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Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

Page 104

by Bart Schultz


  were no attack on property combined with the political movement for semi-

  independence of the Irish nationality, I should think it on the whole best to yield to this movement. I am optimistic as regards the connexion of Ireland with England;

  I think this connexion will subsist – for purposes of common defence and offence

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  and unrestricted internal trade – whether we give Home Rule or refuse it; but I

  think we shall have somewhat less political trouble with Ireland if we give it than

  if we refuse it. But to abandon the landowners of Ireland to the tender mercies

  of the people who have for eleven years carried on an unscrupulous private war

  against their rights of property – rights which those of us who supported the Land

  Bill of  morally pledged ourselves to secure to them – this is a national crime

  and deep moral disgrace in which I can have no part. The fact that even Tory

  speakers lay no stress on this danger only makes me feel it more strongly; they

  know that the landlords are not a popular class, and that the spoliation of them will arouse very feeble indignation in the breast of the average household suffrager.

  (M )

  And of course, for Sidgwick, this issue was very much a family affair. In

  , when Hicks-Beach resigned as chief secretary for Ireland, the Tory

  political forces settled on Balfour as his successor, a move that worried

  the Sidgwicks, who were, as the journal records, “much depressed, from

  a conviction that he will not be able to stand it physically, and will break

  down” (CWC). To the contrary, Sidgwick’s pupil proved his grit by putting

  the lie to what had been one of Bryce’s main arguments in favor of Home

  Rule – namely, that “the Democracy will not coerce, and therefore we

  must come to this in the end; so we had better take it at once quietly.”

  Sidgwick allowed, as early as , that “the only tolerable alternative

  for Home Rule now is Coercion, and vigorous coercion; any intermediate

  scheme has become irrelevant, even to the point of stupidity” (M ).

  Balfour agreed and acted quickly to pass his infamous Crimes Act, which

  would allow him to impose a serious crackdown on the opposition in

  Ireland –

  Courts of summary jurisdiction were to be used for the prosecution of certain

  offences, among them boycotting, conspiracy to withhold rent, illegal gath-

  erings and intimidation. Cases involving trial by jury could now be moved

  from one district to another to avoid prejudiced verdicts; the Lord Lieutenant

  was given the power to ‘proclaim’ those parts of the country which were to

  be governed under the terms of the act, and certain assemblies were declared

  unlawful.

  As Sidgwick’s journal from  reveals, Balfour discussed his measures

  with Sidgwick in detail.

  The Crimes Act led to the infamous riot in Mitchelstown. The National

  League had called a meeting there to protest a trial that was under way,

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  that of the Irish nationalist M. P. William O’Brien. As Egremont des-

  cribes it:

  O’Brien was charged with inciting resistance to the proposed evictions on Lady

  Kingston’s estate at Mitchelstown; Dillon and Henry Labouchère, the English

  radical, came, together with several other members of parliament, to protest

  against this. A riot erupted in which the vastly outnumbered police opened fire

  on the crowd, killing three men and wounding more. Liberals and Nationalists

  united to condemn the killings.

  In Parliament there was an outcry. Balfour would not give an inch. Labouchère,

  supported by the Liberal front bench, launched an impassioned attack on the

  Chief Secretary although the opposition moved no vote of censure against the

  government. Balfour instituted an inquiry into the debacle but quashed the verdict

  of wilful murder passed against the police by the local coroner’s jury. He knew

  the affair had been badly mishandled by the authorities and that the police had

  panicked, yet officially he admitted no error.

  Supposedly, ever afterward, Gladstone would murmur “remember

  Mitchelstown” when the subject of Balfour came up. The Irish dubbed

  him “Bloody Balfour.”

