seen at University\nCollege in Gower Street.\n\nBentham, as we are told, had a strong personal resemblance to Benjamin\nFranklin. Sagacity, benevolence, and playfulness were expressed in both\nphysiognomies. Bentham, however, differed from the man whose intellect\npresents many points of likeness, in that he was not a man of the\nmarket-place or the office. Bentham was in many respects a child through\nlife:[350] a child in simplicity, good humour, and vivacity; his health\nwas unbroken; he knew no great sorrow; and after emerging from the\ndiscouragement of his youth, he was placidly contemplating a continuous\ngrowth of fame and influence. He is said to have expressed the wish that\nhe could awake once in a century to contemplate the prospect of a world\ngradually adopting his principles and so making steady progress in\nhappiness and wisdom.\n\nNo man could lead a simpler life. His chief luxuries at table were\nfruit, bread, and tea. He had a 'sacred teapot' called Dick, with\nassociations of its own, and carefully regulated its functions. He\nrefrained from wine during the greatest part of his life, and was never\nguilty of a single act of intemperance. In later life he took a daily\nhalf-glass of Madeira. He was scrupulously neat in person, and wore a\nQuaker-like brown coat, brown cassimere breeches, white worsted\nstockings and a straw hat. He walked or 'rather trotted' with his stick\nDapple, and took his 'ante-prandial' and other 'circumgyrations' with\nabsolute punctuality. He loved pets; he had a series of attached cats;\nand cherished the memory of a 'beautiful pig' at Hendon, and of a donkey\nat Ford Abbey. He encouraged mice to play in his study--a taste which\ninvolved some trouble with his cats, and suggests problems as to the\ngreatest happiness of the greatest number. Kindness to animals was an\nessential point of his moral creed. 'I love everything,' he said, 'that\nhas four legs.' He had a passion for flowers, and tried to introduce\nuseful plants. He loved music--especially Handel--and had an organ in\nhis house. He cared nothing for poetry: 'Prose,' he said,[351] 'is when\nall the lines except the last go on to the margin. Poetry is when some\nof them fall short of it.' He was courteous and attentive to his guests,\nthough occasionally irritable when his favourite crotchets were\ntransgressed, or especially if his fixed hours of work were deranged.\n\nHis regularity in literary work was absolute. He lived by a time-table,\nworking in the morning and turning out from ten to fifteen folio pages\ndaily. He read the newspapers regularly, but few books, and cared\nnothing for criticisms on his own writings. His only substantial meal\nwas a dinner at six or half-past, to which he occasionally admitted a\nfew friends as a high privilege. He liked to discuss the topics of which\nhis mind was full, and made notes beforehand of particular points to be\nintroduced in conversation. He was invariably inaccessible to visitors,\neven famous ones, likely to distract his thoughts. 'Tell Mr. Bentham\nthat Mr. Richard Lovell Edgeworth desires to see him.' 'Tell Mr. Richard\nLovell Edgeworth that Mr. Bentham does not desire to see him' was the\nreply. When Mme. de Stael came to England, she said to Dumont: 'Tell\nBentham I shall see nobody till I have seen him.' 'I am sorry for it,'\nsaid Bentham, 'for then she will never see anybody.' And he summed up\nhis opinion of the famous author of _Corinne_ by calling her 'a trumpery\nmagpie.'[352] There is a simplicity and vivacity about some of the\nsayings reported by Bowring, which prove that Bentham could talk well,\nand increase our regret for the absence of a more efficient Boswell. At\nten Bentham had his tea, at eleven his nightcap, and by twelve all his\nguests were ignominiously expelled. He was left to sleep on a hard bed.\nHis sleep was light, and much disturbed by dreams.\n\nBentham was certainly amiable. The 'surest way to gain men,' he said,\n'is to appear to love them, and the surest way to appear to love them is\nto love them in reality.' The least pleasing part of his character,\nhowever, is the apparent levity of his attachments. He was, as we have\nseen, partly alienated from Dumont, though some friendly communications\nare recorded in later years, and Dumont spoke warmly of Bentham only a\nfew days before his death in 1829.[353] He not only cooled towards James\nMill, but, if Bowring is to be trusted, spoke of him with great\nharshness.[354] Bowring was not a judicious reporter, indeed, and\ncapable of taking hasty phrases too seriously. What Bentham's remarks\nupon these and other friends suggest is not malice or resentment, but\nthe flippant utterance of a man whose feelings are wanting in depth\nrather than kindliness. It is noticeable that, after his early visit at\nBowood, no woman seems to have counted for anything in Bentham's life.\nHe was not only never in love, but it looks as if he never even talked\nto any woman except his cook or housemaid.\n\nThe one conclusion that I need draw concerns a question not, I think,\nhard to be solved. It would be easy to make a paradox by calling Bentham\nat once the most practical and most unpractical of men. This is to point\nout the one-sided nature of Bentham's development. Bentham's habits\nremind us in some ways of Kant; and the thought may be suggested that he\nwould have been more in his element as a German professor of\nphilosophies. In such a position he might have devoted himself to the\ndelight of classifying and co-ordinating theories, and have found\nsufficient enjoyment in purely intellectual activity. After a fashion\nthat was the actual result. How far, indeed, Bentham could have achieved\nmuch in the sphere of pure philosophy, and what kind of philosophy he\nwould have turned out, must be left to conjecture. The circumstances of\nhis time and country, and possibly his own temperament generally, turned\nhis thoughts to problems of legislation and politics, that is to say, of\ndirect practical interest. He was therefore always dealing with concrete\nfacts, and a great part of his writings may be considered as raw\nmaterial for acts of parliament. Bentham remained, however, unpractical,\nin the sense that he had not that knowledge which we ascribe either to\nthe poet or to the man of the world. He had neither the passion nor the\nsympathetic imagination. The springs of active conduct which Byron knew\nfrom experience were to Bentham nothing more than names in a careful\nclassification. Any shrewd attorney or Bow Street runner would have been\na better judge of the management of convicts; and here were dozens of\nparty politicians, such as Rigby and Barre, who could have explained to\nhim beforehand those mysteries in the working of the political\nmachinery, which it took him half a lifetime to discover. In this sense\nBentham was unpractical in the highest degree, for at eighty he had not\nfound out of what men are really made. And yet by his extraordinary\nintellectual activity and the concentration of all his faculties upon\ncertain problems, he succeeded in preserving an example, and though not\na unique yet an almost unsurpassable example, of the power which belongs\nto the man of one idea.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[325] See correspondence upon his codification plans in Russia, America,\nand Geneva in _Works_, iv. 451-594.\n\n[326] Borrow's _Bible in Spain_, ch. xxx.\n\n[327] _Works_, viii. 555-600.\n\n[328] _Ibid._ x. 534. See Blaquiere's enthusiastic letter to\nBentham.--_Works_, x. 475.\n\n[329] See, however, Bentham's reference to this story.--_Works_, xi. 66.\n\n[330] _Works_, x. 539.\n\n[331] _Ibid._ x. 522.\n\n[332] _Works_, x. 516.\n\n[333] _Ibid._ x. 591.\n\n[334] A letter from Mill in the University College MSS. describes a\nmisunderstanding about borrowed books, a fertile, but hardly adequate,\ncause of quarrel.\n\n[335] Bowring's religious principles prevented him from admitting some\nof Bentham's works to the collective edition.\n\n[336] _Works_, x. 471-72.\n\n[337] _Ibid._ x. 576.\n\n[338] _Ibid._ x. 588.\n\n[339] _Works_, xi. 37. Papers preserved at University College show that\nduring Peel's law reforms at this time Bentham frequently communicated\nwith him.\n\n[340] _Ibid._ xi. 50.\n\n[341] _Ibid._ v. 549.\n\n[342] _Ibid._ v. 609.\n\n[343] _Works_, x. 594.\n\n[344] _Ibid._ xi. 26.\n\n[345] _Ibid._ xi. 13, 28.\n\n[346] _Works_, x. 468.\n\n[347] _Ibid._ x. 551.\n\n[348] _Ibid._ xi. 75.\n\n[349] _Ibid._ xi. 33.\n\n[350] Mill's _Dissertations_, i. 354 and 392 _n._\n\n[351] _Works_, x. 442.\n\n[352] _Works_, x. 467; xi. 79.\n\n[353] _Ibid._ xi. 23-24.\n\n[354] _Ibid._ x. 450.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nBENTHAM'S DOCTRINE\n\n\nI. FIRST PRINCIPLES\n\nBentham's position is in one respect unique. There have been many\ngreater thinkers; but there has been hardly any one whose abstract\ntheory has become in the same degree the platform of an active political\nparty. To accept the philosophy was to be also pledged to practical\napplications of Utilitarianism. What, then, was the revelation made to\nthe Benthamites, and to what did it owe its influence? The central\ndoctrine is expressed in Bentham's famous formula: the test of right and\nwrong is the 'greatest happiness of the greatest number.' There was\nnothing new in this assertion. It only expresses the fact that Bentham\naccepted one of the two alternatives which have commended themselves to\nconflicting schools ever since ethical speculation was erected into a\nseparate department of thought. Moreover, the side which Bentham took\nwas, we may say, the winning side. The ordinary morality of the time was\nUtilitarian in substance. Hutcheson had invented the sacred phrase: and\nHume had based his moral system upon 'utility.'[355] Bentham had\nlearned much from Helvetius the French freethinker, and had been\nanticipated by Paley the English divine. The writings in which Bentham\ndeals explicitly with the general principles of Ethics would hardly\nentitle him to a higher position than that of a disciple of Hume without\nHume's subtlety; or of Paley without Paley's singular gift of\nexposition. Why, then, did Bentham's message come upon his disciples\nwith the force and freshness of a new revelation? Our answer must be in\ngeneral terms that Bentham founded not a doctrine but a method: and that\nthe doctrine which came to him simply as a general principle was in his\nhands a potent instrument applied with most fruitful results to\nquestions of immediate practical interest.\n\nBeyond the general principle of utility, therefore, we have to consider\nthe 'organon' constructed by him to give effect to a general principle\ntoo vague to be applied in detail. The fullest account of this is\ncontained in the _Introduction to the Principles of Morals and\nLegislation_. This work unfortunately is a fragment, but it gives his\ndoctrine vigorously and decisively, without losing itself in the minute\ndetails which become wearisome in his later writings. Bentham intended\nit as an introduction to a penal code; and his investigation sent him\nback to more general problems. He found it necessary to settle the\nrelations of the penal code to the whole body of law; and to settle\nthese he had to consider the principles which underlie legislation in\ngeneral. He had thus, he says, to 'create a new science,' and then to\nelaborate one department of the science. The 'introduction' would\ncontain prolegomena not only for the penal code but for the other\ndepartments of inquiry which he intended to exhaust.[356] He had to lay\ndown primary truths which should be to this science what the axioms are\nto mathematical sciences.[357] These truths therefore belong to the\nsphere of conduct in general, and include his ethical theory.\n\n'Nature has placed mankind' (that is his opening phrase) 'under the\ngovernance of two sovereign masters, pain and pleasure. It is for them\nalone to point out what we ought to do, as well as to determine what we\nshall do.' There is the unassailable basis. It had been laid down as\nunequivocally by Locke,[358] and had been embodied in the brilliant\ncouplets of Pope's _Essay on Man_.[359] At the head of the curious table\nof universal knowledge, given in the _Chrestomathia_, we have Eudaemonics\nas an all-comprehensive name of which every art is a branch.[360]\nEudaemonics, as an art, corresponds to the science 'ontology.' It covers\nthe whole sphere of human thought. It means knowledge in general as\nrelated to conduct. Its first principle, again, requires no more proof\nthan the primary axioms of arithmetic or geometry. Once understood, it\nis by the same act of the mind seen to be true. Some people, indeed, do\nnot see it. Bentham rather ignores than answers some of their arguments.\nBut his mode of treating opponents indicates his own position.\n'Happiness,' it is often said, is too vague a word to be the keystone of\nan ethical system; it varies from man to man: or it is 'subjective,'\nand therefore gives no absolute or independent ground for morality. A\nmorality of 'eudaemonism' must be an 'empirical' morality, and we can\nnever extort from it that 'categorical imperative,' without which we\nhave instead of a true morality a simple system of 'expediency.' From\nBentham's point of view the criticism must be retorted. He regards\n'happiness' as precisely the least equivocal of words; and 'happiness'\nitself as therefore affording the one safe clue to all the intricate\nproblems of human conduct. The authors of the _Federalist_, for example,\nhad said that justice was the 'end of government.' 'Why not happiness?'\nasks Bentham. 'What happiness is every man knows, because what pleasure\nis, every man knows, and what pain is, every man knows. But what justice\nis--this is what on every occasion is the subject-matter of\ndispute.'[361] That phrase gives his view in a nutshell. Justice is the\nmeans, not the end. That is just which produces a maximum of happiness.\nOmit all reference to Happiness, and Justice becomes a meaningless word\nprescribing equality, but not telling us equality of what. Happiness, on\nthe other hand, has a substantial and independent meaning from which the\nmeaning of justice can be deduced. It has therefore a logical priority:\nand to attempt to ignore this is the way to all the labyrinths of\nhopeless confusion by which legislation has been made a chaos. Bentham's\nposition is indicated by his early conflict with Blackstone, not a very\npowerful representative of the opposite principle. Blackstone, in fact,\nhad tried to base his defence of that eminently empirical product, the\nBritish Constitution, upon some show of a philosophical groundwork. He\nhad used the vague conception of a 'social contract,' frequently invoked\nfor the same purpose at the revolution of 1688, and to eke out his\narguments applied the ancient commonplaces about monarchy, aristocracy,\nand democracy. He thus tried to invest the constitution with the\nsanctity derived from this mysterious 'contract,' while appealing also\nto tradition or the incarnate 'wisdom of our ancestors,' as shown by\ntheir judicious mixture of the three forms. Bentham had an easy task,\nthough he performed it with remarkable vigour, in exposing the weakness\nof this heterogeneous aggregate. Look closely, and this fictitious\ncontract can impose no new obligation: for the obligation itself rests\nupon Utility. Why not appeal to Utility at once? I am bound to obey, not\nbecause my great-grandfather may be regarded as having made a bargain,\nwhich he did not really make, with the great-grandfather of George III.;\nbut simply because rebellion does more harm than good. The forms of\ngovernment are abstractions, not names of realities, and their 'mixture'\nis a pure figment. King, Lords, and Commons are not really incarnations\nof power, wisdom, and goodness. Their combination forms a system the\nmerits of which must in the last resort be judged by its working. 'It is\nthe principle of utility, accurately apprehended and steadily applied,\nthat affords the only clew to guide a man through these streights.'[362]\nSo much in fact Bentham might learn from Hume; and to defend upon any\nother ground the congeries of traditional arrangements which passed for\nthe British Constitution was obviously absurd. It was in this warfare\nagainst the shifting and ambiguous doctrines of Blackstone that Bentham\nfirst showed the superiority of his own method: for, as between the two,\nBentham's position is at least the most coherent and intelligible.\n\nBlackstone, however, represents little more than a bit of rhetoric\nembodying fragments of inconsistent theories. The _Morals and\nLegislation_ opens by briefly and contemptuously setting aside more\nphilosophical opponents of Utilitarianism. The 'ascetic' principle, for\nexample, is the formal contradiction of the principle of Utility, for it\nprofessedly declares pleasure to be evil. Could it be consistently\ncarried out it would turn earth into hell. But in fact it is at bottom\nan illegitimate corollary from the very principle which it ostensibly\ndenies. It professes to condemn pleasure in general; it really means\nthat certain pleasures can only be bought at an excessive cost of pain.\nOther theories are contrivances for avoiding the appeal 'to any external\nstandard'; and in substance, therefore, they make the opinion of the\nindividual theorist an ultimate and sufficient reason. Adam Smith by his\ndoctrine of 'sympathy' makes the sentiment of approval itself the\nultimate standard. My feeling echoes yours, and reciprocally; each\ncannot derive authority from the other. Another man (Hutcheson) invents\na thing made on purpose to tell him what is right and what is wrong and\ncalls it a 'moral sense.' Beattie substitutes 'common' for 'moral'\nsense, and his doctrine is attractive because every man supposes himself\nto possess common sense. Others, like Price, appeal to the\nUnderstanding, or, like Clarke, to the 'Fitness of Things,' or they\ninvent such phrases as 'Law of Nature,' or 'Right Reason' or 'Natural\nJustice,' or what you please. Each really means that whatever he says\nis infallibly true and self-evident. Wollaston discovers that the only\nwrong thing is telling a lie; or that when you kill your father, it is a\nway of saying that he is not your father, and the same method is\napplicable to any conduct which he happens to dislike. The 'fairest and\nopenest of them all' is the man who says, 'I am of the number of the\nElect'; God tells the Elect what is right: therefore if you want to know\nwhat is right, you have only to come to me.[363] Bentham is writing here\nin his pithiest style. His criticism is of course of the rough and ready\norder; but I think that in a fashion he manages to hit the nail pretty\nwell on the head.\n\nHis main point, at any rate, is clear. He argues briefly that the\nalternative systems are illusory because they refer to no 'external\nstandard.' His opponents, not he, really make morality arbitrary. This,\nwhatever the ultimate truth, is in fact the essential core of all the\nUtilitarian doctrine descended from or related to Benthamism. Benthamism\naims at converting morality into a science. Science, according to him,\nmust rest upon facts. It must apply to real things, and to things which\nhave definite relations and a common measure. Now, if anything be real,\npains and pleasures are real. The expectation of pain or pleasure\ndetermines conduct; and, if so, it must be the sole determinant of\nconduct. The attempt to conceal or evade this truth is the fatal source\nof all equivocation and confusion. Try the experiment. Introduce a\n'moral sense.' What is its relation to the desire for happiness? If the\ndictates of the moral sense be treated as ultimate, an absolutely\narbitrary element is introduced; and we have one of the 'innate ideas'\nexploded by Locke, a belief summarily intruded into the system without\ndefinite relations to any other beliefs: a dogmatic assertion which\nrefuses to be tested or to be correlated with other dogmas; a reduction\ntherefore of the whole system to chaos. It is at best an instinctive\nbelief which requires to be justified and corrected by reference to some\nother criterion. Or resolve morality into 'reason,' that is, into some\npurely logical truth, and it then remains in the air--a mere nonentity\nuntil experience has supplied some material upon which it can work. Deny\nthe principle of utility, in short, as he says in a vigorous\npassage,[364] and you are involved in a hopeless circle. Sooner or later\nyou appeal to an arbitrary and despotic principle and find that you have\nsubstituted words for thoughts.\n\nThe only escape from this circle is the frank admission that happiness\nis, in fact, the sole aim of man. There are, of course, different kinds\nof happiness as there are different kinds of physical forces. But the\nmotives to action are, like the physical forces, commensurable. Two\ncourses of conduct can always be compared in respect of the happiness\nproduced, as two motions of a body can be compared in respect of the\nenergy expended. If, then, we take the moral judgment to be simply a\njudgment of amounts of happiness, the whole theory can be systematised,\nand its various theorems ranged under a single axiom or consistent set\nof axioms. Pain and pleasure give the real value of actions; they are\nthe currency with a definite standard into which every general rule may\nbe translated. There is always a common measure applicable in every\nformula for the estimation of conduct. If you admit your Moral Sense,\nyou profess to settle values by some standard which has no definite\nrelation to the standard which in fact governs the normal transactions.