|
Considerations on
Representative Government
John
Stuart Mill, 1861
Chapter VII
Of True and False
Democracy; Representation of All, and Representation of the Majority only.
It has been seen that the dangers
incident to a representative democracy are of two kinds: danger of a
low grade of intelligence in the representative body, and in the
popular opinion which controls it; and danger of class legislation
on the part of the numerical majority, these being all composed of
the same class. We have next to consider how far it is possible so
to organize the democracy as, without interfering materially with
the characteristic benefits of democratic government, to do away
with these two great evils, or at least to abate them in the utmost
degree attainable by human contrivance.
The common mode of attempting this is by limiting the democratic
character of the representation through a more or less restricted
suffrage. But there is a previous consideration which, duly kept in
view, considerably modifies the circumstances which are supposed to
render such a restriction necessary. A completely equal democracy,
in a nation in which a single class composes the numerical majority,
can not be divested of certain evils; but those evils are greatly
aggravated by the fact that the democracies which at present exist
are not equal, but systematically unequal in favor of the
predominant class. Two very different ideas are usually confounded
under the name democracy. The pure idea of democracy, according to
its definition, is the government of the whole people by the whole
people, equally represented. Democracy, as commonly conceived and
hitherto practiced, is the government of the whole people by a mere
majority of the people exclusively represented. The former is
synonymous with the equality of all citizens; the latter, strangely
confounded with it, is a government of privilege in favor of the
numerical majority, who alone possess practically any voice in the
state. This is the inevitable consequence of the manner in which the
votes are now taken, to the complete disfranchisement of minorities.
The confusion of ideas here is great, but it is so easily cleared
up that one would suppose the slightest indication would be
sufficient to place the matter in its true light before any mind of
average intelligence. It would be so but for the power of habit;
owing to which, the simplest idea, if unfamiliar, has as great
difficulty in making its way to the mind as a far more complicated
one. That the minority must yield to the majority, the smaller
number to the greater, is a familiar idea; and accordingly, men
think there is no necessity for using their minds any further, and
it does not occur to them that there is any medium between allowing
the smaller number to be equally powerful with the greater, and
blotting out the smaller number altogether. In a representative body
actually deliberating, the minority must of course be overruled; and
in an equal democracy (since the opinions of the constituents, when
they insist on them, determine those of the representative body),
the majority of the people, through their representatives, will
outvote and prevail over the minority and their representatives. But
does it follow that the minority should have no representatives at
all? Because the majority ought to prevail over the minority, must
the majority have all the votes, the minority none? Is it necessary
that the minority should not even be heard? Nothing but habit and
old association can reconcile any reasonable being to the needless
injustice. In a really equal democracy, every or any section would
be represented, not disproportionately, but proportionately. A
majority of the electors would always have a majority of the
representatives, but a minority of the electors would always have a
minority of the representatives. Man for man, they would be as fully
represented as the majority. Unless they are, there is not equal
government, but a government of inequality and privilege: one part
of the people rule over the rest: there is a part whose fair and
equal share of influence in the representation is withheld from
them, contrary to all just government, but, above all, contrary to
the principle of democracy, which professes equality as its very
root and foundation.
The injustice and violation of principle are not less flagrant
because those who suffer by them are a minority, for there is not
equal suffrage where every single individual does not count for as
much as any other single individual in the community. But it is not
only a minority who suffer. Democracy, thus constituted, does not
even attain its ostensible object, that of giving the powers of
government in all cases to the numerical majority. It does something
very different; it gives them to a majority of the majority, who may
be, and often are, but a minority of the whole. All principles are
most effectually tested by extreme cases. Suppose, then, that, in a
country governed by equal and universal suffrage, there is a
contested election in every constituency, and every election is
carried by a small majority. The Parliament thus brought together
represents little more than a bare majority of the people. This
Parliament proceeds to legislate, and adopts important measures by a
bare majority of itself. What guaranty is there that these measures
accord with the wishes of a majority of the people? Nearly half the
electors, having been outvoted at the hustings, have had no
influence at all in the decision; and the whole of these may be, a
majority of them probably are, hostile to the measures, having voted
against those by whom they have been carried. Of the remaining
electors, nearly half have chosen representatives who, by
supposition, have voted against the measures. It is possible,
therefore, and even probable, that the opinion which has prevailed
was agreeable only to a minority of the nation, though a majority of
that portion of it whom the institutions of the country have erected
into a ruling class. If democracy means the certain ascendancy of
the majority, there are no means of insuring that, but by allowing
every individual figure to tell equally in the summing up. Any
minority left out, either purposely or by the play of the machinery,
gives the power not to the majority, but to a minority in some other
part of the scale.