  Again, Sidgwick was quite in the thick of all this, however depressed he

  was about his spirits. He and Nora would visit Arthur in Ireland and come

  away impressed by his “coolness and courage.” His journal is packed with

  references to Balfour and the Irish issue, and his other correspondence also

  testifies to his not-insignificant advisory role in this case and with regard

  to Balfour’s career in general (though his letters float wildly from detailed

  assessments of various plans for taxation and land purchase schemes to

  resolve the Irish tensions, to minute questions of copyright law, to Hegelian

  metaphysics, to plans for the Albert University in London). Despite his

  vast admiration for Gladstone, he simply could not go along with the

  shift in the Liberal Party, which he deemed “a pusillanimous surrender

  of those whom we are bound to protect, and of posterity” (M ). The

  Home Rule controversy, along with escalating labor unrest at home, did

  much to render him jaded with party politics, and these trials weighed

  heavily on him at precisely the time of his great crisis over immortality, a

  time when he was also “trying to absorb myself in my Opus Magnum on

  Politics.” As he put it to Symonds:

  My position is that I seem to myself now to have grasped and analyzed adequately

  the only possible method of dealing systematically with political problems; but

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  my deep conviction is that it can yield as yet little fruit of practical utility – so doubt whether it is worth while to work it out in a book. Still a man must work –

  and a Professor must write books. I look forward with much interest to your new

  departure in literary criticism; you certainly have the gift of perennial youthfulness of spirit. I do not think I have, except in my general attitude towards life, which

  is very like that of a somewhat pessimistic undergraduate. (M )

  When Sidgwick’s book finally appeared, it was somewhat puzzling even

  to his friends and colleagues. In fact, there was little agreement on just

  what was the most Sidgwickian part of it. Hastings Rashdall suggested,

  for the benefit of the reader who wanted to skim some, that “if he wants to

  get at Professor Sidgwick’s best and
most characteristic work, he should

  read the last few chapters of it.” But Bryce felt that it was rather the first

  part of the book, on the functions of government, that succeeded best.

  And Maitland, one of Sidgwick’s protégés, whose position at Cambridge

  Sidgwick himself had funded, deemed the part on international law and

  morality “the best thing that I have read about the subject,” though he also

  expressed delight in the critique of Austin, “for the formal jurisprudent

  sits heavy upon us and you will deprive him of his terrors.” (For all the

  praise of Bentham, the Elements contains a damning indictment of the

  theory of sovereignty advanced by his famous disciple.)

  As should be clear from Sidgwick’s planning of the work, he himself

  regarded the Elements as only a partial fulfillment of his project. Eleanor

  Sidgwick, in her Preface to The Development of European Polity, would

  give a concise statement of the overall plan:

  It had of later years been more and more decidedly the author’s view – as he has left on record – that a threefold treatment of politics is desirable for completeness: –

  first, an exposition analytical and deductive, such as he attempted in his work on the Elements of Politics; secondly, an evolutionary study of the development of polity within the historic period in Europe, beginning with the earliest known Graeco-Roman and Teutonic polity, and carried down to the modern state of Europe and

  its colonies as the last result of political evolution; thirdly, a comparative study of the constitutions of Europe and its colonies in connexion with the history of what

  may be called the constitution-making century which has just ended. The present

  book is an attempt at a treatment of political science from the second point of

  view. . . . In reading the book it should be borne in mind that it does not deal with theoretical politics as such. The theory of politics is treated in Elements of Politics, where the work and structure of the modern state are examined, and though the

  present book is complete in itself, it is intended that, for a full view of the subject,

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  both books should be read. As a matter of fact, Mr. Sidgwick often gave a course

  of lectures on Political Theory along with the lectures contained in this book –

  some of his pupils attending both courses. (DEP v)

  She also notes that Sidgwick had the keen (if impractical) wish to spend

  much more time in Europe, engaged in the direct study of comparative

  politics.

  It is curious, and suggestive of how misleading the Elements was in some

  respects, that when The Development of European Polity finally appeared,

  pieced together from materials that Sidgwick had left at the time of his

  death, both Dicey and Bryce observed, in the latter’s words, that “Few

  among Sidgwick’s friends knew till this second book appeared how wide

  was the range of his historical knowledge, and how complete his mastery

  of historical method.” Thus, perhaps one reason why the Elements has

  struck some as a retreat from the more historically minded critique of

  Benthamism in the Principles is simply that one part of Sidgwick’s political studies has been mistaken for the whole.

