Chapter XII

THE CRITERIA OF REFORM

1

The random collections of bystanders who constitute a public could not, even if they had a mind to, intervene in all the problems of the day. They can and must play a part occasionally, I believe, but they cannot take an interest in, they cannot make even the coarsest judgments about, and they will not act even in the most grossly partisan way on, all the questions arising daily in a complex and changing society. Normally they leave their proxies to a kind of professional public consisting of more or less eminent persons. Most issues are never carried beyond this ruling group; the lay publics catch only echoes of the debate.

If, by the push and pull of interested parties and public personages, settlements are made more or less continually the party in power has the confidence of the country. In effect, the outsiders are arrayed behind the dominant insiders. But if the interested parties cannot be made to agree, if, as a result, there is disturbance and chronic crisis, then the opposition among the insiders may come to be considered the hope of the country, and be able to entice the bystanders to its side.

To support the Ins when things are going well; to support the Outs when they seem to be going badly, this, in spite of all that has been said about tweedledum and tweedledee, is the essence of popular government. Even the most intelligent large public of which we have any experience must determine finally who shall wield the organized power of the state, its army and its police, by a choice between the Ins and Outs. A community where there is no choice does not have popular government. It is subject to some form of dictatorship or it is ruled by the intrigues of the politicians in the lobbies.

Although it is the custom of partisans to speak as if there were radical differences between the Ins and the Outs, it could be demonstrated, I believe, that in stable and mature societies the differences are necessarily not profound. If they were profound, the defeated minority would be constantly on the verge of rebellion. An election would be catastrophic, whereas the assumption in every election is that the victors will do nothing to make life intolerable to the vanquished and that the vanquished will endure with good humor policies which they do not approve.

In the United States, Great Britain, Canada, Australia and in certain of the Continental countries an election rarely means even a fraction of what the campaigners said it would mean. It means some new faces and perhaps a slightly different general tendency in the management of affairs. The Ins may have had a bias toward collectivism; the Outs will lean toward individualism. The Ins may have been suspicious and non-coöperative in foreign affairs; the Outs will perhaps be more trusting or entertain another set of suspicions. The Ins may have favored certain manufacturing interests; the Outs may favor agricultural interests. But even these differing tendencies are very small as compared with the immense area of agreement, established habit and unavoidable necessity. In fact, one might say that a nation is politically stable when nothing of radical consequence is determined by its elections.

There is, therefore, a certain mock seriousness about the campaigning for votes in well-established communities. Much of the excitement is not about the fate of the nation but simply about the outcome of the game. Some of the excitement is sincere, like any fervor of intoxication. And much of it is deliberately stoked up by the expenditure of money to overcome the inertia of the mass of the voters. For the most part the real difference between the Ins and the Outs is no more than this: the Ins, after a term of power, become so committed to policies and so entangled with particular interests that they lose their neutral freedom of decision. They cannot then intervene to check the arbitrary movement of the interests with which they have become aligned. Then it is time for the Outs to take power and restore a balance. The virtue of the Outs in this transaction is that they are not committed to those particular policies and those particular interests which have become overweighted.

The test of whether the Ins are handling affairs effectively is the presence or absence of disturbing problems. The need of reform is recognizable, as I pointed out in the chapter before this one, by the test of assent and the test of conformity. But it is my opinion that for the most part the general public cannot back each reformer on each issue. It must choose between the Ins and Outs on the basis of a cumulative judgment as to whether problems are being solved or aggravated. The particular reformers must look for their support normally to the ruling insiders.

If, however, there is to be any refinement of public opinion it must come from the breaking up of these wholesale judgments into somewhat more retail judgments on the major spectacular issues of the day. Not all of the issues which interest the public are within the scope of politics and reachable through the party system. It seems worth while, therefore, to see whether any canons of judgment can be formulated which could guide the bystanders in particular controversies.

The problem is to locate by clear and coarse objective tests the actor in a controversy who is most worthy of public support.