The only answer which can possibly be made to this reasoning is,
that as different opinions predominate in different localities, the
opinion which is in a minority in some places has a majority in
others, and on the whole every opinion which exists in the
constituencies obtains its fair share of voices in the
representation. And this is roughly true in the present state of the
constituency; if it were not, the discordance of the House with the
general sentiment of the country would soon become evident. But it
would be no longer true if the present constituency were much
enlarged, still less if made co-extensive with the whole population;
for in that case the majority in every locality would consist of
manual laborers; and when there was any question pending on which
these classes were at issue with the rest of the community, no other
class could succeed in getting represented any where. Even now, is
it not a great grievance that in every Parliament a very numerous
portion of the electors, willing and anxious to be represented, have
no member in the House for whom they have voted? Is it just that
every elector of Marylebone is obliged to be represented by two
nominees of the vestries, every elector of Finsbury or Lambeth by
those (as is generally believed) of the publicans? The
constituencies to which most of the highly educated and public
spirited persons in the country belong, those of the large towns,
are now, in great part, either unrepresented or misrepresented. The
electors who are on a different side in party politics from the
local majority are unrepresented. Of those who are on the same side,
a large proportion are misrepresented; having been obliged to accept
the man who had the greatest number of supporters in their political
party, though his opinions may differ from theirs on every other
point. The state of things is, in some respects, even worse than if
the minority were not allowed to vote at all; for then, at least,
the majority might have a member who would represent their own best
mind; while now, the necessity of not dividing the party, for fear
of letting in its opponents, induces all to vote either for the
first person who presents himself wearing their colors, or for the
one brought forward by their local leaders; and these, if we pay
them the compliment, which they very seldom deserve, of supposing
their choice to be unbiassed by their personal interests, are
compelled, that they may be sure of mustering their whole strength,
to bring forward a candidate whom none of the party will strongly
object to–that is, a man without any distinctive peculiarity, any
known opinions except the shibboleth of the party. This is
strikingly exemplified in the United States; where, at the election
of President, the strongest party never dares put forward any of its
strongest men, because every one of these, from the mere fact that
he has been long in the public eye, has made himself objectionable
to some portion or other of the party, and is therefore not so sure
a card for rallying all their votes as a person who has never been
heard of by the public at all until he is produced as the candidate.
Thus, the man who is chosen, even by the strongest party, represents
perhaps the real wishes only of the narrow margin by which that
party outnumbers the other. Any section whose support is necessary
to success possesses a veto on the candidate. Any section which
holds out more obstinately than the rest can compel all the others
to adopt its nominee; and this superior pertinacity is unhappily
more likely to be found among those who are holding out for their
own interest than for that of the public. Speaking generally, the
choice of the majority is determined by that portion of the body who
are the most timid, the most narrow-minded and prejudiced, or who
cling most tenaciously to the exclusive class-interest; and the
electoral rights of the minority, while useless for the purposes for
which votes are given, serve only for compelling the majority to
accept the candidate of the weakest or worst portion of themselves.
That, while recognizing these evils, many should consider them as
the necessary price paid for a free government, is in no way
surprising; it was the opinion of all the friends of freedom up to a
recent period. But the habit of passing them over as irremediable
has become so inveterate, that many persons seem to have lost the
capacity of looking at them as things which they would be glad to
remedy if they could. From despairing of a cure, there is too often
but one step to denying the disease; and from this follows dislike
to having a remedy proposed, as if the proposer were creating a
mischief instead of offering relief from one. People are so inured
to the evils that they feel as if it were unreasonable, if not
wrong, to complain of them. Yet, avoidable or not, he must be a
purblind lover of liberty on whose mind they do not weigh; who would
not rejoice at the discovery that they could be dispensed with. Now,
nothing is more certain than that the virtual blotting out of the
minority is no necessary or natural consequence of freedom; that,
far from having any connection with democracy, it is diametrically
opposed to the first principle of democracy, representation in
proportion to numbers. It is an essential part of democracy that
minorities should be adequately represented. No real democracy,
nothing but a false show of democracy, is possible without it.
