If, however, these rules are substantially the expressions of sound common sense, worked out by practical sagacity, it is equally true that 'no body of rules upon an important subject were ever expressed so loosely, in such an intricate manner, or at such intolerable length.' The fact is that the intricate and often absurd theory by which they are connected came after the 'eminently sagacious practice' which the theory was intended to justify. English lawyers, by long practice in the courts, acquire an instinctive knowledge of what is or is not evidence, although they may have hardly given a thought to the theory. The English text-books, which are meant for practical purposes, are generally 'collections of enormous masses of isolated rulings generally relating to some very minute point.' They are arranged with reference to 'vague catchwords,' familiar to lawyers, rather than to the principles really invoked. One of the favourite formulæ, for example, tells us, 'hearsay is no evidence.' Yet 'hearsay' and 'evidence' are both words which have been used in different senses ('evidence,' for example, either means a fact or the statement that the fact exists), and the absence of any clear definitions has obscured the whole subject.
Now as Indian officials have to manage very difficult investigations, with no opportunity for acquiring the lawyer's instinct, and without the safeguard afforded in England by a trained bar, thoroughly imbued with the traditions of the art, they were in special need of a clear, intelligible code. By 'boiling down' the English law, and straining off all the mere technical verbiage, it would be possible to extract a few common-sense principles and to give their applications to practice in logical subordination and coherence. That which seems to be a labyrinth in which it is hopeless to find the way until experience has generated familiarity with a thousand minute indications at the various turning points, may be transformed, when the clue is once given, into a plan of geometrical neatness and simplicity.
This was what Fitzjames endeavoured to do for the Indian law of evidence. When the draft was circulated the utility of the work was generally admitted in the reports returned, but some hostile criticisms were also made. One gentleman, who had himself written upon the subject, remarked that it had been apparently constructed by going through 'Taylor on Evidence,' and arbitrarily selecting certain portions. To this Fitzjames replied that every principle, applicable to India, contained in the 1508 royal octavo pages of Taylor, was contained in the 167 sections of his bill, and that it also disposed fully of every subject treated in his critic's book. He accounts for the criticism, however, by pointing out that the limits of the subject had been very ill defined, and that many extraneous matters belonging properly, for example, to the law of procedure, had been introduced. A code which diverges from the general principles into the particular kind of evidence required in various cases, might spread into every department of law. Fitzjames, however, partly met his critic by admitting certain additions of too technical a nature to be mentioned. I may observe that one source of the intricacy of the English law was avoided. In England, at that time, the erroneous admission or rejection of a single piece of evidence might have made it necessary to try the whole Tichborne case over again. In India this had never been the case, and it was provided that such errors should not be ground for a new trial unless it were proved that they had caused a substantial failure of justice. I will only add that Fitzjames, as before, endeavoured in an 'introduction' to connect his legal theory with the logical doctrines of Mill. He was criticised in a pamphlet by Mr. G. C. Whitworth which he admits to be judicious, and afterwards corrected his definitions accordingly.[113] He did not think his principle wrong, but considered the form to be inconvenient for practical application. Upon this, however, I need not here dwell.[114]
Two other important measures of codification were passed during Fitzjames's tenure of office. The 'Limitation of Suits' Act, passed March 24, 1871, was, as he stated, entirely due to Mr. Whitley Stokes. Fitzjames expressed his high admiration for it in a speech in which he takes occasion to utter some characteristic denunciations of the subtleties of English law, connected with the subject of this Act. Did human memory run to the year 1190, when Richard I. set out on the third crusade, or to 1194, when he returned? That was one of the problems propounded by Lord Wensleydale, who for many years devoted extraordinary powers of mind to quibbles altogether unworthy of him. There is no more painful sight for a man who dislikes the waste of human energy than a court engaged in discussing such a point. Four judges, with eminent counsel and attorneys, will argue for days whether Parliament, if it had thought of something of which it did not think, would have laid down an unimportant rule this way or that. It would have been better for the parties to the suit to toss up, and leave the most convenient rule to be adopted for the future.
The 'Contract Act' had been prepared by the Indian Law Commission, and had been under discussion for five years. The final revision had taken place in the winter of 1871-2, and Fitzjames specially acknowledges the help of two colleagues in the Legislative Council, Messrs. Bullen Smith and Stewart, gentlemen engaged in business at Calcutta. The subject is too technical for me to approach it. One point may just be mentioned: If a man steals a cow, and sells it to an innocent purchaser, who is to suffer the loss when the theft is discovered? The original owner, said the Law Commission. The purchaser, said the Legislative Council. Stealing cows is one of the commonest of Indian offences—so much so that it is a regular profession to track stolen cattle. But if the buyer has a good title to the cow, unless he knows it to be stolen, the recovery would be generally impossible. Cattle-stealers would flourish, and would find an asylum in our territory, where the law would differ from that of the native states. This appears to indicate one of the subjects of discontent of the Law Commission, who desired to pass measures unsuitable, according to the Indian Government, to the conditions of the country.
I have now mentioned, I think, the most important measures in which Fitzjames was concerned, whether as having framed the original draft or simply as officially responsible for the work of others. He had, of course, more or less share in many other Acts, some of much importance. Little more than a month after his arrival he had to introduce a bill upon Hindoo wills; and, in speaking on the occasion, elaborately discussed its relation to Hindoo theories as to property, and especially as to the right of creating perpetuities. This speech appears to have made a very strong impression upon his hearers. In the last months of his residence he had charge of a bill upon oaths and declarations, which suggests some curious points of casuistry. What, for example, is to be done in regard to people who believe that they will be damned if their sworn statements are inaccurate, unintentionally or otherwise, and who, inferring that damnation is tolerably certain, argue that they may as well tell a big lie as a small one? How, again, is a European to appreciate the value of an oath made upon a cow's tail or a tiger's skin? I will not go into such discussions, noting only that he seems to have been profoundly interested in them all.
Fitzjames, of course, served upon many committees, and had to attend to the current business of his office. In the last three or four months of his stay, the larger measures which I have mentioned were finally passed into law. The Punjab Land Revenue Act was passed on October 30, 1871; the Evidence Act on March 12, 1872; the Native Marriages Act on March 19; the Punjab Laws on March 26; the Contract Act on April 9; and the Criminal Procedure Act on April 16. In proposing the passage of the Contract Act he took occasion to give his view of the result which had so far been reached in the direction of codifying the Indian laws. It might be said, in a summary way, that consolidation was nearly satisfactory in regard to 'current legislation,' that is, legislation required with a view to particular cases. In regard to 'procedure,' the process of codification was complete, with two or three exceptions. It would be complete when the code of civil procedure had been re-enacted; when the revenue procedure in the Central Provinces had been regulated, and another measure or two passed. Finally, the 'substantive law' includes many most important subjects—the laws of inheritance, for example, and the land laws, which are determined by the native customs, and which, for obvious reasons, we cannot touch. When two or three gaps to which he pointed (the law of 'Torts,' for example) had been filled, we should have as much codification as 'would be required for a length of time.' The Statute Law of India would then be comprised in four or five octavo volumes, and the essential part of it in five or six Acts, which might be learnt in a year of moderate industry. A young civilian who knew the Penal Code, the Succession Act, the Contract Act, the two Procedure Codes, the Evidence Acts, the Limitation Act, and the Land Revenue Acts of his province would know more than nineteen barristers out of twenty when they are called to the bar; and all this would go into a moderately sized octavo volume. His successor, he thought, would be able to accomplish all that was required. He observes, however, emphatically, that a process of re-enactment would be always required. It is necessary to keep laws steadily up to date, having regard to decisions of the courts upon new cases, and to any legislative changes. No important Act should be left without amendments for more than ten or twelve years. A constant process of repairing is as necessary to a system of legislation as it is to the maintenance of a railway.