2

When the rule is plain, its validity unchallenged, the breach clear and the aggressor plainly located, the question does not arise. The public supports the agents of the law, though when the law is working well the support of the public is like the gold reserve of a good bank: it is known to be there and need not be drawn upon. But in many fields of controversy the rule is not plain, or its validity is challenged; each party calls the other aggressor, each claims to be acting for the highest ideals of mankind. In disputes between nations, between sectional interests, between classes, between town and country, between churches, the rules of adjustment are lacking and the argument about them is lost in a fog of propaganda.

Yet it is controversies of this kind, the hardest controversies to disentangle, that the public is called in to judge. Where the facts are most obscure, where precedents are lacking, where novelty and confusion pervade everything, the public in all its unfitness is compelled to make its most important decisions. The hardest problems are those which institutions cannot handle. They are the public’s problems.

The one test which the members of a public can apply in these circumstances is to note which party to the dispute is least willing to submit its whole claim to inquiry and to abide by the result. This does not mean that experts are always expert or impartial tribunals really impartial. It means simply that where the public is forced to intervene in a strange and complex affair, the test of public inquiry is the surest clue to the sincerity of the claimant, to his confidence in his ability to stand the ordeal of examination, to his willingness to accept risks for the sake of his faith in the possibility of rational human adjustments. He may impugn a particular tribunal. But he must at least propose another. The test is whether, in the absence of an established rule, he is willing to act according to the forms of law and by a process through which law may be made.

Of all the tests which public opinion can employ, the test of inquiry is the most generally useful. If the parties are willing to accept it, there is at once an atmosphere of reason. There is prospect of a settlement. Failing that there is at least a delay of summary action and an opportunity for the clarification of issues. And failing that there is a high probability that the most arbitrary of the disputants will be isolated and clearly identified. It is no wonder that this is the principle invoked for the so-called nonjusticiable questions in all the recent experiments under the covenant of the League of Nations[25] and the Protocol for the Pacific Settlement of International Disputes.[26] For in applying this test of inquiry, what we affirm is this: That there is a dispute. That the merits are not clear. That the policy which ought to be applied is not established. That, nevertheless, we of the public outside say that those who are quarreling must act as if there were law to cover the case. That, even if the material for a reasoned conclusion is lacking, we demand the method and spirit of reason. That we demand any sacrifice that may be necessary, the postponement of satisfaction of their just needs, the risk that one of them will be defeated and that an injustice will be done. These things we affirm because we are maintaining a society based on the principle that all controversies are soluble by peaceable agreement.

They may not be. But on that dogma our society is founded. And that dogma we are compelled to defend. We can defend it, too, with a good enough conscience, however disconcerting some of its immediate consequences may be. For, by insisting in all disputes upon the spirit of reason, we shall tend in the long run to confirm the habit of reason. And where that habit prevails no point of view can seem absolute to him who holds it, and no problem between men so difficult that there is not at least a _modus vivendi_.

The test of inquiry is the master test by which the public can use its force to extend the frontiers of reason.

3

But while the test of inquiry may distinguish the party which is entitled to initial support, it is of value only where one party refuses inquiry. If all submit to inquiry, it reveals nothing. And in any event it reveals nothing about the prospects of the solution proposed. The party seeking publicity may have less to conceal, and may mean well, but sincerity unfortunately is no index of intelligence. By what criteria are the public then to judge the new rule which is proposed as a solution?

The public cannot tell whether the new rule will, in fact, work. It may assume, however, that in a changing world no rule will always work. A rule, therefore, should be organized so that experience will clearly reveal its defects. The rule should be so clear that a violation is apparent. But since no generality can cover all cases, this means simply that the rule must contain a settled procedure by which it can be interpreted. Thus a treaty which says that a certain territory shall be evacuated when certain conditions are fulfilled is quite defective, and should be condemned, if it does not provide a way of defining exactly what those conditions are and when they have been fulfilled. A rule, in other words, must include the means of its own clarification, so that a breach shall be undeniably overt. Then only does it take account of experience which no human intelligence can foresee.

