If those who defend a given institution are doing their work well，that furnishes the better reason why those who disapprove of it and disbelieve in its enduring efficacy，should do their work well also. Take the Christian churches，for instance. Assume，if you will，that they are serving a variety of useful functions. If that were all，it would be a reason for conforming. But we are speaking of those for whom the matter does not end here. If you are convinced that the dogma is not true; that a steadily increasing number of persons are becoming aware that it is not true; that its efficacy as a basis of spiritual life is being lowered in the same degree as its credibility; that both dogma and church must be slowly replaced by higher forms of faith，if not also by more effective organisations; then，all who hold such views as these have as distinctly a function in the community as the ministers and upholders of the churches，and the zeal of the latter is simply the most monstrously untenable apology that could be invented for dereliction of duty by the former.
If the orthodox to some extent satisfy certain of the necessities of the present，there are other necessities of the future which can only be satisfied by those who now pass for heretical. The plea which we are examining，if it is good for the purpose for which it is urged，would have to be expressed in this way: —The institution is working as perfectly as it can be made to do，or as any other in its place would be likely to do，and therefore I will do nothing by word or deed towards meddling with it. Those who think this，and act accordingly，are the consistent conservatives of the community. If a man takes up any position short of this，his conformity，acquiescence，and inertia at once become inconsistent and culpable. For unless the institution or belief is entirely adequate，it must be the duty of all who have satisfied themselves that it is not so，to recognise its deficiences，and at least to call attention to them，even if they lack opportunity or capacity to suggest remedies. Now we are dealing with persons who，from the hypothesis，do not admit that this or that factor in an existing social state secures all the advantages which might be secured if instead of that factor there were some other. We are speaking of all the various kinds of dissidents，who think that the current theology，or an established church，or a monarchy，or an oligarchic republic，is a bad thing and a lower form，even at the moment while they attribute provisional merit to it. They can mean nothing by classing each of these as bad things，except that they either bring with them certain serious drawbacks，or exclude certain valuable advantages. The fact that they perform their functions well，such as they are，leaves the fundamental vice or defect of these functions just where it was. If any one really thinks that the current theology involves depraved notions of the supreme impersonation of good，restricts and narrows the intelligence，misdirects the religious imagination，and has become powerless to guide conduct，then how does the circumstance that it happens not to be wholly and unredeemedly bad in its influence，relieve our dissident from all care or anxiety as to the points in which，as we have seen，he does count it inadequate and mischievous? Even if he thinks it does more good than harm—a position which must be very difficult for one who believes the common supernatural conception of it to be entirely false—even then，how is he discharged from the duty of stigmatising the harm which he admits that it does?
Again，take the case of the English monarchy. Grant，if you will，that this institution has a certain function，and that by the present chief magistrate this function is estimably performed. Yet if we are of those who believe that in the stage of civilisation which England has reached in other matters，the monarchy must be either obstructive and injurious，or else merely decorative; and that a merely decorative monarchy tends in divers ways to engender habits of abasement，to nourish lower social ideals，to lessen a high civil self-respect in the community; then it must surely be our duty not to lose any opportunity of pressing these convictions. To do this is not necessarily to act as if one were anxious for the immediate removal of the throne and the crown into the museum of political antiquities. We may have no urgent practical solicitude in this direction，on the intelligible principle that a free people always gets as good a kind of government as it deserves. Our conviction is not，on the present hypothesis，that monarchy ought to be swept away in England，but that monarchy produces certain mischievous consequences to the public spirit of the community. And so what we are bound to do is to take care not to conceal this conviction; to abstain scrupulously from all kinds of action and observance，public or private，which tend ever so remotely to foster the ignoble and degrading elements that exist in a court and spread from it outwards; and to use all the influence we have，however slight it may be，in loading public opinion to a right attitude of contempt and dislike for these ignoble and degrading elements，and the conduct engendered by them. A policy like this does not interfere with the advantages of the monarchy，such as they are asserted to be，and it has the effect of making what are supposed to be its disadvantages as little noxious as possible. The question whether we can get others to agree with us is not relevant. If we were eager for instant overthrow，it would be the most relevant of all questions. But we are in the preliminary stage，the stage for acting on opinion. The fact that others do not yet share our opinion，is the very reason for our action. We can only bring them to agree with us，if it be possible on any terms，by persistency in our principles. This persistency，in all but either very timid or very vulgar natures，always has been and always will be independent of external assent or co-operation. The history of success，as we can never too often repeat to ourselves，is the history of minorities. And what is more，it is for the most part the history of insurrection exactly against what the worldly spirits of the time，whenever it may have been，deemed mere trifles and accidents，with which sensible men should on no account dream of taking the trouble to quarrel.