\nBut any such double standard, in which the two measures are absolutely\nincommensurable, leads straight to chaos. Or, if again you appeal to\nreason in the abstract, you are attempting to settle an account by pure\narithmetic without reference to the units upon which your operation is\nperformed. Two pounds and two pounds will make four pounds whatever a\npound may be; but till I know what it is, the result is nugatory.\nSomewhere I must come upon a basis of fact, if my whole construction is\nto stand.\n\nThis is the fundamental position implied in Bentham's doctrine. The\nmoral judgment is simply one case of the judgment of happiness. Bentham\nis so much convinced of this that to him there appeared to be in reality\nno other theory. What passed for theories were mere combinations of\nwords. Having said this, we know where to lay the foundations of the new\nscience. It deals with a vast complicity of facts: it requires\n'investigations as severe as mathematical ones, but beyond all\ncomparison more intricate and extensive.'[365] Still it deals with\nfacts, and with facts which have a common measure, and can, therefore,\nbe presented as a coherent system. To present this system, or so much of\nit as is required for purposes of legislation, is therefore his next\ntask. The partial execution is the chief substance of the\n_Introduction_. Right and wrong conduct, we may now take for granted,\nmean simply those classes of conduct which are conducive to or opposed\nto happiness; or, in the sacred formula, to act rightly means to promote\nthe greatest happiness of the greatest number. The legislator, like\nevery one else, acts rightly in so far as he is guided by the principle\n(to use one of the phrases coined by Bentham) of 'maximising' happiness.\nHe seeks to affect conduct; and conduct can be affected only by annexing\npains or pleasures to given classes of actions. Hence we have a vitally\nimportant part of his doctrine--the theory of 'sanctions.' Pains and\npleasures as annexed to action are called 'sanctions.' There are\n'physical or natural,' 'political, 'moral or popular,' and 'religious'\nsanctions. The 'physical' sanctions are such pleasures and pains as\nfollow a given course of conduct independently of the interference of\nany other human or supernatural being; the 'political' those which are\nannexed by the action of the legislator; the 'moral or popular' those\nwhich are annexed by other individuals not acting in a corporate\ncapacity; and the 'religious' those which are annexed by a 'superior\ninvisible being,' or, as he says elsewhere,[366] 'such as are capable of\nbeing expected at the hands of an invisible Ruler of the Universe.' The\nthree last sanctions, he remarks, 'operate through the first.' The\n'magistrate' or 'men at large' can only operate, and God is supposed\nonly to operate, 'through the powers of nature,' that is, by applying\nsome of the pains and pleasures which may also be natural sanctions. A\nman is burnt: if by his own imprudence, that is a 'physical' sanction;\nif by the magistrate, it is a 'political' sanction; if by some neglect\nof his neighbours, due to their dislike of his 'moral character,' a\n'moral' sanction; if by the immediate act of God or by distraction\ncaused by dread of God's displeasure, it is a 'religious' sanction. Of\nthese, as Bentham characteristically observes[367] in a later writing\nthe political is much stronger than the 'moral' or 'religious.' Many men\nfear the loss of character or the 'wrath of Heaven,' but all men fear\nthe scourge and the gallows.[368] He admits, however, that the religious\nsanction and the additional sanction of 'benevolence' have the advantage\nof not requiring that the offender should be found out.[369] But in any\ncase, the 'natural' and religious sanctions are beyond the legislator's\npower. His problem, therefore, is simply this: what sanctions ought he\nto annex to conduct, or remembering that 'ought' means simply 'conducive\nto happiness,' what political sanctions will increase happiness?\n\nTo answer this fully will be to give a complete system of legislation;\nbut in order to answer it we require a whole logical and psychological\napparatus. Bentham shows this apparatus at work, but does not expound\nits origin in any separate treatise. Enough information, however, is\ngiven as to his method in the curious collection of the fragments\nconnected with the _Chrestomathia_. A logical method upon which he\nconstantly insisted is that of 'bipartition,'[370] called also the\n'dichotomous' or 'bifurcate' method, and exemplified by the so-called\n'Porphyrian Tree.' The principle is, of course, simple. Take any genus:\ndivide it into two classes, one of which has and the other has not a\ncertain mark. The two classes must be mutually exclusive and together\nexhaustive. Repeat the operation upon each of the classes and continue\nthe process as long as desired.[371] At every step you thus have a\ncomplete enumeration of all the species, varieties, and so on, each of\nwhich excludes all the others. No mere logic, indeed, can secure the\naccuracy and still less the utility of the procedure. The differences\nmay be in themselves ambiguous or irrelevant. If I classify plants as\n'trees' and 'not trees,' the logical form is satisfied: but I have still\nto ask whether 'tree' conveys a determinate meaning, and whether the\ndistinction corresponds to a difference of any importance. A perfect\nclassification, however, could always be stated in this form. Each\nspecies, that is, can be marked by the presence or absence of a given\ndifference, whether we are dealing with classes of plants or actions:\nand Bentham aims at that consummation though he admits that centuries\nmay be required for the construction of an accurate classification in\nethical speculations.[372] He exaggerates the efficiency of his method,\nand overlooks the tendency of tacit assumptions to smuggle themselves\ninto what affects to be a mere enumeration of classes. But in any case,\nno one could labour more industriously to get every object of his\nthought arranged and labelled and put into the right pigeon-hole of his\nmental museum. To codify[373] is to classify, and Bentham might be\ndefined as a codifying animal.\n\nThings thus present themselves to Bentham's mind as already prepared to\nfit into pigeon-holes. This is a characteristic point, and it appears in\nwhat we must call his metaphysical system. 'Metaphysics,' indeed,\naccording to him, is simply 'a sprig,' and that a small one, of the\n'branch termed Logic.'[374] It is merely the explanation of certain\ngeneral terms such as 'existence,' 'necessity,' and so forth.[375] Under\nthis would apparently fall the explanation of 'reality' which leads to a\ndoctrine upon which he often insists, and which is most implicitly given\nin the fragment called _Ontology_. He there distinguishes 'real' from\n'fictitious entities,' a distinction which, as he tells us,[376] he\nfirst learned from d'Alembert's phrase _Etres fictifs_ and which he\napplies in his _Morals and Legislation_. 'Real entities,' according to\nhim,[377] are 'individual perceptions,' 'impressions,' and 'ideas.' In\nthis, of course, he is following Hume, though he applies the Johnsonian\nargument to Berkeley's immaterialism.[378] A 'fictitious entity' is a\nname which does note 'raise up in the mind any correspondent\nimages.'[379] Such names owe their existence to the necessities of\nlanguage. Without employing such fictions, however, 'the language of man\ncould not have risen above the language of brutes';[380] and he\nemphatically distinguishes them from 'unreal' or 'fabulous entities.' A\n'fictitious entity' is not a 'nonentity.'[381] He includes among such\nentities all Aristotle's 'predicaments' except the first:\n'substance.'[382] Quantity, quality, relation, time, place are all\n'physical fictitious entities.' This is apparently equivalent to saying\nthat the only 'physical entities' are concrete things--sticks, stones,\nbodies, and so forth--the 'reality' of which he takes for granted in the\nordinary common sense meaning. It is also perfectly true that things are\nreally related, have quantity and quality, and are in time and space.\nBut we cannot really conceive the quality or relation apart from the\nconcrete things so qualified and related. We are forced by language to\nuse substantives which in their nature have only the sense of\nadjectives. He does not suppose that a body is not really square or\nround; but he thinks it a fiction to speak of squareness or roundness or\nspace in general as something existing apart from matter and, in some\nsense, alongside of matter.\n\nThis doctrine, which brings us within sight of metaphysical problems\nbeyond our immediate purpose, becomes important to his moral\nspeculation. His special example of a 'fictitious entity' in politics is\n'obligation.'[383] Obligations, rights, and similar words are\n'fictitious entities.' Obligation in particular implies a metaphor. The\nstatement that a man is 'obliged' to perform an act means simply that he\nwill suffer pain if he does not perform it. The use of the word\nobligation, as a noun substantive, introduces the 'fictitious entity'\nwhich represents nothing really separable from the pain or pleasure.\nHere, therefore, we have the ground of the doctrine already noticed.\n'Pains and pleasures' are real.[384] 'Their existence,' he says,[385]\n'is matter of universal and constant experience.' But other various\nnames referring to these: emotion, inclination, vice, virtue, etc., are\nonly 'psychological entities.' 'Take away pleasures and pains, not only\nhappiness but justice and duty and obligation and virtue--all of which\nhave been so elaborately held up to view as independent of them--are so\nmany empty sounds.'[386] The ultimate facts, then, are pains and\npleasures. They are the substantives of which these other words are\nproperly the adjectives. A pain or a pleasure may exist by itself, that\nis without being virtuous or vicious: but virtue and vice can only exist\nin so far as pain and pleasure exists.\n\nThis analysis of 'obligation' is a characteristic doctrine of the\nUtilitarian school. We are under an 'obligation' so far as we are\naffected by a 'sanction.' It appeared to Bentham so obvious as to need\nno demonstration, only an exposition of the emptiness of any verbal\ncontradiction. Such metaphysical basis as he needed is simply the\nattempt to express the corresponding conception of reality which, in his\nopinion, only requires to be expressed to carry conviction.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[355] See note under Bentham's life, _ante_, p. 178.\n\n[356] Preface to _Morals and Legislation_.\n\n[357] _Works_, i. ('Morals and Legislation'), ii. _n._\n\n[358] _Essay_, bk. ii. ch. xxi. Sec. 39-Sec. 44. The will, says Locke, is\ndetermined by the 'uneasiness of desire.' What moves desire? Happiness,\nand that alone. Happiness is pleasure, and misery pain. What produces\npleasure we call good; and what produces pain we call evil. Locke,\nhowever, was not a consistent Utilitarian.\n\n[359] Epistle iv., opening lines.\n\n[360] _Works_, vii. 82.\n\n[361] _Works_ ('Constitutional Code'), ix. 123.\n\n[362] _Works_ ('Fragment'), i. 287.\n\n[363] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 8-10. Mill quotes this\npassage in his essay on Bentham in the first volume of his\n_Dissertations_. This essay, excellent in itself must be specially\nnoticed as an exposition by an authoritative disciple.\n\n[364] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 13.\n\n[365] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. v.\n\n[366] _Works_ ('Evidence'), vi. 261.\n\n[367] _Works_ ('Evidence'), vii. 116.\n\n[368] _Ibid._ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 14, etc.; _Ibid._ vi. 260.\nIn _Ibid._ ('Evidence') vii. 116, 'humanity,' and in 'Logical\nArrangements,' _Ibid._ ii. 290, 'sympathy' appears as a fifth sanction.\nAnother modification is suggested in _Ibid._ i. 14 _n._\n\n[369] _Ibid._ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 67.\n\n[370] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 96 _n._\n\n[371] See especially _Ibid._ viii. 104, etc.; 253, etc.; 289, etc.\n\n[372] _Ibid._ viii. 106.\n\n[373] 'Codify' was one of Bentham's successful neologisms.\n\n[374] _Works_ ('Logic'), viii. 220.\n\n[375] Here Bentham coincides with Horne Tooke, to whose 'discoveries' he\nrefers in the _Chrestomathia_ (_Works_, viii. 120, 185, 188).\n\n[376] _Works_, iii. 286; viii. 119.\n\n[377] _Ibid._ ('Ontology') viii. 196 _n._\n\n[378] _Ibid._ viii, 197 _n._\n\n[379] _Ibid._ viii. 263.\n\n[380] _Works_ ('Ontology'), viii. 119.\n\n[381] _Ibid._ viii. 198.\n\n[382] _Ibid._ viii. 199.\n\n[383] _Ibid._ viii. 206, 247.\n\n[384] Helvetius adds to this that the only real pains and pleasures are\nthe physical, but Bentham does not follow him here. See Helvetius,\n_OEuvres_ (1781), ii. 121, etc.\n\n[385] _Works_, i. 211 ('Springs of Action').\n\n[386] _Ibid._ i. 206.\n\n\nII. SPRINGS OF ACTION\n\nOur path is now clear. Pains and pleasures give us what mathematicians\ncall the 'independent variable.' Our units are (in Bentham's phrase)\n'lots' of pain or pleasure. We have to interpret all the facts in terms\nof pain or pleasure, and we shall have the materials for what has since\nbeen called a 'felicific calculus.' To construct this with a view to\nlegislation is his immediate purpose. The theory will fall into two\nparts: the 'pathological,' or an account of all the pains and pleasures\nwhich are the primary data; and the 'dynamical,' or an account of the\nvarious modes of conduct determined by expectations of pain and\npleasure. This gives the theory of 'springs of action,' considered in\nthemselves, and of 'motives,' that is, of the springs as influencing\nconduct.[387] The 'pathology' contains, in the first place, a discussion\nof the measure of pain and pleasure in general; secondly, a discussion\nof the various species of pain and pleasure; and thirdly, a discussion\nof the varying sensibilities of different individuals to pain and\npleasure.[388] Thus under the first head, we are told that the value of\na pleasure, considered by itself, depends upon its intensity, duration,\ncertainty, and propinquity; and, considered with regard to modes of\nobtaining it, upon its fecundity (or tendency to produce other pains and\npleasures) and its purity (or freedom from admixture of other pains and\npleasures). The pain or pleasure is thus regarded as an entity which is\ncapable of being in some sense weighed and measured.[389] The next step\nis to classify pains and pleasures, which though commensurable as\npsychological forces, have obviously very different qualities. Bentham\ngives the result of his classification without the analysis upon which\nit depends. He assures us that he has obtained an 'exhaustive' list of\n'simple pleasures.' It must be confessed that the list does not commend\nitself either as exhaustive or as composed of 'simple pleasures.' He\ndoes not explain the principle of his analysis because he says, it was\nof 'too metaphysical a cast,'[390] but he thought it so important that\nhe published it, edited with considerable modifications by James Mill,\nin 1817, as a _Table of the Springs of Action_.[391]\n\nJ. S. Mill remarks that this table should be studied by any one who\nwould understand Bentham's philosophy. Such a study would suggest some\nunfavourable conclusions. Bentham seems to have made out his table\nwithout the slightest reference to any previous psychologist. It is\nsimply constructed to meet the requirements of his legislative theories.\nAs psychology it would be clearly absurd, especially if taken as giving\nthe elementary or 'simple' feelings. No one can suppose, for example,\nthat the pleasures of 'wealth' or 'power' are 'simple' pleasures. The\nclasses therefore are not really distinct, and they are as far from\nbeing exhaustive. All that can be said for the list is that it gives a\nsufficiently long enumeration to call attention from his own point of\nview to most of the ordinary pleasures and pains; and contains as much\npsychology as he could really turn to account for his purpose.\n\nThe omissions with which his greatest disciple charges him are certainly\nsignificant. We find, says Mill, no reference to 'Conscience,'\n'Principle,' 'Moral Rectitude,' or 'Moral Duty' among the 'springs of\naction,' unless among the synonyms of a 'love of reputation,' or in so\nfar as 'Conscience' and 'Principle' are sometimes synonymous with the\n'religious' motive or the motive of 'sympathy.' So the sense of\n'honour,' the love of beauty, and of order, of power (except in the\nnarrow sense of power over our fellows) and of action in general are all\nomitted. We may conjecture what reply Bentham would have made to this\ncriticism. The omission of the love of beauty and aesthetic pleasures may\nsurprise us when we remember that Bentham loved music, if he cared\nnothing for poetry. But he apparently regarded these as 'complex\npleasures,'[392] and therefore not admissible into his table, if it be\nunderstood as an analysis into the simple pleasures alone. The pleasures\nof action are deliberately omitted, for Bentham pointedly gives the\n'pains' of labour as a class without corresponding pleasure; and this,\nthough indicative, I think, of a very serious error, is characteristic\nrather of his method of analysis than of his real estimate of pleasure.\nNobody could have found more pleasure than Bentham in intellectual\nlabour, but he separated the pleasure from the labour. He therefore\nthought 'labour,' as such, a pure evil, and classified the pleasure as a\npleasure of 'curiosity.' But the main criticism is more remarkable. Mill\ncertainly held himself to be a sound Utilitarian; and yet he seems to be\ncondemning Bentham for consistent Utilitarianism. Bentham, by admitting\nthe 'conscience' into his simple springs of action, would have fallen\ninto the very circle from which he was struggling to emerge. If, in\nfact, the pleasures of conscience are simple pleasures, we have the\nobjectionable 'moral sense' intruded as an ultimate factor of human\nnature. To get rid of that 'fictitious entity' is precisely Bentham's\naim. The moral judgment is to be precisely equivalent to the judgment:\n'this or that kind of conduct increases or diminishes the sum of human\npains or pleasures.' Once allow that among the pains and pleasures\nthemselves is an ultimate conscience--a faculty not constructed out of\nindependent pains and pleasures--and the system becomes a vicious\ncircle. Conscience on any really Utilitarian scheme must be a\nderivative, not an ultimate, faculty. If, as Mill seems to say, the\nomission is a blunder, Bentham's Utilitarianism at least must be an\nerroneous system.\n\nWe have now our list both of pains and pleasures and of the general\nmodes of variation by which their value is to be measured. We must also\nallow for the varying sensibilities of different persons. Bentham\naccordingly gives a list of thirty-two 'circumstances influencing\nsensibility.'[393] Human beings differ in constitution, character,\neducation, sex, race, and so forth, and in their degrees of sensibility\nto all the various classes of pains and pleasures; the consideration of\nthese varieties is of the highest utility for the purposes of the judge\nand the legislator.[394] The 'sanctions' will operate differently in\ndifferent cases. A blow will have different effects upon the sick and\nupon the healthy; the same fine imposed upon the rich and the poor will\ncause very different pains; and a law which is beneficent in Europe may\nbe a scourge in America.\n\nWe have thus our 'pathology' or theory of the passive sensibilities of\nman. We know what are the 'springs of action,' how they vary in general,\nand how they vary from one man to another. We can therefore pass to the\ndynamics.[395] We have described the machinery in rest, and can now\nconsider it in motion. We proceed as before by first considering action\nin general: which leads to consideration of the 'intention' and the\n'motive' implied by any conscious action: and hence of the relation of\nthese to the 'springs of action' as already described. The discussion is\nminute and elaborate; and Bentham improves as he comes nearer to the\nactual problems of legislation and further from the ostensible bases of\npsychology. The analysis of conduct, and of the sanctions by which\nconduct is modified, involves a view of morals and of the relations\nbetween the spheres of morality and legislation which is of critical\nimportance for the whole Utilitarian creed. 'Moral laws' and a 'Positive\nlaw' both affect human action. How do they differ? Bentham's treatment\nof the problem shows, I think, a clearer appreciation of some\ndifficulties than might be inferred from his later utterances. In any\ncase, it brings into clear relief a moral doctrine which deeply affected\nhis successors.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[387] _Works_, i. 205; and Dumont's _Traites_ (1820), i. xxv, xxvi. The\nword 'springs of action' perhaps comes from the marginal note to the\nabove-mentioned passage of Locke (bk. ii. chap. xxvi, Sec. 41, 42).\n\n[388] _Morals and Legislation_, chaps. iv., v., vi.\n\n[389] See 'Codification Proposal' (_Works_, iv. 540), where Bentham\ntakes money as representing pleasure, and shows how the present value\nmay be calculated like that of a sum put out to interest. The same\nassumption is often made by Political Economists in regard to\n'utilities.'