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Henry Sidgwick- Eye of the Universe

Page 110

by Bart Schultz


  to be neither politician nor prophet and had to remain more esoteric than

  enthusiastic.

  In descending from principle and considering how governments might

  be justified in intervening to promote morality in actual modern European

  communities, Sidgwick returns to the intimate connection between the

  church and the dualism, arguing that:

  For ordinary members of such communities, the connection of any individual’s

  interest with his duty is established by the traditional Christian teaching as to

  the moral government of the world, and the survival of the individual after his

  corporeal death. Accordingly, this traditional teaching – though it by no means

  relies solely on appeals to self-interest – still always includes in its store of ar-

  guments appeals of this kind, having irresistible cogency for all hearers who

  believe the fundamental Christian doctrines. So far as the rules of duty thus

  taught are those commonly accepted by thoughtful persons, the value of the aid

  given to the work of government by this supply of extra-mundane motives to

  the performance of social duty can hardly be doubted. But the expediency of

  governmental action to secure this aid is importantly affected by the fact that

  the teachers who give it are actually organised in independent associations called

  churches, whose lines of division differ from – and to an important extent cut

  across – the lines of division of political societies; and which for the most part

  would resist strongly any attempt to bring them directly and completely un-

  der the control of the secular government. The practical question therefore is,

  whether government should leave these churches unfettered – treating them like

  any other voluntary associations based on free contract – or should endeavour to

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  obtain a partial control over them in return for endowments or other advantages.

  (EP –)

  But this, Sidgwick explains, is bound to be a very difficult question,

  since “so far as the priest or religious teacher seeks not merely to pro-

  vide a harmonious and satisfying expression for religious emotion, but

  also to regulate the behaviour of man to his fellows in domestic and civil

  relations, – using as motives the hope of reward and fear of punishment

  from an invisible source, – his function obviously tends to become quasi-

  governmental.” And when Sidgwick returns to the topic, in his chapter

  on “The State and Voluntary Associations,” he considers it from the per-

  spective of “how the State should proceed in order that the advantages

  derivable from them [voluntary religious associations] may be the greatest

  possible, and the dangers that they involve may be avoided or reduced.”

  Insisting that the Christian churches “meet a social need of fundamen-

  tal importance,” and that given their “systematic teaching of morality,”

  the state gains from their being vigorous and effective, he nonetheless

  concludes that they “are likely to fulfil their function better if kept inde-

  pendent of the State. For, if the clergy acquire the character of officials ap-

  pointed and paid by the State, they become exposed in some degree to the

  objections . . . against a governmental organisation for teaching morality:

  and are therefore likely to be less effective in rendering the service for

  which the State appoints and pays them.” (EP )

  Naturally, Sidgwick takes a firm stand for religious freedom.

  Direct prohibition of any religious teaching not clearly inciting to illegal conduct, or otherwise immoral in its tendency, is invidious and objectionable, as interfering

  with the free communication of beliefs on which the development of human

  thought depends; and it is likely to be ineffective or worse in the most dangerous

  cases, from the ease with which opinions and sentiments hostile to government may

  be secretly propagated among persons united by a community of religious feeling,

  and the increased violence that they are likely to assume from the resentment

  caused by repression.

  Better than any actual repression of religious beliefs or practices seri-

  ously inimical to the government is the effort “to secure a certain control

  over religious teaching, by the grant of privileges the withdrawal of which

  would only reduce the Church to the level of other voluntary associations.”

  Such favoritism, “without anything like establishment or endowment,”

  could avoid conflict, though there might also be various minor degrees

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  of endowment, such as tax breaks and the provision of religious facilities,

  and it is important for the state to avoid “the awkward dilemma of either

  endeavouring to make one set of religious opinions prevail over others held

  by equally educated persons, or of endeavouring to moralise the commu-

  nity by imparting a number of mutually inconsistent beliefs.” (EP )

  And there are further measures, such that, for example, “Government may

  refuse to admit any religious society to the position of a corporation capable

  of holding and administering property, unless its organisation fulfils cer-

  tain conditions, framed with the view of preventing its ‘quasi-government’

  from being oppressive to individual members of the association or dan-

  gerous to the State” (EP ).

