6 inequality rested, with the conditions necessary to the consum-mation of industrial inequality. Feudal inequality, it must be remembered, was imposed by force, and upheld by the sword; and when once fastened on the necks of the People could only be thrown off as they came up to an equality of power with their masters. Its pernicious effects, therefore, must naturally last as long as the feudal régime lasts. But the industrial inequality to which the march of concentration' tends, if it come at all, must come by the free consent of the people; and will only be permitted to advance to the point at which it is for the general good. When its evil effects begin to show themselves, the People have it in their power to make such laws as shall convert the great increase in material prosperity which concentration will bring about, to their own benefit. Of late years, and since the laws and conditions that have produced the existing inequalities of wealth have been more clearly discerned, proposals have been made, and by many are seriously entertained, for levelling the existing inequalities, and converting them from a national danger to a national benefit. Men are beginning to see, for example, that the profits from all trades and industrial undertakings should, in the natural way, and by the mere effect of competition, tend to an equality; and are beginning to discover that the unnatural agency which thwarts this beneficent tendency is the existence of monopolies-monopolies of the land of a country and its natural agents, monopolies of special privileges, of special situations, and the like. Of the monopoly of land, the Feudalism of England, as of all Europe formerly, with its now baneful influence on national expansion, is the result. The great millionaires of cities like London and New York are the product of monopolies of special situations; and the great railway-kings of America, with their growing and pernicious influence, of the monopoly of special privileges. The natural remedy for this, according to some, is the resumption of land and of all special privileges by the State; by which means all 6 those profits which arise from the general expansion and progress of the community would be diverted from the pockets of individuals, whom they make dangerous or pernicious, to the great general public, whom they would benefit. This, it is thought, would counteract that vast aggregation of capital in fewer and fewer hands which the march of concentration' is swiftly bringing about, by throwing open lands that are held for a rise (thereby taking off the strain of competition, and so raising wages), besides relieving those gluts' which are so disastrous to great bodies of the working-classes. All this, however, is by the way, and on it I here offer no opinion, What I wished to point out was, that when the People have the power, there is no condition for which a remedy and balance cannot be found, in so far, of course, as the progress of knowledge, of the arts of life, and the age and time of the world will permit. As to the particular remedies to be employed, these may well be left to form the subject of a separate volume. CHAPTER VII. IN DEMOCRACY-MORALITY. N the present chapter I propose to consider with the reader some of the moral evils with which Democracy, as a principle of government, has been charged. The most important, perhaps, and objectionable of these evils, especially to those brought up in aristocratic traditions, is what De Toqueville has called the tyranny of the majority;' the tendency there is for the condition of Equality to fetter originality and individuality of mind and character, and to put restraints on the free expression of opinions that run counter to the sentiments and prejudices of the great body of the people. In aristocracies, the upper classes have not only the material power necessary to defend themselves against the adverse sentiments and opinions of the majority, but they have a defence also in pride, and in the contempt with which they regard these opinions. The dissolute and sceptical courtiers of the age of Voltaire or of Charles II., for example, had about as much regard for the conscientious scruples of the superstitious and priest-ridden tradesmen, dependents, and serfs, that made up what is called 'the people,' as they had for the cattle in their fields. But, in democracies, where, from the prevailing ideas of equality, there is no creature so mean and vulgar but is accustomed to have his opinions and prejudices treated with serious regard, there is neither the power nor the pride in individuals to act as a bulwark against the tide of public sentiment; the more so, as this very importance attaching to each individual gives to the opinions and sentiments of the people in mass a kind of sacred infallibility. In aristocracies, too, the upper classes are secretly conscious that their errors and frailties will be extenuated by reason of that sweet illusion so prevalent among all inferiors' and underlings, whereby vice in the great and powerful is not quite the same low and forbidding thing it is in the poor and low-born, but shows rather as a pardonable eccentricity, a kind of foil or shade to set off the general lustre, or is even converted by the baser sort into positive virtue; much in the same way as one often hears the atrocities of the old Jewish Jehovah (by reason of the halo which power and majesty throw over deformity) converted by modern preachers, with loathsome baseness, into positive virtues; the series of successive exterminations of men, women, and children being severally particularized as special and peculiar mercies enduring for ever. If, in aristocracies, the upper classes are defended by their power and pride against the pressure of the majority, the lower classes, too, on their side have a defence against the tyranny of the few, in their numbers, their obscurity, and the sympathy of their fellows. But, in democracies, where the very air is charged with hostile prejudices, where, it is asked, can the individual fly for escape? Now, I am bound to confess, that were this charge (so freely urged against democracies) of repressing originality and the free expression of sentiment and thought, made good, it would be, to me at least, condemnation final and irrevocable. But if we calmly consider it, is it not incredible that a form of government which permits the greatest latitude of individual action should at the same time put the greatest restraint on individual thought? The truth is, that the tyranny of opinion in aristocracies is really quite as great as in democracies; the only difference being that in democracies, where there is no gradation of classes, the tyranny is general and universal, whereas in aristocracies, where society lies in layers one above another, the tyranny is exercised only by each class over its own members. But then it must be observed that the advantage which aristocracies gain by reason of the limited extent of the pressure to which they are subjected, is fully compensated by the greater intensity and concentration of that pressure. The social pressure put on the members of an aristocracy by the written or unwritten laws and customs of their order, is greater than any that could be brought to bear in a Democracy. Those who, in the old aristocratic times, refused to fight a duel when insulted, or broke their word of honour with their own class, or betrayed the interest of their order, were visited by social penalties more terrible than could anywhere be found or enforced in democracies. In democracies, on the other hand, although the individual lies broadside to the full sweep of public sentiment, his defence lies in the differentiation of sentiment and thought into which the great breakers of public opinion split in their onward roll, and which so neutralise, balance, and antagonise each other, as to rob them of all their terrors. Besides, in democracies, where the least possible restraint is put on freedom of action, only such restraints are put on freedom or expression of thought as are indispensable for common morality; whereas, in aristocracies, besides these restraints, there is the more minute and circumstantial pressure imposed on each individual, by a host of unwritten customs, prejudices, sentiments, and traditions. Take India and America, as examples; one, of the most rigid of all forms of aristocracy, that of caste; the other, of the purest and most advanced of democracies; and what do we find? In India, the tyranny of custom, opinion, and mode of life is so great, that the slightest infringement is followed by a loss of caste, and the loss of caste is tantamount to a sentence of execution; and, from old habit and custom, this tyranny is worn so easily and smoothly that men walk about to all outward appearance as if they were really free. But in America freedom of thought and sentiment is so complete, that you have the spectacle, hitherto unknown, of Catholics, and Protestants, Atheists and Mormons, Freelovers, Shakers, and Quakers, all living quietly side by side in peaceful toleration; and the sense of liberty so acute, that the slightest |