\n\n[390] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 17 _n._\n\n[391] It is not worth while to consider this at length; but I give the\nfollowing conjectural account of the list as it appears in the _Morals\nand Legislation_ above. In classifying pain or pleasures, Bentham is, I\nthink, following the clue suggested by his 'sanctions.' He is really\nclassifying according to their causes or the way in which they are\n'annexed.' Thus pleasures may or may not be dependent upon other\npersons, or if upon other persons, may be indirectly or directly caused\nby their pleasures or pains. Pleasures not caused by persons correspond\nto the 'physical sanction,' and are those (1) of the 'senses,' (2) of\nwealth, _i.e._ caused by the possession of things, and (3) of 'skill,'\n_i.e._ caused by our ability to use things. Pleasures caused by persons\nindirectly correspond first to the 'popular or moral sanction,' and are\npleasures (4) of 'amity,' caused by the goodwill of individuals, and (5)\nof a 'good name,' caused by the goodwill of people in general; secondly,\nto 'political sanction,' namely (6) pleasures of 'power'; and thirdly,\nto the 'religious sanction,' or (7) pleasures of 'piety.' All these are\n'self-regarding pleasures.' The pleasures caused directly by the\npleasure of others are those (8) of 'benevolence,' and (9) of\nmalevolence. We then have what is really a cross division by classes of\n'derivative' pleasures; these being due to (10) memory, (11)\nimagination, (12) expectation, (13) association. To each class of\npleasures corresponds a class of pains, except that there are no pains\ncorresponding to the pleasures of wealth or power. We have, however, a\ngeneral class of pains of 'privation,' which might include pains of\npoverty or weakness: and to these are opposed (14) pleasures of\n'relief,' _i.e._ of the privation of pains. In the _Table_, as\nseparately published, Bentham modified this by dividing pleasures of\nsense into three classes, the last of which includes the two first; by\nsubstituting pleasures of 'curiosity' for pleasures of 'skill' by\nsuppressing pleasures of relief and pains of privation; and by adding,\nas a class of 'pains' without corresponding pleasures, pains (1) of\nlabour, (2) of 'death, and bodily pains in general.' These changes seem\nto have been introduced in the course of writing his _Introduction_,\nwhere they are partly assumed. Another class is added to include all\nclasses of 'self-regarding pleasures or pains.' He is trying to give a\nlist of all 'synonyms' for various pains and pleasures, and has\ntherefore to admit classes corresponding to general names which include\nother classes.\n\n[392] _Works_ i. 210, where he speaks of pleasures of the 'ball-room,'\nthe 'theatre,' and the 'fine arts' as derivable from the 'simple and\nelementary' pleasures.\n\n[393] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 22 etc.\n\n[394] _Ibid._ i. 33.\n\n[395] _Morals and Legislation_, ch. vii. to xi.\n\n\nIII. THE SANCTIONS\n\nLet us first take his definitions of the fundamental conceptions. All\naction of reasonable beings implies the expectation of consequences. The\nagent's 'intention' is defined by the consequences actually\ncontemplated. The cause of action is the hope of the consequent\npleasures or the dread of the consequent pains. This anticipated\npleasure or pain constitutes the 'internal motive' (a phrase used by\nBentham to exclude the 'external motive' or event which causes the\nanticipation).[396] The motive, or 'internal motive,' is the\nanticipation of pain to be avoided or pleasure to be gained. Actions are\ngood or bad simply and solely as they are on the whole 'productive of a\nbalance of pleasure or pain.' The problem of the legislator is how to\nregulate actions so as to incline the balance to the right side. His\nweapons are 'sanctions' which modify 'motives.' What motives, then,\nshould be strengthened or checked? Here we must be guided by a principle\nwhich is, in fact, the logical result of the doctrines already laid\ndown. We are bound to apply our 'felicific calculus' with absolute\nimpartiality. We must therefore assign equal value to all motives. 'No\nmotives,' he says,[397] are 'constantly good or constantly bad.'\nPleasure is itself a good; pain itself an evil: nay, they are 'the only\ngood and the only evil.' This is true of every sort of pain and\npleasure, even of the pains and pleasures of illwill. The pleasures of\n'malevolence' are placed in his 'table' by the side of pleasures of\n'benevolence.' Hence it 'follows immediately and incontestably, that\nthere is no such thing as any sort of motive that is in itself a bad\none.' The doctrine is no doubt a logical deduction from Bentham's\nassumptions, and he proceeds to illustrate its meaning. A 'motive'\ncorresponds to one of his 'springs of action.' He shows how every one of\nthe motives included in his table may lead either to good or to bad\nconsequences. The desire of wealth may lead me to kill a man's enemy or\nto plough his field for him; the fear of God may prompt to fanaticism\nor to charity; illwill may lead to malicious conduct or may take the\nform of proper 'resentment,' as, for example, when I secure the\npunishment of my father's murderer. Though one act, he says, is approved\nand the other condemned, they spring from the same motive, namely,\nillwill.[398] He admits, however, that some motives are more likely than\nothers to lead to 'useful' conduct; and thus arranges them in a certain\n'order of pre-eminence.'[399] It is obvious that 'goodwill,' 'love of\nreputation,' and the 'desire of amity' are more likely than others to\npromote general happiness. 'The dictates of utility,' as he observes,\nare simply the 'dictates of the most extensive and enlightened (that is,\n_well advised_) benevolence.' It would, therefore, seem more appropriate\nto call the 'motive' good; though no one doubts that when directed by an\nerroneous judgment it may incidentally be mischievous.\n\nThe doctrine that morality depends upon 'consequences' and not upon\n'motives' became a characteristic Utilitarian dogma, and I shall have to\nreturn to the question. Meanwhile, it was both a natural and, I think,\nin some senses, a correct view, when strictly confined to the province\nof legislation. For reasons too obvious to expand, the legislator must\noften be indifferent to the question of motives. He cannot know with\ncertainty what are a man's motives. He must enforce the law whatever may\nbe the motives for breaking it; and punish rebellion, for example, even\nif he attributes it to misguided philanthropy. He can, in any case,\npunish only such crimes as are found out; and must define crimes by\npalpable 'external' marks. He must punish by such coarse means as the\ngallows and the gaol: for his threats must appeal to the good and the\nbad alike. He depends, therefore, upon 'external' sanctions, sanctions,\nthat is, which work mainly upon the fears of physical pain; and even if\nhis punishments affect the wicked alone, they clearly cannot reach the\nwicked as wicked, nor in proportion to their wickedness. That is quite\nenough to show why in positive law motives are noticed indirectly or not\nat all. It shows also that the analogy between the positive and the\nmoral law is treacherous. The exclusion of motive justifiable in law may\ntake all meaning out of morality. The Utilitarians, as we shall see,\nwere too much disposed to overlook the difference, and attempt to apply\npurely legal doctrine in the totally uncongenial sphere of ethical\nspeculation. To accept the legal classification of actions by their\nexternal characteristics is, in fact, to beg the question in advance.\nAny outward criterion must group together actions springing from\ndifferent 'motives' and therefore, as other moralists would say,\nethically different.\n\nThere is, however, another meaning in this doctrine which is more to the\npurpose here. Bentham was aiming at a principle which, true or false, is\nimplied in all ethical systems based upon experience instead of pure\nlogic or _a priori_ 'intuitions.' Such systems must accept human nature\nas a fact, and as the basis of a scientific theory. They do not aim at\ncreating angels but at developing the existing constitution of mankind.\nSo far as an action springs from one of the primitive or essential\ninstincts of mankind, it simply proves the agent to be human, not to be\nvicious or virtuous, and therefore is no ground for any moral judgment.\nIf Bentham's analysis could be accepted, this would be true of his\n'springs of action.' The natural appetites have not in themselves a\nmoral quality: they are simply necessary and original data in the\nproblem. The perplexity is introduced by Bentham's assumption that\nconduct can be analysed so that the 'motive' is a separate entity which\ncan be regarded as the sole cause of a corresponding action. That\ninvolves an irrelevant abstraction. There is no such thing as a single\n'motive.' One of his cases is a mother who lets her child die for love\nof 'ease.' We do not condemn her because she loves ease, which is a\nmotive common to all men and therefore unmoral, not immoral. But neither\ndo we condemn her merely for the bad consequences of a particular\naction. We condemn her because she loves ease better than she loves her\nchild: that is, because her whole character is 'unnatural' or\nill-balanced, not on account of a particular element taken by itself.\nMorality is concerned with concrete human beings, and not with 'motives'\nrunning about by themselves. Bentham's meaning, if we make the necessary\ncorrection, would thus be expressed by saying that we don't blame a man\nbecause he has the 'natural' passions, but because they are somehow\nwrongly proportioned or the man himself wrongly constituted. Passions\nwhich may make a man vicious may also be essential to the highest\nvirtue. That is quite true; but the passion is not a separate agent,\nonly one constituent of the character.\n\nBentham admits this in his own fashion. If 'motives' cannot be properly\ncalled good or bad, is there, he asks, nothing good or bad in the man\nwho on a given occasion obeys a certain motive? 'Yes, certainly,' he\nreplies, 'his disposition.'[400] The disposition, he adds, is a\n'fictitious entity, and designed for the convenience of discourse in\norder to express what there is supposed to be permanent in a man's frame\nof mind.' By 'fictitious,' as we have seen, he means not 'unreal' but\nsimply not tangible, weighable, or measurable--like sticks and stones,\nor like pains and pleasures. 'Fictitious' as they may be, therefore, the\nfiction enables us to express real truths, and to state facts which are\nof the highest importance to the moralist and the legislator. Bentham\ndiscusses some cases of casuistry in order to show the relation between\nthe tendency of an action and the intention and motives of the agent.\nRavaillac murders a good king; Ravaillac's son enables his father to\nescape punishment, or conveys poison to his father to enable him to\navoid torture by suicide.[401] What is the inference as to the son's\ndisposition in either case? The solution (as he substantially and, I\nthink, rightly suggests) will have to be reached by considering whether\nthe facts indicate that the son's disposition was mischievous or\notherwise; whether it indicates political disloyalty or filial\naffection, and so forth, and in what proportions. The most interesting\ncase perhaps is that of religious persecution, where the religious\nmotive is taken to be good, and the action to which it leads is yet\nadmitted to be mischievous. The problem is often puzzling, but we are\nvirtually making an inference as to the goodness or badness of the\n'disposition' implied by the given action under all the supposed\ncircumstances. This gives what Bentham calls the 'meritoriousness'[402]\nof the disposition. The 'intention' is caused by the 'motive.' The\n'disposition' is the 'sum of the intentions'; that is to say, it\nexpresses the agent's sensibility to various classes of motives; and the\nmerit therefore will be in proportion to the total goodness or badness\nof the disposition thus indicated. The question of merit leads to\ninteresting moral problems. Bentham, however, observes that he is not\nhere speaking from the point of view of the moralist but of the\nlegislator. Still, as a legislator he has to consider what is the\n'depravity' of disposition indicated by different kinds of conduct. This\nconsideration is of great importance. The 'disposition' includes\nsensibility to what he calls 'tutelary motives'--motives, that is, which\ndeter a man from such conduct as generally produces mischievous\nconsequences. No motive can be invariably, though some, especially the\nmotive of goodwill, and in a minor degree those of 'amity' and a 'love\nof reputation,' are generally, on the right side. The legislator has to\nreinforce these 'tutelary motives' by 'artificial tutelary motives,' and\nmainly by appealing to the 'love of ease,' that is, by making\nmischievous conduct more difficult, and to 'self-preservation,' that is,\nby making it more dangerous.[403] He has therefore to measure the force\nby which these motives will be opposed; or, in other words, the\n'strength of the temptation.' Now the more depraved a man's disposition,\nthe weaker the temptation which will seduce him to crime. Consequently\nif an act shows depravity, it will require a stronger counter-motive or\na more severe punishment, as the disposition indicated is more\nmischievous. An act, for example, which implies deliberation proves a\ngreater insensibility to these social motives which, as Bentham\nremarks,[404] determine the 'general tenor of a man's life,' however\ndepraved he may be. The legislator is guided solely by 'utility,' or\naims at maximising happiness without reference to its quality. Still, so\nfar as action implies disposition, he has to consider the depravity as a\nsource of mischief. The legislator who looks solely at the moral quality\nimplied is wrong; and, if guided solely by his sympathies, has no\nmeasure for the amount of punishment to be inflicted. These\nconsiderations will enable us to see what is the proper measure of\nresentment.[405]\n\nThe doctrine of the neutrality or 'unmorality' of motive is thus\nsufficiently clear. Bentham's whole aim is to urge that the criterion of\nmorality is given by the consequences of actions. To say the conduct is\ngood or bad is to say in other words that it produces a balance of\npleasure or pain. To make the criterion independent, or escape the\nvicious circle, we must admit the pleasures and pains to be in\nthemselves neutral; to have, that is, the same value, if equally strong,\nwhatever their source. In our final balance-sheet we must set down pains\nof illwill and of goodwill, of sense and of intellect with absolute\nimpartiality, and compare them simply in respect of intensity. We must\nnot admit a 'conscience' or 'moral sense' which would be autocratic;\nnor, indeed, allow moral to have any meaning as applied to the separate\npassions. But it is quite consistent with this to admit that some\nmotives, goodwill in particular, generally tend to bring out the\ndesirable result, that is, a balance of pleasure for the greatest\nnumber. The pains and pleasures are the ultimate facts, and the\n'disposition' is a 'fictitious entity' or a name for the sum of\nsensibilities. It represents the fact that some men are more inclined\nthan others to increase the total of good or bad.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[396] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 46.\n\n[397] _Ibid._ i. 48.\n\n[398] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 56.\n\n[399] _Ibid._ i. 56.\n\n[400] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 60.\n\n[401] _Ibid._ i. 62.\n\n[402] _Ibid._ i. 65.\n\n[403] These are the two classes of 'springs of action' omitted in the\n_Table_.\n\n[404] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 68.\n\n[405] Here Bentham lays down the rule that punishment should rise with\nthe strength of the temptation, a theory which leads to some curious\ncasuistical problems. He does not fully discuss, and I cannot here\nconsider, them. I will only note that it may conceivably be necessary to\nincrease the severity of punishment, instead of removing the temptation\nor strengthening the preventive action. If so, the law becomes immoral\nin the sense of punishing more severely as the crime has more moral\nexcuse. This was often true of the old criminal law, which punished\noffences cruelly because it had no effective system of police. Bentham\nwould of course have agreed that the principle in this case was a bad\none.\n\n\nIV. CRIMINAL LAW\n\nWe have now, after a long analysis, reached the point at which the\nprinciples can be applied to penal law. The legislator has to discourage\ncertain classes of conduct by annexing 'tutelary motives.' The classes\nto be suppressed are of course those which diminish happiness. Pursuing\nthe same method, and applying results already reached, we must in the\nfirst place consider how the 'mischief of an act' is to be\nmeasured.[406] Acts are mischievous as their 'consequences' are\nmischievous; and the consequences may be 'primary' or 'secondary.'\nRobbery causes pain to the loser of the money. That is a primary evil.\nIt alarms the holders of money; it suggests the facility of robbery to\nothers; and it weakens the 'tutelary motive' of respect for property.\nThese are secondary evils. The 'secondary' evil may be at times the most\nimportant. The non-payment of a tax may do no appreciable harm in a\nparticular case. But its secondary effects in injuring the whole\npolitical fabric may be disastrous and fruitful beyond calculation.\nBentham proceeds to show carefully how the 'intentions' and 'motives' of\nthe evildoer are of the greatest importance, especially in determining\nthese secondary consequences, and must therefore be taken into account\nby the legislator. A homicide may cause the same primary evil, whether\naccidental or malignant; but accidental homicide may cause no alarm,\nwhereas the intentional and malignant homicide may cause any quantity of\nalarm and shock to the general sense of security. In this way,\ntherefore, the legislator has again indirectly to take into account the\nmoral quality which is itself dependent upon utility.\n\nI must, however, pass lightly over a very clear and interesting\ndiscussion to reach a further point of primary importance to the\nUtilitarian theory, as to the distinction between the moral and legal\nspheres.[407] Bentham has now 'made an analysis of evil.' He has, that\nis, classified the mischiefs produced by conduct, measured simply by\ntheir effect upon pleasures or pains, independently of any consideration\nas to virtue and vice. The next problem is: what conduct should be\ncriminal?--a subject which is virtually discussed in two chapters (xv.\nand xix.) 'on cases unmeet for punishment' and on 'the limits between\nPrivate Ethics and the act of legislation.' We must, of course, follow\nthe one clue to the labyrinth. We must count all the 'lots' of pain and\npleasure indifferently. It is clear, on the one hand, that the pains\nsuffered by criminals are far less than the pains which would be\nsuffered were no such sanctions applied. On the other hand, all\npunishment is an evil, because punishment means pain, and it is\ntherefore only to be inflicted when it excludes greater pain. It must,\ntherefore, not be inflicted when it is 'groundless,' 'inefficacious,'\n'unprofitable,' or 'needless.' 'Needless' includes all the cases in\nwhich the end may be attained 'as effectually at a cheaper rate.'[408]\nThis applies to all 'dissemination of pernicious principles'; for in\nthis case reason and not force is the appropriate remedy. The sword\ninflicts more pain, and is less efficient than the pen. The argument\nraises the wider question, What are the true limits of legislative\ninterference? Bentham, in his last chapter, endeavours to answer this\nproblem. 'Private ethics,' he says, and 'legislation' aim at the same\nend, namely, happiness, and the 'acts with which they are conversant are\n_in great measure_ the same.' Why, then, should they have different\nspheres? Simply because the acts 'are not _perfectly and throughout_ the\nsame.'[409] How, then, are we to draw the line? By following the\ninvariable clue of 'utility.' We simply have to apply an analysis to\ndetermine the cases in which punishment does more harm than good. He\ninsists especially upon the cases in which punishment is 'unprofitable';\nupon such offences as drunkenness and sexual immorality, where the law\ncould only be enforced by a mischievous or impossible system of minute\nsupervision, and such offences as ingratitude or rudeness, where the\ndefinition is so vague that the judge could not safely be entrusted with\nthe power to punish.'[410] He endeavours to give a rather more precise\ndistinction by subdividing 'ethics in general' into three classes. Duty\nmay be to oneself, that is 'prudence'; or to one's neighbour negatively,\nthat is 'probity'; or to one's neighbour positively, that is\n'benevolence.'[411] Duties of the first class must be left chiefly to\nthe individual, because he is the best judge of his own interest. Duties\nof the third class again are generally too vague to be enforced by the\nlegislator, though a man ought perhaps to be punished for failing to\nhelp as well as for actually injuring. The second department of ethics,\nthat of 'probity,' is the main field for legislative activity.