Art. 13.-IDEALS IN POLITICS.

SOME months ago a correspondence sprang up in the Press on the subject of political ideals. It started with a letter from Sir Martin Conway in the 'Times,' in which he lamented the lack of attractive ideals in the Conservative Party, the provision of which he seemed to hope would make the youthful politicians of the Party more vocally impressive at the street corners and, at the same time, inspire them with that martial enthusiasm which is as necessary in politics as in war. The correspondence struck a responsive chord, and it spread from the columns of the Times' to the provincial press. It was interesting as a symptom of the prevailing temperament of a community whose nerves were perhaps a little overstrung, and which was inclined to be rather unduly introspective. A few observers were cynical enough to doubt the efficacy of the nostrum of idealism as a cure for all our evils, and to hint that undue insistence upon ideals might savour of that cant which we find offensive in religion, and which might be equally offensive in politics. On the whole, however, the tendency represented no unwholesome symptom.

It is easy to account for this tendency. During the last ten years, we have passed through an ordeal which might well try the nerves of any nation. Under that ordeal the landmarks of our political divisions were broken down; customary methods of life; respected conventions; deeply rooted traditions, have practically disappeared. We who have lived through the change, and whose attention was absorbed in urgent problems and anxieties, have hardly recognised its extent. Nevertheless, we are oppressed by the sense of unsettlement, and are eager to find a cure. It was not unnatural that many people thought that the best method was to be bold to the verge of recklessness. In the greatness of the strain, we were led to set economical laws at defiance, and to establish arbitrary rules to regulate Labour and to fetter Capital. Our hazardous and meddlesome experiments produced ever-increasing friction in regard to Finance, Manufactures, and Employment. Wages grew by leaps and bounds, only to lead to increased pressure of poverty, increased unemployment, and increased

depression of trade. We could not bring ourselves to confess our errors and to retrace those experimental footsteps which had led to so many mistakes. Perhaps, indeed, the time had passed when that was possible. Instead, we felt constrained to strive after some supreme ideal, which might inspire a deeper sense of political duty, and arouse a more earnest effort after mutual helpfulness, even although uncertain as to its precise form.

Great as our economic difficulties were, we seemed bent on adding to them by experiments in other directions. We chose this moment to remodel on a vast scale our representative system. The electorate was increased threefold. The political status of women was suddenly altered, without reference to the constituencies, by the same Parliament which had twice refused to them the vote; and this was done with the assistance of the very statesmen who had previously denounced such a change as likely to lead to condign disaster.

Nor was this all. Our duties and our responsibilities are not domestic only. They are also Imperial, and therefore our handling of them has incalculable weight for good or ill throughout the world. By a strange perversity, this critical moment, when our whole administrative machinery was shaken by the strain of unprecedented war effort, was chosen as the fitting time for suggesting dreams of responsible government to our vast dependencies-government to be wielded by a small and intriguing minority nominally on behalf of countless millions, to whom our Western constitutional theories were an incomprehensible tangle, and whose welfare, for which we are responsible, we thus hand over to the mercies of a petty and selfish oligarchy. A new element of difficulty was thus added to the sea of troubles which we had to meet.

Such was the position to which an evil fate, and the popular excitement which is the natural result of war, had brought us. It would be useless, and very likely unjust, to throw the blame for these rash experiments in every direction, upon any one political party. War is a cruel school for the political education of nations. Its discipline rests mainly upon fear and operates under excitement, which is apt to breed violent class jealousy, fed by the widely divergent estimate which each section

forms of the comparative sacrifices entailed by the struggle. He would have been a statesman of heroic mould and almost superhuman courage who had ventured to preach to the English people, in that hour of trial, of excitement, and of virulent jealousy, the gospel of eschewing financial experiment, of postponing startling political reforms, of maintaining firm and inviolate the landmarks of our Empire; and had tried to inculcate instead the old and unpretentious virtues of thrift, industry, and independence. Probably his voice would have fallen upon deaf ears. At least it is certain that no such call made itself heard, though something of such calmness of judgment, and quiet resoluteness of purpose, found expression in the aim which Mr Bonar Law announced when he entered upon his all-too-brief tenure of office as Prime Minister. He gave to his party the marching order of tranquillity, peace, and earnestness of work, not as any flourishing of the flag of idealism, but as urging a dogged and unobtrusive persistence in the most practical ways. Those who failed to appreciate the value of that prudent counsel derided it as a barren and uninspiring policy. Perhaps it will be well when the nation takes the lesson to heart, and sets itself to obey its precepts, and to remember those wise words. Instead of following such precepts, social legislation on a reckless scale was held to be the only hope of salvation, and the different political parties vied with one another in the boldness of their schemes. The old watchwords of economy and caution were thrown to the winds. A new world was to be created. New hopes were fostered, and counsels of calm consideration, suggesting the adaptation of our aims to our available means, were thrust aside as subterfuges of timid procrastination.

