The Complete Yes Minister

‘Can’t you see,’ I begged emotionally, ‘that selling arms to terrorists is wrong? Can’t you see that?’

He couldn’t. ‘Either you sell arms or you don’t,’ was his cold, rational reply. ‘If you sell them, they will inevitably end up with people who have the cash to buy them.’

I could see the strength of that argument. But terrorists had to be prevented, somehow, from getting hold of them.

Humphrey seemed to find this a ridiculous and/or an impractical approach. He smiled patronisingly. ‘I suppose we could put a sort of government health warning on all the rifle butts. NOT TO BE SOLD TO TERRORISTS. Do you think that would help?’ I was speechless. ‘Or better still, WARNING: THIS GUN CAN SERIOUSLY DAMAGE YOUR HEALTH.’

I didn’t laugh. I told him that it was rather shocking, in my view, that he could make light of such a matter. I demanded a straight answer. I asked him if he was saying that we should close our eyes to something that’s as morally wrong as this business.

He sighed. Then he replied, with slight irritation. ‘If you insist on making me discuss moral issues, perhaps I should point out that something is either morally wrong or it is not. It can’t be slightly morally wrong.’

I told him not to quibble.

He quibbled again. ‘Minister, Government isn’t about morality.’

‘Really? Then what is it about?’

‘It’s about stability. Keeping things going, preventing anarchy, stopping society falling to bits. Still being here tomorrow.’

‘But what for?’ I asked.

I had stumped him. He didn’t understand my question. So I spelt it out for him.

‘What is the ultimate purpose of Government, if it isn’t for doing good?’

This notion was completely meaningless to him. ‘Government isn’t about good and evil, it’s only about order and chaos.’

I know what he means. I know that all of us in politics have to swallow things we don’t believe in sometimes, vote for things that we think are wrong. I’m a realist, not a boy scout. Otherwise I could never have reached Cabinet level. I’m not naive. I know that nations just act in their own interest. But . . . there has to be a sticking point somewhere. Can it really be in order for Italian terrorists to get British-made bomb detonators?

I don’t see how it can be. But, more shocking still, Humphrey just didn’t seem to care. I asked him how that was possible.

Again he had a simple answer. ‘It’s not my job to care. That’s what politicians are for. It’s my job to carry out government policy.’

‘Even if you think it’s wrong?’

‘Almost all government policy is wrong,’ he remarked obligingly, ‘but frightfully well carried out.’

This was all too urbane for my liking. I had an irresistible urge to get to the bottom of this great moral issue, once and for all. This ‘just obeying orders’ mentality can lead to concentration camps. I wanted to nail this argument.

‘Humphrey, have you ever known a civil servant resign on a matter of principle?’

Now, he was shocked. ‘I should think not! What a suggestion!’

How remarkable. This is the only suggestion that I had made in this conversation that had shocked my Permanent Secretary. I sat back in my chair and contemplated him. He waited, presumably curious to see what other crackpot questions I would be asking.

‘I realise, for the very first time,’ I said slowly, ‘that you are committed purely to means, never to ends.’

‘As far as I am concerned, Minister, and all my colleagues, there is no difference between means and ends.’

‘If you believe that,’ I told him, ‘you will go to Hell.’

There followed a long silence. I thought he was reflecting on the nature of the evil to which he had committed himself. But no! After a while, realising that I was expecting a reply, he observed with mild interest, ‘Minister, I had no idea that you had a theological bent.’

My arguments had clearly left him unaffected. ‘You are a moral vacuum, Humphrey,’ I informed him.

‘If you say so, Minister.’ And he smiled courteously and inclined his head, as if to thank me for a gracious compliment.

Bernard had been in the room for the entire meeting so far, though taking very few minutes, I noticed. Unusually for him, he had not said a word. Now he spoke.

‘It’s time for your lunch appointment, Minister.’

I turned to him. ‘You’re keeping very quiet, Bernard. What would you do about all this?’

‘I’d keep very quiet, Minister.’

The conversation had ground to a halt. I’d thrown every insult at Sir Humphrey that I could think of, and he had taken each one as a compliment. He appears to be completely amoral. Not immoral – he simply doesn’t understand moral concepts. His voice broke in on my thoughts. ‘So may we now drop this matter of arms sales?’

I told him that we may not. I told him that I would be telling the PM about it, in person. And I told Bernard to make the appointment for me, as it is just the sort of thing the PM wants to know about.