[412] As a\ngeneral principle, 'private ethics' teach a man how to pursue his own\nhappiness, and the art of legislation how to pursue the greatest\nhappiness of the community. It must be noticed, for the point is one of\nimportance, that Bentham's purely empirical method draws no definite\nline. It implies that no definite line can be drawn. It does not suggest\nthat any kind of conduct whatever is outside the proper province of\nlegislator except in so far as the legislative machinery may happen to\nbe inadequate or inappropriate.\n\nOur analysis has now been carried so far that we can proceed to consider\nthe principles by which we should be guided in punishing. What are the\ndesirable properties of a 'lot of punishment'? This occupies two\ninteresting chapters. Chapter xvi., 'on the proportion between\npunishments and offences,' gives twelve rules. The punishment, he urges,\nmust outweigh the profit of the offence; it must be such as to make a\nman prefer a less offence to a greater--simple theft, for example, to\nviolent robbery; it must be such that the punishment must be adaptable\nto the varying sensibility of the offender; it must be greater in\n'value' as it falls short of certainty; and, when the offence indicates\na habit, it must outweigh not only the profit of the particular offence,\nbut of the undetected offences. In chapter xvii. Bentham considers the\nproperties which fit a punishment to fulfil these conditions. Eleven\nproperties are given. The punishment must be (1) 'variable,' that is,\ncapable of adjustment to particular cases; and (2) equable, or\ninflicting equal pain by equal sentences. Thus the 'proportion' between\npunishment and crimes of a given class can be secured. In order that the\npunishments of different classes of crime may be proportional, the\npunishments should (3) be commensurable. To make punishments efficacious\nthey should be (4) 'characteristical' or impressive to the imagination;\nand that they may not be excessive they should be (5) exemplary or\nlikely to impress others, and (6) frugal. To secure minor ends they\nshould be (7) reformatory; (8) disabling, _i.e._ from future offences;\nand (9) compensatory to the sufferer. Finally, to avoid collateral\ndisadvantages they should be (10) popular, and (11) remittable. A\ntwelfth property, simplicity, was added in Dumont's redaction. Dumont\ncalls attention here to the value of Bentham's method.[413] Montesquieu\nand Beccaria had spoken in general terms of the desirable qualities of\npunishment. They had spoken of 'proportionality,' for example, but\nwithout that precise or definite meaning which appears in Bentham's\nCalculus. In fact, Bentham's statement, compared to the vaguer\nutterances of his predecessors, but still more when compared to the\nhaphazard brutalities and inconsistencies of English criminal law,\ngives the best impression of the value of his method.\n\nBentham's next step is an elaborate classification of offences, worked\nout by a further application of his bifurcatory method.[414] This would\nform the groundwork of the projected code. I cannot, however, speak of\nthis classification, or of many interesting remarks contained in the\n_Principles of Penal Law_, where some further details are considered. An\nanalysis scarcely does justice to Bentham, for it has to omit his\nillustrations and his flashes of real vivacity. The mere dry logical\nframework is not appetising. I have gone so far in order to illustrate\nthe characteristic of Bentham's teaching. It was not the bare appeal to\nutility, but the attempt to follow the clue of utility systematically\nand unflinchingly into every part of the subject. This one doctrine\ngives the touchstone by which every proposed measure is to be tested;\nand which will give to his system not such unity as arises from the\ndevelopment of an abstract logical principle, but such as is introduced\ninto the physical sciences when we are able to range all the\nindefinitely complex phenomena which arise under some simple law of\nforce. If Bentham's aim could have been achieved, 'utility' would have\nbeen in legislative theories what gravitation is in astronomical\ntheories. All human conduct being ruled by pain and pleasure, we could\ncompare all motives and actions, and trace out the consequences of any\ngiven law. I shall have hereafter to consider how this conception worked\nin different minds and was applied to different problems: what were the\ntenable results to which it led, and what were the errors caused by the\nimplied oversight of some essential considerations.\n\nCertain weaknesses are almost too obvious to be specified. He claimed to\nbe constructing a science, comparable to the physical sciences. The\nattempt was obviously chimerical if we are to take it seriously. The\nmakeshift doctrine which he substitutes for psychology would be a\nsufficient proof of the incapacity for his task. He had probably not\nread such writers as Hartley or Condillac, who might have suggested some\nostensibly systematic theory. If he had little psychology he had not\neven a conception of 'sociology.' The 'felicific calculus' is enough to\nshow the inadequacy of his method. The purpose is to enable us to\ncalculate the effects of a proposed law. You propose to send robbers to\nthe gallows or the gaol. You must, says Bentham, reckon up all the evils\nprevented: the suffering to the robbed, and to those who expect to be\nrobbed, on the one hand; and, on the other, the evils caused, the\nsuffering to the robber, and to the tax-payer who keeps the constable;\nthen strike your balance and make your law if the evils prevented exceed\nthe evils caused. Some such calculation is demanded by plain common\nsense. It points to the line of inquiry desirable. But can it be\nadequate? To estimate the utility of a law we must take into account all\nits 'effects.' What are the 'effects' of a law against robbery? They are\nall that is implied in the security of property. They correspond to the\ndifference between England in the eighteenth century and England in the\ntime of Hengist and Horsa; between a country where the supremacy of law\nis established, and a country still under the rule of the strong hand.\nBentham's method may be applicable at a given moment, when the social\nstructure is already consolidated and uniform. It would represent the\npractical arguments for establishing the police-force demanded by\nColquhoun, and show the disadvantages of the old constables and\nwatchmen. Bentham, that is, gives an admirable method for settling\ndetails of administrative and legislative machinery, and dealing with\nparticular cases when once the main principles of law and order are\nestablished. Those principles, too, may depend upon 'utility,' but\nutility must be taken in a wider sense when we have to deal with the\nfundamental questions. We must consider the 'utility' of the whole\norganisation, not the fitness of separate details. Finally, if Bentham\nis weak in psychology and in sociology, he is clearly not satisfactory\nin ethics. Morality is, according to him, on the same plane with law.\nThe difference is not in the sphere to which they apply, or in the end\nto which they are directed; but solely in the 'sanction.' The legislator\nuses threats of physical suffering; the moralist threats of 'popular'\ndisapproval. Either 'sanction' may be most applicable to a given case;\nbut the question is merely between different means to the same end under\nvarying conditions. This implies the 'external' character of Bentham's\nmorality, and explains his insistence upon the neutrality of motives. He\ntakes the average man to be a compound of certain instincts, and merely\nseeks to regulate their action by supplying 'artificial tutelary\nmotives.' The 'man' is given; the play of his instincts, separately\nneutral, makes his conduct more or less favourable to general happiness;\nand the moralist and the legislator have both to correct his deviations\nby supplying appropriate 'sanctions.' Bentham, therefore, is inclined to\nignore the intrinsic character of morality, or the dependence of a man's\nmorality upon the essential structure of his nature. He thinks of the\nsuperficial play of forces, not of their intimate constitution. The man\nis not to be changed in either case; only his circumstances. Such\ndefects no doubt diminish the value of Bentham's work. Yet, after all,\nin his own sphere they are trifles. He did very well without philosophy.\nHowever imperfect his system might be considered as a science or an\nultimate explanation of society and human nature, it was very much to\nthe point as an expression of downright common sense. Dumont's eulogy\nseems to be fully deserved, when we contrast Bentham's theory of\npunishment with the theories (if they deserve the name) of contemporary\nlegislators. His method involved a thoroughgoing examination of the\nwhole body of laws, and a resolution to apply a searching test to every\nlaw. If that test was not so unequivocal or ultimate as he fancied, it\nyet implied the constant application of such considerations as must\nalways carry weight, and, perhaps, be always the dominant\nconsiderations, with the actual legislator or jurist. What is the use of\nyou? is a question which may fairly be put to every institution and to\nevery law; and it concerns legislators to find some answer, even though\nthe meaning of the word 'use' is not so clear as we could wish.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[406] _Morals and Legislation_, ch. xii.\n\n[407] _Morals and Legislation_, ch. xiv. (a chapter inserted from\nDumont's _Traites_).\n\n[408] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. p. 86.\n\n[409] _Ibid._ i. 144.\n\n[410] _Ibid._ i. 145.\n\n[411] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 143.\n\n[412] _Ibid._ i. 147-48.\n\n[413] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i 406 _n._\n\n[414] _Works_ ('Morals and Legislation'), i. 96 _n._\n\n\nV. ENGLISH LAW\n\nThe practical value of Bentham's method is perhaps best illustrated by\nhis _Rationale of Evidence_. The composition of the papers ultimately\nput together by J. S. Mill had occupied Bentham from 1802 to 1812. The\nchanged style is significant. Nobody could write more pointedly, or with\nhappier illustrations, than Bentham in his earlier years. He afterwards\ncame to think that a didactic treatise should sacrifice every other\nvirtue to fulness and precision. To make a sentence precise, every\nqualifying clause must be somehow forced into the original formula.\nStill more characteristic is his application of what he calls the\n'substantive-preferring principle.'[415] He would rather say, 'I give\nextension to an object,' than 'I extend an object.' Where a substantive\nis employed, the idea is 'stationed upon a rock'; if only a verb, the\nidea is 'like a leaf floating on a stream.' A verb, he said,[416] 'slips\nthrough your fingers like an eel.' The principle corresponds to his\n'metaphysics.' The universe of thought is made up of a number of\nseparate 'entities' corresponding to nouns-substantive, and when these\nbundles are distinctly isolated by appropriate nouns, the process of\narranging and codifying according to the simple relations indicated by\nthe copula is greatly facilitated. The ideal language would resemble\nalgebra, in which symbols, each representing a given numerical value,\nare connected by the smallest possible number of symbols of operation,\n+, -, =, and so forth. To set two such statements side by side, or to\nmodify them by inserting different constants, is then a comparatively\neasy process, capable of being regulated by simple general rules.\nBentham's style becomes tiresome, and was often improperly called\nobscure. It requires attention, but the meaning is never doubtful--and\nto the end we have frequent flashes of the old vivacity.\n\nThe _Rationale of Evidence_, as Mill remarks,[417] is 'one of the\nrichest in matter of all Bentham's productions.' It contains, too, many\npassages in Bentham's earlier style, judiciously preserved by his young\neditor; indeed, so many that I am tempted even to call the book amusing.\nIn spite of the wearisome effort to say everything, and to force\nlanguage into the mould presented by his theory, Bentham attracts us by\nhis obvious sincerity. The arguments may be unsatisfactory, but they are\ngenuine arguments. They represent conviction; they are given because\nthey have convinced; and no reader can deny that they really tend to\nconvince. We may complain that there are too many words, and that the\nsentences are cumbrous; but the substance is always to the point. The\nmain purpose may be very briefly indicated. Bentham begins by general\nconsiderations upon evidence, in which he and his youthful editor\nindicate their general adherence to the doctrines of Hume.[418] This\nleads to an application of the methods expounded in the 'Introduction,'\nin order to show how the various motives or 'springs of action' and the\n'sanctions' based upon them may affect the trustworthiness of evidence.\nAny motive whatever may incidentally cause 'mendacity.' The second book,\ntherefore, considers what securities may be taken for 'securing\ntrustworthiness.' We have, for example, a discussion of the value of\noaths (he thinks them valueless), of the advantages and disadvantages of\nreducing evidence to writing, of interrogating witnesses, and of the\npublicity or privacy of evidence. Book iii. deals with the 'extraction\nof evidence.' We have to compare the relative advantages of oral and\nwritten evidence, the rules for cross-examining witnesses and for taking\nevidence as to their character. Book iv. deals with 'pre-appointed\nevidence,' the cases, that is, in which events are recorded at the time\nof occurrence with a view to their subsequent use as evidence. We have\nunder this head to consider the formalities which should be required in\nregard to contracts and wills; and the mode of recording judicial and\nother official decisions and registering births, deaths, and marriages.\nIn Books v. and vi. we consider two kinds of evidence which is in one\nway or other of inferior cogency, namely, 'circumstantial evidence,' in\nwhich the evidence if accepted still leaves room for a process of more\nor less doubtful inference; and 'makeshift evidence,' such evidence as\nmust sometimes be accepted for want of the best, of which the most\nconspicuous instance is 'hearsay evidence.' Book vii. deals with the\n'authentication' of evidence. Book viii. is a consideration of the\n'technical' system, that namely which was accepted by English lawyers;\nand finally Book ix. deals with a special point, namely, the exclusion\nof evidence. Bentham announces at starting[419] that he shall establish\n'one theorem' and consider two problems. The problems are: 'what\nsecurities can be taken for the truth of evidence?' and 'what rules can\nbe given for estimating the value of evidence?' The 'theorem' is that no\nevidence should be excluded with the professed intention of obtaining a\nright decision; though some must be excluded to avoid expense, vexation,\nand delay. This, therefore, as his most distinct moral, is fully treated\nin the last book.\n\nHad Bentham confined himself to a pithy statement of his leading\ndoctrines, and confirmed them by a few typical cases, he would have been\nmore effective in a literary sense. His passion for 'codification,' for\ntabulating and arranging facts in all their complexity, and for applying\nhis doctrine at full length to every case that he can imagine, makes him\nterribly prolix. On the other hand, this process no doubt strengthened\nhis own conviction and the conviction of his disciples as to the value\nof his process. Follow this clue of utility throughout the whole\nlabyrinth, see what a clear answer it offers at every point, and you\ncannot doubt that you are in possession of the true compass for such a\nnavigation. Indeed, it seems to be indisputable that Bentham's arguments\nare the really relevant and important arguments. How can we decide any\nof the points which come up for discussion? Should a witness be\ncross-examined? Should his evidence be recorded? Should a wife be\nallowed to give evidence against her husband? or the defendant to give\nevidence about his own case? These and innumerable other points can only\nbe decided by reference to what Bentham understood by 'utility.' This or\nthat arrangement is 'useful' because it enables us to get quickly and\neasily at the evidence, to take effective securities for its\ntruthfulness, to estimate its relevance and importance, to leave the\ndecision to the most qualified persons, and so forth. These points,\nagain, can only be decided by a careful appeal to experience, and by\nendeavouring to understand the ordinary play of 'motives' and\n'sanctions.' What generally makes a man lie, and how is lying to be made\nunpleasant? By rigorously fixing our minds at every point on such\nissues, we find that many questions admit of very plain answers, and are\nsurprised to discover what a mass of obscurity has been dispelled. It\nis, however, true that although the value of the method can hardly be\ndenied unless we deny the value of all experience and common sense, we\nmay dispute the degree in which it confirms the general principle. Every\nstep seems to Bentham to reflect additional light upon his primary\naxiom. Yet it is possible to hold that witnesses should be encouraged to\nspeak the truth, and that experience may help us to discover the best\nmeans to that end without, therefore, admitting the unique validity of\nthe 'greatest happiness' principle. That principle, so far as true, may\nbe itself a deduction from some higher principle; and no philosopher of\nany school would deny that 'utility' should be in some way consulted by\nthe legislator.\n\nThe book illustrates the next critical point in Bentham's system--the\ntransition from law to politics. He was writing the book at the period\nwhen the failure of the Panopticon was calling his attention to the\nwickedness of George III. and Lord Eldon, and when the English demand\nfor parliamentary reform was reviving and supplying him with a\nsympathetic audience. Now, in examining the theory of evidence upon the\nplan described, Bentham found himself at every stage in conflict with\nthe existing system, or rather the existing chaos of unintelligible\nrules. English lawyers, he discovered, had worked out a system of rules\nfor excluding evidence. Sometimes the cause was pure indolence. 'This\nman, were I to hear him,' says the English judge, 'would come out with a\nparcel of lies. It would be a plague to hear him: I have heard enough\nalready; shut the door in his face.'[420] But, as Bentham shows with\nelaborate detail, a reason for suspecting evidence is not a reason for\nexcluding it. A convicted perjurer gives evidence, and has a pecuniary\ninterest in the result. That is excellent ground for caution; but the\nfact that the man makes a certain statement may still be a help to the\nascertainment of truth. Why should that help be rejected? Bentham\nscarcely admits of any exception to the general rule of taking any\nevidence you can get--one exception being the rather curious one of\nconfession to a Catholic priest; secrecy in such cases is on the whole,\nhe thinks, useful. He exposes the confusion implied in an exclusion of\nevidence because it is not fully trustworthy, which is equivalent to\nworking in the dark because a partial light may deceive. But this is\nonly a part of a whole system of arbitrary, inconsistent, and technical\nrules worked out by the ingenuity of lawyers. Besides the direct injury\nthey gave endless opportunity for skilful manoeuvring to exclude or\nadmit evidence by adopting different forms of procedure. Rules had been\nmade by judges as they were wanted and precedents established of\ncontradictory tendency and uncertain application. Bentham contrasts the\nsimplicity of the rules deducible from 'utility' with the amazing\ncomplexity of the traditional code of technical rules. Under the\n'natural' system, that of utility, you have to deal with a quarrel\nbetween your servants or children. You send at once for the disputants,\nconfront them, take any relevant evidence, and make up your mind as to\nthe rights of the dispute. In certain cases this 'natural' procedure has\nbeen retained, as, for example, in courts-martial, where rapid decision\nwas necessary. Had the technical system prevailed, the country would\nhave been ruined in six weeks.