  Thus, one sees how Sidgwick’s concern about hypocrisy in high places

  shifts effortlessly between state and church, political leadership and reli-

  gious leadership. What one does not see, however, is anything like a frank

  confrontation with the possibility that the impossibility of achieving a

  scientific morality and the consensus of experts might lead to the impos-

  sibility of finding teachers with the requisite sincerity and enthusiasm – a

  bunch of Sidgwicks, arguably the thing that most worried him. Nor, obvi-

  ously, does one find in Sidgwick’s political work that “science of society”

  that could actually explain how the more optimistic future that he envi-

  sions, with high-minded, far-seeing leadership gradually opening the way

  for ethical socialism and semisocialism in economics, might come to pass.

  The normative analysis – the enjoining of civilized, utilitarian minds to

  resist through self-sacrifice the demoralizing effects of the modern world –

  is always primary.

  Manifestly, for all the usual dry evasion, a very big part of Sidgwick’s

  answer is: education, understood in the broad sense of fostering an edu-

  cating society, fostering Millian culture if not esoteric doubt. Education

  is what is supposed to produce an aristocracy worthy of the name, and an

  electorate willing to recognize the superior judgment of representatives<
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  and grant them the power to govern, rather than serve as mere delegates

  following the popular mandate. In an early and singularly revealing letter

  to Oscar Browning, in part quoted earlier, Sidgwick had made his ultimate

  commitment pretty evident:

  [O]f course people who make the lucky hits are uneducated generally, but that is

  just the point; if you could get all classes properly educated in the highest sense

  of the term, a man who came into a fortune by ‘striking ile’ would not waste

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  it: and if he did not become a patron of Art, he might bring up his children to

  be so. . . . What I want to do is to put an end to the existing and threatening strife between Labour and Capital by any possible means. (M –)

  Again, the concern is to get “all classes properly educated” – not simply

  the “lower” orders, but also the “upper” ones – and this in the “highest

  sense of the term,” while also gradually reducing the economic distance

  between the two. That any such effort would include the kind of mingling

  of minds effected in some of the various discussion societies and other

  educational efforts in which Sidgwick had participated was, alas, perhaps

  too much taken for granted by him, so that he did not adequately theorize

  all of the educational resources that he deployed or admired. Emphatic

  enough on the kinds of corruption involved in the growth of the party

  system and the forms of political debate it fostered, he did not, in the

  Elements, succeed in completely articulating the very thing that he had

  himself done so much to advance in practice, as a vehicle for elevating the

  quality of public debate and spreading culture – the very thing that set

  his reformism apart from ideological indoctrination. Even freedom of the

  press receives a fairly perfunctory treatment:

  We have seen that the control over government given to the governed by periodical

  elections is likely to be comparatively ineffective and ill-directed, unless the danger of blindness or apathy on the part of the governed be met by full and free criticism

  of current legislation and administration. At the same time, such criticism is likely to be often very distasteful to the governmental organs criticised, even when it

  is highly useful: hence there is a prima facie reason for including in any rigid constitution rules protecting the citizen’s right ‘to speak the thing he will’ from

  undue governmental interference. But with a view to the maintenance of order, it

  seems important that this protection should only be given to criticism that () is

  bona fide intended to recommend only legal methods for obtaining the reform of what is criticised, and () would not be understood as an incitement to illegality

  by a person of ordinary intelligence. . . . Hence any constitutional rule restraining the legislature from ‘abridging freedom of speech or of the press’ will require to be qualified by a tolerably comprehensive permission to prohibit seditious utterances.

  (EP )

  Writing in the aftermath of the French Commune and the social-

  ist agitation in England that had resulted in Bloody Sunday – the po-

  lice attack on a peaceful procession of radicals, members of the Irish

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  National League, and socialists in Trafalgar Square on November ,

   – Sidgwick’s balancing of stability against liberty might sound rather

  worse than “utilitarianism grown tame and sleek.” And yet of H. M.

  Hyndman, the forceful socialist leader and collaborator with William

  Morris, Sidgwick could write to Foxwell: “I am interested in what you say

  of Hyndman. He is a man I am disposed to like – though he does call me

  an eclectic bourgeois.” (CWC) Moreover, he continued to be on friendly

  terms with William Morris, whose socialist poems he found “touching.”

