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SELECTIONS FROM THE SPEECHES AND WRITINGS OF EDMUND BURKE.
By Edmund Burke
CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY.
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"Id dico, eum qui sit orator, virum bonum esse oportere. In omnibus quae dicit tanta auctoritas inest, ut dissentire pudeat; nec advocati studium, sed testis aut judicis afferat fidem."—Quintilianus.
"That is to say, anyone who is an orator should be a good person. In everything he says, there is such authority that it’s embarrassing to disagree; it should not be the advocate's effort, but rather the testimony of a witness or a judge that brings credibility."—Quintilianus.
"Democracy is the most monstrous of all governments, because it is impossible at once to act and control; and, consequently, the Sovereign Power is then left without any restraint whatever. That form of government is the best which places the efficient direction in the hands of the aristocracy, subjecting them in its exercise to the control of the people at large."—Sir James Mackintosh.
"Democracy is the most flawed form of government because it's impossible to both act and control at the same time; as a result, the Sovereign Power ends up with no checks at all. The best type of government is one that puts effective leadership in the hands of the aristocracy while still holding them accountable to the broader public."—Sir James Mackintosh.
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The intellectual homage of more than half a century has assigned to Edmund Burke a lofty pre-eminence in the aristocracy of mind, and we may justly assume succeeding ages will confirm the judgment which the Past has thus pronounced. His biographical history is so popularly known, that it is almost superfluous to record it in this brief introduction. It may, however, be summed up in a few sentences. He was born at Dublin in 1730. His father was an attorney in extensive practice, and his mother's maiden name was Nogle, whose family was respectable, and resided near Castletown, Roche, where Burke himself received five years of boyish education under the guidance of a rustic schoolmaster. He was entered at Trinity College, Dublin, in 1746, but only remained there until 1749. In 1753 he became a member of the Middle Temple, and maintained himself chiefly by literary toil. Bristol did itself the honour to elect him for her representative in 1774, and after years of splendid usefulness and mental triumph, as an orator, statesman, and patriot, he retired to his favourite retreat, Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, where he died on July 9th, 1797. He was buried here; and the pilgrim who visits the grave of this illustrious man, when he gazes on the simple tomb which marks the earthly resting place of himself, brother, son, and widow, may feelingly recall his own pathetic wish uttered some forty years before, in London:—"I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard, than in the tomb of the Capulets. I should like, however, that my dust should mingle with kindred dust. The good old expression, 'family burying-ground,' has something pleasing in it, at least to me." Alluding to his approaching dissolution, he thus speaks, in a letter addressed to a relative of his earliest schoolmaster:—"I have been at Bath these four months for no purpose, and am therefore to be removed to my own house at Beaconsfield to-morrow, to be nearer a habitation more permanent, humbly and fearfully hoping that my better part may find a better mansion." It is a source of deep thankfulness for those who reverence the genius and eloquence of this great man, to state, that Burke's religion was that of the Cross, and to find him speaking of the "Intercession" of our Redeeming Lord, as "what he had long sought with unfeigned anxiety, and to which he looked with trembling hope." The commencing paragraph in his Will also authenticates the genuine character of his personal Christianity. "According to the ancient, good, and laudable custom, of which my heart and understanding recognise the propriety, I BEQUEATH MY SOUL TO GOD, HOPING FOR HIS MERCY ONLY THROUGH THE MERITS OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST. My body I desire to be buried in the church of Beaconsfield, near to the bodies of my dearest brother, and my dearest son, in all humility praying, that as we have lived in perfect unity together, we may together have part in the resurrection of the just." (In the "Epistolary Correspondence of the Right Hon. Edmund Burke and Dr. French Laurence", Rivingtons, London, 1827), are several touching allusions to that master-grief which threw a mournful shadow over the closing period of Burke's life. In one letter the anxious father says, "The fever continues much as it was. He sleeps in a very uneasy way from time to time?-but his strength decays visibly, and his voice is, in a manner, gone. But God is all-sufficient—and surely His goodness and his mother's prayers may do much" (page 30). Again, in another communication addressed to his revered correspondent, we find a beautiful allusion to his departed son, which involves his belief in that most soothing doctrine of the Church,—a recognition of souls in the kingdom of the Beatified. "Here I am in the last retreat of hunted infirmity; I am indeed 'aux abois.' But, as through the whole of a various and long life I have been more indebted than thankful to Providence, so I am now singularly so, in being dismissed, as hitherto I appear to be, so gently from life, AND SENT TO FOLLOW THOSE WHO IN COURSE OUGHT TO HAVE FOLLOWED ME, WHOM, I TRUST, I SHALL YET, IN SOME INCONCEIVABLE MANNER, SEE AND KNOW; AND BY WHOM I SHALL BE SEEN AND KNOWN" (pages 53, 54).
The intellectual recognition of over fifty years has given Edmund Burke a high standing among the great thinkers, and we can reasonably assume that future generations will uphold the judgment that history has made. His life story is so widely known that it's almost unnecessary to recap it in this brief introduction. However, it can be summarized in a few sentences. He was born in Dublin in 1730. His father was a well-established attorney, and his mother's maiden name was Nogle; her family was respected and lived near Castletown, Roche, where Burke received five years of schooling from a local schoolmaster. He enrolled at Trinity College, Dublin, in 1746 but only stayed until 1749. In 1753, he became a member of the Middle Temple and mainly supported himself through writing. Bristol honored him by electing him as their representative in 1774, and after years of remarkable service and intellectual achievement as an orator, statesman, and patriot, he retired to his beloved home in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, where he died on July 9, 1797. He was buried there; and anyone visiting this distinguished man's grave, when looking at the simple tomb that marks the final resting place of him, his brother, his son, and his widow, might poignantly remember his heartfelt wish expressed about forty years earlier in London: "I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard than in the tomb of the Capulets. I would like, however, for my remains to mingle with kindred dust. The good old expression, 'family burying ground,' has something pleasing in it, at least to me." Referring to his impending death, he once wrote to a relative of his first schoolmaster: "I have been at Bath for the past four months for no reason, and are therefore going to be moved to my home in Beaconsfield tomorrow, to be closer to a more permanent residence, humbly and fearfully hoping that my better self may find a better place." It is a profound blessing for those who admire the genius and eloquence of this great man to state that Burke's faith was that of the Cross, and to see him speak of the "Intercession" of our Redeeming Lord as "what he had long sought with genuine anxiety, and to which he looked with trembling hope." The opening paragraph of his Will also confirms the genuine nature of his personal Christianity: "According to the ancient, good, and commendable custom, which my heart and mind acknowledge as proper, I BEQUEATH MY SOUL TO GOD, HOPING FOR HIS MERCY ONLY THROUGH THE MERITS OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR JESUS CHRIST. I desire for my body to be buried in the church of Beaconsfield, close to the graves of my beloved brother and my beloved son, humbly praying that, as we have lived in perfect unity, we may together share in the resurrection of the just." (In the "Epistolary Correspondence of the Right Hon. Edmund Burke and Dr. French Laurence", Rivingtons, London, 1827), there are several touching references to the profound grief that cast a somber shadow over the last years of Burke's life. In one letter, the worried father writes, "The fever continues much the same. He sleeps very restlessly from time to time—but his strength is visibly fading, and his voice has practically disappeared. But God is all-sufficient—and surely His goodness and his mother's prayers can accomplish much" (page 30). Again, in another letter to his respected correspondent, we find a beautiful reference to his late son, which reflects his belief in the comforting doctrine of the Church—a recognition of souls in the realm of the Beatified. "Here I find myself in the final retreat of relentless weakness; I am truly 'aux abois.' Yet, just as throughout my varied and long life I have been more indebted than thankful to Providence, I now feel particularly so, being gently ushered from life, AND SENT TO FOLLOW THOSE WHO SHOULD HAVE FOLLOWED ME, WHOM, I TRUST, I WILL STILL, IN SOME unimaginable WAY, SEE AND KNOW; AND BY WHOM I SHALL BE SEEN AND KNOWN" (pages 53, 54).
In reference to the intellectual grandeur, the eloquent genius, and prophetic wisdom of Burke, which have caused his writings to become oracles for future statesmen to consult, it is quite unnecessary for contemporary criticism to speak. By the concurring judgment, both of political friends and foes, as well as by the highest arbiters of taste throughout the civilized world, Burke has been pronounced, not only "primus inter pares," but "facile omnium princeps." At the termination of these introductory remarks, the reader will be presented with critical portraitures of Burke from the writings and speeches of men, who, while opposed to him in their principles of legislative policy, with all the chivalry and candour of genius paid a noble homage to the vastness and variety of his unrivalled powers. Meanwhile, it may not be presumptuous for a writer, on an occasion like the present, to contemplate this great man under certain aspects, which, perhaps, are not sufficiently regarded in their DISTINCTIVE bearings on the worth and wisdom of his character and writings. We say "distinctive," because the eloquence of Burke, beyond that of all other orators and statesmen which Great Britain has produced, is featured with expressions, and characterised by qualities, as peculiar as they are immortal. So far as invention, imagination, moral fervour, and metaphorical richness of illustration, combined with that intense "pathos and ethos," which the Roman critic describes ("Huc igitur incumbat orator: hoc opus ejus, hic labor est; sine quo caetera nuda, jejuna, infirma, ingrata sunt: adeo velut spiritus operis hujus atque animus est IN AFFECTIBUS. Horum autem, sicut antiquitus traditum accepimus, duae sunt species: alteram Graeci pathos vocant, quem nos vertentes recte ac proprie AFFECTUM dicimus; alteram ethos, cujus nomine (ut ego quidem sentio) caret sermo Romanus, mores appellantur."—Quintilian, "Instit. Orat." lib. vi. cap. 2.) as essential to the true orator, are concerned, the author of "Reflections on the French Revolution," and "Letters on a Regicide Peace," is justly admired and appreciated. Moreover, if what we understand by the "sublime" in eloquence has ever been embodied, the speeches and writings of Burke appear to have been drawn from those five sources ("pegai") to which Longinus alludes. In the 8th chapter of his fragment "On the Sublime," he observes, that if we assume an ability for speaking well, as a common basis, there are five copious fountains from whence sublimity in eloquence may be said to flow; viz.
In discussing the intellectual brilliance, powerful genius, and insightful wisdom of Burke, which have made his writings essential references for future leaders, contemporary criticism has little to add. Both supporters and opponents, as well as the highest authorities on taste around the world, have declared Burke not only "first among equals" but also "easily the foremost." At the end of these introductory comments, the reader will find critical portrayals of Burke drawn from the writings and speeches of those who, while disagreeing with his legislative principles, respected the vastness and diversity of his unmatched abilities with grace and fairness. Meanwhile, it may not be overly bold for a writer on such an occasion to consider this great man from certain angles that perhaps haven't been sufficiently acknowledged regarding the unique aspects of his character and writings. We use the term "unique" because Burke's eloquence, far beyond that of any other orator or statesman from Great Britain, is marked by expressions and qualities that are as distinct as they are timeless. Regarding the essential traits of invention, imagination, moral passion, and rich metaphorical illustrations, combined with the intense "pathos and ethos," as described by the Roman critic ("Therefore, let the orator focus on this: this is his work, this is his task; without it, everything else is bare, sterile, weak, and unpleasing; it is indeed the very spirit and soul of this work in emotions. There are, as has been passed down to us from antiquity, two types of these emotions: one the Greeks call pathos, which we rightly and properly translate as AFFECTUS; the other ethos, which, in my view, has no counterpart in Roman speech, is referred to as mores."—Quintilian, "Instit. Orat." lib. vi. cap. 2.), the author of "Reflections on the French Revolution" and "Letters on a Regicide Peace" is rightfully admired and respected. Moreover, if we understand the "sublime" in eloquence, the speeches and writings of Burke seem to draw from those five sources ("pegai") to which Longinus refers. In the 8th chapter of his fragment "On the Sublime," he notes that if we consider the ability to speak well as a common foundation, there are five abundant springs from which sublimity in eloquence can be said to flow; namely,
1. Boldness and grandeur of thought.
1. Boldness and greatness of thought.
2. The pathetic, or the power of exciting the passions into an enthusiastic reach and noble degree.
2. The pathetic, or the ability to stir up emotions into an enthusiastic and elevated state.
3. A skilful application of figures, both from sentiment and language.
3. A clever use of figures, both in emotion and language.
4. A graceful, finished, and ornate style, embellished by tropes and metaphors.
4. A smooth, polished, and detailed style, enhanced by figures of speech and metaphors.
5. Lastly, as that which completes all the rest,—the structure of periods, in dignity and grandeur.
5. Lastly, as the final element that completes everything else— the structure of sentences, in elegance and significance.
These five sources of the sublime, the same philosophical critic distinguishes into two classes; the first two he asserts to be gifts of nature, and the remaining three are considered to depend, in a great measure, upon literature and art. Again, if we may linger for a moment in the attractive region of classical authorship, how justly applicable are the words of Cicero in his "De Oratore," to the vastness and variety of Burke's attainments! "Ac mea quidem sententia, nemo poterit esse omni laude cumulatus orator, nisi erit OMNIUM RERUM MAGNARUM ATQUE ARTIUM SCIENTIAM CONSECUTUS."—Cic. "De Orat." lib. i. cap. 6. Equally descriptive of Burke's power in raising the dormant sensibilities of our moral nature by his intuitive perception of what that nature really and fundamentally is, are the following expressions of the same great authority:—"Quis enim nescit, maximam vim existere oratoris, in hominum mentibus vel ad iram aut ad odium, aut dolorem incitandis, vel, ab hisce, iisdem permonitionibus, ad lenitatem misericordiamque revocandis? Quare, NISI QUI NATURAS HOMINUM, VIMQUE OMNEM HUMANITATIS, CAUSASQUE EAS QUIBUS MENTES AUT EXCITANTUR, AUT REFLECTUNTUR, PENITUS PERSPEXERIT, DICENDO, QUOD VOLET, PERFICERE NON POTERIT."—Cic. "De Orat." lib. i. cap. 12.
These five sources of the sublime can be divided into two categories, as noted by the same philosophical critic. He claims that the first two are natural gifts, while the other three largely rely on literature and art. Now, if we take a moment to appreciate the classic works, Cicero's words in his "De Oratore" beautifully illustrate the vastness and diversity of Burke's talents: "In my opinion, no one can be a truly accomplished speaker unless they possess knowledge of all great things and arts."—Cic. "De Orat." lib. i. cap. 6. Equally fitting for Burke’s ability to awaken the latent sensibilities of our moral nature, through his deep understanding of what that nature truly is, are the following remarks from the same esteemed author: "Who doesn't know that the greatest power of a speaker lies in provoking feelings such as anger, hatred, or pain in people’s minds, or, conversely, in bringing them back to kindness and compassion through those same emotions? Therefore, unless someone deeply comprehends human natures, the full force of humanity, and the reasons that stir or calm the mind, they will not be able to accomplish what they intend through their words."—Cic. "De Orat." lib. i. cap. 12.
But to return. If a critical analysis of Burke, as an exhibition of genius, be attempted, his characteristic endowments may, probably, be not incorrectly represented by the following succinct statement.
But let's go back. If someone tries to do a critical analysis of Burke as a display of genius, his unique qualities could likely be accurately captured by the following brief statement.
1. Endless variety in connection with exhaustless vigour of mind.
1. Endless variety combined with limitless mental energy.
2. A lofty power of generalisation, both in speculative views and in his argumentative process.
2. A strong ability to generalize, both in his theories and in his reasoning.
3. Vivid intensity of conception, which caused abstractions to stand out with almost living force and visible feature, in his impassioned moments.
3. Vivid intensity of thought, which made abstractions stand out with almost a lifelike power and visible characteristics, in his passionate moments.
4. An imagination of oriental luxuriance, whose incessant play in tropes, metaphors, and analogies, frequently causes his speeches to gleam on the intellectual eye, as Aeschylus says the ocean does, when the Sun irradiates its bosom with the "anerithmon gelasma" of countless beams. 5. His positive acquirements in all the varied realms of art, science, and literature, endowed him with such vast funds of knowledge (In the wealth of his multitudinous acquirements, Burke seems to realise Cicero's ideal of what a perfect orator should know:—"Equidem omnia, quae pertinent ad usum civium, morem hominum, quae versantur in consuetudine vitae, in ratione reipublicae, in hac societate civili, in sensu hominum communi, in natura, in moribus, co hendenda esse oratori puto."—Cicero "De Orat." lib. ii. cap. 16.), that Johnson declared of Burke—"Enter upon what subject you will, and Burke is ready to meet you."
4. An imagination filled with Eastern luxury, constantly showcasing its creativity through tropes, metaphors, and analogies, often makes his speeches shine in the minds of listeners, just as Aeschylus says the ocean does when the Sun lights it up with the countless rays of "anerithmon gelasma." 5. His extensive knowledge in various fields of art, science, and literature equipped him with such a wealth of understanding that Burke seems to embody Cicero's ideal of what a perfect orator should know: "I think everything related to the needs of citizens, human behavior, things that are part of everyday life, the governance of the state, this civil society, the common sense of people, nature, and morals should be within the orator's grasp."—Cicero "De Orat." lib. ii. cap. 16.), leading Johnson to declare about Burke—"No matter what topic you choose, Burke is prepared to engage with you."
6. In addition to these high gifts, may be added, an ability to wield the weapons of sarcasm and irony, with a keenness of application and effect rarely equalled. But, in all candour, it may be added, that just as a profusion of figures and metaphors sometimes tempted this great orator into incongruous images and coarse analogies, so his passion for irony was occasionally too intense. Hence, there are occasions where his pungency is embittered into acrimony, strength degenerates into vulgarism, and the vehemence of satire is infuriated with the fierceness of invective.
6. Along with these remarkable talents, we can also consider a skill for using sarcasm and irony, applied with a sharpness and impact that are rarely matched. However, to be completely honest, it's worth noting that just as an overabundance of figures and metaphors sometimes led this great speaker to awkward images and crude comparisons, his love for irony was occasionally overwhelming. As a result, there are times when his sharpness turns into bitterness, strength devolves into crudeness, and the intensity of his satire is fueled by the harshness of his criticism.
7. With regard to language and style, it may be truly said, they were the absolute vassals of his Genius, and did homage to its command in every possible mode by which it chose to employ them. Thus, in his "Letters on a Regicide Peace," and above all, in "French Revolutions," the reader will find almost every conceivable manner of style and mode of expression the English language can develop; and what is more,—together with classical richness, there are also the pointed seriousness and persuasive simplicity of our own vernacular Saxon, which increase the attractions of Burke's style to a wonderful extent. But, beyond controversy, among these great endowments, the imaginative faculty is that which appears to be the most transcendent in the mental constitution of Burke. And so truly is this the case, that both among his contemporaries, as well as among his successors, this predominance of imagination has caused his just claims as a philosophic thinker and statesman to be partially overlooked. The union of ideal theory and practical realisation, of imaginative creation with logical induction, is indeed so rare, we cannot be surprised at the injustice which the genius of Burke has had to endure in this respect. And yet, in the nature of our faculties themselves, there exists no necessity why a vivid power to conceive ideas, should NOT be combined with a dialectic skill in expressing them. Degerando, an admirable French writer, in one of his Treatises, has some profound observations on this subject; and does not hesitate to define poetry itself as a species of "logique cachee."
7. When it comes to language and style, it could be said that they were completely under the influence of his genius, following its commands in every possible way it wanted to use them. In his "Letters on a Regicide Peace," and especially in "French Revolutions," readers will encounter almost every imaginable style and expression that the English language can offer. Moreover, along with its classical richness, Burke's style features the pointed seriousness and persuasive simplicity of our own everyday English, which greatly enhances its appeal. However, without a doubt, among these great strengths, his imaginative talent stands out as the most extraordinary aspect of his mental makeup. This is so true that both his contemporaries and later thinkers have sometimes overlooked his rightful status as a philosophical thinker and statesman because of this emphasis on imagination. The combination of ideal theory and practical application, of creative imagination with logical reasoning, is so uncommon that it’s not surprising that Burke's genius has faced unfair criticism in this sense. Yet, there’s no inherent reason that a strong ability to conceive ideas cannot be paired with the skill to express them logically. Degerando, an excellent French writer, makes some insightful remarks on this topic in one of his essays, and he even defines poetry as a form of "hidden logic."
But when we assert that these excellencies, which have thus been succinctly exhibited, characterise the mental constitution of Burke, we do not mean that others have not, in their degree, possessed similar endowments. Such an inference would be an absurd extravagance. But what we mean to affirm is—the qualifications enumerated have never been combined into co-operative harmony, and developed in proportionable effect, as they appear in the speeches and writings of this wonderful man. But after all, we have not reached what may be considered a peerless excellence, the peculiar gift,—the one great and glorious distinction, which separates Burke's oratory from that of all others, and which has caused his speeches to be blended with political History, and to incorporate themselves with the moral destiny of Europe,—namely, HIS INTUITIVE PERCEPTION OF UNIVERSAL PRINCIPLES. The truth of this statement may be verified, by comparing the eloquence of Burke with specimens of departed orators; or by a reference to existing standards in the parliamentary debates. Compared, then, either with the speeches of Chatham, Holland, Pitt, Fox, etc. etc., we perceive at once the grand distinction to which we refer. These illustrious men were effective debaters, and, in various senses, orators of surpassing excellency. But how is it, that with all their allowed grandeur of intellect and political eminence, they have ceased to operate upon the hearts and minds of the present Age, either as teachers of political Truth, or oracles of legislative Wisdom? Simply, BECAUSE they were too popular in temporary effect, ever to become influential by permanent inspiration. In their highest moods, and amid their noblest hours of triumph, they were "of the earth earthy." Party; personality; crushing rejoinders, or satirical attacks; a felicitous exposure of inconsistency, or a triumphant self-vindication; brilliant repartees, and logical gladiatorship,—such are among the prominent characteristics which caused parliamentary debates in Burke's day to be so animating and interesting to those who heard, or perused them, amid the excitements of the hour. It is not to be denied that commanding eloquence, vast genius, political ardour, intellectual enthusiasm, together with indignant denunciation and argumentative subtlety, were thus summoned into exercise by the perils of the Nation, and the contentions of Party. Nevertheless, the local, the temporal, the conventional, and the individual, in all which relates to the science of politics or the tactics of partisanship,—are sufficient to excite and employ the energies and qualities which made the general parliamentary debates of Burke's period so captivating. But when we revert to his own speeches and writings, we at once perceive WHY, as long as the mind can comprehend what is true, the heart appreciate what is pure, or the conscience authenticate the sanction of heaven and the distinctions between right and wrong,—Edmund Burke will continue to be admired, revered, and consulted, not only as the greatest of English orators, but as the profoundest teacher of political Science. It was not that he despised the arrangement of facts, or overlooked the minutiae of detail; on the contrary, as may be proved by his speeches on "economical reform," and Warren Hastings; in these respects his research was boundless, and his industry inexhaustible. Moreover, he was quite alive to the claims of a crisis, and with the coolness and calm of a practical statesman, knew how to confront a sudden emergency, and to contend with a gigantic difficulty. Yet all these qualifications recede before Burke's amazing power of expanding particulars into universals, and of associating the accidents of a transient discussion with the essential properties of some permanent Law in policy, or abstract Truth in morals. His genius looked through the local to the universal; in the temporal perceived the eternal; and while facing the features of the Individual, was enabled to contemplate the attributes of a Race. (Cicero, in many respects a counterpart of Burke, both in statesmanship and oratory, appears to recognise what is here expressed when he says:—"Plerique duo genera ad dicendum dederunt; UNUM DE CERTA DEFINITAQUE CAUSA, quales sunt quae in litibus, quae in deliberationibus versantur;—alterum, quod appellant omnes fere scriptores, explicat nemo, INFINITAM GENERIS SINE TEMPORE, ET SINE PERSONA quaestionem."—"De Orat." lib. ii. cap. 15.) Hence his speeches are virtual prophecies; and his writings a storehouse of pregnant axioms and predictive enunciations, as limitless in their range as they are undying in duration. In one word, no speeches delivered in the English Parliament, are so likely to be eternalized as Burke's, because he has combined with his treatment of some especial case or contingency before him, the assertion of immutable Principles, which can be detached from what is local and national, and thus made to stand forth alone in all the naked grandeur of their truth and their tendency. Let us be permitted to investigate this topic a little further. If, then, what Quintilian asserted of the Roman orator may be applied to our own British Cicero,—"Ille se profecisse sciat, cui Cicero valde placebit;" and if, moreover, this pre-eminence be chiefly discovered in Burke's instinctive grasp of that moral essence which is incorporated with all questions of political Science, and social Ethics—from WHENCE came this diviner energy of his Genius? No believer in Christian revelation will hesitate to appropriate, even to this subject, the apostolic axiom, "EVERY good gift, and EVERY perfect gift is from above." But while we subscribe with reverential sincerity to this announcement, it is equally true, that the Infinite Inspirer of all good adjusts His secret energies by certain laws, and condescends to work by analogous means. Bearing this in mind, we venture to think Burke's gift of almost prescient insight into the recesses of our common nature, and his consummate faculty of instructing the Future through the medium of the Present,—were partly derived from the elevation of his sentiments, and the purity of his private life. (The action and reaction maintained between our moral and intellectual elements is but remotely discussed by Quintilian in his "Institutes." But still, in more than one passage, he most impressively declares, that mental proficiency is greatly retarded by perversity of heart and will. For instance, on one occasion we find him speaking thus:—"Nihil enim est tam occupatum, tam multiforme, tot ac tam variis affectibus concisum, atque laceratum, quam mala ac improba mens. Quis inter haec, literis, aut ulli bonae arti, locus? Non hercle magis quam frugibus, in terra sentibus ac rubis occupata."—"Nothing is so flurried and agitated, so self-contradictory, or so violently rent and shattered by conflicting passions, as a bad heart. In the distractions which it produces, what room is there for the cultivation of letters, or the pursuits of any honourable art? Assuredly, no more than there is for the growth of corn in a field overrun with thorns and brambles.") It would be unwise to draw invidious comparisons, but no student of the period in which Burke was in Parliament, can deny that, compared with SOME of his illustrious contemporaries, he was indeed a model of what reason and conscience alike approve in all the relative duties and personal conduct of a man, when beheld in his domestic career. It is, indeed, a source of deep thankfulness, the admirer of Burke's genius in public, has no reason to blush for his character in private; and that when we have listened to his matchless oratory upon the arena of the House of Commons, we have not to mourn over dissipation, impurity, and depravity amid the circles of private history. Our theory, then, is, that beyond what his distinctive genius inspired, Burke's wondrous power of enunciating everlasting principles and of associating the loftiest abstractions of wisdom with the commonest themes of the hour,—was sustained and strengthened by the purity of his heart, and the subjection of passion to the law of conscience. And if the worshippers of mere intellect, apart from, or as opposed to, moral elevation, are inclined to ridicule this view of Burke's genius, we beg to remind them, that "One greater than the Temple" of mortal Wisdom, and all the idols enshrined therein, has asserted a positive connection to exist between mental insight and moral purity. We allude to the Redeemer's words, when He declares,—"If any man WILLS to do His will, he shall KNOW of the doctrine." HOW the passions act upon our perceptions, and by what process the motions of the Will elevate or depress the forces of the Intellect, is beyond our metaphysics to analyse. But that there exists a real, active, and influential connection between our moral and mental life, is undeniable: and since Burke's power of seizing the essential Idea, or fundamental Principle of every complex detail which came before him, was pre-eminently his gift,—the intellectual insight such gift developed, was not only an expression of senatorial wisdom, but also a witness for the elevation of his moral character. We must now allude to the public conduct of Burke, as a Statesman and Politician, and only regret the limited range of a popular essay confines us to one view, namely, his alleged inconsistency. There WAS a period when charges of apostasy were brought against him with reckless audacity: but Time, the instructor of ignorance, and the subduer of prejudice, is now beginning to place the conduct of Burke in its true light. The facts of the case are briefly these. Up to the period of 1791, Fox and Burke fought in the same rank of opposition, and stood together upon a basis of complete identity in principle and sentiment. But even before the celebrated disruption of 1791, the progress of Republicanism in America, and the approaching separation of the colonies from their parent state, Burke's views of political liberty had received extensive modifications; and the ardour of his confidence in the so-called friends of freedom had been greatly cooled. But in 1791, the disruption between Burke and Fox became open, absolute, and final, when the latter statesman uttered, in the hearing of his friend, this fearful eulogium on the French Revolution:—"The new constitution of France is the most stupendous and glorious edifice of liberty which had been erected on the foundation of human integrity in any age or country!" (That ancient Sage unto whose political wisdom frequent reference has been made in this essay, thus speaks on the reverence due unto an existing government, even when contemplated from its weakest side:—"Formidable as these arguments seem, they may be opposed by others of not less weight; arguments which prove that even the rust of government is to be respected, and that its fabric is never to be touched but with a fearful and trembling hand. When the evil of persevering in hereditary institutions is small, it ought always to be endured, because the evil of departing from them is certainly very great. Slight imperfections, therefore, whether in the laws themselves, or in those who administer and execute the laws, ought always to be overlooked, because they cannot be corrected without occasioning a much greater mischief, and tending to weaken that reverence which the safety of all governments requires that the citizens at large should entertain, cultivate, and cherish for the hereditary institutions of their country. The comparison drawn from the improvement of arts does not apply to the amendment of laws. To change or improve an art, and to alter or amend a law, are things as dissimilar in their operation as different in their tendency; for laws operate as practical principles of moral action; and, like all the rules of morality, derive their force and efficacy, as even the name imports, from the customary repetition of habitual acts, and the slow operation of time. Every alteration of the laws, therefore, tends to subvert that authority on which the persuasive agency of all laws is founded, and to abridge, weaken, and destroy the power of the law itself."—Aristotle's "Politics.") The reply of Burke to this burst of Jacobinism, with all its consequences in the political history of Europe, is far too well known to be quoted here. But, since it was at this point in the career of Burke the charge of apostasy was commenced, and which has never quite died away, even in existing times, we may be permitted, first, to cite a noble passage from Burke's self-vindication; and secondly, to adduce a still more impressive evidence of his political rectitude and wisdom, derived from the admission of those who were once his uncompromising opponents. In relation to the attacks of Fox upon his supposed inconsistency, Mr. Burke thus replies:—
But when we say that the qualities we've briefly discussed define Burke's mental makeup, we don't mean that others haven't had similar abilities to some extent. That would be a ridiculous leap. What we intend to emphasize is that the qualities listed have never been harmoniously combined and developed to the same effective degree as they are in the speeches and writings of this remarkable man. Still, we haven't yet identified what can truly be seen as an unmatched strength—the unique gift, the one major and glorious distinction that sets Burke's oratory apart from anyone else's, leading to his speeches becoming part of political history and intertwining with Europe's moral destiny—namely, HIS INTUITIVE UNDERSTANDING OF UNIVERSAL PRINCIPLES. This can be confirmed by comparing Burke's eloquence with examples from past orators or by looking at current benchmarks in parliamentary debates. When compared to the speeches of Chatham, Holland, Pitt, Fox, and others, the significant difference we mention becomes clear. These distinguished individuals were effective debaters and, in various respects, extraordinary orators. However, why is it that, despite their recognized brilliance and political prominence, they have failed to influence the hearts and minds of today's generation, either as teachers of political truth or sources of legislative wisdom? Simply because they were too focused on temporary effects to inspire lasting change. In their finest moments and times of greatest victory, they were "of the earth earthy." The traits that made parliamentary debates during Burke's day exciting and engaging—party affiliation, personal dynamics, sharp retorts, or satirical jabs; clever exposures of inconsistency, or triumphant self-defense; witty comebacks, and logical arguments—marked that era. It's undeniable that strong eloquence, immense talent, political passion, and intellectual enthusiasm, complemented by fierce denunciation and intricate argumentation, were spurred by the nation's dangers and party conflicts. Nevertheless, the local, immediate, conventional, and personal aspects of political science and partisanship are enough to tap into the energies and qualities that made the general parliamentary debates of Burke's time so captivating. Yet, when we turn to his own speeches and writings, we immediately see WHY, as long as people can grasp what is true, appreciate what is pure, or recognize the moral distinctions of heaven between right and wrong—Edmund Burke will continue to be admired, respected, and consulted not only as the greatest English orator but also as the deepest thinker on political science. It wasn't that he dismissed the organization of facts or neglected details; quite the opposite can be shown by his speeches on "economic reform" and Warren Hastings, where his research was thorough and his work ethic tireless. Furthermore, he was fully aware of the demands of a crisis and, with the composure of a practical statesman, knew how to tackle sudden emergencies and significant challenges. Yet, all these qualities are overshadowed by Burke's remarkable ability to elevate specific issues into universal concepts and connect the fleeting details of a current discussion with the foundational elements of a lasting policy law or moral truth. His genius looked past the local to see the universal, perceived the eternal within the temporal, and while addressing the nuances of individuals, was able to consider the characteristics of a race. (Cicero, in many ways a counterpart to Burke in both statesmanship and oratory, seems to acknowledge this when he states: "Most writers mention two kinds of speaking; ONE ABOUT A SPECIFIC DEFINED ISSUE, like those in legal disputes or discussions;—the other, which almost all authors refer to but none explain, is AN INFINITE TYPE WITHOUT TIME OR PERSON."—"De Orat." lib. ii. cap. 15.) Thus, his speeches serve as virtual prophecies, and his writings are a reservoir of insightful principles and forward-looking statements, as vast in their scope as they are enduring in their relevance. Simply put, no speeches delivered in the English Parliament are as likely to be remembered as Burke's, because he has paired his analysis of a specific case or situation with the assertion of unchanging principles that can be separated from local and national contexts, standing alone in the full truth of their significance. Let's explore this topic a bit more. If what Quintilian said about the Roman orator can also apply to our own British Cicero—"He knows he has made progress to the extent that Cicero is well-regarded;" and if this distinction is mainly found in Burke's intuitive grasp of the moral essence tied to all political science and social ethics—WHERE did this divine energy of his genius come from? Any believer in Christian revelation would quickly relate this to the apostolic saying, "EVERY good gift and EVERY perfect gift is from above." While we agree wholeheartedly with this statement, it's also true that the Infinite Source of all good operates through certain laws and works through similar means. Keeping this in mind, we think Burke's almost prophetic insight into the depths of our shared human nature and his superb ability to instruct the future through the present were partly rooted in his elevated sentiments and the purity of his personal life. (The interplay between our moral and intellectual elements is only mentioned superficially by Quintilian in his "Institutes." Still, he expresses that mental proficiency is significantly hindered by a flawed heart and will. For example, he states: "Nothing is as busy, multifaceted, or torn apart by conflicting emotions as a corrupt mind. In such unrest, what space is there for learning or any noble craft? Certainly none, just as there is no space for crops in a field overrun with thorns and brambles."—"Nothing is as flurried and agitated, so self-contradictory, or so violently torn apart by conflicting passions, as a bad heart. In the distractions it creates, what room is there for cultivating knowledge or pursuing honorable skills? Assuredly, no more than there is for growing corn in a field infested with thorns and brambles.") It would be unwise to make unfavorable comparisons, but no one studying the period when Burke was in Parliament can deny that, when compared to SOME of his distinguished contemporaries, he was indeed a model of what both reason and conscience approve regarding a man's duties and conduct in his personal life. It is genuinely a source of deep gratitude that admirers of Burke's public genius have no reason to be ashamed of his private character; and after listening to his unmatched speeches in the House of Commons, we do not have to mourn over his indulgence, immorality, and depravity in his private life. Our theory, then, is that beyond what his unique genius inspired, Burke's extraordinary talent for articulating timeless principles and linking lofty ideas of wisdom with the most common topics of his day was supported and reinforced by his pure heart and his ability to submit passion to the law of conscience. And if the admirers of mere intellect, separated from or opposed to moral elevation, are inclined to mock this view of Burke's genius, we would remind them that "One greater than the Temple" of human wisdom and all the idols it houses, has declared a definitive connection between mental understanding and moral purity. We refer to the words of the Redeemer when He states, "If any man WILLS to do His will, he shall KNOW of the doctrine." HOW our emotions affect our perception, and how our will's movements shape the forces of our intellect, is beyond our understanding to dissect. But the existence of a real, active, and impactful connection between our moral and mental lives is indisputable: and since Burke's gift for grasping the essential idea or fundamental principle of every complex detail he encountered was notably his strength— the intellectual insight this ability produced was not only an expression of senatorial wisdom but also a testament to his elevated moral character. Now we must address Burke's public conduct as a statesman and politician, and we can only express regret that the limited scope of a popular essay confines us to one perspective, namely, his supposed inconsistency. There WAS a time when accusations of betrayal were leveled against him with reckless boldness; but time, the teacher of ignorance and the conqueror of bias, is beginning to clarify Burke's actions in their true context. The facts are straightforward. Until 1791, Fox and Burke fought side by side in opposition, united in principle and conviction. Yet even before the notable split of 1791, the rise of Republicanism in America and the impending separation of the colonies from their parent nation led to significant changes in Burke's views on political liberty; and his confidence in what he called friends of freedom had notably diminished. But in 1791, the divide between Burke and Fox became clear, absolute, and permanent when the latter made this alarming statement about the French Revolution: "The new constitution of France is the most awesome and glorious monument of liberty ever built on the foundation of human integrity in any era or region!" (That ancient sage, frequently referenced for his political wisdom in this essay, speaks on the reverence owed to an existing government even when viewed from its weakest angle: "Although these arguments seem formidable, others equally compelling can be presented; arguments that illustrate that even the decay of government deserves respect, and that its structure should only be touched with careful, trembling hands. When the harm of sticking to hereditary institutions is minor, it should always be tolerated, because the harm of leaving them is certainly much greater. Therefore, slight imperfections, whether in the laws themselves or in those who administer them, should be ignored, because correcting them could lead to much worse consequences and would weaken the respect that all governments need from their citizens for their hereditary systems. The analogy drawn from the improvement of the arts does not apply to the amendment of laws. Changing or improving an art and altering or revising a law are as different in their processes as they are in their impacts; for laws act as guiding principles for moral actions; and, like all morality rules, derive their power and effectiveness, as the term itself suggests, from the habitual engagement in established behaviors over time. Every change in the laws tends to undermine the authority that underpins the persuasive force of all laws, weakening and destroying the law's own power."—Aristotle's "Politics.") Burke's response to this outburst of Jacobinism and its implications in European political history is far too famous to quote here. However, since it was at this point in Burke's career that accusations of betrayal began, which have never fully faded even today, we may first cite a noble passage from Burke's defense and then present an even more striking affirmation of his political integrity and insight from those who were once his staunch adversaries. Concerning Fox's attacks on his supposed inconsistency, Mr. Burke responds:—
"I pass to the next head of charge,—Mr. Burke's inconsistency. It is certainly a great aggravation of his fault in embracing false opinions, that in doing so he is not supposed to fill up a void, but that he is guilty of a dereliction of opinions that are true and laudable. This is the great gist of the charge against him. It is not so much that he is wrong in his book (that however is alleged also), as that he has therein belied his whole life. I believe, if he could venture to value himself upon anything, it is on the virtue of consistency that he would value himself the most. Strip him of this, and you leave him naked indeed.
I move on to the next accusation—Mr. Burke's inconsistency. It's definitely a major issue that, instead of filling a gap, he has abandoned true and commendable beliefs by embracing false opinions. This is the crux of the accusation against him. It's not just that he’s wrong in his writing (although that’s claimed too), but that he has contradicted his entire life in doing so. I believe that if he were to take pride in anything, it would be in his virtue of consistency. Without that, he would be left utterly exposed.
"In the case of any man who had written something, and spoken a great deal, upon very multifarious matter, during upwards of twenty-five years' public service, and in as great a variety of important events as perhaps have ever happened in the same number of years, it would appear a little hard, in order to charge such a man with inconsistency, to see collected by his friend, a sort of digest of his sayings, even to such as were merely sportive and jocular. This digest, however, has been made, with equal pains and partiality, and without bringing out those passages of his writings which might tend to show with what restrictions any expressions, quoted from him, ought to have been understood. From a great statesman he did not quite expect this mode of inquisition. If it only appeared in the works of common pamphleteers, Mr. Burke might safely trust to his reputation. When thus urged, he ought, perhaps, to do a little more. It shall be as little as possible, for I hope not much is wanting. To be totally silent on his charges would not be respectful to Mr. Fox. Accusations sometimes derive a weight from the persons who make them, to which they are not entitled for their matter. "A man who, among various objects of his equal regard, is secure of some, and full of anxiety for the fate of others, is apt to go to much greater lengths in his preference of the objects of his immediate solicitude than Mr. Burke has ever done. A man so circumstanced often seems to undervalue, to vilify, almost to reprobate and disown, those that are out of danger. This is the voice of nature and truth, and not of inconsistency and false pretence. The danger of anything very dear to us removes, for the moment, every other affection from the mind. When Priam had his whole thoughts employed on the body of his Hector, he repels with indignation, and drives from him with a thousand reproaches, his surviving sons, who with an officious piety crowded about him to offer their assistance. A good critic (there is no better than Mr. Fox) would say, that this is a master-stroke, and marks a deep understanding of nature in the father of poetry. He would despise a Zoilus, who would conclude from this passage that Homer meant to represent this man of affliction as hating, or being indifferent and cold in his affections to the poor relics of his house, or that he preferred a dead carcass to his living children.
"In the case of any man who has written extensively and spoken a lot on a wide range of topics during over twenty-five years of public service, and experienced as many significant events as possibly have occurred in that time, it seems a bit harsh to accuse such a man of inconsistency based on a collection of his quotes compiled by a friend, even those that were just lighthearted or humorous. This collection has been created, with equal effort and bias, without highlighting those parts of his writings that might clarify how certain expressions should be understood. He didn’t expect this sort of scrutiny from a major statesman. If it were only found in the work of ordinary pamphleteers, Mr. Burke could rely on his reputation. When faced with this, he should perhaps respond a bit more. It will be as brief as possible since I hope not much needs to be added. Staying completely silent on these charges would not show respect to Mr. Fox. Accusations sometimes carry weight based on who makes them, not on their content. "A man who is dedicated to various important causes, while feeling secure about some and anxious about the fate of others, tends to express his preference for those he is most concerned about much more than Mr. Burke has ever done. Such a person may seem to undervalue or even criticize the ones that are safe. This reflects natural instincts and truth, not inconsistency or false pretenses. When something we hold dear is under threat, all other emotions temporarily fade away. When Priam was entirely focused on his son Hector's body, he rejected with outrage and pushed away his surviving sons, who were offering their help out of a sense of duty. A good critic (and there’s none better than Mr. Fox) would say that this is a brilliant touch, showing a deep understanding of human nature from the father of poetry. He would scorn a Zoilus who concluded from this that Homer intended to depict this grieving man as hating or being indifferent and cold towards the remaining members of his family, or that he valued a dead body more than his living children."
"Mr. Burke does not stand in need of an allowance of this kind, which, if he did, by candid critics ought to be granted to him. If the principles of a mixed constitution be admitted, he wants no more to justify to consistency everything he has said and done during the course of a political life just touching to its close. I believe that gentleman has kept himself more clear of running into the fashion of wild, visionary theories, or of seeking popularity through every means, than any man perhaps ever did in the same situation.
"Mr. Burke doesn’t need financial support like this, but if he did, fair critics should offer it to him. If we accept the principles of a mixed government, he doesn’t need anything more to make consistent everything he has said and done as his political career nears its end. I believe that gentleman has stayed away from the trend of unrealistic, fanciful theories and trying to gain popularity through any means more than anyone else in a similar position ever has."
"He was the first man who, on the hustings, at a popular election, rejected the authority of instructions from constituents; or who, in any place, has argued so fully against it. Perhaps the discredit into which that doctrine of compulsive instructions under our constitution is since fallen, may be due, in a great degree, to his opposing himself to it in that manner, and on that occasion.
"He was the first person who, during a campaign at a public election, dismissed the authority of instructions from voters; and who, anywhere, argued so thoroughly against it. Maybe the loss of credibility that the doctrine of mandatory instructions under our constitution has since suffered is largely due to his opposition to it in that way, and on that occasion."
"The reformers in representation, and the Bills for shortening the duration of Parliaments, he uniformly and steadily opposed for many years together, in contradiction to many of his best friends. These friends, however, in his better days, when they had more to hope from his service and more to fear from his loss than now they have, never chose to find any inconsistency between his acts and expressions in favour of liberty, and his votes on those questions. But there is a time for all things." We need not, however, confine our vindication of Burke to his own eloquence, but invite the especial attention of his accusers and defamers unto two forgotten facts: 1st. A few weeks before Fox died, he dictated a despatch to Lord Yarmouth, which confirmed all the policy for which Pitt for fifteen years had contended: moreover, in a debate on Wyndham's "Military System," 1806, Fox thus delivered his own recantation:—"Indeed, by the circumstances of Europe, I AM READY TO CONFESS I HAVE BEEN WEANED FROM THE OPINIONS I FORMERLY HELD WITH RESPECT TO THE FORCE WHICH MIGHT SUFFICE IN TIME OF PEACE: nor do I consider this any inconsistency, because I see no rational prospect of any peace, which would exempt us from the necessity of watchful preparation and powerful establishment." But the change of Fox's opinions, and their similarity to those maintained by Pitt, with reference to our war with France, are by no means ALL which history can produce in justification of Burke's political wisdom and consistency. The whole civilized world has read the "Reflections on the French Revolution," whose sale, in one year, achieved the enormous number of 30,000 copies, in connection with medals or marks of honour from almost every Court in Europe. Now, of all the replies made to this masterpiece of reasoning and reflection, Mackintosh's "Vindiciae Gallicae" was incontestably the ablest and profoundest. And yet, the greatest of all his intellectual opponents thus addresses Burke, as appears from "Memoirs" of Mackintosh, volume i. page 87:—"The enthusiasm with which I once embraced the instruction conveyed in your writings is now ripened into solid conviction by the experience and conviction of more mature age. For a time, SEDUCED BY THE LOVE OF WHAT I THOUGHT LIBERTY, I ventured to oppose, without ceasing to venerate, that writer who had nourished my understanding with the most wholesome principles of political wisdom...Since that time, A MELANCHOLY EXPERIENCE HAS UNDECEIVED ME ON MANY SUBJECTS, IN WHICH I WAS THE DUPE OF MY OWN ENTHUSIASM." Let us part from this branch of our subject by quoting Burke's own words, uttered, as it were, on the very brink of eternity. They attest, to the latest moment of his life, with what a sacred intensity and unflinching sincerity he clung to his original sentiments touching the French Revolution. Nor let the present writer shrink from adding, they constitute but one of the many specimens of that instinctive prescience, whereby this profoundest of philosophical statesmen was enabled to herald from afar the final triumphs of courage, patriotism, and truth. The passage occurs towards the conclusion of his "Letters on a Regicide Peace," and is as follows:—"Never succumb. It is a struggle for your existence as a nation. If you must die, die with the sword in your hand. But I have no fear whatever for the result. There is a salient living principle of energy in the public mind of England, which only requires proper direction to enable her to withstand this, or any other ferocious foe. Persevere, therefore, till this tyranny be over-past."
The reformers in representation and the Bills for shortening the duration of Parliaments were consistently and firmly opposed by him for many years, even against the wishes of many of his closest friends. However, during his better days, when they had more to gain from his support and more to lose from his absence, they never saw any contradiction between his actions and his statements in favor of liberty, and his votes on those issues. But there’s a time for everything. We shouldn’t limit our defense of Burke to just his eloquence; we should also draw the attention of his critics and slanderers to two overlooked facts: First, a few weeks before Fox died, he dictated a message to Lord Yarmouth that confirmed all the policies that Pitt had argued for over fifteen years. Additionally, in a debate on Wyndham's "Military System" in 1806, Fox admitted his change of mind: "Indeed, due to the circumstances in Europe, I am willing to admit that I have changed my views on the necessary military force in peacetime: I see no realistic chance of any peace that would free us from needing vigilant preparation and a strong military." However, Fox's change of views and their resemblance to those of Pitt regarding our war with France are not the only reasons to validate Burke's political insight and consistency. The entire civilized world has read the "Reflections on the French Revolution," which sold an astounding 30,000 copies in one year, alongside medals or honors from nearly every Court in Europe. Out of all the responses to this remarkable work of reasoning and reflection, Mackintosh’s "Vindiciae Gallicae" was undeniably the most capable and profound. Yet, the most prominent of his intellectual opponents addresses Burke as shown in Mackintosh's "Memoirs," volume i, page 87: "The enthusiasm with which I once embraced the lessons in your writings has matured into solid conviction as I've grown older. For a while, misled by the passion for what I thought was liberty, I dared to oppose, while still respecting, the author who had educated me with the most valuable principles of political wisdom...Since then, a painful realization has enlightened me on many issues where I was fooled by my own enthusiasm." Let us conclude this part of our discussion by quoting Burke's own words, spoken as if on the edge of eternity. They demonstrate, right up to the end of his life, the depth of conviction and unwavering sincerity with which he held his original views on the French Revolution. Furthermore, the current writer is unafraid to say that they represent just one example of the instinctive foresight that allowed this profound philosophical statesman to foresee the eventual victories of courage, patriotism, and truth. The quote comes towards the end of his "Letters on a Regicide Peace," and it states: "Never give in. This is a fight for your survival as a nation. If you must die, die with a sword in your hand. But I’m not worried about the outcome. There is a vital and dynamic energy in the public mindset of England, which just needs the right guidance to withstand this or any other brutal enemy. So keep pushing until this tyranny is over."
If from the glare of public history, we follow this great man into the shades of domestic seclusion, or watch the features of his social character unfolding themselves in the varied circle which he graced by his presence, or dignified by his worth,—he is alike the object of respectful esteem and love. Warmth of heart, chivalry of sentiment, and that true high-breeding which springs from the soul rather than a pedigree, eminently characterise the history of Burke in private life. Above all, a sympathising tendency for the children of Genius, and a catholic largeness of view in all which relates unto mental effort, combined with the utmost charity for human failings and infirmities,—cannot but endear him to our deepest affections, while his unrivalled endowments command our highest admiration. To illustrate what is here alluded to, let the reader recall Burke's noble generosity towards that erratic victim of genius and grief,—the painter Barry; or his instantaneous sympathy in behalf of Crabbe the poet, when almost a foodless wanderer in our vast metropolis; and our estimate of Burke's excellencies as a man, will not be deemed overdrawn.
If we move past the bright lights of public life and look at this remarkable man in the quiet of his home, or notice his social character shining through in the diverse circles that were enriched by his presence and worth, he is equally an object of respect and affection. His warmth, chivalrous spirit, and genuine nobility that comes from within rather than from family lineage define Burke’s personal life. Above all, his compassionate nature towards talented individuals and his broad-mindedness regarding intellectual pursuits, along with his deep understanding and forgiveness of human flaws, endear him to us while his exceptional talents command our utmost respect. For example, consider Burke’s generous support for the troubled artist Barry, or his immediate concern for the poet Crabbe when he was struggling to survive in our vast city; these instances illustrate Burke’s admirable qualities as a person and affirm that our appreciation of him is well-founded.
It now remains for the selector of the following pages to offer a few remarks on their nature, and design. Accustomed, from the earliest period of his mental life to read and study the writings of Edmund Burke, he has long wished that such a selection as now appears, should be published. The works of Burke extend through a vast range of large volumes; and it is feared thousands have been deterred from holding communion with a master-spirit of British literature, by the magnitude of his labours. Hence, a concentrated specimen of his intellect may not only tempt the "reading public" (Coleridge's horror, yet an author's friend!) to study some of Burke's noblest passages, but even ultimately to introduce them into a full acquaintance with his entire products. Let it be distinctly understood, the selection now published, is not a second-hand one, grafted on some pre-existing volume; but the result of a diligent, careful, and analytical perusal of Burke's writings. In attempting such a work, there was one difficulty, which none but those who have intimately studied this great orator can appreciate,—we allude to the giving general titles, or descriptive headings, to passages selected for quotation. There is a mental fulness, a moral variety, and such a rapid transition of idea, in most of Burke's speeches, that it almost baffles ability to abbreviate the spirit of his paragraphs, so as to exhibit under some general head the bearing of the whole. The selector, in this respect, can only say, he has done his best; and those who are most competent to appreciate difficulty, will be least inclined to criticise failure.
It’s now up to the person choosing the following pages to share a few thoughts on their nature and purpose. Having spent most of his life reading and studying the works of Edmund Burke, he has long desired that this selection be published. Burke's writings span a vast collection of large volumes, and it’s likely that many have been discouraged from engaging with a master of British literature due to the sheer size of his work. Therefore, a focused sample of his insight may not only entice the “reading public” (Coleridge’s dreaded yet valuable audience!) to explore some of Burke's finest passages, but also hopefully lead them to a deeper understanding of his complete works. It should be clear that this selection isn’t a second-hand compilation taken from an existing volume; it’s the result of thorough, careful, and analytical reading of Burke's writings. In taking on this task, one challenge stands out, which only those who have closely studied this great orator can truly understand—assigning general titles or descriptive headings to the quoted passages. Burke's speeches are rich with ideas, moral complexity, and swift shifts in thought, making it quite difficult to capture the essence of his paragraphs under any single heading. The selector can only claim to have done his best; those who are most capable of understanding the difficulty of this task will be the least likely to criticize any shortcomings.
Finally, as to the leading design of this volume, its title, "First Principles," is sufficiently descriptive to save much explanation. Burke represents an unrivalled combination of patriot, senator, and orator; and as such, the moral and intellectual nature of the Age will be purified and expanded, when brought into contact with the attributes of his character, and the productions of his mind. Nor can the meditative statesman, whose party is his country, and whose political creed is based upon a true philosophy of human nature, forget,—that while the French revolution, as involving FACTS, belongs to History, as enclosing PRINCIPLES, it appertains to Humanity: and hence, the abiding application of Burke's profound views, not only to France and England, but to the world. Of course, those who reverence the majesty of eloquence, and are fascinated by a florid richness of style, boundless imagination, inexhaustible metaphor, and all the attending graces of consummate rhetoric, will also be charmed by the appropriate supply these pages afford. But, without seeking to be homiletical, let the writer be permitted to add, a far higher purpose than mere literary amusement, or the gratification of taste, is designed by the present volume. It is the selector's most earnest hope, that the "First Principles" these pages so eloquently inculcate, may be transcribed in all their purity, loftiness, and truth, into the Reason and Conscience of his countrymen. And among these, for whose especial guidance he ventures to think the profound wisdom of these pages to be invaluable, are the rising statesmen and senators of the day, who are either being trained in our Public Schools, at the Universities, or about to enter upon the difficult but inspiring arena of the House of Commons. In reference to this sphere of legislative action, with all reverence to its claims and character, let it be said,—material ends (a boundless passion for physical good, whether indulged in by a nation, or professed by an individual, is rebuked with solemn wisdom in the following passage from Aristotle:—"The external advantages of power and fortune are acquired and maintained by virtue, but virtue is not acquired and maintained by them; and whether we consider the virtuous energies themselves, or the fruits which they unceasingly produce, THE SOVEREIGN GOOD OF LIFE MUST EVIDENTLY BE FOUND IN MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL EXCELLENCE, MODERATELY SUPPLIED WITH EXTERNAL ACCOMMODATIONS, RATHER THAN IN THE GREATEST ACCUMULATION OF EXTERNAL ADVANTAGES, UNIMPROVED AND UNADORNED BY VIRTUE. External prosperity is, indeed, instrumental in producing happiness, and, therefore, like every other instrument, must have its assigned limits, beyond which it is inconvenient or hurtful. But to mental excellence no limit can be assigned; the further it extends the more USEFUL it becomes, if the epithet of 'USEFUL' need ever be added to that of HONOURABLE. Besides this, the relative importance of qualities is best estimated by that of their respective subjects. But the mind, both in itself and in reference to man, is far better than the body, or than property. The excellencies of the mind, therefore, are in the same proportion to be preferred to the highest perfection of the body, and the best disposition of external circumstances. The two last are of a far inferior, and merely subservient nature; since no man of sense covets or pursues them, but for the sake of the mind, with a view to promote its genuine improvement and augment its native joys. Let this great truth then be acknowledged,—A TRUTH EVINCED BY THE DEITY HIMSELF, WHO IS HAPPY, NOT FROM ANY EXTERNAL CAUSE, BUT THROUGH THE INHERENT ATTRIBUTES OF HIS DIVINE NATURE."—"Politics," lib. iv.), commercial objects, and secular aggrandizement, are now receiving an idolatrous homage and passionate regard, which no Christian patriot can contemplate without anxiety. The ideal, the imaginative, and the religious element, is almost sneered out of the House of Commons at the existing moment; and any glowing exhibition of oratory, or splendid manifestation of intellect, is derided, as being "unpractical" and ill-adapted to the sobriety of the English Senate! Against this heartless materialism and unholy mammon-worship, Burke's pages are a magnificent protest; and are admirably suited to protect the political youth and dawning statesmen of our country, from the blight and the blast of doctrines which decry Enthusiasm as folly, and condemn the Beautiful as worthless and untrue. Ships, colonies, and commerce; exports and imports; taxes and imposts; charters and civic arrangements,—none but a madman will depreciate what such themes involve, of duty, energy, and zeal, in political life. Still, let it be fearlessly maintained, neither wealth, nor commerce, IN THEMSELVES, can constitute the real greatness of an empire; it is only because they stand in relation to the higher destinies and holier responsibilities of an Empire, that a true statesman will regard them as vitally wound up with the vigour and prosperity of national development. Such, at least, is the philosophy of Politics, breathed from the undying pages of Edmund Burke. He who studies this great writer, will, more and more, sympathise with what Hooker taught, and Bishop Sanderson inculcates. In one word, he will learn to venerate with increasing reverence THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION, as
Finally, regarding the main focus of this volume, its title, "First Principles," is clear enough to require little explanation. Burke represents an unmatched blend of patriot, senator, and orator; and the moral and intellectual character of the Age will be refined and expanded when it interacts with the qualities of his character and the works of his mind. Additionally, the reflective statesman, whose loyalty is to his country and whose political beliefs are grounded in a true understanding of human nature, cannot forget—while the French revolution, as a series of EVENTS, belongs to History, as a set of PRINCIPLES, it belongs to Humanity: therefore, Burke's insightful views have lasting relevance not only to France and England but to the entire world. Naturally, those who admire the power of eloquence and are captivated by rich writing, boundless imagination, endless metaphors, and all the accompanying graces of top-notch rhetoric will also find delight in the fitting supply provided by these pages. However, without trying to sound preachy, the writer would like to emphasize that this volume aims for a purpose much higher than mere literary entertainment or satisfying aesthetic tastes. It is the selector's sincere hope that the "First Principles" that these pages so eloquently convey may be absorbed in their purity, nobility, and truth into the Reason and Conscience of his fellow citizens. Among those, whom he believes these pages are especially valuable for, are the emerging statesmen and senators of today, who are either being educated in our Public Schools and Universities or are about to step into the challenging yet inspiring environment of the House of Commons. Regarding this arena of legislative action, and with full respect to its significance and nature, it should be mentioned—material goals (a relentless desire for physical benefits, whether pursued by a nation or an individual) are solemnly cautioned against in the following passage from Aristotle: “The external advantages of power and fortune are gained and preserved through virtue, but virtue is not gained and preserved through them; and whether we examine the virtuous actions themselves or the outcomes they continuously yield, THE ULTIMATE GOOD OF LIFE MUST CLEARLY BE FOUND IN MORAL AND INTELLECTUAL EXCELLENCE, MODESTLY SUPPLIED WITH EXTERNAL RESOURCES, RATHER THAN IN THE GREAT ACCUMULATION OF EXTERNAL ADVANTAGES, UNREFINED AND UNADORNED BY VIRTUE. While external prosperity does indeed contribute to happiness, like any other tool, it must have its limits, beyond which it becomes inconvenient or harmful. However, no limits can be set on mental excellence; the further it reaches, the more USEFUL it becomes, if the term 'USEFUL' ever needs to be added to 'HONORABLE.' Moreover, the relative importance of qualities is best judged by those they pertain to. But the mind, both on its own and in relation to humanity, holds far greater value than the body or material possessions. Therefore, the qualities of the mind should be considered far superior to the highest physical perfection or optimal external circumstances. The latter two are of a much lesser and merely supportive nature; since sensible people desire or pursue them only for the sake of the mind, aiming to foster its true growth and enhance its inherent joys. Let this great truth then be recognized—A TRUTH CLEARLY DISPLAYED BY THE DIVINE, WHO IS HAPPY, NOT DUE TO ANY EXTERNAL FACTORS, BUT THROUGH THE INHERENT ATTRIBUTES OF HIS DIVINE NATURE.” —"Politics," lib. iv.), commercial objectives, and secular ambitions, are currently receiving an idolatrous worship and passionate attention that no Christian patriot can observe without concern. The ideal, the imaginative, and the spiritual elements are almost scorned in the House of Commons at this moment; and any vibrant display of oratory or brilliant demonstration of intellect is ridiculed as "unpractical" and unsuitable for the seriousness of the English Senate! Against this heartless materialism and unhealthy worship of wealth, Burke's writings stand as a powerful protest; they are remarkably suited to shield the political youth and emerging statesmen of our country from the blight and destructive influence of doctrines that dismiss Enthusiasm as foolishness and deem the Beautiful as worthless and false. Ships, colonies, and commerce; exports and imports; taxes and duties; charters and civic arrangements—only a fool would undervalue what such topics entail in terms of duty, energy, and commitment in political life. Still, it must be boldly asserted that neither wealth nor commerce, IN THEMSELVES, can define the true greatness of an empire; it is only because they are connected to the higher goals and sacred responsibilities of an Empire that a genuine statesman views them as integrally tied to the strength and prosperity of national growth. Such is, at least, the philosophy of Politics, informed by the enduring pages of Edmund Burke. Anyone who studies this great writer will increasingly resonate with the teachings of Hooker, and the lessons Bishop Sanderson imparts. In short, they will learn to honor with growing respect THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION, as
"That peerless growth of patriotic mind,
The great eternal Wonder of mankind!"
"That unmatched growth of patriotic spirit, The incredible, everlasting wonder of humanity!"
Burke traced the ultimate origin of civil government to the Divine Will, both as declared in Revelation, and imaged forth by the moral Constitution of man. In this respect, it is well-known how fundamentally he differs from the theories of Hobbes, Mandeville, Shaftesbury, and Hutcheson. Not less also, is he opposed to Locke, who tells us,—"The original compact which begins and ACTUALLY CONSTITUTES ANY POLITICAL SOCIETY, IS NOTHING BUT THE CONSENT OF ANY NUMBER OF FREEMEN CAPABLE OF A MAJORITY, TO UNITE AND INCORPORATE INTO SUCH A SOCIETY. AND THIS IS THAT, AND THAT ONLY, WHICH COULD GIVE BEGINNING TO ANY LAWFUL GOVERNMENT IN THE WORLD." In one word, Locke declares that civil government is not from God in the way of principle, but from man in the way of fact; and thus, being a mere contingency, or moral accident in the history of human development, self-government is the essential prerogative of our nature. In accordance with this irrational and unscriptural hypothesis, we find Price and Priestly expanding Locke's views at the period of Burke; while in the writings of that apostle of political Antinomianism, Rousseau, and his English counterpart Tom Paine,—the principles of the ASSUMED "CONTRAT SOCIAL" display their utmost virulence. This is not the place to discuss the origin of Civil Government; but the classical reader, who has been taught to revere the political wisdom of those ancient Teachers, whose insight was almost prophetical in abstract science, will thank us for an extract from Aristotle's "Politics," which bears upon this subject. It presents a most striking coincidence of sentiment between two master-spirits on the philosophy of government; and will at once remind the reader of Burke's memorable passage, beginning with, "Society is a partnership," etc. etc. The passage to which we allude in Aristotle's "Politics," begins thus: "Ote men oun e polis phusei proteron e ekastos," k.t.l. The whole passage may be thus freely translated. "A participation in rights and advantages forms the bond of political society; AN INSTITUTION PRIOR, IN THE INTENTION OF NATURE, TO THE FAMILIES AND INDIVIDUALS FROM WHOM IT IS CONSTITUTED. What members are to the body, that citizens are to a commonwealth. The hands or foot, when separated from the body, retains its name, but totally changes its nature, because it is completely divested of its uses and powers. In the same manner a citizen is a constituent part of a whole system, which invests him with powers and qualifies him for functions for which, in his individual capacity, he is totally unfit; and independently of such system, he might subsist indeed as a lonely savage, but could never attain that improved and happy state to which his progressive nature invariably tends. Perfected by the offices and duties of social life, man is the best; but, rude and undisciplined, he is the very worst, of animals. For nothing is more detestable than armed improbity; and man is armed with craft and courage, which, uncontrolled by justice, he will most wickedly pervert, and become at once the most impious and fiercest of monsters, the most abominable in gluttony, and shameless in personality. But justice is the fundamental virtue of political society, since the order of Society cannot be maintained without law, and laws are constituted to proclaim what is just." Let us add to this noble passage, Aristotle remarks in his "Ethics" (lib. x. c. 8), that a higher destination than political virtue is the true end of man. In this respect, he concurs with Plato; who teaches us in his "Theaetetus," the main object of human pursuit ought to be "omoiosis to theo kata to dunaton," etc. etc.; i.e. "A similitude unto God as far as possible; which similitude consists in an imitation of His justice, holiness, and wisdom." To conclude: the noblest end of all Policy on earth, is to educate Human Nature for that august "politeuma" (Phil. iii. v. 20), that Eternal Commonwealth which awaits perfected Spirits above, when, through infinite grace, they are finally admitted into a "CITY which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God." (Heb. xi. 10.) (The dim approximations of Platonic philosophy to certain discoveries in Divine Revelation, have rightly challenged the attention of theological enquirers. The above quotation from St. Paul suggests a reference to one of these, which occurs towards the termination of Plato's ninth book of "The Republic." He is uttering a protest against our concluding, that because degeneracy appears to be the invariable law or destiny of all human commonwealths, THEREFORE, no Archetypal Model exists of any perfect state, or polity: and then, in opposition to this political scepticism, Plato adds these remarkable words:—"en ourano isos paradeigma anakeitai to boulomeno oran kai oronti eauton katoikizein," etc. etc.—"The state we have here established, which exists only in our reasoning, but it seems to me, HAS NO EXISTENCE ON EARTH. BUT IN HEAVEN, PROBABLY, I REPLIED, THERE IS A MODEL OF IT FOR ANY ONE INCLINED TO CONTEMPLATE THE SAME, AND BY SO CONTEMPLATING IT, TO REGULATE HIMSELF ACCORDINGLY.")
Burke traced the ultimate origin of civil government to the Divine Will, both as declared in Revelation and reflected by the moral Constitution of man. In this respect, it is well-known how fundamentally he differs from the theories of Hobbes, Mandeville, Shaftesbury, and Hutcheson. He also strongly opposes Locke, who states, “The original compact that begins and ACTUALLY CONSTITUTES ANY POLITICAL SOCIETY, IS NOTHING BUT THE CONSENT OF ANY NUMBER OF FREEMEN CAPABLE OF A MAJORITY, TO UNITE AND INCORPORATE INTO SUCH A SOCIETY. AND THIS IS THAT, AND THAT ONLY, WHICH COULD GIVE BEGINNING TO ANY LAWFUL GOVERNMENT IN THE WORLD.” In simpler terms, Locke declares that civil government does not come from God as a principle, but from man as a fact; therefore, being just a contingency or moral accident in human development, self-government is an essential part of our nature. Following this irrational and unbiblical hypothesis, we find Price and Priestly expanding Locke's views during Burke's time; while in the writings of that advocate of political Antinomianism, Rousseau, and his English counterpart, Tom Paine, the principles of the ASSUMED "SOCIAL CONTRACT" show their utmost intensity. This is not the right place to discuss the origin of Civil Government; but the classical reader, who has been taught to respect the political wisdom of those ancient thinkers whose insights were almost prophetic in abstract science, will appreciate an excerpt from Aristotle's "Politics," which relates to this topic. It presents a striking similarity of opinion between two great minds on the philosophy of government, and will immediately remind the reader of Burke's memorable passage beginning with, "Society is a partnership," etc. etc. The passage we reference in Aristotle's "Politics" begins: "Ote men oun e polis phusei proteron e ekastos," etc. This whole passage can be freely translated as follows: "A participation in rights and benefits creates the bond of political society; AN INSTITUTION THAT IS, IN NATURE'S INTENTION, PRIOR TO THE FAMILIES AND INDIVIDUALS FROM WHOM IT IS FORMED. What members are to the body, citizens are to a commonwealth. The hands or feet, when separated from the body, keep their name but completely change their nature, because they lose all their uses and powers. Similarly, a citizen is a crucial part of a whole system, which grants him powers and qualifies him for roles he cannot fulfill in isolation; independently of that system, he might survive as a solitary savage, but he could never reach the improved and happy state to which his progress naturally strives. Perfected through the roles and responsibilities of social life, man is at his best; but, without refinement and discipline, he becomes the worst of animals. Nothing is more despicable than armed corruption; and man is armed with cunning and bravery, which, if unchecked by justice, he will wickedly misuse, becoming at once the most irreverent and fiercest of monsters, the most gluttonous and shameless. Justice is the fundamental virtue of political society because order cannot be maintained without law, and laws exist to declare what is just.” Let us add to this noble passage that Aristotle notes in his "Ethics" (lib. x. c. 8) that a higher purpose than political virtue is the true aim of man. In this regard, he agrees with Plato, who teaches in his "Theaetetus" that the main pursuit of humanity should be "omoiosis to theo kata to dunaton," etc. etc.; i.e. "A likeness to God as far as possible; which likeness consists in emulating His justice, holiness, and wisdom." In conclusion, the highest aim of all earthly Policy is to educate Human Nature for that grand "politeuma" (Phil. iii. v. 20), that Eternal Commonwealth waiting for perfected Spirits above, when, through infinite grace, they are finally welcomed into a "CITY which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God." (Heb. xi. 10.) (The close parallels of Platonic philosophy with certain revelations in Divine Revelation have rightly attracted the attention of theological seekers. The quote from St. Paul hints at one of these, which occurs near the end of Plato's ninth book of "The Republic." He protests against concluding that because degeneration seems to be the unavoidable fate of all human societies, THEREFORE, no perfect Archetypal Model exists for any ideal state or polity: and then, opposing this political skepticism, Plato adds these notable words:—"en ourano isos paradeigma anakeitai to boulomeno oran kai oronti eauton katoikizein," etc. etc.—"The state we established here, which exists only in our reasoning, does not seem to me to have any existence on Earth. BUT IN HEAVEN, I SUPPOSE, THERE IS A MODEL OF IT FOR ANYONE WILLING TO CONTEMPLATE IT AND USE THAT VISION TO GUIDE HIMSELF ACCORDINGLY.")