[421] But the exposure of the technical\nsystem requires an elaborate display of intricate methods involving at\nevery step vexation, delay, and injustice. Bentham reckons up nineteen\nseparate devices employed by the courts. He describes the elaborate\nprocesses which had to be gone through before a hearing could be\nobtained; the distance of courts from the litigants; the bandying of\ncases from court to court; the chicaneries about giving notice; the\nfrequent nullification of all that had been done on account of some\ntechnical flaw; the unintelligible jargon of Latin and Law-French which\nveiled the proceedings from the public; the elaborate mysteries of\n'special pleading'; the conflict of jurisdictions, and the manufacture\nof new 'pleas' and new technical rules; the 'entanglement of\njurisdictions,' and especially the distinction between law and equity,\nwhich had made confusion doubly confounded. English law had become a\nmere jungle of unintelligible distinctions, contradictions, and cumbrous\nmethods through which no man could find his way without the guidance of\nthe initiated, and in which a long purse and unscrupulous trickery gave\nthe advantage over the poor to the rich, and to the knave over the\nhonest man. One fruitful source of all these evils was the 'judge-made'\nlaw, which Bentham henceforth never ceased to denounce. His ideal was a\ndistinct code which, when change was required, should be changed by an\navowed and intelligible process. The chaos which had grown up was the\nnatural result of the gradual development of a traditional body of law,\nin which new cases were met under cover of applying precedents from\nprevious decisions, with the help of reference to the vague body of\nunwritten or 'common law,' and of legal fictions permitting some\nnon-natural interpretation of the old formulae. It is the judges, he had\nalready said in 1792,[422] 'that make the common law. Do you know how\nthey make it? Just as a man makes laws for his dog. When your dog does\nanything you want to break him of, you wait till he does it and then\nbeat him. This is the way you make laws for your dog, and this is the\nway the judges make laws for you and me.' The 'tyranny of judge-made\nlaw' is 'the most all-comprehensive, most grinding, and most crying of\nall grievances,'[423] and is scarcely less bad than 'priest-made\nreligion.'[424] Legal fictions, according to him, are simply lies. The\npermission to use them is a 'mendacity licence.' In 'Rome-bred law ...\nfiction' is a 'wart which here and there disfigures the face of justice.\nIn English law fiction is a syphilis which runs into every vein and\ncarries into every part of the system the principle of rottenness.'[425]\n\nThe evils denounced by Bentham were monstrous. The completeness of the\nexposure was his great merit; and his reputation has suffered, as we are\ntold on competent authority, by the very efficiency of his attack. The\nworst evils are so much things of the past, that we forget the extent\nof the evil and the merits of its assailant. Bentham's diagnosis of the\nevil explains his later attitude. He attributes all the abuses to\nconsciously corrupt motives even where a sufficient explanation can be\nfound in the human stupidity and honest incapacity to look outside of\ntraditional ways of thought. He admits, indeed, the personal purity of\nEnglish judges. No English judge had ever received a bribe within living\nmemory.[426] But this, he urges, is only because the judges find it more\nprofitable as well as safer to carry out a radically corrupt system. A\nsynonym for 'technical' is 'fee-gathering.' Lawyers of all classes had a\ncommon interest in multiplying suits and complicating procedure: and\nthus a tacit partnership had grown up which he describes as 'Judge and\nCo.' He gives statistics showing that in the year 1797 five hundred and\nforty-three out of five hundred and fifty 'writs of error' were 'shams,'\nor simply vexatious contrivances for delay, and brought a profit to the\nChief Justice of over L1400.[427] Lord Eldon was always before him as\nthe typical representative of obstruction and obscurantism. In his\n_Indications respecting Lord Eldon_ (1825) he goes into details which it\nmust have required some courage to publish. Under Eldon, he says,\n'equity has become an instrument of fraud and extortion.'[428] He\ndetails the proceedings by which Eldon obtained the sanction of\nparliament for a system of fee-taking, which he had admitted to be\nillegal, and which had been denounced by an eminent solicitor as leading\nto gross corruption. Bentham intimates that the Masters in Chancery were\n'swindlers,'[429] and that Eldon was knowingly the protector and sharer\nof their profits. Romilly, who had called the Court of Chancery 'a\ndisgrace to a civilised nation,' had said that Eldon was the cause of\nmany of the abuses, and could have reformed most of the others. Erskine\nhad declared that if there was a hell, the Court of Chancery was\nhell.[430] Eldon, as Bentham himself thought, was worse than Jeffreys.\nEldon's victims had died a lingering death, and the persecutor had made\nmoney out of their sufferings. Jeffreys was openly brutal; while Eldon\ncovered his tyranny under the 'most accomplished indifference.'[431]\n\nYet Eldon was but the head of a band. Judges, barristers, and solicitors\nwere alike. The most hopeless of reforms would be to raise a\n'thorough-paced English lawyer' to the moral level of an average\nman.[432] To attack legal abuses was to attack a class combined under\nits chiefs, capable of hoodwinking parliament and suppressing open\ncriticism. The slave-traders whom Wilberforce attacked were\ncomparatively a powerless excrescence. The legal profession was in the\nclosest relations to the monarchy, the aristocracy, and the whole\nprivileged and wealthy class. They were welded into a solid 'ring.' The\nking, and his ministers who distributed places and pensions; the\nborough-mongers who sold votes for power; the clergy who looked for\nbishoprics; the monied men who aspired to rank and power, were all parts\nof a league. It was easy enough to talk of law reform. Romilly had\nproposed and even carried a 'reformatiuncle' or two;[433] but to achieve\na serious success required not victory in a skirmish or two, not the\nexposure of some abuse too palpable to be openly defended even by an\nEldon, but a prolonged war against an organised army fortified and\nentrenched in the very heart of the country.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[415] _Works_, iii. 267.\n\n[416] _Ibid._ x. 569\n\n[417] _Autobiography_, p. 116.\n\n[418] The subject is again treated in Book v. on 'Circumstantial\nEvidence.'\n\n[419] _Works_, vi. 204.\n\n[420] _Works_, vii. 391.\n\n[421] _Works_, vii. 321-25. Court-martials are hardly a happy example\nnow.\n\n[422] 'Truth _v._ Ashhurst' (1792), _Works_, v. 235.\n\n[423] _Works_ ('Codification Petition'), v. 442.\n\n[424] _Ibid._ vi. 11.\n\n[425] _Ibid._ v. 92.\n\n[426] _Works_, vii. 204, 331; ix. 143.\n\n[427] _Ibid._ vii. 214.\n\n[428] _Ibid._ v. 349.\n\n[429] _Ibid._ v. 364.\n\n[430] _Works_, v. 371.\n\n[431] _Ibid._ v. 375.\n\n[432] _Ibid._ vii. 188.\n\n[433] _Ibid._ v. 370.\n\n\nVI. RADICALISM\n\nThus Bentham, as his eyes were opened, became a Radical. The political\npurpose became dominant, although we always see that the legal abuses\nare uppermost in his mind; and that what he really seeks is a fulcrum\nfor the machinery which is to overthrow Lord Eldon. Some of the\npamphlets deal directly with the special instruments of corruption. The\n_Elements of the Art of Packing_ shows how the crown managed to have a\npermanent body of special 'jurors' at its disposal. The 'grand and\nparamount use'[434] of this system was to crush the liberty of the\npress. The obscure law of libel, worked by judges in the interest of the\ngovernment, enabled them to punish any rash Radical for 'hurting the\nfeelings' of the ruling classes, and to evade responsibility by help of\na 'covertly pensioned' and servile jury. The pamphlet, though tiresomely\nminute and long-winded, contained too much pointed truth to be published\nat the time. The _Official Aptitude minimised_ contains a series of\nattacks upon the system of patronage and pensions by which the machinery\nof government was practically worked. In the _Catechism_ of reformers,\nwritten in 1809, Bentham began the direct application of his theories to\nthe constitution; and the final and most elaborate exposition of these\nforms the _Constitutional Code_, which was the main work of his later\nyears. This book excited the warmest admiration of Bentham's\ndisciples.[435] J. S. Mill speaks of its 'extraordinary power ... of at\nonce seizing comprehensive principles and scheming out minute details,'\nand of its 'surpassing intellectual vigour.' Nor, indeed, will any one\nbe disposed to deny that it is a singular proof of intellectual\nactivity, when we remember that it was begun when the author was over\nseventy, and that he was still working at eighty-four.[436] In this book\nBentham's peculiarities of style reach their highest development, and it\ncannot be recommended as light reading. Had Bentham been a mystical\nphilosopher, he would, we may conjecture, have achieved a masterpiece of\nunintelligibility which all his followers would have extolled as\ncontaining the very essence of his teaching. His method condemned him to\nbe always intelligible, however crabbed and elaborate. Perhaps, however,\nthe point which strikes one most is the amazing simple-mindedness of the\nwhole proceeding. Bentham's light-hearted indifference to the\ndistinction between paper constitutions and operative rules of conduct\nbecomes almost pathetic.\n\nBentham was clearly the victim of a common delusion. If a system will\nwork, the minutest details can be exhibited. Therefore, it is inferred,\nan exhibition of minute detail proves that it will work. Unfortunately,\nthe philosophers of Laputa would have had no more difficulty in filling\nup details than the legislators of England or the United States. When\nBentham had settled in his 'Radical Reform Bill'[437] that the\n'voting-box' was to be a double cube of cast-iron, with a slit in the\nlid, into which cards two inches by one, white on one side and black on\nthe other, could be inserted, he must have felt that he had got very\nnear to actual application: he can picture the whole operation and\nnobody can say that the scheme is impracticable for want of working\nplans of the machinery. There will, doubtless, be no difficulty in\nsettling the shape of the boxes, when we have once agreed to have the\nballot. But a discussion of such remote details of Utopia is of\nincomparably less real interest than the discussion in the _Rationale of\nEvidence_ of points, which, however minute, were occurring every day,\nand which were really in urgent need of the light of common sense.\n\nBentham's general principles may be very simply stated. They are, in\nfact, such as were suggested by his view of legal grievances. Why, when\nhe had demonstrated that certain measures would contribute to the\n'greatest happiness of the greatest number,' were they not at once\nadopted? Because the rulers did not desire the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number. This, in Bentham's language, is to say that they were\ngoverned by a 'sinister interest.' Their interest was that of their\nclass, not that of the nation; they aimed at the greatest happiness of\nsome, not at the greatest happiness of all. A generalisation of this\nremark gives us the first axioms of all government. There are two\nprimary principles: the 'self-preference' principle, in virtue of which\nevery man always desires his own greatest happiness'; and the 'greatest\nhappiness' principle, in virtue of which 'the right and proper end' of\ngovernment is the 'greatest happiness of the greatest number.'[438] The\n'actual end' of every government, again, is the greatest happiness of\nthe governors. Hence the whole problem is to produce a coincidence of\nthe two ends, by securing an identity of interest between governors and\ngoverned. To secure that we have only to identify the two classes or to\nput the government in the hands of all.[439] In a monarchy, the ruler\naims at the interest of one--himself; in a 'limited monarchy' the aim is\nat the happiness of the king and the small privileged class; in a\ndemocracy, the end is the right one--the greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number. This is a short cut to all constitutional questions.\nProbably it has occurred in substance to most youthful members of\ndebating societies. Bentham's confidence in his logic lifts him above\nany appeal to experience; and he occasionally reminds us of the proof\ngiven in _Martin Chuzzlewit_ that the queen must live in the Tower of\nLondon. The 'monarch,' as he observes,[440] 'is naturally the very\nworst--the most maleficent member of the whole community.' Wherever an\naristocracy differs from the democracy, their judgment will be\nerroneous.[441] The people will naturally choose 'morally apt agents,'\nand men who wish to be chosen will desire truly to become 'morally apt,'\nfor they can only recommend themselves by showing their desire to serve\nthe general interest.[442] 'All experience testifies to this theory,'\nthough the evidence is 'too bulky' to be given. Other proofs, however,\nmay at once be rendered superfluous by appealing to 'the uninterrupted\nand most notorious experience of the United States.'[443] To that happy\ncountry he often appeals indeed[444] as a model government. In it, there\nis no corruption, no useless expenditure, none of the evils illustrated\nby our 'matchless constitution.'\n\nThe constitution deduced from these principles has at least the merit of\nsimplicity. We are to have universal suffrage, annual parliaments, and\nvote by ballot. He inclines to give a vote to women.[445] There is to be\nno king, no house of peers, no established church. Members of parliament\nare not to be re-eligible, till after an interval. Elaborate rules\nprovide for their regular attendance and exclusive devotion to their\nmasters' business. They are to be simply 'deputies,' not\n'representatives.' They elect a prime minister who holds office for four\nyears. Officials are to be appointed by a complex plan of competitive\nexamination; and they are to be invited to send in tenders for doing the\nwork at diminished salary. When once in office, every care is taken for\ntheir continual inspection by the public and the verification of their\naccounts. They are never for an instant to forget that they are\nservants, not the masters, of the public.\n\nBentham, of course, is especially minute and careful in regard to the\njudicial organisation--a subject upon which he wrote much, and much to\nthe purpose. The functions and fees of advocates are to be narrowly\nrestricted, and advocates to be provided gratuitously for the poor. They\nare not to become judges: to make a barrister a judge is as sensible as\nit would be to select a procuress for mistress of a girls' school.[446]\nJudges should be everywhere accessible: always on duty, too busy to have\ntime for corruption, and always under public supervision. One\ncharacteristic device is his quasi-jury. The English system of requiring\nunanimity was equivalent to enforcing perjury by torture. Its utility as\na means of resisting tyranny would disappear when tyranny had become\nimpossible. But public opinion might be usefully represented by a\n'quasi-jury' of three or five, who should not pronounce a verdict, but\nwatch the judge, interrogate, if necessary, and in case of need demand a\nrehearing. Judges, of course, were no longer to make law, but to propose\namendments in the 'Pannomion' or universal code, when new cases arose.\n\nHis leading principle may be described in one word as 'responsibility,'\nor expressed in his leading rule, 'Minimise Confidence.'[447] 'All\ngovernment is in itself one vast evil.'[448] It consists in applying\nevil to exclude worse evil. Even 'to reward is to punish,'[449] when\nreward is given by government. The less government, then, the better;\nbut as governors are a necessary evil, they must be limited by every\npossible device to the sole legitimate aim, and watched at every turn by\nthe all-seeing eye of public opinion. Every one must admit that this is\nan application of a sound principle, and that one condition of good\ngovernment is the diffusion of universal responsibility. It must be\nadmitted, too, that Bentham's theory represents a vigorous embodiment\nand unflinching application of doctrines which since his time have\nspread and gained more general authority. Mill says that granting one\nassumption, the Constitutional Code is 'admirable.'[450] That assumption\nis that it is for the good of mankind to be under the absolute authority\nof a majority. In other words, it would justify what Mill calls the\n'despotism of public opinion.' To protest against that despotism was one\nof the main purposes of Mill's political writings. How was it that the\ndisciple came to be in such direct opposition to his master? That\nquestion cannot be answered till we have considered Mill's own position.\nBut I have now followed Bentham far enough to consider the more general\ncharacteristics of his doctrine.\n\nI have tried, in the first place, to show what was the course of\nBentham's own development; how his observation of certain legal abuses\nled him to attempt the foundation of a science of jurisprudence; how the\ndifficulty of obtaining a hearing for his arguments led him to discover\nthe power of 'Judge and Co.'; how he found out that behind 'Judge and\nCo.' were George III. and the base Sidmouth, and the whole band of\nobstructors entrenched within the 'matchless constitution'; and how thus\nhis attack upon the abuses of the penal law led him to attack the whole\npolitical framework of the country. I have also tried to show how\nBentham's development coincided with that of the English reformers\ngenerally. They too began with attacking specific abuses. They were for\n'reform, not revolution.' The constitution satisfied them in the main:\nthey boasted of the palladia of their liberties, 'trial by jury' and the\n'Habeas Corpus' Act, and held Frenchmen to be frog-eating slaves in\ndanger of _lettres de cachet_ and the Bastille. English public opinion\nin spite of many trammels had a potent influence. Their first impulse,\ntherefore, was simply to get rid of the trammels--the abuses which had\ngrown up from want of a thorough application of the ancient principles\nin their original purity. The English Whig, even of the more radical\npersuasion, was profoundly convinced that the foundations were sound,\nhowever unsatisfactory might be the superstructure. Thus, both Bentham\nand the reformers generally started--not from abstract principles, but\nfrom the assault upon particular abuses. This is the characteristic of\nthe whole English movement, and gives the meaning of their claim to be\n'practical.' The Utilitarians were the reformers on the old lines; and\ntheir philosophy meant simply a desire to systematise the ordinary\ncommon sense arguments. The philosophy congenial to this vein is the\nphilosophy which appeals to experience. Locke had exploded 'innate\nideas.' They denounced 'intuitions,' or beliefs which might override\nexperience as 'innate ideas' in a new dress; and the attempt to carry\nout this view systematically became the distinctive mark of the whole\nschool. Bentham accepted, though he did little to elaborate, this\ndoctrine. That task remained for his disciples. But the tendency is\nshown by his view of a rival version of Radicalism.\n\nBentham, as we have seen, regarded the American Declaration of\nIndependence as so much 'jargon.' He was entirely opposed to the theory\nof the 'rights of man,' and therefore to the 'ideas of 1789.' From that\ntheory the revolutionary party professed to deduce their demands for\nuniversal suffrage, the levelling of all privileges, and the absolute\nsupremacy of the people. Yet Bentham, repudiating the premises, came to\naccept the conclusion. His Constitutional Code scarcely differs from the\nideal of the Jacobins', except in pushing the logic further. The\nmachinery by which he proposed to secure that the so-called rulers\nshould become really the servants of the people was more thoroughgoing\nand minutely worked out than that of any democratic constitution that\nhas ever been adopted. How was it that two antagonist theories led to\nidentical results; and that the 'rights of man,' absurd in philosophy,\nrepresented the ideal state of things in practice?\n\nThe general answer may be that political theories are not really based\nupon philosophy. The actual method is to take your politics for granted\non the one side and your philosophy for granted on the other, and then\nto prove their necessary connection. But it is, at any rate, important\nto see what was the nature of the philosophical assumptions implicitly\ntaken for granted by Bentham.\n\nThe 'rights of man' doctrine confounds a primary logical canon with a\nstatement of fact. Every political theory must be based upon facts as\nwell as upon logic. Any reasonable theory about politics must no doubt\ngive a reason for inequality and a reason, too, for equality. The maxim\nthat all men were, or ought to be, 'equal' asserts correctly that there\nmust not be arbitrary differences. Every inequality should have its\njustification in a reasonable system. But when this undeniable logical\ncanon is taken to prove that men actually are equal, there is an obvious\nbegging of the question. In point of fact, the theorists immediately\nproceeded to disfranchise half the race on account of sex, and a third\nof the remainder on account of infancy. They could only amend the\nargument by saying that all men were equal in so far as they possessed\ncertain attributes. But those attributes could only be determined by\nexperience, or, as Bentham would have put it, by an appeal to 'utility.'\nIt is illogical, said the anti-slavery advocate, to treat men\ndifferently on account of the colour of their skins. No doubt it is\nillogical if, in fact, the difference of colour does not imply a\ndifference of the powers which fit a man for the enjoyment of certain\nrights. We may at least grant that the burden of proof should be upon\nthose who would disfranchise all red-haired men. But this is because\nexperience shows that the difference of colour does not mark a relevant\ndifference. We cannot say, _a priori_, whether the difference between a\nnegro and a white man may not be so great as to imply incapacity for\nenjoyment of equal rights. The black skin might--for anything a mere\nlogician can say--indicate the mind of a chimpanzee. The case against\nslavery does not rest on the bare fact that negroes and whites both\nbelong to the class 'man,' but on the fact that the negro has powers and\nsensibilities which fit him to hold property, to form marriages, to\nlearn his letters, and so forth. But that fact is undeniably to be\nproved, not from the bare logic, but from observation of the particular\ncase.