I am, as I have already said, incompetent to form any opinion as to the intrinsic value of these codes. One able critic, Sir C. P. Ilbert, in the 'Law Quarterly,' observes that their real merit is that they were 'suitable and sufficient for the needs which they were intended to meet. What was urgently needed for India was a guide for the judge or magistrate who has had no legal training, who derives little or no assistance from the bar, and who has to work at a distance from a law library.' Fitzjames's legislation, he thinks, was 'admirably adapted' for advancing the previous Indian system a step further; although his codes might not meet the requirements of the present generation of English lawyers. Sir C. P. Ilbert, I may add, speaks very strongly of the 'educational value' of the Contract Act in particular, as shown by his experience of Indian Civil Service examinations. He thinks that Fitzjames's other writings and codes have a similar merit. A gentleman of high judicial position and very great Indian experience has expressed to me his high admiration of the Evidence Act. It is, he says, 'a wonderful piece of work, boiling down so much into so small a compass.' It is 'an achievement to be proud of,' although parts of it, he adds, are open to criticism, and especially to the criticism that it is 'over the heads of those who have to deal with it.' It presupposes outside knowledge which they often do not possess. These criticisms do not altogether coincide, and I shall not endeavour to reconcile or discriminate. I am content to say that I have heard on all hands, from persons qualified to express an opinion here, that Fitzjames's work made a marked impression upon Indian legislation, and, with whatever qualifications, is admitted to have been of very great service to the administrators of the country.
I shall venture, however, to add a word or two upon the qualities, mental and moral, thus displayed. Sir C. P. Ilbert says that Fitzjames was a 'Cyclopean builder. He hurled together huge blocks of rough-hewn law. It is undeniable that he left behind him some hasty work,' which his successors had to remove and replace. In half the ordinary term of office he did work enough for five law members, and 'left the Legislative Council breathless and staggering,' conscious of having accomplished 'unprecedented labours,' but with some misgivings as to the quality of parts of the work. Fitzjames, that is, was a man of enormous energy, who fulfilled only half of the famous maxim; he laboured 'without rest,' but not 'without haste.' As for the energy displayed, there can, I imagine, be only one opinion.[115] And if unflagging zeal in doing the duty which lies nearest, and an entire devotion of a man's whole powers of mind to what he sincerely believes to be a great and worthy task, be not virtues deserving of all respect, I do not know what qualities are entitled to that name. A vigorous constitution of mind and body applied to the discharge of appropriate duties describes a most felicitous combination of circumstances, and indicates a character which I, at least, cannot regard without cordial admiration. It is true that he loved his work; but that is just what constitutes his merit. I might express my feeling more strongly if I were less closely connected with its object.
The direction, though not the extent, of the shortcomings of such an intellectual force may be easily imagined. If there was one thing which Fitzjames hated it was needless subtlety, and the technicalities which are the product of such subtlety—the provision of a superfluous logical apparatus, which, while it gives scope for ingenuity, distracts the mind from the ends for which it is ostensibly designed. I have quoted enough to show the intensity of his longing for broad, general, common-sense principles, which was, indeed, his most prominent intellectual characteristic. Now a code should, as I take it, like the scientific classification of any other subject-matter, combine this with intellectual excellence at the opposite pole. The scientific classification, when once made, should appear, as the botanists say, to be natural, not artificial. If fully successful, it should seem as if it could not but have been made, or as if it made itself. Every subdivision should fall spontaneously into its right place without violence or distortion. The secret of achieving such a result is, I suppose, the selection of the right principles of division and subdivision from the first. When it appears that any given object refuses to fit itself conveniently into any one of our pigeon-holes, its obstinacy may betray a defect in the original system; and the code, like other artistic wholes in which every part has some definite relation to every other, may require a remanipulation throughout. Now, if I understand Fitzjames's intellectual temperament rightly, this indicates the point at which his patience might begin to fail. When he met with some little specimen which would not go of itself upon any of his previous arrangements, he would be apt to treat it with disrespect, and possibly to jam it in with too rough and ready a hand into the nearest compartment. In so doing he might really be overlooking the indication of a fault in the system, reaching further than he suspected. An apparent subtlety may really correspond to an important distinction, and an outward simplicity be attained at the cost of some internal discord. In short, the same kind of defect which prevented him from becoming an accurate classical scholar, or from taking a sufficient interest in the more technical parts of his profession, would show itself in the delicate work of codification by a tendency to leave raw edges here and there in his work, and a readiness to be too easily satisfied before the whole structure had received the last possible degree of polish. Thus I find, from various indications which I need not specify, that some of his critics professed to have discovered flaws in his work, while he honestly thought the criticism superfine, and the errata pointed out such as concerned a mere corrector of the press rather than a serious legislator for practical purposes. But I must not even attempt to conjecture which was right and which was wrong, nor how far there might be right and wrong upon both sides.
These rather vague presumptions must take the place of any deliberate estimate of the value of Fitzjames's achievements in India. I must, however, say something more of the impression made upon his own mind. I have already indicated some of the convictions suggested to him by his experience, and I shall have to speak in the next chapter of the book in which he endeavoured to set forth their application to political principles in general. Here I will summarise his view of the special principles of Indian legislation. It is given very emphatically in Sir W. W. Hunter's 'Life of Lord Mayo,' and will, I think, materially elucidate his position in regard to certain wider problems.
He observes, in the first place, that the legislative department had been accused of over-activity and of a desire to introduce English law with too little regard to native ideas. The chief legislative reform required for India, he was often told, was the abolition of the legislative department—an assertion which, I should guess, when made in his presence, must have given rise to some rather lively discussions. He thought that this view rested mainly upon certain prejudices very generally entertained though not often stated in precise words. Many civilians really objected to government by law, holding that in India law should be overridden by 'equity,' or, briefly, that the district officers should decide by their own views of each particular case. Such persons, again, frequently held that the British rule had succeeded to the absolute power of the old native states, and that the vigour of the executive should be fettered by as few laws as possible. This feeling had been strengthened by the fact that the old supreme courts were originally established as a check upon the powers of the Government. The two powers came to be regarded as in a position of natural antagonism, and nothing struck him more than the conviction of the older members of the service that lawyers were their natural enemies, and the law a mysterious power with the special function of trammelling executive action. Various little encounters in the Legislative Council testify to this difference of sentiment. When he explained to a military officer of rank the power conferred by the Criminal Tribes Act, mentioned above, the officer replied, 'It is quite a new idea to me that the law can be anything but a check to the executive power.' The same sentiment underlay the frequent complaints of the want of 'elasticity' of the law. When brought to a point these complaints always related to certain regulations for taking down and recording evidence. What was really desired by the persons concerned was elasticity in the degree of attention which they might pay to their most important duties. So an officer complained that he could not punish certain persons whom he knew to be murderers, though witnesses were afraid to appear. What he really wanted, it was implied, was power to put people to death on the secret information of irresponsible witnesses.