APPENDIX.
The following are the critical sketches of Burke's character, alluded to in the commencement of this Essay. They are from the pens of his most distinguished contemporaries, WHO WERE OPPOSED TO HIM in their political views and public career.
The following are the key descriptions of Burke's character mentioned at the beginning of this Essay. They come from the writings of his most notable contemporaries, WHO WERE OPPOSED TO HIM in their political beliefs and public careers.
(From SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.)
(From Sir James Mackintosh.)
"There can be no hesitation in according to him a station among the most extraordinary men that ever appeared; and we think there is now but little diversity of opinion as to the kind of place which it is fit to assign him. He was a writer of the first class, and excelled in almost every kind of composition. Possessed of most extensive knowledge, and of the most various description; acquainted alike with what different classes of men knew, each in his own province, and with much that hardly any one ever thought of learning; he could either bring his masses of information to bear directly upon the subjects to which they severally belonged,—or he could avail himself of them generally to strengthen his faculties, and enlarge his views,—or he could turn any of them to account for the purpose of illustrating his theme, or enriching his diction. Hence, when he is handling any one matter, we perceive that we are conversing with a reasoner or a teacher, to whom almost every other branch of knowledge is familiar: his views range over all the cognate objects; his reasonings are derived from principles applicable to other themes, as well as the one in hand; arguments pour in from all sides, as well as those which start up under our feet,—the natural growth of the path he is leading us over; while to throw light round our steps, and either explore its darkest places, or serve for our recreation; illustrations are fetched from a thousand quarters, and an imagination marvellously quick to descry unthought of resemblances, points to our use the stores, which a love yet more marvellously has gathered from all ages and nations, and arts and tongues. We are, in respect of the argument, reminded of Bacon's multifarious knowledge, and the exuberance of his learned fancy; whilst the many-lettered diction recalls to mind the first of English poets, and his immortal verse, rich with the spoils of all sciences and all times.
There can be no doubt that he deserves a spot among the most extraordinary people who ever lived, and we believe there's now little disagreement about the position that should be assigned to him. He was a top-tier writer, excelling in almost every type of composition. He had a vast and varied knowledge, familiar with what different groups of people knew, each in their own field, and he also grasped much that few would ever think to learn. He could directly apply his massive amounts of information to the relevant subjects or use them generally to enhance his abilities and broaden his perspective. He could also leverage them to illustrate his points or enrich his language. Thus, when he discusses any topic, it feels like we're engaging with a thinker or a teacher who is well-versed in nearly every other area of knowledge. His insights span related subjects, and his reasoning comes from principles that apply to other topics as well as the one at hand. Arguments arise from all directions, in addition to those that emerge along the very path he is guiding us down, providing natural growth. To illuminate our journey, whether exploring its darkest corners or for our enjoyment, he draws illustrations from countless sources, and his imagination is remarkably quick to spot unexpected similarities, showing us the treasures amassed from various ages, cultures, arts, and languages. With respect to the subject matter, we are reminded of Bacon's diverse knowledge and the richness of his learned imagination; while his elaborate vocabulary brings to mind the first English poet and his timeless verse, filled with insights from all sciences and ages.
...
"He produced but one philosophical treatise; but no man lays down abstract principles more soundly, or better traces their application. All his works, indeed, even his controversial, are so infused with general reflection, so variegated with speculative discussion, that they wear the air of the Lyceum, as well as the Academy."
"He produced only one philosophical treatise, but no one lays down abstract principles more effectively or traces their application better. In fact, all his works, even the controversial ones, are so filled with broad reflection and rich with speculative discussion that they have the atmosphere of both the Lyceum and the Academy."
(From LORD ERSKINE.)
(From Lord Erskine.)
"I shall take care to put Burke's work on the French Revolution into the hands of those whose principles are left to my protection. I shall take care that they have the advantage of doing, in the regular progression of youthful studies, what I have done even in the short intervals of laborious life; that they shall transcribe with their own hands from all the works of this most extraordinary person, and from this last, among the rest, the soundest truths of religion, the justest principles of morals, inculcated and rendered delightful by the most sublime eloquence; the highest reach of philosophy brought down to the level of common minds by the most captivating taste; the most enlightened observations on history, and the most copious collection of useful maxims for the experience of common life."
"I will make sure to give Burke's work on the French Revolution to those whose principles I am responsible for protecting. I will ensure that they have the opportunity, during their regular studies, to do what I have done even in the brief moments of my busy life; that they will copy by hand the writings of this remarkable person, including in this last work, among others, the soundest truths of religion, the most just moral principles, presented in a delightful way through sublime eloquence; the highest philosophy made accessible to everyday minds with captivating style; the most insightful observations on history, and a rich collection of useful lessons for everyday life."
(From KING, Bishop of Rochester.) "In the mind of Mr. Burke political principles were not objects of barren speculation. Wisdom in him was always practical. Whatever his understanding adopted as truth, made its way to his heart, and sank deep into it; and his ardent and generous feelings seized with promptitude every occasion of applying it to mankind. Where shall we find recorded exertions of active benevolence at once so numerous, so varied, and so important, made by one man? Among those, the redress of wrongs, and the protection of weakness from the oppression of power, were most conspicuous.
(From KING, Bishop of Rochester.) "For Mr. Burke, political principles weren't just empty ideas. His wisdom was always practical. Whatever he accepted as truth resonated in his heart and took root there; his passionate and generous feelings quickly took every opportunity to apply it for the benefit of humanity. Where can we find another person who has recorded so many, such diverse, and such significant acts of active kindness? Among those, he was especially noted for addressing injustices and protecting the vulnerable from the abuse of power."
...
The assumption of arbitrary power, in whatever shape it appeared, whether under the veil of legitimacy, or skulking in the disguise of State necessity, or presenting the shameless front of usurpation—whether the prescriptive claim of ascendancy, or the career of official authority, or the newly-acquired dominion of a mob,—was the pure object of his detestation and hostility; and this is not a fanciful enumeration of possible cases," etc.
The taking of unchecked power, in any form it showed up, whether disguised as legitimacy, hidden under the guise of State necessity, or boldly acting as usurpation—whether it's the traditional claim to superiority, the actions of official authority, or the sudden control of a mob—was exactly what he hated and opposed; and this isn't just a made-up list of potential scenarios, etc.
SELECTIONS FROM THE SPEECHES AND WRITINGS OF EDMUND BURKE.
NATURE AND FUNCTIONS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
Whatever alterations time and the necessary accommodation of business may have introduced, this character can never be sustained, unless the House of Commons shall be made to bear some stamp of the actual disposition of the people at large. It would (among public misfortunes) be an evil more natural and tolerable, that the House of Commons should be infected with every epidemical frenzy of the people, as this would indicate some consanguinity, some sympathy of nature with their constituents, than that they should in all cases be wholly untouched by the opinions and feelings of the people out of doors. By this want of sympathy they would cease to be a house of commons. For it is not the derivation of the power of that house from the people, which makes it in a distinct sense their representative. The king is the representative of the people; so are the lords, so are the judges. They all are trustees for the people, as well as the commons; because no power is given for the sole sake of the holder; and although government certainly is an institution of Divine authority, yet its forms, and the persons who administer it, all originate from the people.
No matter what changes time and the demands of business may have brought, this role can never be truly valid unless the House of Commons reflects the actual feelings of the people. It would be a more natural and bearable misfortune, amidst public issues, for the House of Commons to be affected by the people's every sudden outburst, as this would show some connection and understanding with their constituents, rather than being completely detached from the views and emotions of those outside. Without this connection, they would stop being a true House of Commons. It's not just that this house derives its power from the people that makes it their representative in a meaningful way. The king, the lords, and the judges are all representatives of the people too. They are all stewards for the people, just like the commons, because no power is given solely for the benefit of the holder; and while government is indeed a system of Divine authority, its structures and the people who run it all come from the people.
A popular origin cannot therefore be the characteristical distinction of a popular representative. This belongs equally to all parts of government, and in all forms. The virtue, spirit, and essence of a house of commons consists in its being the express image of the feelings of the nation. It was not instituted to be a control UPON the people, as of late it has been taught, by a doctrine of the most pernicious tendency. It was designed as a control FOR the people. Other institutions have been formed for the purpose of checking popular excesses; and they are, I apprehend, fully adequate to their object. If not, they ought to be made so. The House of Commons, as it was never intended for the support of peace and subordination, is miserably appointed for that service; having no stronger weapon than its mace, and no better officer than its serjeant-at-arms, which it can command of its own proper authority. A vigilant and jealous eye over executory and judicial magistracy; an anxious care of public money; an openness, approaching towards facility, to public complaint; these seem to be the true characteristics of a house of commons. But an addressing house of commons, and a petitioning nation; a house of commons full of confidence, when the nation is plunged in despair; in the utmost harmony with ministers, whom the people regard with the utmost abhorrence; who vote thanks, when the public opinion calls upon them for impeachments; who are eager to grant, when the general voice demands account; who, in all disputes between the people and administration, presume against the people; who punish their disorders, but refuse even to inquire into the provocations to them; this is an unnatural, a monstrous state of things in this constitution. Such an assembly may be a great, wise, awful senate; but it is not, to any popular purpose, a house of commons. This change from an immediate state of procuration and delegation to a course of acting as from original power, is the way in which all the popular magistracies in the world have been perverted from their purposes. It is indeed their greatest and sometimes their incurable corruption. For there is a material distinction between that corruption by which particular points are carried against reason (this is a thing which cannot be prevented by human wisdom, and is of less consequence), and the corruption of the principle itself. For then the evil is not accidental, but settled. The distemper becomes the natural habit.
A popular origin can't be the defining feature of a popular representative. This applies to all parts of government in every form. The virtue, spirit, and essence of a House of Commons lie in its being a true reflection of the nation's feelings. It wasn’t created to control the people, as has been recently suggested by an extremely harmful doctrine. It was meant to serve as a control for the people. Other institutions have been established to check popular excesses, and I believe they are adequate for that purpose. If not, they should be improved. The House of Commons, which was never intended to uphold peace and order, is poorly equipped for that task; it only has its mace as a weapon and its serjeant-at-arms as a better officer, which it can command by its own authority. A watchful and protective stance over executive and judicial authority, a careful handling of public funds, and a willingness to listen to public complaints; these seem to be the true characteristics of a House of Commons. But a House of Commons that addresses issues while the nation petitions; a House of Commons brimming with confidence when the nation is in despair; one that works in complete harmony with ministers whom the people despise; that thanks those when public opinion calls for impeachment; that is quick to grant requests when the general voice demands answers; that, in disputes between the people and the government, sides against the people; that punishes their unrest but refuses to investigate the reasons behind it; this is an unnatural and monstrous state of affairs in this constitution. Such an assembly may be a significant, wise, and imposing senate; but it is not, for any popular purpose, a House of Commons. This shift from immediate representation and delegation to acting as though it holds original power is how popular governments around the world have strayed from their intended purposes. Indeed, it represents their greatest and often incurable corruption. There is an important distinction between that corruption which allows specific issues to be resolved against reason (which cannot be prevented by human wisdom and is of lesser importance) and the corruption of the principle itself. When that happens, the problem is not accidental but ingrained. The disorder becomes the norm.
RETROSPECT AND RESIGNATION.
You are but just entering into the world; I am going out of it. I have played long enough to be heartily tired of the drama. Whether I have acted my part in it well or ill, posterity will judge with more candour than I, or than the present age, with our present passions, can possibly pretend to. For my part, I quit it without a sigh, and submit to the sovereign order without murmuring. The nearer we approach to the goal of life, the better we begin to understand the true value of our existence, and the real weight of our opinions. We set out much in love with both: but we leave much behind us as we advance. We first throw away the tales along with the rattles of our nurses; those of the priest keep their hold a little longer; those of our governors the longest of all. But the passions which prop these opinions are withdrawn one after another; and the cool light of reason, at the setting of our life, shows us what a false splendour played upon these objects during our more sanguine seasons.
You are just starting to enter the world; I'm getting ready to leave it. I’ve been involved long enough to be completely tired of the drama. Whether I’ve played my part well or poorly, future generations will judge more fairly than I can or than the current era, with all its feelings, can pretend to. For my part, I leave without regret and accept the natural order without complaint. The closer we get to the end of life, the better we understand the true value of our existence and the real significance of our opinions. We start out deeply attached to both, but we leave much behind as we move forward. We first discard childhood stories along with the toys from our caregivers; the tales from the religious hold on a bit longer, and those from our leaders last the longest. But the feelings that support these opinions gradually fade away, and the clear light of reason, as our lives wind down, reveals how much false brilliance we had around those things during our more optimistic times.
MODESTY OF MIND.
If any inquiry thus carefully conducted should fail at last of discovering the truth, it may answer an end perhaps as useful, in discovering to us the weakness of our own understanding. If it does not make us knowing, it may make us modest. If it does not preserve us from error, it may at least from the spirit of error; and may make us cautious of pronouncing with positiveness or with haste, when so much labour may end in so much uncertainty.
If any inquiry conducted with such care ultimately fails to uncover the truth, it might still achieve something valuable by revealing the limitations of our understanding. If it doesn’t make us wiser, it could make us more humble. If it doesn’t safeguard us from making mistakes, it at least protects us from the attitude of being mistaken, encouraging us to be careful about making strong claims or rushing to conclusions when so much effort can lead to so much uncertainty.
NEWTON AND NATURE.
When Newton first discovered the property of attraction, and settled its laws, he found it served very well to explain several of the most remarkable phenomena in nature; but yet with reference to the general system of things, he could consider attraction but as an effect, whose cause at that time he did not attempt to trace. But when he afterwards began to account for it by a subtle elastic aether, this great man (if in so great a man it be not impious to discover anything like a blemish) seemed to have quitted his usual cautious manner of philosophising: since, perhaps, allowing all that has been advanced on this subject to be sufficiently proved, I think it leaves us with as many difficulties as it found us. That great chain of causes, which linking one to another even to the throne of God himself, can never be unravelled by any industry of ours. When we go but one step beyond the immediate sensible qualities of things, we go out of our depth. All we do after is but a faint struggle, that shows we are in an element which does not belong to us.
When Newton first discovered the property of attraction and established its laws, he found that it effectively explained many of the most remarkable phenomena in nature. However, regarding the overall system of things, he could only view attraction as an effect, whose cause he did not try to trace at that time. Later, when he attempted to explain it with a subtle elastic ether, this great man (if it's not inappropriate to find a flaw in such a remarkable figure) seemed to have departed from his usual cautious approach to philosophy. Even if we accept everything proposed on this topic as sufficiently proven, it still leaves us with as many difficulties as it originally presented. That vast chain of causes, linking everything even to the throne of God, can never be unraveled by our efforts. As soon as we step beyond the immediate observable qualities of things, we find ourselves out of our depth. All we do afterward is just a faint struggle, indicating that we are in a realm that isn't our own.
THEORY AND PRACTICE.
It is, I own, not uncommon to be wrong in theory, and right in practice; and we are happy that it is so. Men often act right from their feelings, who afterwards reason but ill on them from principle: but as it is impossible to avoid an attempt at such reasoning, and equally impossible to prevent its having some influence on our practice, surely it is worth taking some pains to have it just, and founded on the basis of sure experience.
It’s not unusual to be wrong in theory while being right in practice, and we're grateful for that. People often act correctly based on their feelings, but later struggle to explain those actions through reason. Since it's unavoidable to try to rationalize our actions, and just as unavoidable for those reasons to impact what we do, it’s definitely worth putting in the effort to make sure our reasoning is accurate and rooted in solid experience.
INDUCTION AND COMPARISON.
We must not attempt to fly, when we can scarcely pretend to creep. In considering any complex matter, we ought to examine every distinct ingredient in the composition, one by one; and reduce everything to the utmost simplicity; since the condition of our nature binds us to a strict law and vary narrow limits. We ought afterwards to re-examine the principles by the effect of the composition, as well as the composition by that of the principles. We ought to compare our subject with things of a similar nature, and even with things of a contrary nature; for discoveries may be, and often are, made by the contrast, which would escape us on the single view. The greater number of the comparisons we make, the more general and the more certain our knowledge is likely to prove, as built upon a more extensive and perfect induction.
We shouldn't try to soar when we can barely crawl. When looking at any complicated issue, we should break down each component individually and simplify everything as much as possible because our nature limits us to a strict set of rules and narrow boundaries. After that, we should reassess the principles based on the results of the composition, and also look at the composition through the lens of those principles. We should compare our topic with similar things and even things that are quite different because insights can often come from those contrasts that we might miss if we only focus on one perspective. The more comparisons we make, the more comprehensive and reliable our understanding is likely to be, as it’s based on a broader and more complete foundation.
DIVINE POWER ON THE HUMAN IDEA.
Whilst we consider the Godhead merely as he is an object of the understanding, which forms a complex idea of power, wisdom, justice, goodness, all stretched to a degree far exceeding the bounds of our comprehension, whilst we consider the Divinity in this refined and abstracted light, the imagination and passions are little or nothing affected. But because we are bound, by the condition of our nature, to ascend to these pure and intellectual ideas, through the medium of sensible images, to judge of these divine qualities by their evident acts and exertions, it becomes extremely hard to disentangle our idea of the cause from the effect by which we are led to know it. Thus, when we contemplate the Deity, his attributes and their operation, coming united on the mind, form a sort of sensible image, and as such are capable of affecting the imagination. Now, though in a just idea of the Deity, perhaps none of his attributes are predominant, yet, to our imagination, his power is by far the most striking. Some reflection, some comparing, is necessary to satisfy us of his wisdom, his justice, and his goodness. To be struck with his power, it is only necessary that we should open our eyes. But whilst we contemplate so vast an object, under the arm, as it were of almighty power, and invested upon every side with omnipresence, we shrink into the minuteness of our own nature, and are, in a manner, annihilated before him.
While we think of the Godhead purely as an object for understanding, which creates a complex idea of power, wisdom, justice, and goodness—far beyond what we can truly grasp—our imagination and feelings hardly respond at all. However, since we are naturally inclined to reach these pure and intellectual ideas through tangible images and judge divine qualities based on their clear actions and effects, it becomes really difficult to separate our idea of the cause from the effect that helps us understand it. So, when we reflect on the Deity, his attributes and their workings come together in our minds to form a sort of tangible image, which can influence our imagination. Though none of his attributes might stand out in a correct understanding of the Deity, his power is definitely the most striking to us. To appreciate his wisdom, justice, and goodness, we need to think and compare. But to be awed by his power, we only need to open our eyes. Yet, while we contemplate such an immense being, seemingly surrounded by almighty power and everywhere present, we feel small and almost diminished in comparison to him.
UNION OF LOVE AND DREAD IN RELIGION.
True religion has, and must have, a large mixture of salutary fear; and false religions have generally nothing else but fear to support them. Before the Christian religion had, as it were, humanized the idea of the Divinity, and brought it somewhat nearer to us, there was very little said of the love of God. The followers of Plato have something of it, and only something; the other writers of pagan antiquity, whether poets or philosophers, nothing at all. And they who consider with what infinite attention, by what a disregard of every perishable object, through what long habits of piety and contemplation it is that any man is able to attain an entire love and devotion to the Deity, will easily perceive that it is not the first, the most natural and the most striking, effect which proceeds from that idea.
True religion includes, and needs to include, a healthy dose of fear; meanwhile, false religions mainly rely on fear to keep them going. Before the Christian faith, which kind of made the concept of God more relatable, there wasn’t much talk about the love of God. Plato’s followers touched on it a bit, but that’s about it; other ancient writers—whether they were poets or philosophers—didn’t mention it at all. Those who reflect on the immense focus, the complete disregard for everything temporary, and the long-standing practices of piety and meditation that enable a person to fully love and dedicate themselves to God will quickly realize that this is not the initial, most natural, or most obvious outcome that comes from that idea.
OFFICE OF SYMPATHY.
Whenever we are formed by nature to any active purpose, the passion which animates us to it is attended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let the subject-matter be what it will; and as our Creator had designed that we should be united by the bond of sympathy, he has strengthened that bond by a proportionable delight; and there most where our sympathy is most wanted,—in the distresses of others.
Whenever we're naturally inclined towards an active purpose, the passion that drives us is accompanied by joy or some form of pleasure, regardless of the topic. Since our Creator intended for us to be connected by a bond of sympathy, He has reinforced that bond with a corresponding delight, especially where our sympathy is most needed—in the struggles of others.
WORDS.
Natural objects affect us, by the laws of that connexion which Providence has established between certain motions and configurations of bodies, and certain consequent feelings in our mind. Painting affects in the same manner, but with the superadded pleasure of imitation. Architecture affects by the laws of nature, and the law of reason; from which latter result the rules of proportion, which make a work to be praised or censured, in the whole or in some part, when the end for which it was designed is or is not properly answered. But as to words; they seem to me to affect us in a manner very different from that in which we are affected by natural objects, or by painting or architecture; yet words have as considerable a share in exciting ideas of beauty and of the sublime as many of those, and sometimes a much greater than any of them.
Natural objects influence us due to the connection that Providence has established between certain movements and arrangements of bodies and the resulting feelings in our minds. Painting influences us in a similar way, but with the added pleasure of imitation. Architecture impacts us based on the laws of nature and the laws of reason, from which we derive the rules of proportion. These rules determine whether a work is praised or criticized, based on whether it meets its intended purpose. However, when it comes to words, they seem to affect us quite differently than natural objects, painting, or architecture. Yet, words play a significant role in evoking ideas of beauty and the sublime, sometimes even more so than any of those other forms.
NATURE ANTICIPATES MAN.
Whenever the wisdom of our Creator intended that we should be affected with anything, he did not confide the execution of his design to the languid and precarious operation of our reason; but he endued it with powers and properties that prevent the understanding, and even the will; which, seizing upon the senses and imagination, captivate the soul before the understanding is ready either to join with them, or to oppose them. It is by a long deduction, and much study, that we discover the adorable wisdom of God in his works: when we discover it, the effect is very different, not only in the manner of acquiring it, but in its own nature, from that which strikes us without any preparation from the sublime or the beautiful.
Whenever our Creator intended for us to be moved by something, He didn’t leave the fulfillment of this intention to the slow and unreliable workings of our reason; instead, He equipped it with abilities and qualities that can overwhelm our understanding, and even our will. These qualities engage our senses and imagination, capturing our soul before we’re ready to either accept or resist them. It takes a lot of reflection and study for us to recognize the admirable wisdom of God in His creations. When we finally see it, the experience is very different—not just in how we come to know it, but also in its own nature, compared to the immediate impact we feel from something magnificent or beautiful.
SELF-INSPECTION.
Whatever turns the soul inward on itself, tends to concentre its forces, and to fit it for greater and stronger flights of science. By looking into physical causes our minds are opened and enlarged; and in this pursuit, whether we take or whether we lose our game, the chase is certainly of service.
Whatever brings the soul to focus on itself tends to concentrate its energy and prepares it for greater and stronger discoveries in science. By exploring physical causes, our minds are expanded and enriched; and in this quest, whether we succeed or fail, the journey is definitely beneficial.
POWER OF THE OBSCURE.
Poetry, with all its obscurity, has a more general, as well as a more powerful, dominion over the passions, than the other art. And I think there are reasons in nature, why the obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be more affecting than the clear. It is our ignorance of things that causes all our admiration, and chiefly excites our passions. Knowledge and acquaintance make the most striking causes affect but little. It is thus with the vulgar; and all men are as the vulgar in what they do not understand. The ideas of eternity and infinity, are among the most affecting we have: and yet perhaps there is nothing of which we really understand so little, as of infinity and eternity.
Poetry, despite its complexities, has a broader and stronger influence on our emotions than any other art form. I believe there are natural reasons why an obscure idea, when expressed well, can be more moving than a clear one. It's our lack of understanding that fuels our admiration and stirs our feelings the most. Knowing something well tends to lessen its impact. This is true for the general public, and everyone is like the general public when it comes to things they don’t grasp. Concepts like eternity and infinity are among the most powerful ideas we have, and yet we understand so little about infinity and eternity.
FEMALE BEAUTY.
The object therefore of this mixed passion, which we call love, is the BEAUTY of the SEX. Men are carried to the sex in general, as it is the sex, and by the common law of nature; but they are attached to particulars by personal BEAUTY. I call beauty a social quality; for where women and men, and not only they, but when other animals give us a sense of joy and pleasure in beholding them (and there are many that do so), they inspire us with sentiments of tenderness and affection towards their persons; we like to have them near us, and we enter willingly into a kind of relation with them, unless we should have strong reasons to the contrary.
The purpose of this mixed passion we call love is the BEAUTY of the SEX. Men are generally drawn to women as a whole, simply because they are women, and according to the natural instinct. However, they become attached to specific individuals due to personal BEAUTY. I refer to beauty as a social quality; because when women and men, and not just them, but also other animals give us a sense of joy and pleasure when we see them (and many do), they evoke feelings of tenderness and affection for them; we enjoy having them close, and we willingly engage in some sort of relationship with them, unless we have strong reasons not to.
NOVELTY AND CURIOSITY.
Curiosity is the most superficial of all the affections; it changes its object perpetually, it has an appetite which is very sharp, but very easily satisfied; and it has always an appearance of giddiness, restlessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from its nature, is a very active principle; it quickly runs over the greatest part of its objects, and soon exhausts the variety which is commonly to be met with in nature; the same things make frequent returns, and they return with less and less of any agreeable effect. In short, the occurrences of life, by the time we come to know it a little, would be incapable of affecting the mind with any other sensations than those of loathing and weariness, if many things were not adapted to affect the mind by means of other powers besides novelty in them, and of other passions besides curiosity in ourselves.
Curiosity is the shallowest of all emotions; it constantly shifts its focus, has a keen appetite that gets satisfied easily, and often shows signs of restlessness and anxiety. By its very nature, curiosity is an active force; it quickly skims over most of its subjects and soon runs out of the variety typically found in nature. The same things come up repeatedly, and each time they provide less and less enjoyment. In short, by the time we understand life a bit, the events we encounter would only leave us feeling disgusted and tired, if it weren't for many things that can engage our minds through other means besides novelty and stir other feelings beyond just curiosity in ourselves.
PLEASURES OF ANALOGY.
The mind of man has naturally a far greater alacrity and satisfaction in tracing resemblances than in searching for differences: because by making resemblances we produce NEW IMAGES; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock; but in making distinctions we offer no food at all to the imagination; the task itself is more severe and irksome, and what pleasure we derive from it is something of a negative and indirect nature.
The human mind is naturally much more eager and satisfied to find similarities than to seek out differences. By recognizing similarities, we create NEW IMAGES; we connect, we innovate, we expand our ideas. But when we focus on distinctions, we don't stimulate the imagination; the process is more challenging and tedious, and any enjoyment we get from it is somewhat negative and indirect.
AMBITION.
God has planted in man a sense of ambition, and a satisfaction arising from the contemplation of his excelling his fellows in something deemed valuable amongst them. It is this passion that drives men to all the ways we see in use of signalizing themselves, and that tends to make whatever excites in a man the idea of this distinction so very pleasant. It has been so strong as to make very miserable men take comfort, that they were supreme in misery; and certain it is, that, where we cannot distinguish ourselves by something excellent, we begin to take a complacency in some singular infirmities, follies, or defects of one kind or other. It is on this principle that flattery is so prevalent; for flattery is no more than what raises in a man's mind an idea of a preference which he has not.
God has instilled in people a sense of ambition and a satisfaction that comes from outshining others in areas they consider valuable. It's this drive that pushes individuals to find various ways to stand out, and it makes whatever sparks that idea of distinction in someone feel incredibly rewarding. This urge can be so powerful that even very unhappy people find solace in being the best at being miserable; and it's clear that when we can't set ourselves apart through something outstanding, we tend to take pride in some unique weaknesses, quirks, or shortcomings. This is why flattery is so common; flattery simply creates in a person’s mind a sense of being favored that they don’t actually possess.
EXTENSIONS OF SYMPATHY.
For sympathy must be considered as a sort of substitution, by which we are put into the place of another man, and affected in many respects as he is affected; so that this passion may either partake of the nature of those which regard self-preservation, and turning upon pain may be a source of the sublime; or it may turn upon ideas of pleasure; and then whatever has been said of the social affections, whether they regard society in general, or only some particular modes of it, may be applicable here. It is by this principle chiefly that poetry, painting, and other affecting arts, transfuse their passions from one breast to another, and are often capable of grafting a delight on wretchedness, misery, and death itself.
For sympathy should be thought of as a kind of substitution, where we put ourselves in someone else's shoes and feel many of the same emotions they do. This feeling can either relate to self-preservation, where the pain can lead to something profound and moving; or it can be about pleasure. Anything that has been said about social feelings, whether they relate to society as a whole or just specific aspects of it, can apply here. It's mainly through this principle that poetry, painting, and other impactful arts transfer their emotions from one person to another, often able to create enjoyment even in the face of suffering, misery, and death itself.
PHILOSOPHY OF TASTE.
So far, then, as taste belongs to the imagination, its principle is the same in all men; there is no different in the manner of their being affected, nor in the causes of the affection; but in the DEGREE there is a difference, which arises from two causes principally; either from a greater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer and longer attention to the object.
So far as taste relates to imagination, the principle is the same for everyone; there’s no difference in how they are affected or in the reasons behind those feelings. However, there is a difference in DEGREE, which mainly comes from two factors: either a greater level of natural sensitivity or more focused and extended attention to the object.
CLEARNESS AND STRENGTH IN STYLE.
We do not sufficiently distinguish, in our observations upon language, between a clear expression and a strong expression. These are frequently confounded with each other, though they are in reality extremely different. The former regards the understanding; the latter belongs to the passions. The one describes a thing as it is; the latter describes it as it is felt. Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned countenance, an agitated gesture, which affect independently of the things about which they are exerted, so there are words, and certain dispositions of words, which being peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, and always used by those who are under the influence of any passion, touch and move us more than those which far more clearly and distinctly express the subject-matter. We yield to sympathy what we refuse to description. The truth is, all verbal description, merely as naked description, though never so exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thing described, that it could scarcely have the smallest effect, if the speaker did not call in to his aid those modes of speech that mark a strong and lively feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of our passions, we catch a fire already kindled in another, which probably might never have been struck out by the object described. Words, by strongly conveying the passions, by those means which we have already mentioned, fully compensate for their weakness in other respects.
We often fail to differentiate in our observations about language between clear expression and strong expression. These two are often mixed up, even though they are actually very different. The former relates to understanding, while the latter relates to emotions. One describes something as it is; the other describes it as it is felt. Just like there's a moving tone of voice, an impassioned look, or an agitated gesture that can influence us regardless of the topics being discussed, there are words, and specific arrangements of words, that are especially tied to emotional subjects. These words, used by those who are experiencing strong feelings, touch and affect us more than those that communicate the subject matter more clearly and distinctly. We give in to emotions what we deny to straightforward description. The truth is, all verbal description, even if it is very accurate, presents such a poor and inadequate idea of the thing being described that it would hardly have any impact if the speaker didn't use ways of speaking that indicate strong and vivid feelings. Then, through the influence of our emotions, we catch the passion already ignited in someone else, which might not have been inspired by the thing itself. Words that powerfully communicate emotions, through the means we've mentioned, compensate for their weaknesses in other areas.
UNITY OF IMAGINATION.
Since the imagination is only the representation of the senses, it can only be pleased or displeased with the images, from the same principle on which the sense is pleased or displeased with the realities; and consequently there must be just as close an agreement in the imaginations as in the senses of men. A little attention will convince us that this must of necessity be the case.
Since the imagination is just a reflection of the senses, it can only be pleased or offended by images in the same way that our senses react to real things. Therefore, there needs to be as much consistency in our imaginations as there is in our senses. With a bit of thought, we can see that this must be true.
EFFECT OF WORDS.
If words have all their possible extent of power, three effects arise in the mind of the hearer. The first is, the SOUND; the second, the PICTURE, or representation of the thing signified by the sound; the third is, the AFFECTION of the soul produced by one or by both of the foregoing. COMPOUNDED ABSTRACT words, of which we have been speaking (honour, justice, liberty, and the like), produce the first and the last of these effects, but not the second. SIMPLE ABSTRACTS, are used to signify some one simple idea without much adverting to others which may chance to attend it, as blue, green, hot, cold, and the like; these are capable of effecting all three of the purposes of words; as the AGGREGATE words, man, castle, horse, etc. are in a yet higher degree. But I am of opinion, that the most general effect, even of these words, does not arise from their forming pictures of the several things they would represent in the imagination; because, on a very diligent examination of my own mind, and getting others to consider theirs, I do not find that once in twenty times any such picture is formed, and, when it is, there is most commonly a particular effort of the imagination for that purpose. But the aggregate words operate, as I said of the compound-abstracts, not by presenting any image to the mind, but by having from use the same effect on being mentioned, that their original has when it is seen.
If words have all their potential power, three effects occur in the mind of the listener. The first is the SOUND; the second is the IMAGE, or representation of the thing indicated by the sound; the third is the EMOTION of the soul triggered by one or both of the first two. COMPOUND ABSTRACT words, which we've been discussing (like honor, justice, liberty, and so on), create the first and third effects, but not the second. SIMPLE ABSTRACT words are used to represent a single idea without much consideration for other ideas that might be associated with it, such as blue, green, hot, cold, etc.; these can accomplish all three functions of words, just like AGGREGATE words, such as man, castle, horse, etc., to an even greater extent. However, I believe that the most general effect of these words does not come from their ability to create images of the things they represent in our minds; because, after closely examining my own thoughts and encouraging others to reflect on theirs, I find that such images are formed perhaps once in every twenty instances, and when they are, it usually requires a deliberate effort of the imagination. But the aggregate words, as I mentioned regarding compound abstracts, don’t operate by presenting any image to the mind. Instead, they have the same effect upon being mentioned as their originals do when they are seen.
INVESTIGATION.
I am convinced that the method of teaching which approaches most nearly to the method of investigation is incomparably the best; since, not content with serving up a few barren and lifeless truths, it leads to the stock on which they grew; it tends to set the reader himself in the track of invention, and to direct him into those paths in which the author has made his own discoveries, if he should be so happy as to have made any that are valuable.
I believe that the teaching method that closely resembles the method of investigation is by far the best. It not only shares a few dull and lifeless facts but also reveals the foundation they came from. It encourages the reader to explore their own creativity and guides them along the paths where the author made their own valuable discoveries, if they were fortunate enough to make any.
THE SUBLIME.
Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the SUBLIME; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.
Anything that is likely to trigger thoughts of pain and danger—basically, anything that is terrifying or related to terrifying things, or functions in a way similar to fear—is a source of the SUBLIME; in other words, it produces the strongest emotion that the mind can experience.
OBSCURITY.
Those despotic governments which are founded on the passions of men, and principally upon the passion of fear, keep their chief as much as may be from the public eye. The policy has been the same in many cases of religion. Almost all the heathen temples were dark. Even in the barbarous temples of the Americans at this day, they keep their idol in a dark part of the hut which is consecrated to his worship. For this purpose too the Druids performed all their ceremonies in the bosom of the darkest woods, and in the shade of the oldest and most spreading oaks. No person seems better to have understood the secret of heightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use the expression, in their strongest light, by the force of a judicious obscurity, than Milton.
Those oppressive governments that are based on people's emotions, especially fear, try to keep their leader out of the public eye as much as possible. This strategy has been similar in many religious contexts. Almost all pagan temples were dark. Even in the primitive temples of the Americas today, they place their idol in a dark area of the hut designated for worship. For this reason, the Druids conducted all their rituals deep in the darkest woods and under the shade of the oldest, widest oaks. No one seems to have better grasped the art of emphasizing or showcasing scary things, if I can put it that way, through a clever use of darkness, than Milton.
PRINCIPLES OF TASTE.
Whatever certainty is to be acquired in morality and the science of life; just the same degree of certainty have we in what relates to them in works of imitation. Indeed, it is for the most part in our skill in manners, and in the observances of time and place, and of decency in general, which is only to be learned in those schools to which Horace recommends us, that what is called taste, by way of distinction, consists; and which is in reality no other than a more refined judgment. On the whole it appears to me, that what is called taste, in its most general acceptation, is not a simple idea, but is partly made up of a perception of the primary pleasures of sense, of the secondary pleasures of the imagination, and of the conclusions of the reasoning faculty, concerning the various relations of these, and concerning the human passions, manners, and actions. All this is requisite to form taste, and the ground-work of all these is the same in the human mind; for as the senses are the great originals of all our ideas, and consequently of all our pleasures, if they are not uncertain and arbitrary, the whole ground-work of taste is common to all, and therefore there is a sufficient foundation for a conclusive reasoning on these matters.
Whatever certainty we can have in morality and life sciences, we have the same level of certainty in their imitative works. In fact, our ability to navigate social manners, as well as our awareness of time, place, and general decency—which can only be learned from the schools Horace refers to—constitutes what we call taste, which is essentially a more refined judgment. Overall, it seems to me that taste, in its broadest sense, is not a simple idea; rather, it consists of a perception of primary sensory pleasures, secondary imaginative pleasures, and the reasoning we apply regarding the relationships among these pleasures, human passions, behaviors, and actions. All of this is necessary to develop taste, and the foundation of all these elements is the same in the human mind. Since our senses are the primary sources of all our ideas and, therefore, all our pleasures—if they are not uncertain or arbitrary—the foundation of taste is shared among all people, providing a solid basis for sound reasoning on these topics.
THE BEAUTIFUL.
Beauty is a thing much too affecting not to depend upon some positive qualities. And, since it is no creature of our reason, since it strikes us without any reference to use, and even where no use at all can be discerned, since the order and method of nature is generally very different from our measures and proportions, we must conclude that beauty is, for the greater part, some quality in bodies acting mechanically upon the human mind by the intervention of the senses.
Beauty is something that impacts us too deeply to be based solely on objective qualities. It isn’t a product of our reasoning; it captures our attention without considering its practicality, even in cases where there’s no practical use at all. Because the natural order is often very different from our own standards and measurements, we must conclude that beauty largely consists of qualities in objects that affect the human mind through our senses.
THE REAL AND THE IDEAL.
Choose a day on which to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have: appoint the most favourite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes and decorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, and music; and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their minds are erect with expectation, let it be reported that a state criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoining square; in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would demonstrate the comparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real sympathy. I believe that this notion of our having a simple pain in the reality, yet a delight in the representation, arises from hence, that we do not sufficiently distinguish what we would by no means choose to do, from what we should be eager enough to see if it was once done. We delight in seeing things, which so far from doing, our heartiest wishes would be to see redressed. This noble capital, the pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is so strangely wicked as to desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or an earthquake, though he should be removed himself to the greatest distance from the danger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have happened, what numbers from all parts would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst them many who would have been content never to have seen London in its glory!
Choose a day to showcase the most incredible and moving tragedy we have: select the most popular actors; spare no expense on the sets and decorations; combine the best efforts of poetry, painting, and music; and when you’ve gathered your audience, just at the moment when their anticipation is at its peak, announce that a high-ranking criminal is about to be executed in the square next door; in an instant, the empty theater would reveal the relative weakness of the arts and declare the victory of real-life emotions. I think this idea that we feel a simple pain in reality yet delight in its representation comes from the fact that we don’t clearly distinguish between what we would never want to do and what we’d be eager to see happen once it’s done. We enjoy witnessing events that, far from doing ourselves, we would rather see resolved. This great city, the pride of England and Europe, I believe no one is so exceptionally cruel as to wish to see it destroyed by fire or an earthquake, even if they were far removed from the threat. But if such a disaster were to occur, how many people from all around would rush to see the ruins, including many who would have preferred never to have seen London in its glory!
JUDGMENT IN ART.
A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be called a good taste, does in a great measure depend upon sensibility; because, if the mind has no bent to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itself sufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent knowledge in them. But, though a degree of sensibility is requisite to form a good judgment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a quick sensibility of pleasure.
A clear sense of judgment in the arts, often referred to as good taste, largely depends on sensitivity. If the mind isn't inclined towards the pleasures of imagination, it won't engage deeply enough with those kinds of works to gain a proper understanding of them. However, while some sensitivity is needed to develop good judgment, having good judgment doesn't necessarily come from just being quick to feel pleasure.
MORAL EFFECTS OF LANGUAGE.
This arises chiefly from these three causes. First. That we take an extraordinary part in the passions of others, and that we are easily affected and brought into sympathy by any tokens which are shown of them; and there are no tokens which can express all the circumstances of most passions so fully as words; so that if a person speaks upon any subject, he can not only convey the subject to you, but likewise the manner in which he is himself affected by it. Certain it is, that the influence of most things on our passions is not so much from the things themselves, as from our opinions concerning them; and these again depend very much on the opinions of other men, conveyable for the most part by words only. Secondly. There are many things of a very affecting nature, which can seldom occur in the reality, but the words that represent them often do; and thus they have an opportunity of making a deep impression and taking root in the mind, whilst the idea of the reality was transient; and to some perhaps never really occurred in any shape, to whom it is notwithstanding very affecting, as war, death, famine, etc. Besides, many ideas have never been at all presented to the senses of any men but by words, as God, angels, devils, heaven, and hell, all of which have, however, a great influence over the passions. Thirdly. By words we have it in our power to make such COMBINATIONS as we cannot possibly do otherwise. By this power of combining, we are able, by the addition of well-chosen circumstances, to give a new life and force to the simple object. In painting we may represent any fine figure we please; but we never can give it those enlivening touches which it may receive from words. To represent an angel in a picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man winged: but what painting can furnish out anything so grand as the addition of one word, "the angel of the LORD?"
This mainly comes from three reasons. First, we deeply engage with the feelings of others and are easily moved to empathize with any signs they display. There are no signs that can express the complexities of most feelings as clearly as words can. So, when someone talks about a topic, they not only share the topic with you but also how they feel about it. It's clear that the effect of most things on our emotions comes more from our views on them than from the things themselves, and those views are heavily influenced by what others think, which is mostly communicated through words. Second, there are many moving things that rarely happen in real life, but the words that describe them often do. This gives those words the chance to leave a strong impression and become rooted in our minds, even if the real experiences are fleeting or may never happen to some people, yet they resonate deeply, like war, death, famine, etc. Additionally, many concepts are only ever presented to people's senses through words, like God, angels, devils, heaven, and hell, all of which have a significant impact on our emotions. Third, words allow us to create combinations that we can't achieve in any other way. This ability to combine enables us to add carefully chosen details that amplify the simple idea. In art, we can depict any beautiful figure we want, but we can't give it the same energy that words can provide. To portray an angel in a painting, you might just depict a beautiful young man with wings, but no painting can create something as powerful as simply saying, "the angel of the LORD."
SECURITY OF TRUTH.
I then thought, and am still of the same opinion, that error, and not truth of any kind, is dangerous; that ill conclusions can only flow from false propositions; and that, to know whether any proposition be true or false, it is a preposterous method to examine it by its apparent consequences.
I then thought, and still believe, that error, not truth, is what’s dangerous; that bad conclusions can only come from false statements; and that evaluating whether a statement is true or false by looking at its obvious outcomes is the wrong approach.
IMITATION AN INSTINCTIVE LAW.
For as sympathy makes us take a concern in whatever men feel, so this affection prompts us to copy whatever they do; and consequently we have a pleasure in imitating, and in whatever belongs to imitation merely as it is such, without any intervention of the reasoning faculty, but solely from our natural constitution, which Providence has framed in such a manner as to find either pleasure or delight, according to the nature of the object, in whatever regards the purposes of our being. It is by imitation far more than by precept, that we learn everything; and what we learn thus, we acquire not only more effectually, but more pleasantly. This forms our manners, our opinions, our lives. It is one of the strongest links of society; it is a species of mutual compliance, which all men yield to each other, without constraint to themselves, and which is extremely flattering to all.
As sympathy makes us care about what others feel, this affection encourages us to mimic what they do. As a result, we enjoy imitating and everything related to imitation, simply because it's part of our nature, without any need for reasoning, just as Providence has designed us to find pleasure or joy based on the nature of the object, in whatever aligns with our purpose. We learn much more through imitation than through instruction, and what we gain this way is not only more effective but also more enjoyable. This shapes our behavior, our beliefs, and our lives. It's one of the strongest bonds of society; it's a kind of mutual agreement that everyone naturally gives to each other, without feeling forced, and it’s very flattering for all.
STANDARD OF REASON AND TASTE.
It is probable that the standard both of reason and taste is the same in all human creatures. For if there were not some principles of judgment as well as of sentiment common to all mankind, no hold could possibly be taken either on their reason or their passions, sufficient to maintain the ordinary correspondence of life.
It’s likely that the standards of reason and taste are the same for all humans. Because if there weren’t some shared principles of judgment and feeling among everyone, we wouldn’t be able to connect with their reasoning or emotions enough to keep the usual flow of life going.
USE OF THEORY.
A theory founded on experiment, and not assumed, is always good for so much as it explains. Our inability to push it indefinitely is no argument at all against it. This inability may be owing to our ignorance of some necessary MEDIUMS; to a want of proper application; to many other causes besides a defect in the principles we employ.
A theory based on experiments, rather than assumptions, is valuable to the extent that it provides explanations. Our inability to extend it indefinitely doesn’t discredit it. This limitation might be due to our lack of understanding of certain necessary factors, improper application, or many other reasons unrelated to flaws in the principles we use.
POLITICAL OUTCASTS.
In the mean time, that power, which all these changes aimed at securing, remains still as tottering and as uncertain as ever. They are delivered up into the hands of those who feel neither respect for their persons, nor gratitude for their favours; who are put about them in appearance to serve, in reality to govern them; and, when the signal is given, to abandon and destroy them, in order to set up some new dupe of ambition, who in his turn is to be abandoned and destroyed. Thus, living in a state of continual uneasiness and ferment, softened only by the miserable consolation of giving now and then preferments to those for whom they have no value; they are unhappy in their situation, yet find it impossible to resign. Until, at length, soured in temper, and disappointed by the very attainment of their ends, in some angry, in some haughty, or some negligent moment, they incur the displeasure of those upon whom they have rendered their very being dependent. Then perierunt tempora longi servitii; they are cast off with scorn; they are turned out, emptied of all natural character, of all intrinsic worth, of all essential dignity, and deprived of every consolation of friendship. Having rendered all retreat to old principles ridiculous, and to old regards impracticable, not being able to counterfeit pleasure, or to discharge discontent, nothing being sincere or right, or balanced in their minds, it is more than a chance, that, in the delirium of the last stage of their distempered power, they make an insane political testament, by which they throw all their remaining weight and consequence into the scale of their declared enemies, and the avowed authors of their destruction.
In the meantime, the power that all these changes aimed to secure remains just as unstable and uncertain as ever. They are left in the hands of people who have no respect for them and no gratitude for any favors; those who are supposed to serve them are really there to control them. When the moment comes, they abandon and ruin them to install some new ambitious fool who will also be abandoned and destroyed in turn. Thus, they live in a constant state of anxiety and turmoil, relieved only by the pathetic consolation of occasionally giving promotions to those they regard as worthless. They are unhappy in their situation but find it impossible to change. Eventually, they become bitter and disappointed, and in some angry, arrogant, or careless moment, they incur the anger of those on whom they depend for their very existence. Then perierunt tempora longi servitii; they are cast off with contempt, stripped of all natural character, intrinsic worth, essential dignity, and all the comfort of friendship. Having made any retreat to old principles ridiculous and any return to old relationships impossible, unable to pretend to be happy or shake off their discontent, with nothing in their minds being sincere, right, or balanced, it’s more than likely that in the madness of their final moments of lost power, they create a reckless political testament, where they throw all their remaining influence and significance in favor of their declared enemies, the very people responsible for their downfall.
INJUSTICE TO OUR OWN AGE.
If these evil dispositions should spread much farther they must end in our destruction; for nothing can save a people destitute of public and private faith. However, the author, for the present state of things, has extended the charge by much too widely; as men are but too apt to take the measure of all mankind from their own particular acquaintance. Barren as this age may be in the growth of honour and virtue, the country does not want, at this moment, as strong, and those not a few, examples as were ever known, of an unshaken adherence to principle, and attachment to connexion, against every allurement of interest. Those examples are not furnished by the great alone; nor by those, whose activity in public affairs may render it suspected that they make such a character one of the rounds in their ladder of ambition; but by men more quiet, and more in the shade, on whom an unmixed sense of honour alone could operate.
If these negative traits spread any further, they will lead to our downfall because nothing can save a community lacking both public and personal trust. However, the author has exaggerated the current situation too much; people tend to judge all of humanity based on their own limited experiences. While this time may seem lacking in honor and virtue, the country currently has just as many strong examples, perhaps even more than ever, of unwavering commitment to principles and loyalty, resisting the temptations of self-interest. These examples don't just come from the elite or those whose involvement in public matters might suggest they are using integrity as a stepping stone in their ambitions; they come from quieter individuals and those in the background, who act solely out of a genuine sense of honor.
FALSE COALITIONS.
No system of that kind can be formed, which will not leave room fully sufficient for healing coalitions: but no coalition which, under the specious name of independency, carries in its bosom the unreconciled principles of the original discord of parties, ever was, or will be, an healing coalition. Nor will the mind of our sovereign ever know repose, his kingdom settlement, or his business order, in efficiency or grace with his people, until things are established upon the basis of some set of men, who are trusted by the public, and who can trust one another.
No system like that can be created without allowing ample space for healing coalitions. However, no coalition that, under the misleading name of independence, carries the unresolved principles of the original party conflict has ever been, or will ever be, a healing coalition. The mind of our sovereign will never find peace, nor will his kingdom be settled, or his affairs run smoothly and effectively with his people, until things are based on a group of individuals who are trusted by the public and who can trust one another.
POLITICAL EMPIRICISM.
Men of sense, when new projects come before them, always think a discourse proving the mere right or mere power of acting in the manner proposed, to be no more than a very unpleasant way of mispending time. They must see the object to be of proper magnitude to engage them; they must see the means of compassing it to be next to certain: the mischiefs not to counterbalance the profit; they will examine how a proposed imposition or regulation agrees with the opinion of those who are likely to be affected by it; they will not despise the consideration even of their habitudes and prejudices. They wish to know how it accords or disagrees with the true spirit of prior establishments, whether of government or of finance; because they well know, that in the complicated economy of great kingdoms, and immense revenues, which in a length of time, and by a variety of accidents, have coalesced into a sort of body, an attempt towards a compulsory equality in all circumstances, and an exact practical definition of the supreme rights in every case, is the most dangerous and chimerical of all enterprises. The old building stands well enough, though part Gothic, part Grecian, and part Chinese, until an attempt is made to square it into uniformity. Then it may come down upon our heads altogether, in much uniformity of ruin; and great will be the fall thereof.
Smart people, when new projects are proposed to them, always find discussions proving the mere right or mere power to act as suggested to be a frustrating waste of time. They need to see that the goal is significant enough to capture their interest; they need to be confident in the methods to achieve it; the downsides must not outweigh the benefits; they will consider how the suggested rule or regulation aligns with the views of those likely to be affected by it; they won’t overlook the influence of habits and biases. They want to understand how it fits or clashes with the true spirit of previous systems, whether in government or finance; because they know that in the complex workings of large nations and vast revenues, which over time and through various events have come together into something complex, trying to enforce equality in every circumstance and precisely define supreme rights in every case is the most dangerous and unrealistic undertaking. The old structure stands just fine, even with its mix of Gothic, Grecian, and Chinese styles, until someone tries to force it into a uniform shape. Then it could all come crashing down, creating a uniform destruction; and it will be a significant collapse.
A VISIONARY.
Enough of this visionary union; in which much extravagance appears without any fancy, and the judgment is shocked without anything to refresh the imagination. It looks as if the author had dropped down from the moon, without any knowledge of the general nature of this globe, of the general nature of its inhabitants, without the least acquaintance with the affairs of this country.
Enough of this grand vision; it’s full of extravagance without any creativity, and it’s jarring without offering anything to inspire the imagination. It seems like the author has fallen from the moon, completely unaware of the world we live in, the nature of its people, and with no understanding of the issues in this country.
PARTY DIVISIONS.
Party divisions, whether on the whole operating for good or evil, are things inseparable from free government. This is a truth which, I believe, admits little dispute, having been established by the uniform experience of all ages. The part a good citizen ought to take in these divisions has been a matter of much deeper controversy. But God forbid that any controversy relating to our essential morals should admit of no decision. It appears to me, that this question, like most of the others which regard our duties in life, is to be determined by our station in it. Private men may be wholly neutral, and entirely innocent; but they who are legally invested with public trust, or stand on the high ground of rank and dignity, which is trust implied, can hardly in any case remain indifferent, without the certainty of sinking into insignificance; and thereby in effect deserting that post in which, with the fullest authority, and for the wisest purposes, the laws and institutions of their country have fixed them. However, if it be the office of those who are thus circumstanced, to take a decided part, it is no less their duty that it should be a sober one.
Party divisions, whether they ultimately serve a good or bad purpose, are an inseparable part of free government. I believe this is a truth that doesn’t leave much room for debate, as it has been proven by the consistent experience of all time. The role a good citizen should play in these divisions has led to much deeper discussion. But God forbid that any debate about our core morals should go without a resolution. It seems to me that this question, like most others regarding our responsibilities in life, should be determined by our position in it. Private individuals can be completely neutral and entirely innocent; however, those who hold public office or occupy a position of rank and dignity, which implies responsibility, can hardly be indifferent without risking insignificance, effectively abandoning the role that the laws and institutions of their country have designated for them with full authority and wise purpose. Nevertheless, if it is the role of those in such positions to take a definite stance, it is equally their duty to ensure that it is a measured one.
DECORUM IN PARTY.
It ought to be circumscribed by the same laws of decorum, and balanced by the same temper, which bound and regulate all the virtues. In a word, we ought to act in party with all the moderation which does not absolutely enervate that vigour, and quench that fervency of spirit, without which the best wishes for the public good must evaporate in empty speculation.
It should be limited by the same rules of decorum and guided by the same balance that governs all virtues. In short, we should act with all the moderation that doesn’t completely drain our energy or dampen our enthusiasm, because without these qualities, even our best intentions for the public good will fade into mere empty talk.
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM.
Our circumstances are indeed critical; but then they are the critical circumstances of a strong and mighty nation. If corruption and meanness are greatly spread, they are not spread universally. Many public men are hitherto examples of public spirit and integrity. Whole parties, as far as large bodies can be uniform, have preserved character. However they may be deceived in some particulars, I know of no set of men amongst us which does not contain persons on whom the nation, in a difficult exigence, may well value itself. Private life, which is the nursery of the commonwealth, is yet in general pure, and on the whole disposed to virtue; and the people at large want neither generosity nor spirit. No small part of that very luxury, which is so much the subject of the author's declamation, but which, in most parts of life, by being well balanced and diffused, is only decency and convenience, has perhaps as many or more good than evil consequences attending it. It certainly excites industry, nourishes emulation, and inspires some sense of personal value into all ranks of people. What we want is to establish more fully an opinion of uniformity, and consistency of character, in the leading men of the state; such as will restore some confidence to profession and appearance, such as will fix subordination upon esteem. Without this all schemes are begun at the wrong end.
Our situation is indeed critical; however, it’s the critical situation of a strong and powerful nation. While corruption and meanness are widely spread, they aren’t universal. Many public figures are still examples of dedication and integrity. Overall groups, as much as large bodies can be consistent, have maintained their character. Even if they might be misled in some ways, I don’t know of any group among us that doesn’t include individuals on whom the nation can rely in tough times. Private life, which is the foundation of society, is generally pure and mostly inclined toward virtue; the general population possesses both generosity and spirit. A significant portion of the very luxury that the author complains about—yet which, in many aspects of life, is just decency and convenience due to being well-balanced and shared—has perhaps as many or more positive than negative effects. It certainly encourages hard work, fosters ambition, and instills a sense of personal worth in all levels of society. What we need is to fully establish a sense of uniformity and consistency of character among the leading figures in the state; this will restore some confidence in professions and appearances, and will instill respect through esteem. Without this, all plans are started from the wrong place.
POLITICS WITHOUT PRINCIPLE.
People not very well grounded in the principles of public morality find a set of maxims in office ready made for them, which they assume as naturally and inevitably, as any of the insignia or instruments of the situation. A certain tone of the solid and practical is immediately acquired. Every former profession of public spirit is to be considered as a debauch of youth, or, at best, as a visionary scheme of unattainable perfection. The very idea of consistency is exploded. The convenience of the business of the day is to furnish the principle for doing it. Then the whole ministerial cant is quickly got by heart. The prevalence of faction is to be lamented. All opposition is to be regarded as the effect of envy and disappointed ambition. All administrations are declared to be alike. The same necessity justifies all their measures. It is no longer a matter of discussion, who or what administration is; but that administration is to be supported, is a general maxim. Flattering themselves that their power is become necessary to the support of all order and government, everything which tends to the support of that power is sanctified, and becomes a part of the public interest.
People who aren't well-versed in public morality find a ready-made set of guidelines in office, which they adopt as naturally and inevitably as any symbols or tools of their role. They quickly develop a certain solid and practical tone. Any previous claims of public spirit are dismissed as youthful folly or, at best, unrealistic ideals of unattainable perfection. The very notion of consistency is thrown out the window. The urgency of daily business provides the rationale for their actions. Soon, all the usual political jargon is memorized. The dominance of factions is viewed as a problem to lament. Any opposition is seen as stemming from envy and unfulfilled ambition. All administrations are declared to be the same. The same necessity justifies all their actions. It’s no longer about discussing who or what an administration is; rather, the general belief is that any administration deserves support. Convincing themselves that their power is essential for maintaining order and governance, anything that supports that power is deemed legitimate and becomes part of the public interest.
MORAL DEBASEMENT PROGRESSIVE.
I believe the instances are exceedingly rare of men immediately passing over a clear, marked line of virtue into declared vice and corruption. There are a sort of middle tints and shades between the two extremes; there is something uncertain on the confines of the two empires which they first pass through, and which renders the change easy and imperceptible. There are even a sort of splendid impositions so well contrived, that, at the very time the path of rectitude is quitted for ever, men seem to be advancing into some higher and nobler road of public conduct. Not that such impositions are strong enough in themselves; but a powerful interest, often concealed from those whom it affects, works at the bottom, and secures the operation. Men are thus debauched away from those legitimate connexions, which they had formed on a judgment, early perhaps but sufficiently mature, and wholly unbiassed.
I think it's extremely rare for people to go straight from clearly defining their morals to outright vice and corruption. There's a sort of gray area between these two extremes; there's something ambiguous at the borders of these two states that makes the shift easy and barely noticeable. There are even some impressive deceptions designed so well that, at the moment people abandon the path of integrity, they feel like they're stepping into a higher and nobler way of behaving publicly. It's not that these deceptions are strong enough on their own; rather, a powerful interest, often hidden from those it impacts, operates quietly in the background to ensure this shift. People are led away from legitimate connections they formed based on a judgment that might have been early but was still sufficiently mature and completely unbiased.
DESPOTISM.
It is the nature of despotism to abhor power held by any means but its own momentary pleasure; and to annihilate all intermediate situations between boundless strength on its own part, and total debility on the part of the people.
It’s in the nature of tyranny to hate any power that isn’t its own fleeting enjoyment; and to destroy all middle grounds between its own absolute control and complete weakness on the part of the people.
JUDGMENT AND POLICY.
Nothing can render this a point of indifference to the nation, but what must either render us totally desperate, or sooth us into the security of idiots. We must soften into a credulity below the milkiness of infancy, to think all men virtuous. We must be tainted with a malignity truly diabolical, to believe all the world to be equally wicked and corrupt. Men are in public as in private, some good, some evil. The elevation of the one, and the depression of the other, are the first objects of all true policy. But that form of government, which, neither in its direct institutions, nor in their immediate tendency, has contrived to throw its affairs into the most trustworthy hands, but has left its whole executory system to be disposed of agreeably to the uncontrolled pleasures of any one man, however excellent or virtuous, is a plan of polity defective not only in that member, but consequentially erroneous in every part of it.
Nothing can make this a point of indifference to the nation, except for what must either push us into total desperation or lull us into the false security of fools. We have to become so naïve that we believe everyone is virtuous. We must be infected with a truly evil malignancy to think the entire world is equally wicked and corrupt. People are just like they are in private life; some are good, and some are bad. The rise of the good and the fall of the bad should be the primary goals of any real policy. But a form of government that, in neither its direct institutions nor their immediate outcomes, manages to place its affairs in the most trustworthy hands, and instead leaves its entire execution to the whims of any one individual, no matter how great or virtuous, is a political system that is flawed not just in that aspect, but fundamentally wrong in every part of it.
POPULAR DISCONTENT.
To complain of the age we live in, to murmur at the present possessors of power, to lament the past, to conceive extravagant hopes of the future, are the common dispositions of the greatest part of mankind; indeed, the necessary effects of the ignorance and levity of the vulgar. Such complaints and humours have existed in all times; yet as all times have NOT been alike, true political sagacity manifests itself in distinguishing that complaint which only characterises the general infirmity of human nature, from those which are symptoms of the particular distemperature of our own air and season.
Complaining about the age we live in, grumbling about those in power, mourning the past, and dreaming big about the future are common attitudes among most people. These reactions are, in fact, typical results of the ignorance and carelessness of the masses. Such complaints and moods have always existed; however, since not all times are the same, true political insight shows itself by distinguishing between complaints that reflect the general weaknesses of human nature and those that signal specific issues in our own time and situation.
THE PEOPLE AND THEIR RULERS.
I am not one of those who think that the people are never in the wrong. They have been so, frequently and outrageously, both in other countries and in this. But I do say, that in all disputes between them and their rulers, the presumption is at least upon a par in favour of the people. Experience may perhaps justify me in going farther. When popular discontents have been very prevalent, it may well be affirmed and supported, that there has been generally something found amiss in the constitution, or in the conduct of government. The people have no interest in disorder. When they do wrong, it is their error, and not their crime.
I’m not someone who believes that people are never at fault. They’ve been wrong numerous times, often in extreme ways, both in other countries and here. However, I argue that in any conflict between the public and their leaders, the initial assumption should at least favor the people. My experience might even allow me to go further. When widespread public dissatisfaction occurs, it’s fair to say there’s usually something wrong with the system or the way the government operates. The public doesn’t benefit from chaos. When they make mistakes, it’s a misstep, not a crime.
GOVERNMENT FAVOURITISM.
It is this unnatural infusion of a government which in a great part of its constitution is popular, that has raised the present ferment in the nation. The people, without entering deeply into its principles, could plainly perceive its effects, in much violence, in a great spirit of innovation, and a general disorder in all the functions of government. I keep my eye solely on this system; if I speak of those measures which have arisen from it, it will be so far only as they illustrate the general scheme. This is the fountain of all those bitter waters, of which, through an hundred different conduits, we have drunk until we are ready to burst. The discretionary power of the Crown in the formation of ministry, abused by bad or weak men, has given rise to a system which, without directly violating the letter of any law, operates against the spirit of the whole constitution.
It’s this strange introduction of a government that’s largely based on popular support that has sparked the current turmoil in the nation. The people, without diving too deeply into its principles, can clearly see its effects, which include a lot of violence, a strong desire for change, and widespread disorder in all areas of government. I focus solely on this system; if I discuss any measures that have come from it, it’s only to illustrate the overall framework. This is the source of all those bitter feelings that we’ve experienced through countless channels until we feel ready to explode. The Crown’s discretionary power in forming the government, misused by ineffective or corrupt individuals, has created a system that, without directly breaking any laws, goes against the fundamental spirit of the entire constitution.
A plan of favouritism for our executory government is essentially at variance with the plan of our legislature. One great end undoubtedly of a mixed government like ours, composed of monarchy, and of controls, on the part of the higher people and the lower, is that the prince shall not be able to violate the laws. This is useful indeed and fundamental. But this, even at first view, in no more than a negative advantage; an armour merely defensive. It is therefore next in order, and equal in importance, THAT THE DISCRETIONARY POWERS WHICH ARE NECESSARILY VESTED IN THE MONARCH, WHETHER FOR THE EXECUTION OF THE LAWS, OR FOR THE NOMINATION TO MAGISTRACY AND OFFICE, OR FOR CONDUCTING THE AFFAIRS OF PEACE AND WAR, OR FOR ORDERING THE REVENUE, SHOULD ALL BE EXERCISED UPON PUBLIC PRINCIPLES AND NATIONAL GROUNDS, AND NOT ON THE LIKINGS OR PREJUDICES, THE INTRIGUES OR POLICIES, OF A COURT.
A favoritism plan for our governing body goes against the framework of our legislature. One major goal of a mixed government like ours, which combines elements of monarchy with checks and balances from both higher and lower social classes, is to ensure that the prince cannot break the laws. This is undoubtedly essential and foundational. However, even at first glance, this is only a negative benefit; it serves as a mere defensive measure. Therefore, it is equally important to establish that the discretionary powers that must be given to the monarch—whether for enforcing laws, appointing officials, managing peace and war, or overseeing the budget—should all be exercised based on public principles and national interests, not based on personal preferences, biases, intrigues, or political maneuvering within the court.
ADMINISTRATION AND LEGISLATION.
In arbitrary governments, the constitution of the ministry follows the constitution of the legislature. Both the law and the magistrate are the creatures of will. It must be so. Nothing, indeed, will appear more certain, on any tolerable consideration of this matter, than that EVERY SORT OF GOVERNMENT OUGHT TO HAVE ITS ADMINISTRATION CORRESPONDENT TO ITS LEGISLATURE. If it should be otherwise, things must fall into a hideous disorder. The people of a free commonwealth, who have taken such care that their laws should be the result of general consent, cannot be so senseless as to suffer their executory system to be composed of persons on whom they have no dependence, and whom no proofs of the public love and confidence have recommended to those powers, upon the use of which the very being of the state depends.
In arbitrary governments, the structure of the ministry reflects the structure of the legislature. Both the law and the officials are shaped by personal will. It has to be this way. Nothing is clearer, upon any reasonable consideration of this issue, than that EVERY TYPE OF GOVERNMENT SHOULD HAVE AN ADMINISTRATION THAT MATCHES ITS LEGISLATURE. If it doesn’t, everything will descend into chaos. The people of a free commonwealth, who have ensured that their laws result from general agreement, cannot be so foolish as to allow their executive system to be made up of individuals who have no accountability to them, and who have not been shown to have the public's trust and confidence, which are essential for the very existence of the state.
INFLUENCE OF THE CROWN.
The power of the Crown, almost dead and rotten as Prerogative, has grown up anew, with much more strength, and far less odium, under the name of Influence. An influence, which operated without noise and without violence; an influence which converted the very antagonist into the instrument of power; which contained in itself a perpetual principle of growth and renovation; and which the distresses and the prosperity of the country equally tend to augment, was an admirable substitute for a prerogative, that, being only the offspring of antiquated prejudices, had moulded into its original stamina irresistible principles of decay and dissolution. The ignorance of the people is a bottom but for a temporary system; the interest of active men in the state is a foundation perpetual and infallible.
The power of the Crown, which seemed almost dead and decayed like its Prerogative, has come back stronger than ever and with much less negativity under the name of Influence. An influence that works quietly and without violence; an influence that turns even its opponents into tools of power; one that has an inherent ability to grow and renew itself; and which both the struggles and successes of the country constantly help to increase, serves as an excellent replacement for a prerogative that was just based on outdated beliefs and had built into its core principles of inevitable decline and collapse. The people's ignorance can only support a temporary system; the interests of proactive individuals in the state provide a stable and reliable foundation.
VOICE OF THE PEOPLE.
Government is deeply interested in everything which, even through the medium of some temporary uneasiness, may tend finally to compose the minds of the subjects, and to conciliate their affections. I have nothing to do here with the abstract value of the voice of the people. But as long as reputation, the most precious possession of every individual, and as long as opinion, the great support of the state, depend entirely upon that voice, it can never be considered as a thing of little consequence either to individuals or to governments. Nations are not primarily ruled by laws; less by violence. Whatever original energy may be supposed either in force or regulation, the operation of both is, in truth, merely instrumental. Nations are governed by the same methods, and on the same principles, by which an individual without authority is often able to govern those who are his equals or his superiors—by a knowledge of their temper, and by a judicious management of it; I mean, when public affairs are steadily and quietly conducted; and when government is nothing but a continued scuffle between the magistrate and the multitude; in which sometimes the one and sometimes the other is uppermost; in which they alternately yield and prevail, in a series of contemptible victories, and scandalous submissions. The temper of the people amongst whom he presides ought therefore to be the first study of a statesman. And the knowledge of this temper it is by no means impossible for him to attain, if he has not an interest in being ignorant of what it is his duty to learn.
