TOPICS OF THE DAY.
THE SLAVERY OF "THE SYSTEM."
IT is of little use to describe the measures which might redeem Ireland, or might serve the empire in any other great necessity ; for we have not the men to carry them out. The causes of the horrors which have grown familiar in Ireland, and have become horribly tolerated, are not recondite, nor irremoveable; the em- pire possesses the material resources, the grosser machinery for the purpose ; but when we look around, astonished not to see that machinery in energetic motion, we find that the men who set themselves to the work are unequal to it. They are too puny. Their friends proclaim the fact. Their very excuse is, that the work is too great for them ; that their tools are too large and in- tractable for their hands. When the Irish cry out to them in the wildness of despair, mixing objurgation and menace, they bestir themselves ; they "use their best exertions "—they speak and write, run and ride, ask for money and spend it, fret, fume, and sweat beyond all requirement of conscience : but when the fit is over, Ireland is as before. When bystanders exclaim at the nul- lity of achievement after all the effort, they plead the excess of the exertion. When men of strong faculties and will, who have bestowed their strength on other vocations than those of active politics, like Thomas Carlyle, look out from the closet upon the helplessness and reproach the lachete by describing it to itself, the feeble "men of action" and their feebler friends call to mind the conditions on which the Whigs hold office: if they are " in- efficient and feeble," it is gravely said, they can "scarcely be blamed for not doing more," because they are "no unconditional Ministers "; they have two Houses of Parliaments to consult, who pooh-pooh their measures : so " the poor Whigs " have "pocketed" their measures, one after another. The Whigs, in short, are overlaid by Parliament ; and thus it comes about, that they attempt "to discharge a governor's duty and debt towards subjects dying for want of governing" by such things as " a bill for improved registration of Irish voters,"—an attempt certainly more surprising to those out of Parliament, as Carlyle says, than to those within. There is some truth in the Whig plea.
If any modern Amadis of Gaul, bent on the redress of griev- ances, enters the House of Commons neither crippled, enervated, nor corrupted by the process of the election, he finds the House a perfect chamber of Archelaus ; wherein entering, the faculties are benumbed, strength is turned to helplessness, and daring to despair. He may resent the coward inertness which he has seen, and enter all on fire to set the example of doing ; but the more earnest he is, the more hopeful, the more eager to lead, the more does he feel his heart sink within him at what he encoun- ters there. Before him is a seated mob of men whose scruples have been filtered through the lying, the corruption, and the coMmonplaces of the election ; a herd whose natures are as va- rious as the sounds in which they indulge ; large share of " gio- vani impudenti e veccbj stolti," some with the remains of intel- lect, but casehardened in the wisdom of the market-place. To them a first principle comes like the blushing memory of a first love, at which grey-haired sense must sneer; living truth is foolishness, and no truth will pass with the nod of sententious approval, except dead, trite, virtueless commonplace. Some few higher intellects are there, but they have consented to mould their fashion to that of the multitude. It is a body of such sand- like cohesion, that if one part sticks to you the rest falls away. It is benumbed by inertia of many sorts,—the scepticism of the young optimist, whose optimism finds its consummation in the perfumed chamber of the ballet-dancer ; of the iron-grey middle age, whose speculations end in a dinner ; of old conservatism, whose hopes are in the past, and which is, like the love-crazed girl, ever watching for the arrival of what has for ever gone. Worst of all is that set whose minds have become quite shaped to the fashion of the place, like the toad to the hole in its prim- aeval rock ; whose intellect works by " bill," who think in " pre- ambles,"—men to whom a speech is a deed, a "measure" an epoch, a division a victory, a return a result.