Hence, the first question is whether India should be governed by law or by merely personal discretion. Baseless as the 'discretion' theory may be, it has a strong unavowed influence. And yet it is the very specific difference of our rule that it is rule by law and not despotism. Englishmen could have no desire simply to set up a new despotism differing from the old only in being administered by Englishmen instead of natives. The moral difference is unmistakable. Decisive government by law gives the only real security for life or property, and is the indispensable condition for the growth of wealth. Nor is a compromise more possible between law and despotism than between straight and crooked. The essence of one system is that no one shall suffer in person or property except according to law. The essence of the other is that security of person and property is dependent upon the will of the ruler. Nowhere is this shown more clearly than in India. The remedy of the poorest peasant in the country against any wrongful action of the Government in India is far clearer and more simple than the remedy of the richest and most influential man against the Government in England.[116]
The absolute necessity of government by law is shown, however, most strikingly by a process going on throughout the country—the growth of private rights, and especially of rights in land. Under the old despotic systems, the place of law was taken by a number of vague and fluctuating customs, liable to be infringed at every moment by the arbitrary fancies of the rulers. Society was 'worn to the bone.' It had become an aggregate of villages, each forming a kind of isolated units. In some districts even the villages had been broken up and no political organisation remained except that between landholders and individual husbandmen, which was really a relation between oppressors and oppressed. Elsewhere, there was a chaos of village communities, dominated by the most inorganic and ill-defined of aristocracies and monarchies. The village communities are decaying, and, in spite of regrets prompted by various reasons, they decay because they represent a crude form of socialism, paralysing to individual energy and inconsistent with the fundamental principles of our rule. The cardinal duty which we have to discharge in India is to keep the peace. The villages formed self-contained communities, each regulating its own affairs, and bound by loose customs, leading to quarrels which could only be settled by blood-feuds and the strong hand. Strict laws and a rigid administration of justice are incompatible with such modes of determining disputes between man and man and village and village. The communities, therefore, break up when the law admits of no coercive action except its own. If we will not allow a man to gather his friends, arm them with bludgeons, and march out to settle a boundary dispute with a neighbouring village, we must settle the boundary ourselves, and we must settle it by distinct rules—that is, we must enforce laws. Peace and law go together, as violence and elastic custom go together. Now we must keep the peace, and, therefore, we must rule by law.
Rule by law, however, though necessary, is not a necessary evil but an invaluable benefit. Laws are necessary to vigorous administration. When Lawrence and his colleagues undertook to rule the Punjab, it was a popular notion that they ruled by mere personal discretion. The fact, as already noticed, was the very reverse. Their first step was to establish far better, simpler, and more scientific systems of law than were in force in the older provinces. Moreover, and this is one of Fitzjames's most characteristic theories, 'the establishment of a system of law which regulates the most important part of the daily life of a people constitutes in itself a moral conquest, more striking, more durable, and far more solid than the physical conquest which renders it possible. It exercises an influence over the minds of the people in many ways comparable to that of a new religion.' This is the more significant because the instructed natives who study the laws, both Mohammedan and Hindoo, have been accustomed to identify law and religion. 'Our law is, in fact, the sum and substance of what we have to teach them. It is, so to speak, the gospel of the English, and it is a compulsory gospel which admits of no dissent and of no disobedience.' Finally, if Government does not make laws, each officer or group of officers will have to make their own. Practically they will buy a few English law-books and apply them in a servile way to the cases which turn up.
India, then, must be ruled by law. By what law? Shall we endeavour to govern on native principles and by native agency? To this theory, which has attracted many friends, he replies, No; first, because Indian ideas about government are wrong; they are proved to be wrong by experience, which shows that they led to anarchy and demoralisation; and, secondly, because they have produced men and institutions unfit for government. If, therefore, we tried to rule by Oriental methods and agents, we should either make ourselves responsible for their oppressions, or we should have to keep them in order, and that is to rule by law. We should, again, have to watch perpetually over the mass of personal intrigue which is the 'curse of every despotic state.' We should require a large native army and live under a perpetual threat of mutiny. In fact, the mutiny of 1857 really represented the explosion and the collapse of this policy. Finally, we should have to choose between Mohammedans and Hindoos, and upon either alternative a ruler not himself belonging to the religion comes into inevitable conflict with their fundamental principles.
We have, then, no choice but to rule by law and to frame laws upon European principles. Here, it is necessary to guard against misunderstandings which have given rise to the charge of over-legislation. 'European principles' mean those principles which have been shown by our experience to be essential to peace, order, wealth, and progress in arts and sciences. 'No one,' says Fitzjames, 'can feel more strongly than I do the madness of the smallest unnecessary interference with the social habits and religious opinions of the country. I would not touch one of them except in cases of extreme necessity.' But the simple introduction of peace, law, order, free competition for wealth and honour, with an education to match, will inevitably cause a social revolution. By merely suppressing violence and intestine war, you produce such a revolution in a country, which has for centuries been the theatre of disorder and war, as surely as by damming a river you produce a lake. You must look after the security of your dams under penalty of fearful disasters.
Hence the great problem of the English in India is to see that this inevitable revolution, at the head of which they have been placed, shall run in the proper channels and produce good results. What will be the ultimate result passes the wit of man to say. That India should reproduce Europe in religious morals and law seems highly improbable; but whatever changes take place will depend upon other causes than legislation. The law can only provide a convenient social framework. The utmost that we are entitled to say is that the maintenance of peace, order, and the supremacy of a law, which leaves all religious inquiries to find their own level, and is founded upon temporal expediency, is an indisputable condition of the only kind of benefits which it is in our power to confer upon India.
The conclusion, then, follows that so much legislation is not only justifiable but necessary as will provide for the following objects:—the firm establishment of our power; the recognition and enforcement of the principles which it represents; and the vigorous administration of the government. Such legislation should be earned out, however much opposed either to European or to native principles. But all legislation, not required for these purposes, is mischievous and dangerous. The limits thus defined in general terms can only be precisely marked out by experience. But 'no law should be made till it is distinctly perceived and felt to be necessary. No one can admit more fully or feel more strongly than I do the evils and dangers of mere speculative legislation in India.'