Those who have seen and felt, in some degree, the force of these
considerations, have proposed various expedients by which the evil
may be, in a greater or less degree, mitigated. Lord John Russell,
in one of his Reform Bills, introduced a provision that certain
constituencies should return three members, and that in these each
elector should be allowed to vote only for two; and Mr. Disraeli, in
the recent debates, revived the memory of the fact by reproaching
him for it, being of opinion, apparently, that it befits a
Conservative statesman to regard only means, and to disown
scornfully all fellow-feeling with any one who is betrayed, even
once, into thinking of ends. Others have proposed that each elector
should be allowed to vote only for one. By either of these plans, a
minority equalling or exceeding a third of the local constituency,
would be able, if it attempted no more, to return one out of three
members. The same result might be attained in a still better way if,
as proposed in an able pamphlet by Mr. James Garth Marshall, the
elector retained his three votes, but was at liberty to bestow them
all upon the same candidate. These schemes, though infinitely better
than none at all, are yet but makeshifts, and attain the end in a
very imperfect manner, since all local minorities of less than a
third, and all minorities, however numerous, which are made up from
several constituencies, would remain unrepresented. It is much to be
lamented, however, that none of these plans have been carried into
effect, as any of them would have recognized the right principle,
and prepared the way for its more complete application. But real
equality of representation is not obtained unless any set of
electors amounting to the average number of a constituency, wherever
in the country they happen to reside, have the power of combining
with one another to return a representative. This degree of
perfection in representation appeared impracticable until a man of
great capacity, fitted alike for large general views and for the
contrivance of practical details–Mr. Thomas Hare–had proved its
possibility by drawing up a scheme for its accomplishment, embodied
in a Draft of an Act of Parliament; a scheme which has the almost
unparalleled merit of carrying out a great principle of government
in a manner approaching to ideal perfection as regards the special
object in view, while it attains incidentally several other ends of
scarcely inferior importance.
According to this plan, the unit of representation, the quota of
electors who would be entitled to have a member to themselves, would
be ascertained by the ordinary process of taking averages, the
number of voters being divided by the number of seats in the House;
and every candidate who obtained that quota would be returned, from
however great a number of local constituencies it might be gathered.
The votes would, as at present, be given locally; but any elector
would be at liberty to vote for any candidate, in whatever part of
the country he might offer himself. Those electors, therefore, who
did not wish to be represented by any of the local candidates, might
aid by their vote in the return of the person they liked best among
all those throughout the country who had expressed a willingness to
be chosen. This would so far give reality to the electoral rights of
the otherwise virtually disfranchised minority. But it is important
that not those alone who refuse to vote for any of the local
candidates, but those also who vote for one of them and are
defeated, should be enabled to find elsewhere the representation
which they have not succeeded in obtaining in their own district. It
is therefore provided that an elector may deliver a voting paper
containing other names in addition to the one which stands foremost
in his preference. His vote would only be counted for one candidate;
but if the object of his first choice failed to be returned, from
not having obtained the quota, his second perhaps might be more
fortunate. He may extend his list to a greater number in the order
of his preference, so that if the names which stand near the top of
the list either can not make up the quota, or are able to make it up
without his vote, the vote may still be used for some one whom it
may assist in returning. To obtain the full number of members
required to complete the House, as well as to prevent very popular
candidates from engrossing nearly all the suffrages, it is
necessary, however many votes a candidate may obtain, that no more
of them than the quota should be counted for his return; the
remainder of those who voted for him would have their votes counted
for the next person on their respective lists who needed them, and
could by their aid complete the quota. To determine which of a
candidate's votes should be used for his return, and which set free
for others, several methods are proposed, into which we shall not
here enter. He would, of course, retain the votes of all those who
would not otherwise be represented; and for the remainder, drawing
lots, in default of better, would be an unobjectionable expedient.