The government is really concerned about anything that, even if it causes some temporary discomfort, might eventually calm the minds of the citizens and win their affection. I’m not here to discuss the abstract value of the people's voice. But as long as reputation, the most valuable asset for each person, and opinion, the main support for the state, rely completely on that voice, it can never be seen as unimportant to either individuals or governments. Nations aren’t primarily governed by laws; they’re even less governed by force. Whatever initial strength might be thought to exist in power or regulation, both are actually just tools. Nations are managed by the same methods and principles that allow an individual, without formal authority, to influence those who are his equals or superiors—through understanding their mood and managing it wisely; I mean, when public matters are handled steadily and calmly; and when government is just a constant struggle between officials and the people, where sometimes one side and sometimes the other is dominant, alternating between petty victories and disgraceful defeats. Therefore, the temperament of the people he governs should be the first priority for a statesman. It’s definitely possible for him to understand this temperament, as long as he doesn’t have a vested interest in ignoring what he ought to learn.
FALLACY OF EXTREMES.
It is a fallacy in constant use with those who would level all things, and confound right with wrong, to insist upon the inconveniences which are attached to every choice, without taking into consideration the different weight and consequence of those inconveniences. The question is not concerning ABSOLUTE discontent or PERFECT satisfaction in government; neither of which can be pure and unmixed at any time, or upon any system. The controversy is about that degree of good humour in the people, which may possibly be attained, and ought certainly to be looked for. While some politicians may be waiting to know whether the sense of every individual be against them, accurately distinguishing the vulgar from the better sort, drawing lines between the enterprises of a faction and the efforts of a people, they may chance to see the government, which they are so nicely weighing, and dividing, and distinguishing, tumble to the ground in the midst of their wise deliberation. Prudent men, when so great an object as the security of government, or even its peace, is at stake, will not run the risk of a decision which may be fatal to it. They who can read the political sky will see a hurricane in a cloud no bigger than a hand at the very edge of the horizon, and will run into the first harbour. No lines can be laid down for civil or political wisdom. They are a matter incapable of exact definition. But, though no man can draw a stroke between the confines of day and night, yet light and darkness are, upon the whole, tolerably distinguishable. Nor will it be impossible for a prince to find out such a mode of government, and such persons to administer it, as will give a great degree of content to his people; without any curious and anxious research for that abstract, universal, perfect harmony, which, while he is seeking, he abandons those means of ordinary tranquillity which are in his power without any research at all.
It's a common mistake for those who want everything to be equal and mix up right and wrong to focus on the downsides of every choice, without considering how serious and impactful those downsides really are. The issue isn’t about being completely unhappy or fully satisfied with a government; neither can exist purely at any time or under any system. The debate is about how much good will from the people can be achieved and should definitely be pursued. While some politicians may be waiting to see if the public is against them, trying to clearly differentiate between regular folks and the elite, or separating the actions of a faction from those of the public, they might just watch the government they’re analyzing fall apart while they hesitate. Smart people, when the safety or even peace of the government is at risk, won't take the chance on a decision that could be disastrous. Those who can read the political climate will notice a storm brewing in a cloud no bigger than a hand on the horizon and will seek refuge as soon as possible. There are no strict rules for civil or political wisdom; they can’t be precisely defined. But even though no one can draw a clear line between day and night, light and dark can generally be distinguished. It’s certainly possible for a ruler to find a way of governing and the right people to run it that will ensure a high level of contentment among his subjects, without obsessively searching for that abstract, perfect harmony, which, in the process, causes him to overlook the means of everyday peace that are readily available to him.
PRIVATE CHARACTER A BASIS FOR PUBLIC CONFIDENCE.
Before men are put forward into the great trusts of the state, they ought, by their conduct, to have obtained such a degree of estimation in their country, as may be some sort of pledge and security to the public, that they will not abuse those trusts. It is no mean security for a proper use of power, that a man has shown by the general tenor of his actions, that the affection, the good opinion, the confidence of his fellow citizens, have been among the principal objects of his life; and that he has owed none of the degradations of his power or fortune to a settled contempt, or occasional forfeiture of their esteem.
Before individuals are appointed to significant government positions, they should have demonstrated through their actions that they have earned a level of respect in their country, which serves as a sort of assurance to the public that they won't misuse that authority. It’s a strong indicator of responsible power usage when someone has consistently shown that earning the affection, positive opinion, and trust of their fellow citizens has been a major focus in their life, and that any decline in their power or status hasn't come from a lasting disregard or temporary loss of that respect.
That man who before he comes into power has no friends, or who coming into power is obliged to desert his friends, or who losing it has no friends to sympathise with him; he who has no sway among any part of the landed or commercial interest, but whose whole importance has begun with his office, and is sure to end with it; is a person who ought never to be suffered by a controlling parliament to continue in any of those situations which confer the lead and direction of all our public affairs; because such a man HAS NO CONNECTION WITH THE INTEREST OF THE PEOPLE. Those knots or cabals of men who have got together avowedly without any public principle, in order to sell their conjunct iniquity at the higher rate, and are therefore universally odious, ought never to be suffered to domineer in the state; because they have NO CONNECTION WITH THE SENTIMENTS AND OPINIONS OF THE PEOPLE.
That man who enters power without friends, or who has to abandon his friends when he gains power, or who loses power and has no friends to support him; he who lacks influence among any part of the landowners or businesses, but whose entire significance starts with his position and is guaranteed to end with it; is someone who should never be allowed by a governing parliament to remain in any role that leads and directs our public affairs; because such a man HAS NO CONNECTION WITH THE INTEREST OF THE PEOPLE. Those groups of men who come together openly without any public purpose, to profit from their shared wrongdoing, and who are therefore widely disliked, should never be allowed to dominate the state; because they have NO CONNECTION WITH THE SENTIMENTS AND OPINIONS OF THE PEOPLE.
PREVENTION.
Every good political institution must have a preventive operation as well as a remedial. It ought to have a natural tendency to exclude bad men from government, and not to trust for the safety of the state to subsequent punishment alone: punishment, which has ever been tardy and uncertain, and which, when power is suffered in bad hands, may chance to fall rather on the injured than the criminal.
Every effective political institution needs to have both preventative measures and remedial actions. It should naturally aim to keep bad people out of government, rather than relying solely on punishment after the fact for the state's safety: punishment, which has always been slow and unpredictable, and which, when power is in the wrong hands, might end up punishing the victim instead of the offender.
CONFIDENCE IN THE PEOPLE.
They may be assured, that however they amuse themselves with a variety of projects for substituting something else in the place of that great and only foundation of government, the confidence of the people, every attempt will but make their condition worse. When men imagine that their food is only a cover for poison, and when they neither love nor trust the hand that serves it, it is not the name of the roast beef of Old England, that will persuade them to sit down to the table that is spread for them. When the people conceive that laws, and tribunals, and even popular assemblies, are perverted from the ends of their institution, they find in those names of degenerated establishments only new motives to discontent. Those bodies which, when full of life and beauty, lay in their arms, and were their joy and comfort, when dead and putrid, become but the more loathsome from remembrance of former endearments. A sullen gloom and furious disorder prevail by fits: the nation loses its relish for peace and prosperity; as it did in that season of fulness which opened our troubles in the time of Charles the First. A species of men to whom a state of order would become a sentence of obscurity, are nourished into a dangerous magnitude by the heat of intestine disturbances; and it is no wonder that, by a sort of sinister piety, they cherish, in their turn, the disorders which are the parents of all their consequence.
They can be sure that no matter how they entertain themselves with a range of ideas to replace the essential foundation of government—the trust of the people—every effort will only make their situation worse. When people think their food is just a disguise for poison, and when they neither love nor trust the hand that serves it, it's not the name of roast beef from Old England that will convince them to sit down at the table that's set for them. When people believe that laws, courts, and even popular assemblies have strayed from their intended purpose, they find those names of corrupted institutions only give them more reasons to be unhappy. Those entities that, when full of life and vitality, brought them joy and comfort, when dead and decayed, become even more repulsive because of the memories of past affections. A heavy gloom and chaotic unrest take turns dominating; the nation loses its taste for peace and prosperity, just as it did during the period of abundance that led to our troubles in the time of Charles the First. A type of people for whom a state of order would mean being forgotten is growing dangerously large, fueled by the intensity of internal conflicts; and it’s no surprise that, out of a sort of twisted sense of duty, they nurture the chaos that gives them all their significance.
FALSE MAXIMS ASSUMED AS FIRST PRINCIPLES.
It is an advantage to all narrow wisdom and narrow morals, that their maxims have a plausible air; and, on a cursory view, appear equal to first principles. They are light and portable. They are as current as copper coin; and about as valuable. They serve equally the first capacities and the lowest; and they are, at least, as useful to the worst men as to the best. Of this stamp is the cant of NOT MEN, BUT MEASURES; a sort of charm by which many people get loose from every honourable engagement. When I see a man acting this desultory and disconnected part, with as much detriment to his own fortune as prejudice to the cause of any party, I am not persuaded that he is right; but I am ready to believe he is in earnest. I respect virtue in all its situations; even when it is found in the unsuitable company of weakness. I lament to see qualities rare and valuable, squandered away without any public utility. But when a gentleman with great visible emoluments abandons the party in which he has long acted, and tells you, it is because he proceeds upon his own judgment; that he acts on the merits of the several measures as they arise; and that he is obliged to follow his own conscience, and not that of others; he gives reasons which it is impossible to controvert, and discovers a character which it is impossible to mistake. What shall we think of him who never differed from a certain set of men until the moment they lost their power, and who never agreed with them in a single instance afterwards? Would not such a coincidence of interest and opinion be rather fortunate? Would it not be an extraordinary cast upon the dice, that a man's connexions should degenerate into faction, precisely at the critical moment when they lose their power, or he accepts a place? When people desert their connexions, the desertion is a manifest FACT, upon which a direct simple issue lies, triable by plain men. Whether a MEASURE of government be right or wrong, IS NO MATTER OF FACT, but a mere affair of opinion, on which men may, as they do, dispute and wrangle without end. But whether the individual THINKS the measure right or wrong, is a point at still a greater distance from the reach of all human decision. It is therefore very convenient to politicians, not to put the judgment of their conduct on overt acts, cognizable in any ordinary court, but upon such matter as can be triable only in that secret tribunal, where they are sure of being heard with favour, or where at worst the sentence will be only private whipping.
It’s a benefit for all narrow-minded views and morals that their sayings seem plausible and, at first glance, appear to be grounded in fundamental principles. They’re easy to carry around. They’re as common as loose change, and about as valuable. They’re useful to both the highest and lowest types of people; in fact, they are at least as beneficial to the worst individuals as they are to the best. An example of this is the saying “NOT MEN, BUT MEASURES,” which allows many people to escape from any honorable commitments. When I see someone acting this random and disconnected way, causing harm to their own situation as well as damaging the cause of any group, I’m not convinced they are right; however, I’m willing to believe they genuinely mean it. I respect virtue in all its forms, even when it appears alongside weakness. It’s disheartening to witness rare and valuable qualities wasted without any public benefit. Yet, when a person with significant visible rewards leaves the party they’ve been a part of for a long time, claiming they’re doing so based on their own judgment, that they’re acting based on the merits of various measures as they come up, and that they must follow their own conscience rather than that of others, they present reasons that are hard to argue against and reveal a character that’s hard to misinterpret. What should we think of someone who never disagreed with a particular group until the moment they lost their influence, and who hasn’t agreed with them since? Wouldn’t that alignment of interest and opinion be somewhat lucky? Wouldn’t it be an extraordinary coincidence if a person’s connections turned into a faction right when they lose their power or take a position? When people break away from their connections, the break is a clear FACT, leading to a straightforward issue that can be judged by ordinary people. Whether a government MEASURE is right or wrong is NOT A MATTER OF FACT, but rather a subjective issue that people can argue about endlessly. However, whether an individual BELIEVES the measure is right or wrong is something that’s even further from the grasp of any human judgment. Thus, it’s very convenient for politicians not to base their conduct on overt actions that any regular court can recognize but instead on matters that can only be judged in that hidden court, where they’re assured of being treated favorably, or at worst, receive only a private reprimand.
LORD CHATHAM.
Another scene was opened, and other actors appeared on the stage. The State, in the condition I have described it, was delivered into the hands of Lord Chatham—a great and celebrated name; a name that keeps the name of this country respectable in every other on the globe. It may be truly called—
Another scene began, and different actors stepped onto the stage. The State, in the situation I’ve described, was handed over to Lord Chatham—a prominent and renowned figure; a name that maintains this country's reputation in every other part of the world. It could truly be called—
Clarum et venerabile nomen
Gentibus, et multum nostrae quod proderat urbi.
Clarum et venerabile nomen
Gentibus, et multum nostrae quod proderat urbi.Sir, the venerable age of this great man, his merited rank, his superior eloquence, his splendid qualities, his eminent services, the vast space he fills in the eye of mankind; and, more than all the rest, his fall from power, which, like death, canonizes and sanctifies a great character, will not suffer me to censure any part of his conduct. I am afraid to flatter him; I am sure I am not disposed to blame him. Let those, who have betrayed him by their adulation, insult him with their malevolence. But what I do not presume to censure, I may have leave to lament. For a wise man, he seemed to me at that time to be governed too much by general maxims. I speak with the freedom of history, and I hope without offence. One or two of these maxims, flowing from an opinion not the most indulgent to our unhappy species, and surely a little too general, led him into measures that were greatly mischievous to himself; and for that reason, among others, perhaps fatal to his country; measures, the effects of which, I am afraid, are for ever incurable. He made an administration, so checkered and speckled; he put together a piece of joinery, so crossly indented and whimsically dove-tailed; a cabinet so variously inlaid; such a piece of diversified mosaic; such a tesselated pavement without cement; here a bit of black stone, and there a bit of white; patriots and courtiers, king's friends and republicans; Whigs and Tories; treacherous friends and open enemies; that it was indeed a very curious show; but utterly unsafe to touch, and unsure to stand on. The colleagues whom he had assorted at the same boards, stared at each other, and were obliged to ask, "Sir, your name?—Sir, you have the advantage of me—Mr. Such-a-one—I beg a thousand pardons—" I venture to say, it did so happen, that persons had a single office divided between them, who had never spoken to each other in their lives, until they found themselves, they knew not how, pigging together, heads and points, in the same truckle-bed.
Sir, the respected age of this great man, his well-deserved status, his exceptional eloquence, his impressive qualities, his distinguished contributions, the significant presence he holds in the eyes of the public; and, more than anything else, his fall from power, which, much like death, elevates and sanctifies a great character, prevents me from criticizing any part of his actions. I hesitate to flatter him; I’m certain I don’t want to blame him. Let those who have deceived him with their flattery insult him with their malice. But while I don’t presume to criticize, I hope I can express my sorrow. At that time, I felt that a wise man like him was too influenced by general principles. I speak freely about history, and I hope to cause no offense. One or two of these principles, which stem from a rather unkind view of our unfortunate species, and are certainly a bit too broad, led him to take actions that were extremely harmful to himself; and for that reason, among others, potentially disastrous for his country; actions whose consequences, I fear, may be beyond repair. He created an administration that was so mixed and confused; he assembled a team that was so awkwardly put together and weirdly combined; a cabinet so varied; such a patchwork; such a tiled surface without any glue; here a piece of black, and there a piece of white; patriots and courtiers, supporters of the king and republicans; Whigs and Tories; deceitful allies and open adversaries; that it was indeed a fascinating sight; but completely dangerous to engage with, and unstable to rely on. The colleagues he had brought together stared at each other and had to ask, “Sir, what’s your name?—Sir, I’m not sure I know you—Mr. So-and-so—I apologize a thousand times—” I’d venture to say it happened that individuals had sharing the same role who had never spoken to one another in their lives, until they found themselves, they didn’t know how, squeezed together, heads and points, in the same bunk.
Sir, in consequence of this arrangement, having put so much the larger part of his enemies and opposers into power, the confusion was such, that his own principles could not possibly have any effect or influence in the conduct of affairs. If ever he fell into a fit of the gout, or if any other cause withdrew him from public cares, principles directly the contrary were sure to predominate. When he had executed his plan, he had not an inch of ground to stand upon. When he had accomplished his scheme of administration, he was no longer a minister. When his face was hid but for a moment, his whole system was on a wide sea, without chart or compass. The gentlemen, his particular friends, who, with the names of various departments of ministry, were admitted to seem as if they acted a part under him, with a modesty that becomes all men, and with a confidence in him, which was justified even in its extravagance by his superior abilities, had never, in any instance, presumed upon any opinion of their own. Deprived of his guiding influence, they were whirled about, the sport of every gust, and easily driven into any port; and as those who joined with them in manning the vessel were the most directly opposite to his opinions, measures, and character, and far the most artful and most powerful of the set, they easily prevailed, so as to seize upon the vacant, unoccupied, and derelict minds of his friends; and instantly they turned the vessel wholly out of the course of his policy. As if it were to insult as well as to betray him, even long before the close of the first session of his administration, when everything was publicly transacted, and with great parade, in his name, they made an act, declaring it highly just and expedient to raise a revenue in America. For even then, Sir, even before this splendid orb was entirely set, and while the western horizon was in a blaze with his descending glory, on the opposite quarter of the heavens arose another luminary, and, for his hour, became lord of the ascendant.
Sir, because of this arrangement, having put so many of his enemies and opponents into power, the confusion was so great that his own principles had no chance of influencing the way things were run. Whenever he suffered from gout or was otherwise pulled away from his public responsibilities, completely contrary principles would take over. After implementing his plan, he had no ground left to stand on. After finishing his administrative scheme, he was no longer a minister. When he was absent, even for just a moment, his entire system drifted like a ship on a vast sea, without a map or compass. His close friends, who were given titles in various government departments to make it seem like they were acting under him, displayed a modesty appropriate for all men, along with a confidence in him supported by his exceptional abilities. Yet, they never assumed any opinions of their own. Without his guidance, they were tossed around like leaves in the wind, easily swayed in any direction; and since those who joined them in navigating the ship held views and strategies that were directly opposed to his, and were far more skilled and influential, they easily took control and occupied the empty, unclaimed minds of his supporters. Instantly, they steered the ship completely away from his policy. As if to insult him as well as betray him, even before the first session of his administration concluded, when everything was publicly conducted with great fanfare in his name, they enacted a law declaring it both just and necessary to raise revenue in America. For even then, Sir, even before this brilliant light fully set, while the western horizon blazed with his diminishing glory, another light rose in the opposite part of the sky, and, for a time, took the lead.
GRENVILLE.
Mr. Grenville was a first-rate figure in this country. With a masculine understanding, and a stout and resolute heart, he had an application undissipated and unwearied. He took public business not as a duty which he was to fulfil, but as a pleasure he was to enjoy; and he seemed to have no delight out of this house, except in such things as some way related to the business that was to be done within it. If he was ambitious, I will say this for him, his ambition was of a noble and generous strain. It was to raise himself, not by the low, pimping politics of a court, but to win his way to power, through the laborious gradations of public service; and to secure himself a well-earned rank in Parliament, by a thorough knowledge of its constitution, and a perfect practice in all its business.
Mr. Grenville was a top-notch figure in this country. With a strong understanding and a determined heart, he had an unwavering and tireless dedication. He approached public work not as a duty he had to fulfill, but as a pleasure to enjoy; and it seemed he found little joy outside this house, except in things related to the work that needed to be done within it. If he was ambitious, I can say this about him: his ambition was noble and generous. He aimed to elevate himself, not through the low and devious politics of the court, but by earning his way to power through the hard work of public service; and he sought to secure a well-deserved position in Parliament through a deep knowledge of its structure and a solid practice of all its proceedings.
Sir, if such a man fell into errors, it must be from defects not intrinsical; they must be rather sought in the particular habits of his life; which though they do not alter the ground-work of character, yet tinge it with their own hue. He was bred in a profession. He was bred to the law, which is, in my opinion, one of the first and noblest of human sciences; a science which does more to quicken and invigorate the understanding, than all the other kinds of learning put together; but it is not apt, except in persons very happily born, to open and to liberalize the mind exactly in the same proportion. Passing from that study he did not go very largely into the world; but plunged into business; I mean into the business of office; and the limited and fixed methods and forms established there. Much knowledge is to be had undoubtedly in that line; and there is no knowledge which is not valuable. But it may be truly said, that men too much conversant in office are rarely minds of remarkable enlargement. Their habits of office are apt to give them a turn to think the substance of business not to be much more important than the forms in which it is conducted. These forms are adapted to ordinary occasions; and therefore persons who are nurtured in office do admirably well as long as things go on in their common order; but when the high roads are broken up, and the waters out, when a new and troubled scene is opened, and the file affords no precedent, then it is that a greater knowledge of mankind, and a far more extensive comprehension of things, is requisite, than ever office gave, or than office can ever give.
Sir, if such a person made mistakes, it must be due to flaws that aren't inherent to him; they should instead be looked for in the specific habits of his life, which, while they don't change the core of his character, do color it in their own way. He was raised in a profession—specifically, he was trained in law, which I believe is one of the most esteemed and noble of human sciences; a field that does more to stimulate and sharpen the mind than all other forms of learning combined. However, it doesn’t always foster a broader and more open mindset, except in those who are exceptionally well-suited for it. After leaving that study, he didn’t engage with the world broadly, but rather dove into office work, confined to the established methods and procedures there. There is certainly much knowledge to gain in that area, and no knowledge is without value. But it can be said truthfully that individuals who are too absorbed in office work often have minds that are not remarkably expansive. Their office habits tend to lead them to believe that the essence of business is not much more significant than the procedures through which it's carried out. These procedures are designed for routine situations; thus, those who are raised in office work excel as long as things proceed in their usual manner. However, when the main paths are disrupted, and the waters are out, when a new and chaotic situation arises that has no precedent, that is when a deeper understanding of people and a much broader perspective on things is needed—more than what office work has provided or can ever provide.
CHARLES TOWNSHEND.
This light too is passed and set for ever. You understand, to be sure, that I speak of Charles Townshend, officially the reproducer of this fatal scheme; whom I cannot even now remember without some degree of sensibility. In truth, Sir, he was the delight and ornament of this house, and the charm of every private society which he honoured with his presence. Perhaps there never arose in this country, nor in any country, a man of a more pointed and finished wit; and (where his passions were not concerned) of a more refined, exquisite, and penetrating judgment. If he had not so great a stock, as some have had who flourished formerly, of knowledge long treasured up, he knew better by far, than any man I ever was acquainted with, how to bring together within a short time, all that was necessary to establish, to illustrate, and to decorate that side of the question he supported. He stated his matter skilfully and powerfully. He particularly excelled in a most luminous explanation and display of his subject. His style of argument was neither trite and vulgar, nor subtle and abstruse. He hit the house just between wind and water. And not being troubled with too anxious a zeal for any matter in question, he was never more tedious, or more earnest, than the pre-conceived opinions and present temper of his hearers required; to whom he was always in perfect unison. He conformed exactly to the temper of the house; and he seemed to guide, because he was always sure to follow it.
This light has also faded and is gone forever. You understand, of course, that I’m talking about Charles Townshend, the official promoter of this disastrous plan; I can't remember him now without feeling a certain sadness. Truly, Sir, he was the pride and joy of this house, and the life of every private gathering he attended. Perhaps there has never been a man in this country, or any country, with a sharper and more polished wit; and, when his passions were not involved, he had a more refined, exquisite, and insightful judgment than anyone I’ve ever known. While he might not have had the vast stores of knowledge that some past figures possessed, he certainly knew better than anyone else how to quickly gather all that was needed to establish, illustrate, and support the side of the argument he was making. He presented his points skillfully and powerfully. He particularly excelled at clearly explaining and showcasing his topic. His style of argument was neither cliché and common nor overly complicated and obscure. He struck the right balance for the audience. And since he wasn’t overly passionate about any issue at hand, he was never dull or too intense, adapting perfectly to the opinions and mood of his listeners, whom he always resonated with. He matched the mood of the house exactly; he seemed to lead because he always knew how to follow it.
PARTY AND PLACE.
Party is a body of men united, for promoting by their joint endeavours the national interest, upon some particular principle in which they are all agreed. For my part, I find it impossible to conceive that any one believes in his own politics, or thinks them to be of any weight, who refuses to adopt the means of having them reduced into practice. It is the business of the speculative philosopher to mark the proper ends of government. It is the business of the politician, who is the philosopher in action, to find out proper means towards those ends, and to employ them with effect. Therefore every honourable connection will avow it is their first purpose to pursue every just method to put the men who hold their opinions into such a condition as may enable them to carry their common plans into execution, with all the power and authority of the state. As this power is attached to certain situations, it is their duty to contend for these situations. Without a proscription of others, they are bound to give to their own party the preference in all things; and by no means, for private considerations, to accept any offers of power in which the whole body is not included; nor to suffer themselves to be led, or to be controlled, or to be overbalanced, in office or in council, by those who contradict the very fundamental principles on which their party is formed, and even those upon which every fair connection must stand. Such a generous contention for power, on such manly and honourable maxims, will easily be distinguished from the mean and interested struggle for place and emolument. The very style of such persons will serve to discriminate them from those numberless imposters who have deluded the ignorant with professions incompatible with human practice, and have afterwards incensed them by practices below the level of vulgar rectitude.
A party is a group of people united to promote the national interest through their combined efforts, based on a specific principle they all agree on. Personally, I find it hard to believe that anyone truly believes in their own political views or thinks they matter if they refuse to take action to implement them. It's the job of the theoretical philosopher to identify the right goals of government. The job of the politician, who is the philosopher in action, is to discover effective ways to achieve those goals and to put them into practice. Therefore, any respected group will admit that their main goal is to pursue all fair methods to empower those who share their views so they can implement their common plans with the full backing of the state. Since this power is linked to certain positions, it is their responsibility to fight for those positions. While not excluding others, they must prioritize their own party in all matters and, for no personal reasons, should refuse any offers of power that do not include the entire group. They should not allow themselves to be swayed, controlled, or overpowered in office or council by those who oppose the fundamental principles upon which their party is built or those that any fair group must adhere to. This noble quest for power, based on strong and honorable principles, will easily contrast with the petty and self-serving struggle for positions and benefits. The very demeanor of such individuals will help distinguish them from the many frauds who have misled the naive with promises that are incompatible with real-life practices, only to later anger them with actions that fall well below acceptable standards.
POLITICAL CONNECTIONS.
Every profession, not excepting the glorious one of a soldier, or the sacred one of a priest, is liable to its own particular vices, which, however, form no argument against those ways of life; nor are the vices themselves inevitable to every individual in those professions. Of such a nature are connections in politics; essentially necessary for the full performance of our public duty, accidentally liable to degenerate into faction. Commonwealths are made of families, free commonwealths of parties also; and we may as well affirm, that our natural regards and ties of blood tend inevitably to make men bad citizens, as that the bonds of our party weaken those by which we are held to our country.
Every profession, including the noble role of a soldier or the sacred duty of a priest, has its own specific flaws, which do not serve as a reason to dismiss those lifestyles; nor are those flaws unavoidable for everyone in those professions. Connections in politics are necessary for effectively fulfilling our public responsibilities but can unintentionally lead to division. Societies are made up of families, and free societies consist of various groups; we might as well say that our natural connections and family ties inevitably turn people into bad citizens as claim that the ties of our political party weaken our commitment to our country.
Some legislators went so far as to make neutrality in party a crime against the state. I do not know whether this might not have been rather to overstrain the principle. Certain it is, the best patriots in the greatest commonwealths have always commended and promoted such connections. Idem sentire de republica, was with them a principal ground of friendship and attachment; nor do I know any other capable of forming firmer, dearer, more pleasing, more honourable, and more virtuous habitudes. The Romans carried this principle a great way. Even the holding of offices together, the disposition of which arose from chance, not selection, gave rise to a relation which continued for life. It was called necessitudo sortis; and it was looked upon with a sacred reverence. Breaches of any of these kinds of civil relation were considered as acts of the most distinguished turpitude. The whole people was distributed into political societies, in which they acted in support of such interests in the state as they severally affected. For it was then thought no crime to endeavour, by every honest means, to advance to superiority and power those of your own sentiments and opinions. This wise people was far from imagining that those connections had no tie, and obliged to no duty; but that men might quit them without shame, upon every call of interest. They believed private honour to be the great foundation of public trust; that friendship was no mean step towards patriotism; that he who, in the common intercourse of life, showed he regarded somebody besides himself, when he came to act in a public situation, might probably consult some other interest than his own.
Some lawmakers went as far as to make remaining neutral in party affiliation a crime against the state. I'm not sure if that might have been an overreach. What’s clear is that the best patriots in the largest nations have always supported and valued such connections. Sharing similar views about the republic was a key basis for friendship and loyalty for them; I can't think of any other kind of relationship that could create stronger, more cherished, enjoyable, honorable, and virtuous bonds. The Romans took this principle very seriously. Even holding offices together, arising from chance rather than choice, formed a lifelong bond that was called necessitudo sortis, and it was treated with great respect. Breaking these civil relationships was seen as a serious moral failing. The entire population was divided into political groups, where they worked to support the interests of the state that affected them individually. They believed it wasn’t wrong to use every honest means to elevate those who shared their sentiments and beliefs to positions of power. This wise society didn’t think those connections lacked obligation or responsibility; they felt people could walk away from them without shame whenever it suited their interests. They believed that personal integrity was the foundation of public trust, that friendship was a significant step toward patriotism, and that someone who demonstrated care for others in daily life was likely to consider interests beyond their own when acting in a public role.
NEUTRALITY.
They were a race of men (I hope in God the species is extinct) who, when they rose in their place, no man living could divine, from any known adherence to parties, to opinions, or to principles, from any order or system in their politics, or from any sequel or connection in their ideas, what part they were going to take in any debate. It is astonishing how much this uncertainty, especially at critical times, called the attention of all parties on such men. All eyes were fixed on them, all ears open to hear them; each party gaped, and looked alternately for their vote, almost to the end of their speeches. While the house hung on this uncertainty, now the HEAR HIMS rose from this side—now they rebellowed from the other; and that party, to whom they fell at length from their tremulous and dancing balance, always received them in a tempest of applause. The fortune of such men was a temptation too great to be resisted by one to whom a single whiff of incense withheld gave much greater pain than he received delight in the clouds of it which daily rose about him from the prodigal superstition of innumerable admirers. He was a candidate for contradictory honours; and his great aim was to make those agree in admiration of him who never agreed in anything else.
They were a group of men (I hope to God they’re extinct) who, when they took their stand, no one could figure out, based on any known party loyalty, opinions, or principles, or any pattern in their politics, what side they would take in any debate. It’s amazing how much this unpredictability, especially during crucial moments, drew the attention of all parties to these men. Everyone was focused on them, eager to hear their thoughts; each party anxiously awaited their vote, almost until the end of their speeches. While the room was filled with this uncertainty, shouts of “Hear him!” erupted from one side—then echoed from the other; and the party that finally won their wavering support ended up receiving them in a storm of applause. The allure of such men was too tempting for anyone to resist, especially for someone who felt more pain from a single snub than joy from the constant praise coming from countless adoring fans. He was vying for contradictory honors, and his main goal was to unify those who could never agree on anything else in their admiration of him.
WEAKNESS IN GOVERNMENT.
Let us learn from our experience. It is not support that is wanting to government, but reformation. When ministry rests upon public opinion, it is not indeed built upon a rock of adamant; it has, however, some stability. But when it stands upon private humour, its structure is of stubble, and its foundation is on quicksand. I repeat it again—He that supports every administration subverts all government. The reason is this: The whole business in which a court usually takes an interest goes on at present equally well, in whatever hands, whether high or low, wise or foolish, scandalous or reputable; there is nothing, therefore, to hold it firm to any one body of men, or to any one consistent scheme of politics. Nothing interposes to prevent the full operation of all the caprices and all the passions of a court upon the servants of the public. The system of administration is open to continual shocks and changes, upon the principles of the meanest cabal, and the most contemptible intrigue. Nothing can be solid and permanent. All good men at length fly with horror from such a service. Men of rank and ability, with the spirit which ought to animate such men in a free state, while they decline the jurisdiction of dark cabal on their actions and their fortunes, will, for both, cheerfully put themselves upon their country. They will trust an inquisitive and distinguishing parliament; because it does inquire, and does distinguish. If they act well, they know that, in such a parliament, they will be supported against any intrigue; if they act ill, they know that no intrigue can protect them. This situation, however awful, is honourable. But in one hour, and in the self-same assembly, without any assigned or assignable cause, to be precipitated from the highest authority to the most marked neglect, possibly into the greatest peril of life and reputation, is a situation full of danger, and destitute of honour. It will be shunned equally by every man of prudence, and every man of spirit.
Let’s learn from our experiences. What the government needs isn’t just support, but real reform. When leadership depends on public opinion, it may not be as sturdy as a rock, but it has some level of stability. However, when it relies on personal whims, it’s as flimsy as straw and its foundation is like quicksand. I’ll say it again—supporting every administration actually undermines all government. Here’s why: the whole business that a court typically cares about currently runs just as smoothly, regardless of who’s in charge—whether they’re high or low, wise or foolish, scandalous or reputable; there’s nothing to anchor it to any particular group of people or consistent political plan. Nothing stops the full influence of all the whims and emotions of the court on public servants. The administration system is constantly vulnerable to shocks and changes based on the most trivial conspiracies and petty schemes. Nothing can truly be solid and lasting. Eventually, all decent people flee from such a service in horror. Those with rank and talent, who have the drive expected of leaders in a free state, will willingly put themselves at the mercy of their country, rejecting the dark conspiracies affecting their actions and futures. They will trust a questioning and discerning parliament because it does ask questions and make distinctions. If they do well, they know they will be backed against any schemes; if they do poorly, they understand that no scheme can save them. This situation, while truly daunting, is also honorable. But being thrust from the highest authority to complete neglect, potentially facing grave threats to life and reputation—all in the same assembly and without any clear reason—is both perilous and devoid of honor. Both prudent people and those with spirit will avoid such a situation.
AMERICAN PROGRESS.
Nothing in the history of mankind is like their progress. For my part, I never cast an eye on their flourishing commerce, and their cultivated and commodious life, but they seem to me rather ancient nations grown to perfection through a long series of fortunate events, and a train of successful industry, accumulating wealth in many centuries, than the colonies of yesterday; than a set of miserable outcasts, a few years ago, not so much sent as thrown out, on the bleak and barren shore of a desolate wilderness, three thousand miles from all civilized intercourse.
Nothing in human history compares to their advancement. Personally, whenever I look at their thriving trade and their refined, comfortable lifestyle, they seem to me more like ancient nations that have reached perfection through a long streak of good fortune and successful hard work, gathering wealth over many centuries, rather than just yesterday's colonies; rather than a group of unfortunate outcasts who, just a few years ago, were not so much sent as cast away on the harsh, empty coast of a desolate wilderness, three thousand miles away from any civilized interaction.
COMBINATION, NOT FACTION.
That connection and faction are equivalent terms, is an opinion which has been carefully inculcated at all times by unconstitutional statesmen. The reason is evident. Whilst men are linked together, they easily and speedily communicate the alarm of any evil design. They are enabled to fathom it with common counsel, and to oppose it with united strength. Whereas, when they lie dispersed, without concert, order, or discipline, communication is uncertain, counsel difficult, and resistance impracticable. Where men are not acquainted with each other's principles, nor experienced in each other's talents, nor at all practised in their mutual habitudes and dispositions by joint efforts in business; no personal confidence, no friendship, no common interest, subsisting among them; it is evidently impossible that they can act a public part with uniformity, perseverance, or efficacy. In a connection, the most inconsiderable man, by adding to the weight of the whole, has his value, and his use; out of it, the greatest talents are wholly unserviceable to the public. No man, who is not inflamed by vain-glory into enthusiasm, can flatter himself that his single, unsupported, desultory, unsystematic endeavours, are of power to defeat the subtle designs and united cabals of ambitious citizens. When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.
That connection and faction are the same thing is a belief that unconstitutional leaders have consistently pushed. The reason is clear. When people are connected, they can quickly warn each other about any harmful plans. They can understand the situation together and resist it with a united front. On the other hand, when they're scattered, without organization, order, or discipline, communication becomes unreliable, collaboration is tough, and standing up against threats is impossible. When people don’t know each other’s beliefs, skills, or have not worked together on shared efforts; when there’s no trust, friendship, or common goals among them; it’s clear that they can't act effectively in public matters with consistency or determination. In a connection, even the least significant person contributes to the overall strength, and their value is recognized; outside of that connection, even the most talented individuals are useless to the public. No one, unless driven by vain glory into excitement, can seriously believe that their lone, random, uncoordinated efforts can defeat the clever plots and combined efforts of ambitious individuals. When bad people team up, the good must come together; otherwise, they will individually become pitiful victims in a worthless fight.
GREAT MEN.
Great men are the guide-posts and land-marks in the state. The credit of such men at court, or in the nation, is the sole cause of all the public measures. It would be an invidious thing (most foreign, I trust, to what you think my disposition) to remark the errors into which the authority of great names has brought the nation, without doing justice at the same time to the great qualities whence that authority arose. The subject is instructive to those who wish to form themselves on whatever of excellence has gone before them. There are many young members in the house (such of late has been the rapid succession of public men) who never saw that prodigy, Charles Townshend; nor of course know what a ferment he was able to excite in everything by the violent ebullition of his mixed virtues and failings. For failings he had undoubtedly—many of us remember them; we are this day considering the effect of them. But he had no failings which were not owing to a noble cause; to an ardent, generous, perhaps an immoderate, passion for fame; a passion which is the instinct of all great souls.
Great individuals are the guideposts and landmarks in society. The influence of such people at court or in the nation is the primary reason behind all public measures. It would be unfair (and quite different from what you might believe my nature to be) to point out the mistakes that the authority of well-known figures has led the nation into, without also acknowledging the great qualities that earned them that authority. This topic is valuable for those who want to model themselves on the excellence that has come before them. There are many young members in the House (as we've seen the rapid turnover of public figures lately) who never witnessed the remarkable Charles Townshend; thus, they’re unaware of the turmoil he could cause in everything through the intense blend of his strengths and weaknesses. He certainly had flaws—many of us remember them; we are contemplating their impact today. However, none of his shortcomings stemmed from anything but a noble cause; they arose from a passionate, generous, and perhaps excessive desire for fame—a desire that is inherent to all great souls.
POWER OF CONSTITUENTS.
The power of the people, within the laws, must show itself sufficient to protect every representative in the animated performance of his duty, or that duty cannot be performed. The House of Commons can never be a control on other parts of government, unless they are controlled themselves by their constituents; and unless these constituents possess some right in the choice of that house, which it is not in the power of that house to take away. If they suffer this power of arbitrary incapacitation to stand, they have utterly perverted every other power of the House of Commons. The late proceeding I will not say IS contrary to law, it MUST be so; for the power which is claimed cannot, by any possibility, be a legal power in any limited member of government.
The people's power, within the laws, must be strong enough to protect every representative while they fulfill their duties, or those duties cannot be completed. The House of Commons can never effectively oversee other parts of the government unless they themselves are accountable to their constituents; and those constituents must have some right to choose members of that house, a right that the house cannot revoke. If they allow this arbitrary power to exist, they've completely undermined every other authority of the House of Commons. The recent actions, I won't say are against the law, but they definitely must be because the power being claimed cannot, in any way, be a legal power held by any limited member of the government.
INFLUENCE OF PLACE IN GOVERNMENT.
It is no inconsiderable part of wisdom, to know how much of an evil ought to be tolerated; lest, by attempting a degree of purity impracticable in degenerate times and manners, instead of cutting off the subsisting ill practices, new corruptions might be produced for the concealment and security of the old. It were better, undoubtedly, that no influence at all could affect the mind of a member of Parliament. But of all modes of influence, in my opinion, a place under the government is the least disgraceful to the man who holds it, and by far the most safe to the country. I would not shut out that sort of influence which is open and visible, which is connected with the dignity and the service of the state, when it is not in my power to prevent the influence of contracts, of subscriptions, of direct bribery, and those innumerable methods of clandestine corruption, which are abundantly in the hands of the court, and which will be applied as long as these means of corruption, and the disposition to be corrupted, have existence among us. Our constitution stands on a nice equipoise, with steep precipices and deep waters upon all sides of it. In removing it from a dangerous leaning towards one side, there may be a risk of oversetting it on the other. Every project of a material change in a government so complicated as ours, combined at the same time with external circumstances, still more complicated, is a matter full of difficulties: in which a considerate man will not be too ready to decide; a prudent man too ready to undertake; or an honest man too ready to promise. They do not respect the public nor themselves, who engage for more than they are sure that they ought to attempt, or that they are able to perform.
It takes a certain wisdom to understand how much of a problem should be tolerated; otherwise, in trying to achieve an unrealistic level of purity in a corrupted time and society, we might end up creating new corrupt practices to hide and protect the old ones rather than eliminating them. Ideally, it would be best if no influence could affect a member of Parliament's mind at all. However, of all the forms of influence, I believe a government position is the least embarrassing for the person in it and is by far the safest for the country. I wouldn't want to eliminate that kind of influence, which is open and visible and tied to the dignity and service of the state, especially when I can’t stop the influence of contracts, subscriptions, direct bribes, and the countless secret methods of corruption that are readily available to those in power, and which will persist as long as these corrupting means and the willingness to be corrupted exist among us. Our constitution is delicately balanced, with steep cliffs and deep waters all around it. In trying to correct a dangerous tilt to one side, there’s a risk of tipping it over to the other. Any significant change in a government as complex as ours, especially in conjunction with even more complicated external factors, is fraught with challenges: a thoughtful person won’t be too quick to make decisions; a wise person won’t be too eager to act; and an honest person won’t be too quick to make promises. Those who promise more than they are certain they can attempt or fulfill do not respect the public or themselves.
TAXATION INVOLVES PRINCIPLE.
No man ever doubted that the commodity of tea could bear an imposition of threepence. But no commodity will bear threepence, or will bear a penny, when the general feelings of men are irritated, and two millions of people are resolved not to pay. The feelings of the colonies were formerly the feelings of Great Britain. Theirs were formerly the feelings of Mr. Hampden when called upon for the payment of twenty shillings. Would twenty shillings have ruined Mr. Hampden's fortune? No! but the payment of half twenty shillings, on the principle it was demanded, would have made him a slave.
No one ever questioned that tea could handle a threepence tax. But no product can handle a threepence tax, or even a penny, when people are upset, and two million people refuse to pay. The colonies' feelings used to reflect those of Great Britain. They were similar to Mr. Hampden's feelings when asked to pay twenty shillings. Would paying twenty shillings have destroyed Mr. Hampden’s fortune? No! But paying even half of twenty shillings, based on how it was demanded, would have made him a slave.
GOOD MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT.
To be a good member of parliament is, let me tell you, no easy task; especially at this time, when there is so strong a disposition to run into the perilous extremes of servile compliance or wild popularity. To unite circumspection with vigour is absolutely necessary; but it is extremely difficult. We are now members for a rich commercial CITY; this city, however, is but a part of a rich commercial NATION, the interests of which are various, multiform, and intricate. We are members for that great nation, which however is itself but part of a great EMPIRE, extended by our virtue and our fortune to the farthest limits of the east and of the west. All these wide-spread interests must be considered; must be compared; must be reconciled, if possible. We are members for a FREE country; and surely we all know, that the machine of a free constitution is no simple thing; but as intricate and as delicate as it is valuable. We are members in a great and ancient MONARCHY; and we must preserve religiously the true legal rights of the sovereign, which form the key-stone that binds together the noble and well-constructed arch of our empire and our constitution.
Being a good member of parliament is, let me tell you, no easy feat; especially right now, when there's such a strong tendency to swing between dangerous extremes of blind obedience or reckless popularity. It's absolutely necessary to balance caution with energy, but that's really tough to do. We represent a wealthy commercial CITY; however, this city is just part of a prosperous commercial NATION, whose interests are diverse, complex, and intricate. We are representatives of that great nation, which is itself just a piece of a vast EMPIRE, extended by our strength and our luck to the farthest reaches of the east and the west. All these widespread interests need to be considered; they must be compared; and, if possible, reconciled. We represent a FREE country; and surely we all know that the workings of a free constitution are not simple; they are as intricate and delicate as they are valuable. We serve in a great and ancient MONARCHY; and we must faithfully uphold the true legal rights of the sovereign, as they are the keystone that holds together the noble and well-constructed arch of our empire and our constitution.
FISHERIES OF NEW ENGLAND.
As to the wealth which the colonies have drawn from the sea by their fisheries, you had all that matter fully opened at your bar. You surely thought those acquisitions of value, for they seemed even to excite your envy; and yet the spirit by which that enterprising employment has been exercised ought rather, in my opinion, to have raised your esteem and admiration. And pray, Sir, what in the world is equal to it! Pass by the other parts, and look at the manner in which the people of New England have of late carried on the whale fishery. Whilst we follow them among the tumbling mountains of ice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest frozen recesses of Hudson's Bay and Davis's Straits, whilst we are looking for them beneath the arctic circle, we hear that they have pierced into the opposite region of polar cold, that they are at the antipodes, and engaged under the frozen serpent of the south. Falkland Island, which seemed too remote and romantic an object for the grasp of national ambition, is but a stage and resting-place in the progress of their victorious industry. Nor is the equinoctial heat more discouraging to them, than the accumulated winter of both the poles. We know that whilst some of them draw the line and strike the harpoon on the coast of Africa, others run the longitude, and pursue their gigantic game along the coast of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to their toils. Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor the activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most perilous mode of hard industry to the extent to which it has been pushed by this recent people; a people who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood.
As for the wealth the colonies have gained from the sea through their fishing, you’ve already discussed this matter thoroughly. You must have found those gains valuable since they seemed to stir your envy; yet, in my opinion, the spirit that drives this daring endeavor should have instead earned your respect and admiration. And really, Sir, what in the world can compare to it? Forget about the other aspects and look at how the people of New England have recently conducted whale fishing. While we follow them through the towering icebergs and see them venturing deep into the frozen waters of Hudson's Bay and Davis's Straits, as we search for them under the Arctic Circle, we hear that they have reached the opposite side of polar cold, at the antipodes, and are active beneath the frozen southern skies. Falkland Island, which seemed too distant and dreamy to be an object of national ambition, is merely a stop and resting point in their relentless pursuit. The heat of the equator doesn’t deter them any more than the harsh winters of both poles. We know that while some of them cast their lines and throw harpoons off the coast of Africa, others travel long distances, chasing their massive prey along the coast of Brazil. No sea is unaffected by their fishing. No climate is uninvolved in their labor. Neither the persistence of the Dutch, nor the energy of the French, nor the skilled and determined ingenuity of British enterprise has ever pushed this extremely risky form of hard work as far as these recent settlers have. They are still in their formative years, not yet fully matured into adulthood.
PREPARATION FOR PARLIAMENT.
When I first devoted myself to the public service, I considered how I should render myself fit for it; and this I did by endeavouring to discover what it was that gave this country the rank it holds in the world. I found that our prosperity and dignity arose principally, if not solely, from two sources;—our constitution and commerce. Both these I have spared no study to understand, and no endeavour to support.
When I first committed myself to public service, I thought about how to make myself suitable for it; and I did this by trying to understand what gives our country its standing in the world. I realized that our success and respect come mainly, if not entirely, from two things: our constitution and commerce. I have dedicated a lot of time to understanding both and have done everything I can to support them.
The distinguishing part of our constitution is its liberty. To preserve that liberty inviolate, seems the particular duty and proper trust of a member of the House of Commons. But the liberty, the only liberty I mean, is a liberty connected with order; that not only exists along with order and virtue, but which cannot exist at all without them. It inheres in good and steady government, as in its substance and vital principle.
The key feature of our constitution is its freedom. Protecting that freedom without compromise is a specific responsibility and a rightful duty of a member of the House of Commons. However, the freedom I’m referring to is one that is linked to order; it not only coexists with order and virtue, but it cannot exist at all without them. It is inherent in good and stable governance, serving as its core and essential principle.
The other source of our power is commerce, of which you are so large a part, and which cannot exist, no more than your liberty, without a connection with many virtues. It has ever been a very particular and a very favourite object of my study, in its principles, and in its details. I think many here are acquainted with the truth of what I say. This I know, that I have ever had my house open, and my poor services ready, for traders and manufacturers of every denomination. My favourite ambition is to have those services acknowledged. I now appear before you to make trial, whether my earnest endeavours have been so wholly oppressed by the weakness of my abilities as to be rendered insignificant in the eyes of a great trading city; or whether you choose to give a weight to humble abilities, for the sake of the honest exertions with which they are accompanied. This is my trial to-day. My industry is not on trial. Of my industry I am sure, as far as my constitution of mind and body admitted.
The other source of our strength is commerce, which you play a significant role in, and it can't exist—just like your freedom—without a connection to many virtues. It's always been a particular interest of mine, both in its principles and its details. I believe many of you are familiar with the truth of what I'm saying. I’ve always kept my home open and my services available to traders and manufacturers of all kinds. My main goal is to have those efforts recognized. I'm here today to see if my genuine efforts have been overlooked due to my limited abilities, or if you are willing to value modest skills because of the honest work that accompanies them. This is my challenge today. My work ethic is not in question. I am confident in my diligence, as much as my mental and physical condition allows.
BATHURST AND AMERICA'S FUTURE.
Let us, however, before with descend from this noble eminence, reflect that this growth of our national prosperity has happened within the short period of the life of man. It has happened within sixty-eight years. There are those alive whose memory might touch the two extremities. For instance, my Lord Bathurst might remember all the stages of the progress. He was, in 1704, of an age at least to be made to comprehend such things. He was then old enough "acta parentum jam legere, et quae sit poterit cognoscere virtus." Suppose, Sir, that the angel of this auspicious youth, foreseeing the many virtues which made him one of the most amiable, as he is one of the most fortunate, men of his age, had opened to him in vision, that when, in the fourth generation, the third prince of the house of Brunswick had sat twelve years on the throne of that nation, which (by the happy issue of moderate and healing councils) was to be made Great Britain, he should see his son, lord chancellor of England, turn back the current of hereditary dignity to its fountain, and raise him to a higher rank of peerage, whilst he enriched the family with a new one. If amidst these bright and happy scenes of domestic honour and prosperity, that angel should have drawn up the curtain, and unfolded the rising glories of his country, and whilst he was gazing with admiration on the then commercial grandeur of England, the genius should point out to him a little speck, scarce visible in the mass of the national interest, a small seminal principle, rather than a formed body, and should tell him—"Young man, there is America—which at this day serves for little more than to amuse you with stories of savage men, and uncouth manners; yet shall, before you taste of death, show itself equal to the whole of that commerce which now attracts the envy of the world. Whatever England has been growing to by a progressive increase of improvement, brought in by varieties of people, by succession of civilizing conquests and civilizing settlements in a series of seventeen hundred years, you shall see as much added to her by America in the course of a single life!" If this state of his country had been foretold to him, would it not require all the sanguine credulity of youth, and all the fervid glow of enthusiasm, to make him believe it? Fortunate man, he has lived to see it! Fortunate, indeed, if he lives to see nothing that shall vary the prospect, and cloud the setting of his day!
Let us, before we step down from this noble height, take a moment to reflect on the remarkable growth of our national prosperity, which has occurred within the brief span of a human lifetime—just sixty-eight years. There are people living today who might recall both ends of this journey. For example, my Lord Bathurst might remember all the stages of this progress. In 1704, he was old enough to understand such matters. He was old enough to "read the actions of his parents and recognize what virtue is." Imagine, sir, if the angel of this promising youth, knowing the many qualities that made him one of the most likable and fortunate men of his time, had revealed to him in a vision that when, in the fourth generation, the third prince of the house of Brunswick had reigned for twelve years over what would soon become Great Britain, he would see his son, the Lord Chancellor of England, restore the flow of hereditary honor to its source and elevate him to a higher level of peerage, while also bringing a new one to the family. If, amid these bright and joyful scenes of personal honor and prosperity, that angel had pulled back the curtain and revealed the rising glories of his country, and as he admired England’s commercial greatness, had pointed out a tiny speck, barely noticeable in the national landscape, a small foundational principle rather than a fully formed entity, and told him—"Young man, there is America—which at this moment serves little more than to entertain you with tales of savage people and strange customs; yet before you pass away, it will become equal to the entirety of that commerce which now captures the envy of the world. Whatever England has achieved through a gradual increase of advancements, introduced by various peoples and successive civilizing conquests and settlements over the course of seventeen hundred years, you will see America add to her in the span of a single lifetime!" If this future for his country had been revealed to him, wouldn’t it have needed all the hopeful belief of youth and all the passionate enthusiasm to make him accept it? Fortunately, he has lived to witness it! Truly fortunate if he experiences nothing to change this outlook and overshadow the close of his day!
CANDID POLICY.
Refined policy ever has been the parent of confusion; and ever will be so, as long as the world endures. Plain good intention, which is as easily discovered at the first view, as fraud is surely detected at last, is, let me say, of no mean force in the government of mankind. Genuine simplicity of heart is a healing and cementing principle. My plan, therefore, being formed upon the most simple grounds imaginable, may disappoint some people, when they hear it. It has nothing to recommend it to the pruriency of curious ears. There is nothing at all new and captivating in it. It has nothing of the splendour of the project which has been lately laid upon your table by the noble lord in the blue riband. It does not propose to fill your lobby with squabbling colony agents, who will require the interposition of your mace, at every instant, to keep the peace amongst them. It does not institute a magnificent auction of finance, where captivated provinces come to general ransom by bidding against each other, until you knock down the hammer, and determine a proportion of payments beyond all the powers of algebra to equalize and settle.
Refined policies have always caused confusion and will continue to do so as long as the world exists. Clear good intentions, which are as easily recognized at first glance as fraud is eventually uncovered, are, I must say, quite powerful in governing people. Genuine simplicity of heart is a healing and unifying principle. Therefore, my plan, built on the simplest foundations imaginable, might come as a disappointment to some when they hear it. There’s nothing in it to satisfy the curiosity of prying ears. It isn’t anything new or captivating. It lacks the grandeur of the proposal recently presented to you by the noble lord in the blue ribbon. It doesn’t aim to fill your lobby with bickering colony agents who will constantly require your mace to maintain peace among them. It doesn’t set up a grand auction of finances, where captivated provinces come to ransom each other by bidding until you bring the gavel down and decide on a payment ratio that no amount of algebra could equalize or settle.
WISDOM OF CONCESSION.
Peace implies reconciliation; and where there has been a material dispute, reconciliation does in a manner always imply concession on the one part or the other. In this state of things I make no difficulty in affirming that the proposal ought to originate from us. Great and acknowledged force is not impaired, either in effect or in opinion, by an unwillingness to exert itself. The superior power may offer peace with honour and with safety. Such an offer from such a power will be attributed to magnanimity. But the concessions of the weak are the concessions of fear. When such a one is disarmed, he is wholly at the mercy of his superior; and he loses for ever that time and those chances which, as they happen to all men, are the strength and resources of all inferior power.
Peace means coming to an agreement, and when there's been a serious disagreement, making that agreement often requires giving something up on one side or the other. Given this situation, I have no hesitation in stating that the proposal should come from us. Great power isn't diminished, either in its impact or in how it's viewed, by a reluctance to act. The stronger party can offer peace that is honorable and safe. Such an offer from a powerful entity will be seen as generous. However, the compromises made by the weaker side are seen as driven by fear. When the weaker side is disarmed, it is completely at the mercy of the stronger side, and it loses the time and opportunities that everyone has, which serve as the strength and resources of all weaker powers.
MAGNANIMITY.
As for the trifling petulance which the rage of party stirs up in little minds, though it should show itself even in this court, it has not made the slightest impression on me. The highest flight of such clamorous birds is winged in an inferior region of the air. We hear them, and we look upon them, just as you, gentlemen, when you enjoy the serene air on your lofty rocks, look down upon the gulls that skim the mud of your river, when it is exhausted of its tide.
As for the petty annoyance that party rage stirs up in small-minded people, even if it shows itself in this court, it hasn't affected me at all. The loudest of these noisy individuals are still stuck in a lower part of the atmosphere. We hear them and see them, just like you, gentlemen, when you enjoy the clear air on your high cliffs, look down at the seagulls that skim over the muddy river when the tide is out.
DUTY OF REPRESENTATIVES.
It ought to be the happiness and glory of a representative to live in the strictest union, the closest correspondence, and the most unreserved communication with his constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him; their opinion high respect; their business unremitted attention. It is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasures, his satisfactions, to theirs; and above all, ever, and in all cases, to prefer their interest to his own. But, his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgment, his enlightened conscience, he ought not to sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men living. These he does not derive from your pleasure; no, nor from the law and the constitution. They are a trust from Providence, for the abuse of which he is deeply answerable. Your representative owes you, not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays, instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion.
A representative should find happiness and pride in being closely connected, in constant communication, and in a strong relationship with their constituents. Their wishes should hold significant weight; their opinions should be respected; their concerns should receive ongoing attention. It's their responsibility to put aside their own comfort, enjoyment, and satisfaction for the sake of their constituents’ needs; and above all, they should always prioritize the interests of the people over their own. However, they should never sacrifice their unbiased opinion, mature judgment, or enlightened conscience for anyone, including you or any group. These qualities are not granted by your approval, nor by the law or the constitution. They are a responsibility from a higher power, and misusing them comes with serious consequences. Your representative owes you not just hard work, but also sound judgment; if they prioritize your opinion over their judgment, they're betraying you rather than serving you.
PRUDENTIAL SILENCE.
Though I gave so far into his opinion, that I immediately threw my thoughts into a sort of parliamentary form, I was by no means equally ready to produce them. It generally argues some degree of natural impotence of mind, or some want of knowledge of the world, to hazard plans of government except from a seat of authority. Propositions are made, not only ineffectually, but somewhat disreputably, when the minds of men are not properly disposed for their reception: and for my part, I am not ambitious of ridicule; not absolutely a candidate for disgrace.
Although I took his opinion seriously enough to organize my thoughts in a somewhat formal way, I wasn't at all eager to share them. It usually shows a certain lack of mental strength or an ignorance of the world to propose government plans without having some authority. Suggestions are made not just ineffectively, but also in a way that can be looked down upon, when people aren't in the right mindset to accept them: as for me, I don’t want to be ridiculed; I'm not really aiming for disgrace.
COLONIAL TIES.
They are "our children;" but when children ask for bread, we are not to give a stone. Is it because the natural resistance of things, and the various mutations of time, hinders our government, or any scheme of government, from being any more than a sort of approximation to the right, is it therefore that the colonies are to recede from it infinitely? When this child of ours wishes to assimilate to its parent, and to reflect with a true filial resemblance the beauteous countenance of British liberty, are we to turn to them the shameful parts of our constitution? are we to give them our weakness for their strength? our opprobrium for their glory? and the slough of slavery, which we are not able to work off, to serve them for their freedom?
They are "our children;" but when children ask for bread, we shouldn't give them a stone. Is it because the natural resistance of things, along with the various changes over time, prevents our government, or any government plan, from being anything more than a rough approximation of what's right, that the colonies are meant to drift away from it indefinitely? When this child of ours wants to connect with its parent and reflect the beautiful face of British liberty, are we supposed to show them the shameful parts of our constitution? Are we going to give them our weaknesses instead of their strengths? Our shame instead of their glory? And the muck of slavery, which we can’t shake off, to serve as their freedom?
GOVERNMENT AND LEGISLATION.
If government were a matter of will upon any side, yours, without question, ought to be superior. But government and legislation are matters of reason and judgment, and not of inclination; and what sort of reason is that, in which the determination precedes the discussion; in which one set of men deliberate, and another decide; and where those who form the conclusion are perhaps three hundred miles distant from those who hear the arguments?
If government were just about will on either side, yours should definitely take the lead. But government and legislation are based on reason and judgment, not personal preference. What kind of reasoning is it when the decision is made before the discussion even takes place? Where one group of people debates and another group makes the decision, and those who reach the conclusion might be three hundred miles away from those who are listening to the arguments?
PARLIAMENT.
Parliament is not a CONGRESS of ambassadors from different and hostile interests, which interests each must maintain, as an agent and advocate, against other agents and advocates; but parliament is a DELIBERATIVE assembly of ONE nation, with ONE interest, that of the whole; where, not local purposes, not local prejudices, ought to guide, but the general good, resulting from the general reason of the whole. You choose a member indeed; but when you have chosen him, he is not member of Bristol, but he is a member of PARLIAMENT.
Parliament is not a CONGRESS of representatives from competing and opposing interests, with each one needing to defend their own position against others; rather, Parliament is a DELIBERATIVE assembly of ONE nation, with ONE common goal: the good of everyone. Here, local agendas and biases shouldn’t dictate decisions, but instead, the overall benefit that comes from the collective reasoning of the entire nation. You do elect a member, but once they are elected, they are not simply a representative of Bristol; they are a member of PARLIAMENT.
MORAL LEVELLERS.
This moral levelling is a SERVILE PRINCIPLE. It leads to practical passive obedience far better than all the doctrines which the pliant accommodation of theology to power has ever produced. It cuts up by the roots, not only all idea of forcible resistance, but even of civil opposition. It disposes men to an abject submission, not by opinion, which may be shaken by argument or altered by passion, but by the strong ties of public and private interest. For if all men who act in a public situation are equally selfish, corrupt, and venal, what reason can be given for desiring any sort of change, which, besides the evils which must attend all changes, can be productive of no possible advantage? The active men in the state are true samples of the mass. If they are universally depraved, the commonwealth itself is not sound. We may amuse ourselves with talking as much as we please of the virtue of middle or humble life; that is, we may place our confidence in the virtue of those who have never been tried. But if the persons who are continually emerging out of that sphere be no better than those whom birth has placed above it, what hopes are there in the remainder of the body, which is to furnish the perpetual succession of the state? All who have ever written on government are unanimous, that among a people generally corrupt, liberty cannot long exist. And indeed how is it possible? when those who are to make the laws, to guard, to enforce, or to obey them, are, by a tacit confederacy of manners, indisposed to the spirit of all generous and noble institutions.
This moral leveling is a SERVILE PRINCIPLE. It leads to practical passive obedience that far surpasses all the teachings that the flexible adaption of theology to power has ever produced. It eliminates the very idea of forcible resistance, and even civil opposition. It drives people towards abject submission, not through opinion—which can be swayed by argument or changed by emotion—but through the strong connections of public and private interest. If everyone in a public role is equally selfish, corrupt, and corruptible, what reason is there to desire any kind of change? Besides the inevitable issues that come with change, it would bring no real benefit. The active individuals in the state are true representatives of the population. If they are universally corrupt, then the commonwealth itself is unsound. We might entertain ourselves by discussing the virtue of middle or humble life; in other words, we can place our trust in the integrity of those who have never been tested. But if the people rising from that level are no better than those born into privilege, what hope is there for the rest of society which is supposed to ensure the ongoing health of the state? Those who have ever written on governance agree that in a generally corrupt populace, liberty cannot long endure. And really, how could it? When those who are meant to create the laws, protect them, enforce them, or adhere to them are, by an unspoken agreement of conduct, unwilling to embrace the spirit of all generous and noble institutions?
PUBLIC SALARY AND PATRIOTIC SERVICE.
I am not possessed of an exact common measure between real service and its reward. I am very sure that states do sometimes receive services which it is hardly in their power to reward according to their worth. If I were to give my judgment with regard to this country, I do not think the great efficient offices of the state to be overpaid. The service of the public is a thing which cannot be put to auction, and struck down to those who will agree to execute it the cheapest. When the proportion between reward and service is our object, we must always consider of what nature the service is, and what sort of men they are that must perform it. What is just payment for one kind of labour, and full encouragement for one kind of talents, is fraud and discouragement to others. Many of the great offices have much duty to do, and much expense of representation to maintain. A secretary of state, for instance, must not appear sordid in the eyes of the ministers of other nations; neither ought our ministers abroad to appear contemptible in the courts where they reside. In all offices of duty, there is, almost necessarily, a great neglect of all domestic affairs. A person in high office can rarely take a view of his family house. If he sees that the state takes no detriment, the state must see that his affairs should take as little. I will even go so far as to affirm, that if men were willing to serve in such situations without salary, they ought not to be permitted to do it. Ordinary service must be secured by the motives to ordinary integrity. I do not hesitate to say, that that state which lays its foundations in rare and heroic virtues, will be sure to have its superstructure in the basest profligacy and corruption. An honourable and fair profit is the best security against avarice and rapacity; as in all things else, a lawful and regulated enjoyment is the best security against debauchery and excess. For as wealth is power, so all power will infallibly draw wealth to itself by some means or other: and when men are left no way of ascertaining their profits but by their means of obtaining them, those means will be increased to infinity. This is true in all the parts of administration, as well as in the whole. If any individual were to decline his appointments, it might give an unfair advantage to ostentatious ambition over unpretending service; it might breed invidious comparisons; it might tend to destroy whatever little unity and agreement may be found among ministers. And, after all, when an ambitious man had run down his competitors by a fallacious show of disinterestedness, and fixed himself in power by that means, what security is there that he would not change his course, and claim as an indemnity ten times more than he has given up?
I don't have a clear measure for how real service compares to its reward. I'm pretty sure that sometimes states receive services that they can't fully reward based on their true value. If I were to judge this country, I don’t think the top government positions are overpaid. Serving the public shouldn't be treated like an auction, where it goes to whoever is willing to do it for the lowest price. When we look at the balance between reward and service, we must consider the nature of the service and the kind of people who need to perform it. What counts as fair pay for one type of work and proper encouragement for one set of skills can feel like a swindle and discouragement for others. Many high positions come with a lot of responsibilities and significant costs for representing the state. For example, a secretary of state can't seem cheap in front of foreign ministers; likewise, our diplomats abroad shouldn't appear disrespected in the courts where they serve. In any position of responsibility, there's often a considerable neglect of personal affairs. A person in a high role rarely has the time to attend to their family home. If the state isn’t harmed, then it should ensure that the individual's affairs are minimally affected. I would even argue that if people wanted to serve in these positions without a salary, they shouldn't be allowed to do so. Regular service needs to be backed by motivations for regular integrity. I have no doubt that a state built on rare and heroic virtues will end up having a foundation of the lowest corruption and vice. A fair and honorable profit is the best defense against greed and exploitation; in all areas, lawful and controlled enjoyment is the best safeguard against excess and debauchery. Since wealth is power, power will inevitably attract wealth in some way or another: and when people are left with no way to measure their earnings except by how they acquire them, those methods will expand endlessly. This holds true across all levels of administration as well as in general. If someone were to step back from their position, it could give an unfair edge to those with flashy ambition over those with genuine service; it might create bitter comparisons; and it could undermine whatever unity and accord exists among ministers. Ultimately, when an ambitious person undermines their rivals with a false appearance of selflessness and secures power that way, what guarantee is there that they wouldn't switch gears and demand ten times what they sacrificed?
RATIONAL LIBERTY.
Liberty, too, must be limited in order to be possessed. The degree of restraint it is impossible in any case to settle precisely. But it ought to be the constant aim of every wise public council to find out by cautious experiments, and rational, cool endeavours, with how little, not how much, of this restraint the community can subsist. For liberty is a good to be improved, and not an evil to be lessened. It is not only a private blessing of the first order, but the vital spring and energy of the state itself, which has just so much life and vigour as there is liberty in it. But whether liberty be advantageous or not (for I know it is a fashion to decry the very principle), none will dispute that peace is a blessing; and peace must in the course of human affairs be frequently bought by some indulgence and toleration at least to liberty. For as the sabbath (though of Divine institution) was made for man, not man for the sabbath, government, which can claim no higher origin or authority, in its exercise at least, ought to conform to the exigencies of the time, and the temper and character of the people with whom it is concerned; and not always to attempt violently to bend the people to their theories of subjection. The bulk of mankind on their part are not excessively curious concerning any theories whilst they are really happy; and one sure symptom of an ill-conducted state is the propensity of the people to resort to them.
Liberty also needs to be limited in order to be truly owned. It's impossible to pinpoint the exact extent of this limitation. However, wise public officials should continuously strive, through careful experimentation and rational efforts, to determine how little restraint the community can manage, rather than how much. Liberty is meant to be enhanced, not diminished. It's not only a significant personal blessing but also the vital force that energizes the state itself, which thrives according to the level of liberty it contains. Regardless of whether people see liberty as beneficial (there’s a trend to criticize it), no one can deny that peace is a blessing; and in human affairs, peace often requires some level of indulgence and tolerance towards liberty. Just like the Sabbath (which was divinely instituted) was made for people, not the other way around, government—which has no higher authority—should, at least in its practices, align with the needs of its time, and the nature and character of its citizens, instead of trying to force people into their models of control. Most people aren’t overly concerned with theories as long as they’re genuinely happy; a clear sign of a poorly governed state is when people start turning to those theories.
IRELAND AND MAGNA CHARTA.