Fitzjames proceeds to argue that these principles have in fact guided our Indian legislation. No Government was 'ever less justly chargeable with enacting laws merely for the sake of legislation.' The faults have arisen from defects of style and from the peculiar conditions of Indian administration. The unwritten law of India is mainly personal; and many difficulties have arisen from the mixture of English law with the Mohammedan and Hindoo laws and other native customs. All cases not otherwise provided for were to be decided by justice, equity, and good conscience. Much latitude of decision was thus left to the Indian judges upon matters not included in the written law. The practical result of thus 'throwing the reins on the neck of judges,' the first body of whom had no professional training, was to produce a vague uncertain feeble system,' combining the defects of 'a weak grasp of principle with a great deal of occasional subservience to technicality.' English professional lawyers occasionally seem to acquire a specially vigorous grasp of principles, to which they have had to force their way through a mass of confused precedent and detail. But the 'unprofessional judge seldom gets beyond a certain number of illustrations and rules, more or less imperfectly understood.' Hence the special necessity in India of reducing the laws to the clearest and most explicit shape possible, or, in other words, for the codifying process in which he had played his part. Sir W. W. Hunter remarks in a note that the evils indicated here have been remedied to some extent, 'partly through the influence which his (Fitzjames's) views have exercised' in India, by a greater separation between the judicial and the executive branches of the service.
One of Fitzjames's most remarkable pieces of work is a 'Minute on the Administration of Justice in British India,' containing his remarks upon the subject mentioned by Sir W. W. Hunter. It was originally written in the summer of 1870, as a comment upon a large mass of opinions obtained from the local governments. It was revised in 1871, and published[117] just before he left India in 1872. The desirability of separating the judicial from the executive functions of the civilians had been long under discussion, and very various opinions had been held. In this minute Fitzjames summarises these, and gives his own view of the points on which he considered himself able to form an opinion. Many of the questions raised could only be answered to any purpose by men who had had long practical experience of administration. Fitzjames, however, gives a careful account of the actual systems of the various provinces: discusses how far it is possible or desirable to separate the functions; whether a 'special judicial branch of the civil service' should be created; whether any modification would be desirable in the systems of civil or criminal procedure; and what practical suggestions should be followed, having regard to economy and to an increased employment of natives. I cannot even attempt to describe his arguments. I will only say that the minute appears to me to be a very remarkable production, not only as indicating the amount of labour bestowed, amid so many other occupations, upon the important questions discussed; but as one of his best performances as a very clear and terse account of a complicated system with a brief but exceedingly vigorous exposition of what he thought should be the governing principles of any reforms. He held, I may say, in a general way that there were some evils which required a remedy; especially those resulting from the frequency of appeals in the Indian system and the elaborate supervision of the magistrates by the High Courts. He recognises imperfections inherent and excusable in the attempt to administer justice to so vast a population by a small body of foreigners with very imperfect legal training; though he shows his usual admiration for the general results of British government, and thinks that the efficiency of the service may be secured by moderate reforms. Incidentally he goes over many of the points already noticed as touched in his speeches. I have, however, said as much as is desirable in regard to his general principles as expounded in the minute and in the 'Life of Lord Mayo.' Every one of the legislative measures in which he was concerned might be regarded as an illustration of one or more of these propositions. To me it seems that they represent at least a definite policy, worthy of his common sense and general vigour of mind. A generalisation from these principles came to constitute his political creed in later years.
I must now speak of an event which made a very strong impression upon him. He concludes the chapter from which I have been quoting by declaring that of the many public men whom he had met in England and India, there was none to whom he 'felt disposed to give such heartfelt affection and honour' as to Lord Mayo. Lord Mayo, he says, though occupied in many other ways, had shown the 'deepest personal interest' in the work of the legislative department, and, when difficulties arose, had given to it the warmest, most ardent, and most effective support. It was chiefly due to Lord Mayo that the Government was able to pass the important acts of the beginning of 1872, especially the three great measures: the 'Civil Procedure Code,' the 'Contract Act,' and the 'Evidence Code.' I hope, says Fitzjames to Sir W. W. Hunter, that you will be able to make people understand 'how wise and honest and brave he was, and what freshness, vigour, and flexibility of mind he brought to bear upon a vast number of new and difficult subjects.' On January 24, 1870, Lord Mayo left Calcutta in H.M.S. 'Glasgow' to visit, among other places, the convict settlement at the Andaman Islands. He landed there on February 8, and while getting into his boat to return was murdered by a convict. The body was brought back to Calcutta on February 19, where it lay in state for two days at Government House, before being sent for burial to his native country. In one of his last letters to his mother, Fitzjames gives an account of the ceremonies at Calcutta, which incidentally illustrates, I think, more forcibly than anything else, the impression produced upon him by India generally. I shall therefore give most of it, omitting a few comparatively irrelevant details. I will only observe that nobody had less taste for public performances of this kind in general—a fact which shows the strength of his feelings on this particular occasion.
'I never expected,' he writes (February 23, 1872), 'to be impressed by a mere ceremonial; but there were some things almost oppressive from their reality and solemnity.... The coffin was brought up on a gun-carriage. It was of enormous size and weight, (near two tons, I believe). The gun-carriage, drawn by twelve artillery horses, made a strangely impressive hearse. It looked so solid, so businesslike, so simple, and so free from all the plumes and staves and rubbish of undertakers. About thirty picked sailors from the "Daphne" and "Glasgow" walked behind and by the side; all dressed in clean white trousers and jerseys, and looking like giants, as indeed they were. They were intensely fond of Lord Mayo, who had won their hearts by the interest he took in them and in the little things they got up to amuse him.... He passed the last evening of his life sitting with Lady Mayo on the bridge of the "Glasgow," and laughing at their entertainment with the greatest cordiality. They wanted to be allowed to carry the coffin on their own shoulders; they said they were ready and willing to do it, and I believe they would have been able, ready, and willing to do anything that strength and skill and pluck could do. Behind them walked the procession, which was nearly three-quarters of a mile long, and contained every Englishman of any importance in Calcutta and a considerable number of natives. The whole road was lined with troops on both sides: but they stood at intervals of several yards, and there was an immense crowd close behind and, in some places in between them.... If there had been any other fanatics in the crowd, there was nothing to prevent them from making a rush and giving a stab.... If there had been any attempt of the kind, I cannot say what might not have happened. People were in such an excited and half-electric state that there might have been a general riot, which would soon have become very like a massacre. One man told me that on his way home, he felt possessed by such fury against anyone who might be connected with the murder, that he walked with a kind of charge through a group of people, who looked as if they enjoyed "the show," and gave a shove to a big Mohammedan who looked insolent, at which, he said, "the man went down like a bag of feathers." I saw some suspicious-looking fellows grinning and sneering and showing their teeth myself, and I felt as if I could have killed them. No one who has not felt it can imagine how we all feel out here in regard to such matters. When Lord Mayo was stabbed, I think every man in the country felt as if he had been more or less stabbed himself.
