This romance of politics has been pronounced by a high authority as “one of the boasts of English literature;” and the philosophic Hume has even ventured to pronounce the work as “the only valuable model of a commonwealth that has yet been offered to the public.” Perhaps the historian would pass it off as “the only valuable one,” from a conviction that it was perfectly harmless. It is worthy of remark, that when, in 1688, a grand auto da fè was performed by the university of Oxford on certain political works—when they condemned to the flames Baxter’s “Holy Commonwealth,” written against Harrington’s “Heathen Commonwealth,” as Baxter calls “Oceana,” with Hobbes, and Milton, and others—no one proposed this condign punishment to the manes of Harrington, considering, no doubt, that a romance was too impracticable as a political system. Yet the republican party has always held to “Oceana” as their text-book; and it was with this view that Toland edited this great work, and, in his life of Milton, has declared “Oceana” to be an unrivalled model of a commonwealth, for its practicableness, equality, and completeness; and once Hollis, during the fervour of founding a republic in Corsica, recommended by public advertisement “Oceana” as the most perfect model of a free government.
“Oceana” has perpetuated a thoughtful politician’s dreams. But are there no realities in dreams? Even in dreaming, a great artist often combines conceptions too fugitive, too mysterious, too beauteous, for his palpable canvas. And thus the fanciful pictures of our philosophical politician were the results of his deep and varied studies in the ancient and modern writings on the science of politics—from Aristotle to Machiavel, from Machiavel to Hobbes. His pages are studded with axioms of policy, and impress us by many an enduring truth. His style is not always polished, and is sometimes perplexed; but no writer has exceeded him in the felicity and boldness of his phrases; and his pen, though busied on higher matters, sparkles with imagery and illustration.
That a mind so sagacious and even predictive as was that of Harrington’s in the uncertainty of human events should be led away by theoretical fallacies, is an useful example for political speculators.[3] Constantly he extols the dark mysterious dominion of aristocratic Venice, “being a commonwealth having no causes of dissolution.” He dwells on “the rotation of its senate,” and its prompt, remedial, concealed power. “It is immortal in its nature; and to this day she stands with one thousand years of tranquillity on her back: notwithstanding,” he thoughtfully adds, “that this government consists of men not without sin.”
A single day of treason sufficed to terminate this immortal commonwealth of Venice, with all its “ballotings” and “its rotations,” and its hidden and horrible dictature, where sate the council of “Three” in their dark conclave, like the sister-fates, the arbiters of every soul in Venice. Alas for that folly of the wise, who, in the delusion of a theory, to support the edifice of imagination disguise the truths which might shake it! The advocate of a free state, he who pretends to draw sovereignty from the hands of a people, is the perpetual eulogist of the most refined tyranny that ever swayed the destiny of a people. Spirit of Harrington! meditate in thy sepulchral city, motionless and naked as she lies, there to correct so many passages of admiration which spread their illusion in thy “Oceana!”
Harrington was equally fallible on the strength of his political axiom, “that the balance of power depends on that of property;” applying it to his own critical period, he pronounced that it was impossible ever to re-establish monarchy among English commonwealth-men. Property had changed possessors; it could never revert to its former owners. Four years after “Oceana” was published, and “the Rota Club” was still illumining the nation, the commonwealth returned to monarchy by a beck, and without a word!
Theoretical politicians too often omit in their artificial constructions, and their moral calculations, something more prompt to act in the conduct of men than even their interests—the stirring passions of ambition, of faction, and the vacillations of “the sovereign people,” now maddening for a republic, now rushing into a monarchy, “tumbling and tossing upon their bed of sickness.”
When the Restoration arrived, however it may have deranged the system, it seems not to have disturbed the systematiser. He observed, that “the king comes in; if he calls a parliament of the cavaliers on our great estates, let them sit seven years, and they will all turn commonwealth-men.” He retained in all its force his master-passion of ideal politics. He now decided to reduce “Oceana” into plain axioms, divested of tedious argumentation, and formal demonstration, adapted to the most vulgar capacities. He was easily induced to offer some immediate instructions for the king’s service. A paper was first shown to some of the courtiers, who suspected treason in any scheme where their particular interests were not at all consulted. One morning, when Harrington was busily engaged, with all his aphorisms lying loose on a table before him, suddenly entered Sir William Poulteney, and other officers, to seize on the philosopher and the philosophy “for treasonable designs and practices.” As they were huddling together the scattered members of the “Oceanic” mind, the innocent philosopher, innocent of treason, begged the favour of “stitching them together” before they were taken to Whitehall. The derangement of his system appeared to him more dreadful than seeing himself hurried to the Tower.
Harrington had kept up his intimacy with old friends, among whom were many commonwealth-men, from Major Wildman, an intriguing Cromwellite, down to the notorious Barebones, on whom he declared, however, that he had only called, “at his shop” thrice in his life. He was now involved in a pretended plot, which the Chancellor himself, though furnished with accounts of the meetings of certain parties, declared that he could make nothing of. A speculative politician was a very suspicious person in the days of restoration. Harrington, assuredly, was no plotter. Our philosopher contrived to send his sisters his examination before his relative Lord Lauderdale and others, curious for its topics of discussion, and the poignancy of the dialogue. I cannot pass by one singular passage.
“You charge me with being eminent in principles contrary to the king’s government, and the laws of this nation. Some, my lord, say, that I, being a private man, have been so mad as to meddle with politics; what had a private man to do with government? My lord, there is not any public person, not any magistrate that has written in politics, worth a button. All they that have been excellent in this way have been private men, as private men as myself. There is Plato, there is Aristotle, there is Livy, there is Machiavel. My lord, I can sum up Aristotle’s politics in a very few words; he says there is the barbarous monarchy, such a one where the people have no votes in making the laws; he says there is the heroic monarchy, such a one where the people have their votes in making the laws; and then he says there is democracy, and affirms that a man cannot be said to have liberty but in a democracy only.”