The feudal baronage and the feudal knighthood, the roots of our primitive constitution, were early transplanted into that soil, and grew and flourished there. Magna Charta, if it did not give us originally the House of Commons, gave us at least a house of commons of weight and consequence. But your ancestors did not churlishly sit down alone to the feast of Magna Charta. Ireland was made immediately a partaker. This benefit of English laws and liberties, I confess, was not at first extended to ALL Ireland. Mark the consequence. English authority and English liberty had exactly the same boundaries. Your standard could never be advanced an inch beyond your privileges. Sir John Davis shows, beyond a doubt, that the refusal of a general communication of these rights was the true cause why Ireland was five hundred years in subduing; and after the vain projects of a military government, attempted in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, it was soon discovered that nothing could make that country English, in civility and allegiance, but your laws and your forms of legislature. It was not English arms, but the English constitution, that conquered Ireland. From that time Ireland has ever had a general parliament, as she had before a partial parliament. You changed the people; you altered the religion; but you never touched the form or the vital substance of free government in that kingdom. You deposed kings; you restored them; you altered the succession to theirs, as well as to your own crown; but you never altered their constitution; the principle of which was respected by usurpation; restored with the restoration of monarchy, and established, I trust, for ever, by the glorious Revolution.
The feudal barons and knights, which are the foundation of our early constitution, were quickly planted in that land and thrived there. Magna Carta, while it may not have originally given us the House of Commons, at least provided us with a significant house of commons. But your ancestors didn’t selfishly indulge alone in the benefits of Magna Carta. Ireland became involved right away. I admit this advantage of English laws and freedoms wasn’t initially extended to ALL of Ireland. Notice the result. English authority and English liberty had the same limits. Your standards could never rise any higher than your privileges. Sir John Davis clearly shows that the denial of widespread rights was the real reason why Ireland took five hundred years to conquer; and after the futile attempts of a military government during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, it became clear that nothing could truly make that country English in civility and loyalty except your laws and legislative framework. It wasn’t English military power; it was the English constitution that brought Ireland under control. Since then, Ireland has always had a general parliament, just as it had a previous partial parliament. You changed the people; you changed the religion; but you never altered the structure or the essential nature of free government in that kingdom. You removed kings; you brought them back; you changed the line of succession for theirs as well as your own crown; but you never changed their constitution, the principle of which was upheld through usurpation, restored with the monarchy’s return, and established, I hope, forever, by the glorious Revolution.
COLONIES AND BRITISH CONSTITUTION.
For that service, for all service, whether of revenue, trade, or empire, my trust is in her interest in the British constitution. My hold of the colonies is in the close affection which grows from common names, from kindred blood, from similar privileges, and equal protection. These are ties, which, though light as air, are as strong as links of iron. Let the colonies always keep the idea of their civil rights associated with your government;—they will cling and grapple to you; and no force under heaven will be of power to tear them from their allegiance. But let it be once understood that your government may be one thing, and their privileges another; that these two things may exist without any mutual relation; the cement is gone; the cohesion is loosened; and everything hastens to decay and dissolution. As long as you have the wisdom to keep the sovereign authority of this country as the sanctuary of liberty, the sacred temple consecrated to our common faith, wherever the chosen race and sons of England worship freedom, they will turn their faces towards you. The more they multiply, the more friends you will have; the more ardently they love liberty, the more perfect will be their obedience. Slavery they can have anywhere. It is a weed that grows in every soil. They may have it from Spain, they may have it from Prussia. But, until you become lost to all feeling of your true interest and your natural dignity, freedom they can have from none but you. This is the commodity of price, of which you have the monopoly. This is the true act of navigation, which binds to you the commerce of the colonies, and through them secures to you the wealth of the world. Deny them this participation of freedom, and you break that sole bond, which originally made, and must still preserve, the unity of the empire. Do not entertain so weak an imagination, as that your registers and your bonds, your affidavits and your sufferances, your cockets and your clearances, are what form the great securities of your commerce. Do not dream that your letters of office, and your instructions, and your suspending clauses, are the things that hold together the great contexture of this mysterious whole. These things do not make your government. Dead instruments, passive tools as they are, it is the spirit of the English communion that gives all their life and efficacy to them. It is the spirit of the English constitution, which, infused through the mighty mass, pervades, feeds, unites, invigorates, vivifies every part of the empire, even down to the minutest member.
For that service, and for all services—whether related to revenue, trade, or empire—my confidence lies in her commitment to the British constitution. My connection to the colonies is rooted in the deep affection that comes from shared names, family ties, similar rights, and equal protection. These are bonds that, while as light as air, are as strong as iron links. If the colonies maintain the belief that their civil rights are linked to your government, they will hold on to you tightly; no force on earth will be able to pull them away from their loyalty. However, if it becomes understood that your government may differ from their privileges, and that these two can exist without relationship, the bond is broken; the unity weakens; and everything will rush towards decay and disintegration. As long as you have the insight to keep the sovereign authority of this country as the haven of liberty—the sacred temple dedicated to our shared beliefs—wherever the chosen people and sons of England uphold freedom, they will look to you. The more they grow in number, the more allies you will have; the more passionately they cherish liberty, the more complete their obedience will be. They can find oppression anywhere; it's a weed that thrives in every environment. They can get it from Spain, or they can get it from Prussia. But as long as you remain aware of your true interests and natural dignity, they can find freedom from no one but you. This is a priceless commodity that you control. It's the true act of navigation that ties the colonies’ trade to you and, through them, secures the wealth of the world for you. If you deny them this share of freedom, you will break the sole bond that initially formed—and must still maintain—the unity of the empire. Do not entertain the misguided belief that your records, bonds, affidavits, permits, dispatches, and clearances are what secure your trade. Don't be fooled into thinking that your letters of authority, instructions, and clauses are what hold the complex structure of this whole together. These do not constitute your government. As lifeless tools, their power comes from the spirit of the English community that infuses them with vitality. It is the spirit of the English constitution that, flowing through the entire body, nourishes, unites, strengthens, and enlivens every part of the empire, right down to the smallest detail.
RECIPROCAL CONFIDENCE.
At the first fatal opening of this contest, the wisest course seemed to be to put an end as soon as possible to the immediate causes of the dispute; and to quiet a discussion, not easily settled upon clear principles, and arising from claims, which pride would permit neither party to abandon, by resorting as nearly as possible to the old, successful course. A mere repeal of the obnoxious tax, with a declaration of the legislative authority of this kingdom, was then fully sufficient to procure peace to BOTH SIDES. Man is a creature of habit, and, the first breach being of very short continuance, the colonies fell back exactly into their ancient state. The congress has used an expression with regard to this pacification, which appears to me truly significant. After the repeal of the Stamp Act, "the colonies fell," says this assembly, "into their ancient state of UNSUSPECTING CONFIDENCE IN THE MOTHER COUNTRY." This unsuspecting confidence is the true centre of gravity amongst mankind, about which all the parts are at rest. It is this UNSUSPECTING CONFIDENCE that removes all difficulties, and reconciles all the contradictions which occur in the complexity of all ancient, puzzled, political establishments. Happy are the rulers which have the secret of preserving it!
At the first critical moment in this conflict, the best move seemed to be to quickly resolve the immediate reasons for the disagreement. The goal was to calm a discussion that wasn’t easily settled by clear principles and stemmed from claims neither side was willing to give up. The solution was to revert as closely as possible to the previous, successful approach. Simply repealing the unpopular tax, along with a declaration of this kingdom's legislative authority, was enough to bring peace to both sides. People are creatures of habit, and since the initial separation was brief, the colonies returned to their former state. The congress used a phrase regarding this reconciliation that I find quite meaningful. After the repeal of the Stamp Act, "the colonies fell," the assembly stated, "into their ancient state of unsuspecting confidence in the mother country." This unsuspecting confidence is the true center of stability among people, where everything is at ease. It is this unsuspecting confidence that eliminates all obstacles and resolves the contradictions found in the complexities of historical, tangled political systems. Those in power who know how to maintain it are fortunate!
PENSIONS AND THE CROWN.
When men receive obligations from the Crown, through the pious hands of fathers, or of connections as venerable as the paternal, the dependencies which arise from thence are the obligations of gratitude, and not the fetters of servility. Such ties originate in virtue, and they promote it. They continue men in those habitudes of friendship, those political connexions, and those political principles, in which they began life. They are antidotes against a corrupt levity, instead of causes of it. What an unseemly spectacle would it afford, what a disgrace would it be to the commonwealth that suffered such things, to see the hopeful son of a meritorious minister begging his bread at the door of that treasury, from whence his father dispensed the economy of an empire, and promoted the happiness and glory of his country! Why should he be obliged to prostrate his honour, and to submit his principles at the levee of some proud favourite, shouldered and thrust aside by every impudent pretender, on the very spot where a few days before he saw himself adored?—obliged to cringe to the author of the calamities of his house, and to kiss the hands that are red with his father's blood.
When men receive responsibilities from the Crown, handed down through the dedicated efforts of their fathers or through connections as respected as those of family, the loyalties that arise from this are expressions of gratitude, not chains of servitude. These bonds are rooted in virtue and help to foster it. They keep people in the same friendships, political connections, and principles they grew up with. They act as antidotes to corrupt triviality, rather than contributing to it. What an inappropriate sight it would be, and what a disgrace for the community that allows such things, to see the hopeful son of a worthy minister begging for help at the door of the treasury that his father once managed, where he supported the well-being and honor of his country! Why should he have to lower his dignity and compromise his beliefs at the gatherings of some arrogant favorite, pushed aside by every brazen pretender, in the very place where just days before he felt revered?—forced to bow to the source of his family's misfortunes and to kiss the hands stained with his father's blood.
COLONIAL PROGRESS.
But nothing in progression can rest on its original plan. We may as well think of rocking a grown man in the cradle of an infant. Therefore as the colonies prospered and increased to a numerous and mighty people, spreading over a very great tract of the globe; it was natural that they should attribute to assemblies, so respectable in their formal constitution, some part of the dignity of the great nations which they represented. No longer tied to by-laws, these assemblies made acts of all sorts and in all cases whatsoever. They levied money, not for parochial purposes, but upon regular grants to the Crown, following all the rules and principles of a parliament to which they approached every day more and more nearly. Those who think themselves wiser than Providence, and stronger than the course of nature, may complain of all this variation, on the one side or the other, as their several humours and prejudices may lead them. But things could not be otherwise; and English colonies must be had on these terms, or not had at all.
But nothing in progress can stay the same as its original design. We might as well think of rocking an adult in the cradle of a baby. So as the colonies thrived and grew into a large and powerful population, spreading across a vast area of the world, it was natural for them to associate some of the dignity of the great nations they represented with their assemblies, which were so respectable in their formal structure. No longer bound by strict rules, these assemblies created all kinds of laws in every situation. They raised funds, not for local purposes, but through regular grants to the Crown, following the rules and principles of a parliament to which they were getting closer every day. Those who believe they are wiser than fate and more powerful than the natural order might grumble about all this change, either way, depending on their personal biases and prejudices. But things couldn’t be any different; the English colonies had to be accepted on these terms, or not at all.
FEUDAL PRINCIPLES AND MODERN TIMES.
In the first place, it is formed, in many respects, upon FEUDAL PRINCIPLES. In the feudal times, it was not uncommon, even among subjects, for the lowest offices to be held by considerable persons; persons as unfit by their incapacity, as improper from their rank, to occupy such employments. They were held by patent, sometimes for life, and sometimes by inheritance. If my memory does not deceive me, a person of no slight consideration held the office of patent hereditary cook to an earl of Warwick. The earl of Warwick's soups, I fear, were not the better for the dignity of his kitchen. I think it was an earl of Gloucester, who officiated as steward of the household to the archbishops of Canterbury. Instances of the same kind may in some degree be found in the Northumberland house-book, and other family records. There was some reason in ancient necessities, for these ancient customs. Protection was wanted; and the domestic tie, thought not the highest, was the closest. The king's household has not only several strong traces of this FEUDALITY, but it is formed also upon the principles of a BODY CORPORATE; it has its own magistrates, courts, and by-laws. This might be necessary in the ancient times, in order to have a government within itself, capable of regulating the vast and often unruly multitude which composed and attended it. This was the origin of the ancient court called the GREEN CLOTH—composed of the marshal, treasurer, and other great officers of the household, with certain clerks. The rich subjects of the kingdom who had formerly the same establishments (only on a reduced scale) have since altered their economy; and turned the course of their expense from the maintenance of vast establishments within their walls, to the employment of a great variety of independent trades abroad. Their influence is lessened; but a mode of accommodation, and a style of splendour, suited to the manners of the times, has been increased. Royalty itself has insensibly followed; and the royal household has been carried away by the resistless tide of manners: but with this very material difference;—private men have got rid of the establishments along with the reasons of them; whereas the royal household has lost all that was stately and venerable in the antique manners, without retrenching anything of the cumbrous charge of a Gothic establishment. It is shrunk into the polished littleness of modern elegance and personal accommodation; it has evaporated from the gross concrete into an essence and rectified spirit of expense, where you have tuns of ancient pomp in a vial of modern luxury.
In the first place, it is based, in many ways, on FEUDAL PRINCIPLES. During feudal times, it wasn't uncommon, even among subjects, for even the lowest positions to be held by significant individuals; people who were unqualified due to their incompetence and unsuitable because of their rank for such roles. These positions were granted by patent, sometimes for life, and sometimes inherited. If I remember correctly, a person of no small reputation held the hereditary position of cook to an earl of Warwick. Unfortunately, the earl of Warwick’s soups were probably not improved by the status of his kitchen. I think it was an earl of Gloucester who served as steward of the household to the archbishops of Canterbury. Similar examples can be found in the Northumberland house-book and other family records. There was some rationale in ancient needs for these old customs. Protection was necessary, and the domestic bond, though not the highest, was the strongest. The king's household not only shows several clear signs of this FEUDALITY, but it is also established on the principles of a CORPORATE BODY; it has its own officials, courts, and by-laws. This might have been necessary in ancient times to create a self-governing body capable of managing the vast and often unruly crowd that made up and attended it. This was the origin of the ancient court called the GREEN CLOTH—composed of the marshal, treasurer, and other high-ranking officers of the household, along with certain clerks. The wealthy subjects of the kingdom who once had similar establishments (just on a smaller scale) have since changed their ways; they shifted their spending from maintaining large households to employing a variety of independent trades outside. Their influence has diminished; however, a way of adapting and a style of luxury that aligns with contemporary manners have increased. Royalty itself has quietly followed suit; the royal household has been swept along by the unstoppable flow of manners: but there is a significant difference here; private individuals have eliminated their establishments along with the reasons for them, while the royal household has lost all that was grand and dignified from old customs without reducing any of the burdensome costs of a Gothic structure. It has condensed into the refined smallness of modern elegance and personal comfort; it has transformed from heavy, concrete grandeur into something more ethereal and distilled in terms of expenses, where you find barrels of ancient splendor in a small vial of modern luxury.
RESTRICTIVE VIRTUES.
I know, that all parsimony is of a quality approaching to unkindness; and that (on some person or other) every reform must operate as a sort of punishment. Indeed, the whole class of the severe and restrictive virtues are at a market almost too high for humanity. What is worse, there are very few of those virtues which are not capable of being imitated, and even outdone, in many of their most striking effects, by the worst of vices. Malignity and envy will carve much more deeply, and finish much more sharply, in the work of retrenchment, than frugality and providence. I do not, therefore, wonder that gentlemen have kept away from such a task, as well from good-nature as from prudence. Private feeling might, indeed, be overborne by legislative reason; and a man of a longd-sighted and a strong-nerved humanity might bring himself, not so much to consider from whom he takes a superfluous enjoyment, as for whom in the end he may preserve the absolute necessaries of life.
I know that being stingy often comes off as unkind, and that every reform tends to feel like a punishment to someone. In fact, the entire category of strict and limiting virtues is almost too much for humans to handle. What’s worse, very few of these virtues can’t be mimicked, or even outdone, by the worst kinds of vices. Malice and jealousy can slice deeper and do a much more effective job of cutting back than frugality and foresight. So, I’m not surprised that people have shied away from such a task, both out of kindness and common sense. Private feelings might be overridden by legislative logic; and a person with clear vision and strong principles might manage to focus less on who benefits from their excess and more on whom they might ultimately help by preserving the essentials of life.
LIBELLERS OF HUMAN NATURE.
I hope there are none of you corrupted with the doctrine taught by wicked men for the worst purposes, and received by the malignant credulity of envy and ignorance, which is, that the men who act upon the public stage are all alike; all equally corrupt; all influenced by no other views than the sordid lure of salary and pension. The thing I know by experience to be false. Never expecting to find perfection in men, and not looking for divine attributes in created beings, in my commerce with my contemporaries, I have found much human virtue. I have seen not a little public spirit; a real subordination of interest to duty; and a decent and regulated sensibility to honest fame and reputation. The age unquestionably produces (whether in a greater or less number than former times, I know not) daring profligates, and insidious hypocrites. What then? Am I not to avail myself of whatever good is to be found in the world, because of the mixture of evil that will always be in it? The smallness of the quantity in currency only heightens the value. They who raise suspicions on the good on account of the behaviour of ill men, are of the party of the latter. The common cant is no justification for taking this party. I have been deceived, say they, by Titius and Maevius; I have been the dupe of this pretender or of that mountebank; and I can trust appearances no longer. But my credulity and want of discernment cannot, as I conceive, amount to a fair presumption against any man's integrity. A conscientious person would rather doubt his own judgment, than condemn his species. He would say, I have observed without attention, or judged upon erroneous maxims; I trusted to profession, when I ought to have attended to conduct. Such a man will grow wise, not malignant, by his acquaintance with the world. But he that accuses all mankind of corruption, ought to remember that he is sure to convict only one. In truth I should much rather admit those, whom at any time I have disrelished the most, to be patterns of perfection, than seek a consolation to my own unworthiness, in a general communion of depravity with all about me.
I hope none of you has fallen for the idea spread by corrupt people with bad intentions, and believed by those filled with envy and ignorance, that everyone in public life is the same; all equally corrupt and only motivated by the lure of salary and pension. I know from experience that this is false. I don’t expect perfection from people, nor do I look for divine qualities in human beings; in my interactions with my peers, I’ve found plenty of human virtue. I’ve seen a good amount of public spirit, a genuine commitment to duty over self-interest, and a sincere awareness of honorable fame and reputation. This time does produce (whether more or fewer than in the past, I can't say) brazen wrongdoers and deceitful hypocrites. So what? Should I ignore the good in the world just because there’s always some bad mixed in? The scarcity of the good only makes it more valuable. Those who raise doubts about the good because of the actions of the bad are simply siding with the latter. The common complaint offers no excuse for taking their side. They say, “I’ve been fooled by Titius and Maevius; I’ve been deceived by this fraud or that charlatan; I can’t trust appearances anymore.” But my gullibility and lack of insight can’t fairly undermine anyone’s integrity. A conscientious person would rather question their own judgment than condemn humanity. They would think, “I’ve observed without paying attention or judged based on wrong principles; I relied on what was said instead of how people acted.” Such a person will become wiser, not bitter, through their experiences. But someone who accuses all of humanity of corruption should remember that they’ll only prove one person guilty: themselves. In reality, I would much rather recognize those I’ve disliked in the past as examples of perfection than find comfort in sharing my own failings with a general corruption surrounding me.
REFUSAL A REVENUE.
What (says the financier) is peace to us without money? Your plan gives us no revenue. No! But it does—for it secures to the subject the power of REFUSAL; the first of all revenues. Experience is a cheat, and fact a liar, if this power in the subject of proportioning his grant, or of not granting at all, has not been found the richest mine of revenue ever discovered by the skill or by the fortune of man. It does not indeed vote you 152,752 pounds : 11 : 2 3/4ths, nor any other paltry limited sum. But it gives the strong box itself, the fund, the bank, from whence only revenues can arise amongst a people sensible of freedom: Posita luditur arca. Cannot you in England; cannot you at this time of day; cannot you, a House of Commons, trust to the principle which has raised so mighty a revenue, and accumulated a debt of near 140 millions in this country? Is this principle to be true in England, and false everywhere else? Is it not true in Ireland? Has it not hitherto been true in the colonies? Why should you presume, that, in any country, a body duly constituted for any function, will neglect to perform its duty, and abdicate its trust? Such a presumption would go against all governments in all modes. But, in truth, this dread of penury of supply, from a free assembly, has no foundation in nature. For first observe, that besides the desire which all men have naturally of supporting the honour of their own government, that sense of dignity, and that security to property, which ever attend freedom, have a tendency to increase the stock of the free community. Most may be taken where most is accumulated. And what is the soil or climate where experience has not uniformly proved, that the voluntary flow of heaped-up plenty, bursting from the weight of its own rich luxuriance, has ever run with a more copious stream of revenue, than could be squeezed from the dry husks of oppressed indigence, by the straining of all the politic machinery in the world.
What (says the financier) is peace to us without money? Your plan doesn't bring us any revenue. No! But it does—because it gives the people the power to SAY NO; the most valuable form of revenue. Experience is deceptive, and facts can mislead us, if this power of the people to adjust their contributions, or to not contribute at all, hasn’t proven to be the richest source of income ever found by human skill or luck. It doesn't give you £152,752 : 11 : 2 3/4ths, or any other trivial, fixed amount. But it provides the treasure chest itself, the fund, the bank, from which revenues can come among a people who value their freedom: Posita luditur arca. Can’t you in England; can’t you at this time; can’t you, a House of Commons, rely on the principle that has generated such massive revenue and built a debt of nearly £140 million in this country? Is this principle supposed to be true in England and false everywhere else? Isn’t it true in Ireland? Hasn’t it been true in the colonies? Why would you assume that any body properly set up for a purpose would ignore its responsibilities and give up its trust? Such an assumption would go against all governments in every system. But, in reality, this fear of a lack of funds from a free assembly has no basis in reality. First, note that beyond the natural desire everyone has to uphold the honor of their own government, the sense of dignity and security to property that comes with freedom tends to increase the wealth of the free community. You can gather more where there is already abundance. And what place or situation has experience not shown, that the voluntary outpouring of accumulated wealth, overflowing from its own rich abundance, has always produced a greater stream of revenue than could be wrung from the dry remnants of oppressed poverty, no matter how much political machinery was used?
A PARTY MAN.
The only method which has ever been found effectual to preserve any man against the corruption of nature and example, is a habit of life and communication of counsels with the most virtuous and public-spirited men of the age you live in. Such a society cannot be kept without advantage or deserted without shame. For this rule of conduct I may be called in reproach a PARTY MAN; but I am little affected with such aspersions. In the way which they call party, I worship the constitution of your fathers; and I shall never blush for my political company. All reverence to honour, all idea of what it is, will be lost out of the world, before it can be imputed as a fault to any man, that he has been closely connected with those incomparable persons, living and dead, with whom for eleven years I have constantly thought and acted. If I have wandered out of the paths of rectitude into those of interested faction, it was in company with the Saviles, the Dowdeswells, the Wentworths, the Bentincks; with the Lenoxes, the Manchesters, the Keppels, the Saunderses; with the temperate, permanent, hereditary virtue of the whole house of Cavendish; names, among which, some have extended your fame and empire in arms, and all have fought the battle of your liberties in fields not less glorious. These, and many more like these, grafting public principles on private honour, have redeemed the present age, and would have adorned the most splendid period in your history.
The only method that has ever proven effective in protecting a person from the corruption of human nature and bad examples is forming a lifestyle habit and engaging in discussions with the most virtuous and civic-minded individuals of your time. Such a community cannot exist without benefits or leave without causing regret. For this principle of conduct, I might be unfairly labeled a PARTY MAN; but I’m not bothered by such claims. In what they call party, I honor the constitution established by your forefathers; and I will never be ashamed of my political allies. All respect for honor, and any idea of what it entails, will vanish from the world before it becomes a fault for anyone to be closely associated with those exceptional individuals, both living and dead, whom I have consistently thought and acted alongside for eleven years. If I have strayed from the path of integrity into partisanship, it has been alongside the Saviles, the Dowdeswells, the Wentworths, the Bentincks; with the Lenoxes, the Manchesters, the Keppels, the Saunderses; with the steady, long-standing, inherited virtue of the entire Cavendish family; names under which some have expanded your glory and empire through military might, and all have fought for your liberties in battles no less glorious. These individuals, and many more like them, have intertwined public principles with personal honor, redeeming the current era and adding brilliance to the most illustrious chapters of your history.
PATRIOTISM AND PUBLIC INCOME.
Is it not the same virtue which does everything for us here in England? Do you imagine, then, that it is the land-tax which raises your revenue? that it is the annual vote in the committee of supply, which gives you your army? or that it is the Mutiny Bill, which inspires it with bravery and discipline? No! surely no! It is the love of the people; it is their attachment to their government, from the sense of the deep stake they have in such a glorious institution, which gives you your army and your navy, and infuses into both that liberal obedience, without which your army would be a base rabble, and your navy nothing but rotten timber.
Is it not the same virtue that does everything for us here in England? Do you really think it’s the land tax that brings in your revenue? That it’s the annual vote in the supply committee that gives you your army? Or that it’s the Mutiny Bill that fills them with courage and discipline? No! Definitely not! It’s the love of the people; it’s their loyalty to their government, driven by the understanding of what they have at stake in such a great institution, that gives you your army and your navy, and instills in both a sense of willing obedience, without which your army would just be a worthless mob and your navy nothing but decaying wood.
All this, I know well enough, will sound wild and chimerical to the profane herd of those vulgar and mechanical politicians, who have no place among us; a sort of people who think that nothing exists but what is gross and material; and who therefore, far from being qualified to be directors of the great movement of empire, are not fit to turn a wheel in the machine. But to men truly initiated and rightly taught, these ruling and master principles, which, in the opinion of such men as I have mentioned, have no substantial existence, are in truth everything, and all in all. Magnanimity in politics is not seldom the truest wisdom; and a great empire and little minds go ill together. If we are conscious of our situation, and glow with zeal to fill our places as becomes our station and ourselves, we ought to auspicate all our public proceedings on America, with the old warning of the Church, Sursum corda! We ought to elevate our minds to the greatness of that trust to which the order of Providence has called us. By adverting to the dignity of this high calling, our ancestors have turned a savage wilderness into a glorious empire; and have made the most extensive, and the only honourable conquests, not by destroying, but by promoting the wealth, the number, the happiness of the human race. Let us get an American revenue as we have got an American empire. English privileges have made it all that it is; English privileges alone will make it all it can be.
All of this, I know, will sound wild and unrealistic to the common crowd of those basic and mechanical politicians who don’t belong among us; people who believe that nothing exists except what is physical and tangible. Therefore, they are not only unqualified to lead the great movement of our empire but aren’t even fit to turn a wheel in the machine. However, for those truly enlightened and properly educated, these guiding and essential principles, which those I’ve mentioned dismiss as non-existent, are everything and the essence of everything. Generosity in politics is often the truest wisdom; a great empire and small minds do not mix well. If we recognize our situation and are passionate about fulfilling our roles as befits our position and ourselves, we should begin all our public efforts in America with the old call of the Church, Sursum corda! We should elevate our minds to the greatness of the responsibility that Providence has placed upon us. By acknowledging the dignity of this high calling, our forebears transformed a wild wilderness into a magnificent empire, achieving the most extensive and the only honorable victories—not by destruction, but by increasing the wealth, numbers, and happiness of humanity. Let us establish an American revenue just as we have built an American empire. English privileges have made it what it is today; only English privileges will enable it to reach its full potential.
AMERICAN PROTESTANTISM.
If anything were wanting to this necessary operation of the form of government, religion would have given it a complete effect. Religion, always a principle of energy, in this new people is no way worn out or impaired; and their mode of professing it is also one main cause of this free spirit. The people are Protestants; and of that kind which is the most adverse to all implicit submission of mind and opinion. This is a persuasion not only favourable to liberty, but built upon it. I do not think, Sir, that the reason of this averseness in the dissenting churches, from all that looks like absolute government, is so much to be sought in their religious tenets, as in their history. Every one knows that the Roman Catholic religion is at least coeval with most of the governments where it prevails; that it has generally gone hand in hand with them, and received great favour and every kind of support from authority. The Church of England, too, was formed from her cradle, under the nursing care of regular government. But the dissenting interests have sprung up in direct opposition to all the ordinary powers of the world; and could justify that opposition only on a strong claim to natural liberty. Their very existence depended on the powerful and unremitted assertion of that claim. All Protestantism, even the most cold and passive, is a sort of dissent. But the religion most prevalent in our northern colonies is a refinement on the principle of resistance; it is the dissidence of dissent, and the Protestantism of the Protestant religion.
If anything were missing from this essential function of government, religion would have filled the gap completely. Religion, always a source of energy, remains strong and untainted in this new society, and the way they practice it contributes significantly to their spirit of freedom. The people are Protestants, specifically of a kind that strongly opposes any blind submission of thought or opinion. This belief not only supports liberty but is built upon it. I don’t think, Sir, that the reason for this resistance in the dissenting churches against anything resembling absolute authority lies solely in their religious beliefs, but rather in their history. It's well known that the Roman Catholic faith has been around at least as long as most of the governments where it is practiced; it typically has aligned with them and has received considerable favor and support from those in power. The Church of England, too, was established under the protection of an organized government from its beginnings. However, the dissenting movements emerged in direct opposition to all the conventional powers of the world and could only justify that opposition through a strong claim to natural liberty. Their very existence relied on consistently and powerfully asserting that claim. All Protestantism, even the most indifferent and passive forms, can be seen as a form of dissent. But the prevalent religion in our northern colonies is a refined version of the principle of resistance; it represents the dissent of dissent and the Protestantism of Protestant faith.
RIGHT OF TAXATION.
I am resolved this day to have nothing at all to do with the question of the right of taxation. Some gentlemen startle, but it is true; I put it totally out of the question. It is less than nothing in my consideration. I do not indeed wonder, nor will you, Sir, that gentlemen of profound learning are fond of displaying it on this profound subject. But my consideration is narrow, confined, and wholly limited to the policy of the question. I do not examine whether the giving away a man's money be a power excepted and reserved out of the general trust of government; and how far all mankind, in all forms of polity, are entitled to an exercise of that right by the charter of nature. Or whether, on the contrary, a right of taxation is necessarily involved in the general principle of legislation, and inseparable from the ordinary supreme power. These are deep questions, where great names militate against each other; where reason is perplexed; and an appeal to authorities only thickens the confusion. For high and reverend authorities lift up their heads on both sides; and there is no sure footing in the middle. This point is the GREAT SERBONIAN BOG, BETWIXT DAMIATA AND MOUNT CASIUS OLD, WHERE ARMIES WHOLE HAVE SUNK. I do not intend to be overwhelmed in that bog, though in such respectable company. The question with me is, not whether you have a right to render your people miserable; but whether it is not your interest to make them happy. It is not what a lawyer tells me I MAY do; but what humanity, reason, and justice tell me I ought to do. Is a politic act the worse for being a generous one? Is no concession proper, but that which is made from your want of right to keep what you grant? Or does it lessen the grace or dignity of relaxing in the exercise of an odious claim, because you have your evidence-room full of titles, and your magazines stuffed with arms to enforce them? What signify all those titles, and all those arms? Of what avail are they, when the reason of the thing tells me, that the assertion of my title is the loss of my suit; and that I could do nothing but wound myself by the use of my own weapons?
I’ve decided today to completely avoid the topic of taxation rights. Some people may be shocked, but it’s true; I’m disregarding it entirely. To me, it’s less than irrelevant. I don’t really blame, nor will you, Sir, that well-educated individuals enjoy discussing this complex subject. However, my viewpoint is narrow, focused solely on the practical implications of the question. I’m not considering whether taking a person’s money is a power that’s excluded and reserved from the general authority of government; and to what extent everyone, in all types of governance, has the right to exercise this power based on natural law. Nor are we questioning if the right to tax is inherently part of the overall principle of legislation and inseparable from typical sovereign power. These are deep issues with great minds opposing each other; reason gets tangled up, and referring to authorities only adds to the chaos. High and respected authorities argue on both sides, leaving no solid ground in between. This issue is like the GREAT SERBONIAN BOG, BETWEEN DAMIATA AND MOUNT CASIUS OLD, WHERE WHOLE ARMIES HAVE SUNKEN. I refuse to get trapped in that bog, even in such esteemed company. For me, the question isn’t whether you can make your people miserable; it’s whether it benefits you to make them happy. It’s not about what a lawyer says I MAY do; it’s about what compassion, reason, and justice tell me I SHOULD do. Is a political action any worse for being generous? Is no concession appropriate unless it comes from your inability to retain what you offer? Does it diminish the grace or dignity of easing an unpleasant claim just because you have a room full of titles and weapons to back them up? What do those titles and weapons mean? What good are they when reasoning tells me that asserting my title means losing my case, and that using my own weapons only harms me?
CONTRACTED VIEWS.
It is exceedingly common for men to contract their love to their country into an attachment to its petty subdivisions; and they sometimes even cling to their provincial abuses, as if they were franchises and local privileges. Accordingly, in places where there is much of this kind of estate, persons will be always found who would rather trust to their talents in recommending themselves to power for the renewal of their interests, than to incumber their purses, though never so lightly, in order to transmit independence to their posterity. It is a great mistake, that the desire of securing property is universal among mankind. Gaming is a principle inherent in human nature. It belongs to us all. I would therefore break those tables; I would furnish no evil occupation for that spirit. I would make every man look everywhere, except to the intrigue of a court, for the improvement of his circumstances, or the security of his fortune.
It’s incredibly common for men to reduce their love for their country to a loyalty to its smaller parts; they even hold on to local issues as if they were special rights and privileges. As a result, in areas where this kind of mindset is prevalent, there are always people who would rather rely on their skills to win over those in power to regain their interests than to spend even a little money to ensure freedom for their future generations. It’s a huge misconception that the desire to secure wealth is universal among people. Risk-taking is a fundamental part of human nature. It’s part of all of us. Therefore, I would shatter those tables; I wouldn’t provide any harmful distractions for that impulse. I would encourage every person to look for ways to improve their situation or secure their wealth anywhere but in the schemes of a court.
ASSIMILATING POWER OF CONTACT.
I am sure that the only means of checking precipitate degeneracy is heartily to concur with whatever is the best in our time; and to have some more correct standard of judging what that best is, than the transient and uncertain favour of a court. If once we are able to find, and can prevail on ourselves to strengthen, a union of such men, whatever accidentally becomes indisposed to ill-exercised power, even by the ordinary operation of human passions, must join with that society, and cannot long be joined without in some degree assimilating to it. Virtue will catch as well as vice by contact; and the public stock of honest, manly principle will daily accumulate. We are not too nicely to scrutinize motives as long as action is irreproachable. It is enough (and for a worthy man perhaps too much) to deal out its infamy to convicted guilt and declared apostacy.
I believe that the only way to prevent sudden decline is to wholeheartedly support whatever is best in our time, and to have a more reliable standard for deciding what that best is, rather than relying on the fleeting and unpredictable favor of those in power. Once we manage to find and commit ourselves to strengthening a group of such individuals, anything that tends to oppose poorly exercised authority—even just through normal human emotions—will naturally align with that group and will not stay connected for long without somewhat becoming like it. Just as vice spreads, so does virtue through association; and the collective pool of honest, strong principles will grow each day. We shouldn't be overly critical of motives as long as actions are beyond reproach. It's sufficient (and perhaps even more than necessary for a good person) to condemn those who are guilty and those who have turned away from their principles.
PRUDENCE OF TIMELY REFORM.
But there is a time when men will not suffer bad things because their ancestors have suffered worse. There is a time when the hoary head of inveterate abuse will neither draw reverence nor obtain protection. If the noble lord in the blue riband pleads "not guilty" to the charges brought against the present system of public economy, it is not possible to give a fair verdict by which he will not stand acquitted. But pleading is not our present business. His plea or his traverse may be allowed as an answer to a charge, when a charge is made. But if he puts himself in the way to obstruct reformation, then the faults of his office instantly become his own. Instead of a public officer in an abusive department, whose province is an object to be regulated, he becomes a criminal who is to be punished. I do most seriously put it to administration, to consider the wisdom of a timely reform. Early reformations are amicable arrangements with a friend in power; late reformations are terms imposed upon a conquered enemy: early reformations are made in cool blood; late reformations are made under a state of inflammation. In that state of things people behold in government nothing that is respectable. They see the abuse, and they will see nothing else: they fall into the temper of a furious populace provoked at the disorder of a house of ill-fame; they never attempt to correct or regulate; they go to work by the shortest way—they abate the nuisance, they pull down the house.
But there comes a time when people won’t put up with bad situations just because their ancestors endured worse. There comes a time when the old ways of persistent abuse will no longer command respect or receive protection. If the noble lord with the blue ribbon claims "not guilty" to the accusations against the current system of public economy, it’s impossible to give a fair verdict that would clear him of wrongdoing. But defending himself isn’t our main focus right now. His defense might be accepted in response to a specific accusation, but if he tries to block reform, then the failures of his role become his own responsibility. Instead of being a public official in a problematic department, whose job needs regulation, he turns into a wrongdoer who must face consequences. I seriously urge the administration to recognize the value of a timely reform. Early reforms are like friendly agreements with someone in power; late reforms are imposed conditions on a defeated enemy. Early reforms happen when emotions are stable; late reforms come from a state of anger. In such circumstances, people see nothing respectable in the government. They notice the abuse and ignore everything else; they become like an angry mob outraged by the chaos of a disreputable establishment; they don't try to correct or regulate things; instead, they take the quickest route—they eliminate the nuisance and tear down the place.
DIFFICULTIES OF REFORMERS.
Nothing, you know, is more common than for men to wish, and call loudly, too, for a reformation, who, when it arrives, do by no means like the severity of its aspect. Reformation is one of those pieces which must be put at some distance in order to please. Its greatest favourers love it better in the abstract than in the substance. When any old prejudice of their own, or any interest that they value, is touched, they become scrupulous, they become captious, and every man has his separate exception. Some pluck out the black hairs, some the gray; one point must be given up to one; another point must be yielded to another; nothing is suffered to prevail upon its own principle; the whole is so frittered down, and disjointed, that scarcely a trace of the original scheme remains! Thus, between the resistance of power, and the unsystematical process of popularity, the undertaker and the undertaking are both exposed, and the poor reformer is hissed off the stage both by friends and foes.
Nothing is more common than for people to wish for and loudly call for change, only to be put off by its harsh realities when it finally happens. Change is something that people tend to appreciate from a distance. Those who support it often prefer the idea of it rather than the actual execution. When their own outdated beliefs or valued interests are challenged, they become picky and critical, and everyone has their own exceptions. Some focus on minor issues while others prioritize different ones; concessions are made here and there, and nothing is allowed to stand on its own principles. The entire idea gets so broken down and fragmented that hardly any trace of the original vision remains! Thus, caught between the pushback from those in power and the chaotic nature of public opinion, both the reformer and the mission are left vulnerable, and the poor advocate for change finds themselves booed off the stage by both supporters and detractors.
PHILOSOPHY OF COMMERCE.
If honesty be true policy with regard to the transient interest of individuals, it is much more certainly so with regard to the permanent interests of communities. I know, that it is but too natural for us to see our own CERTAIN ruin in the POSSIBLE prosperity of other people. It is hard to persuade us, that everything which is GOT by another is not TAKEN from ourselves. But it is fit that we should get the better of these suggestions, which come from what is not the best and soundest part of our nature, and that we should form to ourselves a way of thinking, more rational, more just, and more religious. Trade is not a limited thing; as if the objects of mutual demand and consumption could not stretch beyond the bounds of our jealousies. God has given the earth to the children of men, and he has undoubtedly, in giving it to them, given them what is abundantly sufficient for all their exigencies; not a scanty, but a most liberal, provision for them all. The author of our nature has written it strongly in that nature, and has promulgated the same law in his written word, that man shall eat his bread by his labour; and I am persuaded, that no man, and no combination of men, for their own ideas of their particular profit, can, without great impiety, undertake to say, that he SHALL NOT do so; that they have no sort of right, either to prevent the labour, or to withhold the bread.
If honesty is truly the best policy when it comes to the short-term interests of individuals, it's even more definitely the best policy for the long-term interests of communities. I know it's only natural for us to see our own certain downfall in the possible success of others. It's hard to convince us that what someone else gains isn't taken from us. However, we should overcome these feelings that arise from the less admirable parts of our nature, and we should adopt a mindset that's more rational, fair, and respectful. Trade isn’t a finite thing; it’s not as if the things we mutually want and need can’t go beyond our insecurities. God has given the earth to humanity, and in doing so, He has provided more than enough to meet all our needs; not just a little, but a very generous supply for everyone. The creator of our nature has firmly established in that nature, and has shared the same truth in His written word, that we shall earn our living through our work; and I believe that no person, nor any group of people, for their own ideas of profit, can, without great wrongdoing, claim that they should not do so; they have no right to stop anyone from working or to withhold the fruits of that labor.
THEORIZING POLITICIANS.
There are people who have split and anatomised the doctrine of free government, as if it were an abstract question concerning metaphysical liberty and necessity; and not a matter of moral prudence and natural feeling. They have disputed, whether liberty be a positive or a negative idea; whether it does not consist in being governed by laws, without considering what are the laws, or who are the makers; whether man has any rights by nature; and whether all the property he enjoys be not the alms of his government, and his life itself their favour and indulgence. Others corrupting religion, as these have perverted philosophy, contend, that Christians are redeemed into captivity; and the blood of the Saviour of mankind has been shed to make them the slaves of a few proud and insolent sinners. These shocking extremes provoking to extremes of another kind, speculations are let loose as destructive to all authority, as the former are to all freedom; and every government is called tyranny and usurpation which is not formed on their fancies. In this manner the stirrers-up of this contention, not satisfied with distracting our dependencies and filling them with blood and slaughter, are corrupting our understandings; they are endeavouring to tear up, along with practical liberty, all the foundations of human society, all equity and justice, religion and order.
There are people who have dissected and analyzed the idea of free government as if it were just a theoretical question about abstract freedom and necessity, rather than a matter of practical wisdom and basic human feelings. They have argued about whether liberty is a positive or negative concept, whether it means being governed by laws without considering what those laws are or who creates them, whether people have any inherent rights, and whether all the property they have is just a gift from the government, with their very lives depending on the government's goodwill. Others, distorting religion as some have twisted philosophy, argue that Christians are redeemed into servitude, claiming that the sacrifice of the Savior was meant to make them the slaves of a few arrogant and disrespectful sinners. These extreme views provoke reactions of their own, leading to ideas that are just as damaging to authority as the former ones are to freedom. They label any government that doesn't align with their beliefs as tyranny and usurpation. In this way, those who stir up this conflict, not content with causing chaos and bloodshed, are also corrupting our understanding; they are trying to dismantle, along with practical liberty, all the foundations of human society, including fairness, justice, religion, and order.
ECONOMY AND PUBLIC SPIRIT.
Economy and public spirit have made a beneficent and an honest spoil; they have plundered from extravagance and luxury, for the use of substantial service, a revenue of near four hundred thousand pounds. The reform of the finances, joined to this reform of the court, gives to the public nine hundred thousand pounds a year and upwards.
Economy and civic-mindedness have created a positive and genuine advantage; they have taken from wastefulness and luxury to benefit essential services, resulting in nearly four hundred thousand pounds. The financial reform, along with this reform of the court, provides the public with nine hundred thousand pounds a year and more.
The minister who does these things is a great man—but the king who desires that they should be done is a far greater. We must do justice to our enemies—these are the acts of a patriot king. I am not in dread of the vast armies of France; I am not in dread of the gallant spirit of its brave and numerous nobility; I am not alarmed even at the great navy which has been so miraculously created. All these things Louis the Fourteenth had before. With all these things, the French monarchy has more than once fallen prostrate at the feet of the public faith of Great Britain. It was the want of public credit which disabled France from recovering after her defeats, or recovering even from her victories and triumphs. It was a prodigal court, it was an ill-ordered revenue, that sapped the foundations of all her greatness. Credit cannot exist under the arm of necessity. Necessity strikes at credit, I allow, with a heavier and quicker blow under an arbitrary monarchy, than under a limited and balanced government; but still necessity and credit are natural enemies, and cannot be long reconciled in any situation. From necessity and corruption, a free state may lose the spirit of that complex constitution which is the foundation of confidence.
The minister who does these things is a great man—but the king who wants them done is even greater. We must do right by our enemies—these are the actions of a patriot king. I'm not afraid of France's vast armies; I’m not intimidated by the brave spirit of its noblemen; and I'm not worried about the impressive navy that has been created. Louis the Fourteenth had all of this before. Despite having all these advantages, the French monarchy has fallen before the public faith of Great Britain more than once. It was the lack of public credit that prevented France from bouncing back after its defeats, or even after its victories. A lavish court and mismanaged finances eroded the foundations of her greatness. Credit can't thrive in times of necessity. Necessity does strike credit harder and faster under an arbitrary monarchy than under a limited and balanced government; however, necessity and credit are natural rivals and can't stay reconciled in any situation for long. From necessity and corruption, a free state might lose the essence of the complex system that builds trust.
REFORM OUGHT TO BE PROGRESSIVE.
Whenever we improve, it is right to leave room for a further improvement. It is right to consider, to look about us, to examine the effect of what we have done. Then we can proceed with confidence, because we can proceed with intelligence. Whereas in hot reformations, in what men, more zealous than considerate, call MAKING CLEAR WORK, the whole is generally so crude, so harsh, so indigested; mixed with so much imprudence, and so much injustice; so contrary to the whole course of human nature and human institutions, that the very people who are most eager for it are among the first to grow disgusted at what they have done. Then some part of the abdicated grievance is recalled from its exile in order to become a corrective of the correction. Then the abuse assumes all the credit and popularity of a reform. The very idea of purity and disinterestedness in politics falls into disrepute, and is considered as a vision of hot and inexperienced men; and thus disorders become incurable, not by the virulence of their own quality, but by the unapt and violent nature of the remedies. A great part, therefore, of my idea of reform is meant to operate gradually; some benefits will come at a nearer, some at a more remote period. We must no more make haste to be rich by parsimony, than by intemperate acquisition.
Whenever we improve, it's important to leave room for further improvement. It's necessary to consider, to look around us, to assess the effects of what we've done. Then we can move forward with confidence because we’re acting with awareness. In contrast, during rushed reforms, which some more passionate than thoughtful call MAKING CLEAR WORK, the results are often crude, harsh, and poorly thought out; mixed with too much recklessness and injustice; so at odds with human nature and institutions that even those most eager for change quickly become disillusioned by the outcomes. Then part of the complaint that was set aside comes back to counter the correction. As a result, the existing problems gain all the credit and popularity of reform. The very idea of purity and selflessness in politics falls out of favor and is seen as a vision of impulsive and inexperienced individuals; thus, problems become unresolvable, not because of their intensity but due to the inappropriate and harsh nature of the solutions. A significant part of my approach to reform is meant to work gradually; some benefits will be felt sooner, others later. We shouldn’t rush to become wealthy through stinginess any more than through reckless spending.
CIVIL FREEDOM.
Civil freedom, gentlemen, is not, as many have endeavoured to persuade you, a thing that lies hid in the depth of abstruse science. It is a blessing and a benefit, not an abstract speculation; and all the just reasoning that can be upon it is of so coarse a texture, as perfectly to suit the ordinary capacities of those who are to enjoy, and of those who are to defend it. Far from any resemblance to those propositions in geometry and metaphysics, which admit no medium, but must be true or false in all their latitude; social and civil freedom, like all other things in common life, are variously mixed and modified, enjoyed in very different degrees, and shaped into an infinite diversity of forms, according to the temper and circumstances of every community. The EXTREME of liberty (which is its abstract perfection, but its real fault) obtains nowhere, nor ought to obtain anywhere. Because extremes, as we all know, in every point which relates either to our duties or satisfactions in life, are destructive both to virtue and enjoyment.
Civil freedom, gentlemen, is not, as many have tried to convince you, something hidden in the depths of complex theory. It is a blessing and a benefit, not just an abstract idea; and all the reasonable arguments surrounding it are straightforward enough for anyone who will enjoy and defend it. Unlike the rigid propositions of geometry and metaphysics that can only be true or false, social and civil freedom, like everything in everyday life, is mixed and modified in various ways, enjoyed to different extents, and shaped into countless forms based on the nature and circumstances of each community. The extreme of liberty (which represents its ideal form but is actually its flaw) doesn’t exist anywhere, nor should it. Because we all know that extremes, in every aspect of our duties or pleasures in life, can undermine both virtue and satisfaction.
TENDENCIES OF POWER.
When any community is subordinately connected with another, the great danger of the connection is the extreme pride and self-complacency of the superior, which in all matters of controversy will probably decide in its own favour. It is a powerful corrective to such a very rational cause of fear if the inferior body can be made to believe that the party inclination, or political views, of several in the principal state will induce them in some degree to counteract this blind and tyrannical partiality. There is no danger that any one acquiring consideration or power in the presiding state should carry this leaning to the inferior too far. The fault of human nature is not of that sort. Power, in whatever hands, is rarely guilty of too strict limitations on itself. But one great advantage to the support of authority attends such an amicable and protecting connection, that those who have conferred favours obtain influence; and from the foresight of future events can persuade men who have received obligations, sometimes to return them. Thus, by the mediation of those healing principles (call them good or evil), troublesome discussions are brought to some sort of adjustment, and every hot controversy is not a civil war.
When one community is linked to another in a subordinate way, the main risk of this relationship is the excessive pride and self-satisfaction of the dominant group, which will likely sway any debates in its own favor. It helps ease this reasonable fear if the smaller community can believe that the political views of some individuals in the main group will motivate them to act against this biased and oppressive favoritism. There’s no risk of someone gaining respect or power in the leading group pushing this bias too far onto the subordinate one. That’s not how human nature operates. Those in power rarely impose overly strict limits on themselves. However, one significant benefit of maintaining such a friendly and supportive connection is that those who offer favors gain influence; and with awareness of future outcomes, they can convince those who have received help to sometimes return the gesture. Thus, with the intervention of these conciliatory principles (whether you see them as good or bad), contentious issues can find some resolution, preventing every heated debate from escalating into a civil war.
INDIVIDUAL GOOD AND PUBLIC BENEFIT.
The individual good felt in a public benefit is comparatively so small, comes round through such an involved labyrinth of intricate and tedious revolutions; whilst a present, personal detriment is so heavy where it falls, and so instant in its operation, that the cold commendation of a public advantage never was, and never will be a match for the quick sensibility of a private loss: and you may depend upon it, sir, that when many people have an interest in railing, sooner or later, they will bring a considerable degree of unpopularity upon any measure, So that, for the present at least, the reformation will operate against the reformers, and revenge (as against them at the least) will produce all the effects of corruption.
The personal benefit from a public good is relatively small and comes through a complicated and slow process, while a personal loss is heavy and immediate. The cold praise for a public benefit has never been, and will never be, as impactful as the sharp feeling of a private loss. You can count on it, sir, that when many people have a stake in complaining, eventually, they'll bring a significant level of unpopularity to any initiative. So, at least for now, the reforms will work against the reformers, and revenge (especially against them) will create all the negative effects of corruption.
PUBLIC CORRUPTION.
Nor is it the worst effect of this unnatural contention, that our LAWS are corrupted. Whilst MANNERS remain entire, they will correct the vices of law, and soften it at length to their own temper. But we have to lament, that in most of the late proceedings we see very few traces of that generosity, humanity, and dignity of mind which formerly characterized this nation. War suspends the rules of moral obligation, and what is long suspended is in danger of being totally abrogated. Civil wars strike deepest of all into the manners of the people. They vitiate their politics; they corrupt their morals; they pervert even the natural taste and relish of equity and justice. By teaching us to consider our fellow-citizens in a hostile light, the whole body of our nation becomes gradually less dear to us. The very names of affection and kindred, which were the bond of charity whilst we agreed, become new incentives to hatred and rage when the communion of our country is dissolved. We may flatter ourselves that we shall not fall into this misfortune. But we have no charter of exemption, that I know of, from the ordinary frailties of our nature.
Nor is it the worst effect of this unnatural conflict that our laws are corrupted. As long as our manners remain intact, they will correct the flaws in the law and eventually shape it to their own character. But we have to mourn that in most of the recent events we see very little trace of the generosity, humanity, and dignity that once defined this nation. War suspends the rules of moral obligation, and what is suspended for a long time risks being completely abolished. Civil wars hit the manners of the people the hardest. They taint their politics, corrupt their morals, and distort even the natural sense of fairness and justice. By teaching us to see our fellow citizens as enemies, the whole nation gradually becomes less dear to us. The very names of affection and kinship, which used to be the bonds of charity when we were united, become new triggers for hatred and rage when our shared identity is shattered. We might comfort ourselves with the belief that we won't fall into this tragedy. But as far as I know, we have no guarantee of immunity from the usual weaknesses of our nature.
CRUELTY AND COWARDICE.
A conscientious man would be cautious how he dealt in blood. He would feel some apprehension at being called to a tremendous account for engaging in so deep a play, without any sort of knowledge of the game. It is no excuse for presumptuous ignorance, that it is directed by insolent passion. The poorest being that crawls on earth, contending to save itself from injustice and oppression, is an object respectable in the eyes of God and man. But I cannot conceive any existence under heaven (which, in the depths of its wisdom, tolerates all sorts of things) that is more truly odious and disgusting, than an impotent helpless creature, without civil wisdom or military skill, without a consciousness of any other qualification for power but his servility to it, bloated with pride and arrogance, calling for battles which he is not to fight, contending for a violent dominion which he can never exercise, and satisfied to be himself mean and miserable, in order to render others contemptible and wretched.
A thoughtful person would be careful about how he engages in violent matters. He would feel some concern about facing serious consequences for taking part in such a high-stakes game without any real understanding of it. Being driven by reckless passion is no excuse for ignorant arrogance. The most unfortunate person struggling against injustice and oppression still deserves respect from both God and humanity. However, I can’t imagine any existence on earth (which, in its vast wisdom, allows for all kinds of things) that is more truly disgusting than a powerless, helpless individual who lacks both social intelligence and military skill, who thinks the only qualification for power is his subservience to it, filled with pride and arrogance while calling for wars that he will not fight, fighting for a brutal control that he can never wield, and content to remain pathetic and miserable just to make others feel worthless and wretched.
BAD LAWS PRODUCE BASE SUBSERVIENCY.
Bad laws are the worst sort of tyranny. In such a country as this they are of all bad things the worst, worse by far than anywhere else; and they derive a particular malignity even from the wisdom and soundness of the rest of our institutions. For very obvious reasons you cannot trust the crown with a dispensing power over any of your laws. However, a government, be it as bad as it may, will, in the exercise of a discretionary power, discriminate times and persons; and will not ordinarily pursue any man when its own safety is not concerned. A mercenary informer knows no distinction. Under such a system, the obnoxious people are slaves, not only to the government, but they live at the mercy of every individual; they are at once the slaves of the whole community, and of every part of it; and the worst and most unmerciful men are those on whose goodness they most depend.
Bad laws are the worst kind of oppression. In a country like this, they are the absolute worst, far worse than anywhere else; they gain a particular venom even from the wisdom and solidness of our other institutions. For obvious reasons, you can't trust the crown with the power to override any of your laws. However, a government, no matter how bad it is, will, in exercising discretionary power, make distinctions based on time and individuals; it typically won’t pursue someone unless its own safety is at stake. A greedy informant makes no such distinctions. Under this system, the targeted individuals are enslaved, not just by the government but also at the mercy of every single person; they are essentially slaves to the entire community and every component of it; and the least compassionate and most ruthless individuals are those whose goodwill they depend on the most.
In this situation men not only shrink from the frowns of a stern magistrate, but they are obliged to fly from their very species. The seeds of destruction are sown in civil intercourse, in social habitudes. The blood of wholesome kindred is infected. Their tables and beds are surrounded with snares. All the means given by Providence to make life safe and comfortable are perverted into instruments of terror and torment. This species of universal subserviency, that makes the very servant who waits behind your chair the arbiter of your life and fortune, has such a tendency to degrade and abase mankind, and to deprive them of that assured and liberal state of mind which alone can make us what we ought to be, that I vow to God I would sooner bring myself to put a man to immediate death for opinions I disliked, and so to get rid of the man and his opinions at once, than to fret him with a feverish being, tainted with the jail-distemper of a contagious servitude, to keep him above ground an animated mass of putrefaction, corrupted himself, and corrupting all about him.
In this situation, people not only shy away from the glare of a harsh judge, but they are also forced to distance themselves from their own kind. The roots of destruction lie within social interactions and everyday habits. The blood of healthy relatives is tainted. Their tables and beds are filled with traps. Everything provided by fate to make life safe and enjoyable is twisted into tools of fear and suffering. This kind of universal subservience, which turns even the servant standing behind your chair into the ruler of your life and fate, tends to degrade humanity and rob people of the confidence and freedom necessary to be who we should be. Honestly, I would rather kill a man immediately for having opinions I disagreed with, just to be rid of him and his views, than subject him to a miserable existence filled with the toxic mindset of oppressive servitude, keeping him alive only as a rotting shell, corrupted and corrupting everyone around him.
FALSE REGRET.
If we repent of our good actions, what, I pray you, is left for our faults and follies? It is not the beneficence of the laws, it is the unnatural temper which beneficence can fret and sour that is to be lamented. It is this temper which, by all rational means, ought to be sweetened and corrected. If froward men should refuse this cure, can they vitiate anything but themselves? Does evil so react upon good, as not only to retard its motion, but to change its nature? If it can so operate, then good men will always be in the power of the bad; and virtue, by a dreadful reverse of order, must lie under perpetual subjection and bondage to vice.
If we regret our good actions, what, I ask you, is left for our mistakes and foolishness? It's not the kindness of the laws, but the unnatural attitude that can alienate and sour that we should feel sorry for. This attitude should be sweetened and corrected by all reasonable means. If stubborn people refuse this remedy, can they harm anything but themselves? Does evil affect good in such a way that it not only slows its progress but also alters its nature? If that’s the case, then good people will always be at the mercy of the bad; and virtue, in a terrible twist of fate, would have to live under constant subjugation and oppression by vice.
BRITISH DOMINION IN EAST INDIA.
With very few, and those inconsiderable, intervals, the British dominion, either in the Company's name, or in the names of princes absolutely dependent upon the Company, extends from the mountains that separate India from Tartary to Cape Comorin,—that is, one-and-twenty degrees of latitude!
With very few, and those minor, gaps, British control, either under the Company's name or under the names of princes completely reliant on the Company, stretches from the mountains that separate India from Tartary to Cape Comorin—essentially, a span of twenty-one degrees of latitude!
In the northern parts it is a solid mass of land, about eight hundred miles in length, and four or five hundred broad. As you go southward, it becomes narrower for a space. It afterwards dilates; but, narrower or broader, you possess the whole eastern and north-eastern coast of that vast country, quite from the borders of Pegu. Bengal, Bahar, and Orissa, with Benares (now unfortunately in our immediate possession), measure 161,978 square English miles; a territory considerably larger than the whole kingdom of France. Oude, with its dependent provinces, is 53,286 square miles, not a great deal less than England. The Carnatic, with Tanjore and the Circars, is 65,948 square miles, very considerably larger than England; and the whole of the Company's dominions, comprehending Bombay and Salsette, amounts to 281,412 square miles; which forms a territory larger than any European dominion, Russia and Turkey excepted. Through all that vast extent of country there is not a man who eats a mouthful of rice but by permission of the East-India Company.
In the northern areas, it's a solid landmass, about eight hundred miles long and four or five hundred miles wide. As you head south, it narrows for a bit before expanding again; but whether it's narrower or wider, you control the entire eastern and northeastern coastline of that vast country, all the way from the borders of Pegu. Bengal, Bahar, and Orissa, including Benares (which we unfortunately have in our immediate control), cover 161,978 square English miles—an area significantly larger than the entire kingdom of France. Oude, with its surrounding provinces, is 53,286 square miles, which is not too much less than England. The Carnatic, including Tanjore and the Circars, spans 65,948 square miles, which is considerably larger than England; and the entire territory of the Company, including Bombay and Salsette, totals 281,412 square miles—making it larger than any European territory, except for Russia and Turkey. Throughout all this vast region, not a single person can eat a mouthful of rice without the permission of the East India Company.
So far with regard to the extent. The population of this great empire is not easily to be calculated. When the countries, of which it is composed, came into our possession, they were all eminently peopled, and eminently productive; though at that time considerably declined from their ancient prosperity. But, since they are come into our hands!—! However, if we make the period of our estimate immediately before the utter desolation of the Carnatic, and if we allow for the havoc which our government had even then made in these regions, we cannot, in my opinion, rate the population at much less than thirty millions of souls,—more than four times the number of persons in the Island of Great Britain.
So far regarding the extent, it’s hard to calculate the population of this vast empire. When the countries that make it up came under our control, they were all densely populated and highly productive, although they had significantly declined from their former glory at that time. But since they came into our hands!—! However, if we consider the period right before the complete devastation of the Carnatic, and if we account for the damage our government had already inflicted on these areas, I believe we can estimate the population at no less than thirty million people—more than four times the number of people in Great Britain.
My next inquiry to that of the number, is the quality and description of the inhabitants. This multitude of men does not consist of an abject and barbarous populace; much less of gangs of savages, like the Guaranies and Chiquitos, who wander on the waste borders of the river of Amazons, or the Plate; but a people for ages civilized and cultivated; cultivated by all the arts of polished life, whilst we were yet in the woods. There have been (and still the skeletons remain) princes once of great dignity, authority, and opulence. There are to be found the chiefs of tribes and nations. There is to be found an ancient and venerable priesthood, the depository of their laws, learning, and history, the guides of the people whilst living, and their consolation in death; a nobility of great antiquity and renown; a multitude of cities, not exceeded in population and trade by those of the first class in Europe; merchants and bankers, individual houses of whom have once vied in capital with the Bank of England; whose credit had often supported a tottering state, and preserved their governments in the midst of war and desolation; millions of ingenious manufacturers and mechanics; millions of the most diligent, and not the least intelligent, tillers of the earth. There are to be found almost all the religions professed by men,—the Brahminical, the Mussulman, the Eastern and the Western Christian.
My next question, after discussing the population, is about the quality and characteristics of the inhabitants. This large group of people isn't made up of a miserable and uncivilized crowd, much less of roaming bands of savages like the Guaraní and Chiquitos, who wander the desolate borders of the Amazon River or the Plate. Instead, they are a people who have been civilized and cultured for ages, refined by all the aspects of refined life while we were still living in the woods. There are remnants (and still skeletons remain) of princes who once held great dignity, authority, and wealth. You can find leaders of tribes and nations. There exists an ancient and respected priesthood, the keepers of their laws, knowledge, and history, guiding the people in life and offering them comfort in death; a nobility of great age and prestige; a multitude of cities, unmatched in population and trade compared to the top cities in Europe; merchants and bankers, some of whom have once competed in wealth with the Bank of England; whose credit often sustained a struggling state and maintained their governments amid war and devastation; millions of skilled manufacturers and tradespeople; millions of hardworking and intelligent farmers. You can find nearly all the religions practiced by humanity—the Brahminical, the Muslim, the Eastern and Western Christian.
If I were to take the whole aggregate of our possessions there, I should compare it, as the nearest parallel I can find, with the empire of Germany. Our immediate possessions I should compare with the Austrian dominions,—and they would not suffer in the comparison. The nabob of Oude might stand for the king of Prussia; the nabob of Arcot I would compare, as superior in territory and equal in revenue, to the elector of Saxony. Cheyt Sing, the rajah of Benares, might well rank with the prince of Hesse, at least; and the rajah of Tanjore (though hardly equal in extent of dominion, superior in revenue), to the elector of Bavaria. The Polygars and the northern Zemindars, and other great chiefs, might well class with the rest of the princes, dukes, counts, marquises, and bishops, in the empire; all of whom I mention to honour, and surely without disparagement to any or all of those most respectable princes and grandees. All this vast mass, composed of so many orders and classes of men, is again infinitely advocated by manners, by religion, by hereditary employment, through all their possible combinations. This renders the handling of India a matter in a high degree critical and delicate. But oh! it has been handled rudely indeed. Even some of the reformers seem to have forgot that they had anything to do but to regulate the tenants of a manor, or the shopkeepers of the next county town.
If I were to take all of our possessions there, I would compare it, as the closest analogy I can find, to the German empire. Our immediate possessions would be similar to the Austrian territories—and they wouldn't come up short in the comparison. The nabob of Oude could represent the king of Prussia; the nabob of Arcot I would compare, as having more land and equal revenue, to the elector of Saxony. Cheyt Sing, the rajah of Benares, could rank at least with the prince of Hesse; and the rajah of Tanjore (though not equal in territory, superior in revenue) could be compared to the elector of Bavaria. The Polygars, the northern Zemindars, and other significant chiefs could be grouped with the other princes, dukes, counts, marquises, and bishops in the empire; I mention all of them to show respect, and certainly without diminishing any of those distinguished princes and nobles. This vast group, composed of so many different classes of people, is further complicated by customs, religion, and hereditary roles, through all their possible combinations. This makes managing India extremely critical and delicate. But oh! it has been handled very roughly. Even some of the reformers seem to have forgotten that they had anything to do except regulate the tenants of a manor or the shopkeepers in the nearby town.
It is an empire of this extent, of this complicated nature, of this dignity and importance, that I have compared to Germany, and the German government; not for an exact resemblance, but as a sort of a middle term, by which India might be approximated to our understandings, and if possible to our feelings; in order to awaken something of sympathy for the unfortunate natives, of which I am afraid we are not perfectly susceptible, whilst we look at this very remote object through a false and cloudy medium.
It is an empire of this size, of this complex nature, with this dignity and significance, that I have compared to Germany and the German government; not for a perfect match, but as a sort of middle ground to help us better understand and possibly feel for India. This is to stir some sympathy for the unfortunate natives, which I fear we might not fully grasp while viewing this distant issue through a misleading and unclear lens.
POLITICAL CHARITY.
Honest men will not forget either their merit or their sufferings. There are men (and many, I trust, there are) who, out of love to their country and their kind, would torture their invention to find excuses for the mistakes of their brethren; and who, to stifle dissension, would construe even doubtful appearances with the utmost favour: such men will never persuade themselves to be ingenious and refined in discovering disaffection and treason in the manifest, palpable signs of suffering loyalty. Persecution is so unnatural to them, that they gladly snatch the very first opportunity of laying aside all the tricks and devices of penal politics; and of returning home, after all their irksome and vexatious wanderings, to our natural family mansion, to the grand social principle, that unites all men, in all descriptions, under the shadow of an equal and impartial justice.
Honest people won’t forget their contributions or their struggles. There are individuals (and I believe there are many) who, out of love for their country and fellow citizens, will go to great lengths to find reasons to forgive the mistakes of others; and who, to maintain harmony, will interpret even ambiguous situations in the most favorable light. Such people will never convince themselves to be clever and sophisticated in spotting discontent and betrayal in the obvious, clear signs of loyal suffering. Persecution feels so unnatural to them that they eagerly take the first chance to set aside all the tricks and tactics of punitive politics; and to return home, after all their tedious and frustrating journeys, to our natural family home, to the fundamental social principle that unites all people, in every situation, under the protection of equal and fair justice.
EVILS OF DISTRACTION.
The very attempt towards pleasing everybody discovers a temper always flashy, and often false and insincere. Therefore as I have proceeded straight onward in my conduct, so I will proceed in my account of those parts of it which have been most excepted to. But I must first beg leave just to hint to you, that we may suffer very great detriment by being open to every talker. It is not to be imagined how much of service is lost from spirits full of activity and full of energy, who are pressing, who are rushing forward, to great and capital objects, when you oblige them to be continually looking back. Whilst they are defending one service, they defraud you of an hundred. Applaud us when we run; console us when we fall; cheer us when we recover; but let us pass on—for God's sake let us pass on.
The attempt to please everyone often reveals a personality that’s flashy, and frequently fake and insincere. So, as I’ve gone straight ahead in my actions, I’ll also continue in my account of the aspects that have drawn the most criticism. But first, I want to point out that we can suffer significant harm by being open to every critic. It's hard to imagine how much potential is wasted by energetic and active individuals who are eager to pursue major goals when you force them to keep looking back. While they’re defending one effort, they might be holding you back from a hundred others. Celebrate us when we succeed; comfort us when we stumble; encourage us when we bounce back; but please, for God's sake, let us keep moving forward.
CHARLES FOX.
And now, having done my duty to the bill, let me say a word to the author. I should leave him to his own noble sentiments, if the unworthy and illiberal language with which he has been treated, beyond all example of parliamentary liberty, did not make a few words necessary; not so much in justice to him, as to my own feelings. I must say, then, that it will be a distinction honourable to the age, that the rescue of the greatest number of the human race that ever were so grievously oppressed, from the greatest tyranny that was ever exercised, has fallen to the lot of abilities and dispositions equal to the task; that it has fallen to one who has the enlargement to comprehend, the spirit to undertake, and the eloquence to support, so great a measure of hazardous benevolence. His spirit is not owing to his ignorance of the state of men and things; he well knows what snares are spread about his path, from personal animosity, from court intrigues, and possibly from popular delusion. But he has put to hazard his ease, his security, his interest, his power, even his darling popularity, for the benefit of a people whom he has never seen. This is the road that all heroes have trod before him. He is traduced and abused for his supposed motives. He will remember, that obloquy is a necessary ingredient in the composition of all true glory: he will remember, that it was not only in the Roman customs, but it is in the nature and constitution of things, that calumny and abuse are essential parts of triumph. These thoughts will support a mind, which only exists for honour, under the burthen of temporary reproach. He is doing indeed a great good; such as rarely falls to the lot, and almost as rarely coincides with the desires, of any man. Let him use his time. Let him give the whole length of the reins to his benevolence. He is now on a great eminence, where the eyes of mankind are turned to him. He may live long, he may do much. But here is the summit. He never can exceed what he does this day.