\n\nBentham saw with perfect clearness that sound political theory requires\na basis of solid fact. The main purpose of his whole system was to carry\nout that doctrine thoroughly. His view is given vigorously in the\n'Anarchical Fallacies'--a minute examination of the French Declaration\nof Rights in 1791. His argument is of merciless length, and occasionally\nso minute as to sound like quibbling. The pith, however, is clear\nenough. 'All men are born and remain free and equal in respect of\nrights' are the first words of the Declaration. Nobody is 'born free,'\nretorts Bentham. Everybody is born, and long remains, a helpless child.\nAll men born free! Absurd and miserable nonsense! Why, you are\ncomplaining in the same breath that nearly everybody is a slave.[451] To\nmeet this objection, the words might be amended by substituting 'ought\nto be' for 'is.' This, however, on Bentham's showing, at once introduces\nthe conception of utility, and therefore leads to empirical\nconsiderations. The proposition, when laid down as a logical necessity,\nclaims to be absolute. Therefore it implies that all authority is bad;\nthe authority, for example, of parent over child, or of husband over\nwife; and moreover, that all laws to the contrary are _ipso facto_ void.\nThat is why it is 'anarchical.' It supposes a 'natural right,' not only\nas suggesting reasons for proposed alterations of the legal right, but\nas actually annihilating the right and therefore destroying all\ngovernment. '_Natural rights_,' says Bentham,[452] is simple nonsense;\nnatural and imprescriptible rights 'rhetorical nonsense--nonsense upon\nstilts.' For 'natural right' substitute utility, and you have, of\ncourse, a reasonable principle, because an appeal to experience. But lay\ndown 'liberty' as an absolute right and you annihilate law, for every\nlaw supposes coercion. One man gets liberty simply by restricting the\nliberty of others.[453] What Bentham substantially says, therefore, is\nthat on this version absolute rights of individuals could mean nothing\nbut anarchy; or that no law can be defended except by a reference to\nfacts, and therefore to 'utility.'\n\nOne answer might be that the demand is not for absolute liberty, but for\nas much liberty as is compatible with equal liberty for all. The fourth\narticle of the Declaration says: 'Liberty consists in being able to do\nthat which is not hurtful to another, and therefore the exercise of the\nnatural rights of each man has no other bounds than those which ensure\nto the other members of the society the enjoyment of the same rights.'\nThis formula corresponds to a theory held by Mr. Herbert Spencer; and,\nas he observes,[454] held on different grounds by Kant. Bentham's view,\nindicated by his criticism of this article in the 'Anarchical\nFallacies,' is therefore worth a moment's notice. The formula does not\ndemand the absolute freedom which would condemn all coercion and all\ngovernment; but it still seems to suggest that liberty, not utility, is\nthe ultimate end. Bentham's formula, therefore, diverges. All\ngovernment, he holds, is an evil, because coercion implies pain. We must\ntherefore minimise, though we cannot annihilate, government; but we must\nkeep to utility as the sole test. Government should, of course, give to\nthe individual all such rights as are 'useful'; but it does not follow,\nwithout a reference to utility, that men should not be restrained even\nin 'self-regarding' conduct. Some men, women, and children require to be\nprotected against the consequences of their own 'weakness, ignorance, or\nimprudence.'[455] Bentham adheres, that is, to the strictly empirical\nground. The absolute doctrine requires to be qualified by a reference to\nactual circumstances: and, among those circumstances, as Bentham\nintimates, we must include the capacity of the persons concerned to\ngovern themselves. Carried out as an absolute principle, it would imply\nthe independence of infants; and must therefore require some reference\nto 'utility.'\n\nBentham, then, objects to the Jacobin theory as too absolute and too\n'individualist.' The doctrine begs the question; it takes for granted\nwhat can only be proved by experience; and therefore lays down as\nabsolute theories which are only true under certain conditions or with\nreference to the special circumstances to which they are applied. That\nis inconsistent with Bentham's thoroughgoing empiricism. But he had\nantagonists to meet upon the other side: and, in meeting them, he was\nled to a doctrine which has been generally condemned for the very same\nfaults--as absolute and individualist. We have only to ask in what sense\nBentham appealed to 'experience' to see how he actually reached his\nconclusions. The adherents of the old tradition appealed to experience\nin their own way. The English people, they said, is the freest, richest,\nhappiest in the world; it has grown up under the British Constitution:\ntherefore the British Constitution is the best in the world, as Burke\ntells you, and the British common law, as Blackstone tells you, is the\n'perfection of wisdom.' Bentham's reply was virtually that although he,\nlike Burke, appealed to experience, he appealed to experience\nscientifically organised, whereas Burke appealed to mere blind\ntradition. Bentham is to be the founder of a new science, founded like\nchemistry on experiment, and his methods are to be as superior to those\nof Burke as those of modern chemists to those of the alchemists who also\ninvoked experience. The true plan was not to throw experience aside\nbecause it was alleged by the ignorant and the prejudiced, but to\ninterrogate experience systematically, and so to become the Bacon or the\nNewton of legislation, instead of wandering off into the _a priori_\nconstructions of a Descartes or a Leibniz.\n\nBentham thus professes to use an 'inductive' instead of the deductive\nmethod of the Jacobins; but reaches the same practical conclusions from\nthe other end. The process is instructive. He objected to the existing\ninequalities, not as inequalities simply, but as mischievous\ninequalities. He, as well as the Jacobins, would admit that inequality\nrequired justification; and he agreed with them that, in this case,\nthere was no justification. The existing privileges did not promote the\n'greatest happiness of the greatest number.' The attack upon the\n'Anarchical Fallacies' must be taken with the _Book of Fallacies_, and\nthe _Book of Fallacies_ is a sustained and vigorous, though a curiously\ncumbrous, assault upon the Conservative arguments. Its pith may be found\nin Sydney Smith's _Noodle's Oration_; but it is itself well worth\nreading by any one who can recognise really admirable dialectical power,\nand forgive a little crabbedness of style in consideration of genuine\nintellectual vigour. I only notice Bentham's assault upon the 'wisdom of\nour ancestors.' After pointing out how much better we are entitled to\njudge now that we have got rid of so many superstitions, and have\nlearned to read and write, he replies to the question, 'Would you have\nus speak and act as if we never had any ancestors?' 'By no means,' he\nreplies; 'though their opinions were of little value, their practice is\nworth attending to; but chiefly because it shows the bad consequences of\ntheir opinions.' 'From foolish opinion comes foolish conduct; from\nfoolish conduct the severest disaster; and from the severest disaster\nthe most useful warning. It is from the folly, not from the wisdom, of\nour ancestors that we have so much to learn.'[456] Bentham has become an\n'ancestor,' and may teach us by his errors. Pointed and vigorous as is\nhis exposure of many of the sophistries by which Conservatives defended\ngross abuses and twisted the existence of any institution into an\nargument for its value, we get some measure from this of Bentham's view\nof history. In attacking an abuse, he says, we have a right to inquire\ninto the utility of any and every arrangement. The purpose of a court of\njustice is to decide litigation; it has to ascertain facts and apply\nrules: does it then ascertain facts by the methods most conducive to the\ndiscovery of truth? Are the rules needlessly complex, ambiguous,\ncalculated to give a chance to knaves, or to the longest purse? If so,\nundoubtedly they are mischievous. Bentham had done inestimable service\nin stripping away all the disguises and technical phrases which had\nevaded the plain issue, and therefore made of the laws an unintelligible\nlabyrinth. He proceeded to treat in the same way of government\ngenerally. Does it work efficiently for its professed ends? Is it worked\nin the interests of the nation, or of a special class, whose interests\nconflict with those of the nation? He treated, that is, of government as\na man of business might investigate a commercial undertaking. If he\nfound that clerks were lazy, ignorant, making money for themselves, or\nbullying and cheating the customers, he would condemn the management.\nBentham found the 'matchless constitution' precisely in this state. He\ncondemned political institutions worked for the benefit of a class, and\nleading, especially in legal matters, to endless abuses and chicanery.\nThe abuses everywhere imply 'inequality' in some sense; for they arise\nfrom monopoly. The man who holds a sinecure, or enjoys a privilege, uses\nit for his own private interest. The 'matter of corruption,' as Bentham\ncalled it, was provided by the privilege and the sinecure. The Jacobin\nmight denounce privileges simply as privileges, and Bentham denounce\nthem because they were used by the privileged class for corrupt\npurposes. So far, Bentham and the Jacobins were quite at one. It\nmattered little to the result which argument they preferred to use, and\nwithout doubt they had a very strong case, and did in fact express a\ndemand for justice and for a redress of palpable evils. The difference\nseems to be that in one case the appeal is made in the name of justice\nand equality; in the other case, in the name of benevolence and utility.\n\nThe important point here, however, is to understand Bentham's implicit\nassumptions. J. S. Mill, in criticising his master, points out very\nforcibly the defects arising from Bentham's attitude to history. He\nsimply continued, as Mill thinks, the hostility with which the critical\nor destructive school of the eighteenth century regarded their\nancestors. To the revolutionary party history was a record of crimes and\nfollies and of little else. The question will meet us again; and here it\nis enough to ask what is the reason of his tacit implication of\nBentham's position. Bentham's whole aim, as I have tried to show, was to\nbe described as the construction of a science of legislation. The\nscience, again, was to be purely empirical. It was to rest throughout\nupon the observation of facts. That aim--an admirable aim--runs through\nhis whole work and that of his successors. I have noticed, indeed, how\neasily Bentham took for granted that his makeshift classification of\ncommon motives amounted to a scientific psychology. A similar assumption\nthat a rough sketch of a science is the same thing as its definite\nconstitution is characteristic of the Utilitarians in general. A\nscientific spirit is most desirable; but the Utilitarians took a very\nshort cut to scientific certainty. Though appealing to experience, they\nreach formulae as absolute as any 'intuitionist' could desire. What is\nthe logical process implied? To constitute an empirical science is to\nshow that the difference between different phenomena is due simply to\n'circumstances.' The explanation of the facts becomes sufficient when\nthe 'law' can be stated, as that of a unit of constant properties placed\nin varying positions. This corresponds to the procedure in the physical\nsciences, where the ultimate aim is to represent all laws as\ncorresponding to the changes of position of uniform atoms. In social and\npolitical changes the goal is the same. J. S. Mill states in the end of\nhis _Autobiography_[457] that one main purpose of his writing was to\nshow that 'differences between individuals, races, or sexes' are due to\n'differences in circumstances.' In fact, this is an aim so\ncharacteristic from the beginning of the whole school, that it may be\nput down almost as a primary postulate. It was not, indeed, definitely\nformulated; but to 'explain' a social theorem was taken to be the same\nthing as to show how differences of character or conduct could be\nexplained by 'circumstance'--meaning by 'circumstance' something not\ngiven in the agent himself. We have, however, no more right as good\nempiricists to assert than to deny that all difference comes from\n'circumstance.' If we take 'man' as a constant quantity in our\nspeculations, it requires at least a great many precautions before we\ncan assume that our abstract entity corresponds to a real concrete unit.\nOtherwise we have a short cut to a doctrine of 'equality.' The theory of\n'the rights of man' lays down the formula, and assumes that the facts\nwill correspond. The Utilitarian assumes the equality of fact, and of\ncourse brings out an equally absolute formula. 'Equality,' in some\nsense, is introduced by a side wind, though not explicitly laid down as\nan axiom.[458] This underlying tendency may partly explain the\ncoincidence of results--though it would require a good many\nqualifications in detail; but here I need only take Bentham's more or\nless unconscious application.\n\nBentham's tacit assumption, in fact, is that there is an average 'man.'\nDifferent specimens of the race, indeed, may vary widely according to\nage, sex, and so forth; but, for purposes of legislation, he may serve\nas a unit. We can assume that he has on the average certain qualities\nfrom which his actions in the mass can be determined with sufficient\naccuracy, and we are tempted to assume that they are mainly the\nqualities obvious to an inhabitant of Queen's Square Place about the\nyear 1800. Mill defends Bentham against the charge that he assumed his\ncodes to be good for all men everywhere. To that, says Mill,[459] the\nessay upon the 'Influence of Time and Place in Matters of Legislation'\nis a complete answer. Yet Mill[460] admits in the same breath that\nBentham omitted all reference to 'national character.' In fact, as we\nhave seen, Bentham was ready to legislate for Hindoostan as well as for\nhis own parish; and to make codes not only for England, Spain, and\nRussia, but for Morocco. The Essay mentioned really explains the point.\nBentham not only admitted but asserted as energetically as became an\nempiricist, that we must allow for 'circumstances'; and circumstances\ninclude not only climate and so forth, but the varying beliefs and\ncustoms of the people under consideration. The real assumption is that\nall such circumstances are superficial, and can be controlled and\naltered indefinitely by the 'legislator.' The Moor, the Hindoo, and the\nEnglishman are all radically identical; and the differences which must\nbe taken into account for the moment can be removed by judicious means.\nWithout pausing to illustrate this from the Essay, I may remark that for\nmany purposes such an assumption is justifiable and guides ordinary\ncommon sense. If we ask what would be the best constitution for a\ncommercial company, or the best platform for a political party, we can\nform a fair guess by arguing from the average of Bentham and his\ncontemporaries--especially if we are shrewd attornies or political\nwirepullers. Only we are not therefore in a position to talk about the\n'science of human nature' or to deal with problems of 'sociology.' This,\nhowever, gives Bentham's 'individualism' in a sense of the phrase\nalready explained. He starts from the 'ready-made man,' and deduces all\ninstitutions or legal arrangements from his properties. I have tried to\nshow how naturally this view fell in with the ordinary political\nconceptions of the time. It shows, again, why Bentham disregards\nhistory. When we have such a science, empirical or _a priori_, history\nis at most of secondary importance. We can deduce all our maxims of\nconduct from the man himself as he is before us. History only shows how\nterribly he blundered in the pre-scientific period. The blunders may\ngive us a hint here and there. Man was essentially the same in the first\nand the eighteenth century, and the differences are due to the clumsy\ndevices which he made by rule of thumb. We do not want to refer to them\nnow, except as illustrations of errors. We may remark how difficult it\nwas to count before the present notation was invented; but when it has\nonce been invented, we may learn to use it without troubling our heads\nabout our ancestors' clumsy contrivances for doing without it. This\nleads to the real shortcoming. There is a point at which the historical\nview becomes important--the point, namely, where it is essential to\nremember that man is not a ready-made article, but the product of a long\nand still continuing 'evolution.' Bentham's attack (in the _Fragment_)\nupon the 'social contract' is significant. He was, no doubt, perfectly\nright in saying that an imaginary contract could add no force to the\nultimate grounds for the social union. Nobody would now accept the\nfiction in that stage. And yet the 'social contract' may be taken to\nrecognise a fact; namely, that the underlying instincts upon which\nsociety alternately rests correspond to an order of reasons from those\nwhich determine more superficial relations. Society is undoubtedly\nuseful, and its utility may be regarded as its ground. But the utility\nof society means much more than the utility of a railway company or a\nclub, which postulates as existing a whole series of already established\ninstitutions. To Bentham an 'utility' appeared to be a kind of permanent\nand ultimate entity which is the same at all periods--it corresponds to\na psychological currency of constant value. To show, therefore, that the\nsocial contract recognises 'utility' is to show that the whole organism\nis constructed just as any particular part is constructed. Man comes\nfirst and 'society' afterwards. I have already noticed how this applies\nto his statements about the utility of a law; how his argument assumes\nan already constituted society, and seems to overlook the difference\nbetween the organic law upon which all order essentially depends, and\nsome particular modification or corollary which may be superinduced. We\nnow have to notice the political version of the same method. The 'law,'\naccording to Bentham, is a rule enforced by a 'sanction.' The imposer of\nthe rule in the phrase which Hobbes had made famous is the 'sovereign.'\nHobbes was a favourite author, indeed, of the later Utilitarians, though\nBentham does not appear to have studied him. The relation is one of\nnatural affinity. When in the _Constitutional Code_ Bentham transfers\nthe 'sovereignty' from the king to the 'people,'[461] he shows the\nexact difference between his doctrine and that of the _Leviathan_. Both\nthinkers are absolutists in principle, though Hobbes gives to a monarch\nthe power which Bentham gives to a democracy. The attributes remain\nthough their subject is altered. The 'sovereign,' in fact, is the\nkeystone of the whole Utilitarian system. He represents the ultimate\nsource of all authority, and supplies the motive for all obedience. As\nHobbes put it, he is a kind of mortal God.