'Halifax,' says Macaulay，'was in speculation a strong republican and did not conceal it. He often made hereditary monarchy and aristocracy the subjects of his keen pleasantry，while he was fighting the battles of the court and obtaining for himself step after step in the peerage.' We are perfectly familiar with this type，both in men who have，and men who have not，such brilliant parts as Halifax. Such men profess to nourish high ideals of life，of character，of social institutions. Yet they never think of these ideals，when they are deciding what is practically attainable. One would like to ask them what purpose is served by an ideal，if it is not to make a guide for practice and a landmark in dealing with the real. A man's loftiest and most ideal notions must be of a singularly ethereal and，shall we not say，senseless kind，if he can never see how to take a single step that may tend in the slightest degree towards making them more real. If an ideal has no point of contact with what exists，it is probably not much more than the vapid outcome of intellectual or spiritual self-indulgence. If it has such a point of contact，then there is sure to be something which a man can do towards the fulfilment of his hopes. He cannot substitute a new national religion for the old，but he can at least do something to prevent people from supposing that the adherents of the old are more numerous than they really are，and something to show them that good ideas are not all exhausted by the ancient forms. He cannot transform a monarchy into a republic，but he can make sure that one citizen at least shall aim at republican virtues，and abstain from the debasing complaisance of the crowd.
'It is a very great mistake，said Burke，many years before the French Revolution is alleged，and most unreasonably alleged，to have alienated him from liberalism: 'it is a very great mistake to imagine that mankind follow up practically any speculative principle，either of government or of freedom，as far as it will go in argument and logical illation. All government，indeed every human benefit and enjoyment，every virtue，and every prudent act，is founded on compromise and barter. We balance inconveniences; we give and take;—we remit some rights that we may enjoy others.... Man acts from motives relative to his interests; and not on metaphysical speculations.[3] These are the words of wisdom and truth，if we can be sure that men will interpret them in all the fulness of their meaning，and not be content to take only that part of the meaning which falls in with the dictates of their own love of ease. In France such words ought to be printed in capitals on the front of every newspaper，and written up in letters of burnished gold over each faction of the Assembly，and on the door of every bureau in the Administration. In England they need a commentary which shall bring out the very simple truth，that compromise and barter do not mean the undisputed triumph of one set of principles. Nor，on the other hand，do they mean the mutilation of both sets of principles，with a view to producing a tertium quid that shall involve the disadvantages of each，without securing the advantages of either. What Burke means is that we ought never to press our ideas up to their remotest logical issues，without reference to the conditions in which we are applying them. In politics we have an art. Success in politics，as in every other art，obviously before all else implies both knowledge of the material with which we have to deal，and also such concession as is necessary to the qualities of the material. Above all，in politics we have an art in which development depends upon small modifications. That is the true side of the conservative theory. To hurry on after logical perfection is to show one's self ignorant of the material of that social structure with which the politician has to deal. To disdain anything short of an organic change in thought or institution in infatuation. To be willing to make such changes too frequently，even when they are possible，is foolhardiness. That fatal French saying about small reforms being the worst enemies of great reforms is，in the sense in which it is commonly used，a formula of social ruin.