And now that I've done my part with the bill, let me say a few words to the author. I would leave him to his noble thoughts, if it weren't for the unworthy and unfair treatment he's received, which goes against the spirit of parliamentary freedom. I feel compelled to speak, not just for his sake, but for my own. So, I must say that it will be a significant achievement for our time that the rescue of the largest number of people who have ever been so badly oppressed from the greatest tyranny ever imposed has been entrusted to someone with the skills and determination to take on such a tremendous challenge. It has come to one who has the understanding to see the big picture, the courage to act, and the eloquence to advocate for such a risky act of kindness. His bravery comes not from ignorance of the realities of people and situations; he knows well what obstacles lie in his way, whether from personal grudges, court schemes, or possibly public misunderstanding. Yet, he has risked his comfort, safety, interests, power, and even his cherished popularity for the benefit of a people he has never met. This is the path all heroes have walked before him. He is slandered and criticized for his supposed motives. He will remember that criticism is a necessary part of true glory; he will remember that throughout Roman history, and indeed in the nature of things, slander and abuse are integral to victory. These thoughts will bolster a mind that lives for honor, helping him bear the weight of temporary criticism. He is indeed doing something remarkable; an opportunity that rarely comes and even less frequently aligns with anyone's wishes. He should seize the moment. He should fully embrace his compassion. He stands on a great pedestal, where all eyes are on him. He may live long and accomplish much. But this is the peak. He can never achieve more than what he does today.
He has faults; but they are faults that, though they may in a small degree tarnish the lustre, and sometimes impede the march, of his abilities, have nothing in them to extinguish the fire of great virtues. In those faults there is no mixture of deceit, of hypocrisy, of pride, of ferocity, of complexional despotism, or want of feeling for the distresses of mankind. His are faults which might exist in a descendant of Henry the Fourth of France, as they did exist in that father of his country. Henry the Fourth wished that he might live to see a fowl in the pot of every peasant in his kingdom. That sentiment of homely benevolence was worth all the splendid sayings that are recorded of kings. But he wished perhaps for more than could be obtained, and the goodness of the man exceeded the power of the king. But this gentleman, a subject, may this day say this at least, with truth, that he secures the rice in his pot to every man in India. A poet of antiquity thought it one of the first distinctions to a prince whom he meant to celebrate, that through a long succession of generations, he had been the progenitor of an able and virtuous citizen, who by force of the arts of peace, had corrected governments of oppression, and suppressed wars of rapine.
He has flaws, but they are flaws that, while they might slightly dull his shine and sometimes slow down his progress, don't extinguish the fire of his great virtues. In these flaws, there's no hint of deceit, hypocrisy, pride, cruelty, tyrannical behavior, or lack of compassion for human suffering. His flaws could be found in a descendant of Henry the Fourth of France, just as they existed in that founding father of his nation. Henry the Fourth wanted to see every peasant in his kingdom have a meal on the table. That genuine desire for the well-being of others was more valuable than all the grand statements attributed to kings. However, he may have hoped for more than what was achievable, as the man's goodness exceeded the king's power. But this gentleman, as a subject, can genuinely say today that he ensures everyone in India has food in their pot. An ancient poet considered it a significant honor for a prince he praised to be the ancestor of a capable and virtuous citizen who, through peaceful means, corrected oppressive governments and put an end to wars of plunder.
Indole proh quanta juvenis, quantumque daturus
Ausoniae populis ventura in saecula civem.
Ille super Gangem, super exauditus et Indos,
Implebit terras voce; et furialia bella
Fulmine compescet linguae.—
Indole proh quanta juvenis, quantumque daturus Ausoniae populis ventura in saecula civem. Ille super Gangem, super exauditus et Indos, Implebit terras voce; et furialia bella Fulmine compescet linguae.—
This was what was said of the predecessor of the only person to whose eloquence it does not wrong that of the mover of this bill to be compared. But the Ganges and the Indus are the patrimony of the fame of my honourable friend, and not of Cicero. I confess, I anticipate with joy the reward of those, whose whole consequence, power, and authority, exist only for the benefit of mankind; and I carry my mind to all the people, and all the names and descriptions, that, relieved by this bill, will bless the labours of this parliament, and the confidence which the best House of Commons has given to him who the best deserves it. The little cavils of party will not be heard, where freedom and happiness will be felt. There is not a tongue, a nation, or religion in India which will not bless the presiding care and manly beneficence of this house, and of him who proposes to you this great work. Your names will never be separated before the throne of the Divine goodness, in whatever language, or with whatever rites, pardon is asked for sin, and reward for those who imitate the Godhead in his universal bounty to his creatures. These honours you deserve, and they will surely be paid, when all the jargon of influence, and party, and patronage, are swept into oblivion.
This is what was said about the predecessor of the only person whose eloquence can rightfully be compared to that of the person proposing this bill. But the Ganges and the Indus belong to my honorable friend's legacy, not Cicero's. I admit, I look forward with joy to the rewards for those whose entire influence, power, and authority exist solely for the benefit of humanity; and I think of all the people, along with their names and descriptions, who will benefit from this bill, blessing the work of this parliament and the trust that the best House of Commons has given to the one who truly deserves it. The minor arguments of political parties will fade away where freedom and happiness will thrive. There isn't a voice, a nation, or a faith in India that won't express gratitude towards the care and generosity of this house and the person who proposes this significant endeavor. Your names will be forever recognized before the throne of Divine goodness, regardless of the language or rituals used to seek forgiveness for sins and reward those who emulate the divine with their unconditional kindness to others. You deserve these honors, and they will undoubtedly be realized when all the chatter of influence, party politics, and favoritism is forgotten.
THE IMPRACTICABLE UNDESIRABLE.
I know it is common for men to say, that such and such things are perfectly right—very desirable; but that, unfortunately, they are not practicable. Oh! no, sir, no. Those things, which are not practicable, are not desirable. There is nothing in the world really beneficial that does not lie within the reach of an informed understanding, and a well-directed pursuit. There is nothing that God has judged good for us that he has not given us the means to accomplish, both in the natural and the moral world. If we cry, like children, for the moon, like children we must cry on.
I know it’s common for men to say that certain things are perfectly right—very desirable; but unfortunately, they’re not practical. Oh no, sir, no. Things that aren’t practical aren’t desirable. There's nothing in the world that’s really beneficial that doesn’t come from an informed understanding and a focused effort. There’s nothing God has deemed good for us that he hasn’t given us the means to achieve, both in the natural and moral world. If we cry for the moon like children, we’ll just keep crying.
CONSTITUTION OF THE COMMONS.
The late House of Commons has been punished for its independence. That example is made. Have we an example on record of a House of Commons punished for its servility? The rewards of a senate so disposed are manifest to the world. Several gentlemen are very desirous of altering the constitution of the House of Commons; but they must alter the frame and constitution of human nature itself before they can so fashion it by any mode of election that its conduct will not be influenced by reward and punishment, by fame, and by disgrace. If these examples take root in the minds of men, what members hereafter will be bold enough not to be corrupt? Especially as the king's highway of obsequiousness is so very broad and easy. To make a passive member of parliament, no dignity of mind, no principles of honour, no resolution, no ability, no industry, no learning, no experience, are in the least degree necessary. To defend a post of importance against a powerful enemy, requires an Elliot; a drunken invalid is qualified to hoist a white flag, or to deliver up the keys of the fortress on his knees.
The recent House of Commons has faced consequences for its independence. This serves as a clear example. Do we have any records of a House of Commons being punished for being too submissive? The benefits for a senate acting that way are obvious to everyone. Some people are eager to change the structure of the House of Commons; however, they would need to change human nature itself before they could alter its election process in a way that would prevent its actions from being swayed by rewards and punishments, by reputation, and by shame. If these lessons stick in people's minds, what members will be bold enough to remain uncorrupted in the future? Especially since the path of compliance is so wide and easy. To create a passive member of parliament, nothing like dignity, honor, resolve, skill, hard work, knowledge, or experience is even slightly necessary. Defending a crucial position against a strong enemy demands someone like an Elliot; a drunken invalid is fit to wave a white flag or hand over the keys of the fortress while kneeling.
EMOLUMENTS OF OFFICE.
No man knows, when he cuts off the incitements to a virtuous ambition, and the just rewards of public service, what infinite mischief he may do his country, through all generations. Such saving to the public may prove the worst mode of robbing it. The crown, which has in its hands the trust of the daily pay for national service, ought to have in its hands also the means for the repose of public labour, and the fixed settlement of acknowledged merit. There is a time when the weather-beaten vessels of the state ought to come into harbour. They must at length have a retreat from the malice of rivals, from the perfidy of political friends, and the inconstancy of the people. Many of the persons, who in all times have filled the great offices of state, have been younger brothers, who had originally little, if any, fortune. These offices do not furnish the means of amassing wealth. There ought to be some power in the crown of granting pensions out of the reach of its own caprices. An entail of dependence is a bad reward of merit.
No one realizes that when they cut off the motivations for virtuous ambition and fair rewards for public service, they might cause endless harm to their country for generations. What seems like a benefit to the public might actually be the worst way to rob it. The crown, which holds the responsibility for paying national service daily, should also have the means to ensure the security of public labor and the fair recognition of merit. There comes a time when the worn-out vessels of the state need to dock. They should finally have a safe space away from the jealousy of competitors, the betrayal of political allies, and the fickleness of the public. Many people who have held high-ranking positions in government were younger sons with little or no wealth to begin with. These positions do not provide a way to accumulate riches. There should be some authority in the crown to grant pensions that aren't subject to its whims. A system of dependence is not a good reward for merit.
MORAL DISTINCTIONS.
Those who are least anxious about your conduct are not those that love you most. Moderate affection and satiated enjoyment are cold and respectful; but an ardent and injured passion is tempered up with wrath, and grief, and shame, and conscious worth, and the maddening sense of violated right. A jealous love lights his torch from the firebrands of the furies. They who call upon you to belong WHOLLY to the people, are those who wish you to return to your PROPER home; to the sphere of your duty, to the post of your honour, to the mansion-house of all genuine, serene, and solid satisfaction.
Those who are least worried about your behavior aren’t the ones who care about you the most. Casual affection and easy satisfaction are cool and respectful; however, intense and hurt feelings come filled with anger, sadness, shame, self-worth, and the frustrating feeling of being wronged. A jealous love ignites its flame from the sparks of fury. Those who urge you to fully belong to the people are the ones who want you to return to your rightful place; to your responsibilities, to your position of honor, to the home of all genuine, peaceful, and lasting happiness.
ELECTORS AND REPRESENTATIVES.
Look, gentlemen, to the WHOLE TENOUR of your member's conduct. Try whether his ambition or his avarice have jostled him out of the straight line of duty; or whether that grand foe of the offices of active life, that master vice in men of business, a degenerate and inglorious sloth—has made him flag and languish in his course. This is the object of our inquiry. If our member's conduct can bear this touch, mark it for sterling. He may have fallen into errors; he must have faults; but our error is greater, and our fault is radically ruinous to ourselves, if we do not bear, if we do not even applaud, the whole compound and mixed mass of such a character. Not to act thus is folly; I had almost said it is impiety. He censures God, who quarrels with the imperfections of man.
Look, gentlemen, consider the overall behavior of your member. Determine if his ambition or greed have sidetracked him from his responsibilities, or if that major enemy of active work, the deadly vice of laziness, has caused him to stumble and lose momentum. This is the focus of our investigation. If our member's actions can withstand this test, mark them as genuine. He may have made mistakes; he will have flaws; but our mistake is even bigger, and our flaw is fundamentally destructive to ourselves, if we do not accept, or even celebrate, the entire mix of such a character. Not doing so is foolish; I might even say it is disrespectful. He questions God who complains about the imperfections of humanity.
Gentlemen, we must not be peevish with those who serve the people. For none will serve us whilst there is a court to serve but those who are of a nice and jealous honour. They who think everything, in comparison of that honour, to be dust and ashes, will not bear to have it soiled and impaired by those for whose sake they make a thousand sacrifices to preserve it immaculate and whole. We shall either drive such men from the public stage, or we shall send them to the court for protection; where, if they must sacrifice their reputation, they will at least secure their interest. Depend upon it, that the lovers of freedom will be free. None will violate their conscience to please us, in order afterwards to discharge that conscience, which they have violated, by doing us faithful and affectionate service. If we degrade and deprave their minds by servility, it will be absurd to expect, that they who are creeping and abject towards us, will ever be bold and incorruptible assertors of our freedom, against the most seducing and the most formidable of all powers. No! human nature is not so formed; nor shall we improve the faculties or better the morals of public men, by our possession of the most infallible receipt in the world for making cheats and hypocrites.
Gentlemen, we should not be ungrateful to those who serve the public. Because none will assist us while there’s a court to serve, except those with a strong and sensitive sense of honor. Those who regard everything, compared to that honor, as worthless will not tolerate having it tarnished and damaged by those for whom they make countless sacrifices to keep it pure and whole. We will either drive such individuals away from public life or push them toward the court for protection; where, if they must sacrifice their reputation, they can at least safeguard their interests. You can count on it that those who love freedom will be free. No one will compromise their conscience to satisfy us, only to later try to reconcile that conscience, which they have betrayed, by serving us faithfully and affectionately. If we corrupt and degrade their minds through servility, it will be foolish to expect that those who are submissive and shameful toward us will ever be brave and incorruptible defenders of our freedom against the most tempting and powerful forces. No! Human nature isn’t designed that way; nor will we enhance the abilities or improve the morals of public figures by using the most foolproof method in the world for creating cheats and hypocrites.
Let me say with plainness, I who am no longer in a public character, that if by a fair, by an indulgent, by a gentlemanly behaviour to our representatives, we do not give confidence to their minds, and a liberal scope to their understandings; if we do not permit our members to act upon a VERY enlarged view of things; we shall at length infallibly degrade our national representation into a confused and scuffling bustle of local agency. When the popular member is narrowed in his ideas, and rendered timid in his proceedings, the service of the crown will be the sole nursery of statesmen. Among the frolics of the court, it may at length take that of attending to its business. Then the monopoly of mental power will be added to the power of all other kinds it possesses. On the side of the people there will be nothing but impotence: for ignorance is impotence; narrowness of mind is impotence; timidity is itself impotence, and makes all other qualities that go along with it, impotent and useless.
Let me be straightforward: I, who am no longer in a public role, believe that if we don't give our representatives confidence and the freedom to think broadly through fair, understanding, and gentlemanly behavior, we will inevitably reduce our national representation to a chaotic mix of local concerns. When a popular representative has limited ideas and becomes hesitant in their actions, serving the crown will be the only breeding ground for statesmen. Eventually, this may lead to focusing solely on court affairs. This could result in a monopoly of intellectual power being added to all the other kinds of power they already hold. On the people's side, there will be nothing but powerlessness: for ignorance is powerlessness; a narrow mind is powerlessness; timidity itself is powerlessness and makes all other qualities that accompany it weak and ineffective.
POPULAR OPINION A FALLACIOUS STANDARD.
When we know, that the opinions of even the greatest multitudes are the standard of rectitude, I shall think myself obliged to make those opinions the masters of my conscience. But if it may be doubted whether Omnipotence itself is competent to alter the essential constitution of right and wrong, sure I am that such THINGS, as they and I, are possessed of no such power. No man carries further than I do the policy of making government pleasing to the people. But the widest range of this politic complaisance is confined within the limits of justice. I would not only consult the interest of the people, but I would cheerfully gratify their humours. We are all a sort of children that must be soothed and managed. I think I am not austere or formal in my nature. I would bear, I would even myself play my part in any innocent buffooneries to divert them. But I never will act the tyrant for their amusement. If they will mix malice in their sports, I shall never consent to throw them any living, sentient creature whatsoever—no, not so much as a kitling, to torment.
When we recognize that the views of even the largest groups set the standard for what's right, I feel obligated to let those views guide my conscience. However, if it can be questioned whether even an all-powerful being can change the fundamental nature of right and wrong, then I am sure that things like them and me don't have that kind of power. No one supports the idea of making the government appealing to the people more than I do. But the farthest I will go with this approach is to stay within the boundaries of justice. I not only want to look out for the people's interests, but I'm also happy to cater to their whims. We're all a bit like children who need to be soothed and managed. I believe I'm not harsh or overly formal. I would even be willing to take part in light-hearted antics to entertain them. But I will never act cruelly for their enjoyment. If they choose to include malice in their games, I will never agree to offer them any living creature to torment—not even a kitten.
ENGLISH REFORMATION.
The condition of our nature is such, that we buy our blessings at a price. The Reformation, one of the greatest periods of human improvement, was a time of trouble and confusion. The vast structure of superstition and tyranny, which had been for ages in rearing, and which was combined with the interest of the great and of the many, which was moulded into the laws, the manners, and civil institutions of nations, and blended with the frame and policy of states, could not be brought to the ground without a fearful struggle; nor could it fall without a violent concussion of itself and all about it. When this great revolution was attempted in a more regular mode by government, it was opposed by plots and seditions of the people; when by popular efforts, it was repressed as a rebellion by the hand of power; and bloody executions (often bloodily returned) marked the whole of its progress through all its stages. The affairs of religion, which are no longer heard of in the tumult of our present contentions, made a principal ingredient in the wars and politics of that time; the enthusiasm of religion threw a gloom over the politics; and political interests poisoned and perverted the spirit of religion upon all sides. The Protestant religion in that violent struggle, infected, as the Popish had been before, by worldly interests and worldly passions, became a persecutor in its turn, sometimes of the new sects, which carried their own principles further than it was convenient to the original reformers; and always of the body from whom they parted: and this persecuting spirit arose, not only from the bitterness of retaliation, but from the merciless policy of fear.
The state of human nature is such that we pay a price for our blessings. The Reformation, one of the greatest times of progress in human history, was also a period of turmoil and confusion. The enormous edifice of superstition and tyranny, which had been built up over ages, intertwined with the interests of the powerful and the common people, embedded in the laws, customs, and civil institutions of nations, and integrated into the structure and policies of states, could not be dismantled without a fierce struggle; nor could it collapse without causing a violent upheaval both within and around it. When this significant revolution was attempted through more organized governmental means, it faced opposition from plots and uprisings by the people; when pursued by popular movements, it was crushed as a rebellion by those in power; and brutal executions (often met with brutal reprisals) marked its progress through every phase. The issues of religion, which are no longer discussed amid the chaos of our current conflicts, played a key role in the wars and politics of that era; the fervor of religion cast a shadow over politics, and political motives tainted and distorted the spirit of religion on all sides. The Protestant faith, during this violent struggle, became, like the Catholic Church before it, influenced by secular interests and worldly passions, turning into a persecutor of the new sects that advanced their principles beyond what was convenient for the original reformers; and always persecuting the group they had separated from. This spirit of persecution arose not just from the anger of revenge but also from a ruthless policy of fear.
It was long before the spirit of true piety and true wisdom, involved in the principles of the Reformation, could be depurated from the dregs and feculence of the contention with which it was carried through. However, until this be done, the Reformation is not complete; and those who think themselves good Protestants, from their animosity to others, are in that respect no Protestants at all.
It took a long time for the genuine spirit of faith and true wisdom behind the Reformation to be purified from the mess and conflict it was surrounded by. However, until that happens, the Reformation isn't fully realized; and those who consider themselves good Protestants solely because of their hostility towards others aren't really Protestants at all.
PROSCRIPTION.
This way of PROSCRIBING THE CITIZENS BY DENOMINATIONS AND GENERAL DESCRIPTIONS, dignified by the name of reason of state, and security for constitutions and commonwealths, is nothing better at bottom, than the miserable invention of an ungenerous ambition, which would fain hold the sacred trust of power, without any of the virtues or any of the energies that give a title to it: a receipt of policy, made up of a detestable compound of malice, cowardice, and sloth. They would govern men against their will; but in that government they would be discharged from the exercise of vigilance, providence, and fortitude; and therefore, that they may sleep on their watch, they consent to take some one division of the society into partnership of the tyranny over the rest. But let government, in what form it may be, comprehend the whole in its justice, and restrain the suspicious by its vigilance; let it keep watch and ward; let it discover by its sagacity, and punish by its firmness, all delinquency against its power, whenever delinquency exists in the overt acts; and then it will be as safe as ever God and nature intended it should be. Crimes are the acts of individuals, and not of denominations; and therefore arbitrarily to class men under general descriptions, in order to proscribe and punish them in the lump for a presumed delinquency, of which perhaps but a part, perhaps none at all, are guilty, is indeed a compendious method, and saves a world of trouble about proof; but such a method, instead of being law, is an act of unnatural rebellion against the legal dominion of reason and justice; and this vice, in any constitution that entertains it, at one time or other will certainly bring on its ruin.
This approach of LABELING CITIZENS BY CATEGORIES AND GENERAL DESCRIPTIONS, justified by the idea of state interest and security for constitutions and societies, is fundamentally nothing more than the sad creation of a selfish ambition, which seeks to hold the sacred trust of power without any of the virtues or strengths that rightfully belong to it: a policy that combines a disgusting mix of malice, cowardice, and laziness. They want to control people against their will; yet in that control, they aim to be free from the need for vigilance, foresight, and courage; thus, to allow themselves to remain unobservant, they agree to partner with one segment of society to oppress the rest. However, let any government, no matter its form, include everyone in its justice and keep the suspicious in check with its vigilance; let it monitor closely; let it identify issues with its insight and impose penalties with its resolve for any wrongdoings against its authority whenever such wrongdoings occur openly; then it will be as secure as God and nature intended. Crimes are the actions of individuals, not groups; therefore, to arbitrarily group people under broad labels to unjustly target and punish them collectively for supposed misconduct—of which only some, or perhaps none, may actually be guilty—is indeed a shortcut that saves a lot of hassle dealing with evidence; but this approach, instead of being lawful, is an unnatural rebellion against the rightful rule of reason and justice; and this flaw, in any constitution that allows it, will ultimately lead to its downfall.
JUST FREEDOM.
I must fairly tell you, that so far as my principles are concerned, (principles that I hope will only depart with my last breath), I have no idea of a liberty unconnected with honesty and justice. Nor do I believe that any good constitutions of government, or of freedom, can find it necessary for their security to doom any part of the people to a permanent slavery. Such a constitution of freedom, if such can be, is in effect no more than another name for the tyranny of the strongest faction; and factions in republics have been, and are, full as capable as monarchs of the most cruel oppression and injustice. It is but too true, that the love, and even the very idea of genuine liberty is extremely rare. It is but too true, that there are many whose whole scheme of freedom is made up of pride, perverseness, and insolence. They feel themselves in a state of thraldom, they imagine that their souls are cooped and cabined in, unless they have some man, or some body of men, dependent on their mercy. The desire of having some one below them descends to those who are the very lowest of all,—and a Protestant cobbler, debased by his poverty, but exalted by his share of the ruling church, feels a pride in knowing it is by his generosity alone that the peer, whose footman's instep he measures, is able to keep his chaplain from a gaol.
I have to honestly tell you that as far as my beliefs go, (beliefs that I hope will only leave me at my last breath), I don't think of freedom without honesty and justice. I also don’t believe that any good government or system of freedom needs to subject any part of the population to permanent slavery for its own security. Such a system of freedom, if it even exists, is really just another term for the tyranny of the strongest group; and groups in republics have been, and still are, just as capable as monarchs of the most brutal oppression and injustice. It’s unfortunately true that the love for, and even the concept of, true liberty is very rare. It’s sadly true that many people's idea of freedom is built on pride, stubbornness, and arrogance. They feel trapped, believing their souls are confined unless they have some man, or a group of men, reliant on their mercy. The wish to have someone beneath them even extends to those who are the lowest of all—like a poor Protestant cobbler, who feels degraded by his poverty but elevated by his affiliation with the ruling church, takes pride in knowing that it is only through his generosity that the nobleman, whose footman's shoe size he measures, can keep his chaplain out of jail.
ENGLAND'S EMBASSY TO AMERICA.
They enter the capital of America only to abandon it; and these assertors and representatives of the dignity of England, at the tail of a flying army, let fly their Parthian shafts of memorials and remonstrances at random behind them. Their promises and their offers, their flatteries and their menaces, were all despised; and we were saved from the disgrace of their formal reception, only because the congress scorned to receive them; whilst the state-house of independent Philadelphia opened her doors to the public entry of the ambassador of France. From war and blood we went to submission; and from submission plunged back again to war and blood; to desolate and be desolated, without measure, hope, or end. I am a Royalist, I blushed for this degradation of the crown. I am a Whig, I blushed for the dishonour of parliament. I am a true Englishman, I felt to the quick for the disgrace of England. I am a man, I felt for the melancholy reverse of human affairs in the fall of the first power in the world.
They enter the capital of America only to leave it behind; and these defenders and representatives of England's dignity, trailing a fleeing army, randomly shoot their arrows of reminders and complaints behind them. Their promises and offers, their flattery and threats, were all rejected; we were spared the embarrassment of their official welcome only because Congress refused to receive them, while the State House of independent Philadelphia welcomed the ambassador of France. We went from war and bloodshed to submission, and from submission plunged back into war and bloodshed; to be devastated and to devastate, without measure, hope, or end. I am a Royalist, and I felt ashamed for this humiliation of the crown. I am a Whig, and I felt ashamed for the dishonor of Parliament. I am a true Englishman, and I felt deeply for the disgrace of England. I am a human being, and I felt sorrow for the sad turnaround of human affairs in the fall of the world's first power.
HOWARD, THE PHILANTHROPIST.
I cannot name this gentleman without remarking that his labours and writings have done much to open the eyes and hearts of mankind. He has visited all Europe,—not to survey the sumptuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples; not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosity of modern art; not to collect medals, or collate manuscripts:—but to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infection of hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain; to take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and contempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglected, to visit the forsaken, and to compare and collate the distresses of all men in all countries. His plan is original; and is as full of genius as it is of humanity. It was a voyage of discovery; a circumnavigation of charity. Already the benefit of his labour is felt more or less in every country; I hope he will anticipate his final reward by seeing all its effects fully realized in his own. He will receive, not by detail, but in gross, the reward of those who visit the prisoner; and he has so forestalled and monopolized this branch of charity, that there will be, I trust, little room to merit by such acts of benevolence hereafter.
I can't mention this gentleman without highlighting how much his work and writings have opened the eyes and hearts of people. He has traveled all over Europe—not to admire the luxury of palaces or the grandeur of temples; not to take precise measurements of the remnants of ancient greatness, nor to evaluate modern art; not to collect coins or organize manuscripts—but to explore the depths of prisons; to engage with the suffering in hospitals; to examine the homes filled with sorrow and pain; to understand the scale of misery, despair, and neglect; to remember the forgotten, support the overlooked, visit the abandoned, and compare the challenges faced by people in all countries. His approach is unique; it is as full of creativity as it is of compassion. It was a journey of discovery; a worldwide mission of charity. Already, the impact of his work is felt in every country to some extent; I hope he will see the full effects of his efforts realized in his own life before receiving his ultimate reward. He will gain, not in small ways, but in significant measure, the rewards meant for those who support prisoners; and he has so effectively taken charge of this area of charity that I hope there will be little opportunity for others to earn recognition through such acts of kindness in the future.
PARLIAMENTARY RETROSPECT.
It is certainly not pleasing to be put out of the public service. But I wish to be a member of parliament, to have my share of doing good and resisting evil. It would therefore be absurd to renounce my objects in order to obtain my seat. I deceive myself indeed most grossly if I had not much rather pass the remainder of my life hidden in the recesses of the deepest obscurity, feeding my mind even with the visions and imaginations of such things, than to be placed on the most splendid throne of the universe, tantalized with a denial of the practice of all which can make the greatest situation any other than the greatest curse. Gentlemen, I have had my day. I can never sufficiently express my gratitude to you for having set me in a place wherein I could lend the slightest help to great and laudable designs. If I have had my share in any measure giving quiet to private property, and private conscience; if by my vote I have aided in securing to families the best possession, peace; if I have joined in reconciling kings to their subjects, and subjects to their prince; if I have assisted to loosen the foreign holdings of the citizen, and taught him to look for his protection to the laws of his country, and for his comfort to the goodwill of his countrymen—if I have thus taken my part with the best of men in the best of their actions, I can shut the book;—I might wish to read a page or two more—but this is enough for my measure,—I have not lived in vain.
It’s definitely not great to be kicked out of public service. But I want to be a member of parliament, to do my part in doing good and fighting against evil. So it would be ridiculous to give up my goals just to get a seat. I’d be fooling myself if I didn’t say I’d rather spend the rest of my life in complete obscurity, feeding my mind with visions and ideas of such things, than to sit on the most magnificent throne in the universe, tormented by the inability to practice anything that would make that position anything other than a terrible burden. Gentlemen, I’ve had my time. I can’t thank you enough for putting me in a position where I could contribute, even in the smallest way, to great and noble causes. If I’ve contributed in any way to bringing peace to private property and private conscience; if my vote has helped secure the best possession for families, which is peace; if I've played a role in reconciling kings with their subjects and subjects with their kings; if I’ve helped free citizens from foreign control and taught them to seek protection from their country’s laws, and comfort from their fellow citizens—if I’ve participated with the best in the best of their actions, I can close the book; I might wish to read a page or two more—but this is enough for me—I have not lived in vain.
PEOPLE AND PARLIAMENT.
Let the commons in parliament assembled be one and the same thing with the commons at large. The distinctions that are made to separate us are unnatural and wicked contrivances. Let us identify, let us incorporate, ourselves with the people. Let us cut all the cables and snap the chains which tie us to an unfaithful shore, and enter the friendly harbour that shoots far out into the main its moles and jettees to receive us.—"War with the world, and peace with our constituents." Be this our motto, and our principle. Then, indeed, we shall be truly great. Respecting ourselves, we shall be respected by the world. At present all is troubled, and cloudy, and distracted, and full of anger and turbulence, both abroad and at home; but the air may be cleared by this storm, and light and fertility may follow it. Let us give a faithful pledge to the people, that we honour indeed the crown, but that we BELONG to them; that we are their auxiliaries, and not their task-masters,—the fellow-labourers in the same vineyard,—not lording over their rights, but helpers of their joy: that to tax them is a grievance to ourselves; but to cut off from our enjoyments to forward theirs, is the highest gratification we are capable of receiving.
Let the Commons gathered in Parliament be the same as the Commons at large. The distinctions made to separate us are unnatural and wrong. Let’s connect and unite ourselves with the people. Let’s cut all the ties and break the chains that hold us to an unfaithful shore, and move into the welcoming harbor that extends into the sea with its moles and jetties to welcome us. —“War with the world, and peace with our constituents.” Let this be our motto and our principle. Then, we will truly be great. By respecting ourselves, we will earn the respect of the world. Right now, everything is chaotic, cloudy, and filled with anger and unrest, both at home and abroad; but this storm can clear the air, and light and growth can follow it. Let’s make a genuine promise to the people that while we honor the crown, we BELONG to them; that we are their supporters, not their overlords—fellow workers in the same vineyard—not ruling over their rights, but helping them find joy: that taxing them is a burden to us; but sacrificing our own enjoyment to enhance theirs is the greatest satisfaction we can achieve.
REFORMED CIVIL LIST.
As things now stand, every man, in proportion to his consequence at court, tends to add to the expense of the civil list, by all manner of jobs, if not for himself, yet for his dependents. When the new plan is established, those who are now suitors for jobs will become the most strenuous opposers of them. They will have a common interest with the minister in public economy. Every class, as it stands low, will become security for the payment of the preceding class; and, thus, the persons whose insignificant services defraud those that are useful, would then become interested in their payment. Then the powerful, instead of oppressing, would be obliged to support the weak; and idleness would become concerned in the reward of industry. The whole fabric of the civil economy would become compact and connected in all its parts; it would be formed into a well-organized body, where every member contributes to the support of the whole; and where even the lazy stomach secures the vigour of the active arm.
As it stands now, each man, based on his importance at court, tends to increase the costs of the civil budget by taking on various jobs, whether for himself or for those who depend on him. Once the new plan is in place, those who are currently seeking jobs will become the strongest opponents of them. They will share a common interest with the minister in promoting public finances. Each class, as it remains at a lower level, will ensure the payment of the class above it; thus, those whose trivial contributions cheat those who are genuinely useful will then have a stake in their compensation. The powerful, rather than oppressing, will be required to support the weak, and idleness will become relevant to the rewards of hard work. The entire structure of civil economy would become solid and interconnected, forming a well-organized system where every part contributes to the support of the whole, and even the idle will ensure the strength of the industrious.
FRENCH AND ENGLISH REVOLUTION.
He felt some concern that this strange thing, called a Revolution in France, should be compared with the glorious event commonly called the Revolution in England; and the conduct of the soldiery, on that occasion, compared with the behaviour of some of the troops of France in the present instance. At that period the prince of Orange, a prince of the blood-royal in England, was called in by the flower of the English aristocracy to defend its ancient constitution, and not to level all distinctions. To this prince, so invited, the aristocratic leaders who commanded the troops went over with their several corps, in bodies, to the deliverer of their country. Aristocratic leaders brought up the corps of citizens who newly enlisted in this cause. Military obedience changed its object; but military discipline was not for a moment interrupted in its principle. The troops were ready for war, but indisposed to mutiny. But as the conduct of the English armies was different, so was that of the whole English nation at that time. In truth, the circumstances of our revolution (as it is called) and that of France, are just the reverse of each other in almost every particular, and in the whole spirit of the transaction. With us it was the case of a legal monarch attempting arbitrary power—in France it is the case of an arbitrary monarch, beginning, from whatever cause, to legalize his authority. The one was to be resisted, the other was to be managed and directed; but in neither case was the order of the state to be changed, lest government might be ruined, which ought only to be corrected and legalized. With us we got rid of the man, and preserved the constituent parts of the state. There they get rid of the constituent parts of the state, and keep the man. What we did was in truth and substance, and in a constitutional light, a revolution, not made, but prevented. We took solid securities; we settled doubtful questions; we corrected anomalies in our law. In the stable, fundamental parts of our constitution we made no revolution; no, nor any alteration at all. We did not impair the monarchy. Perhaps it might be shown that we strengthened it very considerably. The nation kept the same ranks, the same orders, the same privileges, the same franchises, the same rules for property, the same subordinations, the same order in the law, in the revenue, and in the magistracy; the same lords, the same commons, the same corporations, the same electors.
He was worried that this strange event, known as the Revolution in France, would be compared to the glorious event usually referred to as the Revolution in England; and that the actions of the soldiers during that time would be compared to the behavior of some of the French troops in the current situation. Back then, the Prince of Orange, a member of the royal family in England, was invited by the elite of the English aristocracy to defend their traditional constitution, not to eliminate all distinctions. The aristocratic leaders who commanded the troops joined this prince, bringing their forces to the liberator of their country. The aristocratic leaders also supported the new citizen soldiers who signed up for this cause. While military obedience shifted its focus, military discipline remained intact. The troops were ready for battle, but unwilling to revolt. However, while the actions of the English armies were different, so too was the behavior of the entire English nation at that time. In fact, the circumstances surrounding our revolution (as it’s called) and that of France are almost complete opposites in every detail, and in the overall spirit of the events. For us, it was about a legal monarch trying to impose arbitrary power—whereas in France, it’s about an arbitrary monarch, beginning for whatever reason, to legitimize his power. One needed to be resisted, while the other needed to be managed and guided; but in neither case was the state’s order to be altered, as doing so could ruin the government, which should only be corrected and legitimized. We removed the individual but preserved the essential elements of the state. There, they removed the fundamental components of the state and kept the individual. What we did was, in truth and substance, and in a constitutional sense, a revolution that wasn’t created, but averted. We established solid guarantees; we resolved uncertain issues; we fixed inconsistencies in our law. In the stable, foundational parts of our constitution, we made no revolution, nor did we make any changes at all. We didn’t weaken the monarchy. It might even be argued that we significantly strengthened it. The nation maintained the same ranks, the same orders, the same privileges, the same rights, the same property rules, the same hierarchies, and the same order in law, finance, and governance; the same lords, the same commons, the same corporations, the same voters.
The church was not impaired. Her estates, her majesty, her splendour, her orders and gradations, continued the same. She was preserved in her full efficiency, and cleared only of a certain intolerance, which was her weakness and disgrace. The church and the state were the same after the revolution that they were before, but better secured in every part.
The church remained intact. Its properties, its authority, its grandeur, its ranks and hierarchies, all stayed the same. It operated at full capacity, having been rid of a particular intolerance that was its flaw and shame. The church and state were the same after the revolution as they had been before, but more secure in every aspect.
Was little done because a revolution was not made in the constitution? No! Everything was done; because we commenced with reparation, not with ruin. Accordingly the state flourished. Instead of laying as dead, in a sort of trance, or exposed, as some others, in an epileptic fit, to the pity or derision of the world, for her wild, ridiculous, convulsive movements, impotent to every purpose but that of dashing out her brains against the pavement, Great Britain rose above the standard even of her former self. An era of a more improved domestic prosperity then commenced, and still continues not only unimpaired, but growing, under the wasting hand of time. All the energies of the country were awakened. England never preserved a firmer countenance, nor a more vigorous arm, to all her enemies, and to all her rivals. Europe under her respired and revived. Everywhere she appeared as the protector, assertor, or avenger, of liberty. A war was made and supported against fortune itself. The treaty of Ryswick, which first limited the power of France, was soon after made; the grand alliance very shortly followed, which shook to the foundations the dreadful power which menaced the independence of mankind. The states of Europe lay happy under the shade of a great and free monarchy, which knew how to be great without endangering its own peace at home, or the internal or external peace of any of its neighbours.
Was little accomplished because a revolution didn’t happen in the constitution? No! Everything was achieved because we started with restoration, not destruction. As a result, the state thrived. Instead of lying lifeless in a sort of stupor, or exposed like others in a chaotic fit, inviting pity or scorn from the world for her wild, absurd, and convulsive actions—only able to do harm to herself—Great Britain rose above even her own previous greatness. A new era of improved domestic prosperity began, which still continues not only intact but growing, despite the passing of time. All the energies of the country were energized. England never displayed a stronger front or a more powerful defense against all her enemies and rivals. Europe breathed easier and revived under her influence. Everywhere she was seen as the protector, defender, or avenger of freedom. A war was fought, defying the odds. The Treaty of Ryswick, which was the first to limit France’s power, was established shortly after; the grand alliance quickly followed, shaking the very foundations of the terrifying power that threatened the independence of mankind. The nations of Europe enjoyed peace under the protection of a great and free monarchy, which knew how to be powerful without risking its own peace at home, or the internal or external peace of any of its neighbors.
ARMED DISCIPLINE.
He knew too well, and he felt as much as any man, how difficult it was to accommodate a standing army to a free constitution, or to any constitution. An armed, disciplined, body is, in its essence, dangerous to liberty; undisciplined, it is ruinous to society. Its component parts are, in the latter case, neither good citizens nor good soldiers. What have they thought of in France, under such a difficulty as almost puts the human faculties to a stand? They have put their army under such a variety of principles of duty, that it is more likely to breed litigants, pettifoggers, and mutineers, than soldiers. They have set up, to balance their crown army, another army, deriving under another authority, called a municipal army—a balance of armies, not of orders. These latter they have destroyed with every mark of insult and oppression. States may, and they will best, exist with a partition of civil powers. Armies cannot exist under a divided command. This state of things he thought, in effect, a state of war, or, at best, but a truce instead of peace, in the country.
He understood all too well, and he felt just like anyone else, how tough it was to fit a standing army into a free constitution, or any constitution for that matter. A trained, armed group is inherently a threat to freedom; if they're untrained, they can destroy society. In that situation, they're neither good citizens nor good soldiers. What have they considered in France, faced with a challenge that almost halts human thinking? They've structured their army around all sorts of conflicting responsibilities, which is likely to produce more legal disputes, petty arguments, and rebellions than actual soldiers. To counterbalance their royal army, they've created another army, operating under a different authority, called a municipal army—a balance of armies, not orders. They've treated the latter with total disrespect and oppression. States can and should thrive with a division of civil powers. Armies, however, can't function under split command. He believed this situation was essentially a state of war, or at best, just a truce rather than true peace within the country.
GILDED DESPOTISM.
In the last century, Louis the Fourteenth had established a greater and better disciplined military force than ever had been before seen in Europe, and with it a perfect despotism. Though that despotism was proudly arrayed in manners, gallantry, splendour, magnificence, and even covered over with the imposing robes of science, literature, and arts, it was, in government, nothing better than a painted and gilded tyranny; in religion, a hard, stern intolerance, the fit companion and auxiliary to the despotic tyranny which prevailed in its government. The same character of despotism insinuated itself into every court of Europe, the same spirit of disproportioned magnificence—the same love of standing armies, above the ability of the people. In particular, our then sovereigns, King Charles and King James, fell in love with the government of their neighbour, so flattering to the pride of kings. A similarity of sentiments brought on connections equally dangerous to the interests and liberties of their country. It were well that the infection had gone no farther than the throne. The admiration of a government flourishing and successful, unchecked in its operations, and seeming therefore to compass its objects more speedily and effectually, gained something upon all ranks of people. The good patriots of that day, however, struggled against it. They sought nothing more anxiously than to break off all communication with France, and to be get a total alienation from its councils and its example; which, by the animosity prevalent between the abettors of their religious system and the assertors of ours, was in some degree effected.
In the last century, Louis the Fourteenth built a larger and better-disciplined military than had ever been seen before in Europe, along with a complete despotism. Although that despotism was proudly adorned with elegance, charm, splendor, and magnificence, and even wrapped up in the impressive looks of science, literature, and arts, it was, in terms of government, nothing more than a decorated and gilded tyranny; in religion, it showed a harsh, stern intolerance, a fitting companion to the despotic tyranny prevalent in its governance. The same type of despotism spread to every court in Europe, carrying the same spirit of disproportionate magnificence and the same preference for standing armies, despite the people's capabilities. In particular, our then-sovereigns, King Charles and King James, became enamored with the governance of their neighbor, which flattered the pride of kings. A similarity in sentiments led to connections that were equally dangerous to the interests and liberties of their country. It would have been better if the influence had not reached beyond the throne. Admiring a government that was flourishing and successful, unchecked in its operations and thus seeming to achieve its goals more quickly and effectively, started to resonate with people across all ranks. However, the good patriots of that time fought against it. They sought nothing more desperately than to cut off all ties with France and totally distance themselves from its councils and example, which was somewhat accomplished due to the hostility prevalent between the supporters of their religious system and the defenders of ours.
OUR FRENCH DANGERS.
In the last age we were in danger of being entangled by the example of France in the net of a relentless despotism. It is not necessary to say anything upon that example. It exists no longer. Our present danger from the example of a people, whose character knows no medium, is, with regard to government, a danger from anarchy; a danger of being led through an admiration of successful fraud and violence, to an imitation of the excesses of an irrational, unprincipled, proscribing, confiscating, plundering, ferocious, bloody, and tyrannical democracy. On the side of religion, the danger of their example is no longer from intolerance, but from atheism; a foul, unnatural vice, foe to all the dignity and consolation of mankind; which seems in France, for a long time, to have been embodied into a faction, accredited, and almost avowed.
In recent times, we faced the threat of getting caught up in the harsh despotism that was seen in France. There's no need to elaborate on that example since it no longer exists. Our current risk, stemming from a society that knows no moderation, is the threat of anarchy; we're at risk of being swayed by admiration for successful deceit and violence, leading us to imitate the extremes of an irrational, unprincipled, oppressive, confiscating, looting, violent, and tyrannical democracy. From a religious standpoint, the threat from their example isn’t intolerance anymore, but rather atheism; a vile, unnatural vice that opposes all human dignity and comfort, which seems to have taken shape in France for quite some time, forming a faction that is recognized and nearly accepted.
SIR GEORGE SAVILLE.
When an act of great and signal humanity was to be done, and done with all the weight and authority that belonged to it, the world would cast its eyes upon none but him. I hope that few things which have a tendency to bless or to adorn life have wholly escaped my observation in my passage through it. I have sought the acquaintance of that gentleman, and have seen him in all situations. He is a true genius; with an understanding vigorous, and acute, and refined, and distinguishing even to excess; and illuminated with a most unbounded, peculiar, and original cast of imagination. With these he possesses many external and instrumental advantages; and he makes use of them all. His fortune is among the largest; a fortune which, wholly unincumbered, as it is, with one single charge from luxury, vanity, or excess, sinks under the benevolence of its dispenser. This private benevolence, expanding itself into patriotism, renders his whole being the estate of the public, in which he has not reserved a peculium for himself of profit, diversion, or relaxation. During the session, the first in, and the last out of the House of Commons; he passes from the senate to the camp; and, seldom seeing the seat of his ancestors, he is always in the senate to serve his country, or in the field to defend it.
When a significant act of humanity needs to be carried out, and done with its full weight and authority, the world looks to him. I believe that not many things that have the power to bless or enrich life have completely escaped my notice throughout my journey. I've made an effort to get to know that man, and I've seen him in every circumstance. He is truly talented, with a strong, sharp, and refined understanding that is sometimes overly discerning, and he possesses a unique, boundless imagination. Along with these qualities, he has many external advantages, and he uses them all. His fortune is among the largest, completely free from any burdens of luxury, vanity, or excess, and it is aimed at the goodwill of others. This private generosity, extending into a sense of patriotism, makes his entire existence dedicated to the public good, as he has kept nothing for himself in terms of profit, enjoyment, or rest. During the session, he is the first to arrive and the last to leave the House of Commons; he moves from the Senate to the battlefield, rarely visiting his ancestral home as he is always serving his country in the legislature or defending it in the field.
CORRUPTION NOT SELF-REFORMED.
Those, who would commit the reformation of India to the destroyers of it, are the enemies to that reformation. They would make a distinction between directors and proprietors, which, in the present state of things, does not, cannot exist. But a right honourable gentleman says, he would keep the present government of India in the court of directors; and would, to curb them, provide salutary regulations;—wonderful! That is, he would appoint the old offenders to correct the old offences; and he would render the vicious and the foolish wise and virtuous, by salutary regulations. He would appoint the wolf as guardian of the sheep; but he has invented a curious muzzle, by which this protecting wolf shall not be able to open his jaws above an inch or two at the utmost. Thus his work is finished. But I tell the right honourable gentleman, that controlled depravity is not innocence; and that it is not the labour of delinquency in chains that will correct abuses. Will these gentlemen of the direction animadvert on the partners of their own guilt? Never did a serious plan of amending any old tyrannical establishment propose the authors and abettors of the abuses as the reformers of them.
Those who would hand the reform of India over to those who want to destroy it are enemies of that reform. They want to create a separation between directors and owners that, given the current situation, simply does not and cannot exist. But a respectable gentleman claims that he would keep the current government of India under the court of directors and would, to limit them, introduce helpful regulations—amazing! Basically, he wants to put the same old wrongdoers in charge of fixing the same old wrongs; and he thinks he can turn the corrupt and foolish into wise and virtuous people through helpful regulations. He would make the wolf the guardian of the sheep, but he has come up with a clever muzzle that will only allow this protective wolf to open its mouth an inch or two at most. So that's his solution. But I tell the honorable gentleman that managed corruption is not the same as innocence, and that forcing offenders into compliance won’t fix the abuses. Will these gentlemen in charge ever criticize their own accomplices? Never has a serious plan to reform any old oppressive system suggested that the creators and enablers of abuses should be the ones to fix them.
THE BRIBED AND THE BRIBERS.
If I am to speak my private sentiments, I think that in a thousand cases for one it would be far less mischievous to the public, and full as little dishonourable to themselves, to be polluted with direct bribery, than thus to become a standing auxiliary to the oppression, usury, and peculation, of multitudes, in order to obtain a corrupt support to their power. It is by bribing, not so often by being bribed, that wicked politicians bring ruin on mankind. Avarice is a rival to the pursuits of many. It finds a multitude of checks, and many opposers, in every walk of life. But the objects of ambition are for the few; and every person who aims at indirect profit, and therefore wants other protection, than innocence and law, instead of its rival becomes its instrument. There is a natural allegiance and fealty do you to this domineering, paramount evil, from all the vassal vices, which acknowledge its superiority, and readily militate under its banners; and it is under that discipline alone that avarice is able to spread to any considerable extent, or to render itself a general, public mischief.
If I’m being honest, I believe that in a thousand situations, it would be way less harmful to the public—and just as undishonorable for themselves—to be caught up in direct bribery than to become a constant supporter of the oppression, exploitation, and theft affecting many, just to gain corrupt power. It's through bribing, and not as often through being bribed, that corrupt politicians cause harm to society. Greed competes with the goals of many. It faces a lot of obstacles and opposition in every part of life. But the goals of ambition are limited to a few; anyone who seeks indirect profit and thus needs protection beyond honesty and the law becomes not a rival but a tool of greed. There’s a natural loyalty and allegiance to this dominating evil, from all the lesser vices that acknowledge its power and willingly fight under its flag; it is only through this influence that greed can spread significantly or become a widespread public problem.
HYDER ALI.
When at length Hyder Ali found that he had to do with men who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty and no signature could bind, and who were the determined enemies of human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country possessed by these incorrigible and predestinated criminals a memorable example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy recesses of a mind capacious of such things, to leave the whole Carnatic an everlasting monument of vengeance, and to put perpetual desolation as a barrier between him and those, against whom the faith which holds the moral elements of the world together, was no protection. He became at length so confident of his force, so collected in his might, that he made no secret whatsoever of his dreadful resolution. Having terminated his disputes with every enemy, and every rival, who buried their mutual animosities in their common detestation against the creditors of the nabob of Arcot, he drew from every quarter whatever a savage ferocity could add to his new rudiments in the arts of destruction; and compounding all the materials of fury, havoc, and desolation, into one black cloud, he hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains. Whilst the authors of all these evils were idly and stupidly gazing on this menacing meteor, which blackened all their horizon, it suddenly burst, and poured down the whole of its contents upon the plains of the Carnatic. Then ensued a scene of woe, the like of which no eye had seen, no heart conceived, and which no tongue can adequately tell. All the horrors of war before known or heard of, were mercy to that new havoc. A storm of universal fire blasted every field, consumed every house, destroyed every temple. The miserable inhabitants flying from their flaming villages, in part were slaughtered; others, without regard to sex, to age, to the respect of rank, or sacredness of function, fathers torn from children, husbands from wives, enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the goading spears of drivers, and the trampling of pursuing horses, were swept into captivity, in an unknown and hostile land. Those who were able to evade the tempest fled to the walled cities. But escaping from fire, sword, and exile, they fell into the jaws of famine.
When Hyder Ali realized he was dealing with people who wouldn’t agree to any agreements or be bound by any treaties or signatures, and who were determined enemies of any human interaction, he decided to make the land claimed by these relentless and doomed criminals a stark warning for humanity. He resolved, in the dark corners of a mind capable of such thoughts, to leave the entire Carnatic as a lasting symbol of revenge, creating a wall of relentless destruction between himself and those against whom the bond that holds the moral fabric of the world together offered no protection. He became so confident in his strength, so composed in his power, that he openly declared his terrifying intention. After settling his disputes with every enemy and rival, who buried their mutual hatred in their shared contempt for the creditors of the nabob of Arcot, he drew from every direction whatever savage brutality could add to his new skills in the art of destruction; gathering all the elements of fury, destruction, and desolation into one dark cloud, he loomed for a while over the slopes of the mountains. While the authors of all this chaos were idly and foolishly watching this threatening storm that darkened their horizon, it suddenly unleashed and dumped all of its contents onto the plains of the Carnatic. What followed was a scene of suffering unlike anything anyone had ever seen, thought of, or could adequately describe. All the horrors of war previously known or heard of were merciful compared to this new devastation. A storm of fire devastated every field, destroyed every house, and obliterated every temple. The unfortunate inhabitants fleeing from their burning villages were partly killed; others, regardless of sex, age, rank, or sacred duties, fathers torn from children, husbands from wives, were caught in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the prodding spears of drivers and the trampling of pursuing horses, were swept into captivity in a strange and hostile land. Those who managed to escape the storm fled to walled cities. But escaping the fire, sword, and exile, they fell into the grip of famine.
The alms of the settlement in this dreadful exigency, were certainly liberal; and all was done by charity that private charity could do; but it was a people in beggary; it was a nation which stretched out its hands for food. For months together these creatures of sufferance, whose very excess and luxury in their most plenteous days had fallen short of the allowance of our austerest fasts, silent, patient, resigned, without sedition or disturbance, almost without complaint, perished by an hundred a day in the streets of Madras; every day seventy at least laid their bodies in the streets, or on the glacis of Tanjore, and expired of famine in the granary of India. I was going to awake your justice towards this unhappy part of our fellow-citizens, by bringing before you some of the circumstances of this plague of hunger. Of all the calamities which beset and waylay the life of man, this comes the nearest to our heart, and is that wherein the proudest of us all feels himself to be nothing more than he is: but I find myself unable to manage it with decorum: these details are of a species of horror so nauseous and disgusting; they are so degrading to the sufferers and to the hearers; they are so humiliating to human nature itself, that, on better thoughts, I think it more advisable to throw a pall over this hideous object, and to leave it to your general conceptions.
The charity provided during this terrible crisis was certainly generous, and everything that private compassion could offer was done; but it was a people in poverty, a nation reaching out for food. For months, these people, who in their best times faced shortages even during our strictest fasts, suffered in silence, patiently and without rebellion or disturbance, almost without complaint. They were dying by the hundreds each day in the streets of Madras; at least seventy each day left their bodies on the streets or at the gates of Tanjore, succumbing to hunger in the granary of India. I was going to urge your sense of justice towards this unfortunate part of our community by sharing some details about this famine disaster. Of all the misfortunes that threaten human life, this is the one that touches us most deeply, making even the proudest among us feel utterly vulnerable; however, I find it difficult to address it appropriately. The details are so horrifying and disturbing, so degrading to both the victims and the listeners, that they humiliate human nature itself. Upon reflection, I think it’s better to cover this dreadful situation with a veil and leave it to your broader understanding.
REFORMATION AND ANARCHY CONTRASTED AND COMPARED.
That the house must perceive, from his coming forward to mark an expression or two of his best friend, how anxious he was to keep the distemper of France from the least countenance in England, where he was sure some wicked persons had shown a strong disposition to recommend an imitation of the French spirit of reform. He was so strongly opposed to any the least tendency towards the MEANS of introducing a democracy like theirs, as well as to the END itself, that much as it would afflict him, if such a thing could be attempted, and that any friend of his could concur in such measures (he was far, very far, from believing they could), he would abandon his best friends, and join with his worst enemies to oppose either the means or the end; and to resist all violent exertions of the spirit of innovation, so distant from all principles of true and safe reformation; a spirit well calculated to overturn states, but perfectly unfit to amend them.
That the house must understand, from his stepping up to catch a glimpse or two of his best friend's expression, how worried he was to keep the troubles of France from showing in England, where he was sure some wicked people had shown a strong desire to push for a copy of the French reform spirit. He was completely against any hint of the MEANS to introduce a democracy like theirs, as well as opposed to the END itself. Even though it would deeply sadden him if such a thing could be attempted, and if any of his friends were to agree to such ideas (he was far from believing they would), he would turn his back on his closest friends and align with his worst enemies to resist either the means or the end; and to fight against all extreme pushes of the spirit of innovation, which was completely opposite to any true and safe reform principles; a spirit well-suited to topple governments but completely unfit for improving them.
That he was no enemy to reformation. Almost every business in which he was much concerned, from the first day he sat in that house to that hour, was a business of reformation; and when he had not been employed in correcting, he had been employed in resisting, abuses. Some traces of this spirit in him now stand on their statute-book. In his opinion, anything which unnecessarily tore to pieces the contexture of the state, not only prevented all real reformation, but introduced evils which would call, but perhaps call in vain, for new reformation.
That he was not against reform. Almost every issue he was involved in, from the first day he entered that house to now, was about reform; and when he wasn’t focused on fixing problems, he was focused on fighting against abuses. Some evidence of this spirit in him is still present in the laws today. He believed that anything that unnecessarily disrupted the structure of the state not only hindered true reform but also brought about problems that would demand, but maybe in vain, for further reform.
That he thought the French nation very unwise. What they valued themselves on, was a disgrace to them. They had gloried (and some people in England had thought fit to take share in that glory) in making a revolution; as if revolutions were good things in themselves. All the horrors, and all the crimes of the anarchy which led to their revolution, which attend its progress, and which may virtually attend it in its establishment, pass for nothing with the lovers of revolutions. The French have made their way, through the destruction of their country, to a bad constitution, when they were absolutely in possession of a good one. They were in possession of it the day the states met in separate orders. Their business, had they been either virtuous or wise, or had they been left to their own judgment, was to secure the stability and independence of the states, according to those orders, under the monarch on the throne. It was then their duty to redress grievances.
He thought the French nation was very unwise. What they took pride in was shameful. They had celebrated (and some people in England thought it was appropriate to share in that celebration) making a revolution, as if revolutions were inherently good things. All the horrors and crimes caused by the chaos leading up to their revolution, those that happened during it, and those that might still come with its establishment, mean nothing to those who love revolutions. The French destroyed their country to create a bad constitution when they already had a good one. They had a good constitution the day the states met in separate orders. Their responsibility, if they had been either virtuous or wise, or if they had been allowed to decide for themselves, was to ensure the stability and independence of the states according to those orders, under the monarch on the throne. It was then their duty to address grievances.
Instead of redressing grievances, and improving the fabric of their state, to which they were called by their monarch, and sent by their country, they were made to take a very different course. They first destroyed all the balances and counterpoises which serve to fix the state, and to give it a steady direction, and which furnish sure correctives to any violent spirit which may prevail in any of the orders. These balances existed in their oldest constitution; and in the constitution of this country; and in the constitution of all the countries in Europe. These they rashly destroyed, and then they melted down the whole into one incongruous, ill-connected mass.
Instead of addressing issues and improving their state, which was their duty assigned by their monarch and their country, they took a very different path. They first dismantled all the balances and safeguards that help stabilize the state and provide consistent guidance, which serve as reliable countermeasures to any extreme impulses that might arise in any of the groups. These balances were part of their oldest constitution, the constitution of this country, and the constitutions of all countries in Europe. They recklessly destroyed these, and then they fused everything into one disordered, mismatched mess.
When they had done this, they instantly, and with the most atrocious perfidy and breach of all faith among men, laid the axe to the root of all property, and consequently of all national prosperity, by the principles they established, and the example they set, in confiscating all the possessions of the church. They made and recorded a sort of INSTITUTE and DIGEST of anarchy, called the rights of man, in such a pedantic abuse of elementary principles as would have disgraced boys at school; but this declaration of rights was worse than trifling and pedantic in them, as by their name and authority they systematically destroyed every hold of authority by opinion, religious or civil, on the minds of the people. By this mad declaration they subverted the state, and brought on such calamities as no country, without a long war, has ever been known to suffer; and which may in the end produce such a war, and perhaps many such.
Once they did this, they immediately, and with the most atrocious betrayal and complete disregard for trust among people, cut to the heart of all property, and therefore all national prosperity, by the principles they established and the example they set in seizing all the church's possessions. They created and documented a kind of INSTITUTE and DIGEST of chaos, called the rights of man, in such a pompous misuse of basic principles that it would have embarrassed schoolboys; but this declaration of rights was worse than trivial and pretentious for them, as under their name and authority they systematically undermined every form of authority—both religious and civil—on the minds of the people. Through this reckless declaration, they destabilized the state and brought upon themselves disasters that no country has ever faced without enduring a long war; and which could ultimately lead to such a war, and perhaps many more.
With them the question was not between despotism and liberty. The sacrifice they made of the peace and power of their country was not made on the altar of freedom. Freedom, and a better security for freedom than that they have taken, they might have had without any sacrifice at all. They brought themselves into all the calamities they suffer, not that through them they might obtain a British constitution; they plunged themselves headlong into those calamities to prevent themselves from settling into that constitution, or into anything resembling it.
With them, it wasn’t a choice between tyranny and freedom. The sacrifice they made of their country’s peace and power wasn’t for the sake of freedom. They could have had freedom, and even better security for it, without any sacrifice at all. They caused themselves all the troubles they’re facing, not to gain a British constitution; they threw themselves into those troubles to avoid settling into that constitution, or anything like it.
CONFIDENCE AND JEALOUSY.
Confidence might become a vice, and jealousy a virtue, according to circumstances. That confidence, of all public virtues, was the most dangerous, and jealousy in a house of commons, of all public vices, the most tolerable; especially where the number and the charge of standing armies in time of peace was the question.
Confidence can turn into a flaw, and jealousy into a strength, depending on the situation. That confidence, among all public virtues, was the most risky, while jealousy in a parliament, among all public vices, was the most acceptable; particularly when the issue was the number and cost of standing armies during peacetime.
ECONOMY OF INJUSTICE.
Strange as this scheme of conduct in ministry is, and inconsistent with all just policy, it is still true to itself, and faithful to its own perverted order. Those who are bountiful to crimes, will be rigid to merit, and penurious to service. Their penury is even held out as a blind and cover to their prodigality. The economy of injustice is, to furnish resources for the fund of corruption. Then they pay off their protection to great crimes and great criminals by being inexorable to the paltry frailties of little men; and these modern flagellants are sure, with a rigid fidelity, to whip their own enormities on the vicarious back of every small offender.
As strange as this approach to ministry is, and despite being inconsistent with any fair policy, it remains true to itself and loyal to its own twisted order. Those who are generous towards crimes will be strict towards merit and stingy with service. Their stinginess is even presented as a disguise for their extravagance. The system of injustice aims to provide resources for the pool of corruption. They then repay their protection of major crimes and criminals by being relentless towards the minor faults of lesser individuals; and these modern punishers are sure to consistently offload their own wrongdoings onto the backs of every small offender.
SUBSISTENCE AND REVENUE.
The benefits of heaven to any community ought never to be connected with political arrangements, or made to depend on the personal conduct of princes; in which the mistake, or error, or neglect, or distress, or passion of a moment on either side, may bring famine on millions, and ruin an innocent nation perhaps for ages. The means of the subsistence of mankind should be as immutable as the laws of nature, let power and dominion take what course they may.
The benefits of heaven for any community should never be tied to political setups or rely on the actions of leaders; a mistake, error, neglect, distress, or momentary passion from either side can cause famine for millions and devastate an innocent nation for ages. The means for people’s survival should be as unchangeable as the laws of nature, regardless of how power and control may fluctuate.
AUTHORITY AND VENALITY.
It is difficult for the most wise and upright government to correct the abuses of remote, delegated power, productive of unmeasured wealth, and protected by the boldness and strength of the same ill-got riches. These abuses, full of their own wild native vigour, will grow and flourish under mere neglect. But where the supreme authority, not content with winking at the rapacity of its inferior instruments, is so shameless and corrupt as openly to give bounties and premiums for disobedience to its laws, when it will not trust to the activity of avarice in the pursuit of its own gains, when it secures public robbery by all the careful jealousy and attention with which it ought to protect property from such violence, the commonwealth then is become totally perverted from its purposes; neither God nor man will long endure it; nor will it long endure itself. In that case there is an unnatural infection, a pestilential taint fermenting in the constitution of society, which fever and convulsions of some kind or other must throw off; or in which the vital powers, worsted in an unequal struggle, are pushed back upon themselves, and, by a reversal of their whole functions, fester to gangrene, to death; and instead of what was but just now the delight and boast of the creation, there will be cast out in the face of the sun a bloated, putrid, noisome carcass, full of stench, and poison, an offence, a horror, a lesson to the world.
It’s tough for even the wisest and most honorable government to fix the problems that come from distant, delegated power, which generates immense wealth and is backed by the strength and boldness that accompanies that ill-gotten gain. These issues, thriving on their own unchecked energy, will grow and prosper if simply ignored. But when the highest authority, not content with merely turning a blind eye to the greed of its lower officials, is so shameless and corrupt as to openly reward disobedience to its laws—when it can't even trust its own greed to pursue its gains—when it protects public theft with the same vigilance that it should use to safeguard property from such violence, then the commonwealth is entirely warped from its true purpose; neither God nor man will tolerate it for long, nor will it sustain itself. In that case, there is an unnatural infection, a deadly taint brewing in the social structure, which must erupt in some way, or where the vital forces, overwhelmed by an unfair struggle, turn against themselves and, through a reversal of their normal functions, rot and decay to death; and instead of what was just recently the pride and joy of creation, there will be left for all to see a bloated, rotting carcass, oozing with stench and poison, offensive, horrific, and a warning to the world.
PREROGATIVE OF THE CROWN AND PRIVILEGE OF PARLIAMENT.
It is the undoubted prerogative of the crown to dissolve parliament; but we beg leave to lay before his majesty, that it is, of all the trusts vested in his majesty, the most critical and delicate, and that in which this house has the most reason to require, not only the good faith, but the favour of the crown. His commons are not always upon a par with his ministers in an application to popular judgment: it is not in the power of the members of this house to go to their election at the moment the most favourable to them. It is in the power of the crown to choose a time for their dissolution whilst great and arduous matters of state and legislation are depending, which may be easily misunderstood, and which cannot be fully explained before that misunderstanding may prove fatal to the honour that belongs, and to the consideration that is due, to members of parliament. With his majesty is the gift of all the rewards, the honours, distinctions, favour, and graces of the state; with his majesty is the mitigation of all the rigours of the law: and we rejoice to see the crown possessed of trusts calculated to obtain goodwill, and charged with duties which are popular and pleasing. Our trusts are of a different kind. Our duties are harsh and invidious in their nature; and justice and safety is all we can expect in the exercise of them. We are to offer salutary, which is not always pleasing, counsel; we are to inquire and to accuse: and the objects of our inquiry and charge will be for the most part persons of wealth, power, and extensive connections: we are to make rigid laws for the preservation of revenue, which of necessity more or less confine some action, or restrain some function, which before was free: what is the most critical and invidious of all, the whole body of the public impositions originate from us, and the hand of the House of Commons is seen and felt in every burthen that presses on the people. Whilst, ultimately, we are serving them, and in the first instance whilst we are serving his majesty, it will be hard, indeed, if we should see a House of Commons the victim of its zeal and fidelity, sacrificed by his ministers to those very popular discontents, which shall be excited by our dutiful endeavours for the security and greatness of his throne. No other consequence can result from such an example, but that, in future, the House of Commons, consulting its safety at the expense of its duties, and suffering the whole energy of the state to be relaxed, will shrink from every service, which, however necessary, is of a great and arduous nature; or that, willing to provide for the public necessities, and, at the same time, to secure the means of performing that task, they will exchange independence for protection, and will court a subservient existence through the favour of those ministers of state, or those secret advisers, who ought themselves to stand in awe of the commons of this realm.
It is undeniably the king's right to dissolve parliament; however, we would like to present to His Majesty that this is, of all the powers entrusted to him, the most critical and sensitive, and in which this House has the most reason to rely not only on the good faith but also on the support of the crown. The Commons do not always align with his ministers in appealing to public opinion: it is not in the hands of the members of this House to choose the moment that is most advantageous for their election. The crown has the power to pick the timing for their dissolution while significant and challenging matters of state and legislation are pending, which can easily be misinterpreted and cannot be fully clarified before that misunderstanding can harm the dignity and respect owed to members of parliament. The King controls all rewards, honors, distinctions, favors, and privileges of the state, and also has the power to soften the strictness of the law. We are glad to see the crown holding responsibilities that are likely to win goodwill and are associated with duties that are popular and agreeable. Our responsibilities are different. Our duties are difficult and often unpopular; justice and safety are all we can hope for in performing them. We are tasked with offering beneficial, though not always pleasant, advice; we are to investigate and bring charges; and the subjects of our inquiries and accusations will mostly be wealthy, powerful individuals with extensive connections. We are to create strict laws to protect revenues, which necessarily restrict some actions or limit functions that were previously unrestricted. What is most critical and contentious is that the entire system of public taxes originates from us, and the influence of the House of Commons is seen and felt in every burden that weighs on the people. Ultimately, while we are serving them, and at first while we are serving His Majesty, it would be truly unfortunate if we saw a House of Commons become a victim of its loyalty and dedication, sacrificed by his ministers to those very public grievances that arise from our diligent efforts for the security and strength of his throne. The only outcome of such an example would be that in the future, the House of Commons, prioritizing its own safety at the cost of its duties, and allowing the entire momentum of the state to weaken, would shy away from any necessary but challenging service; or that, eager to address public needs while simultaneously securing the means to do so, they would trade their independence for protection and seek a subservient existence through the favor of those ministers of state or secret advisors who themselves should respect the Commons of this realm.
A House of Commons respected by his ministers is essential to his majesty's service: it is fit that they should yield to parliament, and not that parliament should be new modelled until it is fitted to their purposes. If our authority is only to be held up when we coincide in opinion with his majesty's advisers, but is to be set at nought the moment it differs from them, the House of Commons will sink into a mere appendage of administration; and will lose that independent character which, inseparably connecting the honour and reputation with the acts of this house, enables us to afford a real, effective, and substantial support to his government. It is the deference shown to our opinion when we dissent from the servants of the crown, which alone can give authority to the proceedings of this house when it concurs with their measures.
A House of Commons that is respected by the ministers is essential for the king's service: it’s important that they should submit to parliament, and not that parliament should be reshaped to suit their interests. If our authority is only upheld when we agree with the king's advisors, but ignored the moment we disagree, the House of Commons will become just an extension of the administration; it will lose the independent character that connects its honor and reputation to its actions, allowing us to provide genuine, effective, and substantial support to his government. The respect shown for our opinions when we disagree with the crown’s servants is what gives legitimacy to this House's proceedings when we align with their measures.