\n\nMill's criticism of Bentham suggests the consequences. There are, he\nsays,[462] three great questions: What government is for the good of the\npeople? How are they to be induced to obey it? How is it to be made\nresponsible? The third question, he says, is the only one seriously\nconsidered by Bentham; and Bentham's answer, we have seen, leads to that\n'tyranny of the majority' which was Mill's great stumbling-block. Why,\nthen, does Bentham omit the other questions? or rather, how would he\nanswer them? for he certainly assumes an answer. People, in the first\nplace, are 'induced to obey' by the sanctions. They don't rob that they\nmay not go to prison. That is a sufficient answer at a given moment. It\nassumes, indeed, that the law will be obeyed. The policeman, the gaoler,\nand the judge will do what the sovereign--whether despot or\nlegislature--orders them to do. The jurist may naturally take this for\ngranted. He does not go 'behind the law.' That is the law which the\nsovereign has declared to be the law. In that sense, the sovereign is\nomnipotent. He can, as a fact, threaten evildoers with the gallows; and\nthe jurist simply takes the fact for granted, and assumes that the\ncoercion is an ultimate fact. No doubt it is ultimate for the individual\nsubject. The immediate restraint is the policeman, and we need not ask\nupon what does the policeman depend. If, however, we persist in asking,\nwe come to the historical problems which Bentham simply omits. The law\nitself, in fact, ultimately rests upon 'custom,'--upon the whole system\nof instincts, beliefs, and passions which induce people to obey\ngovernment, and are, so to speak, the substance out of which loyalty and\nrespect for the law is framed. These, again, are the product of an\nindefinitely long elaboration, which Bentham takes for granted. He\nassumes as perfectly natural and obvious that a number of men should\nmeet, as the Americans or Frenchmen met, and create a constitution. That\nthe possibility of such a proceeding involves centuries of previous\ntraining does not occur to him. It is assumed that the constitution can\nbe made out of hand, and this assumption is of the highest importance,\nnot only historically, but for immediate practice. Mill assumes too\neasily that Bentham has secured responsibility. Bentham assumes that an\ninstitution will work as it is intended to work--perhaps the commonest\nerror of constitution-mongers. If the people use the instruments which\nhe provides, they have a legal method for enforcing obedience. To infer\nthat they will do so is to infer that all the organic instincts will\noperate precisely as he intends; that each individual, for example, will\nform an independent opinion upon legislative questions, vote for men who\nwill apply his opinions, and see that his representatives perform his\nbidding honestly. That they should do so is essential to his scheme; but\nthat they will do so is what he takes for granted. He assumes, that is,\nthat there is no need for inquiring into the social instincts which lie\nbeneath all political action. You can make your machine and assume the\nmoving force. That is the natural result of considering political and\nlegislative problems without taking into account the whole character of\nthe human materials employed in the construction. Bentham's sovereign is\nthus absolute. He rules by coercion, as a foreign power may rule by the\nsword in a conquered province. Thus, force is the essence of government,\nand it is needless to go further. To secure the right application of the\nforce, we have simply to distribute it among the subjects. Government\nstill means coercion, and ultimately nothing else; but then, as the\nsubjects are simply moved by their own interests, that is, by utility,\nthey will apply the power to secure those interests. Therefore, all that\nis wanted is this distribution, and Mill's first problem, What\ngovernment is for the good of the people? is summarily answered. The\nquestion, how obedience is to be secured, is evaded by confining the\nanswer to the 'sanctions,' and taking for granted that the process of\ndistributing power is perfectly simple, or that a new order can be\nintroduced as easily as parliament can pass an act for establishing a\nnew police in London. The 'social contract' is abolished; but it is\ntaken for granted that the whole power of the sovereign can be\ndistributed, and rules made for its application by the common sense of\nthe various persons interested. Finally, the one bond outside of the\nindividual is the sovereign. He represents all that holds society\ntogether; his 'sanctions,' as I have said, are taken to be on the same\nplane with the 'moral sanctions'--not dependent upon them, but other\nmodes of applying similar motives. As the sovereign, again, is in a\nsense omnipotent, and yet can be manufactured, so to speak, by voluntary\narrangements among the individual members of society, there is no limit\nto the influence which he may exercise. I note, indeed, that I am\nspeaking rather of the tendencies of the theory than of definitely\nformulated conclusions. Most of the Utilitarians were exceedingly\nshrewd, practical people, whose regard for hard facts imposed limits\nupon their speculations. They should have been the last people to\nbelieve too implicitly in the magical efficacy of political\ncontrivances, for they were fully aware that many men are knaves and\nmost men fools. They probably put little faith in Bentham's Utopia,\nexcept as a remote ideal, and an ideal of unimaginative minds. The\nUtopia was constructed on 'individualist' principles, because common\nsense naturally approves individualism. The whole social and political\norder is clearly the sum of the individuals, who combine to form an\naggregate; and theories about social bonds take one to the mystical and\nsentimental. The absolute tendency is common to Bentham and the\nJacobins. Whether the individual be taken as a unit of constant\nproperties, or as the subject of absolute rights, we reach equally\nabsolute conclusions. When all the social and political regulations are\nregarded as indefinitely modifiable, the ultimate laws come to depend\nupon the absolute framework of unalterable fact. This, again, is often\nthe right point of view for immediate questions in which we may take for\ngranted that the average individual is in fact constant; and, as I have\nsaid in regard to Bentham's legislative process, leads to very relevant\nand important, though not ultimate, questions. But there are certain\nother results which require to be noticed. 'Individualism,' like other\nwords that have become watchwords of controversy, has various shades of\nmeaning, and requires a little more definition.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[434] _Works_, v. 97, etc.\n\n[435] See preface to _Constitutional Code_ in vol. ix.\n\n[436] Bentham's nephew, George, who died when approaching his\neighty-fourth birthday, devoted the last twenty-five years of his life\nwith equal assiduity to his _Genera Plantarum_. See a curious anecdote\nof his persistence in the _Dictionary of National Biography_.\n\n[437] _Works_, iii. 573.\n\n[438] _Works_, ix. 5, 8.\n\n[439] The theory, as Mill reminds us, had been very pointedly\nanticipated by Helvetius. Bentham's practical experience, however, had\nforced it upon his attention.\n\n[440] _Works_, ix. 141. The general principle, however, is confirmed by\nthe case of George III.\n\n[441] _Ibid._ ix. 45.\n\n[442] _Ibid._ ix. 98.\n\n[443] _Works_, ix. 98.\n\n[444] e.g. _Ibid._ ix. 38, 50, 63, 99, etc.\n\n[445] _Ibid._ ('Plan of Parliamentary Reform,') iii. 463.\n\n[446] _Works_, ix. 594.\n\n[447] _Ibid._ ix. 62.\n\n[448] _Ibid._ ix. 24.\n\n[449] _Ibid._ ix. 48.\n\n[450] _Dissertations_, i. 377.\n\n[451] _Works_, ii. 497.\n\n[452] _Ibid._ ii. 501.\n\n[453] _Ibid._ ii. 503.\n\n[454] _Justice_, p. 264; so Price, in his _Observations on Liberty_,\nlays it down that government is never to entrench upon private liberty,\n'except so far as private liberty entrenches on the liberty of others.'\n\n[455] _Works_, ii. 506.\n\n[456] _Works_, ii. 401.\n\n[457] _Autobiography_, p. 274.\n\n[458] Hobbes, in the _Leviathan_ (chap. xiii.), has in the same way to\nargue for the _de facto_ equality of men.\n\n[459] _Dissertations_, i. 375.\n\n[460] I remark by anticipation that this expression implies a reference\nto Mill's _Ethology_, of which I shall have to speak.\n\n[461] _Works_, ix. 96, 113.\n\n[462] _Dissertations_, i. 376.\n\n\nVII. INDIVIDUALISM\n\n'Individualism' in the first place is generally mentioned in a different\nconnection. The 'ready-made' man of whom I have spoken becomes the\n'economic man.' Bentham himself contributed little to economic theory.\nHis most important writing was the _Defence of Usury_, and in this, as\nwe have seen, he was simply adding a corollary to the _Wealth of\nNations_. The _Wealth of Nations_ itself represented the spirit of\nbusiness; the revolt of men who were building up a vast industrial\nsystem against the fetters imposed by traditional legislation and by\nrulers who regarded industry in general, as Telford is said to have\nregarded rivers. Rivers were meant to supply canals, and trade to supply\ntax-gatherers. With this revolt, of course, Bentham was in full\nsympathy, but here I shall only speak of one doctrine of great interest,\nwhich occurs both in his political treatises and his few economical\nremarks. Bentham objected, as we have seen, to the abstract theory of\nequality; yet it was to the mode of deduction rather than to the\ndoctrine itself which he objected. He gave, in fact, his own defence;\nand it is one worth notice.[463] The principle of equality is\nderivative, not ultimate. Equality is good because equality increases\nthe sum of happiness. Thus, as he says,[464] if two men have L1000, and\nyou transfer L500 from one to the other, you increase the recipient's\nwealth by one-third, and diminish the loser's wealth by one-half. You\ntherefore add less pleasure than you subtract. The principle is given\nless mathematically[465] by the more significant argument that\n'felicity' depends not simply on the 'matter of felicity' or the\nstimulus, but also on the sensibility to felicity which is necessarily\nlimited. Therefore by adding wealth--taking, for example, from a\nthousand labourers to give to one king--you are supersaturating a\nsensibility already glutted by taking away from others a great amount of\nreal happiness. With this argument, which has of late years become\nconspicuous in economics, he connects another of primary importance. The\nfirst condition of happiness, he says, is not 'equality' but 'security.'\nNow you can only equalise at the expense of security. If I am to have my\nproperty taken away whenever it is greater than my neighbour's, I can\nhave no security.[466] Hence, if the two principles conflict, equality\nshould give way. Security is the primary, which must override the\nsecondary, aim. Must the two principles, then, always conflict? No; but\n'time is the only mediator.'[467] The law may help to accumulate\ninequalities; but in a prosperous state there is a 'continual progress\ntowards equality.' The law has to stand aside; not to maintain\nmonopolies; not to restrain trade; not to permit entails; and then\nproperty will diffuse itself by a natural process, already exemplified\nin the growth of Europe. The 'pyramids' heaped up in feudal times have\nbeen lowered, and their '_debris_ spread abroad' among the industrious.\nHere again we see how Bentham virtually diverges from the _a priori_\nschool. Their absolute tendencies would introduce 'equality' by force;\nhe would leave it to the spontaneous progress of security. Hence Bentham\nis in the main an adherent of what he calls[468] the '_laissez-nous\nfaire_' principle. He advocates it most explicitly in the so-called\n_Manual of Political Economy_--a short essay first printed in 1798.[469]\nThe tract, however, such as it is, is less upon political economy proper\nthan upon economic legislation; and its chief conclusion is that almost\nall legislation is improper. His main principle is 'Be quiet' (the\nequivalent of the French phrase, which surely should have been excluded\nfrom so English a theory). Security and freedom are all that industry\nrequires; and industry should say to government only what Diogenes said\nto Alexander, 'Stand out of my sunshine.'[470]\n\nOnce more, however, Bentham will not lay down the 'let alone' principle\nabsolutely. His adherence to the empirical method is too decided. The\ndoctrine 'be quiet,' though generally true, rests upon utility, and may,\ntherefore, always be qualified by proving that in a particular case the\nbalance of utility is the other way. In fact, some of Bentham's\nfavourite projects would be condemned by an absolute adherent of the\ndoctrine. The Panopticon, for example, though a 'mill to grind rogues\nhonest' could be applied to others than rogues, and Bentham hoped to\nmake his machinery equally effective in the case of pauperism. A system\nof national education is also included in his ideal constitution. It is,\nin fact, important to remember that the 'individualism' of Benthamism\ndoes not necessarily coincide with an absolute restriction of government\ninterference. The general tendency was in that direction; and in purely\neconomical questions, scarcely any exception was admitted to the rule.\nMen are the best judges, it was said, of their own interest; and the\ninterference of rulers in a commercial transaction is the interference\nof people inferior in knowledge of the facts, and whose interests are\n'sinister' or inconsistent with those of the persons really concerned.\nUtility, therefore, will, as a rule, forbid the action of government:\nbut, as utility is always the ultimate principle, and there may be cases\nin which it does not coincide with the 'let alone' principle, we must\nalways admit the possibility that in special cases government can\ninterfere usefully, and, in that case, approve the interference.\n\nHence we have the ethical application of these theories. The\nindividualist position naturally tends to take the form of egoism. The\nmoral sentiments, whatever they may be, are clearly an intrinsic part of\nthe organic social instincts. They are intimately involved in the whole\nprocess of social evolution. But this view corresponds precisely to the\nconditions which Bentham overlooks. The individual is already there. The\nmoral and the legal sanctions are 'external'; something imposed by the\naction of others; corresponding to 'coercion,' whether by physical force\nor the dread of public opinion; and, in any case, an accretion or\naddition, not a profound modification of his whole nature. The\nUtilitarian 'man' therefore inclines to consider other people as merely\nparts of the necessary machinery. Their feelings are relevant only as\ninfluencing their outward conduct. If a man gives me a certain 'lot' of\npain or pleasure, it does not matter what may be his motives. The\n'motive' for all conduct corresponds in all cases to the pain or\npleasure accruing to the agent. It is true that his happiness will be\nmore or less affected by his relations to others. But as conduct is\nruled by a calculation of the balance of pains or pleasures dependent\nupon any course of action, it simplifies matters materially, if each man\nregards his neighbour's feelings simply as instrumental, not\nintrinsically interesting. And thus the coincidence between that conduct\nwhich maximises my happiness and that conduct which maximises happiness\nin general, must be regarded as more or less accidental or liable in\nspecial cases to disappear. If I am made happier by action which makes\nothers miserable, the rule of utility will lead to my preference of\nmyself.\n\nHere we have the question whether the Utilitarian system be essentially\na selfish system. Bentham, with his vague psychology, does not lay down\nthe doctrine absolutely. After giving this list of self-regarding\n'springs of action,' he proceeds to add the pleasures and pains of\n'sympathy' and 'antipathy' which, he says, are not self-regarding.\nMoreover, as we have seen, he has some difficulty in denying that\n'benevolence' is a necessarily moral motive: it is only capable of\nprompting to bad conduct in so far as it is insufficiently enlightened;\nand it is clear that a moralist who makes the 'greatest happiness of the\ngreatest number' his universal test, has some reason for admitting as an\nelementary pleasure the desire for the greatest happiness. This comes\nout curiously in the _Constitutional Code_. He there lays down the\n'self-preference principle'--the principle, namely, that 'every human\nbeing' is determined in every action by his judgment of what will\nproduce the greatest happiness to himself, 'whatsoever be the effect ...\nin relation to the happiness of other similar beings, any or all of them\ntaken together.'[471] Afterwards, however, he observes that it is 'the\nconstant and arduous task of every moralist' and of every legislator who\ndeserves the name to 'increase the influence of sympathy at the expense\nof that of self-regard and of sympathy for the greater number at the\nexpense of sympathy for the lesser number.'[472] He tries to reconcile\nthese views by the remark 'that even sympathy has its root in\nself-regard,' and he argues, as Mr. Herbert Spencer has done more fully,\nthat if Adam cared only for Eve and Eve only for Adam--neither caring at\nall for himself or herself--both would perish in less than a year.\nSelf-regard, that is, is essential, and sympathy supposes its existence.\nHence Bentham puts himself through a catechism.[473] What is the 'best'\ngovernment? That which causes the greatest happiness of the given\ncommunity. What community? 'Any community, which is as much as to say,\nevery community.' But _why_ do you desire this happiness? Because the\nestablishment of that happiness would contribute to _my_ greatest\nhappiness. And _how_ do you prove that you desire this result? By my\nlabours to obtain it, replies Bentham. This oddly omits the more obvious\nquestion, how can you be sure that your happiness will be promoted by\nthe greatest happiness of all? What if the two criteria differ? I desire\nthe general happiness, he might have replied, because my benevolence is\nan original or elementary instinct which can override my self-love; or\nI desire it, he would perhaps have said, because I know as a fact that\nthe happiness of others will incidentally contribute to my own. The\nfirst answer would fall in with some of his statements; but the second\nis, as I think must be admitted, more in harmony with his system.\nPerhaps, indeed, the most characteristic thing is Bentham's failure to\ndiscuss explicitly the question whether human action is or is not\nnecessarily 'selfish.' He tells us in regard to the 'springs of action'\nthat all human action is always 'interested,' but explains that\nthe word properly includes actions in which the motive is not\n'self-regarding.'[474] It merely means, in fact, that all conduct has\nmotives. The statement, which I have quoted about the 'self-preference'\nprinciple may only mean a doctrine which is perfectly compatible with a\nbelief in 'altruism'--the doctrine, namely, that as a fact most people\nare chiefly interested by their own affairs. The legislator, he tells\nus, should try to increase sympathy, but the less he takes sympathy for\nthe 'basis of his arrangements'--that is, the less call he makes upon\npurely unselfish motives--the greater will be his success.[475] This is\na shrewd and, I should say, a very sound remark, but it implies--not\nthat all motives are selfish in the last analysis, but--that the\nlegislation should not assume too exalted a level of ordinary morality.\nThe utterances in the very unsatisfactory _Deontology_ are of little\nvalue, and seem to imply a moral sentiment corresponding to a petty form\nof commonplace prudence.[476]\n\nLeaving this point, however, the problem necessarily presented itself\nto Bentham in a form in which selfishness is the predominating force,\nand any recognition of independent benevolence rather an incumbrance\nthan a help. If we take the 'self-preference principle' absolutely, the\nquestion becomes how a multitude of individuals, each separately\npursuing his own happiness, can so arrange matters that their joint\naction may secure the happiness of all. Clearly a man, however selfish,\nhas an interest generally in putting down theft and murder. He is\nalready provided with a number of interests to which security, at least,\nand therefore a regular administration of justice, is essential. His\nshop could not be carried on without the police; and he may agree to pay\nthe expenses, even if others reap the benefit in greater proportion. A\ntheory of legislation, therefore, which supposes ready formed all the\ninstincts which make a decent commercial society possible can do without\nmuch reference to sympathy or altruism. Bentham's man is not the\ncolourless unit of _a priori_ writing, nor the noble savage of Rousseau,\nbut the respectable citizen with a policeman round the corner. Such a\nman may well hold that honesty is the best policy; he has enough\nsympathy to be kind to his old mother, and help a friend in distress;\nbut the need of romantic and elevated conduct rarely occurs to him; and\nthe heroic, if he meets it, appears to him as an exception, not far\nremoved from the silly. He does not reflect--especially if he cares\nnothing for history--how even the society in which he is a contented\nunit has been built up, and how much loyalty and heroism has been needed\nfor the work; nor even, to do him justice, what unsuspected capacities\nmay lurk in his own commonplace character. The really characteristic\npoint is, however, that Bentham does not clearly face the problem. He is\ncontent to take for granted as an ultimate fact that the self-interest\nprinciple in the long run coincides with the greatest 'happiness'\nprinciple, and leaves the problem to his successors. There we shall meet\nit again.\n\nFinally, Bentham's view of religion requires a word. The short reply,\nhowever, would be sufficient, that he did not believe in any theology,\nand was in the main indifferent to the whole question till it\nencountered him in political matters. His first interest apparently was\nroused by the educational questions which I have noticed, and the\nproposal to teach the catechism. Bentham, remembering the early bullying\nat Oxford, examines the catechism; and argues in his usual style that to\nenforce it is to compel children to tell lies. But this leads him to\nassail the church generally; and he regards the church simply as a part\nof the huge corrupt machinery which elsewhere had created Judge and Co.\nHe states many facts about non-residence and bloated bishoprics which\nhad a very serious importance; and he then asks how the work might be\ndone more cheaply. As a clergyman's only duty is to read weekly services\nand preach sermons, he suggests (whether seriously may be doubted) that\nthis might be done as well by teaching a parish boy to read properly,\nand provide him with the prayer-book and the homilies.