'The procession went on with the most overwhelming solemnity (nothing short of these words can describe it), till we got to Government House. There was a dead silence nearly all the way; the natives standing or squatting in their apathetic way, and the Europeans as grim as death. All that was to be heard was the rattle of the gun-carriage, and the tramping of the horses, and the minute-guns from the fort and ships. The housetops, the windows, the fort were all crowded with people, but all as still as death. I think the ships looked as sad as anything. There were two miles of noble ships in the Hooghly. Their flags were all flying half-mast high, and they had all "tossed their yards."' (He draws a rough diagram to explain the phrase). 'The yards are all in disorder, and the effect is forlorn and dishevelled to a degree you would not imagine. When we got to Government House, the coffin had to be lifted off the gun-carriage and pulled up a long flight of wide stone steps.... The sailors and a few artillerymen did it all in perfect silence, and with an amount of strength that looked almost marvellous.' The coffin was placed on a truck, to which the sailors harnessed themselves, and dragged it up an inclined plane (formed over the steps) with no apparent effort in spite of the enormous weight. It was taken along a suite of rooms, 'hung with black, and lighted with a curious simplicity and grandeur.' Here, again, the coffin had to be lifted, and 'it was most striking to see the absolute silence with which the men moved the monstrous weight at a sign from the captain's hand.' The only sound was when a spar snapped in the hands of a 'giant of a fellow, who was lifting with it. There was a respectful delicacy in every motion of these men which combined beautifully with their immense, quiet, controlled strength, and impressed me very much. After a few prayers we left.'
On Wednesday, the 21st, the coffin was again removed to the ship. The imprudence of the former procession had struck everyone. The streets were cleared and no one admitted to the jetty except the procession. 'You cannot imagine the awful solemnity which all this precaution gave the whole thing. It was like marching through a city half-dead and half-besieged.' Nothing was to be seen but troops; and, 'when we got into Dalhousie Square, there was a battery of artillery firing minute-guns, and drawn up on the road just as if they were going to fight. Two or three bands played the Dead March the whole way, till I felt as if it would never get out of my ears. At the end of the jetty lay the "Daphne." ... The sailors, with infinite delicacy and quiet, draped the coffin carefully with its flags ... and it was raised and lowered by a steam-crane, which, somehow or other, they managed to work without any sound at all. When the ship steamed off down the river, and the minute-guns stopped, and I drove home with Henry Cunningham, I really felt as I suppose people feel when an operation is over. There was a stern look of reality about the whole affair, quite unlike what one has seen elsewhere. Troops and cannon and gun-carriages seem out of place in England, ... but it is a very different matter here, where everything rests upon military force. The guns and the troops are not only the outward and visible marks of power, but they are the power itself to a great extent, and it is very impressive to see them.
'It gives a sort of relief to one,' he adds, 'that after all Lord Mayo was, in a sense, going home: that he (so far as one can speak of his dead body) was leaving this country with all its various miseries, to return to his own native place. If one is to have fancies on such a matter, it is pleasant to think that he is not to lie here in a country where we can govern and where we can work and make money and lead laborious lives; but for which no Englishman ever did, or ever will, or can feel one tender or genial feeling.[118] The work that is done here is great and wonderful; but the country is hateful.'
One singular incident was connected with this event. The murderer had been tried on the spot and sentenced to death. The sentence had to be confirmed by the High Court at Calcutta. It was there discovered that the judge had by some mistake recorded that the European witnesses had 'affirmed' according to the form used for native religions, instead of being sworn according to the Christian formula. Fitzjames was startled to hear of this intrusion of technicality upon such an occasion; and held, I think, that in case of need, the Government of India should manage to cut the knot. Ultimately, however, some of the witnesses who were at Calcutta made affidavits to the effect that they had really been sworn, and the sentence was confirmed and executed. Otherwise, said Fitzjames in one of his last Indian speeches (upon the Oaths and Declaration Act) a grievous crime might have escaped punishment, because five English gentlemen had made statements 'in the presence of Almighty God,' instead of kissing the Bible and saying 'So help me God.'
I must mention one other incident which occurred at the end of Fitzjames's stay in India. One Ram Singh was the spiritual and political chief of a sect called the Kookas. His disciples showed their zeal by murdering butchers as a protest against cow-killing. They were animated by prophecies of a coming kingdom of heaven, broke into rioting and were suppressed, and, as the Indian Government held, punished with an excess of severity. Although Fitzjames was not officially responsible in this business, he was consulted on the occasion; and his opinions are represented by an official despatch. I need only say that, as in the case of Governor Eyre, he insisted that, while the most energetic measures were allowable to suppress actual resistance, this was no excuse for excessive punishment after the danger was over. The ordinary law should then be allowed to take its course. Meanwhile, Ram Singh was shown to be more or less implicated in the disorders and was deported to Burmah. Fitzjames was greatly impressed by the analogy between English rulers in India and Roman governors in Syria some eighteen centuries ago, when religious sects were suspected of political designs. To this I shall refer presently.
Fitzjames attended the Legislative Council for the last time on April 17, 1872. He left Calcutta the next day on his return to England. He had thus been in office for only half the usual period of five years. His reasons for thus cutting short his time were simple. He felt very strongly that he was exacting a sacrifice on the part of his wife and his family which could only be justified by a very distinct advantage. The expenses were more than he had anticipated, and he saw at an early period that he would be in any case compelled to return to his profession. Gaps at the bar are soon filled up. The more prolonged his absence, the greater would be the difficulty of regaining the position which he had slowly reached. I have some reason to think that the authorities at the India Office were not altogether pleased at what they considered to be a premature relinquishment of his post. He could, however, reply that if he had been only half the usual time in India, he had done fully twice the average amount of work. He left India without regrets for the country itself; for to him the climate and surroundings of English life seemed to be perfection. But he left with a profound impression of the greatness of the work done by Englishmen in India; and with a warm admiration for the system of government, which he was eager to impart to his countrymen at home. How he endeavoured to utter himself upon that and kindred subjects shall be told in the next chapter.
Fitzjames had passed the winter of 1871-2 in Calcutta with Henry Cunningham; his wife having returned to England in November. He followed her in the spring, sailing from Bombay on April 22, 1872. To most people a voyage following two years and a half of unremitting labour would have been an occasion for a holiday. With him, however, to end one task was the same thing as to begin another, and he was taking up various bits of work before India was well out of sight. He had laid in a supply of literature suitable both for instruction and amusement. The day after leaving Bombay he got through the best part of a volume of Sainte-Beuve. He had also brought a 'Faust' and Auerbach's 'Auf der Höhe,' as he was anxious to improve himself in German, and he filled up odd spaces of time with the help of an Italian grammar. He was writing long letters to friends in India, although letter-writing in the other direction would be a waste of time. With this provision for employment he found that the time which remained might be adequately filled by a return to his beloved journalism. He proposes at starting to write an article a day till he gets to Suez. He was a little put out for the first twenty-four hours because in the place which he had selected for writing his iron chair was too near the ship's compasses. He got a safe position assigned to him before long and immediately set to work. He takes his first text from the May meetings for an article which will give everybody some of his reflections upon missionaries in India. Our true position in India, he thinks, is that of teachers, if only we knew what to teach. Hitherto we have not got beyond an emphatic assertion of the necessity of law and order. He writes his article while the decks are being washed, and afterwards writes a 'bit of a letter,' takes his German and Italian lessons, and then turns to his travelling library. This included Mill's 'Utilitarianism' and 'Liberty'; which presently provide him with material not only for reflection, but for exposition. On April 27 he reports that he has been 'firing broadsides into John Mill for about three hours.' He is a little distracted by the heat, and by talks with some of his fellow-travellers; but as he goes up the Red Sea he is again assailing Mill. It has now occurred to him that the criticisms may be formed into a series of letters to the 'Pall Mall Gazette,' which will enable him to express a good many of his favourite doctrines. 'It is curious,' he says, 'that after being, so to speak, a devoted disciple and partisan (of Mill) up to a certain point I should have found it impossible to go on with him. His politics and morals are not mine at all, though I believe in and admire his logic and his general notions of philosophy.'