The voting papers would be conveyed to a central office, where the
votes would be counted, the number of first, second, third, and
other votes given for each candidate ascertained, and the quota
would be allotted to every one who could make it up, until the
number of the House was complete; first votes being preferred to
second, second to third, and so forth. The voting papers, and all
the elements of the calculation, would be placed in public
repositories, accessible to all whom they concerned; and if any one
who had obtained the quota was not duly returned, it would be in his
power easily to prove it.
These are the main provisions of the scheme. For a more minute
knowledge of its very simple machinery, I must refer to Mr. Hare's
"Treatise on the Election of Representatives" (a small volume
Published in 1859), and to a pamphlet by Mr. Henry Fawcett,
published in 1860, and entitled "Mr. Hare's Reform Bill simplified
and explained." This last is a very clear and concise exposition of
the plan, reduced to its simplest elements by the omission of some
of Mr. Hare's original provisions, which, though in themselves
beneficial, we're thought to take more from the simplicity of the
scheme than they added to its practical advantages. The more these
works are studied, the stronger, I venture to predict, will be the
impression of the perfect feasibility of the scheme and its
transcendant advantages. Such and so numerous are these, that, in my
conviction, they place Mr. Hare's plan among the very greatest
improvements yet made in the theory and practice of government.
In the first place, it secures a representation, in proportion to
numbers, of every division of the electoral body: not two great
parties alone, with perhaps a few large sectional minorities in
particular places, but every minority in the whole nation,
consisting of a sufficiently large number to be, on principles of
equal justice, entitled to a representative. Secondly, no elector
would, as at present, be nominally represented by some one whom he
had not chosen. Every member of the House would be the
representative of a unanimous constituency. He would represent a
thousand electors, or two thousand, or five thousand, or ten
thousand, as the quota might be, every one of whom would have not
only voted for him, but selected him from the whole country; not
merely from the assortment of two or three perhaps rotten oranges,
which may be the only choice offered to him in his local market.
Under this relation the tie between the elector and the
representative would be of a strength and a value of which at
present we have no experience. Every one of the electors would be
personally identified with his representative, and the
representative with his constituents. Every elector who voted for
him would have done so either because he is the person, in the whole
list of candidates for Parliament, who best expresses the voter's
own opinions, or because he is one of those whose abilities and
character the voter most respects, and whom he most willingly trusts
to think for him. The member would represent persons, not the mere
bricks and mortar of the town–the voters themselves, not a few
vestrymen or parish notabilities merely. All, however, that is worth
preserving in the representation of places would be preserved.
Though the Parliament of the nation ought to have as little as
possible to do with purely local affairs, yet, while it has to do
with them, there ought to be members specially commissioned to look
after the interests of every important locality; and these there
would still be. In every locality which contained many more voters
than the quota (and there probably ought to be no local
consitituency which does not), the majority would generally prefer
to be represented by one of themselves; by a person of local
knowledge, and residing in the locality, if there is any such person
to be found among the candidates, who is otherwise eligible as their
representative. It would be the minorities chiefly, who, being
unable to return the local member, would look out elsewhere for a
candidate likely to obtain other votes in addition to their own.
Of all modes in which a national representation can possibly be
constituted, this one affords the best security for the intellectual
qualifications desirable in the representatives. At present, by
universal admission, it is becoming more and more difficult for any
one who has only talents and character to gain admission into the
House of Commons. The only persons who can get elected are those who
possess local influence, or make their way by lavish expenditure, or
who, on the invitation of three or four tradesmen or attorneys, are
sent down by one of the two great parties from their London clubs,
as men whose votes the party can depend on under all circumstances.
On Mr. Hare's system, those who did not like the local candidates
would fill up their voting papers by a selection from all the
persons of national reputation on the list of candidates with whose
general political principles they were in sympathy. Almost every
person, therefore, who had made himself in any way honorably
distinguished, though devoid of local influence, and having sworn
allegiance to no political party, would have a fair chance of making
up the quota, and with this encouragement such persons might be
expected to offer themselves in numbers hitherto undreamed of.