On the other hand，let us not forget that there is a sense in which this very saying is profoundly true. A small and temporary improvement may really be the worst enemy of a great and permanent improvement，unless the first is made on the lines and in the direction of the second. And so it may，if it be successfully palmed off upon a society as actually being the second. In such a case as this，and our legislation presents instances of the kind，the small reform，if it be not made with reference to some large progressive principle and with a view to further extension of its scope，makes it all the more difficult to return to the right line and direction when improvement is again demanded. To take an example which is now very familiar to us all. The Education Act of 1870 was of the nature of a small reform. No one pretends that it is anything approaching to a final solution of a complex problem. But the government insisted，whether rightly or wrongly，that their Act was as large a measure as public opinion was at that moment ready to support. At the same time it was clearly agreed among the government and the whole of the party at their backs，that at some time or other，near or remote，if public instruction was to be made genuinely effective，the private，voluntary，or denominational system would have to be replaced by a national system. To prepare for this ultimate replacement was one of the points to be most steadily borne in mind，however slowly and tentatively the process might be conducted. Instead of that，the authors of the Act deliberately introduced provisions for extending and strengthening the very system which will have eventually to be superseded. They thus by their small reform made the future great reform the more difficult of achievement. Assuredly this is not the compromise and barter，the give and take，which Burke intended. What Burke means by compromise，and what every true statesman understands by it，is that it may be most inexpedient to meddle with an institution merely because it does not harmonise with 'argument and logical illation.' This is a very different thing from giving new comfort and strength with one hand，to an institution whose death-warrant you pretend to be signing with the other.
In a different way the second possible evil of a small reform may be equally mischievous—where the small reform is represented as settling the question. The mischief here is not that it takes us out of the progressive course，as in the case we have just been considering，but that it sets men's minds in a posture of contentment，which is not justified by the amount of what has been done，and which makes it all the harder to arouse them to new effort when the inevitable time arrives.
In these ways，then，compromise may mean，not acquiescence in an instalment，on the ground that the time is not ripe to yield us more than an instalment，but either the acceptance of the instalment as final，followed by the virtual abandonment of hope and effort; or else it may mean a mistaken reversal of direction，which augments the distance that has ultimately to be traversed. In either of these senses，the small reform may become the enemy of the great one. But a right conception of political method，based on a rightly interpreted experience of the conditions on which societies unite progress with order，leads the wise conservative to accept the small change，lest a worse thing befall him，and the wise innovator to seize the chance of a small improvement，while incessantly working in the direction of great ones. The important thing is that throughout the process neither of them should lose sight of his ultimate ideal; nor fail to look at the detail from the point of view of the whole; nor allow the near particular to bulk so unduly large as to obscure the general and distant.
If the process seems intolerably slow，we may correct our impatience by looking back upon the past. People seldom realise the enormous period of time which each change in men's ideas requires for its full accomplishment. We speak of these changes with a peremptory kind of definiteness，as if they had covered no more than the space of a few years. Thus we talk of the time of the Reformation，as we might talk of the Reform Bill or the Repeal of the Corn Duties. Yet the Reformation is the name for a movement of the mind of northern Europe，which went on for three centuries. Then if we turn to that still more momentous set of events，the rise and establishment of Christianity，one might suppose from current speech that we could fix that within a space of half a century or so. Yet it was at least four hundred years before all the foundations of that great superstructure of doctrine and organisation were completely laid. Again，to descend to less imposing occurrences，the transition in the Eastern Empire from the old Roman system of national organisation to that other system to which we give the specific name of Byzantine,—this transition，so infinitely less important as it was than either of the two other movements，yet occupied no less than a couple of hundred years. The conditions of speech make it indispensable for us to use definite and compendious names for movements that were both tardy and complex. We are forced to name a long series of events as if they were a single event. But we lose the reality of history，we fail to recognise one of the most striking aspects of human affairs，and above all we miss that most invaluable practical lesson，the lesson of patience，unless we remember that the great changes of history took up long periods of time which，when measured by the little life of a man，are almost colossal，like the vast changes of geology. We know how long it takes before a species of plant or animal disappears in face of a better adapted species. Ideas and customs，beliefs and institutions，have always lingered just as long in face of their successors，and the competition is not less keen nor less prolonged，because it is for one or other inevitably destined to be hopeless. History，like geology，demands the use of the imagination，and in proportion as the exercise of the historic imagination is vigorously performed in thinking of the past，will be the breadth of our conception of the changes which the future has in store for us，as well as of the length of time and the magnitude of effort required for their perfect achievement[4].