That authority once lost, the credit of his majesty's crown will be impaired in the eyes of all nations. Foreign powers, who may yet wish to revive a friendly intercourse with this nation, will look in vain for that hold which gave a connection with Great Britain the preference to an alliance with any other state. A House of Commons, of which ministers were known to stand in awe, where everything was necessarily discussed, on principles fit to be openly and publicly avowed, and which could not be retracted or varied without danger, furnished a ground of confidence in the public faith, which the engagement of no state dependent on the fluctuation of personal favour, and private advice, can ever pretend to. If faith with the House of Commons, the grand security for the national faith itself, can be broken with impunity, a wound is given to the political importance of Great Britain, which will not easily be healed.
That authority, once lost, will tarnish the reputation of the crown in the eyes of all nations. Foreign powers that may still want to restore friendly relations with this nation will find it impossible to see the advantage of aligning with Great Britain over any other state. A House of Commons that ministers were known to fear, where everything had to be discussed on principles suitable for public recognition and couldn't be changed or withdrawn without risk, provided a foundation of trust in public faith that no agreement from a state reliant on personal favor and private advice can ever claim to match. If the faith established with the House of Commons, the main safeguard for national integrity, can be broken without consequence, it inflicts a wound on Great Britain's political significance that won’t be easily healed.
BURKE AND FOX.
His confidence in Mr. Fox was such, and so ample, as to be almost implicit. That he was not ashamed to avow that degree of docility. That when the choice is well made, it strengthens instead of oppressing our intellect. That he who calls in the aid of an equal understanding doubles his own. He who profits of a superior understanding raises his powers to a level with the height of the superior understanding he unites with. He had found the benefit of such a junction, and would not lightly depart from it. He wished almost, on all occasions, that his sentiments were understood to be conveyed in Mr. Fox's words; and he wished, as amongst the greatest benefits he could wish the country, an eminent share of power to that right honourable gentleman; because he knew, that, to his great and masterly understanding, he had joined the greatest possible degree of that natural moderation, which is the best corrective of power; that he was of the most artless, candid, open, and benevolent disposition; disinterested in the extreme; of a temper mild and placable even to a fault; without one drop of gall in his whole constitution.
His confidence in Mr. Fox was so strong and complete that it was almost absolute. He wasn’t embarrassed to show that level of willingness to follow. He believed that when a choice is well made, it boosts rather than burdens our intellect. By seeking the help of someone with equal knowledge, you enhance your own understanding. And by benefiting from someone with superior insight, you elevate your capabilities to match the level of that superior intellect you’re working with. He had experienced the advantages of such a collaboration and didn’t want to easily give it up. He often wished that his thoughts could be expressed in Mr. Fox's words; and he considered it one of the greatest benefits he could wish for the country to give a significant amount of power to that honorable gentleman. He knew that alongside his exceptional and skillful understanding, Mr. Fox possessed a remarkable degree of natural moderation, which is the best check on power. He was also one of the most sincere, open, honest, and kind-hearted individuals; extremely selfless; with a temperament that was gentle and forgiving to a fault; without an ounce of bitterness in him.
PEERS AND COMMONS.
The commons have the deepest interest in the purity and integrity of the peerage. The peers dispose of all the property in the kingdom, in the last resort; and they dispose of it on their honour and not on their oaths, as all the members of every other tribunal in the kingdom must do; though in them the proceeding is not conclusive. We have, therefore, a right to demand that no application shall be made to peers of such a nature as may give room to call in question, much less to attaint, our sole security for all that we possess. This corrupt proceeding appeared to the House of Commons, who are the natural guardians of the purity of parliament, and of the purity of every branch of judicature, a most reprehensible and dangerous practice, tending to shake the very foundation of the authority of the House of Peers: and they branded it as such by their resolution.
The general public has a strong interest in the honesty and integrity of the peerage. The peers ultimately control all the property in the kingdom, and they do so based on their honor rather than their oaths, which is how all other members of every other court in the kingdom operate; though their decisions are not final. Therefore, we have the right to demand that no requests be made to peers that could raise questions, let alone undermine, our only security for everything we own. This unethical practice was seen by the House of Commons, who are the natural protectors of the integrity of parliament and every branch of the judiciary, as a serious and dangerous issue that could shake the very foundation of the authority of the House of Peers: and they condemned it through their resolution.
NATURAL SELF-DESTRUCTION.
The French had shown themselves the ablest architects of ruin that had hitherto existed in the world. In that very short space of time they had completely pulled down to the ground their monarchy, their church, their nobility, their law, their revenue, their army, their navy, their commerce, their arts, and their manufactures. They had done their business for us as rivals, in a way in which twenty Ramilies or Blenheims could never have done it. Were we absolute conquerors, and France to lie prostrate at our feet, we should be ashamed to send a commission to settle their affairs which could impose so hard a law upon the French, and so destructive of all their consequence as a nation, as that they had imposed on themselves.
The French had proven to be the most skilled architects of destruction the world had ever seen. In a remarkably short time, they completely dismantled their monarchy, church, nobility, laws, revenue, army, navy, commerce, arts, and industries. They had done more damage to us as rivals than twenty Ramilies or Blenheims could ever have achieved. If we were absolute conquerors and France lay at our feet, we would feel embarrassed to send a commission to settle their affairs that could enforce such a harsh and nation-destroying law on the French as they had imposed on themselves.
THE CARNATIC.
The Carnatic is a country not much inferior in extent to England. Figure to yourself, Mr. Speaker, the land in whose representative chair you sit; figure to yourself the form and fashion of your sweet and cheerful country from Thames to Trent, north and south, and from the Irish to the German sea east and west, emptied and embowelled (may God avert the omen of our crimes!) by so accomplished a desolation. Extend your imagination a little further, and then suppose your ministers taking a survey of this scene of waste and desolation; what would be your thoughts if you should be informed, that they were computing how much had been the amount of the excises, how much the customs, how much the land and malt-tax, in order that they should charge (take it in the most favourable light) for public service, upon the relics of the satiated vengeance of relentless enemies, the whole of what England had yielded in the most exuberant seasons of peace and abundance? What would you call it? To call it tyranny sublimed into madness, would be too faint an image; yet this very madness is the principle upon which the ministers at your right hand have proceeded in their estimate of the revenues of the Carnatic, when they were providing, not supply for the establishments of its protection, but, rewards for the authors of its ruin.
The Carnatic is a region not far off in size compared to England. Imagine, Mr. Speaker, the land you represent; picture the shape and layout of your beautiful and vibrant country from the Thames to the Trent, north and south, and from the Irish Sea to the German Sea, east and west, stripped bare and devastated (may God prevent the repetition of our sins!) by such total destruction. Stretch your imagination a bit more and think about your ministers surveying this scene of wasteland and ruin; how would you feel if you learned that they were tallying up the excise duties, customs, and land and malt taxes just so they could charge (look at it in the best possible light) for public service against the remains of the deep-seated vengeance of unyielding enemies, all that England had produced during the most prosperous times of peace and plenty? What would you call it? To label it as tyranny elevated to madness would hardly do it justice; yet this very madness is the principle on which the ministers beside you have based their assessment of the revenues of the Carnatic, as they were not preparing for its defense but rewarding those who caused its destruction.
Every day you are fatigued and disgusted with this cant, "the Carnatic is a country that will soon recover, and become instantly as prosperous as ever." They think they are talking to innocents, who will believe that, by sowing of dragons' teeth, men may come up ready grown and ready armed. They who will give themselves the trouble of considering (for it requires no great reach of thought, no very profound knowledge) the manner in which mankind are increased, and countries cultivated, will regard all this raving as it ought to be regarded. In order that the people, after a long period of vexation and plunder, may be in a condition to maintain government, government must begin by maintaining them. Here the road to economy lies not through receipt, but through expense; and in that country nature has given no short cut to your object. Men must propagate like other animals, by the mouth. Never did oppression light the nuptial torch; never did extortion and usury spread out the genial bed. Does any one of you think that England, so wasted, would, under such a nursing attendance, so rapidly and cheaply recover? But he is meanly acquainted with either England or India, who does not know that England would a thousand times sooner resume population, fertility, and what ought to be the ultimate secretion from both—revenue, than such a country as the Carnatic. The Carnatic is not by the bounty of nature a fertile soil. The general size of its cattle is proof enough that it is much otherwise. It is some days since I moved, that a curious and interesting map, kept in the India house, should be laid before you. The India House is not yet in readiness to send it; I have therefore brought down my own copy, and there it lies for the use of any gentleman who may think such a matter worthy of his attention. It is indeed a noble map, and of noble things; but it is decisive against the golden dreams and sanguine speculations of avarice run mad. In addition to what you know must be the case in every part of the world (the necessity of a previous provision of habitation, seed, stock, capital), that map will show you, that the uses of the influences of Heaven itself are in that country a work of art. The Carnatic is refreshed by few or no living brooks or running streams, and it has rain only at a season; but its product of rice exacts the use of water subject to perpetual command. This is the national bank of the Carnatic, on which it must have a perpetual credit, or it perishes irretrievably. For that reason, in the happier times of India, a number, almost incredible, of reservoirs have been made in chosen places throughout the whole country; they are formed for the greater part of mounds of earth and stones, with sluices of solid masonry; the whole constructed with admirable skill and labour, and maintained at a mighty charge. In the territory contained in that map alone, I have been at the trouble of reckoning the reservoirs, and they amount to upwards of eleven hundred, from the extent of two or three acres to five miles in circuit. From these reservoirs currents are occasionally drawn over the fields, and these watercourses again call for a considerable expense to keep them properly scoured and duly leveled. Taking the district in that map as a measure, there cannot be in the Carnatic and Tanjore fewer than ten thousand of these reservoirs of the larger and middling dimensions, to say nothing of those for domestic services, and the uses of religious purification. These are not the enterprises of your power, nor in a style of magnificence suited to the taste of your minister. These are the monuments of real kings, who were the fathers of their people; testators to a posterity which they embraced as their own. These were the grand sepulchres built by ambition; but by the ambition of an insatiable benevolence, which, not contented with reigning in the dispensation of happiness during the contracted term of human life, had strained, with all the reachings and graspings of a vivacious mind, to extend the dominion of their bounty beyond the limits of nature, and to perpetuate themselves through generations of generations, the guardians, the protectors, the nourishers of mankind.
Every day, you're tired and fed up with the constant talk that "the Carnatic is a place that will soon recover and become prosperous again." They assume they’re speaking to naive people who will buy into the idea that by simply planting dragon's teeth, grown and armed men will appear. Those who take the time to think (and it doesn’t require much effort or deep knowledge) about how people thrive and land is cultivated will see all this chatter for what it really is. For the population, after enduring years of suffering and looting, to be able to support a government, that government must first support them. Here, the path to saving money doesn’t come from collecting, but from spending; and in this area, nature hasn’t provided a shortcut. People must multiply like other animals, through natural means. Oppression has never sparked marriage, nor has extortion and usury fostered a loving environment. Do any of you believe that England, so drained, could recover so quickly and inexpensively under such care? Anyone who thinks otherwise doesn’t really understand England or India. England would rebound much quicker to increase its population, productivity, and ultimately, revenue, compared to a place like the Carnatic. The Carnatic isn’t blessed with fertile soil by nature. The size of its cattle is proof enough of that. Some days ago, I suggested that a fascinating and important map kept at the India House should be shown to you. The India House isn't ready to send it yet, so I’ve brought my own copy for any gentleman who thinks this is worth their attention. It’s a magnificent map of remarkable significance, but it clearly contradicts the golden hopes and unrealistic dreams driven by greed. Besides what you already know to be true in every part of the world (the necessity for prior supplies of housing, seeds, livestock, and capital), that map will reveal that the benefits from nature itself in that region are the result of careful planning. The Carnatic receives little to no flowing rivers, and it only has rain during a season; yet, its rice production relies on consistent water supply. This is the essential bank of the Carnatic, which must maintain a steady balance, or it will fail utterly. Because of this, in better times for India, an astonishing number of reservoirs were created in select areas throughout the land; most consist of mounds of soil and stone with sturdy masonry sluices, all built with incredible skill and effort, and maintained at a great cost. In the territory shown on that map alone, I’ve gone to the effort of counting the reservoirs, and there are over eleven hundred, varying in size from two or three acres to five miles around. Water is occasionally drawn from these reservoirs to irrigate the fields, and maintaining these channels also requires significant expense for regular cleaning and leveling. Based on that map’s area, there are at least ten thousand of these larger and medium-sized reservoirs in the Carnatic and Tanjore, not to mention those for domestic use and rituals. These endeavors are beyond your capabilities and not designed in a style that suits your minister’s taste. These are the legacies of true kings, who cared for their people; they left behind a heritage they regarded as their own. These were the grand memorials built not from human ambition but from an insatiable desire to provide for others, which, eager to spread happiness beyond the normal span of life, sought to extend the reach of their generosity and safeguard their legacy through countless generations, nourishing and protecting mankind.
ABSTRACT THEORY OF HUMAN LIBERTY.
I love a manly, moral, regulated liberty as well as any gentleman of that society, be he who he will: and perhaps I have given as good proofs of my attachment to that cause in the whole course of my public conduct. I think I envy liberty as little as they do, to any other nation. But I cannot stand forward, and give praise or blame to anything which relates to human actions, and human concerns, on a simple view of the object, as it stands stripped of every relation, in all the nakedness and solitude of metaphysical abstraction. Circumstances (which with some gentlemen pass for nothing) give in reality to every political principle its distinguishing colour and discriminating effect. The circumstances are what render every civil and political scheme beneficial or noxious to mankind. Abstractedly speaking, government, as well as liberty, is good; yet could I, in common sense, ten years ago, have felicitated France on her enjoyment of a government (for she then had a government) without inquiry what the nature of that government was, or how it was administered? Can I now congratulate the same nation upon its freedom? Is it because liberty in the abstract may be classed amongst the blessings of mankind that I am seriously to felicitate a madman, who has escaped from the protecting restraint and wholesome darkness of his cell, on his restoration to the enjoyment of light and liberty? Am I to congratulate a highwayman and murderer, who has broken prison, upon the recovery of his natural rights? This would be to act over again the scene of the criminals condemned to the galleys, and their heroic deliverer, the metaphysic knight of the sorrowful countenance. When I see the spirit of liberty in action, I see a strong principle at work; and this, for a while, is all I can possibly know of it. The wild GAS, the fixed air, is plainly broke loose: but we ought to suspend our judgment until the first effervescence is a little subsided, till the liquor is cleared, and until we see something deeper than the agitation of a troubled and frothy surface. I must be tolerably sure, before I venture publicly to congratulate men upon a blessing, that they have really received one. Flattery corrupts both the receiver and the giver; and adulation is not of more service to the people than to kings. I should therefore suspend my congratulations on the new liberty of France, until I was informed how it had been combined with government; with public force; with the discipline and obedience of armies; with the collection of an effective and well-distributed revenue; with morality and religion; with solidity and property; with peace and order; with civil and social manners. All these (in their way) are good things too; and, without them, liberty is not a benefit whilst it lasts, and is not likely to continue long. The effect of liberty to individuals, is, that they may do what they please: we ought to see what it will please them to do before we risk congratulations, which may be soon turned into complaints. Prudence would dictate this in the case of separate, insulated, private men; but liberty, when men act in bodies, is POWER. Considerate people, before they declare themselves, will observe the use which is made of POWER; and particularly of so trying a thing as NEW power in NEW persons, of whose principles, tempers, and dispositions, they have little or no experience, and in situations where those who appear the most stirring in the scene may possibly not be the real movers.
I love a strong, moral, regulated freedom just like any gentleman in that society, no matter who he is. I think I've shown just as much dedication to that cause throughout my public life. I believe I envy other nations' freedom as little as they do. But I can’t just step up and praise or criticize anything related to human actions and concerns based solely on a straightforward view, stripped of all context and the isolating nature of pure theory. Circumstances, which some gentlemen write off, actually give every political principle its unique flavor and specific impact. Those circumstances are what make any civil and political plan either beneficial or harmful to humanity. Generally speaking, government and freedom are good; but could I, ten years ago, have congratulated France on having a government (since it did have one then) without checking what kind of government it was or how it was being run? Can I now celebrate the same nation for its freedom? Should I really congratulate a madman who has escaped the protective restraint and beneficial darkness of his cell on getting back his light and freedom? Am I supposed to applaud a robber and murderer who broke out of prison for regaining his natural rights? That would just reenact the scene of criminals condemned to the galleys and their heroic rescuer, the philosophical knight of the sad countenance. When I see the spirit of liberty in action, I see a powerful principle at work, and for now, that’s all I can know about it. The wild gas, the fixed air, is clearly unleashed; but we should hold off on our judgments until the initial excitement dies down a bit, until the liquid settles, and until we see something more substantial than the turmoil of a disturbed and frothy surface. I need to be reasonably sure before I publicly congratulate people on a blessing that they have actually received one. Flattery corrupts both the giver and the receiver; and praise is no more beneficial to people than it is to rulers. So, I should hold off on congratulating France on its newfound freedom until I find out how it’s been combined with governance, public authority, military discipline and obedience, effective and fair tax collection, morality and religion, stability and property, peace and order, and civil and social manners. All of these things are good in their own way; and without them, freedom isn’t a benefit while it lasts, and it's not likely to stick around long. The effect of freedom on individuals is that they can do whatever they want; we should see what they actually choose to do before we risk applauding something that could quickly turn into grievances. Common sense would suggest this when it comes to individual people; but freedom, when people act collectively, is POWER. Thoughtful individuals, before they make their stance known, will pay attention to how POWER is being used, especially when it concerns NEW power in NEW people, whose principles, attitudes, and temperaments they know little to nothing about, in situations where those who seem most active may not actually be the true instigators.
POLITICS AND THE PULPIT.
Supposing, however, that something like moderation were visible in this political sermon; yet politics and the pulpit are terms that have little agreement. No sound ought to be heard in the church but the healing voice of Christian charity. The cause of civil liberty and civil government gains as little as that of religion by this confusion of duties. Those who quit their proper character to assume what does not belong to them, are, for the greater part, ignorant both of the character they leave, and of the character they assume. Wholly unacquainted with the world in which they are so fond of meddling, and inexperienced in all its affairs, on which they pronounce with so much confidence, they have nothing of politics but the passions they excite. Surely the church is a place where one day's truce ought to be allowed to the dissensions and animosities of mankind.
Supposing, however, that some level of moderation was present in this political sermon; still, politics and the pulpit don’t really mix well. The only sound that should be heard in the church is the uplifting message of Christian love. The cause of civil liberty and civil government benefits just as little from this mix-up of roles as religion does. Those who abandon their true roles to take on something that isn’t theirs typically know little about both the role they’re leaving and the one they’re trying to take on. Completely out of touch with the world they are so eager to interfere in, and inexperienced with all its matters, they speak with great confidence about subjects they have no real grasp on; they only bring the emotions they stir up when it comes to politics. Surely, the church should be a place where for one day, we can pause the conflicts and hostilities of humanity.
IDEA OF FRENCH REVOLUTION.
It appears to me as if I were in a great crisis, not of the affairs of France alone, but of all Europe, perhaps of more than Europe. All circumstances taken together, the French revolution is the most astonishing that has hitherto happened in the world. The most wonderful things are brought about in many instances by means the most absurd and ridiculous; in the most ridiculous modes; and, apparently, by the most contemptible instruments. Everything seems out of nature in this strange chaos of levity and ferocity, and of all sorts of crimes jumbled together with all sorts of follies. In viewing this monstrous tragi-comic scene, the most opposite passions necessarily succeed, and sometimes mix with each other in the mind; alternate contempt and indignation; alternate laughter and tears; alternate scorn and horror.
It seems to me like we're in a massive crisis, not just in France, but across all of Europe, maybe even beyond. Considering everything, the French Revolution is the most incredible event that has ever occurred in the world. The most amazing things often happen in the most absurd and ridiculous ways, through the most outrageous means, and seemingly by the most insignificant people. Everything feels unnatural in this bizarre chaos of lightheartedness and brutality, with all kinds of crimes mixed in with all sorts of foolishness. As I watch this monstrous tragicomedy unfold, I experience a whirlwind of conflicting emotions; alternating feelings of contempt and anger, laughter and tears, scorn and horror.
PATRIOTIC DISTINCTION.
I certainly have the honour to belong to more clubs than one in which the constitution of this kingdom and the principles of the glorious Revolution are held in high reverence; and I reckon myself among the most forward in my zeal for maintaining that constitution and those principles in their utmost purity and vigour. It is because I do so that I think it necessary for me that there should be no mistake. Those who cultivate the memory of our revolution, and those who are attached to the constitution of this kingdom, will take good care how they are involved with persons, who, under the pretext of zeal towards the Revolution and constitution, too frequently wander from their true principles; and are ready on every occasion to depart from the firm but cautious and deliberate spirit which produced the one, and which presides in the other.
I definitely have the honor of being part of more than one group that holds the constitution of this country and the principles of the glorious Revolution in high regard. I consider myself one of the most passionate about preserving that constitution and those principles in their purest and strongest form. Because of this, I believe it is important to be clear. Those who honor the memory of our revolution and are committed to the constitution of this country need to be careful about who they align themselves with—especially those who, under the guise of supporting the Revolution and the constitution, often stray from their true principles and are quick to abandon the firm yet cautious and thoughtful approach that originally shaped both.
KINGLY POWER NOT BASED ON POPULAR CHOICE.
According to this spiritual doctor of politics, if his majesty does not owe his crown to the choice of his people, he is no LAWFUL KING. Now nothing can be more untrue than that the crown of this kingdom is so held by his majesty. Therefore, if you follow their rule, the king of Great Britain, who most certainly does not owe his high office to any form of popular election, is in no respect better than the rest of the gang of usurpers, who reign, or rather rob, all over the face of this our miserable world, without any sort of right or title to the allegiance of their people. The policy of this general doctrine, so qualified, is evident enough. The propagators of this political gospel are in hopes that their abstract principle (their principle that a popular choice is necessary to the legal existence of the sovereign magistracy) would be overlooked, whilst the king of Great Britain was not affected by it. In the mean time the ears of their congregations would be gradually habituated to it, as if it were a first principle admitted without dispute. For the present it would only operate as a theory, pickled in the preserving juices of pulpit eloquence, and laid by for future use. Condo et compono quae mox depromere possim. By this policy, whilst our government is soothed with a reservation in its favour to which it has no claim, the security, which it has in common with all governments, so far as opinion is security, is taken away.
According to this political thinker, if the king doesn’t get his crown from the choice of his people, he’s not a LEGITIMATE KING. The idea that the king holds the crown of this kingdom is completely false. Therefore, by their standard, the king of Great Britain, who definitely doesn’t owe his position to any kind of popular vote, is no better than the other usurpers who rule—or rather steal—from this miserable world without any real claim to the loyalty of their people. The intent behind this general doctrine is pretty clear. Those spreading this political belief hope that their abstract principle (that a popular choice is essential for the legal existence of a sovereign) will be ignored while it doesn't affect the king of Great Britain. In the meantime, their audience will gradually get used to this idea as if it were an unquestioned truth. For now, it will only serve as a theory, kept safe in the rhetoric of the pulpit and saved for later use. Condo et compono quae mox depromere possim. This way, even as our government is comforted by a claim that it doesn’t deserve, the security it shares with all governments—at least in terms of public opinion—is undermined.
Thus these politicians proceed, whilst little notice is taken of their doctrines; but when they come to be examined upon the plain meaning of their words, and the direct tendency of their doctrines, then equivocations and slippery construction come into play. When they say the king owes his crown to the choice of his people, and is, therefore, the only lawful sovereign in the world, they will perhaps tell us they mean to say no more than that some of the king's predecessors have been called to the throne by some sort of choice; and therefore he owes his crown to the choice of his people. Thus, by a miserable subterfuge, they hope to render their proposition safe by rendering it nugatory. They are welcome to the asylum they seek for their offence, since they take refuge in their folly. For, if you admit this interpretation, how does their idea of election differ from our idea of inheritance? And how does the settlement of the crown in the Brunswick line derived from James I. come to legalize our monarchy, rather than that of any of the neighbouring countries? At some time or other, to be sure, all the beginners of dynasties were chosen by those who called them to govern. There is ground enough for the opinion that all the kingdoms of Europe were, at a remote period, elective, with more or fewer limitations in the objects of choice. But whatever kings might have been here or elsewhere a thousand years ago, or in whatever manner the ruling dynasties of England or France may have begun, the king of Great Britain is, at this day, king by a fixed rule of succession, according to the laws of his country; and whilst the legal conditions of the compact of sovereignty are performed by him (as they are performed), he holds his crown in contempt of the choice of the Revolution Society, who have not a single vote for a king amongst them, either individually or collectively; though I make no doubt they would soon erect themselves into an electoral college, if things were ripe to give effect to their claim. His majesty's heirs and successors, each in his time and order, will come to the crown with the same contempt of their choice with which his majesty has succeeded to that he wears.
So these politicians go on, while hardly anyone pays attention to what they actually say; but when their words and the real impact of their ideas are scrutinized, they start using evasive language and ambiguous reasoning. When they claim that the king’s authority comes from the choice of the people, making him the only lawful ruler in the world, they might suggest that they mean merely that some of the king's ancestors were brought to the throne through some form of selection; therefore, he owes his position to the people's choice. In this way, through a pathetic excuse, they aim to make their claim seem safe while rendering it meaningless. They can take their misguided refuge there, as they are sheltered in their own foolishness. For, if we accept this interpretation, how does their notion of election differ from our concept of inheritance? And how does the establishment of the monarchy in the Brunswick line, which comes from James I, legitimize our monarchy over that of any neighboring countries? At some point, surely, all the founders of dynasties were chosen by those who appointed them to govern. There is enough reason to believe that all the kingdoms of Europe were, at some distant time, elective, though with varying limits on who could be chosen. But no matter how kings may have been chosen here or elsewhere a thousand years ago, or how the ruling dynasties of England or France may have started, the king of Great Britain today is king based on a fixed rule of succession, according to the laws of his country; and as long as he meets the legal conditions of the sovereignty agreement (as he does), he holds his crown without regard for the choice of the Revolution Society, who have not a single vote for a king among them, either individually or collectively; although I'm sure they would quickly position themselves as an electoral college if circumstances allowed for it. His Majesty's heirs and successors, each in their time, will come to the crown with the same disregard for their choice that His Majesty has shown in succeeding to the crown he wears.
Whatever may be the success of evasion in explaining away the gross error of FACT, which supposes that his majesty (though he holds it in concurrence with the wishes) owes his crown to the choice of his people, yet nothing can evade their full explicit declaration concerning the principle of a right in the people to choose; which right is directly maintained, and tenaciously adhered to. All the oblique insinuations concerning election bottom in this proposition, and are referable to it. Lest the foundation of the king's exclusive legal title should pass for a mere rant of adulatory freedom, the political divine proceeds dogmatically to assert, that, by the principles of the Revolution, the people of England have acquired three fundamental rights, all of which, with him, compose one system, and lie together in one short sentence; namely, that we have acquired a right,
Whatever the success of avoiding the serious mistake of FACT, which suggests that his majesty (even if he agrees with the wishes) owes his crown to the choice of his people, nothing can ignore their clear statement about the principle that the people have the right to choose. This right is firmly upheld and fiercely defended. All the indirect suggestions regarding elections stem from this idea and reference it. To ensure that the basis of the king's exclusive legal claim isn’t seen as just empty flattery, the political authority boldly asserts that, based on the principles of the Revolution, the people of England have gained three fundamental rights, all of which, along with him, make up one system and can be summed up in one concise statement: namely, that we have acquired a right,
1. "To choose our own governors."
1. "To select our own leaders."
2. "To cashier them for misconduct."
2. "To fire them for misbehavior."
3. "To frame a government for ourselves."
3. "To create a government for ourselves."
This new, and hitherto unheard of, bill of rights, though made in the name of the whole people, belongs to those gentlemen and their faction only. The body of the people of England have no share in it. They utterly disclaim it. They will resist the practical assertion of it with their lives and fortunes. They are bound to do so by the laws of their country, made at the time of that very Revolution which is appealed to in favour of the fictitious rights claimed by the society which abuses its name.
This new, and previously unheard of, bill of rights, although created in the name of the entire population, only belongs to those gentlemen and their group. The people of England have no part in it. They completely reject it. They will fight against its actual enforcement with their lives and resources. They are obligated to do so by the laws of their country, which were established during the very Revolution that is being cited in support of the false rights claimed by the group that misuses its name.
PREACHING DEMOCRACY OF DISSENT.
If the noble SEEKERS should find nothing to satisfy their pious fancies in the old staple of the national church, or in all the rich variety to be found in the well-assorted warehouses of the dissenting congregations, Dr. Price advises them to improve upon non-conformity; and to set up, each of them, a separate meeting-house upon his own particular principles. It is somewhat remarkable that this reverend divine should be so earnest for setting up new churches, and so perfectly indifferent concerning the doctrine which may be taught in them. His zeal is of a curious character. It is not for the propagation of his own opinions, but of any opinions. It is not for the diffusion of truth, but for the spreading of contradiction. Let the noble teachers but dissent, it is no matter from whom or from what. This great point once secured, it is taken for granted their religion will be rational and manly. I doubt whether religion would reap all the benefits which the calculating divine computes from this "great company of great preachers." It would certainly be a valuable addition of nondescripts to the ample collection of known classes, genera and species, which at present beautify the hortus siccus of dissent. A sermon from a noble duke, or a noble marquis, or a noble earl, or baron bold, would certainly increase and diversify the amusements of this town, which begins to grow satiated with the uniform round of its vapid dissipations. I should only stipulate that these new Mess-Johns in robes and coronets should keep some sort of bounds in the democratic and levelling principles which are expected from their titled pulpits. The new evangelists will, I dare say, disappoint the hopes that are conceived of them. They will not become, literally as well as figuratively, polemic divines, nor be disposed so to drill their congregations, that they may, as in former blessed times, preach their doctrines to regiments of dragoons and corps of infantry and artillery. Such arrangements, however favourable to the cause of compulsory freedom, civil and religious, may not be equally conducive to the national tranquillity. These few restrictions I hope are no great stretches of intolerance, no very violent exertions of despotism.
If the noble SEEKERS can't find anything to satisfy their pious interests in the old mainstay of the national church, or in the wide variety available in the well-stocked warehouses of dissenting congregations, Dr. Price suggests they expand on non-conformity and each set up their own meeting house based on their individual principles. It's somewhat surprising that this reverend is so eager to establish new churches, yet is completely indifferent to the doctrines taught in them. His enthusiasm is quite peculiar. It's not about promoting his own beliefs, but any beliefs. It's not about spreading truth, but about fostering contradiction. As long as the noble teachers dissent, it doesn’t matter from whom or from what. Once this crucial point is secured, it’s assumed their religion will be rational and manly. I'm skeptical that religion would gain all the advantages that the calculating divine expects from this "great company of great preachers." It would certainly add a valuable mix of newcomers to the diverse collection of known categories, genera, and species that currently enhance the dried-up garden of dissent. A sermon from a noble duke, or a noble marquis, or a noble earl, or a bold baron, would definitely add variety to the entertainment of this town, which is starting to feel bored with its monotonous and dull amusements. I would only request that these new Mess-Johns in robes and coronets keep a certain limit in the democratic and leveling principles expected from their titled pulpits. I dare say the new evangelists will likely disappoint the hopes placed on them. They will not literally, or even figuratively, become polemic divines, nor will they be inclined to train their congregations to preach their doctrines to regiments of cavalry and groups of infantry and artillery as was done in earlier blessed times. Such arrangements, while favorable to the cause of compulsory freedom, both civil and religious, may not be equally beneficial for national peace. I hope these few limitations aren't seen as extreme intolerance or severe exertions of despotism.
JARGON OF REPUBLICANISM.
Dr. Price, in this sermon, condemns very properly the practice of gross, adulatory addresses to kings. Instead of this fulsome style, he proposes that his majesty should be told, on occasions of congratulation, that "he is to consider himself as more properly the servant than the sovereign of his people." For a compliment, this new form of address does not seem to be very soothing. Those who are servants in name, as well as in effect, do not like to be told of their situation, their duty and their obligations. The slave, in the old play, tells his master, "Haec commemoratio est quasi exprobatio." It is not pleasant as compliment; it is not wholesome as instruction. After all, if the king were to bring himself to echo this new kind of address, to adopt it in terms, and even to take the appellation of Servant of the People as his royal style, how either he or we should be much mended by it, I cannot imagine. I have seen very assuming letters, signed, Your most obedient, humble servant. The proudest denomination that ever was endured on earth took a title of still greater humility than that which is now proposed for sovereigns by the Apostle of Liberty. Kings and nations were trampled upon by the foot of one calling himself "the Servant of Servants;" and mandates for deposing sovereigns were sealed with the signet of "the Fisherman."
Dr. Price, in this sermon, rightly criticizes the excessive, flattering speeches directed at kings. Instead of this over-the-top style, he suggests that the king should be told, during times of congratulations, that "he should see himself more as the servant than the sovereign of his people." As a compliment, this new way of addressing him doesn’t seem very reassuring. Those who are considered servants in both title and reality don't appreciate being reminded of their position, their responsibilities, and their duties. The slave in the old play says to his master, "This reminder feels like an accusation." It’s not pleasant as a compliment; it’s not beneficial as guidance. Ultimately, if the king were to actually use this new form of address, to adopt it in speech, and even to take on the title of Servant of the People as his royal label, I can't see how it would improve anything for either him or us. I've seen very presumptuous letters signed, Your most obedient, humble servant. The most arrogant title ever held on earth took on a label of even greater humility than what is currently suggested for rulers by the Apostle of Liberty. Kings and nations were oppressed by someone calling himself "the Servant of Servants," and orders to remove monarchs were sealed with the emblem of "the Fisherman."
I should have considered all this as no more than a sort of flippant, vain discourse, in which, as in an unsavoury fume, several persons suffer the spirit of liberty to evaporate, if it were not plainly in support of the idea, and a part of the scheme, of "cashiering kings for misconduct." In that light it is worth some observation.
I should have seen all this as just a playful, shallow conversation, where, like a bad smell, a few people let the spirit of freedom fade away, if it wasn't clearly in favor of the idea and part of the plan to "remove kings for their wrongdoings." In that context, it's worth noting.
Kings, in one sense, are undoubtedly the servants of the people, because their power has no other rational end than that of the general advantage; but it is not true that they are, in the ordinary sense (by our constitution at least), anything like servants; the essence of whose situation is to obey the commands of some other, and to be removable at pleasure. But the king of Great Britain obeys no other person; all other persons are individually, and collectively too, under him, and owe to him a legal obedience. The law, which knows neither to flatter nor to insult, calls this high magistrate, not our servant, as this humble divine calls him, but "OUR SOVEREIGN LORD THE KING;" and we, on our parts, have learned to speak only the primitive language of the law, and not the confused jargon of their Babylonian pulpits.
Kings, in one way, are definitely the servants of the people because their power exists for the common good. However, it's not accurate to say that they are, in the usual sense (at least according to our constitution), like servants who must follow someone else's orders and can be removed at any time. The king of Great Britain answers to no one else; everyone else, both individually and together, is beneath him and owes him legal obedience. The law, which neither flatters nor insults, refers to this high office not as our servant, as this humble divine suggests, but as "OUR SOVEREIGN LORD THE KING;" and we, for our part, have learned to use only the clear language of the law, not the muddled jargon of their confusing pulpits.
CONSERVATIVE PROGRESS OF INHERITED FREEDOM.
The policy appears to me to be the result of profound reflection; or rather the happy effect of following nature, which is wisdom without reflection, and above it. A spirit of innovation is generally the result of a selfish temper, and confined views. People will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors. Besides, the people of England well know that the idea of inheritance furnishes a sure principle of conservation, and a sure principle of transmission, without at all excluding a principle of improvement. It leaves acquisition free; but it secures what it acquires. Whatever advantages are obtained by a state proceeding on these maxims, are locked fast as in a sort of family settlement; grasped as in a kind of mortmain for ever. By a constitutional policy working after the pattern of nature, we receive, we hold, we transmit our government and our privileges, in the same manner in which we enjoy and transmit our property and our lives. The institutions of policy, the goods of fortune, the gifts of Providence, are handed down to us, and from us, in the same course and order. Our political system is placed in a just correspondence and symmetry with the order of the world, and with the mode of existence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory parts; wherein, by the disposition of a stupendous wisdom, moulding together the great mysterious incorporation of the human race, the whole, at one time, is never old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a condition of unchangeable constancy, moves on through the varied tenour of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, and progression. Thus, by preserving the method of nature in the conduct of the state, in what we improve, we are never wholly new; in what we retain, we are never wholly obsolete. By adhering in this manner and on those principles to our forefathers, we are guided not by the superstition of antiquarians, but by the spirit of philosophic analogy. In this choice of inheritance we have given to our frame of polity the image of a relation in blood; binding up the constitution of our country with our dearest domestic ties; adopting our fundamental laws into the bosom of our family affections; keeping inseparable, and cherishing with the warmth of all their combined and mutually reflected charities, our state, our hearths, our sepulchres, and our altars.
The policy seems to come from deep thought or, more accurately, from following nature, which is the wisdom that goes beyond mere reflection. A spirit of innovation often stems from selfishness and narrow views. People who don’t look back at their ancestors are unlikely to consider the future for their descendants. Furthermore, the people of England understand that the idea of inheritance provides a solid foundation for preservation and transmission, without excluding the possibility of improvement. It allows freedom in acquiring new things while securing what has already been gained. Any benefits a society derives from these principles are held tight, like a family estate, securely locked away forever. Through a constitutional policy that follows the natural order, we receive, maintain, and pass on our government and rights just as we do with our property and lives. The structures of governance, the blessings of fortune, and the gifts of fate are passed down in the same way and order. Our political system is harmoniously aligned with the world’s order and the nature of a lasting entity made up of temporary parts; where, by the arrangement of a great wisdom that molds the mysterious unity of humanity, the whole is never exclusively old, middle-aged, or young, but consistently moves through cycles of decay, fall, renewal, and progress. Therefore, by preserving the ways of nature in governance, while we innovate, we never become completely new; and in what we keep, we are never entirely outdated. By following these principles and honoring our forefathers, we are guided not by the superstitions of antiquarians but by philosophical insights. In our choice of inheritance, we have shaped our political framework to reflect familial bonds, tying the constitution of our nation closely to our deepest personal connections; integrating our fundamental laws into the heart of our family values; keeping our state, our homes, our burial places, and our sacred sites inseparable and cherished with the warmth of our combined and mutually supportive love.
Through the same plan of a conformity to nature in our artificial institutions, and by calling in the aid of her unerring and powerful instincts to fortify the fallible and feeble contrivances of our reason, we have derived several other, and those no small benefits, from considering our liberties in the light of an inheritance. Always acting as if in the presence of canonized forefathers, the spirit of freedom, leading in itself to misrule and excess, is tempered with an awful gravity. This idea of a liberal descent inspires us with a sense of habitual native dignity, which prevents that upstart insolence almost inevitably adhering to and disgracing those who are the first acquirers of any distinction. By this means our liberty becomes a noble freedom. It carries an imposing and majestic aspect. It has a pedigree and illustrating ancestors. It has its bearings and its ensigns armorial. It has its gallery of portraits; its monumental inscriptions; its records, evidences, and titles. We procure reverence to our civil institutions on the principle upon which nature teaches us to revere individual men; on account of their age, and on account of those from whom they are descended. All your sophisters cannot produce anything better adapted to preserve a rational and manly freedom than the course that we have pursued, who have chosen our nature rather than our speculations, our breasts rather than our inventions, for the great conservatories and magazines of our rights and privileges.
By adhering to a plan that aligns our artificial structures with nature, and by leveraging her unerring and powerful instincts to support the weak and fallible constructs of our reasoning, we've gained several significant benefits from viewing our liberties as a legacy. Always acting as if we are in the presence of revered ancestors, the spirit of freedom, which can lead to chaos and excess, is balanced by a serious gravity. This concept of a noble heritage gives us an inherent sense of dignity, which guards against the arrogance that often comes with being the first to achieve any distinction. This way, our liberty transforms into a grand freedom. It presents an impressive and majestic image. It has lineage and notable ancestors. It comes with its own symbols and heraldry. It has its collection of portraits, its memorial inscriptions, and its records, evidences, and titles. We earn respect for our civil institutions based on the same principle that nature teaches us to admire individuals—because of their age and their lineage. No one can offer a better approach to safeguarding rational and meaningful freedom than what we have pursued, choosing our nature over our theories, our hearts over our inventions, as the true guardians of our rights and privileges.
CONSERVATION AND CORRECTION.
A state without the means of some change is without the means of its conservation. Without such means it might even risk the loss of that part of the constitution which it wished the most religiously to preserve. The two principles of conservation and correction operated strongly at the two critical periods of the Restoration and Revolution, when England found itself without a king. At both those periods the nation had lost the bond of union in their ancient edifice; they did not, however, dissolve the whole fabric. On the contrary, in both cases they regenerated the deficient part of the old constitution through the parts which were not impaired. They kept these old parts exactly as they were, that the part recovered might be suited to them. They acted by the ancient organized states in the shape of their old organization, and not by the organic moleculae of a disbanded people. At no time, perhaps, did the sovereign legislature manifest a more tender regard to that fundamental principle of British constitutional policy than at the time of the Revolution, when it deviated from the direct line of hereditary succession. The crown was carried somewhat out of the line in which it had before moved; but the new line was derived from the same stock. It was still a line of hereditary descent; still an hereditary descent in the same blood, though an hereditary descent qualified with Protestantism. When the legislature altered the direction, but kept the principle, they showed that they held it inviolable.
A state without the means for some change cannot preserve itself. Lacking such means, it could even lose the very part of the constitution it aimed to protect the most. The two principles of preservation and correction were crucial during the critical times of the Restoration and the Revolution when England found itself without a king. During both of these times, the nation had lost the unity in their ancient structure; however, they did not completely dismantle the entire framework. Instead, in both instances, they revitalized the weakened parts of the old constitution through the sections that remained intact. They preserved these old sections just as they were so that the restored parts would fit properly. They operated through the established states in the form of their previous structure, rather than relying on the disorganized elements of a disbanded populace. At no point, perhaps, did the sovereign legislature show a greater sensitivity to that fundamental principle of British constitutional policy than during the Revolution when it strayed from the direct line of hereditary succession. The crown was shifted somewhat from its previous path; however, the new line still came from the same lineage. It remained a line of hereditary descent, still linked by blood, though this hereditary descent was now defined by Protestantism. When the legislature changed the direction while maintaining the principle, they demonstrated that they regarded it as inviolable.
HEREDITARY SUCCESSION OF ENGLISH CROWN.
Unquestionably there was at the Revolution, in the person of King William, a small and a temporary deviation from the strict order of a regular hereditary succession; but it is against all genuine principles of jurisprudence to draw a principle from a law made in a special case, and regarding an individual person. Privilegium non transit in exemplum. If ever there was a time favourable for establishing the principle, that a king of popular choice was the only legal king, without all doubt it was at the Revolution. Its not being done at that time is a proof that the nation was of opinion it ought not to be done at any time. There is no person so completely ignorant of our history as not to know that the majority in parliament of both parties were so little disposed to anything resembling that principle, that at first they were determined to place the vacant crown, not on the head of the prince of Orange, but on that of his wife Mary, daughter of King James, the eldest born of the issue of that king, which they acknowledged as undoubtedly his. It would be to repeat a very trite story, to recall to your memory all those circumstances which demonstrated that their accepting King William was not properly a CHOICE; but to all those who did not wish, in effect, to recall King James, or to deluge their country in blood, and again to bring their religion, laws, and liberties into the peril they had just escaped, it was an act of NECESSITY, in the strictest moral sense in which necessity can be taken.
Without a doubt, there was a minor and temporary break from the usual hereditary succession during the Revolution with King William's ascension. However, it goes against fundamental legal principles to create a rule from a law applied to a specific case about an individual. Privilegium non transit in exemplum. If there was ever a time to establish the principle that a king chosen by popular vote was the only legitimate king, it was during the Revolution. The fact that it didn't happen then shows that the nation felt it shouldn't happen at any time. No one is so completely unfamiliar with our history as to ignore that the majority in parliament from both parties were so opposed to that idea that initially, they planned to crown not Prince of Orange but his wife Mary, the daughter of King James, as she was the eldest child of that king, which they recognized as certainly his. It would be redundant to remind you of all the circumstances that showed their acceptance of King William was not exactly a CHOICE; for those who didn’t want to effectively restore King James or flood their country in blood again and put their religion, laws, and freedoms at risk once more, it was an act of NECESSITY, in the strictest sense of the term.
So far is it from being true, that we acquired a right by the Revolution to elect our kings, that if we had possessed it before, the English nation did at that time most solemnly renounce and abdicate it, for themselves, and for all their posterity for ever. These gentlemen may value themselves as much as they please on their Whig principles; but I never desire to be thought a better Whig than Lord Somers; or to understand the principles of the Revolution better than those by whom it was brought about; or to read in the Declaration of Right any mysteries unknown to those whose penetrating style has engraved in our ordinances, and in our hearts, the words and spirit of that immortal law.
It's far from true that the Revolution gave us the right to choose our kings. If we ever had that right, the English people at that time solemnly renounced and gave it up for themselves and for all future generations. These individuals can take pride in their Whig principles as much as they want, but I never want to be thought of as a better Whig than Lord Somers, or as someone who understands the principles of the Revolution better than those who made it happen. Nor do I wish to claim any insights from the Declaration of Right that aren't already clear to those whose insightful writing has left a lasting mark on our laws and in our hearts, embodying the essence of that timeless law.
It is true that, aided with the powers derived from force and opportunity, the nation was at that time, in some sense, free to take what course it pleased for filling the throne; but only free to do so upon the same grounds on which they might have wholly abolished their monarchy, and every other part of their constitution.
It’s true that, with the powers from force and opportunity, the nation was, in a way, free to choose how to fill the throne; but they were only free to do this on the same grounds that they could have completely abolished their monarchy and every other part of their constitution.
However, they did not think such bold changes within their commission. It is indeed difficult, perhaps impossible, to give limits to the mere ABSTRACT competence of the supreme power, such as was exercised by parliament at that time; but the limits of a MORAL competence, subjecting, even in powers more indisputably sovereign, occasional will to permanent reason, and to the steady maxims of faith, justice, and fixed fundamental policy, are perfectly intelligible, and perfectly binding upon those who exercise any authority, under any name, or under any title, in the state. The House of Lords, for instance, is not morally competent to dissolve the House of Commons; no, nor even to dissolve itself, nor to abdicate, if it would, its portion in the legislature of the kingdom. Though a king may abdicate for his own person, he cannot abdicate for the monarchy. By as strong, or by a stronger reason, the House of Commons cannot renounce its share of authority. The engagement and pact of society, which generally goes by the name of the constitution, forbids such invasion and such surrender. The constituent parts of a state are obliged to hold their public faith with each other, and with all those who derive any serious interest under their engagements, as much as the whole state is bound to keep its faith with separate communities. Otherwise competence and power would soon be confounded, and no law be left but the will of a prevailing force. On this principle the succession of the crown has always been what it now is, an hereditary succession by law: in the old line it was a succession by the common law; in the new by the statute law, operating on the principles of the common law, not changing the substance, but regulating the mode and describing the persons. Both these descriptions of law are of the same force, and are derived from an equal authority, emanating from the common agreement and original compact of the state, communi sponsione reipublicae, and as such are equally binding on king people too, as long as the terms are observed, and they continue the same body politic.
However, they didn't consider such bold changes within their commission. It is indeed difficult, perhaps even impossible, to limit the mere abstract authority of the supreme power, as exercised by parliament at that time; but the limits of moral authority, which require even the most indisputable powers to let occasional will be governed by permanent reason, steady principles of faith, justice, and established fundamental policy, are completely understandable and binding on anyone who holds authority, under any name or title, in the state. The House of Lords, for example, does not have the moral authority to dissolve the House of Commons; nor can it dissolve itself, or abdicate its role in the legislature of the kingdom. While a king can step down personally, he cannot resign the monarchy itself. By the same reasoning, the House of Commons cannot abandon its share of authority. The social contract, usually referred to as the constitution, prohibits such interference and such surrender. The components of a state must uphold their public commitments to one another and to anyone with a serious interest arising from those commitments, just as the entire state is bound to honor its agreements with individual communities. Otherwise, authority and power would quickly become confused, leaving only the will of the strongest force as law. Based on this idea, the succession of the crown has always been what it is now, an hereditary succession by law: under the old line, it was a succession by common law; under the new line, it follows statutory law, which operates on the principles of common law, not altering the substance, but regulating the process and identifying the individuals. Both forms of law hold equal weight and stem from the same authority, arising from the common agreement and original compact of the state, communi sponsione reipublicae, and are thus equally binding on both the king and the people, as long as the terms are respected and the body politic remains the same.
LIMITS OF LEGISLATIVE CAPACITY.
If we were to know nothing of this assembly but by its title and function, no colours could paint to the imagination anything more venerable. In that light the mind of an inquirer, subdued by such an awful image as that of the virtue and wisdom of a whole people collected into one focus, would pause and hesitate in condemning things even of the very worst aspect. Instead of blameable, they would appear only mysterious. But no name, no power, no function, no artificial institution whatsoever, can make the men of whom any system of authority is composed, any other than God, and nature, and education, and their habits of life have made them. Capacities beyond these the people have not to give. Virtue and wisdom may be the objects of their choice; but their choice confers neither the one nor the other on those upon whom they lay their ordaining hands. They have not the engagement of nature, they have not the promise of revelation, for any such power.
If we knew nothing about this assembly except for its title and purpose, no colors could capture in our imagination anything more respected. In that light, an inquirer's mind, overwhelmed by such a daunting image of the virtue and wisdom of an entire people gathered in one place, would hesitate to condemn even the most troubling aspects. Instead of being blameworthy, they would seem only mysterious. However, no name, no power, no role, or any artificial institution can change the fact that the individuals within any authority system are shaped only by God, nature, education, and their life habits. The people can only offer capacities within those limits. While virtue and wisdom may be what they aspire to, their selection does not bestow either upon those they choose to empower. They lack the endorsement of nature and the promise of revelation for such authority.
OUR CONSTITUTION, NOT FABRICATED, BUT INHERITED.
The Revolution was made to preserve our ANCIENT, indisputable laws and liberties, and that ANCIENT constitution of government which is our only security for law and liberty. If you are desirous of knowing the spirit of our constitution, and the policy which predominated in that great period which has secured it to this hour, pray look for both in our histories, in our records, in our acts of parliament, and journals of parliament, and not in the sermons of the Old Jewry, and the after-dinner toasts of the Revolution Society. In the former you will find other ideas and another language. Such a claim is as ill suited to our temper and wishes as it is unsupported by any appearance of authority. The very idea of the fabrication of a new government is enough to fill us with disgust and horror. We wished at the period of the Revolution, and do now wish, to derive all we possess as AN INHERITANCE FROM OUR FOREFATHERS. Upon that body and stock of inheritance, we have taken care not to inoculate any scion alien to the nature of the original plant. All the reformations we have hitherto made have proceeded upon the principle of reverence to antiquity; and I hope, nay, I am persuaded, that all those which possibly may be made hereafter, will be carefully formed upon analogical precedent, authority, and example.
The Revolution was aimed at preserving our longstanding, undeniable laws and freedoms, and that historical constitution of government which is our only safeguard for law and liberty. If you want to understand the essence of our constitution and the guiding principles from that significant period that have maintained it until now, please look for both in our histories, records, acts of parliament, and parliamentary journals, not in the sermons of the Old Jewry or in the after-dinner toasts of the Revolution Society. In those earlier sources, you'll find different ideas and language. Such a claim is completely out of touch with our mindset and desires, and it lacks any supporting evidence. The very thought of creating a new government is enough to repel and horrify us. We wanted, at the time of the Revolution, and still want, to inherit all we have from our ancestors. Based on that foundation of inheritance, we have ensured not to introduce anything foreign to the nature of the original plant. All the reforms we've made so far have been based on a respect for tradition, and I hope, in fact, I am convinced, that any future reforms will be carefully grounded in past precedents, authority, and examples.
Our oldest reformation is that of Magna Charta. You will see that Sir Edward Coke, that great oracle of our law, and indeed all the great men who follow him, to Blackstone, are industrious to prove the pedigree of our liberties. They endeavour to prove, that the ancient charter, the Magna Charta of King John, was connected with another positive charter from Henry I., and that both the one and the other were nothing more than a re-affirmance of the still more ancient standing law of the kingdom. In the matter of fact, for the greater part, these authors appear to be in the right; perhaps not always; but if the lawyers mistake in some particulars, it proves my position still the more strongly, because it demonstrates the powerful prepossession towards antiquity, with much the minds of all our lawyers and legislators, and of all the people whom they wish to influence, have been always filled; and the stationary policy of this kingdom in considering their most sacred rights and franchises as an INHERITANCE.
Our oldest reform is the Magna Carta. You'll see that Sir Edward Coke, that great authority on our law, and all the prominent figures who came after him, like Blackstone, work hard to trace the origins of our freedoms. They try to show that the ancient charter, the Magna Carta of King John, was linked to another official charter from Henry I, and that both were simply a reaffirmation of the even older established laws of the kingdom. In most cases, these authors seem to be correct; maybe not always; but if the lawyers are mistaken in some details, it still supports my argument even more strongly, because it highlights the strong bias towards the past that has always filled the minds of our lawyers and lawmakers, as well as all the people they seek to influence, considering their most sacred rights and freedoms as an INHERITANCE.
In the famous law of the 3rd of Charles I., called the PETITION OF RIGHT, the parliament says to the king, "Your subjects have INHERITED this freedom," claiming their franchises not on abstract principles "as the rights of men," but as the rights of Englishmen, and as a patrimony derived from their forefathers. Selden, and the other profoundly learned men, who drew this petition of right, were as well acquainted, at least, with all the general theories concerning the "rights of men," as any of the discoursers in our pulpits, or on your tribune; full as well as Dr. Price, or as the Abbe Sieyes. But, for reasons worthy of that practical wisdom which superseded their theoretic science, they preferred this positive, recorded, HEREDITARY title to all which can be dear to the man and the citizen, to that vague speculative right, which exposed their sure inheritance to be scrambled for and torn to pieces by every wild, litigious spirit.
In the well-known law from the 3rd of Charles I, called the PETITION OF RIGHT, the parliament tells the king, "Your subjects have INHERITED this freedom," asserting their rights not on abstract ideas like "the rights of men," but as the rights of Englishmen and as a heritage passed down from their ancestors. Selden and the other highly knowledgeable individuals who created this petition were just as familiar with all the general theories about the "rights of men" as any speakers in our churches or on your platforms; just as well as Dr. Price or the Abbe Sieyes. However, for reasons that reflect the practical wisdom which took precedence over their theoretical knowledge, they chose this concrete, documented, HEREDITARY title over any vague speculative right, which would allow their guaranteed inheritance to be fought over and ruined by every troublesome, litigious person.
The same policy pervades all the laws which have since been made for the preservation of our liberties. In the 1st of William and Mary, in the famous statute called the Declaration of Right, the two houses utter not a syllable of "a right to frame a government for themselves." You will see, that their whole care was to secure the religion, laws, and liberties, that had been long possessed, and had been lately endangered. "Taking into their most serious consideration the BEST means for making such an establishment that their religion, laws, and liberties, might not be in danger of being again subverted," they auspicate all their proceedings, by stating as some of those BEST means, "in the FIRST PLACE" to do "as their ANCESTORS IN LIKE CASES HAVE USUALLY done for vindicating their ANCIENT rights and liberties, to DECLARE;"—and then they pray the king and queen, "that it may be DECLARED and enacted, that ALL AND SINGULAR the rights and liberties ASSERTED AND DECLARED, are the true ANCIENT and indubitable rights and liberties of the people of this kingdom."
The same policy influences all the laws that have been created since to protect our freedoms. In the first year of William and Mary, in the well-known statute called the Declaration of Right, neither house mentions "a right to create a government for themselves." You'll see that their main focus was to safeguard the religion, laws, and liberties that had been long held and were recently at risk. "Taking into serious consideration the BEST ways to establish that their religion, laws, and liberties would not be at risk of being overthrown again," they start all their actions by stating that some of those BEST ways are, "in the FIRST PLACE," to do "as their ANCESTORS IN SIMILAR CASES HAVE USUALLY done to defend their ANCIENT rights and liberties, to DECLARE;"—and then they request the king and queen, "that it may be DECLARED and enacted, that ALL AND SINGULAR the rights and liberties ASSERTED AND DECLARED, are the true ANCIENT and undeniable rights and liberties of the people of this kingdom."
You will observe, that from Magna Charta to the Declaration of Right, it has been the uniform policy of our constitution to claim and assert our liberties, as an ENTAILED INHERITANCE derived to us from our forefathers, and to be transmitted to our posterity, as an estate specially belonging to the people of this kingdom, without any reference whatever to any other more general or prior right. By this means our constitution preserves a unity in so great a diversity of its parts. We have an inheritable crown; an inheritable peerage; and a house of commons and a people inheriting privileges, franchises, and liberties, from a long line of ancestors.
You will notice that from Magna Carta to the Declaration of Rights, our constitution has consistently aimed to claim and assert our freedoms as an INHERITABLE LEGACY handed down to us from our ancestors, meant to be passed on to future generations, as a right that specifically belongs to the people of this nation, without any consideration of any other broader or earlier rights. This approach helps our constitution maintain unity despite the variety of its components. We have a crown that can be inherited; a peerage that can be inherited; and a House of Commons along with a people who inherit privileges, rights, and freedoms from a long line of forebears.
LOW AIMS AND LOW INSTRUMENTS.
When men of rank sacrifice all ideas of dignity to an ambition without a distinct object, and work with low instruments and for low ends, the whole composition becomes low and base. Does not something like this now appear in France? Does it not produce something ignoble and inglorious? a kind of meanness in all the prevalent policy? a tendency in all that is done to lower along with individuals all the dignity and importance of the state? Other revolutions have been conducted by persons, who, whilst they attempted or affected changes in the commonwealth, sanctified their ambition by advancing the dignity of the people whose peace they troubled. They had long views. They aimed at the rule, not at the destruction, of their country. They were men of great civil and great military talents, and if the terror, the ornament of their age. They were not like Jew brokers, contending with each other who could best remedy with fraudulent circulation and depreciated paper the wretchedness and ruin brought on their country by their degenerate councils. The compliment made to one of the great bad men of the old stamp (Cromwell) by his kinsman, a favourite poet of that time, shows what it was he proposed, and what indeed to a great degree he accomplished, in the success of his ambition:—
When people in power abandon all sense of dignity for a vague ambition and use lowly means to achieve trivial goals, the entire situation turns low and shameful. Doesn't this seem to be happening in France now? Doesn't it result in something shameful and lacking glory? A kind of pettiness in all the current policies? A trend to diminish the dignity and significance of the state along with individuals? Other revolutions were led by individuals who, while attempting or pretending to change the commonwealth, justified their ambition by elevating the dignity of the people whose peace they disturbed. They had long-term visions. They aimed to govern, not to destroy, their country. They were individuals of outstanding civil and military skills, and they were both the terror and the pride of their time. They were not like moneylenders arguing over who could best exploit the misfortunes and destruction brought upon their country by their corrupt decisions. The praise given to one of the infamous figures of the past (Cromwell) by his relative, a popular poet of that era, demonstrates what he aimed for and to a large extent achieved in the success of his ambition:—
"Still as YOU rise, the STATE exalted too,
Finds no distemper whilst 'tis changed by YOU:
Changed like the world's great scene, when without noise
The rising sun night's VULGAR lights destroys."
"Still as you rise, the state is uplifted too, Finds no disturbance while it’s changed by you: Changed like the world’s grand stage, when silently The rising sun wipes out night’s ordinary lights."
These disturbers were not so much like men usurping power, as asserting their natural place in society. Their rising was to illuminate and beautify the world. Their conquest over their competitors was by outshining them. The hand that, like a destroying angel, smote the country, communicated to it the force and energy under which it suffered. I do not say (God forbid), I do not say, that the virtues of such men were to be taken as a balance to their crimes: but they were some corrective to their effects. Such was, as I said, our Cromwell. Such were your whole race of Guises, Condes, and Colignis. Such the Richelieus, who in more quite times acted in the spirit of a civil war. Such, as better men, and in a less dubious cause, were your Henry the Fourth and your Sully, though nursed in civil confusions, and not wholly without some of their taint. It is a thing to be wondered at, to see how very soon France, when she had a moment to respire, recovered and emerged from the longest and most dreadful civil war that ever was known in any nation. Why? Because among all their massacres, they had not slain the MIND in their country. A conscious dignity, a noble pride, a generous sense of glory and emulation, was not extinguished. On the contrary, it was kindled and enflamed. The organs also of the state, however shattered, existed. All the prizes of honour and virtue, all the rewards, all the distinctions, remained. But your present confusion, like a palsy, has attacked the fountain of life itself. Every person in your country, in a situation to be actuated by a principle of honour, is disgraced and degraded, and can entertain no sensation of life, except in a mortified and humiliated indignation. But this generation will quickly pass away. The next generation of the nobility will resemble the artificers and clowns, and money-jobbers, usurers, and Jews, who will be always their fellows, sometimes their masters. Believe me, Sir, those who attempt to level, never equalise. In all societies, consisting of various descriptions of citizens, some description must be uppermost. The levellers therefore only change and pervert the natural order of things; they load the edifice of society, by setting up in the air what the solidity of the structure requires to be on the ground. The associations of tailors and carpenters, of which the republic (of Paris, for instance), is composed, cannot be equal to the situation into which, by the worst of usurpations, a usurpation on the prerogatives of nature, you attempt to force them.
These disruptors weren’t so much like men taking power for themselves, but rather claiming their rightful place in society. Their rise was meant to brighten and beautify the world. They triumphed over their rivals by outshining them. The force that, like a destructive angel, struck the country, also imparted the strength and energy behind its suffering. I’m not saying (God forbid), I’m not saying that the good qualities of such men should balance out their crimes; but they did offer some remedy for their consequences. Such was, as I mentioned, our Cromwell. Such were your entire lineage of Guises, Condes, and Colignis. Such were the Richelieus, who during quieter times acted as if engaged in civil war. Such were your Henry the Fourth and your Sully, who, though raised amidst civil turmoil, were ultimately better men with a clearer cause, even if they weren’t completely free of that turmoil's influence. It is remarkable to see how quickly France, when given a moment to breathe, recovered and emerged from the longest and most horrific civil war known to any nation. Why? Because among all their massacres, they hadn’t killed the intellect in their country. A sense of dignity, noble pride, and a generous spirit of glory and ambition were not extinguished. On the contrary, those qualities were ignited and intensified. The mechanisms of the state, though broken, still existed. All the honors and virtues, all the rewards and accolades, remained intact. But your current chaos, like a paralysis, has struck at the very source of life itself. Every individual in your country who could be motivated by a sense of honor is disgraced and devalued, feeling no sense of vitality except through a mortified and humiliated anger. But this generation will soon pass. The next generation of the nobility will resemble the tradespeople and laborers, as well as money lenders, usurers, and Jews, who will always be their peers and sometimes their superiors. Believe me, Sir, those who try to bring everyone to the same level never actually equalize. In every society made up of diverse groups of citizens, one group must be dominant. Therefore, the ones who push for equality only disrupt and distort the natural order of things; they burden the foundation of society by elevating what should be grounded. The associations of tailors and carpenters, which make up the republic (for example, Paris), cannot be made equal to the positions you seek to impose on them through the worst kind of usurpation, a violation of the natural prerogatives.
The Chancellor of France, at the opening of the states, said, in a tone of oratorical flourish, that all occupations were honourable. If he meant only, that no honest employment was disgraceful, he would not have gone beyond the truth. But in asserting that anything is honourable, we imply some distinction in its favour. The occupation of a hair-dresser, or of a working tallow-chandler, cannot be a matter of honour to any person—to say nothing of a number of other more servile employments. Such descriptions of men ought not to suffer oppression from the state; but the state suffers oppression, if such as they, either individually or collectively, are permitted to rule. In this you think you are combating prejudice, but you are at war with nature.
The Chancellor of France, at the start of the states, declared, with a dramatic tone, that all jobs are honorable. If he only meant that no honest work is shameful, he wouldn’t be straying from the truth. But by claiming that anything is honorable, we suggest there's a distinction in its favor. The job of a hairdresser or a working tallow-chandler cannot be a source of honor for anyone—not to mention many other more menial jobs. People in these roles shouldn’t face oppression from the state; however, the state is oppressed if such individuals, whether alone or together, are allowed to lead. In this, you think you're fighting prejudice, but you're actually going against nature.
HOUSE OF COMMONS CONTRASTED WITH NATIONAL ASSEMBLY.
The British House of Commons, without shutting its doors to any merit in any class, is, by the sure operation of adequate causes, filled with everything illustrious in rank, in descent, in hereditary and in acquired opulence, in cultivated talents, in military, civil, naval, and politic distinction, that the country can afford. But supposing, what hardly can be supposed as a case, that the House of Commons should be composed in the same manner with the Tiers-Etat in France, would this dominion of chicane be borne with patience, or even conceived without horror? God forbid I should insinuate anything derogatory to that profession, which is another priesthood, administering the rights of sacred justice. But whilst I revere men in the functions which belong to them, and would do as much as one man can do to prevent their exclusion from any, I cannot, to flatter them, give the lie to nature. They are good and useful in the composition; they must be mischievous if they preponderate so as virtually to become the whole. Their very excellence in their peculiar functions may be far from a qualification for others. It cannot escape observation, that when men are too much confined to professional and faculty habits, and as it were inveterate in the recurrent employment of that narrow circle, they are rather disabled than qualified for whatever depends on the knowledge of mankind, on experience in mixed affairs, on a comprehensive, connected view of the various, complicated, external, and internal interests, which go to the formation of that multifarious thing called a state. After all, if the House of Commons were to have a wholly professional and faculty composition, what is the power of the House of Commons, circumscribed and shut in by the immoveable barriers of law, usages, positive rules of doctrine and practice, counterpoised by the House of Lords, and every moment of its existence at the discretion of the crown to continue, prorogue, or dissolve us? The power of the House of Commons, direct or indirect, is indeed great; and long may it be able to preserve its greatness, and the spirit belonging to true greatness, at the full; and it will do so, as long as it can keep the breakers of law in India from becoming the makers of law for England. The power, however, of the House of Commons, when least diminished, is as a drop of water in the ocean, compared to that residing in a settled majority of your National Assembly. That assembly, since the destruction of the orders, has no fundamental law, no strict convention, no respected usage to restrain it. Instead of finding themselves obliged to conform to a fixed constitution, they have a power to make a constitution which shall conform to their designs. Nothing in heaven or upon earth can serve as a control on them. What ought to be the heads, the hearts, the dispositions, that are qualified, or that dare, not only to make laws under a fixed constitution, but at one heat to strike out a totally new constitution for a great kingdom, and every part of it, from the monarch on the throne to the vestry of a parish? But—"fools rush in where angels fear to tread." In such a state of unbounded power, for undefined and indefinable purposes, the evil of a moral and almost physical inaptitude of the man to the function, must be the greatest we can conceive to happen in the management of human affairs.
The British House of Commons, while open to merit from all classes, is filled with everything prestigious in rank, lineage, inherited and earned wealth, as well as cultivated skills, military, civil, naval, and political achievements that the country has to offer. But if, hypothetically, the House of Commons were composed like the Tiers-Etat in France, would we tolerate such a realm of trickery, or even consider it without dread? Heaven forbid I imply anything negative about that profession, which serves as another priesthood, administering the rights of sacred justice. While I respect those in their roles and would do everything possible to prevent their exclusion from any, I cannot, to flatter them, contradict nature. They are valuable in the mix; however, they would be harmful if they dominated to the point where they essentially became everything. Their excellence in their specific roles might not qualify them for others. It’s clear that when individuals are too confined to their professional habits and entrenched in that narrow focus, they are more disabled than qualified for anything requiring an understanding of humanity, experience in varied situations, and a broad, interconnected view of the diverse, complicated external and internal interests that contribute to what we call a state. Ultimately, if the House of Commons were entirely made up of professionals, what would be its power, limited and constrained by the unmovable barriers of law, customs, explicit rules of doctrine and practice, balanced against the House of Lords, and subject to the crown's discretion to continue, suspend, or dissolve it? The power of the House of Commons, direct or indirect, is certainly significant; may it continue to maintain its greatness and the spirit of true greatness, as long as it prevents those who break the law in India from becoming the lawmakers for England. However, the power of the House of Commons, even at its peak, is like a drop in the ocean compared to the power held by a stable majority in your National Assembly. That assembly, since the abolition of the orders, has no fundamental law, no strict agreement, no respected custom to limit it. Instead of having to adhere to a fixed constitution, they have the ability to create a constitution that aligns with their intentions. Nothing in heaven or on earth can control them. What should the qualifications, motivations, or attitudes be for those who are capable, or who dare, not only to create laws under a fixed constitution but also to forge an entirely new constitution for a vast kingdom, covering everything from the monarch on the throne to a parish council? But— "fools rush in where angels fear to tread." In a state of unchecked power for vague and undefined purposes, the greatest harm we can imagine in managing human affairs would be the moral and almost physical unsuitability of individuals for their roles.