It was no wonder that the hopes were sometimes exaggerated. Not unnaturally the Church felt it to be its duty rather to stimulate than to curb such aspiration, and perhaps it allowed itself more latitude in preaching the value of enthusiasm than in inculcating the modest virtue of prudence. It was a tempting theme, which appealed to generous instincts; but it was apt to lead those whose hearts were stronger than their heads to identify the theories of political doctrinaires with the teachings of Christianity, and to sink the pastor in the partisan.

Some harm was thus done, but it need not blind us to the advantage of high ideals in politics just as well as in religion and in personal conduct. No influence in politics is more deadening than that which would limit political activity to the routine of practical organisation. No habit of mind so effectually blinds the vision and confines the free movement of an inspiring imagination as that which is bred in the atmosphere of the caucus. That leader will find his words and his exhortation empty and jejune, who cannot breathe into them the life which comes from creative imagination, and cannot clothe them in the form of definite aspirations. We may be suspicious of exaggerations; we may feel distrustful of delusive schemes of reconstruction which are inspired by class hatred rather than by any generous impulse. But we can never forget that without vision the people perish.

Our ideals need not be proclaimed with that complacent iteration which is apt to suggest hypocrisy. Reserve and reticence are evidence of confidence and judgment. Above all, these ideals must have the saving grace of common sense, as well as that simplicity which Swift well called the highest ornament of all human things. It is thus only that we can preserve that balance which is the supreme guide of effective action. Let us never forget that we are creating no new world when we discipline ourselves to follow a high ideal; we are only learning by that discipline to be obedient to nature. Our supreme expounder of human motive has set it out as none but he could do. He has found the right name for all that is the negative of idealism:

That smooth-faced gentleman, tickling Commodity,
Commodity, the bias of the world:

The world, who of itself is poised well
Made to run even, upon even ground,
Till this advantage, this vile drawing bias,
This sway of motion, this Commodity,
Makes it take head from all indifferency,

From all direction, purpose, course, intent.'

The Bastard Faulconbridge pierced into the realities. of human life when he propounded the truth that a narrow, practical expediency is at war with the simple,

straightforward law of nature, and is, therefore, bound to fail. If we are to avoid shipwreck in that voyage of high enterprise which we would have our nation pursue, then we must, of very necessity, cling to the profound and enduring virtue of the ideal.

The ideal must be the sheet anchor of our hopes. But while we cherish idealism for itself, we must be keenly awake to its dangers, and to the delusions which may easily disguise themselves as parts of its retinue. Our ideal must be modest enough to submit itself to the guidance and control of judgment; and it must not allow selfish and partisan aims to dress themselves in its livery. It must decline any alliance with that crusade of destruction which sets out to make war on what is stigmatised as privilege, and generally ends in the havoc from which the only privilege to emerge is that of being the last surviving agent of destruction. The moment comes

'When everything includes itself in power,
Power into will, will into appetite;
And appetite, an universal wolf

So doubly seconded with will and power,
Must make perforce an universal prey,
And last eat up himself.'

History has too often-and too recently-proved to us that a false and spurious ideal may impose itself upon popular fancy, and feed upon human passions until it creates a chaos from which its dupes are the chief sufferers. That lesson should teach us to beware of its beguilements.

Our ideal, then, must go hand in hand with judgment. It must also submit to wholesome discipline, and to the formative influence of tradition. This implies no distrust of the influence of the ardour of the new generation, and no fear of its courageous advance upon new adventures. In the words of Disraeli, it is the past which explains the present, and transmits that explanation to the young, in whose hands lies the future. It is from the inspiration of the past that the new generation must draw for its fresh enterprise.

Let us weigh carefully what that means, and not dismiss it merely as a well-sounding phrase. It involves the very practical rule, that we must base our ideal