  Thus, the puzzles about Sidgwick’s politics run deep. Previous narra-

  tives have tried to fit him into both the conservative reaction to Gladstone

  and the growth at century’s end of a progressivist “via media” determined

  to get beyond the dead ends of earlier religious, philosophical, and political

  disputes. For some, he was merely an old Millian elitist, an “aristocratic

  liberal” and “public moralist” unwittingly bolstering the application of

  Enlightenment thinking to the mission of British imperialism. For others,

  he was a force for changing times, on the road to pragmatism.

  What is missing from most such accounts is a willingness to take

  Sidgwick on his own (philosophically sophisticated) terms, an appreci-

  ation of his efforts to synthesize or reconcile the wide range of views

  that moved him. Even Symonds’s Whitmania is at least somewhat evi-

  dent in Sidgwick’s celebration of America and the need for a culture of

  harmonization, beyond party and class strife. He was impressed enough

  with the intelligence of the artisans, and he certainly recognized the need

  for a new cultural formation, with an enthusiasm for devotion and self-

  sacrifice, for true comradeship and the growth of sympathetic under-

  standing, stimulated by all the resources of literature and culture in the

  larger sense. The vision of a cosmic unity, of the overcoming of strife

  and the achievement of a harmony of duty and interest – this always

  gripped him, whether coming from Maurice, or Myers, or Symonds. Un-

  der the circumstances, he was not prepared to reject an enthusiastic teacher

  with poetic talent. And after all, Whitman himself had some distaste for

  the realities of political institutions. What Noel, Myers, and Symonds

  found in him was not Rousseauian democracy but something much more

  Platonic:

  I hail with joy the oceanic, variegated, intense practical energy, the demand for

  facts, even the business materialism of the current age, our States. But woe to

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  Henry Sidgwick: Eye of the Universe

  the age or land in which these things, movements, stopping at themselves, do not

  tend to ideas. As fuel to flame, and flame to the heavens, so must wealth, science,

  materialism – even this democracy of which we make so much – unerringly feed

  the highest mind, the soul.

  To hate hypocrisy and endless strife was the common currency; to cre-

  ate a new, enthusiastic cultural vision of the unity of humanity – what

  precisely was Sidgwick to find objectionable in this? Even Greek love,

  if duly refined and conducing to intellectual growth, was a force in this

  direction, not that it was always to be openly proclaimed. Internal sanc-
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  tions rather than revolution, personal growth rather than industrial war,

  comradeship rather than class conflict – all of this spoke to Sidgwick.

  For him,

  the deepest problems presented by war, and the deepest principles to be applied

  in dealing with them, are applicable also to the milder conflicts and collisions

  that arise within the limits of an orderly and peaceful community, and especially

  to those struggles for wealth and power carried on by classes and parties within

  a state. Indeed, these latter – though conducted by the milder methods of de-

  bate and vote – often resemble wars very strongly in the states of thought and

  feeling that they arouse, and also in some of the difficulties that they suggest.

  (PE )

  “External” methods for resolving such conflicts – for example, arbi-

  tration – can go only so far, and cannot be relied upon “for a complete

  and final removal of the evils of strife.” For this, “spiritual” methods

  are needed, and, recognizing the risk of ineffective rhetoric on behalf of

  justice,

  we may none the less endeavour to develop the elements from which the moral

  habit of justice springs – on the one hand, sympathy, and the readiness to imagine

  oneself in another’s place and look at things from his point of view; and on the

  other hand, the intelligent apprehension of common interests. In this way we may

  hope to produce a disposition to compromise, adequate for practical needs, even

  when the adjustment thus attained can only be rough, and far removed from what

  either party regards as ideally equitable. (PE )

  This is not political deal-making, but a practical extension of the sympa-

  thetic understanding and harmonization that Sidgwick so prized. But was

  it really possible to avoid hypocrisy, after ?

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  V. Spiritual Expansion

  There may be Elements of English Politics, or of American, or of French or

  Prussian; but the elements of general politics, if cast into general considerations,

  must either be quite colorless or quite misleading.

  Woodrow Wilson, review of the Elements of Politics

 

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