Hundreds of able men of independent thought, who would have no
chance whatever of being chosen by the majority of any existing
constituency, have by their writings, or their exertions in some
field of public usefulness, made themselves known and approved by a
few persons in almost every district of the kingdom; and if every
vote that would be given for them in every place could be counted
for their election, they might be able to complete the number of the
quota. In no other way which it seems possible to suggest would
Parliament be so certain of containing the very élite of
the country.
And it is not solely through the votes of minorities that this
system of election would raise the intellectual standard of the
House of Commons. Majorities would be compelled to look out for
members of a much higher calibre. When the individuals composing the
majority would no longer be reduced to Hobson's choice, of either
voting for the person brought forward by their local leaders, or not
voting at all; when the nominee of the leaders would have to
encounter the competition not solely of the candidate of the
minority, but of all the men of established reputation in the
country who were willing to serve, it would be impossible any longer
to foist upon the electors the first person who presents himself
with the catchwords of the party in his mouth, and three or four
thousand pounds in his pocket. The majority would insist on having a
candidate worthy of their choice, or they would carry their votes
somewhere else, and the minority would prevail. The slavery of the
majority to the least estimable portion of their numbers would be at
an end; the very best and most capable of the local notabilities
would be put forward by preference; if possible, such as were known
in some advantageous way beyond the locality, that their local
strength might have a chance of being fortified by stray votes from
elsewhere. Constituencies would become competitors for the best
candidates, and would vie with one another in selecting from among
the men of local knowledge and connections those who were most
distinguished in every other respect.
The natural tendency of representative government, as of modern
civilization, is towards collective mediocrity: and this tendency is
increased by all reductions and extensions of the franchise, their
effect being to place the principal power in the hands of classes
more and more below the highest level of instruction in the
community. But, though the superior intellects and characters will
necessarily be outnumbered, it makes a great difference whether or
not they are heard. In the false democracy which, instead of giving
representation to all, gives it only to the local majorities, the
voice of the instructed minority may have no organs at all in the
representative body. It is an admitted fact that in the American
democracy, which is constructed on this faulty model, the
highly-cultivated members of the community, except such of them as
are willing to sacrifice their own opinions and modes of judgment,
and become the servile mouthpieces of their inferiors in knowledge,
do not even offer themselves for Congress or the State Legislatures,
so certain is it that they would have no chance of being returned.
Had a plan like Mr. Hare's by good fortune suggested itself to the
enlightened and disinterested founders of the American Republic, the
federal and state assemblies would have contained many of these
distinguished men, and democracy would have been spared its greatest
reproach and one of its most formidable evils. Against this evil the
system of personal representation proposed by Mr. Hare is almost a
specific. The minority of instructed minds scattered through the
local constituencies would unite to return a number, proportioned to
their own numbers, of the very ablest men the country contains. They
would be under the strongest inducement to choose such men, since in
no other mode could they make their small numerical strength tell
for any thing considerable. The representatives of the majority,
besides that they would themselves be improved in quality by the
operation of the system, would no longer have the whole field to
themselves. They would indeed outnumber the others, as much as the
one class of electors outnumbers the other in the country: they
could always outvote them, but they would speak and vote in their
presence, and subject to their criticism. When any difference arose,
they would have to meet the arguments of the instructed few by
reasons, at least apparently, as cogent; and since they could not,
as those do who are speaking to persons already unanimous, simply
assume that they are in the right, it would occasionally happen to
them to become convinced that they were in the wrong. As they would
in general be well-meaning (for thus much may reasonably be expected
from a fairly-chosen national representation), their own minds would
be insensibly raised by the influence of the minds with which they
were in contact, or even in conflict. The champions of unpopular
doctrines would not put forth their arguments merely in books and
periodicals, read only by their own side; the opposing ranks would
meet face to face and hand to hand, and there would be a fair
comparison of their intellectual strength in the presence of the
country. It would then be found out whether the opinion which
prevailed by counting votes would also prevail if the votes were
weighed as well as counted. The multitude have often a true instinct
for distinguishing an able man when he has the means of displaying
his ability in a fair field before them. If such a man fails to
obtain any portion of his just weight, it is through institutions or
usages which keep him out of sight. In the old democracies there
were no means of keeping out of sight any able man: the bema was
open to him; he needed nobody's consent to become a public adviser.