PROPERTY, MORE THAN ABILITY, REPRESENTED IN PARLIAMENT.
Nothing is a due and adequate representation of a state that does not represent its ability, as well as its property. But as ability is a vigorous and active principle, and as property is sluggish, inert, and timid, it never can be safe from the invasions of ability, unless it be, out of all proportion, predominant in the representation. It must be represented too in great masses of accumulation, or it is not rightly protected. The characteristic essence of property, formed out of the combined principles of its acquisition and conservation, is to be UNEQUAL. The great masses, therefore, which excite envy, and tempt rapacity, must be put out of the possibility of danger. Then they form a natural rampart about the lesser properties in all their gradations. The same quantity of property, which is by the natural course of things divided among many, has not the same operation. Its defensive power is weakened as it is diffused. In this diffusion each man's portion is less than what, in the eagerness of his desires, he may flatter himself to obtain by dissipating the accumulations of others. The plunder of the few would, indeed, give but a share inconceivably small in the distribution to the many. But the many are not capable of making this calculation; and those who lead them to rapine never intend this distribution.
Nothing truly represents a state unless it reflects both its abilities and its wealth. However, since ability is active and dynamic, while wealth is slow, passive, and cautious, it’s never really safe from the encroachment of ability unless it is disproportionately dominant in representation. Wealth must also be represented in large quantities; otherwise, it isn't properly safeguarded. The essence of property, shaped by the principles of acquiring and maintaining it, is inherently UNEQUAL. Therefore, the large amounts of wealth that provoke envy and greed must be protected from danger. They create a natural barrier around smaller properties at all levels. The same amount of wealth, when naturally distributed among many, does not function the same way. Its defensive strength diminishes as it spreads out. In this distribution, each person's share is less than what they might hope to gain by squandering the wealth of others. The theft from a few would result in an unimaginably small portion for the many. But the many don’t realize this, and those who incite them to plunder have no intention of ensuring an equitable distribution.
The power of perpetuating our property in our families is one of the most valuable and interesting circumstances belonging to it, and that which tends the most to the perpetuation of society itself. It makes our weakness subservient to our virtue; it grafts benevolence even upon avarice. The possessors of family wealth, and of the distinction which attends hereditary possession (as most concerned in it), are the natural securities for this transmission. With us the House of Peers is formed upon this principle. It is wholly composed of hereditary property and hereditary distinction; and made, therefore, the third of the legislature; and, in the last event, the sole judge of all property in all its subdivisions. The House of Commons, too, though not necessarily, yet in fact, is always so composed, in the far greater part. Let those large proprietors be what they will, and they have their chance of being among the best, they are, at the very worst, the ballast in the vessel of the commonwealth. For though hereditary wealth, and the rank which goes with it, are too much idolized by creeping sycophants, and the blind, abject admirers of power, they are too rashly slighted in shallow speculations of the petulant, assuming, short-sighted coxcombs of philosophy. Some decent, regulated pre-eminence, some preference (not exclusive appropriation) given to birth, is neither unnatural, nor unjust, nor impolitic. It is said, that twenty-four millions ought to prevail over two hundred thousand. True; if the constitution of a kingdom be a problem of arithmetic. This sort of discourse does well enough with the lamp-post for its second: to men who MAY reason calmly, it is ridiculous. The will of the many, and their interest, must very often differ; and great will be the difference when they make an evil choice.
The ability to pass down our property within our families is one of the most valuable and fascinating aspects of it, and it significantly contributes to the stability of society itself. It allows our weaknesses to support our virtues; it can even turn greed into something benevolent. Those who hold family wealth and the status that comes with inherited property are the natural protectors of this legacy. In our system, the House of Peers is built on this principle. It consists entirely of inherited wealth and status, making it one of the three branches of the legislature and ultimately the final authority on all matters of property. The House of Commons, while not required to be, is predominantly made up of similar members. Regardless of their backgrounds, these large landowners, even at their worst, serve as a stabilizing force in the nation. Although inherited wealth and the status that accompanies it can be dangerously idolized by bootlickers and submissive admirers of power, they are often too carelessly dismissed by the arrogant and shortsighted philosophers. A certain level of respect and preference for birth is neither unnatural, unjust, nor impractical. It is said that twenty-four million should prevail over two hundred thousand. True, if we consider the government of a kingdom as a math problem. Such discussions may be suitable for lamp-post debates; for those who can reason calmly, it's absurd. The desires and interests of the majority often differ, and the gap widens when they make poor choices.
VIRTUE AND WISDOM QUALIFY FOR GOVERNMENT.
I do not, my dear sir, conceive you to be of that sophistical, captious spirit, or of that uncandid dulness, as to require, for every general observation or sentiment, an explicit detail of the correctives and exceptions which reason will presume to be included in all the general propositions which come from reasonable men. You do not imagine that I wish to confine power, authority, and distinction to blood, and names, and titles. No, sir. There is no qualification for government but virtue and wisdom, actual or presumptive. Wherever they are actually found, they have, in whatever state, condition, profession, or trade, the passport of heaven to human place and honour. Woe to that country which would madly and impiously reject the service of the talents and virtues, civil, military, or religious, that are given to grace and to serve it; and would condemn to obscurity everything formed to diffuse lustre and glory around a state. Woe to that country, too, that, passing into the opposite extreme, considers a low education, a mean, contracted view of things, a sordid, mercenary occupation, as a preferable title to command. Everything ought to be open; but not indifferently to every man. No rotation; no appointment by lot; no mode of election operating in the spirit of sortition, or rotation, can be generally good in a government conversant in extensive objects. Because they have no tendency, direct or indirect, to select the man with a view to the duty, or to accommodate the one to the other. I do not hesitate to say, that the road to eminence and power, from obscure condition, ought not to be made too easy, nor a thing too much of course. If rare merit be the rarest of all rare things, in ought to pass through some sort of probation. The temple of honour ought to be seated on an eminence. If it be opened through virtue, let it be remembered, too, that virtue is never tried but by some difficulty and some struggle.
I do not, my dear sir, think you are the kind of person who would need, for every general observation or sentiment, an explicit list of the exceptions and qualifications that reason expects to be understood in all general statements made by reasonable people. You don’t believe that I want to limit power, authority, and status to just bloodlines, names, and titles. No, sir. The only qualifications for government are virtue and wisdom, whether they are real or assumed. Wherever these qualities are genuinely found, they have, no matter the state, condition, profession, or trade, the approval of heaven for human rank and respect. Woe to any country that foolishly and wickedly declines the contributions of talents and virtues—civil, military, or religious—that are meant to honor and serve it; and that would push into the shadows everything that is meant to bring light and glory to a state. Woe to that country as well, that, swinging to the opposite extreme, sees a limited education, a narrow and selfish perspective, or a greedy, profit-driven job as a better qualification for leadership. Everything should be open, but not just to anyone. No rotation, no random selection, and no election process that operates on chance or rotation can be generally good in a government dealing with broad matters. Because they do not help select the right person for the role or fit the person to the job. I firmly believe that the path to prominence and power, from an obscure background, should not be made too easy or too commonplace. If rare merit is truly rare, it should go through some kind of testing. The temple of honor should be situated on a high ground. If it is opened through virtue, let it be remembered that virtue is only proven through difficulty and struggle.
NATURAL AND CIVIL RIGHTS.
Far am I from denying in theory, full as far as is my heart from withholding in practice (if I were of power to give or to withhold), the REAL rights of men. In denying their false claims of right, I do not mean to injure those which are real, and are such as their pretended rights would totally destroy. If civil society be made for the advantage of man, all the advantages for which it is made become his right. It is an institution of beneficence; and law itself is only beneficence acting by a rule. Men have a right to live by that rule; they have a right to do justice, as between their fellows, whether their fellows are in politic function, or in ordinary occupation. They have a right to the fruits of their industry, and to the means of making their industry fruitful. They have a right to the acquisitions of their parents; to the nourishment and improvement of their offspring; to instruction in life, and to consolation in death. Whatever each man can separately do, without trespassing upon others, he has a right to do for himself; and he has a right to a fair portion of all which society, with all its combinations of skill and force, can do in his favour. In this partnership all men have equal rights; but not to equal things. He that has but five shillings in the partnership, has as good a right to it, as he that has five hundred pounds has to his larger proportion. But he has not a right to an equal dividend in the product of the joint-stock; and as to the share of power, authority, and direction which each individual ought to have in the management of the state, that I must deny to be amongst the direct original rights of man in civil society; for I have in my contemplation the civil social man, and no other. It is a thing to be settled by convention. If civil society be the offspring of convention, that convention must be its law. That convention must limit and modify all the descriptions of constitution which are formed under it. Every sort of legislature, judicial, or executory power, are its creatures. They can have no being in any other state of things; and how can any man claim, under the conventions of civil society, rights which do not so much as suppose its existence? Rights which are absolutely repugnant to it? One of the first motives to civil society, and which becomes one of its fundamental rules, is, THAT NO MAN SHOULD BE JUDGE IN HIS OWN CAUSE. By this each person has at once divested himself of the first fundamental right of uncovenanted man, that is, to judge for himself, and to assert his own cause. He abdicates all right to be his own governor. He inclusively, in a great measure, abandons the right of self-defence, the first law of nature. Men cannot enjoy the rights of an uncivil and of a civil state together. That he may obtain justice, he gives up his right of determining what it is in points the most essential to him. That he may secure some liberty, he makes a surrender in trust of the whole of it.
I'm not denying, at least in theory, as much as my heart is open to giving or withholding in practice (if I could do so), the true rights of people. In rejecting their false claims to rights, I don't intend to harm those that are real, which their supposed rights would completely undermine. If civil society exists for the benefit of individuals, then all the benefits it provides become their rights. It's an institution for good; and the law itself is just goodness applied through a set of rules. People have the right to live by those rules; they have the right to seek justice amongst one another, whether their peers hold political roles or ordinary jobs. They have the right to the outcomes of their work and to have the resources needed to make their efforts productive. They have the right to inherit from their parents, to nurture and develop their children, to receive education in life, and to find comfort in death. Whatever an individual can accomplish on their own without infringing on others, they have the right to do for themselves; and they are entitled to a fair share of what society, with all its skills and resources, can do for them. In this partnership, everyone holds equal rights, but not equal shares. Someone with five shillings has just as much right to it as someone with five hundred pounds has to their larger portion. However, they do not have the right to an equal share of the overall outcome of the collective efforts; and when it comes to the power, authority, and influence each person should have in running the state, I must say that is not among the core original rights of individuals in civil society; because I am considering civil social individuals, and no others. This is something that should be agreed upon through convention. If civil society arises from an agreement, then that agreement must be its law. That agreement must shape and define all the constitutions created under it. Every type of legislative, judicial, or executive power is a product of this agreement. They cannot exist outside this context; and how can anyone claim, under the rules of civil society, rights that do not even acknowledge its existence? Rights that are fundamentally opposed to it? One of the primary reasons for establishing civil society, which becomes one of its essential rules, is that NO ONE SHOULD BE THE JUDGE OF THEIR OWN CASE. By this rule, each person relinquishes the first fundamental right of being an individual outside of any agreement, which is to judge for themselves and defend their own case. They surrender their right to govern themselves. Essentially, they largely abandon the right to self-defense, the most basic law of nature. People cannot enjoy the rights of both an uncivil and a civil state at the same time. To obtain justice, they give up their right to determine what it means in the most critical matters for them. To keep some freedom, they trustfully surrender all of it.
Government is not made in virtue of natural rights, which may and do exist in total independence of it; and exist in much greater clearness, and in a much greater degree of abstract perfection: but their abstract perfection is their practical defect. By having a right to everything they want everything. Government is a contrivance of human wisdom to provide for human WANTS. Men have a right that these wants should be provided for by this wisdom. Among these wants is to be reckoned the want, out of civil society, of a sufficient restraint upon their passions. Society requires not only that the passions of individuals should be subjected, but that even in the mass and body, as well as in the individuals, the inclinations of men should frequently be thwarted, their will controlled, and their passions brought into subjection. This can only be done BY A POWER OUT OF THEMSELVES, and not, in the exercise of its function, subject to that will and to those passions which it is its office to bridle and subdue. In this sense the restraints on men, as well as their liberties, are to be reckoned among their rights. But as the liberties and the restrictions vary with times and circumstances, and admit of infinite modifications, they cannot be settled upon any abstract rule; and nothing is so foolish as to discuss them upon that principle.
Government isn't based on natural rights, which can exist independently of it and often are clearer and more abstractly perfect. However, this abstract perfection is also its practical flaw. When people claim a right to everything, they end up wanting everything. Government is a system created by human intelligence to address human needs. People have the right to have these needs met through this wisdom. Among these needs is the requirement for sufficient control over their passions outside of civil society. Society demands that not only should individuals' passions be restrained, but also that, collectively, people's inclinations should often be challenged, their wills controlled, and their passions subdued. This can only happen through a power that exists outside of themselves, which isn't subject to the wills and passions it is meant to manage and control. In this way, the limitations placed on people, alongside their freedoms, should be considered part of their rights. However, since these freedoms and restrictions vary with time and context and can change infinitely, they can’t be governed by any fixed principle, and it’s quite unreasonable to argue about them based on that idea.
The moment you abate anything from the full rights of men, each to govern himself, and suffer any artificial, positive limitation upon those rights, from that moment the whole organization of government becomes a consideration of convenience. This it is which makes the constitution of a state, and the due distribution of its powers, a matter of the most delicate and complicated skill. It requires a deep knowledge of human nature and human necessities, and of the things which facilitate or obstruct the various ends, which are to be pursued by the mechanism of civil institutions. The state is to have recruits to its strength, and remedies to its distempers. What is the use of discussing a man's abstract right to food or medicine? The question is upon the method of procuring and administering them. In that deliberation I shall always advise to call in the aid of the farmer and the physician, rather than the professor of metaphysics. The science of constructing a commonwealth, or renovating it, or reforming it, is, like every other experimental science, not to be taught a priori. Nor is it a short experience that can instruct us in that practical science, because the real effects of moral causes are not always immediate; but that which in the first instance is prejudicial may be excellent in its remoter operation; and its excellence may arise even from the ill effects it produces in the beginning. The reverse also happens; and very plausible schemes, with very pleasing commencements, have often shameful and lamentable conclusions. In states there are often some obscure and almost latent causes, things which appear at first view of little moment, on which a very great part of its prosperity or adversity may most essentially depend. The science of government being therefore so practical in itself, and intended for such practical purposes, a matter which requires experience, and even more experience than any person can gain in his whole life, however sagacious and observing he may be, it is with infinite caution that any man ought to venture upon pulling down an edifice, which has answered in any tolerable degree for ages the common purposes of society, or on building it up again, without having models and patterns of approved utility before his eyes.
The moment you take away any part of the full rights of individuals to govern themselves and impose any artificial limitations on those rights, the entire structure of government turns into a matter of convenience. This makes the constitution of a state and the proper distribution of its powers an extremely delicate and complicated skill. It requires a deep understanding of human nature and human needs, as well as the factors that facilitate or hinder the different goals pursued by civil institutions. The state needs to strengthen itself and find solutions to its issues. What's the point of discussing someone's abstract right to food or medicine? The real question is about how to obtain and provide them. In that discussion, I would always suggest involving farmers and doctors, rather than philosophers. The science of creating, renewing, or reforming a government, like any experimental science, cannot be taught in advance. Additionally, a short experience doesn't teach us that practical science because the true effects of moral causes aren’t always immediate; what may seem harmful at first might be beneficial in the long run, and its benefits could even come from the negative effects it initially produces. The opposite can also occur; seemingly good plans with promising starts often end in disastrous ways. In governments, there are often subtle and almost hidden causes—things that seem insignificant at first—that can greatly impact its success or failure. Because the science of government is so practical and aimed at real-world applications, requiring more experience than any one person can gather in their lifetime, no one should carelessly attempt to dismantle a structure that has served society reasonably well for ages or try to rebuild it without clear examples of proven effectiveness before them.
These metaphysic rights entering into common life, like rays of light which pierce into a dense medium, are, by the laws of nature, refracted from their straight line. Indeed in the gross and complicated mass of human passions and concerns, the primitive rights of men undergo such a variety of refractions and reflections, that it becomes absurd to talk of them as if they continued in the simplicity of their original direction. The nature of man is intricate; the objects of society are of the greatest possible complexity: and therefore no simple disposition or direction of power can be suitable either to man's nature, or to the quality of his affairs. When I hear the simplicity of contrivance aimed at and boasted of in any new political constitutions, I am at no loss to decide that the artificers are grossly ignorant of their trade, or totally negligent of their duty. The simple governments are fundamentally defective, to say no worse of them. If you were to contemplate society in but one point of view, all these simple modes of polity are infinitely captivating. In effect each would answer its single end much more perfectly than the more complex is able to attain all its complex purposes. But it is better that the whole should be imperfectly and anomalously answered, than that, while some parts are provided for with great exactness, others might be totally neglected, or perhaps materially injured, by the over-care of a favourite member.
These fundamental rights enter everyday life like beams of light cutting through a dense medium, and according to the laws of nature, they get bent from their straight path. In the messy and complicated world of human emotions and interests, people’s basic rights get refracted and reflected in so many ways that it seems absurd to talk about them as if they maintain their original straightforwardness. Human nature is complex; society's issues are incredibly intricate. As a result, no simple arrangement or exercise of power can adequately suit either human nature or the complexities of human affairs. When I hear claims of simplicity in the designs of new political systems, I have no doubt that those creating them are either woefully unaware of their craft or entirely neglectful of their responsibilities. Simple governments are fundamentally flawed, to put it mildly. If you were to look at society from just one perspective, all these straightforward forms of governance might seem really appealing. In fact, each could serve its singular purpose much more effectively than the more complex ones can achieve all their various goals. However, it's better for the whole system to be imperfect and unusual than for some parts to be addressed with great precision while others are completely overlooked or even harmed by the excessive attention given to a favored component.
The pretended rights of these theorists are all extremes: and in proportion as they are metaphysically true, they are morally and politically false. The rights of men are in a sort of MIDDLE, incapable of definition, but not impossible to be discerned. The rights of men in governments are their advantages, and these are often in balances between differences of good; in compromises sometimes between good and evil, and sometimes between evil and evil. Political reason is a computing principle, adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing, morally and not metaphysically or mathematically, true moral denominations.
The supposed rights of these theorists are all extremes: as much as they might be metaphysically true, they are morally and politically false. The rights of humans exist in a kind of MIDDLE ground, which can't be fully defined but can be recognized. The rights of people within governments are their benefits, and these often involve balancing different goods; sometimes they're compromises between good and evil, and other times between evils. Political reasoning is a calculating principle, adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing based on moral truths, not metaphysical or mathematical ones.
By these theorists the right of the people is almost always sophistically confounded with their power. The body of the community, whenever it can come to act, can meet with no effectual resistance; but till power and right are the same, the whole body of them has no right inconsistent with virtue, and the first of all virtues—prudence.
By these theorists, the people's rights are often misleadingly mixed up with their power. The community, whenever it can take action, faces no real opposition; however, until power and rights are the same, the entire group has no rights that conflict with virtue, and the most important virtue of all—prudence.
MARIE ANTOINETTE.
It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move in,—glittering like the morning-star, full of life, and splendour, and joy. Oh! what a revolution! and what a heart must I have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation and that fall! Little did I dream when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that bosom; little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever. Never, never more shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise, is gone! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness.
It’s been around sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, who was then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and I’ve never seen a more beautiful vision in this world, which she barely seemed to inhabit. I saw her just above the horizon, illuminating and lifting up the high sphere she had just started to enter—shining like the morning star, full of life, brilliance, and happiness. Oh! What a change! And what a heart I must have to look at that rise and fall without feeling anything! I never imagined when she gained titles of admiration alongside those of passionate, distant, respectful love that she would one day need to hide the sharp antidote to disgrace in her bosom; I never thought I would live to see such disasters befall her in a nation filled with brave men, in a nation of honorable men and knights. I thought at least ten thousand swords would have leaped from their scabbards to defend her even against a glance of insult. But the age of chivalry is over. It has been replaced by sophists, economists, and calculators, and the glory of Europe is gone forever. We will never see again that generous loyalty to rank and gender, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude, the spirit of a high freedom. The unbought grace of life, the affordable defense of nations, the nurturer of manly sentiment and heroic endeavors, is gone! That sensitivity to principle, that purity of honor, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage while softening brutality, which ennobled everything it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its brutality, is gone!
SPIRIT OF A GENTLEMAN AND THE SPIRIT OF RELIGION.
How much of that prosperous state was owing to the spirit of our old manners and opinions is not easy to say; but as such causes cannot be indifferent in their operation, we must presume that, on the whole, their operation was beneficial.
How much of that prosperous state was due to the influence of our old customs and beliefs is hard to determine; but since these factors can't be irrelevant in their effects, we have to assume that, overall, their influence was positive.
We are but too apt to consider things in the state in which we find them, without sufficiently adverting to the causes by which they have been produced, and possibly may be upheld. Nothing is more certain, than that our manners, our civilization, and all the good things which are connected with manners and with civilization, have, in this European world of ours, depended for ages upon two principles, and were indeed the result of both combined; I mean the spirit of a gentleman and the spirit of religion. The nobility and the clergy, the one by profession, the other by patronage, kept learning in existence, even in the midst of arms and confusions, and whilst governments were rather in their causes, than formed. Learning paid back what it received to nobility and to priesthood; and paid it with usury, by enlarging their ideas, and by furnishing their minds. Happy if they had all continued to know their indissoluble union, and their proper place! Happy if learning, not debauched by ambition, had been satisfied to continue the instructor, and not aspired to be the master! Along with its natural protectors and guardians, learning will be cast into the mire, and trodden down under the hoofs of a swinish multitude.
We are often too quick to view things as they are, without considering the reasons behind their existence and how they might be maintained. It’s clear that our behavior, our society, and all the good things tied to them in this European world have, for ages, relied on two principles, which are the result of both working together: the spirit of a gentleman and the spirit of religion. The nobility and the clergy, one through profession and the other through support, kept learning alive even amidst chaos and conflict, while governments were more in disarray than established. Learning repaid what it received from the nobility and the clergy; and it did so tenfold by broadening their perspectives and enriching their minds. How fortunate it would have been if they had all recognized their unbreakable bond and their rightful roles! How fortunate if learning, untainted by ambition, had remained content as a teacher instead of striving to become the ruler! Without its natural protectors and advocates, learning will be dragged through the dirt and crushed under the feet of a brutish mob.
If, as I suspect, modern letters owe more than they are always willing to own to ancient manners, so do other interests which we value full as much as they are worth. Even commerce, and trade, and manufacture, the gods of our economical politicians, are themselves, perhaps, but creatures; are themselves but effects, which, as first causes, we choose to worship. They certainly grew under the same shade in which learning flourished. They too may decay with their natural protecting principles. With you, for the present at least, they all threaten to disappear together. Where trade and manufactures are wanting to a people, and the spirit of nobility and religion remains, sentiment supplies, and not always ill supplies, their place; but if commerce and the arts should be lost in an experiment to try how well a state may stand without these old fundamental principles, what sort of a thing must be a nation of gross, stupid, ferocious, and, at the same time, poor and sordid barbarians, destitute of religion, honour, or manly pride, possessing nothing at present, and hoping for nothing hereafter?
If, as I suspect, modern literature owes more than it often admits to ancient traditions, so do other values we cherish just as much as they deserve. Even commerce, trade, and manufacturing—the true priorities of our economic leaders—are possibly just outcomes themselves; they are effects resulting from the original causes we choose to venerate. They definitely developed in the same environment where learning thrived. They too could decline along with their natural support systems. For you, at least for now, they all seem to be in danger of vanishing together. When a society lacks trade and manufacturing but still retains a sense of nobility and spirituality, sentiment can fill the gap, and often does so adequately; however, if commerce and the arts were to disappear in an attempt to see how well a society can survive without these core principles, what might a nation look like filled with ignorant, brutal, and at the same time, impoverished and miserly savages—devoid of faith, honor, or masculine dignity, possessing nothing at this moment and hoping for nothing in the future?
POWER SURVIVES OPINION.
But power, of some kind or other, will survive the shock in which manners and opinions perish! And it will find other and worse means for its support. The usurpation which, in order to subvert ancient institutions, has destroyed ancient principles, will hold power by arts similar to those by which it has acquired it. When the old feudal and chivalrous spirit of FEALTY, which, by freeing kings from fear, freed both kings and subjects from the precaution of tyranny, shall be extinct in the minds of men, plots and assassinations will be anticipated by preventive murder and preventive confiscation, and that long roll of grim and bloody maxims, which form the political code of all power, not standing on its own honour, and the honour of those who are to obey it. Kings will be tyrants from policy, when subjects are rebels from principle.
But some kind of power will survive the shock that destroys manners and opinions! And it will find other, even worse ways to sustain itself. The takeover that has undermined old institutions by destroying ancient principles will maintain its power through methods similar to those it used to gain it. When the old feudal and knightly spirit of loyalty, which freed kings from fear and both kings and subjects from the need for tyranny, is gone from people's minds, conspiracies and assassinations will be met with preemptive murder and confiscation. This will create a long list of grim and bloody rules, forming the political code of any power that doesn't rely on its own honor and the honor of those expected to obey it. Kings will become tyrants out of strategy, while subjects will rebel out of principle.
CHIVALRY A MORALIZING CHARM.
This mixed system of opinion and sentiment had its origin in the ancient chivalry; and the principle, though varied in its appearance by the varying state of human affairs, subsisted and influenced through a long succession of generations, even to the time we live in. If it should ever be totally extinguished, the loss I fear will be great. It is this which has given its character to modern Europe. It is this which has distinguished it under all its forms of government, and distinguished it, to its advantage, from the states of Asia, and possibly from those states which flourished in the most brilliant periods of the antique world. It was this which, without confounding ranks, had produced a noble equality, and handed it down through all the gradations of social life. It was this opinion which mitigated kings into companions, and raised private men to be fellows with kings. Without force or opposition, it subdued the fierceness of pride and power; it obliged sovereigns to submit to the soft collar of social esteem, compelled stern authority to submit to elegance, and gave a dominating vanquisher of laws to be subdued by manners.
This mix of opinions and feelings originated in the ancient chivalry. The principle, while appearing differently depending on the state of human affairs, has persisted and influenced generations all the way to the present. If it were ever completely wiped out, the loss would be significant, I fear. It is this that has shaped modern Europe. It is this that has set it apart under all forms of government and distinguished it, to its advantage, from the states of Asia, and possibly from those cultures that thrived during the most glorious times of the ancient world. It was this that, without blurring social ranks, created a noble equality and passed it down through all levels of society. It was this belief that turned kings into companions and elevated common people to stand alongside kings. Without force or conflict, it softened the harshness of pride and power; it made rulers yield to the gentle pressure of social respect, compelled stern authority to embrace elegance, and allowed a powerful controller of laws to be swayed by manners.
But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illusions, which made power gentle, and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved by this new conquering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery of life is to be rudely torn off. All the superadded ideas, furnished from the wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the heart owns and the understanding ratifies as necessary to cover the defects of our naked, shivering nature, and to raise it to dignity in our own estimation, are to be exploded as a ridiculous, absurd, and antiquated fashion.
But now everything is about to change. All the comforting illusions that made power feel gentle and obedience feel generous, that balanced the different aspects of life, and that, through a smooth blend, brought into politics the feelings that enhance and soften private society, are set to be shattered by this new dominating empire of light and reason. All the proper coverings of life will be harshly ripped away. All the extra ideas, drawn from the closet of a moral imagination, which the heart embraces and the mind agrees are essential to hide the flaws of our bare, trembling nature, and to elevate it in our own view, are going to be dismissed as a silly, absurd, and outdated trend.
On this scheme of things, a king is but a man, a queen is but a woman; a woman is but an animal,—and an animal not of the highest order. All homage paid to the sex in general as such, and without distinct views, is to be regarded as romance and folly. Regicide, and parricide, and sacrilege are but fictions of superstition, corrupting jurisprudence by destroying its simplicity. The murder of a king, or a queen, or a bishop, or a father, are only common homicide; and if the people are by any chance, or in any way, gainers by it, a sort of homicide much the most pardonable, and into which we ought not to make too severe a scrutiny.
In this view of the world, a king is just a man, a queen is just a woman; a woman is just an animal—and not even the smartest kind. Any respect given to women as a group, without clear reasoning, should be seen as foolishness and idealism. Killing a king, a queen, a bishop, or a father are just regular murders; and if the people benefit in any way from it, it’s a kind of murder that is much more forgivable, and we shouldn't scrutinize it too harshly.
On the scheme of this barbarous philosophy, which is the offspring of cold hearts and muddy understandings, and which is as void of solid wisdom as it is destitute of all taste and elegance, laws are to be supported only by their own terrors, and by the concern which each individual may find in them from his own private speculations, or can spare to them from his own private interests. In the groves of THEIR academy, at the end of every vista, you see nothing but the gallows. Nothing is left which engages the affections on the part of the commonwealth. On the principles of this mechanic philosophy, our institutions can never be embodied, if I may use the expression, in persons, so as to create in us love, veneration, admiration, or attachment. But that sort of reason which banishes the affections is incapable of filling their place. These public affections, combined with manners, are required sometimes as supplements, sometimes as correctives, always as aids to law. The precept given by a wise man, as well as a great critic, for the construction of poems, is equally true as to states:—Non satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto. There ought to be a system of manners in every nation which a well-formed mind would be disposed to relish. To make us love our country, our country ought to be lovely.
On the basis of this harsh philosophy, which comes from cold hearts and shallow minds, and which is as lacking in real wisdom as it is void of any taste and elegance, laws are supposed to stand only on their own threats and the concerns that each person might have about them from their own private thoughts or from what they can spare from their own interests. In the groves of THEIR academy, at the end of every path, all you see are gallows. There’s nothing left that inspires affection for the community. According to the principles of this mechanical philosophy, our institutions can never truly manifest in people, creating in us feelings of love, respect, admiration, or attachment. But that type of reasoning that pushes away feelings cannot take their place. These public feelings, along with manners, are sometimes needed as additions, sometimes as corrections, and always as support for the law. The advice given by a wise person—who is also a great critic—for writing poems is just as true for states:—It’s not enough for poems to be beautiful; they should be pleasing. There should be a system of manners in every nation that a well-developed mind would appreciate. To make us love our country, our country should be appealing.
SACREDNESS OF MORAL INSTINCTS.
Why do I feel so differently from the Reverend Dr. Price, and those of his lay flock, who will choose to adopt the sentiments of his discourse? For this plain reason—because it is NATURAL I should; because we are so made, as to be affected at such spectacles with melancholy sentiments upon the unstable condition of mortal prosperity and the tremendous uncertainty of human greatness; because in those natural feelings we learn great lessons; because in events like these our passions instruct our reason; because when kings are hurled from their thrones by the Supreme Director of this great drama, and become the objects of insult to the base, and of pity to the good, we behold such disasters in the moral, as we should behold a miracle in the physical, order of things. We are alarmed into reflection; our minds (as it has long since been observed) are purified by terror and pity; our weak, unthinking pride is humbled under the dispensations of a mysterious wisdom. Some tears might be drawn from me, if such a spectacle were exhibited on the stage. I should be truly ashamed of finding in myself that superficial, theatric sense of painted distress, whilst I could exult over it in real life. With such a perverted mind, I could never venture to show my face at a tragedy. People would think the tears that Garrick formerly, or that Siddons not long since, have extorted from me, were the tears of hypocrisy; I should know them to be the tears of folly.
Why do I feel so differently from Reverend Dr. Price and those in his congregation who choose to embrace his ideas? The simple reason is that it’s NATURAL for me to feel this way; we are created to be affected by such scenes with sad thoughts about the unstable nature of human success and the incredible unpredictability of human greatness. In those natural feelings, we learn powerful lessons; during events like these, our emotions guide our reason. When kings are toppled from their thrones by a higher power in this grand play and become targets of scorn for the lowly and pity from the virtuous, we witness such disasters morally, just as we would see a miracle in the physical world. We are prompted to reflect; our minds, as has been noted for a long time, are cleared by fear and compassion; our fragile, thoughtless pride is humbled by a mysterious wisdom. I would shed tears if such a scene were shown on stage. I would truly be embarrassed if I found in myself that shallow, theatrical response to fake suffering while being able to feel joy over real life struggles. With such a distorted mindset, I could never bring myself to watch a tragedy. People would think the tears that Garrick used to draw from me or that Siddons drew not long ago were tears of insincerity; I would know they were tears of foolishness.
Indeed the theatre is a better school of moral sentiments than churches, where the feelings of humanity are thus outraged. Poets who have to deal with an audience not yet graduated in the school of the rights of men, and who must apply themselves to the moral constitution of the heart, would not dare to produce such a triumph as a matter of exultation. There, where men follow their natural impulses, they would not bear the odious maxims of a Machiavelian policy, whether applied to the attainment of monarchical or democratic tyranny. They would reject them on the modern, as they once did on the ancient stage, where they could not bear even the hypothetical proposition of such wickedness in the mouth of a personated tyrant, though suitable to the character he sustained. No theatric audience in Athens would bear what has been borne, in the midst of the real tragedy of this triumphal day; a principal actor weighing, as it were in scales hung in a shop of horrors, so much actual crime against so much contingent advantage, and after putting in and out weights, declaring that the balance was on the side of the advantages. They would not bear to see the crimes of new democracy posted as in a ledger against the crimes of old despotism, and the book-keepers of politics finding democracy still in debt, but by no means unable or unwilling to pay the balance. In the theatre, the first intuitive glance, without any elaborate process of reasoning, will show, that this method of political computation would justify every extent of crime. They would see, that on these principles, even where the very worst acts were not perpetrated, it was owing rather to the fortune of the conspirators, than to their parsimony in the expenditure of treachery and blood. They would soon see, that criminal means once tolerated are soon preferred. They present a shorter cut to the object than through the highway of the moral virtues. Justifying perfidy and murder for public benefit, public benefit would soon become the pretext, and perfidy and murder the end; until rapacity, malice, revenge, and fear more dreadful than revenge, could satiate their insatiable appetites. Such must be the consequences of losing, in the splendour of these triumphs of the rights of men, all natural sense of wrong and right.
Indeed, the theater is a better school for moral values than churches, where human feelings are often hurt. Poets dealing with an audience that hasn't yet learned about human rights, and who need to focus on the emotional truths of the heart, wouldn't dare to celebrate such a victory. In a place where people act on their natural instincts, they wouldn't tolerate the disgusting principles of a Machiavellian approach, whether aiming for a monarchy or a democratic tyranny. They would reject these ideas just as they did on the ancient stage, where even the suggestion of such evil in the mouth of a portrayed tyrant was unbearable, even if it fit the character he played. No theater audience in Athens would accept what we've seen accepted during the real tragedy of this celebratory day; a main actor weighing, as if on scales in a horror shop, real crimes against possible benefits, and after adjusting the weights, claiming the benefits outweighed the crimes. They wouldn't stand by as the atrocities of new democracy were recorded like entries in a ledger against the offenses of old despotism, with political accountants finding democracy still in debt but definitely not unable or unwilling to pay it off. In the theater, just a glance, without any complicated reasoning, reveals that this kind of political calculation would excuse all sorts of crime. They would recognize that based on these principles, even when the worst acts weren't committed, it was more due to the luck of the plotters than their restraint in using deceit and violence. They would quickly understand that once criminal methods are accepted, they become preferred. They offer a quicker path to the goal than the difficult route of moral virtues. Justifying betrayal and murder for the sake of the public good would soon turn the public good into an excuse, with betrayal and murder as the goal; until greed, malice, revenge, and a fear more terrifying than revenge could satisfy their unquenchable desires. Such are the consequences of losing, amid the glory of these triumphs for human rights, all natural understanding of right and wrong.
PARENTAL EXPERIENCE.
Had it pleased God to continue to me the hopes of succession, I should have been, according to my mediocrity, and the mediocrity of the age I live in, a sort of founder of a family: I should have left a son, who, in all the points in which personal merit can be viewed,—in science, in erudition, in genius, in taste, in honour, in generosity, in humanity, in every liberal sentiment, and every liberal accomplishment,—would not have shown himself inferior to the duke of Bedford, or to any of those whom he traces in his line. His grace very soon would have wanted all plausibility in his attack upon that provision which belonged more to mine than to me. He would soon have supplied every deficiency, and symmetrized every disproportion. It would not have been for that successor to resort to any stagnant wasting reservoir of merit in me, or in any ancestry. He had in himself a salient, living spring of generous and manly action. Every day he lived he would have re-purchased the bounty of the Crown, and ten times more, if ten times more he had received. He was made a public creature, and had no enjoyment whatever but in the performance of some duty. At this exigent moment, the loss of a finished man is not easily supplied.
If God had chosen to grant me the hopes of succession, I would have been, given my own abilities and the average circumstances of my time, a kind of founder of a family: I would have left a son who, in terms of personal qualities—like knowledge, education, talent, taste, honor, kindness, compassion, and every worthwhile sentiment and skill—would not have been any less than the duke of Bedford or anyone else he can trace back in his lineage. The duke would soon lose all credibility in his criticism of a situation that belonged more to me than to my own merit. He would have quickly compensated for any shortcomings and balanced out any inequalities. That successor wouldn’t have needed to draw from any stagnant pool of merit in me or my ancestors. He would have had within himself a vibrant, living source of noble and courageous action. Every day of his life, he would have reclaimed the Crown's generosity, and even more, if he had received more. He was meant to be a public figure, finding no joy except in fulfilling some duty. In this critical moment, the loss of a fully accomplished person is hard to make up for.
But a Disposer whose power we are little able to resist, and whose wisdom it behoves us not at all to dispute, has ordained it in another manner, and (whatever my querulous weakness might suggest) a far better. The storm has gone over me, and I lie like one of those old oaks which the late hurricane has scattered about me. I am stripped of all my honours, I am torn up by the roots, and lie prostrate on the earth! There, and prostrate there, I most unfeignedly recognise the divine justice, and in some degree submit to it. But whilst I humble myself before God, I do not know that it is forbidden to repel the attacks of unjust and inconsiderate men. The patience of Job is proverbial. After some of the convulsive struggles of our irritable nature, he submitted himself, and repented in dust and ashes. But even so, I do not find him blamed for reprehending, and with a considerable degree of verbal asperity, those ill-natured neighbours of his, who visited his dunghill to read moral, political, and economical lectures on his misery. I am alone. I have none to meet my enemies in the gate. Indeed, my Lord, I greatly deceive myself, if in this hard season I would give a peck of refuse wheat for all that is called fame and honour in the world. This is the appetite but of a few. It is a luxury, it is a privilege, it is an indulgence for those who are at their ease. But we are all of us made to shun disgrace, as we are made to shrink from pain, and poverty, and disease. It is an instinct; and under the direction of reason, instinct is always in the right. I live in an inverted order. They who ought to have succeeded me have gone before me. They who should have been to me as posterity are in the place of ancestors. I owe to the dearest relation (which ever must subsist in memory) that act of piety which he would have performed to me; I owe it to him to show that he was not descended, as the duke of Bedford would have it, from an unworthy parent.
But there’s a greater force we can hardly resist, and whose wisdom it's pointless to challenge, that has arranged things differently, and (despite my whining weakness) much better. The storm has passed over me, and I lie like one of those old oaks scattered around by the recent hurricane. I’m stripped of all my honors, uprooted, and lying flat on the ground! There, and lying there, I honestly recognize divine justice and somewhat accept it. But while I humble myself before God, I don’t think it’s wrong to defend myself against the attacks of unjust and thoughtless people. Job’s patience is legendary. After some of the intense struggles of our volatile nature, he submitted and repented in dust and ashes. Even so, I don’t see him being criticized for rebuking, and quite sharply, those nasty neighbors of his, who came to his misery to deliver moral, political, and economical lectures. I’m alone. I have no one to stand with me against my enemies. Truly, my Lord, I would be fooling myself if during this tough time I would trade a handful of worthless wheat for all that is called fame and honor in the world. That desire is limited to a few. It’s a luxury, a privilege, an indulgence meant for those who are comfortable. But we are all made to avoid disgrace just as we instinctively shy away from pain, poverty, and illness. It’s instinct; and when guided by reason, instinct is always correct. I live in a backward state. Those who should have taken my place have passed on ahead of me. Those who should have been my future are now like my ancestors. I owe a debt to my dearest relation (who will always be in my memory) for the act of kindness he would have shown me; I owe it to him to prove that he did not come from an unworthy parent, as the Duke of Bedford would claim.
REVOLUTIONARY SCENE.
History, who keeps a durable record of all our acts, and exercises her awful censure over the proceedings of all sorts of sovereigns, will not forget either those events or the era of this liberal refinement in the intercourse of mankind. History will record, that on the morning of the 6th of October, 1789, the king and queen of France, after a day of confusion, alarm, dismay, and slaughter, lay down, under the pledged security of public faith, to indulge nature in a few hours of respite, and troubled, melancholy repose. From this sleep the queen was first startled by the voice of the sentinel at her door, who cried out to her to save herself by flight—that this was the last proof of fidelity he could give—that they were upon him, and he was dead. Instantly he was cut down. A band of cruel ruffians and assassins, reeking with his blood, rushed into the chamber of the queen, and pierced with a hundred strokes of bayonets and poniards the bed from whence this persecuted woman had but just time to fly almost naked, and, through ways unknown to the murderers, had escaped to seek refuge at the feet of a king and husband, not secure of his own life for a moment. This king, to say no more of him, and this queen, and their infant children (who once would have been the pride and hope of a great and generous people), were then forced to abandon the sanctuary of the most splendid palace in the world, which they left swimming in blood, polluted by massacre, and strewed with scattered limbs and mutilated carcases. Thence they were conducted into the capital of their kingdom. Two had been selected from the unprovoked, unresisted, promiscuous slaughter, which was made of the gentlemen of birth and family who composed the king's body-guard. These two gentlemen, with all the parade of an execution of justice, were cruelly and publicly dragged to the block, and beheaded in the great court of the palace. Their heads were stuck upon spears, and led the procession; whilst the royal captives who followed in the train were slowly moved along, amidst the horrid yells, and shrilling screams, and frantic dances, and infamous contumelies, and all the unutterable abominations of the furies of hell, in the abused shape of the vilest of women. After they had been made to taste, drop by drop, more than the bitterness of death, in the slow torture of a journey of twelve miles, protracted to six hours, they were, under a guard composed of those very soldiers who had thus conducted them through this famous triumph, lodged in one of the old palaces of Paris, now converted into a Bastille for kings.
History, which keeps a lasting record of all our actions and judges the conduct of all kinds of rulers, won’t forget these events or the time of this significant change in human relations. History will note that on the morning of October 6, 1789, after a day filled with chaos, fear, devastation, and bloodshed, the King and Queen of France lay down, under the promise of public safety, to take a few hours of rest in troubled, sorrowful slumber. The queen was first awakened by the sentinel at her door, who urged her to escape—that this was the last act of loyalty he could show—that they were coming for him, and he was dying. He was cut down immediately. A group of brutal thugs and murderers, stained with his blood, burst into the queen's chamber and stabbed the bed from which this tormented woman barely had time to flee, almost naked, and through unknown paths had escaped to seek refuge at the feet of a king and husband, who was not safe for even a moment. This king, without going into further details, and this queen, along with their young children (who could have once been the pride and hope of a great and noble people), were forced to leave the sanctuary of the most magnificent palace in the world, which they left drenched in blood, tainted by slaughter, and scattered with dismembered bodies and mutilated remains. They were then taken into the capital of their kingdom. Two were chosen from the senseless, unopposed, indiscriminate massacre of the gentlemen of rank and family who made up the king's bodyguard. These two gentlemen, under the pretense of an execution of justice, were brutally and publicly dragged to the block and beheaded in the palace's main courtyard. Their heads were placed on spikes, leading the procession; meanwhile, the royal captives who followed were slowly moved along amidst horrific shouts, piercing screams, frenzied dances, shameful insults, and all the unimaginable horrors of hellish fury, taking the form of the most vile women. After being forced to endure more than the agony of death, drop by drop, during a slow twelve-mile journey stretched over six hours, they were, under the watch of the very soldiers who had led them through this infamous triumph, housed in one of the old palaces of Paris, now turned into a prison for kings.
Is this a triumph to be consecrated at altars? to be commemorated with grateful thanksgiving? to be offered to the divine humanity with fervent prayer and enthusiastic ejaculation?—These Theban and Thracian orgies, acted in France, and applauded only in the Old Jewry, I assure you, kindle prophetic enthusiasm in the minds but of very few people in this kingdom: although a saint and apostle, who may have revelations of his own, and who has so completely vanquished all the mean superstitions of the heart, may incline to think it pious and decorous to compare it with the entrance into the world of the Prince of Peace, proclaimed in a holy temple by a venerable sage, and not long before not worse announced by the voice of angels to quiet the innocence of shepherds.
Is this a victory worth celebrating at altars? Worth remembering with gratitude? Worth offering to the divine with fervent prayer and enthusiastic shout?—These Theban and Thracian rituals, performed in France and only applauded in Old Jewry, I assure you, inspire prophetic enthusiasm in the minds of very few people in this kingdom: although a saint and apostle, who may have his own revelations and has completely conquered all the petty superstitions of the heart, might find it fitting and respectful to compare it to the entrance of the Prince of Peace, announced in a holy temple by a wise sage, and not long before by the voices of angels to calm the innocence of shepherds.
ECONOMY ON STATE PRINCIPLES.
Economy in my plans was, as it ought to be, secondary, subordinate, instrumental. I acted on state principles. I found a great distemper in the commonwealth; and, according to the nature of the evil and of the object, I treated it. The malady was deep; it was complicated, in the causes and in the symptoms. Throughout it was full of contra-indicants. On one hand government, daily growing more invidious from an apparent increase of the means of strength, was every day growing more contemptible by real weakness. Nor was this dissolution confined to government commonly so called. It extended to parliament; which was losing not a little in its dignity and estimation, by an opinion of its not acting on worthy motives. On the other hand, the desires of the people (partly natural and partly infused into them by art) appeared in so wild and inconsiderate a manner, with regard to the economical object (for I set aside for a moment the dreadful tampering with the body of the constitution itself), that, if their petitions had literally been complied with, the state would have been convulsed, and a gate would have been opened through which all property might be sacked and ravaged. Nothing could have saved the public from the mischiefs of the false reform but its absurdity, which would soon have brought itself, and with it all real reform, into discredit. This would have left a rankling wound in the hearts of the people, who would know they had failed in the accomplishment of their wishes, but who, like the rest of mankind in all ages, would impute the blame to anything rather than to their own proceedings. But there were then persons in the world who nourished complaint, and would have been thoroughly disappointed if the people were ever satisfied. I was not of that humour. I wished that they SHOULD be satisfied. It was my aim to give to the people the substance of what I knew they desired, and what I thought was right, whether they desired or not, before it had been modified for them into senseless petitions. I knew that there is a manifest, marked distinction, which ill men with ill designs, or weak men incapable of any design, will constantly be confounding, that is a marked distinction between change and reformation. The former alters the substance of the objects themselves, and gets rid of all their essential good, as well as of all the accidental evil, annexed to them. Change is novelty; and whether it is to operate any one of the effects of reformation at all, or whether it may not contradict the very principle upon which reformation is desired, cannot be certainly known beforehand. Reform is not a change in the substance, or in the primary modification of the object, but a direct application of a remedy to the grievance complained of. So far as that is removed, all is sure. It stops there; and if it fails, the substance which underwent the operation, at the very worst, is but where it was. All this, in effect, I think, but am not sure, I have said elsewhere. It cannot at this time be too often repeated; line upon line; precept upon precept; until it comes into the currency of a proverb, TO INNOVATE IS NOT TO REFORM. The French revolutionists complained of everything; they refused to reform anything; and they left nothing, no, nothing at all, UNCHANGED. The consequences are BEFORE us,—not in remote history; not in future prognostication: they are about us; they are upon us. They shake the public security; they menace private enjoyment. They dwarf the growth of the young; they break the quiet of the old. If we travel, they stop our way. They infest us in town; they pursue us to the country. Our business is interrupted; our repose is troubled; our pleasures are saddened; our very studies are poisoned and perverted, and knowledge is rendered worse than ignorance by the enormous evils of this dreadful innovation. The revolution harpies of France, sprung from night and hell, or from that chaotic anarchy which generates equivocally "all monstrous, all prodigious things," cuckoo-like, adulterously lay their eggs, and brood over, and hatch them in the nest of every neighbouring state. These obscene harpies, who deck themselves in I know not what divine attributes, but who in reality are foul and ravenous birds of prey (both mothers and daughters), flutter over our heads, and souse down upon our tables, and leave nothing unrent, unrifled, unravaged, or unpolluted with the slime of their filthy offal.
Economy in my plans was, as it should be, secondary and a means to an end. I acted based on state principles. I identified a serious problem in the community; and, addressing the nature of the issue and the goal, I dealt with it. The problem was deep and complicated, with various causes and symptoms. It was filled with contradictions. On one hand, the government was becoming more criticized due to an apparent strengthening, but it was also growing more contemptible because of its real weakness. This decline wasn’t limited to the government itself; it extended to parliament, which was losing a lot of its dignity and credibility because people believed it wasn’t acting on honorable motives. On the other hand, the people’s desires (partly natural, partly instilled by manipulation) were coming across in such a reckless and thoughtless way regarding the economic goals (putting aside the terrible meddling with the constitution itself) that, if their demands had been met literally, the state would have been thrown into chaos, risking property being looted and destroyed. Nothing could have saved the public from the dangers of the misguided reform except its absurdity, which would have soon discredited itself and any genuine reform along with it. This would have left a painful mark on the hearts of the people, who would realize they had failed in achieving their wishes, but like people throughout history, they would blame anything and anyone but their own actions. Still, there were those who thrived on complaints and would have been completely disappointed if the public ever found satisfaction. I wasn’t one of those people. I wanted them to be satisfied. It was my goal to provide the people with what I knew they wanted and what I believed was right, regardless of whether they fully understood it, before their demands turned into mindless petitions. I recognized a clear distinction—often blurred by bad actors or weak individuals—between change and reform. Change alters the essence of things and removes all their essential good alongside any accidental evil attached to them. Change is about novelty, and whether it actually brings about any of the benefits of reform or if it contradicts the principles upon which reform was sought can’t be known in advance. Reform is not a change in essence or a primary alteration of the object, but rather a direct application of a solution to the specific issue being addressed. As long as that issue is resolved, everything remains certain. It ends there, and if it fails, the substance affected by the process is at the very least back to where it started. I believe I have previously expressed all this, though I'm not entirely sure. It can’t be repeated enough; line upon line, precept upon precept, until it becomes a common saying: TO INNOVATE IS NOT TO REFORM. The French revolutionaries complained about everything; they refused to reform anything; and they left nothing, absolutely nothing, UNCHANGED. The consequences are HERE—not in some distant past or in future predictions: they are around us; they are upon us. They shake public security; they threaten private enjoyment. They stunt the development of the young; they disrupt the peace of the old. When we travel, they block our paths. They plague us in the city and chase us into the countryside. Our work is disrupted; our peace is disturbed; our joys are dampened; our very studies are corrupted and twisted, and knowledge is made worse than ignorance by the vast evils of this terrible innovation. The revolutionary monsters from France, emerging from darkness and chaos, which breeds "all monstrous, all prodigious things," intrusively lay their eggs and nurture them in the nest of every neighboring state. These grotesque creatures, adorned with what I can only assume are divine traits, but who are in truth loathsome and greedy predators (both mothers and daughters), hover over us and descend upon our lives, leaving nothing untouched, unplundered, unspoiled, or unmarred by the filth of their disgusting remains.
PHILOSOPHICAL VANITY; ITS MAXIMS, AND EFFECTS.
The Assembly recommends to its youth a study of the bold experimenters in morality. Everybody knows that there is a great dispute amongst their leaders, which of them is the best resemblance of Rousseau. In truth, they all resemble him. His blood they transfuse into their minds and into their manners. Him they study; him they meditate; him they turn over in all the time they can spare from the laborious mischief of the day, or the debauches of the night. Rousseau is their canon of holy writ; in his life he is their canon of Polycletus; he is their standard figure of perfection. To this man and this writer, as a pattern to authors and to Frenchmen, the foundries of Paris are now running for statues, with the kettles of their poor and the bells of their churches. If an author had written like a great genius on geometry, though its practical and speculative morals were vicious in the extreme, it might appear, that in voting the statue, they honoured only the geometrician. But Rousseau is a moralist, or he is nothing. It is impossible, therefore, putting the circumstances together, to mistake their design in choosing the author, with whom they have begun to recommend a courses studies.
The Assembly encourages its youth to study the bold experimenters in morality. Everyone knows there's a big debate among their leaders about who best resembles Rousseau. The truth is, they all have something in common with him. They infuse his ideas into their thoughts and behaviors. They study him, reflect on him, and ponder him whenever they can steal a moment away from their busy mischief by day or their wild nights. Rousseau is their sacred text; in life, he is their model of excellence; he represents their ideal figure of perfection. This man and this writer are now being honored in Paris with statues funded by the labor of the poor and the contributions of their churches. If someone wrote brilliantly on geometry, regardless of their morally questionable views, it might seem like they were honoring just the mathematician when voting for that statue. But Rousseau is a moralist, or he’s nothing at all. Therefore, considering all the circumstances, it’s impossible to misinterpret their intention in choosing this author as part of their recommended course of study.
Their great problem is to find a substitute for all the principles which hitherto have been employed to regulate the human will and action. They find dispositions in the mind of such force and quality as may fit men, far better than the old morality, for the purposes of such a state as theirs, and may go much further in supporting their power and destroying their enemies. They have therefore chosen a selfish, flattering, seductive, ostentatious vice, in the place of plain duty. True humility, the basis of the Christian system, is the low, but deep and firm, foundation of all real virtue. But this, as very painful in the practice, and little imposing in the appearance, they have totally discarded. Their object is to merge all natural and all social sentiment in inordinate vanity. In a small degree, and conversant in little things, vanity is of little moment. When full grown, it is the worst of vices, and the occasional mimic of them all. It makes the whole man false. It leaves nothing sincere or trustworthy about him. His best qualities are poisoned and perverted by it, and operate exactly as the worst. When your lords had many writers as immoral as the object of their statue (such as Voltaire and others) they chose Rousseau, because in him that peculiar vice, which they wished to erect into ruling virtue, was by far the most conspicuous. We have had the great professor and founder of THE PHILOSOPHY OF VANITY in England. As I had good opportunities of knowing his proceedings almost from day to day, he left no doubt on my mind that he entertained no principle either to influence his heart, or to guide his understanding, but VANITY. With this vice he was possessed to a degree little short of madness. It is from the same deranged, eccentric vanity, that this, the insane Socrates of the National Assembly, was impelled to publish a mad confession of his mad faults, and to attempt a new sort of glory from bringing hardily to light the obscure and vulgar vices which we know may sometimes be blended with eminent talents. He has not observed on the nature of vanity who does not know that it is omnivorous; that it has no choice in its food; that it is fond to talk even of its own faults and vices, as what will excite surprise and draw attention, and what will pass at worst for openness and candour.
Their main issue is finding a replacement for all the principles that have previously regulated human will and action. They discover attitudes in people's minds that are much better suited than the old morality for the needs of their society and that can do much more to support their power and undermine their enemies. So, they've opted for a selfish, flattering, seductive, and showy vice instead of simple duty. True humility, which is the foundation of the Christian system, is the low yet strong basis of real virtue. However, they have completely abandoned this, as it is quite painful to practice and doesn’t create an impressive appearance. Their aim is to merge all natural and social feelings into excessive vanity. In small matters, vanity isn’t significant. But when fully developed, it becomes the worst vice and can imitate all others. It makes a person entirely deceitful, leaving nothing genuine or trustworthy about them. Their best qualities are tainted and twisted by it, functioning just like the worst qualities. When your lords had many writers as immoral as the subject of their statue (like Voltaire and others), they chose Rousseau because that specific vice they wanted to elevate to a ruling virtue was most obvious in him. We’ve had the great professor and founder of THE PHILOSOPHY OF VANITY in England. Having had ample opportunities to observe his actions almost daily, I have no doubt that he held no principles to influence his heart or guide his understanding, except for VANITY. He was possessed by this vice to a degree just shy of madness. It’s from the same erratic, eccentric vanity that this loose cannon Socrates of the National Assembly was driven to publish a ridiculous confession of his insane faults and to seek a new kind of glory by boldly exposing the obscure and common vices that can sometimes be mixed with great talents. Anyone who hasn’t considered the nature of vanity doesn't realize that it consumes everything; it has no preference in what it devours, and it enjoys discussing its own faults and vices, as these can spark surprise and draw attention, often being mistaken for honesty and openness.
It was this abuse and perversion, which vanity makes even of hypocrisy, that has driven Rousseau to record a life not so much as chequered, or spotted here and there, with virtues, or even distinguished by a single good action. It is such a life he chooses to offer to the attention of mankind. It is such a life that, with a wild defiance, he flings in the face of his Creator, whom he acknowledges only to brave. Your Assembly, knowing how much more powerful example is found than precept, has chosen this man (by his own account without a single virtue) for a model. To him they erect their first statue. From him they commence their series of honours and distinctions.
It was this abuse and perversion, fueled by vanity and even hypocrisy, that drove Rousseau to document a life that isn’t just mixed or marked here and there by virtues, or even highlighted by a single good deed. This is the kind of life he chooses to present to humanity. It’s a life that, with bold defiance, he throws in the face of his Creator, whom he acknowledges only to challenge. Your Assembly, recognizing that examples are often more impactful than teachings, has chosen this man (who claims to have no virtues) as a model. They build their first statue in his honor. From him, they start their series of honors and accolades.
It is that new-invented virtue, which your masters canonize, that led their model hero constantly to exhaust the stores of his powerful rhetoric in the expression of universal benevolence; whilst his heart was incapable of harbouring one spark of common parental affection. Benevolence to the whole species, and want of feeling for every individual with whom the professors come in contact, form the character of the new philosophy. Setting up for an unsocial independence, this their hero of vanity refuses the just price of common labour, as well as the tribute which opulence owes to genius, and which, when paid, honours the giver and the receiver: and then he pleads his beggary as an excuse for his crimes. He melts with tenderness for those only who touch him by the remotest relation, and then, without one natural pang, casts away, as a sort of offal and excrement, the spawn of his disgustful amours, and sends his children to the hospital of foundlings. The bear loves, licks, and forms her young; but bears are not philosophers. Vanity, however, finds its account in reversing the train of our natural feelings. Thousands admire the sentimental writer; the affectionate father is hardly known in his parish.
It's that newly invented virtue, which your leaders celebrate, that drove their ideal hero to constantly drain his impressive rhetoric on expressing universal kindness, while his heart couldn't hold a single spark of genuine parental love. Caring for humanity as a whole, but lacking empathy for every individual with whom the educators interact, shapes the essence of their new philosophy. Pretending to pursue a self-reliant independence, this hero of vanity refuses to pay a fair wage for common labor, as well as the acknowledgment that wealth owes to talent, which, when given, honors both the giver and the receiver; then he uses his poverty as an excuse for his wrongdoings. He feels compassion only for those connected to him by the faintest relation, and then, without a hint of natural sorrow, discards, like waste, the results of his distasteful affairs, sending his children to an orphanage. The bear loves, nurtures, and cares for her young; but bears aren't philosophers. Vanity, however, benefits from twisting our natural instincts. Many admire the sentimental writer; the caring father goes largely unnoticed in his community.
Under this philosophic instructor in the ETHICS OF VANITY, they have attempted in France a regeneration of the moral constitution of man. Statesmen, like your present rulers, exist by everything which is spurious, fictitious, and false; by everything which takes the man from his house, and sets him on a stage; which makes him up an artificial creature, with painted theatric sentiments, fit to be seen by the glare of candlelight, and formed to be contemplated at a due distance. Vanity is too apt to prevail in all of us, and in all countries. To the improvement of Frenchmen it seems not absolutely necessary that it should be taught upon system. But it is plain that the present rebellion was its legitimate offspring, and it is piously fed by that rebellion with a daily dole. If the system of institution recommended by the Assembly be false and theatric, it is because their system of government is of the same character. To that, and to that alone, it is strictly conformable. To understand either, we must connect the morals with the politics of the legislators. Your practical philosophers, systematic in everything, have wisely begun at the source. As the relation between parents and children is the first amongst the elements of vulgar, natural morality (Filiola tua te delectari laetor et probari tibi phusiken esse ten pros ta tekna: etenim, si haec non est, nulla potest homini esse ad hominem naturae adjunctio: qua sublata vitae societas tollitur. Valete Patron (Rousseau) et tui condiscipuli (l'Assemblee National).—Cic. Ep. ad Atticum.), they erect statues to a wild, ferocious, low-minded, hard-hearted father, of fine general feelings; a lover of his kind, but a hater of his kindred. Your masters reject the duties of his vulgar relation, as contrary to liberty; as not founded in the social compact; and not binding according to the rights of men; because the relation is not, of course, the result of FREE ELECTION; never so on the side of the children, not always on the part of the parents.
Under this philosophical guide in the ETHICS OF VANITY, they have attempted a regeneration of the moral constitution of mankind in France. Politicians, like your current leaders, thrive on everything that is deceptive, fictitious, and false; on everything that takes a person from their home and places them on a stage; which turns them into an artificial being, with theatrical sentiments, designed to be viewed under the bright lights of candles, and made to be observed from a safe distance. Vanity tends to dominate us all and in every nation. For the improvement of the French, it doesn’t seem entirely necessary for it to be systematically taught. However, it's clear that the current rebellion is its legitimate offspring, and this rebellion is nourished daily by it. If the educational system recommended by the Assembly is false and theatrical, it’s because their system of governance is of the same nature. It aligns strictly with that. To understand either, we must link the morals with the politics of the lawmakers. Your practical philosophers, systematic in everything, have wisely started at the root. Since the relationship between parents and children is the foundation of basic, natural morality (Filiola tua te delectari laetor et probari tibi phusiken esse ten pros ta tekna: etenim, si haec non est, nulla potest homini esse ad hominem naturae adjunctio: qua sublata vitae societas tollitur. Valete Patron (Rousseau) et tui condiscipuli (l'Assemblee National).—Cic. Ep. ad Atticum.), they create statues to a wild, fierce, low-minded, hard-hearted father, possessing fine general feelings; a lover of humanity, yet a hater of his own kin. Your rulers dismiss the obligations of this basic relationship as contrary to liberty; as not founded on the social contract; and not binding according to human rights; because the relationship is not, by default, the result of FREE ELECTION; never so from the children’s side, and not always from the parents’ side.
The next relation which they regenerate by their statues to Rousseau is that which is next in sanctity to that of a father. They differ from those old-fashioned thinkers, who considered pedagogues as sober and venerable characters, and allied to the parental. The moralists of the dark times, preceptorum sancti voluere parentis esse loco. In this age of light, they teach the people that preceptors ought to be in the place of gallants. They systematically corrupt a very corruptible race (for some time a growing nuisance amongst you), a set of pert, petulant literators, to whom, instead of their proper, but severe, unostentatious duties, they assign the brilliant part of men of wit and pleasure, of gay, young, military sparks, and danglers at toilets. They call on the rising generation in France to take a sympathy in the adventures and fortunes, and they endeavour to engage their sensibility on the side of pedagogues who betray the most awful family trusts, and vitiate their female pupils. They teach the people that the debauchers of virgins, almost in the arms of their parents, may be safe inmates in the houses, and even fit guardians of the honour of those husbands who succeed legally to the office which the young literators had preoccupied, without asking leave of law or conscience.
The next connection they create through their statues to Rousseau is one that ranks just below that of a father. They differ from those old-fashioned thinkers who saw educators as serious and respected figures, akin to parental figures. The moralists of darker times thought that teachers should take the place of parents. In this age of enlightenment, they teach people that educators should be seen as charming individuals. They systematically corrupt a very easily influenced crowd (which has been becoming more of a nuisance among you), a group of arrogant, spoiled writers, to whom, instead of their essential but demanding duties, they assign the glamorous roles typically reserved for witty and carefree young men, lively soldiers, and social butterflies. They urge the younger generation in France to sympathize with the exploits and fortunes of educators who betray the most serious familial trusts and exploit their female students. They teach people that the seducers of young women, almost in front of their parents, can be safe guests in homes and even suitable guardians of the honor of those husbands who legally inherit the roles that the young writers had taken on without any regard for law or morality.
Thus they dispose of all the family relations of parents and children, husbands and wives. Through this same instructor, by whom they corrupt the morals, they corrupt the taste. Taste and elegance, though they are reckoned only among the smaller and secondary morals, yet are of no mean importance in the regulation of life. A moral taste is not of force to turn vice into virtue; but it recommends virtue with something like the blandishments of pleasure; and it infinitely abates the evils of vice. Rousseau, a writer of great force and vivacity, is totally destitute of taste in any sense of the word. Your masters, who are his scholars, conceive that all refinement has an aristocratic character. The last age had exhausted all its powers in giving a grace and nobleness to our mutual appetites, and in raising them into a higher class and order than seemed justly to belong to them. Through Rousseau, your masters are resolved to destroy these aristocratic prejudices. The passion called love has so general and powerful an influence; it makes so much of the entertainment, and indeed so much of the occupation of that part of life which decides the character for ever, that the mode and the principles on which it engages the sympathy, and strikes the imagination, become of the utmost importance to the morals and manners of every society. Your rulers were well aware of this; and in their system of changing your manners to accommodate them to their politics, they found nothing so convenient as Rousseau. Through him they teach men to love after the fashion of philosophers; that is, they teach to men, to Frenchmen, a love without gallantry; a love without anything of that fine flower of youthfulness and gentility, which places it, if not among the virtues, among the ornaments of life. Instead of this passion, naturally allied to grace and manners, they infuse into their youth an unfashioned, indelicate, sour, gloomy, ferocious medly of pedantry and lewdness; of metaphysical speculations blended with the coarsest sensuality. Such is the general morality of the passions to be found in their famous philosopher, in his famous work of philosophic gallantry the "Nouvelle Eloise." When the fence from the gallantry of preceptors is broken down, and your families are no longer protected by decent pride, and salutary domestic prejudice, there is but one step to a frightful corruption. The rulers in the National Assembly are in good hopes that the females of the first families in France may become an easy prey to dancing-masters, fiddlers, pattern-drawers, friseurs, and valets de chambre, and other active citizens of that description, who having the entry into your houses, and being half domesticated by their situation, may be blended with you by regular and irregular relations. By a law they have made these people their equals. By adopting the sentiments of Rousseau they have made them your rivals. In this manner these great legislators complete their plan of levelling, and establish their rights of men on a sure foundation.
They've messed up all family relationships between parents and children, husbands and wives. Through this same teacher, who corrupts morals, they also ruin taste. Taste and elegance, while considered minor moral qualities, are still important in shaping life. Having a moral sense might not turn vice into virtue, but it presents virtue in a way that feels pleasurable and significantly reduces the downsides of vice. Rousseau, a powerful and lively writer, completely lacks taste in any form. Your teachers, who are his followers, believe that all refinement has an aristocratic air. The previous era exhausted itself trying to lend grace and nobility to our shared desires, elevating them to a level that didn’t truly fit them. Through Rousseau, your teachers aim to eliminate these aristocratic biases. Love, a strong and widespread passion, shapes so much of our enjoyment and the part of life that permanently defines character, making the way it engages people’s sympathy and imagination incredibly crucial for the morals and manners of any society. Your leaders recognized this. In their effort to change your behaviors to suit their political goals, they found Rousseau to be extremely useful. Through him, they teach men to love like philosophers; that is, they teach men, and particularly Frenchmen, to have a love devoid of romance—a love lacking any charm of youthfulness and gentility that makes it, if not a virtue, at least a beautiful part of life. Instead of a passion closely connected to grace and manners, they fill their youth with a clumsy, crude, sour, and gloomy jumble of pedantry and vulgarity; a blend of abstract ideas mixed with the coarsest of sensuality. This represents the general morality of the emotions found in their well-known philosopher and his notable work of philosophical romance, the "Nouvelle Eloise." Once the protective barrier of the teachers' romance is removed and your families lose their decent pride and healthy domestic values, it takes only one step to dive into serious moral decay. The rulers in the National Assembly hope that the women from France's top families will easily fall prey to dancing instructors, musicians, designers, hairdressers, and other active citizens who might blend into your households as they become semi-domesticated. By law, they have made these people your equals. By adopting Rousseau's ideas, they have turned them into your rivals. This way, these great lawmakers fulfill their aim of creating equality and firmly establish their version of human rights.
I am certain that the writings of Rousseau lead directly to this kind of shameful evil. I have often wondered how he comes to be so much more admired and followed on the continent than he is here. Perhaps a secret charm in the language may have its share in this extraordinary difference. We certainly perceive, and to a degree we feel, in this writer, a style glowing, animated, enthusiastic; at the same time that we find it lax, diffuse, and not in the best taste of composition; all the members of the piece being pretty equally laboured and expanded, without any due selection or subordination of parts. He is generally too much on the stretch, and his manner has little variety. We cannot rest upon any of his works, though they contain observations which occasionally discover a considerable insight into human nature. But his doctrines, on the whole, are so inapplicable to real life and manners, that we never dream of drawing from them any rule for laws or conduct, or for fortifying or illustrating anything by a reference to his opinions. They have with us the fate of older paradoxes.