[477] A great deal\nof expense would be saved. This, again, seems to have led him to attack\nSt. Paul, whom he took to be responsible for dogmatic theology, and\ntherefore for the catechism; and he cross-examines the apostle, and\nconfronts his various accounts of the conversion with a keenness worthy\nof a professional lawyer. In one of the MSS. at University College the\nsame method is applied to the gospels. Bentham was clearly not capable\nof anticipating Renan. From these studies he was led to the far more\ninteresting book, published under the name of _Philip Beauchamp_.\nBentham supplied the argument in part; but to me it seems clear that it\nowes so much to the editor, Grote, that it may more fitly be discussed\nhereafter.\n\nThe limitations and defects of Bentham's doctrine have been made\nabundantly evident by later criticism. They were due partly to his\npersonal character, and partly to the intellectual and special\natmosphere in which he was brought up. But it is more important to\nrecognise the immense real value of his doctrine. Briefly, I should say,\nthat there is hardly an argument in Bentham's voluminous writings which\nis not to the purpose so far as it goes. Given his point of view, he is\ninvariably cogent and relevant. And, moreover, that is a point of view\nwhich has to be taken. No ethical or political doctrine can, as I hold,\nbe satisfactory which does not find a place for Bentham, though he was\nfar, indeed, from giving a complete theory of his subject. And the main\nreason of this is that which I have already indicated. Bentham's whole\nlife was spent in the attempt to create a science of legislation. Even\nwhere he is most tiresome, there is a certain interest in his unflagging\nworking out of every argument, and its application to all conceivable\ncases. It is all genuine reasoning; and throughout it is dominated by a\nrespect for good solid facts. His hatred of 'vague generalities'[478]\nmeans that he will be content with no formula which cannot be\ninterpreted in terms of definite facts. The resolution to insist upon\nthis should really be characteristic of every writer upon similar\nsubjects, and no one ever surpassed Bentham in attention to it. Classify\nand re-classify, to make sure that at every point your classes\ncorrespond to realities. In the effort to carry out these principles,\nBentham at least brought innumerable questions to a sound test, and\nexploded many pestilent fallacies. If he did not succeed further, if\nwhole spheres of thought remained outside of his vision, it was because\nin his day there was not only no science of 'sociology' or\npsychology--there are no such sciences now--but no adequate perception\nof the vast variety of investigation which would be necessary to lay a\nbasis for them. But the effort to frame a science is itself valuable,\nindeed of surpassing value, so far as it is combined with a genuine\nrespect for facts. It is common enough to attempt to create a science by\ninventing technical terminology. Bentham tried the far wider and far\nmore fruitful method of a minute investigation of particular facts. His\nwork, therefore, will stand, however different some of the results may\nappear when fitted into a different framework. And, therefore, however\ncrudely and imperfectly, Bentham did, as I believe, help to turn\nspeculation into a true and profitable channel. Of that, more will\nappear hereafter; but, if any one doubts Bentham's services, I will only\nsuggest to him to compare Bentham with any of his British\ncontemporaries, and to ask where he can find anything at all comparable\nto his resolute attempt to bring light and order into a chaotic infusion\nof compromise and prejudice.\n\nNOTES:\n\n[463] _Works_, 'Civil Code' (from Dumont), i. 302, 305; _Ibid._\n('Principles of Constitutional Code') ii. 271; _Ibid._ ('Constitutional\nCode') ix. 15-18.\n\n[464] _Works_, i. 306 _n._\n\n[465] _Ibid._ ix. 15.\n\n[466] _Ibid._ ('Principles of Penal Code') i. 311.\n\n[467] _Ibid._ i. 312.\n\n[468] _Works_, x. 440.\n\n[469] _Ibid._ iii. 33, etc.\n\n[470] _Ibid._ iii. 35.\n\n[471] _Works_, ix. 5.\n\n[472] _Ibid._ ix. 192.\n\n[473] _Ibid._ ix. 7.\n\n[474] _Works_, i. 212.\n\n[475] _Ibid._ ix. 192.\n\n[476] See, _e.g._, i. 83, where sympathy seems to be taken as an\nultimate pleasure; and ii. 133, where he says 'dream not that men will\nmove their little finger to serve you unless their advantage in so doing\nbe obvious to them.' See also the apologue of 'Walter Wise,' who becomes\nLord Mayor, and 'Timothy Thoughtless,' who ends at Botany Bay (i. 118),\ngiving the lowest kind of prudential morality. The manuscript of the\n_Deontology_, now in University College, London, seems to prove that\nBentham was substantially the author, though the Mills seem to have\nsuspected Bowring of adulterating the true doctrine. He appears to have\nbeen an honest if not very intelligent editor; though the rewriting,\nnecessary in all Bentham's works, was damaging in this case; and he is\nprobably responsible for some rhetorical amplification, especially in\nthe later part.\n\n[477] _Church of Englandism_ (Catechism examined), p. 207.\n\n[478] See this phrase expounded in _Works_ ('Book of Fallacies'), ii.\n440, etc.\n\nEND OF VOL. I\n\n\n\n\nNOTE ON BENTHAM'S WRITINGS\n\n\nThe following account of Bentham's writings may be of some use. The\narrangement is intended to show what were the topics which attracted his\nattention at successive periods.\n\nThe collected _Works_, edited by Bowring, appeared from 1838 to 1843 in\neleven volumes, the last two containing the life and an elaborate index.\nThe first nine volumes consist partly of the works already published;\npartly of works published for the first time from Bentham's MSS.; and\npartly of versions of Dumont's redactions of Bentham. Dumont's\npublications were (1) _Traites de Legislation civile et penale_ (1802;\nsecond edition, revised, 1820): [vol. i. contains _Principes generaux de\nLegislation_ and _Principes du Code civil_; vol. ii. _Principes du Code\npenal_; and vol. iii. _Memoire sur le Panoptique_, _De la Promulgation\ndes Lois_, _De l'Influence du Temps et des Lieux_, and _Vue generale\nd'un Corps complet des Lois_]; (2) _Theorie des Peines et des\nRecompenses_, 1811, 1818, 1825; (3) _Tactiques des Assemblees\ndeliberantes et Traite des Sophismes politiques_, 1816; (4) _Traite des\nPreuves judiciaires_, 1823; and (5) _De l'Organisation judiciaire et de\nla Codification_, 1823.\n\nIn the following I give references to the place of each work in\nBowring's edition.\n\nBentham's first book was the _Fragment on Government_, 1776 (i.\n221-295). An interesting 'historical preface,' intended for a second\nedition (i. 240-259), was first printed in 1828. The _Fragment_, edited\nby Mr. F. C. Montague, was republished in 1891.\n\nThe _Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation_ was\npublished in 1789, in one vol. 4to (i. 1-154). It had been printed in\n1780. A second edition, in two vols. 8vo, appeared in 1823. It was\nintended as an introduction to the plan of a penal code. Bentham says in\nhis preface that his scheme would be completed by a series of works\napplying his principles to (1) civil law; (2) penal law; (3) procedure;\n(4) reward; (5) constitutional law; (6) political tactics; (7)\ninternational law; (8) finance; and (9) political economy, and by a\ntenth treatise giving a plan of a body of law 'considered in respect of\nits form,' that is, upon 'nomography.' He wrote more or less in the\ncourse of his life upon all these topics. Dumont's _Traites_ of 1802\nwere based partly upon the _Introduction_ and partly upon Bentham's MSS.\ncorresponding to unfinished parts of this general scheme.\n\nThe two first sections of this scheme are represented in the _Works_ by\n_Principles of the Civil Code_ (i. 297-364) and _Principles of Penal\nLaw_ (i. 365-580). The _Principles of the Civil Code_ is translated from\nDumont's _Traites_, where it follows a condensed statement of 'general\nprinciples' taken from the opening chapters of the _Introduction_. An\nappendix 'on the levelling system' is added in the _Works_ from\nBentham's MSS. The _Principles of Penal Law_ consists of three parts:\nthe first and third (on 'political remedies for the evil of offences'\nand on 'indirect means of preventing crimes') are translated from parts\n2 and 4 of Dumont's _Principes du Code penal_ (parts 1 and 3 of Dumont\nbeing adaptations from the _Introduction to Morals and Legislation_).\nThe second part of the _Penal Law_, or _The Rationale of Punishment_ is\nfrom Dumont's _Theorie des Peines et des Recompenses_. Dumont took it\nfrom a MS. written by Bentham in 1775. (See Bentham's _Works_, i. 388.)\nAn appendix on 'Death Punishment,' addressed by Bentham to the French\npeople in 1830, is added to Part II. in the _Works_ (i. 525-532). No. 4\nof Bentham's general scheme corresponds to the _Rationale of Reward_,\nfounded upon two MSS., one in French and one in English, used by Dumont\nin the _Theorie des Peines et des Recompenses_. The English version in\nthe _Works_, chiefly translated from Dumont and compared with the\noriginal manuscript, was first published in 1825 (ii. 189-266). Richard\nSmith 'of the Stamps and Taxes' was the editor of this and of an edition\nof the _Rationale of Punishment_ in 1831, and of various minor\ntreatises. (Bentham's _Works_, x. 548 _n._)\n\nThe _Table of the Springs of Action_ (i. 195-220), written at an early\nperiod, was printed in 1815, and published, with modifications, in 1817.\nThe _Vue generale_ included in the _Traites_ of 1802 was intended by\nBentham as a sketch for his own guidance, and is translated as _View of\na Complete Code of Laws_ in the _Works_ (iii. 154-210). The two essays\nin the 1802 _Traites_ on 'the promulgation of laws' and the 'influence\nof time and place in matters of legislation' are translated in _Works_\n(i. 157-194). A fragment on _International Law_--a phrase invented by\nBentham--written between 1786 and 1789, first appeared in the _Works_\n(ii. 535-571), with _Junctiana proposal_--a plan for a canal between the\nAtlantic and the Pacific--written in 1822, as an appendix.\n\nBesides the above, all written before 1789 in pursuance of his scheme,\nBentham had published in 1778 his _View of the Hard Labour Bill_ (iv.\n1-36); and in 1787 his _Defence of Usury_ (iii. 1-29). A third edition\nof the last (with the 'protest against law taxes') was published in\n1816.\n\nDuring the following period (1789-1802) Bentham wrote various books,\nmore or less suggested by the French revolution. The _Essay on Political\nTactics_ (ii. 299-373), (corresponding to No. 6 of the scheme), was sent\nto Morellet in 1789, but first published by Dumont in 1816. With it\nDumont also published the substance of the _Anarchical Fallacies_ (ii.\n489-534), written about 1791. A _Draught of a Code for the Organisation\nof the Judicial Establishment of France_, dated March 1790, is reprinted\nin _Works_ iv. 285-406. _Truth v. Ashhurst_, written in 1792 (v.\n231-237), was first published in 1823. A _Manual of Political Economy_,\nwritten by 1793 (see _Works_, iii. 73 _n._), corresponds to No. 9 of his\nscheme. A chapter appeared in the _Bibliotheque Britannique_ in 1798. It\nwas partly used in Dumont's _Theorie des Recompenses_, and first\npublished in English in _Works_ (iii. 31-84). _Emancipate your\nColonies_ (iv. 407-481) was privately printed in 1793, and first\npublished for sale in 1830. A _Protest against Law Taxes_, printed in\n1793, was published in 1795 together with _Supply without Burthen, or\nEscheat vice Taxation_, written in 1794. To them is appended a short\npaper called _Tax with Monopoly_ (ii. 573-600). _A Plan for saving all\nTrouble and Expense in the Transfer of Stock_, written and partly\nprinted in 1800, was first published in _Works_ (iii. 105-153).\n\nDuring this period Bentham was also occupied with the Panopticon, and\nsome writings refer to it. _The Panopticon, or the Inspection House_\n(iv. 37-172), written in 1787, was published in 1791. _The Panopticon\nversus New South Wales_ (iv. 173-248) appeared in 1802; and _A Plea for\nthe Constitution_ (on transportation to New South Wales) (iv. 249-284),\nin 1803. Closely connected with these are _Poor-laws and Pauper\nManagement_ (viii. 358-461), reprinted from Arthur Young's _Annals_ of\nSeptember 1797 and following months; and _Observations on the Poor Bill_\n(viii. 440-459), written in February 1797, privately printed in 1838,\nand first published in the _Works_.\n\nAbout 1802 Bentham returned to jurisprudence. James Mill prepared from\nthe papers then written an _Introductory View of the Rationale of\nEvidence_, finished and partly printed in 1812 (see _Works_, x. 468 _n._\nand Bain's _James Mill_, 105, 120). Dumont's _Traite des Preuves\njudiciaires_ (1823) was a redaction of the original papers, and an\nEnglish translation of this appeared in 1825. The parts referring to\nEnglish Law were omitted. The _Rationale of Evidence_ (5 vols. 8vo,\n1827), edited by J. S. Mill, represents a different and fuller redaction\nof the same papers. It is reprinted in vols. vi. and vii. of the _Works_\nwith the _Introductory View_ (now first published) prefixed. To the same\nperiod belongs _Scotch Reform_, with a _Summary View of a Plan for a\nJudicatory_, 1808 (second edition 1811, v. 1-60).\n\nAfter 1808 Bentham's attention was especially drawn to political\nquestions. His _Catechism of Parliamentary Reform_ (iii. 433-557),\nwritten in 1809, was first published with a long 'introduction' in the\n_Pamphleteer_ for January 1817. Bentham's _Radical Reform Bill, with\nexplanations_ (iii. 558-597) followed in December 1819. _Radicalism not\ndangerous_ (iii. 598-622), written at the same time, first appeared in\nthe _Works_ (iii. 398-622). _Elements of the Art of Packing as applied\nto Special Juries, especially in Cases of Libel Law_ (v. 61-186),\nwritten in 1809, was published in 1821. _Swear not at all_ (v. 188-229)\n(referring chiefly to Oxford tests), written in 1813, was published in\n1817. _The King against Edmonds_ and _The King against Wolseley_ (v.\n239-261) were published in 1820. _Official Aptitude minimized; Official\nExpense limited_ (v. 263-286), is a series of papers, first collected in\n1831. It contains a _Defence of Economy against Burke_, and a _Defence\nof Economy against George Rose_, both written in 1810, and published in\nthe _Pamphleteer_ in 1817, with _Observations_ on a speech by Peel in\n1825, and _Indications respecting Lord Eldon_. The two last appeared in\n1825. Connected with these political writings is the _Book of Fallacies_\n(ii. 375-488), edited by Bingham in 1824, from the 'most unfinished of\nall Bentham's writings.' Allusions seem to show that the original MSS.\nwere written from 1810 to 1819. It was partly published by Dumont with\nthe _Tactique, etc._\n\nBentham, during this period (1808-1820), was also led into various\noutlying questions. _The Pannomial Fragments_, _Nomography_, and\n_Appendix on Logical Arrangements employed by Jeremy Bentham_ (iii.\n211-295) were first published in the _Works_ from MSS. written from 1813\nto 1831. With the _Chrestomathia_ (viii. 1-192), first published in\n1816, are connected fragments upon 'Ontology,' 'Language,' and\n'Universal Grammar' (viii. 193-358), first published in _Works_ from\nfragments of MSS. of 1813 and later. George Bentham's _Outline of a New\nSystem of Logic_ was partly founded upon his uncle's papers. Bentham at\nthe Ford Abbey time (1814-1818) was also writing his _Church of\nEnglandism and its Catechism examined_, 1818. The _Analysis of the\nInfluence of Natural Religion upon the Temporal Happiness of Mankind_,\nby Philip Beauchamp, edited by George Grote, appeared in 1822; and _Not\nPaul but Jesus_, by Gamaliel Smith, in 1823. Francis Place helped in\npreparing this at Ford Abbey in 1817 (Mr. Wallas's _Life of Place_, p.\n83). _Mother Church of England relieved by Bleeding_ (1823) and the\n_Book of Church Reform_ (1831) are extracted from _Church of\nEnglandism_. Bowring did not admit these works to his collection.\n\nIn his later years (1820-1832) Bentham began to be specially occupied\nwith codification. _Papers upon Codification and Public Instruction_\n(iv. 451-534) consist chiefly of letters, written from 1811 to 1815,\noffering himself for employment in codification in America and Russia,\nand first published in 1817. In 1821 appeared _Three Tracts relating to\nSpanish and Portuguese Affairs, with a Continual Eye to English ones_;\nand in 1822 _Three Letters to Count Toreno on the proposed Penal Code_\n(in Spain) (viii. 460-554). A short tract on _Liberty of the Press_ was\naddressed to the Spanish people in 1821 (ii. 275-299). _Codification\nProposals_ (iv. 535-594) appeared in 1823, offering to prepare an\n'all-comprehensive code of law' for 'any nation professing liberal\nopinions.' _Securities against Misrule addressed to a Mahommedan State,\nand prepared with a special Reference to Tripoli_, written in 1822-23,\nwas first published in the _Works_ (viii. 551-600). A tract on the\n_Leading Principles of a Constitutional Code_ (ii. 267-274) appeared in\nthe _Pamphleteer_ in 1823. The first volume of the _Constitutional\nCode_, printed in 1827, was published with the first chapter of the\nsecond volume in 1830. The whole book, edited by R. Doane from papers\nwritten between 1818 and 1832, was published in 1841, and forms volume\nix. of the _Works_. Doane also edited _Principles of Judicial Procedure_\n(ii. 1-188) from papers written chiefly from 1820 to 1827, though part\nhad been written in 1802. Several thousand pages upon this subject--the\nthird part of the original scheme--were left by Bentham at his death.\n\nDuring his last years Bentham also wrote a _Commentary on Mr. Humphrey's\nReal Property Code_, published in the _Westminster Review_ for October\n1826 (v. 387-416); _Justice and Codification Petitions_ (v. 437-548),\nprinted in 1829; _Jeremy Bentham to his Fellow-Citizens in France on\nHouses of Peers and Senates_ (iv. 419-450), dated 15th October 1830;\n_Equity Dispatch Court Proposals_ (iii. 297-432), first published in\n_Works_ and written from 1829 to 1831; _Outline of a Plan of a General\nRegister of Real Property_ (v. 417-435), published in the Report of the\nReal Property Commission in 1832; and _Lord Brougham Displayed_ (v.\n549-612), 1832.\n\nThe _Deontology_ or _Science of Morality_ was published by Bowring in\ntwo vols. 8vo in 1834, but omitted from the _Works_, as the original\nedition was not exhausted. The MS. preserved at University College,\nLondon, shows that a substantial beginning had been made in 1814; most\nof the remainder about 1820. The second volume, made, as Bowring says,\nfrom a number of scraps, is probably more 'Bowringised' than the first.\n\nDumont's _Traites_ were translated into Spanish in 1821, and the _Works_\nin 1841-43. There are also Russian and Italian translations. In 1830 a\ntranslation from Dumont, edited by F. E. Beneke, as _Grundsaetze der\nCivil- und Criminal-Gesetzgebung_, etc., was published at Berlin. Beneke\nobserves that Bentham had hitherto received little attention in Germany,\nthough well known in other countries. He reports a saying attributed to\nMme. de Stael that the age was that of Bentham, not of Byron or\nBuonaparte. The neglect of Bentham in Germany was due, as Beneke says,\nto the prevalence of the Kantian philosophy. Bentham, however, had been\nfavourably noticed in the _Hermes_ for 1822, and his merits since\nacknowledged by Mittermaier and Warnkoenig in the _Zeitschrift fuer\nRechtswissenschaft_. Beneke (1798-1854) was opposed to the Hegelian\ntendencies of his time, and much influenced by Herbart. See Ueberweg's\n_History of Philosophy_ (English translation, 1874, ii. 281, etc.) and\nthe account of Bentham in Robert von Mohl's _Staatswissenschaften_, etc.\n(1853), iii. 595-635.\n\nA great mass of Bentham MSS. belongs to University College, London. They\nare contained in 148 boxes, which were examined and catalogued by Mr. T.\nWhittaker in 1892. A few of these contain correspondence, part of which\nwas printed by Bowring. Others are the manuscripts of published works.\nSome are upon the same subjects as the published works, and others refer\nto topics not included in his publications. Besides the _Deontology_\nmanuscripts and a fragment upon 'Political Deontology,' there is a\ndiscussion of the means of suppressing duels, an argument against the\nlegal punishment of certain offences against decency, and a criticism of\nthe gospel narrative similar to _Not Paul_, etc. I have not thought it\nnecessary to examine these fragments after reading Mr. Whittaker's\nreport. Bentham's principles are sufficiently stated in his published\nworks; and the papers which have been reposing in the cellars of\nUniversity College can have had no influence upon the world. There is\nanother large collection of MSS. in the British Museum from the papers\nof Bentham and his brother, Sir Samuel. Ten folio volumes contain\ncorrespondence, much of it referring only to Sir Samuel. A long\ncorrespondence upon the acquisition of the 'Panopticon' land is\nincluded. Another volume contains many of Bentham's school and college\nexercises. There are also the manuscripts of the _Nomography_, _Logical\nArrangements_, etc. This collection was used by Bowring and by Lady\nBentham in the life of her husband.\n\nPrinted by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty at the Edinburgh\nUniversity Press","title":"The English Utilitarians, Volume 1 (of 3)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":92741}