He reached Suez on May 5, and on the way home resolved at last to knock off work and have a little time for reflection on the past and the future. India, he says, has been 'a sort of second University course' to him. 'There is hardly any subject on which it has not given me a whole crowd of new ideas, which I hope to put into shape,' and communicate to the world. On May 12 he reached Paris, where he met his wife; and on the 14th was again in England, rejoicing in a cordial reception from his family and his old friends. The same evening he sees his cousin Mrs. Russell Gurney and her husband; and his uncle and aunt, John and Emelia Venn. Froude met him next day in the pleasantest way, and Maine and he, as he reports, were 'like two schoolboys.' On the 15th he went to his chambers and called upon Greenwood at the 'Pall Mall Gazette' office. He had written an article on the way from Paris which duly appeared in next day's paper. Not long after his return he attended a dinner of his old Cambridge club, with Maine in the chair. In proposing Maine's health he suggested that the legislation passed in India during the rule of his friend and himself should henceforth be called the 'Acts of the Apostles.'
One of the greatest pleasures upon reaching home was to find that his mother showed less marks of increasing infirmity than he had expected from the accounts in letters. She was still in full possession of her intellectual powers, and though less able than of old to move about, was fully capable of appreciating the delight of welcoming back the son who had filled so much of her thoughts. I may here note that Fitzjames's happiness in reviving the old bonds of filial affection was before long to be clouded. His uncle, Henry Venn, died on January 13, 1873, and he writes on the 30th: 'somehow his life was so bold, so complete, and so successful, that I did not feel the least as if his death was a thing to be sad about,' sad as he confesses it to be in general to see the passing away of the older generation. 'My dear mother,' he adds, 'is getting visibly weaker, and it cannot now be a very long time before she goes too. It is a thought which makes me feel very sad at times, but no one ever had either a happier life or a more cheerful and gallant spirit. She does not care to have us to dinner now; but we all see her continually; I go perhaps every other day, and Mary nearly every day.'
His mother was to survive two years longer. Her strong constitution and the loving care of the daughter who lived with her supported her beyond the anticipation of her doctors. There are constant references to her state in my brother's letters. The old serenity remained unchanged to the last. She suffered no pain and was never made querulous by her infirmities. Slowly and gradually she seemed to pass into a world of dreams as the decay of her physical powers made the actual world more indistinct and shadowy. The only real subject for regret was the strain imposed upon the daughter who was tenderly nursing her, and doing what could be done to soothe her passage through the last troubles she was to suffer. It was as impossible to wish that things should be otherwise as not to feel the profound pathos of the gentle close to long years of a most gentle and beautiful life. Fitzjames felt what such a son should feel for such a mother. It would be idle to try to put into explicit words that under-current of melancholy and not the less elevating thought which saddened and softened the minds of all her children. Her children must be taken to include some who were children not by blood but by reverent affection. She died peacefully and painlessly on February 27, 1875. She was buried by the side of her husband and of two little grandchildren, Fitzjames's infant daughter and son, who had died before her.
I now turn to the work in which Fitzjames was absorbed almost immediately after his return to England. He had again to take up his profession. He was full of accumulated reflections made in India, which he had not been able to discharge through the accustomed channel of journalism during his tenure of office; and besides this he entertained hopes, rather than any confident belief, that he would be able to induce English statesmen to carry on in their own country the work of codification, upon which he had been so energetically labouring in India. Before his departure he had already been well known to many distinguished contemporaries. But he came home with a decidedly higher reputation. In the natural course of things, many of his contemporaries had advanced in their different careers, and were becoming arbiters and distributors of reputation. His Indian career had demonstrated his possession of remarkable energy, capable of being applied to higher functions than the composition of countless leading articles. He was henceforward one of the circle—not distinguished by any definite label but yet recognised among each other by a spontaneous freemasonry—which forms the higher intellectual stratum of London society; and is recruited from all who have made a mark in any department of serious work. He was well known, of course, to the leaders of the legal profession; and to many members of Government and to rising members of Parliament, where his old rival Sir W. Harcourt was now coming to the front. He knew the chief literary celebrities, and was especially intimate with Carlyle and Froude, whom he often joined in Sunday 'constitutionals.' His position was recognised by the pleasant compliment of an election to the 'Athenæum' 'under Rule II.,' which took place at the first election after his return (1873). He had just before (November 1872) been appointed counsel to the University of Cambridge. Before long he had resumed his place at the bar. His first appearance was at the Old Bailey in June 1872, where he 'prosecuted a couple of rogues for Government.' He had not been there since he had held his first brief at the same place eighteen years before, and spent his guinea upon the purchase of a wedding ring. He was amused to find himself after his dignified position in India regarded as a rather 'promising young man' who might in time be capable of managing an important case. The judge, he says, 'snubbed' him for some supposed irregularity in his examination of a witness, and did not betray the slightest consciousness that the offender had just composed a code of evidence for an empire. He went on circuit in July, and at Warwick found himself in his old lodgings, writing with his old pen, holding almost the same brief as he had held three years before, before the same judge, listening to the same church bells, and taking the walk to Kenilworth Castle which he had taken with Grant Duff in 1854. Although the circuit appears to have been unproductive, business looked 'pretty smiling in various directions.' John Duke Coleridge, afterwards Lord Chief Justice, was at this time Attorney-General. Fitzjames differed from him both in opinions and temperament, and could not refrain from an occasional smile at the trick of rather ostentatious self-depreciation which Coleridge seemed to have inherited from his great-uncle. There was, however, a really friendly feeling between them both now and afterwards; and Coleridge was at this time very serviceable. He is 'behaving like a good fellow,' reports Fitzjames July 5, and is 'sending Government briefs which pay very well.' By the end of the year Fitzjames reports 'a very fair sprinkling of good business.' All his old clients have come back, and some new ones have presented themselves. There were even before this time some rumours of a possible elevation to the bench; but apparently without much solid foundation. Meanwhile, he was also looking forward to employment in the direction of codification. He had offered, when leaving India, to draw another codifying bill (upon 'Torts') for his successor Hobhouse. This apparently came to nothing; but there were chances at home. 'I have considerable hopes,' he says (June 19, 1872), 'of getting set to work again after the manner of Simla or Calcutta.' There is work enough to be done in England to last for many lives; and the Government may perhaps take his advice as to the proper mode of putting it in hand. He was soon actually at work upon two bills, which gave him both labour and worry before he had done with them. One of these was a bill upon homicide, which he undertook in combination with Russell Gurney, then recorder of London. The desirability of such a bill had been suggested to Gurney by John Bright, in consequence of a recent commission upon Capital Punishment. Gurney began to prepare the work, but was glad to accept the help of Fitzjames, whose labours had made him so familiar with the subject. Substantially he had to adapt part of the Penal Code, which he must have known by heart, and he finished the work rapidly. He sent a copy of the bill to Henry Cunningham on August 15, 1872, when it had already been introduced into Parliament by R. Gurney and read a first time. He sees, however, no chance of getting it seriously discussed for the present. One reason is suggested in the same letter. England is a 'centre of indifference' between the two poles, India and the United States. At each pole you get a system vigorously administered and carried to logical results. 'In the centre you get the queerest conceivable hubblebubble, half energy and half impotence, and all scepticism in a great variety of forms.' The homicide bill was delayed by Russell Gurney's departure for America on an important mission in the following winter, but was not yet dead. One absurd little anecdote in regard to it belongs to this time. Fitzjames had gone to stay with Froude in a remote corner of Wales; and wishing to refer to the draft, telegraphed to the Recorder of London: 'Send Homicide Bill.' The official to whom this message had to be sent at some distance from the house declined to receive it. If not a coarse practical joke, he thought it was a request to forward into that peaceful region a wretch whose nickname was too clearly significant of his bloodthirsty propensities.