These are the wise men of the region : they teach the neophyte how to shape truths by the rules of the Notice-paper, how to school his patience to the rules of the House, how to trim the claims of nations to the routine, how to propitiate the clerk at the table. The young reformer learns that if he would catch votes, he must translate deep truth and burning wants into lan- guage that means nothing; if he would have any proposition " pass," he must even hand it over to the multitude, see it pawed about like a scientific instrument by curious savages—must en- dure the chattering of a wilderness of monkeys—must be reconciled to seeing his intent twisted, mutilated, and altered, until its ori- ginal part is thrown quite aside, and possibly its opposite comes out as the result at the other end of the whole process. If the ardent adventurer in the world of politics must be dis- heartened, what will ibe the effect upon the Minister who is the creature of these conflicting influences, of these great trivialities ? The present Government exists precisely because it is the most absolutely under subjection. Lord John Russell may have had his intentions, formerly : now he has no more than the leavings of other men's intentions—the fragments which escape after the House has broken up original measures. Lord John may once have had his hopes, his belief in the possibility of doing some- thing : he has learned to mete his expectations by his successes in the Commons, and the observer may mete the Minister's ex-
pectations by bis measures. He has learned, perchance, to osti.. mate his own faculties, to know his feeble invention; at all menu, he has come to the end of his resources—he has no more to force upon a reluctant Legislature : the reluctance to go forward is now shared by himself : he fears for " his order "—he cannot see his way beyond ; he takes refuge from the importunity of urgent followers in obedience to the behests of the immoveable Commons. Nor can he be denounced as singular. The same subjection to circumstances which marks the statesman marks every class ie the state. Follow any citizen through the pursuits of the day, and see how much he shapes by his own voluntary will—how much is settled for him by the force of circumstances, or " the system." From the time he pulls downs his shutters till he puts them up again, the shopkeeper strives to do what is " usual": nine-tenths if not the whole of his acts, every hour in the day, are performed with a very imperfect exercise of his own choice: in obtaining his goods, he is controlled by what is " usual" among the men with whom he deals ; in bargaining with his workmen. he cannot go beyond what is usual, to favour either them or himself; if he sees success before him, he can hardly hasten it by anything unusual ; if bankruptcy impends, his re- fuge is usage. In all the concerns of his domestic life it is the same : be must satisfy his relations and connexions that he does what is usual : at each great event of mortal career—at a wed- ding, a christening, or a funeral, " sunt lachrymie rerum et men• tem mortalia tangunt "; but he leaves it to the undertaker, the pew-opener, the vestry-clerk, or other constituted referee, to cer- tify that he has done what is usual. Every part of his " sys- tem " belongs to some other system : his wholesale dealer is an item in the factory system ; the men in his workshop belong to a union in which their individuality is merged ; his customers are but a fraction of " the public in general ' : he lives, acts, feels, and suffers, according to custom : his very licences are only what are usual with his class: he has as little volition as an atom in " Brown's dance." The English are noted for the veneration of the law : it is partly a real conviction and love of order ; partly a more servile obsequiousness to authority; partly an intellectual indolence, which makes them delegate their will to " the ma. jority " and think by rule; partly a not unnatural submission to " the system," just because that is so vast, so stupendous in its weight, so irresistible in its motion.
But this submission to decree is precisely the distinction between the governed and the governing. To perform the duty of govern- ment, he who governs should relinquish neither the duty of taking thought nor the active exercise of will. The function of govern- ment is an incessant vigilance, an incessant taking of counsel with thought, and an incessant activity of the will. If "the system" be vast and powerful, the intellect, the will, and the courage of the man who claims to be governor, should be proportionately great and vigorous. No machine is really "self-acting." An obedient veneration for the law is a fine quality in a people ; but its correlative is such a supremacy of intellect and will in the go- vernors as shall maintain the vitality of the law. A state con- ducted entirely in the passive mood must drift helplessly on the stream of time, at the mercy of tide, wind, and rocks. To defend bad steerage by the strength of the current and the bad discipline of the crew, is to condemn the captain for incapacity; to say that a prime minister holds his post on condition of doing nothing, is to say that he holds it on condition of not doing his duty—of treacherously feigning to govern when there is no go- vernment—on conditions, indeed, which imply that his consent to hold office is dishonest, treacherous, and degrading. No man can be compelled to hold office on such terms. If the -House of Commons will permit the tenure on no other terms, better let the post remain vacant and the country see the vacancy. At present we have a Government which does not govern, but only obeys— a ruler that does not rule, but is ruled—an initiator of measures only to be "pocketed "—a volunteer for the post of danger in these times of trouble, only to dress the stage—a commander who takes orders from his men—a leader of the forlorn hope who sits down in the rear and says that there is no hope, and defends his cowardice or supineness by the mutiny of his band.
Previous page
