The Iniquity of Reform

— The desirability of reform appeals to the callow and impetuous spirit of youth. But, as one advances in years and in knowledge of the world, the other side of the matter presents itself, and one begins to perceive that reform is almost always vulgar, and often positively iniquitous. A remark attributed to the Duke of Wellington illustrates this truth. He declared that the unreformed House of Parliament was an ideal political construction. This sentiment shocked me, when first I heard it. “ To what a depth of ignorance and prejudice will Toryism sink a man ! ” was my internal comment, at the crude age of twenty-five. “The. system of rotten boroughs an ideal system ! ” But five years later, at the intellectually budding period of thirty years, I was able to perceive in the Iron Duke’s assertion at least that slight measure of truth which we commonly associate with an epigram ; and by the time I had reached middle life — when, as a wise man happily said, one begins to see toward the bottom of one’s mind — I recognized the substantial accuracy of this seeming paradox.

Of course, what the Duke of Wellington meant was that, assuming an aristocratic form of government to be the best, the unreformed Parliament was the fittest instrument that could be devised for carrying it on. Well, has not history justified the correctness of the Duke’s inference ? What reform had done for England is now plain enough. It had taken flic government of the country out of the hands of the landed gentry, and put it in the hands of the middle classes. Who believes that Gordon would have been left to perish without assistance, bad the unreformed Parliament continued to exist? And that was a typical instance.

So much for the hatefulness of reform in matters political. Of course I shall not be expected to enter here upon an elaborate demonstration of my point. In the Contributors’ Club we simply state conclusions which recommend themselves at once to every frank intelligence, not requiring to be bolstered by argument.

What, then, is the essential vice of reform ? I take it to be this : reform is ail incomplete process of destruction. It mutilates. An institution grows up, based upon the moral necessities of human nature ; both its virtues and its faults inhere in its constitution, and are so twisted together as to be inseparable. It is a spoiltaneous but gradual development ; it is replete with human nature ; it answers the purpose for which it was intended, and toward which it has been shaped through age after age. Such was the unreformed Parliament, —a clumsy, imperfect contrivance in detail ; and yet, on the whole, a fit instrument for carrying on an aristocratic system of government.

This being the situation, along comes your reformer, hot, zealous, intemperate, and bent, not on destruction, which might he wholesome, but on cutting and carving. He lops off a branch here, a bough there ; and the result is something bare, hideous, and vulgar. The tree grew up naturally, fostered by the slow and accurate hand of nature. The reformer, in a trice, reforms it, as he thinks, but in fact deforms it.

Here, t hen, is a good, logical, scientific ground for hating reform and distrusting reformers. Let us who are opposed to all reforms, — a faithful few, — let us get together and plant ourselves firmly upon this basis.

“ But how about individuals ? ” some timid brother may inquire. “ Surely the doctrine does not apply to them ; we must admit that it is better for men to reform than to continue in the practice of evil habits.” But I say No. There was never a reformed man who had not something nasty, or at least something highly objectionable, about him. Your reformed burglar takes to plundering his fellow-beings in the semilegitimate channels of trade, — losing the manliness and candor which distinguished him in the unreformed condition. Your reformed drunkard, again (if in reality any such exist), is either a morose creature, whose bonhomie has fled with his liquor, or else a mushy, windy person, swollen with egotism and self-conceit, who turns reformer before the alcoholic flush has faded from his nose.

Besides, the unreformed class is a necessary component of society. Even so moral a man as Ralph Waldo Emerson perceived this necessity, and he frankly said : —

“ Fools and clowns and sots make the fringe of everyone’s tapestry of life, and give a certain reality to the picture. What could we do in Concord without Bigelow’s and Wesson’s bar-rooms and their dependencies ? ”

Such, I maintain, is the true doctrine of reform, and let no one be shocked unduly by its strength. It is not, to he sure, the kind of doctrine that we teach to babes, or read in the newspapers, or preach from the pulpit. Truth never was, and never will be, proclaimed from the housetops. It is whispered in the ear of a friend ; and to the friendly reader whom I meet in the Contributors’ Club I thus communicate it.