It is not so in a representative government; and the best friends of
representative democracy can hardly be without misgivings that the
Themistocles or Demosthenes whose councils would have saved the
nation, might be unable during his whole life ever to obtain a seat.
But if the presence in the representative assembly can be insured of
even a few of the first minds in the country, though the remainder
consist only of average minds, the influence of these leading
spirits is sure to make itself insensibly felt in the general
deliberations, even though they be known to be, in many respects,
opposed to the tone of popular opinion and feeling. I am unable to
conceive any mode by which the presence of such minds can be so
positively insured as by that proposed by Mr. Hare.
This portion of the assembly would also be the appropriate organ
of a great social function, for which there is no provision in any
existing democracy, but which in no government can remain
permanently unfulfilled without condemning that government to
infallible degeneracy and decay. This may be called the function of
Antagonism. In every government there is some power stronger than
all the rest; and the power which is strongest tends perpetually to
become the sole power. Partly by intention and partly unconsciously,
it is ever striving to make all other things bend to itself, and is
not content while there is any thing which makes permanent head
against it, any influence not in agreement with its spirit. Yet, if
it succeeds in suppressing all rival influences, and moulding every
thing after its own model, improvement, in that country, is at an
end, and decline commences. Human improvement is a product of many
factors, and no power ever yet constituted among mankind includes
them all: even the most beneficent power only contains in itself
some of the requisites of good, and the remainder, if progress is to
continue, must be derived from some other source. No community has
ever long continued progressive but while a conflict was going on
between the strongest power in the community and some rival power;
between the spiritual and temporal authorities; the military or
territorial and the industrious classes; the king and the people;
the orthodox and religious reformers. When the victory on either
side was so complete as to put an end to the strife, and no other
conflict took its place, first stagnation followed, and then decay.
The ascendancy of the numerical majority is less unjust, and, on the
whole, less mischievous than many others, but it is attended with
the very same kind of dangers, and even more certainly; for when the
government is in the hands of One or a Few, the Many are always
existent as a rival power, which may not be strong enough ever to
control the other, but whose opinion and sentiment are a moral, and
even a social support to all who, either from conviction or
contrariety of interest, are opposed to any of the tendencies of the
ruling authority. But when the democracy is supreme, there is no One
or Few strong enough for dissentient opinions and injured or menaced
interests to lean upon. The great difficulty of democratic
government has hitherto seemed to be, how to provide in a democratic
society–what circumstances have provided hitherto in all the
societies which have maintained themselves ahead of others–a social
support, a point d'appui, for individual resistance to the
tendencies of the ruling power; a protection, a rallying-point, for
opinions and interests which the ascendant public opinion views with
disfavor. For want of such a point d'appui, the older
societies, and all but a few modern ones, either fell into
dissolution or became stationary (which means slow deterioration)
through the exclusive predominance of a part only of the conditions
of social and mental well-being.
Now, this great want the system of Personal Representation is
fitted to supply in the most perfect manner which the circumstances
of modern society admit of. The only quarter in which to look for a
supplement, or completing corrective to the instincts of a
democratic majority, is the instructed minority; but, in the
ordinary mode of constituting democracy, this minority has no organ:
Mr. Hare's system provides one. The representatives who would be
returned to Parliament by the aggregate of minorities would afford
that organ in its greatest perfection. A separate organization of
the instructed classes, even if practicable, would be invidious, and
could only escape from being offensive by being totally without
influence. But if the élite of these classes formed part of
the Parliament, by the same title as any other of its members–by
representing the same number of citizens, the same numerical
fraction of the national will–their presence could give umbrage to
nobody, while they would be in the position of highest vantage, both
for making their opinions and councils heard on all important
subjects, and for taking an active part in public business. Their
abilities would probably draw to them more than their numerical
share of the actual administration of government; as the Athenians
did not confide responsible public functions to Cleon or Hyperbolus
(the employment of Cleon at Pylos and Amphipolis was purely
exceptional), but Nicias, and Theramenes, and Alcibiades were in
constant employment both at home and abroad, though known to
sympathize more with oligarchy than with democracy. The instructed
minority would, in the actual voting, count only for their numbers,
but as a moral power they would count for much more, in virtue of
their knowledge, and of the influence it would give them over the
rest. An arrangement better adapted to keep popular opinion within
reason and justice, and to guard it from the various deteriorating
influences which assail the weak side of democracy, could scarcely
by human ingenuity be devised. A democratic people would in this way
be provided with what in any other way it would almost certainly
miss–leaders of a higher grade of intellect and character than
itself. Modern democracy would have its occasional Pericles, and its
habitual group of superior and guiding minds.