  In any event, these are crucial points to bear in mind when considering

  the claims that the Elements makes on behalf of the analytical or deductive

  method. The analytical side of his project must still, after all, work with

  a self-consciously historicized account of human nature and the common

  sense of humanity, of the political and economic context, and it is still only

  one part of the larger task that involves inductive and comparative investi-

  gations as well. Sidgwick did not share Dicey’s view that the historical bent

  was responsible for everything from nationalist bigotry to sickly emotion-

  alism, though he did think that nationalist sentiment was something of an

  unfortunate halter on cosmopolitan utilitarian internationalism. In all of

  his major treatises, he insists that any concrete applications of the utilitar-

  ian principle must involve detailed analysis of the actual social conditions

  in question. As he described this aspect of his work in Philosophy, Its Scope

  and Relations: “the historical method could hardly be distinguished from

  the inductive method; and its alleged ‘invasion’ would not mean more than

  a spread of a tendency in all departments of thought to pay more attention

  to facts and less to deductive reasoning from general premises, assumed

  or supposed to be self-evident” (PSR ).

  Again, one of Sidgwick’s primary concerns in emphasizing the pri-

  macy of the deductive method is simply that this is rendered all the more

  appropriate by the success of historical consciousness in general. If the

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  world has changed – presumably for the better – if society has evolved as

  well as nature, then perforce the lessons of earlier times will be of limited

  applicability to the present, except perhaps in relation to other countries

  at different stages of historical progress. The historical method cannot be

  dispensed with, of course, and has practical value as well as being appropri-

  ate to its own sphere. Historical examples can always undermine sweeping

  generalizations – as in the part of Symonds’s argument stressing that the

  example of classical Greece demonstrated that same-sex behavior need

  not be abnormal, pathological, or decadent. But of course, even Symonds

  allowed that there was no going back, and like Sidgwick, instead thought

  that a new synthesis was necessary.

  As usual, however, Sidgwick’s chief point is the familiar one that the

  more ambitious historical and sociological forecasts “can only be vague

  and general, if they are kept within the limits of caution and sobriety; and

  any guidance that may be derived from such forecasts for the problems of

  practical politics must be mainly negative and limitative, and can hardly

  amount to positive direction” (EP ). But as he put it in Philosophy,

  Especially in the departments of Ethics and Politics, with which I have been

  specially concerned, do I recognise the importance of studying in historical order

  the variations in political ideas and beliefs in their double relation partly as cause and partly as effect of change in political facts; and similarly in studying the changes in ethical ideals in connexion with changes in other elements of social structure

  and in the relations between societies. And of course in both these studies, since

  they are departments of history, we must use a historical method. (PSR )

  Recall again his worries, highlighted in Chapter , about the direction of

  commonsense morality.

  Of course, another point that Sidgwick is eager to emphasize is that

  History cannot determin
e for us the ultimate end and standard of good and bad,

  right and wrong, in political institutions; – whether we take this to be general

  happiness, or social wellbeing defined somehow so as to distinguish it from hap-

  piness. This ultimate end we cannot get from history; we bring it with us to the

  study of history when we judge of the goodness or badness of the laws and political

  institutions which history shows us. (EP )

  But history does show us just what kind of material we must work with.

  Now, after all of this methodological preliminary, what did Sidgwick’s

  analytical method actually yield?

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  The Elements proceeds in the fashion of so many of his works on the

  art of political economy, though in even more encyclopedic detail. Thus,

  he begins with a careful elaboration of the individualistic principle, the

  basic principle at work in the argument for laissez-faire. Taken as the main

  guide for legislation and governmental interference, it means that

  what one sane adult is legally compelled to render to others should be merely

  the negative service of non-interference, except so far as he has voluntarily un-

  dertaken to render positive services; provided that we include in the notion of

  non-interference the obligation of remedying or compensating for mischief in-

  tentionally or carelessly caused by his acts – or preventing mischief that would

  otherwise result from previous acts. This principle for determining the nature and

  limits of governmental interference is currently know as ‘Individualism’. . . . the requirement that one sane adult, apart from contract or claim to reparation, shall

  contribute positively by money or services to the support of others I shall call

  ‘socialistic.’ (EP )

  As usual, Sidgwick explains how this principle reflects various psycho-

  logical and sociological presuppositions – for example, that sane adults are

  the best judges of their own interests – and that these are only approximate

  generalizations and subject to important limitations. In the Elements, espe-

  cially, he is very careful to disentangle these presuppositions, noting how

 

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