It follows from this that a rule must be organized so that it can be amended without revolution. Revision must be possible by consent. But assent is not always given, even when the arguments in favor of a change are overwhelming. Men will stand on what they call their rights. Therefore, in order that deadlock should be dissoluble, a rule should provide that subject to a certain formal procedure the controversy over revision shall be public. This will often break up the obstruction. Where it does not, the community is pretty certain to become engaged on behalf of one of the partisans. This is likely to be inconvenient to all concerned, and the inconvenience due to meddling in the substance of a controversy by a crude, violent and badly aimed public opinion at least may teach those directly concerned not to invoke interference the next time.

But although amendment should be possible, it should not be continual or unforeseen. There should be time for habit and custom to form. The pot should not be made to boil all the time, or be stirred up for some comparatively insignificant reason, whenever an orator sees a chance to make himself important. Since the habits and expectations of many different persons are involved in an institution, some way must be found of giving it stability without freezing it _in statu quo_. This can be done by requiring that amendment shall be in order only after due notice.

What due notice may be in each particular case, the public cannot say. Only the parties at interest are likely to know where the rhythm of their affairs can be interrupted most conveniently. Due notice will be one period of time for men operating on long commitments and another for men operating on short ones. But the public can watch to see whether the principle of due notice is embodied in the proposed settlement.

To judge a new rule, then, the tests proposed here are three: Does it provide for its own clarification? for its own amendment by consent? for due notice that amendment will be proposed? The tests are designed for use in judging the prospects of a settlement not by its substance but by its procedure. A reform which satisfies these tests is normally entitled to public support.

4

This is as far as I know how at present to work out an answer to the question which we inherit from Aristotle: can simple criteria be formulated which will show the bystander where to align himself in complex affairs?

I have suggested that the main value of debate is not that it reveals the truth about the controversy to the audience but that it may identify the partisans. I have suggested further that a problem exists where a rule of action is defective, and that its defectiveness can best be judged by the public through the test of assent and the test of conformity. For remedies I have assumed that normally the public must turn to the Outs as against the Ins, although these wholesale judgments may be refined by more analytical tests for specific issues. As samples of these more analytical tests I have suggested the test of inquiry for confused controversies, and for reforms the test of interpretation, of amendment and of due notice.

These criteria are neither exhaustive nor definitive. Yet, however much tests of this character are improved by practice and reflection, it seems to me there always must remain many public affairs to which they cannot be applied. I do not believe that the public can intervene successfully in all public questions. Many problems cannot be advanced by that obtuse partisanship which is fundamentally all that the public can bring to bear upon them. There is no reason to be surprised, therefore, if the tests I have outlined, or any others that are a vast improvement upon them, are not readily applicable to all questions that are raised in the discussions of the day.

I should simply maintain that where the members of a public cannot use tests of this sort as a guide to action, the wisest course for them is not to act at all. They had better be neutral, if they can restrain themselves, than blindly partisan. For where events are so confused or so subtly balanced or so hard to understand that they do not yield to judgments of the kind I have been outlining here, the probabilities are very great that the public can produce only muddle if it meddles. For not all problems are soluble in the present state of human knowledge. Many which may be soluble are not soluble with any force the public can exert. Some time alone will cure, and some are the fate of man. It is not essential, therefore, always to do something.

It follows that the proper limits of intervention by the public in affairs are determined by its capacity to make judgments. These limits may be extended as new and better criteria are formulated, or as men become more expert through practice. But where there are no tests, where such tests as these cannot be used, where, in other words, only an opinion on the actual merits of the dispute itself would be of any use, any positive action the bystanders are likely to take is almost certain to be more of a nuisance than a benefit. Their duty is to keep an open mind and wait to see. The existence of a usable test is itself the test of whether the public ought to intervene.

FOOTNOTES:

[25] Articles XIII, XV.

[26] Articles 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10.