Fitzjames mentions in the same letter to Cunningham that he has just finished the 'introduction' to his Indian Evidence Act. This subject brought him further occupation. He had more or less succeeded in making a convert of Coleridge. 'If this business with Coleridge turns out right,' he says (October 2), 'I shall have come home in the very nick of time, for there is obviously going to be a chance in the way of codification which there has not been these forty years, and which may never occur again.' Had he remained in India, he might have found the new viceroy less favourable to his schemes than Lord Mayo had been, and would have at any rate missed the chance of impressing the English Government at the right time. On November 29 he writes again to Cunningham, and expresses his disgust at English methods of dealing with legislation. He admits that 'too much association with old Carlyle, with whom I walk most Sundays,' may have made him 'increasingly gloomy.' But 'everything is so loose, so jarring, there is such an utter want of organisation and government in everything, that I feel sure we shall have a great smash some day.' A distinguished official has told him—and he fully believes it—that the Admiralty and the War Office would break down under a week's hard pressure. He observes in one article of the time that his father had made the same prophecy before 1847. He often quotes his father for the saying, 'I am a ministerialist.' Men in office generally try to do their best, whatever their party. But men in opposition aim chiefly at thwarting all action, good or bad, and a parliamentary system gives the advantage to obstruction. Part of his vexation, he admits, is due to his disgust at the treatment of the codification question. Coleridge, it appears, had proposed to him 'months ago' that he should be employed in preparing an Evidence Bill. Difficulties had arisen with Lowe, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, as to the proper fee. Fitzjames was only anxious now to get the thing definitively settled on any terms and put down in black and white. The Government might go out at any moment, and without some agreement he would be left in the lurch. It was 'excessively mortifying, ... and showed what a ramshackle concern our whole system' was. Definite instructions, however, to prepare the bill were soon afterwards given. On December 20 he writes that the English Evidence Bill is getting on famously. He hopes to have it all ready before Parliament meets, and it may probably be read a second time, though hardly passed this year. It was in fact finished, as one of his letters shows, by February 7, 1873.
Meanwhile, however, he had been putting much energy into another task. He had for some time delivered his tale of articles to the 'Pall Mall Gazette' as of old. He was soon to become tired of anonymous journalism; but he now produced a kind of general declaration of principles which, though the authorship was no secret and was soon openly acknowledged, appeared in the old form, and, as it turned out, was his last work of importance in that department. It was in some ways the most characteristic of all his writings. He put together and passed through the 'Pall Mall Gazette' during the last months of 1872 and January 1873 the series of articles already begun during his voyage. They were collected and published with his name in the following spring as 'Liberty, Equality, Fraternity.' I confess that I wondered a little at the time that the editor of a newspaper should be willing to fill his columns with so elaborate a discourse upon first principles; and I imagine that editors of the present day would be still more determined to think twice before they allowed such latitude even to the most favoured contributor. I do not doubt, however, that Mr. Greenwood judged rightly. The letters were written with as much force and spirit as anything that Fitzjames ever produced. I cannot say how they affected the paper, but the blows told as such things tell. They roused the anger of some, the sympathy of others, and the admiration of all who liked to see hard hitting on any side of a great question. The letters formed a kind of 'Apologia' or a manifesto—the expression, as he frequently said, of his very deepest convictions. I shall therefore dwell upon them at some length, because he had never again the opportunity of stating his doctrines so completely. Those doctrines are far from popular, nor do I personally agree with them. They are, however, characteristic not merely of Fitzjames himself, but of some of the contemporary phases of opinion. I shall therefore say something of their relation to other speculations; although for my purpose the primary interest is the implied autobiography.
The book was perhaps a little injured by the conditions under which it was published. A series of letters in a newspaper, even though, as in this case, thought out some time beforehand, does not lend itself easily to the development of a systematic piece of reasoning. The writer is tempted to emphasise unduly the parts of his argument which are congenial to the journalistic mode of treatment. It is hard to break up an argument into fragments, intended for separate appearance, without somewhat dislocating the general logical framework. The difficulty was increased by the form of the argument. In controverting another man's book, you have to follow the order of his ideas instead of that in which your own are most easily expounded. Fitzjames, indeed, gives a reason for this course. He accepts Mill's 'Liberty' as the best exposition of the popular view. Acknowledging his great indebtedness to Mill, he observes that it is necessary to take some definite statement for a starting point; and that it is 'natural to take the ablest, the most reasonable, and the clearest.' Mill, too, he says, is the only living author with whom he 'agrees sufficiently to argue with him profitably.' He holds that the doctrines of Mill's later books were really inconsistent with the doctrines of the 'Logic' and 'Political Economy.' He is therefore virtually appealing from the new Utilitarians to the old. 'I am falling foul,' he says in a letter, 'of John Mill in his modern and more humane mood—or, rather, I should say, in his sentimental mood—which always makes me feel that he is a deserter from the proper principles of rigidity and ferocity in which he was brought up.' Fitzjames was thus writing as an orthodox adherent of the earlier school. He had sat at the feet of Bentham and Austin, and had found the most congenial philosophy in Hobbes. And yet his utilitarianism was mingled with another strain; and one difficulty for his readers is precisely that his attack seems to combine two lines of argument not obviously harmonious. Still, I think that his main position is abundantly clear.
Fitzjames—as all that I have written may go to prove—was at once a Puritan and a Utilitarian. His strongest sympathies and antipathies were those which had grown up in the atmosphere of the old evangelical circle. On this side, too, he had many sympathies with the teaching of Carlyle, himself a spiritual descendant of the old Covenanters. But his intellect, as I have also remarked, unlike Carlyle's, was of the thoroughly utilitarian type. Respect for hard fact, contempt for the mystical and the dreamy; resolute defiance of the à priori school who propose to override experience by calling their prejudices intuitions, were the qualities of mind which led him to sympathise so unreservedly with Bentham's legislative theories and with Mill's 'Logic.' Let us, before all things, be sure that our feet are planted on the solid earth and our reason guided by verifiable experience. All his studies, his legal speculations, and his application of them to practice, had strengthened and confirmed these tendencies. How were they to be combined with his earlier prepossessions?