With all this array of reasons, of the most fundamental
character, on the affirmative side of the question, what is there on
the negative? Nothing that will sustain examination, when people can
once be induced to bestow any real examination upon a new thing.
Those indeed, if any such there be, who, under pretense of equal
justice, aim only at substituting the class ascendancy of the poor
for that of the rich, will of course be unfavorable to a scheme
which places both on a level. But I do not believe that any such
wish exists at present among the working classes of this country,
though I would not answer for the effect which opportunity and
demagogic artifices may hereafter have in exciting it. In the United
States, where the numerical majority have long been in full
possession of collective despotism, they would probably be as
unwilling to part with it as a single despot or an aristocracy. But
I believe that the English democracy would as yet be content with
protection against the class legislation of others, without claiming
the power to exercise it in their turn.
Among the ostensible objectors to Mr. Hare's scheme, some profess
to think the plan unworkable; but these, it will be found, are
generally people who have barely heard of it, or have given it a
very slight and cursory examination. Others are unable to reconcile
themselves to the loss of what they term the local character of the
representation. A nation does not seem to them to consist of
persons, but of artificial units, the creation of geography and
statistics. Parliament must represent towns and counties, not human
beings. But no one seeks to annihilate towns and counties. Towns and
counties, it may be presumed, are represented when the human beings
who inhabit them are represented. Local feelings can not exist
without somebody who feels them, nor local interests without
somebody interested in them. If the human beings whose feelings and
interests these are have their proper share of representation, these
feelings and interests are represented in common with all other
feelings and interests of those persons. But I can not see why the
feelings and interests which arrange mankind according to localities
should be the only one thought worthy of being represented; or why
people who have other feelings and interests, which they value more
than they do their geographical ones, should be restricted to these
as the sole principle of their political classification. The notion
that Yorkshire and Middlesex have rights apart from those of their
inhabitants, or that Liverpool and Exeter are the proper objects of
the legislator's care, in contradistinction the population of those
places, is a curious specimen of delusion produced by words.
In general, however, objectors cut the matter short by affirming
that the people of England will never consent to such a system. What
the people of England are likely to think of those who pass such a
summary sentence on their capacity of understanding and judgment,
deeming it superfluous to consider whether a thing is right or wrong
before affirming that they are certain to reject it, I will not
undertake to say. For my own part, I do not think that the people of
England have deserved to be, without trial, stigmatized as
insurmountably prejudiced against any thing which can be proved to
be good either for themselves or for others. It also appears to me
that when prejudices persist obstinately, it is the fault of nobody
so much as of those who make a point of proclaiming them
insuperable, as an excuse to themselves for never joining in an
attempt to remove them. Any prejudice whatever will be
insurmountable if those who do not share it themselves truckle to
it, and flatter it, and accept it as a law of nature. I believe,
however, that of prejudice, properly speaking, there is in this case
none except on the lips of those who talk about it, and that there
is in general, among those who have yet heard of the proposition, no
other hostility to it than the natural and healthy distrust
attaching to all novelties which have not been sufficiently
canvassed to make generally manifest all the pros and cons of the
question. The only serious obstacle is the unfamiliarity: this,
indeed, is a formidable one, for the imagination much more easily
reconciles itself to a great alteration in substance than to a very
small one in names and forms. But unfamiliarity is a disadvantage
which, when there is any real value in an idea, it only requires
time to remove; and in these days of discussion and generally
awakened interest in improvement, what formerly was the work of
centuries often requires only years.
|