The alliance of Puritan with utilitarian is not in itself strange or unusual. Dissenters and freethinkers have found themselves side by side in many struggles. They were allied in the attack upon slavery, in the advocacy of educational reforms, and in many philanthropic movements of the early part of this century. James Mill and Francis Place, for example, were regarded as atheists, and were yet adopted as close philanthropic allies by Zachary Macaulay and by the quaker William Allen. A common antipathy to sacerdotalism brought the two parties together in some directions, and the Protestant theory of the right of private judgment was in substance a narrower version of the rationalist demand for freedom of thought. Protestantism in one aspect is simply rationalism still running about with the shell on its head. This gives no doubt one secret of the decay of the evangelical party. The Protestant demand for a rational basis of faith widened among men of any intellectual force into an inquiry about the authority of the Bible or of Christianity. Fitzjames had moved, reluctantly and almost in spite of himself, very far from the creed of his fathers. He could not take things for granted or suppress doubts by ingenious subterfuges. And yet, he was so thoroughly imbued with the old spirit that he could not go over completely to its antagonists. To destroy the old faith was still for him to destroy the great impulse to a noble life. He held in some shape to the value of his creed, even though he felt logically bound to introduce a 'perhaps.'
This, however, hardly gives the key to his first difference with the utilitarians, though it greatly affects his conclusions. He called himself, as I have said, a Liberal; but there were, according to him, two classes of Liberals, the intellectual Liberals, whom he identified with the old utilitarians, and the Liberals who are generally described as the Manchester school. Which of those was to be the school of the future, and which represented the true utilitarian tradition? Here I must just notice a fact which is not always recognised. The utilitarians are identified by most people with the (so-called) Manchester doctrines. They are regarded as advocates of individualism and the laissez-faire or, as I should prefer to call it, the let-alone principle. There was no doubt a close connection, speaking historically; but a qualification must be made in a logical sense, which is very important for my purpose. The tendency which Fitzjames attacked as especially identified with Mill's teaching—the tendency, namely, to restrict the legitimate sphere of government—is far from being specially utilitarian. It belonged more properly to the adherents of the 'rights of man,' or the believers in abstract reason. It is to be found in Price and Paine, and in the French declaration of the rights of man; and Mr. Herbert Spencer, its chief advocate (in a new form) at the present day remarks himself that he was partly anticipated by Kant. Bentham expressly repudiated this view in his vigorous attack upon the 'anarchical fallacies' embodied in the French declaration. In certain ways, moreover, Bentham and his disciples were in favour of a very vigorous Government action. Bentham invented his Panopticon as a machine for 'grinding rogues honest,' and proposed to pass paupers in general through the same mill. His constitutional code supposes a sort of omnipresent system of government, and suggests a national system of education and even a national church—with a very diluted creed. As thorough-going empiricists, the utilitarians were bound to hold, and did, in fact, generally declare themselves to hold, not that Government interference was wrong in general, but simply that there was no general principle upon the subject. Each particular case must be judged by its own merits.
Historically speaking, the case was different. The political economy of Ricardo and the Mills was undoubtedly what is now called thoroughly 'individualistic.' Its adherents looked with suspicion at everything savouring of Government action. This is in part one illustration of the general truth that philosophies of all kinds are much less the real source of principles than the theories evoked to justify principles. Their course is determined not by pure logic alone, but by the accidents of contemporary politics. The revolutionary movement meant that governments in general were, for the time, the natural enemies of 'reason.' Philosophers who upon any ground sympathised with the movement took for their watchword 'liberty,' which, understood absolutely, is the antithesis to all authority. They then sought to deduce the doctrine of liberty from their own philosophy, whatever that might be. The à priori school discovered that kings and priests and nobles interfered with a supposed 'order of nature,' or with the abstract 'rights of man.' The utilitarian's argument was that all government implies coercion; that coercion implies pain; and therefore that all government implies an evil which ought to be minimised. They admitted that, though 'minimised,' it should not be annihilated. Bentham had protested very forcibly that the 'rights of man' doctrine meant anarchy logically, and asserted that government was necessary, although a necessary evil. But the general tendency of his followers was to lay more stress upon the evil than upon the necessity. The doctrine was expounded with remarkable literary power by Buckle,[119] who saw in all history a conflict between protection and authority on the one hand and liberty and scepticism on the other.
J. S. Mill had begun as an unflinching advocate of the stern old utilitarianism of his father and Ricardo. He had become, as Fitzjames observes, 'humane' or 'sentimental' in later years. He tried, as his critics observe, to soften the old economic doctrines and showed a certain leaning to socialism. In regard to this part of his teaching, in which Fitzjames took little interest, I shall only notice that, whatever his concessions, he was still in principle an 'individualist.' He maintained against the Socialists the advantages of competition; and though his theory of the 'unearned increment' looks towards the socialist view of nationalisation of the land, he seems to have been always in favour of peasant proprietorship, and of co-operation as distinguished from State socialism. Individualism, in fact, in one of its senses, for like other popular phrases it tends to gather various shades of meaning, was really the characteristic of the utilitarian school. Thus in philosophy they were 'nominalists,' believing that the ultimate realities are separate things, and that abstract words are mere signs calling up arbitrary groups of things. Politically, they are inclined to regard society as an 'aggregate,' instead of an 'organism.' The ultimate units are the individual men, and a nation or a church a mere name for a multitude combined by some external pressure into a collective mass of separate atoms.[120] This is the foundation of Mill's political theories, and explains the real congeniality of the let-alone doctrines to his philosophy. It gives, too, the key-note of the book upon 'Liberty,' which Fitzjames took for his point of assault. Mill had been profoundly impressed by Tocqueville, and, indeed, by an order of reflections common to many intelligent observers. What are to be the relations between democracy and intellectual culture? Many distinguished writers have expressed their forebodings as to the future. Society is in danger of being vulgarised. We are to be ground down to uniform and insignificant atoms by the social mill. The utilitarians had helped the lower classes to wrest the scourge from the hands of their oppressors. Now the oppressed had the scourge in their own hands; how would they apply it? Coercion looked very ugly in the hands of a small privileged class; but when coercion could be applied by the masses would they see the ugliness of it? Would they not use the same machinery in order to crush the rich and the exalted, and take in the next place to crushing each other? Shall we not have a dead level of commonplace and suffer, to use the popular phrase, from a 'tyranny of the majority,' more universal and more degrading than the old tyranny of the minority? This was the danger upon which Mill dwelt in his later works. In his 'Liberty' he suggests the remedy. It is nothing less than the recognition of a new moral principle. Mankind, he said, individually or collectively, are justified in interference with others only by the need of 'self-protection.' We may rightfully prevent a man from hurting his neighbour, but not from hurting himself. If we carefully observe this precaution the individual will have room to expand, and we shall cease to denounce all deviations from the common type.