I am convinced that Rousseau's writings directly contribute to this kind of disgraceful evil. I've often wondered why he is so much more admired and followed in Europe than here. Maybe there's something special about the way he writes that accounts for this huge difference. We definitely notice, and to some extent feel, that his style is vibrant, animated, and enthusiastic; however, it's also loose, meandering, and not the best when it comes to composition. All parts of his work seem equally drawn out and elaborated without the right focus or hierarchy. He tends to stretch things too far, and his style lacks variety. We can't really settle on any of his works, even though they sometimes offer valuable insights into human nature. Ultimately, his ideas are so disconnected from real life and behavior that we never think to use them as a basis for laws, conduct, or to reinforce or illustrate anything by referencing his opinions. They share the fate of earlier paradoxes.
"Cum ventum ad VERUM est, SENSUS MORESQUE repugnant,
Atque ipsa utilitas, justi prope mater et aequi."
"Once it comes to the TRUTH, SENSE and MORALS resist, And the very utility, almost the mother of justice and fairness."
Perhaps bold speculations are more acceptable because more new to you than to us, who have been long since satiated with them. We continue, as in the two last ages, to read, more generally than I believe is now done on the continent, the authors of sound antiquity. These occupy our minds. They give us another taste and turn, and will not suffer us to be more than transiently amused with paradoxical morality. It is not that I consider this writer as wholly destitute of just notions. Amongst his irregularities, it must be reckoned that he is sometimes moral, and moral in a very sublime strain. But the GENERAL SPIRIT AND TENDENCY of his works is mischievous; and the more mischievous for this mixture: for perfect depravity of sentiment is not reconcileable with eloquence; and the mind (though corruptible, not complexionally vicious) would reject, and throw off with disgust, a lesson of pure and unmixed evil. These writers make even virtue a pander to vice.
Maybe bold speculations are more acceptable to you because they’re newer, but for us, who have been dealing with them for a long time, they’ve lost their novelty. We still read the classic authors more often than I think is done on the continent, as we have for the past couple of centuries. They occupy our minds. They provide us with a different perspective and won’t let us be satisfied with just fleeting amusement from twisted morality. I don’t think this writer is completely lacking in good ideas. Among his inconsistencies, one must acknowledge that he is sometimes moral, and in a very elevated way. However, the overall spirit and direction of his works are harmful; and that harm is increased by this mixture. Purely corrupt sentiment doesn’t align with eloquence, and the mind (although it's capable of being corrupted, not inherently evil) would reject and dismiss a lesson of pure, unadulterated evil. These writers even make virtue serve vice.
However, I less consider the author than the system of the Assembly in perverting morality through his means. This I confess makes me nearly despair of any attempt upon the minds of their followers, through reason, honour, or conscience. The great object of your tyrants is to destroy the gentlemen of France; and for that purpose they destroy, to the best of their power, all the effect of those relations which may render considerable men powerful or even safe. To destroy that order, they vitiate the whole community. That no means may exist of confederating against their tyranny, by the false sympathies of this "Nouvelle Eloise" they endeavour to subvert those principles of domestic trust and fidelity, which form the discipline of social life. They propagate principles by which every servant may think it, if not his duty, at least his privilege, to betray his master. By these principles, every considerable father of a family loses the sanctuary of his house. Debet sua cuique domus esse perfugium tutissimum, says the law, which your legislators have taken so much pains first to decry, then to repeal. They destroy all the tranquillity and security of domestic life; turning the asylum of the house into a gloomy prison, where the father of the family must drag out a miserable existence, endangered in proportion to the apparent means of his safety; where he is worse than solitary in a crowd of domestics, and more apprehensive from his servants and inmates, than from the hired, bloodthirsty mob without doors, who are ready to pull him to the lanterne. It is thus, and for the same end, that they endeavour to destroy that tribunal of conscience which exists independently of edicts and decrees. Your despots govern by terror. They know that he who fears God fears nothing else: and therefore they eradicate from the mind, through their Voltaire, their Helvetius, and the rest of that infamous gang, that only sort of fear which generates true courage. Their object is, that their fellow-citizens may be under the dominion of no awe, but that of their committee of research, and of their lanterne.
However, I’m more concerned about the Assembly's system than the author in how it distorts morality through his influence. I admit this makes me almost hopeless about trying to reach their followers through reason, honor, or conscience. The main goal of your tyrants is to eliminate the gentlemen of France; to achieve this, they do their best to undermine all the relationships that could make influential people powerful or even safe. In destroying that order, they corrupt the entire community. To prevent any means of banding together against their tyranny, they use the false sympathies of this "Nouvelle Eloise" to undermine the principles of trust and loyalty that form the foundation of social life. They spread ideas that lead every servant to feel that it is not just their right but possibly their duty to betray their master. Because of these ideas, every significant father of a family loses the safe haven of his home. “Every home should be the safest refuge,” says the law, which your legislators have gone to great lengths to discredit and then repeal. They destroy all peace and security of domestic life, turning the home from a sanctuary into a dreary prison where the father of the family must endure a miserable existence, constantly at risk, especially the more he seems to be protected; where he feels more lonely in a house full of servants than he does from the angry, bloodthirsty mob outside, who are eager to drag him to the gallows. Similarly, they seek to dismantle the tribunal of conscience that exists independently of laws and decrees. Your tyrants rule by instilling fear. They know that anyone who fears God fears nothing else; thus, they erase from people's minds, through their Voltaire, their Helvetius, and others in that infamous group, the kind of fear that fosters true courage. Their goal is to ensure their fellow citizens feel intimidated only by their committee of investigation and the mob outside.
Having found the advantage of assassination in the formation of their tyranny, it is the grand resource in which they trust for the support of it. Whoever opposes any of their proceedings, or is suspected of a design to oppose them, is to answer it with his life, or the lives of his wife and children. This infamous, cruel, and cowardly practice of assassination they have the imprudence to call MERCIFUL. They boast that they operated their usurpation rather by terror than by force; and that a few seasonable murders have prevented the bloodshed of many battles. There is no doubt they will extend these acts of mercy whenever they see an occasion. Dreadful, however, will be the consequences of their attempt to avoid the evils of war by the merciful policy of murder. If, by effectual punishment of the guilty, they do not wholly disavow that practice, and the threat of it too, as any part of their policy; if ever a foreign prince enters into France, he must enter it as into a country of assassins. The mode of civilized war will not be practised; nor are the French who act on the present system entitled to expect it. They, whose known policy is to assassinate every citizen whom they suspect to be discontented by their tyranny, and to corrupt the soldiery of every open enemy, must look for no modified hostility. All war, which is not battle, will be military execution. This will beget acts of retaliation from you; and every retaliation will beget a new revenge. The hell-hounds of war, on all sides, will be uncoupled and unmuzzled. The new school of murder and barbarism, set up in Paris, having destroyed (so far as in it lies) all the other manners and principles which have hitherto civilized Europe, will destroy also the mode of civilized war, which, more than anything else, has distinguished the Christian world. Such is the approaching golden age, which the Virgil of your assembly has sung to his Pollios! (Mirabeau's speech concerning universal peace.)
Having discovered that assassination is a key tool for establishing their tyranny, it’s the main resource they rely on to maintain it. Anyone who opposes their actions, or is suspected of planning to oppose them, risks losing their life, as well as the lives of their spouse and children. This infamous, cruel, and cowardly act of assassination is foolishly labeled as MERCIFUL by them. They boast that they seized power more through fear than through force, claiming that a few timely murders have spared the bloodshed of many battles. It’s clear they will continue these acts of mercy whenever they find the opportunity. However, the consequences of attempting to avoid the horrors of war through the so-called merciful policy of murder will be severe. If they don't completely reject this practice and the threat of it as part of their strategy through effective punishment of the guilty, any foreign leader entering France will do so as if walking into a nation of assassins. They won’t follow the rules of civilized warfare, nor can the French under the current system expect it. Those whose known policy is to assassinate every citizen they suspect of being unhappy with their tyranny, and to corrupt the soldiers of any overt enemy, should not anticipate anything less than total hostility. All warfare that isn't direct battle will be military executions. This will lead to acts of retaliation from you, which will spark further revenge. The chaos of war will be unleashed on all sides. The new culture of murder and brutality that has emerged in Paris will, as much as it can, erase all the other mannerisms and principles that have formerly civilized Europe, and will also obliterate the rules of civilized warfare that have, more than anything else, defined the Christian world. Such is the shining future that the Poet of your assembly has sung to his Pollios! (Mirabeau's speech concerning universal peace.)
UNITY BETWEEN CHURCH AND STATE.
They take this tenet of the head and heart, not from the great name which it immediately bears, nor from the greater from whence it is derived; but from that which alone can give true weight and sanction to any learned opinion, the common nature and common relation of men. Persuaded that all things ought to be done with reference, and referring all to the point of reference to which all should be directed, they think themselves bound, not only as individuals in the sanctuary of the heart, or as congregated in that personal capacity, to renew the memory of their high origin and caste; but also in their corporate character to perform their national homage to the institutor, and author, and protector of civil society; without which civil society man could not by any possibility arrive at the perfection of which his nature is capable, nor even make a remote and faint approach to it. They conceive that He who gave our nature to be perfected by our virtue, willed also the necessary means of its perfection.—He willed therefore the state—He willed its connection with the source and original archetype of all perfection. They who are convinced of this his will, what is the law of laws, and the sovereign of sovereigns, cannot think it reprehensible that this our corporate fealty and homage, that this our recognition of a signiory paramount, I had almost said this oblation of the state itself, as a worthy offering on the high altar of universal praise, should be performed as all public, solemn acts are performed, in buildings, in music, in decoration, in speech, in the dignity of persons, according to the customs of mankind, taught by their nature; that is, with modest splendour and unassuming state, with mild majesty and sober pomp. For those purposes they think some part of the wealth of the country is as usefully employed as it can be, in fomenting the luxury of individuals. It is the public ornament. It is the public consolation. It nourishes the public hope. The poorest man finds his own importance and dignity in it, whilst the wealth and pride of individuals at every moment makes the man of humble rank and fortune sensible of his inferiority, and degrades and vilifies his condition. It is for the man in humble life, and to raise his nature, and to put him in mind of a state in which the privileges of opulence will cease, when he will be equal by nature, and may be more than equal by virtue, that this portion of the general wealth of his country is employed and sanctified.
They adopt this principle of the head and heart, not because of the distinguished name it carries, nor from the greater origins it stems from; but from what can truly give weight and credibility to any learned opinion—the shared nature and common relationships of humanity. Believing that all things should be done with reference, and pointing everything towards the central reference that should guide us all, they feel obligated, not just as individuals in their personal beliefs, but also collectively, to remember their noble origins and status; and in their corporate identity, to pay their national respects to the founder, guardian, and protector of civil society; without which, humanity could not possibly reach the full potential of its nature, nor even come close to it. They believe that the one who designed our nature to be perfected by our virtues also intended the necessary means for that perfection. Thus, He intended the state—intended its connection with the source and original model of all perfection. For those who are convinced of this divine will, the ultimate law, and the supreme authority, it’s not unreasonable to consider that our collective loyalty and honor, this acknowledgment of a higher authority, and I would almost say this offering of the state itself, as a fitting tribute on the grand altar of universal admiration, should be expressed like all public, solemn acts—through buildings, music, decorations, speeches, and the dignity of individuals, in ways that reflect human customs, guided by our nature; that is, with modest beauty and unpretentious dignity, with gentle grandeur and restrained ceremony. For these purposes, they believe that some part of the country’s wealth is used as effectively as possible, rather than in promoting individual luxury. It serves as public decoration. It provides public comfort. It fosters public hope. The poorest individual finds their value and dignity in it, while the wealth and arrogance of others constantly remind those of humble means of their inferiority, degrading and belittling their state. It is for the person of modest means, to elevate his spirit and remind him of a state where the privileges of wealth will fade, when he will be equal by nature, and may surpass others through virtue, that this part of the collective wealth of his country is utilized and honored.
I assure you I do not aim at singularity. I give you opinions which have been accepted amongst us, from very early times to this moment, with a continued and general approbation, and which indeed are so worked into my mind, that I am unable to distinguish what I have learned from others from the results of my own meditation.
I promise I’m not trying to be different. I share opinions that have been widely accepted by us, from ancient times right up to now, with ongoing and general approval. In fact, these ideas are so ingrained in my mind that I can’t tell what I’ve learned from others apart from what I’ve thought up myself.
It is on some such principles that the majority of the people of England, far from thinking a religious national establishment unlawful, hardly think it lawful to be without one. In France you are wholly mistaken if you do not believe us above all other things attached to it, and beyond all other nations; and when this people has acted unwisely and unjustifiably in its favour (as in some instances they have done most certainly) in their very errors you will at least discover their zeal.
It’s based on principles like these that most people in England, instead of seeing a national religious establishment as illegal, actually find it hard to believe that we could exist without one. In France, you’re completely wrong if you think we’re not more attached to it than anyone else, and that we’re not more devoted than any other nation; and even when this country has acted foolishly and unjustly in support of it (which they definitely have in some cases), you can still see their enthusiasm in those very mistakes.
This principle runs through the whole system of their polity. They do not consider their church establishment as convenient, but as essential to their state; not as a thing heterogeneous and inseparable; something added for accommodation; what they may either keep or lay aside, according to their temporary ideas of convenience. They consider it as the foundation of their whole constitution, with which, and with every part of which, it holds an indissoluble union. Church and state are ideas inseparable in their minds, and scarcely is the one ever mentioned without mentioning the other.
This principle is central to their entire system of governance. They see their church establishment not as something useful but as essential to their state; not as something foreign and separate; not just an added convenience that they can choose to keep or discard based on temporary needs. They view it as the foundation of their entire constitution, firmly connected to every part of it. Church and state are concepts that are inseparable in their minds, and it’s rare to mention one without also mentioning the other.
(In preparing these pages for publication, the selector has discovered how unconsciously he was indebted to the intellectual inspiration of Burke, in the following extract:—
(In preparing these pages for publication, the editor has realized how unknowingly he was influenced by the intellectual inspiration of Burke, in the following extract:—
"Founded in Christ, and by Apostles form'd,
Glory of England! oh, my Mother Church,
Hoary with time, but all untouched in creed,
Firm to thy Master, by as fond a grasp
Of faith as Luther, with his free-born mind
Clung to Emmanuel,—doth thy soul remain.
But yet around Thee scowls a fierce array
Of Foes and Falsehoods; must'ring each their powers,
Triumphantly. And well may thoughtful Hearts
Heave with foreboding swell and heavy fears,
To mark, how mad opinion doth infect
Thy children; how thine apostolic claims
And love maternal are regarded now,
By creedless Vanity, or careless Vice.
For time there was, when peerless Hooker wrote,
And deep-soul'd Bacon taught the world to think,
When thou wert paramount,—thy cause sublime!
And in THY life, all Polity and Powers
The throne securing, or in law enshrined,
With all estates our balanced Realm contains,
In thee supreme, a master-virtue own'd
And honour'd. Church and State could then co-work,
Like soul and body in one breathing Form
Distinct, but undivided; each with rule
Essential to the kingdom's healthful frame,
Yet BOTH, in unity august and good
Together, under Christ their living Head,
A hallow'd commonwealth of powers achieved.
But now, in evil times, sectarian Will
Would split the Body, and to sects reduce
Our sainted Mother of th'imperial Isles,
Which have for ages from Her bosom drank
Those truths immortal, Life and Conscience need.
But never may the rude assault of hearts
Self-blinded, or the autocratic pride
Of Reason, by no hallowing faith subdued,
One lock of glory from Her rev'rend head
Succeed in tearing: Love, and Awe, and Truth
Her doctrines preach, with apostolic force:
Her creed is Unity, her head is Christ,
Her Forms primeval, and her Creed divine,
And Catholic, that crowning name she wears."
"Luther," 6th edition 1852.)
"Founded in Christ, and shaped by the Apostles,
Glory of England! oh, my Mother Church,
Ancient with age, yet steadfast in belief,
Loyal to your Master, with a grip as strong
As Luther, with his free spirit, clung to Emmanuel,—you remain true.
But around you looms a fierce lineup
Of enemies and falsehoods, each gathering their strength,
Triumphantly. And indeed, thoughtful hearts
May swell with worry and heavy fears,
Observing how crazy opinions infect
Your children; how your apostolic claims
And maternal love are viewed today
By empty vanity or careless vice.
There was a time when the unmatched Hooker wrote,
And the profound Bacon taught the world to think,
When you were foremost—your cause lofty!
And in YOUR life, all Political Powers
Secured the throne or were enshrined in law,
With all the estates our balanced realm holds,
In you the supreme virtue acknowledged
And honored. Church and State could then collaborate,
Like soul and body in one living form—
Distinct, but united; each with a role
Essential to the kingdom's well-being,
Yet BOTH, in dignified unity and goodness,
Together, under Christ as their living head,
A sacred commonwealth of powers achieved.
But now, in troubled times, selfish will
Would tear the Body apart, reducing
Our holy Mother of the imperial Isles,
Which for ages have drawn from her bosom
Those eternal truths that Life and Conscience require.
But may the crude attack from hearts
That are self-blinded, or the arrogant pride
Of Reason, untempered by any hallowing faith,
Never pull a single lock of glory from her revered head.
Love, Awe, and Truth
Her teachings proclaim, with apostolic strength:
Her creed is Unity, her head is Christ,
Her ancient forms, and her divine and
Catholic creed, the crowning name she carries."
"Luther," 6th edition 1852.)
TRIPLE BASIS OF FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Instead of the religion and the law by which they were in a great politic communion with the Christian world, they have constructed their republic on three bases, all fundamentally opposite to those on which the communities of Europe are built. Its foundation is laid in regicide, in jacobinism, and in atheism; and it has joined to those principles a body of systematic manners, which secures their operation.
Instead of the religion and the law that connected them closely to the Christian world, they built their republic on three foundations that are completely contrary to those of European communities. Its foundation is based on killing kings, radical politics, and atheism; and alongside those principles, they established a set of consistent behaviors that ensure these ideas are put into practice.
If I am asked, how I would be understood in the use of these terms, regicide, jacobinism, atheism, and a system of corresponding manners, and their establishment? I will tell you:—
If I'm asked how I would define these terms, regicide, jacobinism, atheism, and the associated system of behavior and their establishment, I'll tell you:—
I.—REGICIDE.
I call a commonwealth REGICIDE, which lays it down as a fixed law of nature, and a fundamental right of man, that all government, not being a democracy, is a usurpation. That all kings, as such, are usurpers; and for being kings may and ought to be put to death, with their wives, families, and adherents. The commonwealth which acts uniformly upon those principles, and which, after abolishing every festival of religion, chooses the most flagrant act of a murderous regicide treason for a feast of eternal commemoration, and which forces all her people to observe it—this I call REGICIDE BY ESTABLISHMENT.
I refer to a commonwealth as REGICIDE, which establishes as a fundamental principle of nature and a basic human right that any government that isn’t a democracy is a violation of rights. All kings, simply by being kings, are illegitimate; and for being kings, they can and should be executed, along with their spouses, families, and supporters. A commonwealth that consistently follows these principles, and which, after eliminating all religious festivals, selects the most blatant act of murderous treason against a king to commemorate eternally, and compels all its citizens to observe it—this I term REGICIDE BY ESTABLISHMENT.
II.—JACOBINISM.
Jacobinism is the revolt of the enterprising talents of a country against its property. When private men form themselves into associations for the purpose of destroying the pre-existing laws and institutions of their country; when they secure to themselves an army, by dividing amongst the people of no property the estates of the ancient and lawful proprietors; when a state recognises those acts; when it does not make confiscations for crimes, but makes crimes for confiscations; when it has its principal strength, and all its resources, in such a violation of property; when it stands chiefly upon such a violation, massacring by judgments, or otherwise, those who make any struggle for their old legal government, and their legal, hereditary, or acquired possessions—I call this JACOBINISM BY ESTABLISHMENT.
Jacobinism is the uprising of a country's ambitious individuals against its wealth. When private citizens organize into groups with the goal of dismantling the existing laws and institutions of their nation; when they rally support by redistributing the lands of the traditional and lawful property owners to those without property; when a government acknowledges these actions; when it doesn’t seize assets for crimes, but creates crimes to justify seizing assets; when its main power and resources depend on such disregard for property; when it primarily relies on this disregard, executing judgments or otherwise targeting anyone who resists restoring their old legal government and their rightful, inherited, or acquired possessions—I refer to this as JACOBINISM BY ESTABLISHMENT.
III.—ATHEISM.
I call it ATHEISM BY ESTABLISHMENT, when any state, as such, shall not acknowledge the existence of God as a moral governor of the world; when it shall offer to him no religious or moral worship;—when it shall abolish the Christian religion by a regular decree;—when it shall persecute with a cold, unrelenting, steady cruelty, by every mode of confiscation, imprisonment, exile, and death, all its ministers;—when it shall generally shut up or pull down churches; when the few buildings which remain of this kind shall be opened only for the purpose of making a profane apotheosis of monsters, whose vices and crimes have no parallel amongst men, and whom all other men consider as objects of general detestation, and the severest animadversion of law. When, in the place of that religion of social benevolence, and of individual self-denial, in mockery of all religion, they institute impious, blasphemous, indecent theatric rites, in honour of their vitiated, perverted reason, and erect altars to the personification of their own corrupted and bloody republic;—when schools and seminaries are founded at the public expense to poison mankind, from generation to generation, with the horrible maxims of this impiety;—when wearied out with incessant martyrdom, and the cries of a people hungering and thirsting for religion, they permit it only as a tolerated evil—I call this ATHEISM BY ESTABLISHMENT.
I refer to it as ATHEISM BY ESTABLISHMENT when any government, as such, fails to recognize the existence of God as a moral authority in the world; when it offers no religious or moral worship to Him; when it abolishes Christianity by official decree; when it cruelly persecutes all its ministers through confiscation, imprisonment, exile, and death, without mercy; when it generally shuts down or demolishes churches; when the few remaining places of worship are only used to glorify monsters whose vices and crimes are unmatched among humans, and whom everyone else regards with revulsion and the harshest legal repercussions. When, in place of a religion rooted in social goodwill and personal sacrifice, they mock all faith with irreverent, blasphemous, and indecent theatrical rituals that honor their twisted, corrupt reason, and set up altars for the embodiment of their own tainted and violent republic; when schools and institutions are established at public expense to instill future generations with the toxic principles of this impiety; when, exhausted from relentless persecution, and amidst the cries of a people longing for faith, they allow it only as a tolerated evil—I call this ATHEISM BY ESTABLISHMENT.
CORRESPONDENT SYSTEM OF MANNERS AND MORALS.
When to these establishments of regicide, of jacobinism, and of atheism, you add the CORRESPONDENT SYSTEM OF MANNERS, no doubt can be left on the mind of a thinking man concerning their determined hostility to the human race. Manners are of more importance than laws. Upon them, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law touches us but here and there, and now and then. Manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or purify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible operation, like that of the air we breathe in. They give their whole form and colour to our lives. According to their quality, they aid morals, they supply them, or they totally destroy them. Of this the new French legislators were aware; therefore, with the same method, and under the same authority, they settled a system of manners, the most licentious, prostitute, and abandoned that ever has been known, and at the same time the most coarse, rude, savage, and ferocious. Nothing in the Revolution, no, not to a phrase or gesture, not to the fashion of a hat or a shoe, was left to accident. All has been the result of design; all has been matter of institution. No mechanical means could be devised in favour of this incredible system of wickedness and vice, that has not been employed. The noblest passions, the love of glory, the love of country, have been debauched into means of its preservation and its propagation. All sorts of shows and exhibitions, calculated to inflame and vitiate the imagination, and pervert the moral sense, have been contrived. They have sometimes brought forth five or six hundred drunken women, calling at the bar of the Assembly for the blood of their own children, as being royalists or constitutionalists. Sometimes they have got a body of wretches, calling themselves fathers, to demand the murder of their sons, boasting that Rome had but one Brutus, but that they could show five hundred. There were instances in which they inverted, and retaliated the impiety, and produced sons, who called for the execution of their parents. The foundation of their republic is laid in moral paradoxes. Their patriotism is always prodigy. All those instances to be found in history, whether real or fabulous, of a doubtful public spirit, at which morality is perplexed, reason is staggered, and from which affrighted nature recoils, are their chosen, and almost sole examples for the instruction of their youth.
When you add the corresponding system of manners to the establishments of regicide, Jacobinism, and atheism, there's no doubt for any thoughtful person about their clear hostility toward humanity. Manners matter more than laws. In many ways, laws depend on them. The law only affects us here and there, now and then. Manners are what irritate or calm us, corrupt or purify us, elevate or lower us, and either savage or refine us, through a constant, steady, uniform, unnoticed process, like the air we breathe. They shape and color our lives. Depending on their quality, they can support morals, provide them, or completely destroy them. The new French lawmakers understood this, so they established a system of manners that was the most licentious, depraved, and abandoned ever seen, while also being the most crude, rude, savage, and brutal. Nothing in the Revolution—no phrase, gesture, fashion of a hat, or shoe—was left to chance. Everything resulted from design; everything was a matter of institution. No mechanical methods that could promote this incredible system of wickedness and vice were left unused. The noblest passions, such as the love of glory and the love of country, have been twisted into tools for its preservation and spread. All sorts of performances and exhibitions, intended to excite and corrupt the imagination and pervert the moral sense, have been created. Sometimes they gathered five or six hundred drunken women demanding the blood of their own children for being royalists or constitutionalists. Other times, they collected a group of wretches calling themselves fathers to call for the murder of their sons, bragging that while Rome had only one Brutus, they could present five hundred. There were cases where sons demanded the execution of their parents in a complete inversion of piety. The foundation of their republic is built on moral contradictions. Their patriotism is always extraordinary. All those instances in history, whether real or mythical, of questionable public spirit—where morality is confused, reason is bewildered, and scared nature recoils—are their chosen and almost exclusive examples for the education of their youth.
The whole drift of their institution is contrary to that of the wise legislators of all countries, who aimed at improving instincts into morals, and at grafting the virtues on the stock of the natural affections. They, on the contrary, have omitted no pains to eradicate every benevolent and noble propensity in the mind of men. In their culture it is a rule always to graft virtues on vices. They think everything unworthy of the name of public virtue, unless it indicates violence on the private. All their new institutions (and with them everything is new) strike at the root of our social nature. Other legislators, knowing that marriage is the origin of all relations, and consequently the first element of all duties, have endeavoured, by every art, to make it sacred. The Christian religion, by confining it to the pairs, and by rendering that relation indissoluble, has by these two things done more towards the peace, happiness, settlement, and civilization of the world, than by any other part in this whole scheme of Divine Wisdom. The direct contrary course has been taken in the synagogue of antichrist, I mean in that forge and manufactury of all evil, the sect which predominated in the Constituent Assembly of 1789. Those monsters employed the same, or greater industry, to desecrate and degrade that state, which other legislators have used to render it holy and honourable.
The entire direction of their institution goes against what wise lawmakers in every country strive for, which is to elevate instincts into morals and to attach virtues to our natural feelings. Instead, they have put in every effort to wipe out any kind, noble inclination in people's minds. In their culture, it’s standard to attach virtues to vices. They consider anything unworthy of being called public virtue unless it shows violence against the private. All their new institutions (and everything is new with them) attack the foundation of our social nature. Other lawmakers understand that marriage is the basis of all relationships, and therefore the cornerstone of all duties, so they have tried in every way to make it sacred. The Christian religion, by limiting marriage to couples and making that bond unbreakable, has contributed more to peace, happiness, stability, and the civilization of the world than any other aspect of this entire plan of Divine Wisdom. The exact opposite approach has been taken in the synagogue of antichrist, referring to that factory and source of all evil, the group that dominated the Constituent Assembly of 1789. Those monsters used the same, if not greater, effort to desecrate and undermine that state, which other lawmakers have worked hard to make holy and respected.
FEROCITY OF JACOBINISM.
As to those whom they suffer to die a natural death, they do not permit them to enjoy the last consolations of mankind, or those rights of sepulture, which indicate hope, and which mere nature has taught to mankind, in all countries, to soothe the afflictions, and to cover the infirmity, of mortal condition. They disgrace men in the entry into life, they vitiate and enslave them through the whole course of it, and they deprive them of all comfort at the conclusion of their dishonoured and depraved existence. Endeavouring to persuade the people that they are no better than beasts, the whole body of their institution tends to make them beasts of prey, furious and savage. For this purpose the active part of them is disciplined into a ferocity which has no parallel. To this ferocity there is joined not one of the rude, unfashioned virtues, which accompany the vices, where the whole are left to grow up together in the rankness of uncultivated nature. But nothing is left to nature in their systems.
As for those they allow to die a natural death, they don’t let them experience the final comforts of humanity or the burial rights that symbolize hope, which nature has taught people in all cultures to ease their suffering and cover the weakness of being mortal. They disgrace individuals from the moment of their birth, corrupt and enslave them throughout their lives, and strip them of all solace at the end of their dishonored and degraded existence. By trying to convince people that they are no better than animals, their entire system encourages them to become predatory and savage. To achieve this, the active members are trained into an unparalleled ferocity. This ferocity isn’t accompanied by any of the rough, unrefined virtues that often come with vices when they grow together in the wildness of unrefined nature. But in their systems, nothing is left to nature.
The same discipline which hardens their hearts relaxes their morals. Whilst courts of justice were thrust out by revolutionary tribunals, and silent churches were only the funeral monuments of departed religion, there were no fewer than nineteen or twenty theatres, great and small, most of them kept open at the public expense, and all of them crowded every night. Among the gaunt, haggard forms of famine and nakedness, amidst the yells of murder, the tears of affliction, and the cries of despair, the song, the dance, the mimic scene, the buffoon laughter, went on as regularly as in the gay hour of festive peace. I have it from good authority, that under the scaffold of judicial murder, and the gaping planks that poured down blood on the spectators, the space was hired out for a show of dancing dogs. I think, without concert, we have made the very same remark on reading some of their pieces, which being written for other purposes, let us into a view of their social life. It struck us that the habits of Paris had no resemblance to the finished virtues, or to the polished vice, and elegant, though not blameless, luxury, of the capital of a great empire. Their society was more like that of a den of outlaws upon a doubtful frontier; of a lewd tavern for the revels and debauches of banditti, assassins, bravos, smugglers, and their more desperate paramours, mixed with bombastic players, the refuse and rejected offal of strolling theatres, puffing out ill-sorted verses about virtue, mixed with the licentious and blasphemous songs, proper to the brutal and hardened course of life belonging to that sort of wretches. This system of manners in itself is at war with all orderly and moral society, and is in its neighbourhood unsafe. If great bodies of that kind were anywhere established in a bordering territory, we should have a right to demand of their governments the suppression of such a nuisance.
The same discipline that toughens their hearts weakens their morals. While courts of justice were replaced by revolutionary tribunals, and silent churches became mere grave markers of lost faith, there were still around nineteen or twenty theaters, big and small, most funded by the public, all packed every night. Amid the hollow, starving figures and scenes of poverty, alongside the shouts of murder, cries of suffering, and pleas of despair, the music, dance, mimicry, and laughter continued just as they would in a joyful, peaceful time. I have reliable sources that tell me, under the scaffold of judicial murder, where blood spilled onto the spectators, the area was rented out for a performance featuring dancing dogs. I believe we both noticed the same thing when we read some of their works, which, although meant for other purposes, offered us a glimpse into their social life. It struck us that the ways of Paris resembled not the refined virtues or the polished vices and elegant, albeit flawed, luxury of a capital city of a vast empire. Their society felt more like a den of outlaws on a questionable border or a wild tavern for the festivities and excesses of bandits, assassins, thugs, smugglers, and their desperate lovers, mixed with over-the-top actors, the leftover trash of traveling theaters, forcefully spouting poorly crafted verses about virtue, intertwined with raunchy and blasphemous songs, fitting for the brutal and hardened lifestyle of such wretches. This type of behavior fundamentally clashes with all orderly and moral societies, making it dangerous in its vicinity. If large groups like that were established nearby, we would have the right to urge their governments to put an end to such a nuisance.
VOICE OF OPPRESSION.
Should we not obtest Heaven, and whatever justice there is yet on earth? Oppression makes wise men mad; but the distemper is still the madness of the wise, which is better than the sobriety of fools. The cry is the voice of sacred misery, exalted not into wild raving, but into the sanctified frenzy of prophecy and inspiration—in that bitterness of soul, in that indignation of suffering virtue, in that exaltation of despair, would not persecuted English loyalty cry out, with an awful warning voice, and denounce the destruction that waits on monarchs, who consider fidelity to them as the most degrading of all vices; who suffer it to be punished as the most abominable of all crimes; and who have no respect but for rebels, traitors, regicides, and furious negro slaves, whose crimes have broken their chains? Would not this warm language of high indignation have more of sound reason in it, more of real affection, more of true attachment, than all the lullabies of flatterers, who would hush monarchs to sleep in the arms of death.
Should we not appeal to Heaven and whatever justice remains on earth? Oppression drives wise men to madness; but this madness is still the madness of the wise, which is better than the calmness of fools. The outcry is the voice of sacred suffering, elevated not into wild raving, but into the holy frenzy of prophecy and inspiration—in that bitterness of soul, in that outrage of suffering virtue, in that exaltation of despair, would not persecuted English loyalty cry out, with a chilling warning voice, and condemn the downfall that awaits monarchs who see loyalty to them as the most degrading of all faults; who allow it to be punished as the most despicable of all crimes; and who respect only rebels, traitors, regicides, and furious enslaved people, whose actions have broken their chains? Would not this passionate language of strong indignation hold more sound reasoning, more genuine affection, more true loyalty, than all the soothing words of flatterers, who would rock monarchs to sleep in the arms of death?
BRITAIN VINDICATED IN HER WAR WITH FRANCE.
There is one thing in this business which appears to be wholly unaccountable, or accountable on a supposition I dare not entertain for a moment. I cannot help asking, Why all this pains, to clear the British nation of ambition, perfidy, and the insatiate thirst of war? At what period of time was it that our country has deserved that load of infamy, of which nothing but preternatural humiliation in language and conduct can serve to clear us? If we have deserved this kind of evil fame from anything we have done in a state of prosperity, I am sure that it is not an abject conduct in adversity than can clear our reputation. Well is it known that ambition can creep as well as soar. The pride of no person in a flourishing condition is more justly to be dreaded, than that of him who is mean and cringing under a doubtful and unprosperous fortune. But it seems it was thought necessary to give some out-of-the-way proofs of our sincerity, as well as of our freedom from ambition. Is then fraud and falsehood become the distinctive character of Englishmen? Whenever your enemy chooses to accuse you of perfidy and ill faith, will you put it into his power to throw you into the purgatory of self-humiliation? Is his charge equal to the finding of the grand jury of Europe, and sufficient to put you upon your trial? But on that trial I will defend the English ministry. I am sorry that on some points I have, on the principles I have always opposed, so good a defence to make. THEY WERE NOT THE FIRST TO BEGIN THE WAR. THEY DID NOT EXCITE THE GENERAL CONFEDERACY IN EUROPE, WHICH WAS SO PROPERLY FORMED ON THE ALARM GIVEN BY THE JACOBINISM OF FRANCE. THEY DID NOT BEGIN WITH AN HOSTILE AGGRESSION ON THE REGICIDES, ARE ANY OF THEIR ALLIES. THESE PARRICIDES OF THEIR OWN COUNTRY, DISCIPLINING THEMSELVES FOR FOREIGN BY DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, WERE THE FIRST TO ATTACK A POWER THAT WAS OUR ALLY BY NATURE, BY HABIT, AND BY THE SANCTION OF MULTIPLIED TREATIES. (The Editor has ventured to print these lines in italics, because it appears, while this selection from Burke is preparing for the press, an inflated demagogue has not only dared to deny the claims of the duke of Wellington to be the Hero of a nation's heart, but has also accused the illustrious Burke of misrepresenting historical facts connected with our war in the French revolution. On which side both the truth and integrity of history are to be found, may safely be left to the moral decision of men who do NOT look at History through the exclusive medium of the market, and in listening to the voice of instruction are, at least, enabled to distinguish the bray of an ass from the peal of a trumpet.) Is it not true, that they were the first to declare war upon this kingdom? Is every word in the declaration from Downing-Street, concerning their conduct, and concerning ours and that of our allies, so obviously false, that it is necessary to give some new-invented proofs of our good faith in order to expunge the memory of all this perfidy?
There’s one thing in this situation that seems completely unexplainable, or explainable only by a notion I can’t even consider for a second. I can’t help but wonder, why all this effort to clear the British nation of ambition, deceit, and an endless thirst for war? At what point did our country earn that heavy load of disgrace, which can only be lifted by an unnatural humiliation in our words and actions? If we have deserved this kind of bad reputation from anything we’ve done during prosperous times, I’m sure that it’s not a submissive attitude in tough times that can redeem our reputation. It’s well known that ambition can both creep and soar. The arrogance of someone who is thriving is less to be feared than that of someone who is lowly and groveling under uncertain and difficult circumstances. But it seems necessary to provide some unusual proof of our sincerity and absence of ambition. Has deceit and falsehood become the defining characteristic of the English? Whenever your enemy chooses to accuse you of betrayal and bad faith, will you give him the power to condemn you to the hell of self-humiliation? Is his accusation equivalent to a grand jury indictment from Europe and enough to put you on trial? But when that trial comes, I will defend the English ministry. I regret that on some points, I have, on principles I’ve always opposed, a strong defense to make. THEY WERE NOT THE FIRST TO START THE WAR. THEY DID NOT INCITE THE GENERAL ALLIANCE IN EUROPE, WHICH WAS PROPERLY FORMED IN RESPONSE TO THE THREAT FROM JACOBINS IN FRANCE. THEY DID NOT INITIATE HOSTILITIES AGAINST THE REGICIDES, NOR ANY OF THEIR ALLIES. THESE MURDERERS OF THEIR OWN COUNTRY, training themselves for foreign conflict through domestic violence, were the first to attack a power that was our ally by nature, by tradition, and by the support of multiple treaties. (The Editor has chosen to print these lines in italics because it appears, while this selection from Burke is being prepared for publication, an arrogant demagogue has dared to deny the duke of Wellington's status as the nation's hero and has accused the esteemed Burke of distorting historical facts regarding our war during the French revolution. The question of where truth and historical integrity lie can safely be left to the moral judgment of those who do NOT view history solely through the lens of commerce, and who, in heeding the voice of education, can at least distinguish the braying of a donkey from the sound of a trumpet.) Is it not true that they were the first to declare war on this kingdom? Is every statement in the declaration from Downing Street about their actions, as well as ours and those of our allies, so obviously false that we need to provide some newly invented proof of our good faith to erase the memory of all this deceit?
POLISH AND FRENCH REVOLUTION.
A king without authority; nobles without union or subordination; a people without arts, industry, commerce, or liberty; no order within, no defence without; no effective public force, but a foreign force, which entered a naked country at will, and disposed of everything at pleasure. Here was a state of things which seemed to invite, and might perhaps justify, bold enterprise and desperate experiment. But in what manner was this chaos brought into order? The means were as striking to the imagination, as satisfactory to the reason, and soothing to the moral sentiments. In contemplating that change, humanity has everything to rejoice and to glory in; nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to suffer. So far as it has gone, it probably is the most pure and defecated public good which ever has been conferred on mankind. We have seen anarchy and servitude at once removed; a throne strengthened for the protection of the people, without trenching on their liberties; all foreign cabal banished, by changing the crown from elective to hereditary; and what was a matter of pleasing wonder, we have seen a reigning king, from an heroic love to his country, exerting himself with all the toil, the dexterity, the management, the intrigue, in favour of a family of strangers, with which ambitious men labour for the aggrandizement of their own. Ten millions of men in a way of being freed gradually, and therefore safely to themselves and the state, not from civil or political chains, which, bad as they are, only fetter the mind, but from substantial personal bondage. Inhabitants of cities, before without privileges, placed in the consideration which belongs to that improved and connecting situation of social life. One of the most proud, numerous, and fierce bodies of nobility and gentry ever known in the world, arranged only in the foremost rank of free and generous citizens. Not one man incurred loss, or suffered degradation. All, from the king to the day-labourer, were improved in their condition. Everything was kept in its place and order; but in that place and order everything was betterd. To add to this happy wonder (this unheard-of conjunction of wisdom and fortune), not one drop of blood was spilled; no treachery; no outrage; no system of slander more cruel than the sword; no studied insults on religion, morals, or manners; no spoil; no confiscation; no citizen beggared; none imprisoned; none exiled: the whole was effected with a policy, a discretion, a unanimity and secrecy, such as have never been before known on any occasion; but such wonderful conduct was reserved for this glorious conspiracy in favour of the true and genuine rights and interests of men. Happy people, if they know how to proceed as they have begun! Happy prince, worthy to begin with splendour, or to close with glory, a race of patriots and of kings: and to leave
A king without power; nobles without unity or hierarchy; a people without arts, industry, commerce, or freedom; no internal order, no external defense; no effective public force, just a foreign army that could invade a bare country at will and take control of everything as they pleased. This was a situation that seemed to invite, and maybe even justify, bold actions and desperate attempts. But how was this chaos organized? The methods were as striking to the imagination as they were reasonable and comforting to moral sensibilities. Contemplating this change, humanity has every reason to rejoice and take pride in it; nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to endure. So far, it is likely the purest and most beneficial public good ever given to mankind. We have witnessed both anarchy and servitude being eliminated; a throne reinforced to protect the people without infringing on their freedoms; all foreign plots expelled by transforming the crown from an elective to a hereditary position; and what was astonishing, we have seen a reigning king, out of a heroic love for his country, working tirelessly with all diligence, skill, and strategy for the benefit of a family of outsiders, in ways that ambitious individuals typically strive for their own gain. Ten million people are on the path to being gradually, and therefore safely, liberated—not from civil or political shackles, which, although bad, only restrain the mind, but from actual personal bondage. City dwellers, previously without rights, are now recognized for their improved and interconnected role in society. One of the proudest, largest, and fiercest groups of nobility and gentry ever known in the world has been positioned as the leading ranks of free and generous citizens. No one lost anything or faced humiliation. Everyone, from the king to the laborer, saw an improvement in their situation. Everything was kept in its rightful place and order, but in that order everything was better. To add to this remarkable occurrence (this unprecedented blend of wisdom and fortune), not one drop of blood was shed; no betrayal; no violence; no cruel slanders that cut deeper than a sword; no deliberate insults to religion, morals, or manners; no looting; no confiscations; no citizen left in poverty; none imprisoned; none exiled: it all happened with a strategy, discretion, unity, and secrecy that has never before been observed in any circumstance; such extraordinary conduct was reserved for this glorious alliance in support of the true and genuine rights and interests of individuals. Blessed people, if they know how to continue as they have started! Blessed prince, deserving to begin with grandeur or to end with glory, a legacy of patriots and kings: and to leave
"A name, which ev'ry wind to heav'n would bear,
Which men to speak, and angels joy to hear."
"A name that every breeze would carry to heaven, That people would say, and angels would love to hear."
To finish all—this great good, as in the instant it is, contains in it the seeds of all further improvement, and may be considered as in a regular progress, because founded on similar principles, towards the stable excellency of a British constitution.
To sum it all up—this great good, as it is right now, holds the seeds for all future improvement and can be seen as part of a steady progress, because it's based on the same principles, toward the lasting excellence of a British constitution.
Here was a matter for congratulation and for festive remembrance through ages. Here moralists and divines might indeed relax in their temperance, to exhilarate their humanity. But mark the character of our faction. All their enthusiasm is kept for the French revolution. They cannot pretend that France had stood so much in need of a change as Poland. They cannot pretend that Poland has not obtained a better system of liberty, or of government, than it enjoyed before. They cannot assert, that the Polish revolution cost more dearly than that of France to the interests and feelings of multitudes of men. But the cold and subordinate light in which they look upon the one, and the pains they take to preach up the other of these revolutions, leave us no choice in fixing on their motives. Both revolutions profess liberty as their object; but in obtaining this object the one proceeds from anarchy to order; the other from order to anarchy. The first secures its liberty by establishing its throne; the other builds its freedom on the subversion of its monarchy. In the one their means are unstained by crimes, and their settlement favours morality. In the other, vice and confusion are in the very essence of their pursuit, and of their enjoyment. The circumstances in which these two events differ, must cause the difference we make in their comparative estimation. These turn the scale with the societies in favour of France. Ferrum est quod amant. The frauds, the violences, the sacrileges, the havoc and ruin of families, the dispersion and exile of the pride and flower of a great country, the disorder, the confusion, the anarchy, the violation of property, the cruel murders, the inhuman confiscations, and in the end the insolent domination of bloody, ferocious, and senseless clubs—these are the things which they love and admire. What men admire and love, they would surely act. Let us see what is done in France; and then let us undervalue any the slightest danger of falling into the hands of such a merciless and savage faction!
Here’s a reason to celebrate and remember joyfully for generations. Here, moralists and religious leaders could truly loosen up and embrace their humanity. But look at the nature of our group. All their excitement is reserved for the French Revolution. They can’t honestly argue that France needed a change as much as Poland did. They can’t say that Poland hasn’t achieved a better form of freedom or government than it had before. They can’t claim that the Polish revolution cost more in terms of human interest and emotion than that of France. But the detached and dismissive way they view one revolution while zealously promoting the other reveals their true intentions. Both revolutions aim for freedom, but one moves from chaos to order, while the other goes from order to chaos. The first secures its freedom by establishing a monarchy; the second builds its freedom on tearing down its monarchy. In one case, their methods are free of crimes, and their outcomes support morality. In the other, wrongdoing and chaos are central to their goals and enjoyment. The differences between these two events must influence how we assess them comparatively. These factors tip the scales in favor of France among societies. They love the frauds, violence, sacrilege, destruction of families, the scattering and exile of the proud and elite of a great nation, the disorder, confusion, anarchy, violation of property, brutal murders, inhumane confiscations, and ultimately the arrogant rule of brutal, savage, and mindless mobs—these are the things they admire. What people admire and love, they will surely pursue. Let’s observe what’s happening in France, and then let’s not underestimate the slightest risk of falling into the clutches of such a ruthless and savage group!
EUROPE IN 1789.
In the long series of ages which have furnished the matter of history, never was so beautiful and so august a spectacle presented to the moral eye, as Europe afforded the day before the revolution in France. I knew indeed that this prosperity contained in itself the seeds of its own danger. In one part of the society it caused laxity and debility; in the other it produced bold spirits and dark designs. A false philosophy passed from academies into courts; and the great themselves were infected with the theories which conducted to their ruin. Knowledge, which in the two last centuries either did not exist at all, or existed solidly on right principles and in chosen hands, was now diffused, weakened, and perverted. General wealth loosened morals, relaxed vigilance, and increased presumption. Men of talent began to compare, in the partition of the common stock of public prosperity, the proportions of the dividends with the merits of the claimants. As usual, they found their portion not equal to their estimate (or perhaps to the public estimate) of their own worth. When it was once discovered by the revolution in France, that a struggle between establishment and rapacity could be maintained, though but for one year, and in one place, I was sure that a practicable breach was made in the whole order of things and in every country. Religion, that held the materials of the fabric together, was first systematically loosened. All other opinions, under the name of prejudices, must fall along with it; and property, left undefended by principles, became a repository of spoils to tempt cupidity, and not a magazine to furnish arms for defence. I knew that, attacked on all sides by the infernal energies of talents set in action by vice and disorder, authority could not stand upon authority alone. It wanted some other support than the poise of its own gravity. Situations formerly supported persons. It now became necessary that personal qualities should support situations. Formerly, where authority was found, wisdom and virtue were presumed. But now the veil was torn, and, to keep off sacrilegious intrusion, it was necessary that in the sanctuary of government something should be disclosed not only venerable, but dreadful. Government was at once to show itself full of virtue and full of force. It was to invite partisans, by making it appear to the world that a generous cause was to be asserted; one fit for a generous people to engage in. From passive submission was it to expect resolute defence? No! It must have warm advocates and passionate defenders, which a heavy, discontented acquiescence never could produce. What a base and foolish thing is it for any consolidated body of authority to say, or to act as if it said, "I will put my trust not in my own virtue, but in your patience; I will indulge in effeminacy, in indolence, in corruption; I will give way to all my perverse and vicious humours, because you cannot punish me without the hazard of ruining yourselves?"
In the long history of ages, never was there such a stunning and impressive sight for the moral eye as Europe offered the day before the revolution in France. I understood that this prosperity carried within it the seeds of its own danger. In one part of society, it led to slackness and weakness; in another, it fostered ambitious minds and dark schemes. A misguided philosophy spread from schools to courts, and even the powerful fell prey to the ideas that led to their downfall. Knowledge, which in the last two centuries had either been nonexistent or firmly rooted in sound principles with a select few, became widespread, diluted, and distorted. General wealth weakened morals, lessened vigilance, and increased arrogance. Talented individuals began to compare the share of public prosperity they received to their perceived worth or perhaps the public's estimation of it. When the revolution in France revealed that a struggle between the established order and greed could be sustained, even if just for a year in one place, I was certain a significant breach had been made in the entire system in every country. Religion, which held the framework together, was systematically loosened first. All other beliefs, labeled as prejudices, would fall with it; and property, unprotected by principles, became a source of temptation for greed rather than a means for defense. I knew that with talent fueled by vice and chaos attacking from all sides, authority could not rely on authority alone. It needed additional support beyond its own weight. Previously, positions upheld individuals, but now personal qualities needed to sustain positions. Once, wisdom and virtue were assumed where authority was found. But now the veil had been torn, and to prevent sacrilegious intrusion, something not only venerable but also formidable had to be revealed within the sanctuary of governance. Government needed to present itself as both virtuous and powerful. It had to attract supporters by showing the world that a noble cause was worth fighting for—one suitable for a noble people to engage in. Could it expect strong defense from mere passive compliance? No! It needed enthusiastic advocates and passionate defenders, which a heavy, discontented acceptance could never produce. How base and foolish it is for any established authority to say or act like, "I will not rely on my own virtue, but on your patience; I will indulge in weakness, laziness, and corruption; I will succumb to all my twisted and immoral desires, because you can't punish me without risking your own ruin?"
ATHEISM CANNOT REPENT.
Disappointment and mortification undoubtedly they feel; but to them, repentance is a thing impossible. They are atheists. This wretched opinion, by which they are possessed even to the height of fanaticism, leading them to exclude from their ideas of a commonwealth the vital principle of the physical, the moral, and the political world, engages them in a thousand absurd contrivances to fill up this dreadful void. Incapable of innoxious repose, or honourable action, or wise speculation, in the lurking-holes of a foreign land, into which (in a common ruin) they are driven to hide their heads amongst the innocent victims of their madness, they are at this very hour as busy in the confection of the dirt-pies of their imaginary constitutions, as if they had not been quite fresh from destroying, by their impious and desperate vagaries, the finest country upon earth.
Disappointment and shame are definitely what they feel; but for them, repentance is impossible. They are atheists. This miserable belief, which they cling to with extreme fanaticism, leads them to exclude from their understanding of a society the essential principles of the physical, moral, and political worlds, driving them to a thousand ridiculous schemes to fill this terrible emptiness. Unable to find harmless peace, honorable action, or wise reflection, in the hidden corners of a foreign land where they hide among the innocent victims of their madness, they are right now as busy creating the nonsense of their imaginary constitutions as if they hadn't just come from destroying, with their godless and reckless antics, the greatest country on earth.
OUTWARD DIGNITY OF THE CHURCH DEFENDED.
The English people are satisfied, that to the great the consolations of religion are as necessary as its instructions. They too are among the unhappy. They feel personal pain, and domestic sorrow. In these they have no privilege, but are subject to pay their full contingent to the contributions levied on mortality. They want this sovereign balm under their gnawing cares and anxieties, which, being less conversant about the limited wants of animal life, range without limit, and are diversified by infinite combinations in the wild and unbounded regions of imagination. Some charitable dole is wanting to these, our often very unhappy brethren, to fill the gloomy void that reigns in minds which have nothing on earth to hope or fear; something to relieve in the killing languor and over-laboured lassitude of those who have nothing to do; something to excite an appetite to existence in the palled satiety which attends on all pleasures which may be bought, where nature is not left to her own process, where even desire is anticipated, and therefore fruition defeated by meditated schemes and contrivances of delight; and no interval, no obstacle, is interposed between the wish and the accomplishment.
The English people believe that, just like the guidance of religion, its comfort is essential for the great. They are also among the ones who suffer. They experience personal pain and family sadness. In these matters, they have no advantages and must fully contribute to the burdens of mortality. They seek this healing balm for their gnawing worries and anxieties, which, being less focused on the basic needs of life, wander endlessly and are varied by countless combinations in the vast and unrestricted realms of imagination. Some act of kindness is needed for these often very unhappy individuals, to fill the dark void in minds that have nothing on earth to hope for or fear; something to alleviate the crippling weariness and exhaustion of those who have nothing to occupy their time; something to spark a desire for existence in the bland emptiness that follows all the pleasures that can be bought, where nature is not allowed to take its course, where even desire is anticipated, thus happiness is undermined by carefully planned schemes for enjoyment; and there is no break, no barrier, between the wish and its fulfillment.
The people of England know how little influence the teachers of religion are likely to have with the wealthy and powerful of long standing, and how much less with the newly fortunate, if they appear in a manner no way assorted to those with whom they must associate, and over whom they must even exercise, in some cases, something like an authority. What must they think of that body of teachers, if they see it in no part above the establishment of their domestic servants? If the poverty were voluntary, there might be some difference. Strong instances of self-denial operate powerfully on our minds; and a man who has no wants has obtained great freedom, and firmness, and even dignity. But as the mass of any description of men are but men, and their poverty cannot be voluntary, that disrespect, which attends upon all lay property, will not depart from the ecclesiastical. Our provident constitution has therefore taken care that those who are to instruct presumptuous ignorance, those who are to be censors over insolent vice, should neither incur their contempt, nor live upon their alms; nor will it tempt the rich to a neglect of the true medicine of their minds. For these reasons, whilst we provide first for the poor, and with a parental solicitude, we have not relegated religion (like something we were ashamed to show) to obscure municipalities, or rustic villages. No! We will have her to exalt her mitred front in courts and parliaments. We will have her mixed throughout the whole mass of life, and blended with all the classes of society. The people of England will show to the haughty potentates of the world, and to their talking sophisters, that a free, a generous, an informed nation honours the high magistrates of its church; that it will not suffer the insolence of wealth and titles, or any other species of proud pretension, to look down with scorn upon what they look up to with reverence; nor presume to trample on that acquired personal nobility, which they intend always to be, and which often is, the fruit, not the reward (for what can be the reward), of learning, piety, and virtue. They can see, without pain or grudging, an archbishop precede a duke. They can see a bishop of Durham, or a bishop of Winchester, in possession of ten thousand pounds a year; and cannot conceive why it is in worse hands than estates to the like amount in the hands of this earl, or that squire; although it may be true, that so many dogs and horses are not kept by the former, and fed with the victuals which ought to nourish the children of the people. It is true, the whole church revenue is not always employed, and to every shilling, in charity; nor perhaps ought it; but something is generally so employed. It is better to cherish virtue and humanity by leaving much to free will, even with some loss to the object, than to attempt to make men mere machines and instruments of a political benevolence. The world on the whole will gain by a liberty, without which virtue cannot exist.
The people of England understand how little impact religious teachers are likely to have on the wealthy and powerful, especially those who have been affluent for a long time, and even less so on the newly rich if they don’t present themselves in a way that aligns with those they need to be around and who may even need to regard them with some authority. What must they think of those teachers if they see them as no higher than their household staff? If the poverty were chosen, there might be a difference. Strong examples of self-denial can have a significant effect on us; a person without wants has achieved a great sense of freedom, strength, and even dignity. But most people are just that—people— and their poverty isn't chosen, so the disrespect that comes with general wealth will also touch the church. Our careful system ensures that those who instruct ignorance and supervise vice should not be held in contempt or forced to survive on charity; nor will it push the wealthy to ignore the real solutions for their minds. For these reasons, while we first care for the poor with great concern, we haven’t pushed religion away (as if we were embarrassed to show it) into hidden towns or rural areas. No! We want it to raise its dignified presence in courts and parliaments. We want it visible throughout all of life, intertwined with every class of society. The people of England will demonstrate to the proud rulers of the world, and their pretentious thinkers, that a free, generous, and educated nation respects the high officials of its church; that it will not allow the arrogance of wealth and titles, or any other form of proud posturing, to look down in disdain on what they hold in respect; nor will they presume to trample on the personal nobility that they always aim to be, which often results from learning, piety, and virtue, not just as a reward (for what can truly be a reward?). They can watch an archbishop lead a duke without feeling pain or jealousy. They can accept a bishop of Durham or a bishop of Winchester earning ten thousand pounds a year and can’t see why it’s worse than land of the same value belonging to this earl or that gentleman, even if it might be true that the former doesn’t keep as many dogs or horses that consume the food meant for the children of the people. It’s true that not all church revenue is used for charity, nor perhaps should it be; but some is generally used that way. It’s better to nurture virtue and humanity by allowing some decisions to remain personal, even at a cost to the intended purpose, than to try to turn people into mere machines for political goodwill. Overall, the world benefits from a freedom without which true virtue cannot thrive.
When once the commonwealth has established the estates of the church as property, it can, consistently, hear nothing of the more or the less. Too much and too little are treason against property. What evil can arise from the quantity in any hand, whilst the supreme authority has the full, sovereign superintendence over this, as over any property, to prevent every species of abuse; and, whenever it notably deviates, to give to it a direction agreeable to the purposes of its institution. In England most of us conceive that it is envy and malignity towards those who are often the beginners of their own fortune, and not a love of the self-denial and mortification of the ancient church, that makes some look askance at the distinctions, and honours, and revenues, which, taken from no person, are set apart for virtue. The ears of the people of England are distinguishing. They hear these men speak broad. Their tongue betrays them. Their language is in the patois of fraud; in the cant and gibberish of hypocrisy. The people of England must think so, when these praters affect to carry back the clergy to that primitive, evangelic poverty, which, in the spirit, ought always to exist in them (and in us too, however we may like it), but in the thing must be varied, when the relation of that body to the state is altered; when manners, when modes of life, when indeed the whole order of human affairs, has undergone a total revolution. We shall believe those reformers then to be honest enthusiasts, not, as now we think them, cheats and deceivers, when we see them throwing their own goods into common, and submitting their own persons to the austere discipline of the early church.
When the government has recognized the church's properties as legitimate, it can’t really entertain discussions about whether there’s too much or too little. Having too much or too little becomes a betrayal of property rights. What issues could arise from the amount in anyone's possession, as long as the leading authority maintains complete control to prevent any kind of abuse? And whenever it significantly strays, it can redirect it according to the purposes for which it was established. In England, many of us think that the envy and spite towards those who often create their own success, rather than a genuine admiration for the self-denial and sacrifice of the old church, is what leads some to look negatively at the honors, distinctions, and revenues that are set aside for goodness and come from no one. The people of England are discerning. They can tell when these individuals speak insincerely. Their words give them away. Their language is soaked in deceit; it’s a mix of hypocrisy and empty talk. The English public must see it this way, especially when these speakers pretend to push the clergy back to that original, evangelical poverty, which should always exist in spirit (and in us too, whether we like it or not), but must vary in practice, as the relationship between that group and the state has changed; when behaviors, lifestyles, and indeed the entire structure of society has gone through a complete transformation. We would then see those reformers as sincere enthusiasts, not the frauds and tricksters we see them as now, when we observe them sharing their own belongings and subjecting themselves to the strict discipline of the early church.
DANGER OF ABSTRACT VIEWS.
It is not worth our while to discuss, like sophisters, whether, in no case, some evil, for the sake of some benefit, is to be tolerated. Nothing universal can be rationally affirmed on any moral or any political subject. Pure metaphysical abstraction does not belong to these matters. The lines of morality are not like ideal lines of mathematics. They are broad and deep as well as long. They admit of exceptions; they demand modifications. These exceptions and modifications are not made by the process of logic, but by the rules of prudence. Prudence is not only the first in rank of the virtues political and moral, but she is the director, the regulator, the standard of them all. Metaphysics cannot live without definition; but prudence is cautious how she defines. Our courts cannot be more fearful in suffering fictitious cases to be brought before them for eliciting their determination on a point of law, than prudent moralists are in putting extreme and hazardous cases of conscience upon emergencies not existing. Without attempting therefore to define, what never can be defined, the case of a revolution in government, this, I think, may be safely affirmed, that a sore and pressing evil is to be removed, and that a good, great in its amount, and unequivocal in its nature, must be probable almost to certainty, before the inestimable price of our own morals, and the well-being of a number of our fellow-citizens, is paid for a revolution. If ever we ought to be economists even to parsimony, it is in the voluntary production of evil. Every revolution contains in it something of evil.
It's not worth our time to debate, like sophists, whether any evil should be tolerated for the sake of some benefit. Nothing universal can be reasonably affirmed about any moral or political issue. Pure metaphysical abstraction doesn’t apply here. The boundaries of morality aren't like perfect mathematical lines. They're broad and deep, as well as long. They accept exceptions and require adjustments. These exceptions and adjustments aren't determined by logic but by the principles of prudence. Prudence is not just the highest among the political and moral virtues; it's also the guide, the regulator, and the benchmark for them all. Metaphysics can't exist without clear definitions, but prudence is careful about how it defines things. Our courts can't be more cautious about hearing fictitious cases for legal interpretation than prudent moralists are when considering extreme and risky moral dilemmas that don’t actually occur. Therefore, without trying to define something that can never be fully defined, like a revolution in government, I think it's safe to say that a serious and urgent evil should be addressed, and that there must be a substantial and clear good likely to occur to justify the profound cost to our own morals and the well-being of many of our fellow citizens in a revolution. If there's ever a time we should practice extreme caution, it's in the deliberate creation of evil. Every revolution carries some element of evil with it.
APPEAL TO IMPARTIALITY.
The quality of the sentence does not however decide on the justice of it. Angry friendship is sometimes as bad as calm enmity. For this reason the cold neutrality of abstract justice is, to a good and clear cause, a more desirable thing than an affection liable to be any way disturbed. When the trial is by friends, if the decision should happen to be favourable, the honour of the acquittal is lessened; if adverse, the condemnation is exceedingly embittered. It is aggravated by coming from lips professing friendship, and pronouncing judgment with sorrow and reluctance. Taking in the whole view of life, it is more safe to live under the jurisdiction of severe but steady reason, than under the empire of indulgent but capricious passion. It is certainly well for Mr. Burke that there are impartial men in the world. To them I address myself, pending the appeal which on his part is made from the living to the dead, from the modern Whigs to the ancient.
The quality of the sentence doesn't determine its justice. Angry friendship can be just as harmful as calm hostility. For this reason, the cold neutrality of abstract justice is often a better option for a good and clear cause than an emotion that can easily be disturbed. When the trial involves friends, if the decision is favorable, the honor of the acquittal is diminished; if it's unfavorable, the condemnation is incredibly painful. It’s even worse coming from people who claim to be friends, expressing their judgment with sadness and hesitation. Looking at life as a whole, it's safer to be governed by strict but consistent reason rather than lenient but unpredictable emotion. It’s certainly good for Mr. Burke that impartial people exist in the world. I am addressing them while he appeals from the living to the dead, from modern Whigs to the ancient.
HISTORICAL ESTIMATE OF LOUIS XVI.
The unhappy Louis XVI. was a man of the best intentions that probably ever reigned. He was by no means deficient in talents. He had a most laudable desire to supply by general reading, and even by the acquisition of elemental knowledge, an education in all points originally defective; but nobody told him (and it was no wonder he should not himself divine it) that the world of which he read, and the world in which he lived, were no longer the same. Desirous of doing everything for the best, fearful of cabal, distrusting his own judgment, he sought his ministers of all kinds upon public testimony. But as courts are the field for caballers, the public is the theatre for mountebanks and imposters. The cure for both those evils is in the discernment of the prince. But an accurate and penetrating discernment is what in a young prince could not be looked for.
The unhappy Louis XVI was a man with the best intentions that probably ever reigned. He wasn’t lacking in talent. He had a commendable desire to improve his education through general reading and acquiring basic knowledge, making up for the areas where his education had been lacking; but nobody told him (and it’s no surprise he didn’t figure it out himself) that the world he read about and the world he lived in were no longer the same. Eager to do everything right, fearful of conspiracies, and unsure of his own judgment, he sought advice from various ministers based on public opinion. But since courts are places for schemers, the public is a stage for charlatans and frauds. The solution to both these problems lies in the discernment of the prince. However, having sharp and insightful judgment is not something one can expect from a young prince.
His conduct in its principle was not unwise; but, like most other of his well-meant designs, it failed in his hands. It failed partly from mere ill fortune, to which speculators are rarely pleased to assign that very large share to which she is justly entitled in human affairs. The failure, perhaps, in part was owing to his suffering his system to be vitiated and disturbed by those intrigues, which it is, humanly speaking, impossible wholly to prevent in courts, or indeed under any form of government. However, with these aberrations, he gave himself over to a succession of the statesmen of public opinion. In other things he thought that he might be a king on the terms of his predecessors. He was conscious of the purity of his heart, and the general good tendency of his government. He flattered himself, as most men in his situation will, that he might consult his ease without danger to his safety. It is not at all wonderful that both he and his ministers, giving way abundantly in other respects to innovation, should take up in policy with the tradition of their monarchy. Under his ancestors the monarchy had subsisted, and even been strengthened, by the generation or support of republics. First, the Swiss republics grew under the guardianship of the French monarchy. The Dutch republics were hatched and cherished under the same incubation. Afterwards, a republican constitution was, under the influence of France, established in the empire against the pretensions of its chief. Even whilst the monarchy of France, by a series of wars and negociations, and lastly, by the treaties of Westphalia, had obtained the establishment of the Protestants in Germany as a law of the empire, the same monarchy under Louis the Thirteenth, had force enough to destroy the republican system of the Protestants at home. Louis the Sixteenth was a diligent reader of history. But the very lamp of prudence blinded him. The guide of human life led him astray. A silent revolution in the moral world preceded the political, and prepared it. It became of more importance than ever what examples were given, and what measures were adopted. Their causes no longer lurked in the recesses of cabinets, or in the private conspiracies of the factious. They were no longer to be controlled by the force and influence of the grandees, who formerly had been able to stir up troubles by their discontents, and to quiet them by their corruption. The chain of subordination, even in cabal and sedition, was broken in its most important links. It was no longer the great and the populace. Other interests were formed, other dependencies, other connections, other communications. The middle classes had swelled far beyond their former proportion. Like whatever is the most effectively rich and great in society, these classes became the seat of all the active politics; and the preponderating weight to decide on them. There were all the energies by which fortune is acquired; there the consequence of their success. There were all the talents which assert their pretensions, and are impatient of the place which settled society prescribes to them. These descriptions had got between the great and the populace; and the influence on the lower classes was with them. The spirit of ambition had taken possession of this class as violent as ever it had done of any other. They felt the importance of this situation. The correspondence of the monied and the mercantile world, the literary intercourse of academies, but, above all, the press, of which they had in a manner entire possession, made a kind of electric communication everywhere. The press in reality has made every government, in its spirit, almost democratic. Without it the great, the first movements in this Revolution could not, perhaps, have been given. But the spirit of ambition, now for the first time connected with the spirit of speculation, was not to be restrained at will. There was no longer any means of arresting a principle in its course. When Louis the Sixteenth, under the influence of the enemies to monarchy, meant to found but one republic, he set up two. When he meant to take away half the crown of his neighbour, he lost the whole of his own. Louis the Sixteenth could not with impunity countenance a new republic: yet between his throne and that dangerous lodgment for an enemy, which he had erected, he had the whole Atlantic for a ditch. He had for an outwork the English nation itself, friendly to liberty, adverse to that mode of it. He was surrounded by a rampart of monarchies, most of them allied to him, and generally under his influence. Yet even thus secured, a republic erected under his auspices, and dependent on his power, became fatal to his throne. The very money which he had lent to support this republic, by a good faith, which to him operated as perfidy, was punctually paid to his enemies, and became a resource in the hands of his assassins.
His behavior was fundamentally not foolish; however, like many of his well-intentioned plans, it didn't succeed. It fell short partly due to bad luck, which people who take risks often don't want to admit has a significant role in human affairs. The failure was likely also because he allowed his system to be corrupted and disrupted by the intrigues that are, realistically speaking, impossible to completely avoid in courts or any type of government. Regardless of these missteps, he dedicated himself to following the opinions of public statesmen. In other matters, he believed he could reign as his predecessors had. He was aware of the goodness of his intentions and the overall positive direction of his governance. He deluded himself, as many in his position do, into thinking he could prioritize his comfort without jeopardizing his safety. It's not surprising that both he and his ministers, being accommodating in other respects to change, would adhere to the traditions of their monarchy in their policies. The monarchy had survived and even strengthened through the creation or support of republics. Initially, the Swiss republics developed under the French monarchy's protection. The Dutch republics were nurtured in the same way. Later, a republican constitution was established in the empire, influenced by France, against the ambitions of its leader. Even while the French monarchy, through wars and negotiations and finally the treaties of Westphalia, secured the establishment of Protestantism in Germany as law of the empire, the same monarchy under Louis XIII had enough power to dismantle the Protestant republican system at home. Louis XVI was an avid reader of history. However, the very source of wisdom misled him. The guiding principles of human life led him off course. A silent shift in moral values preceded the political one and set the stage for it. It became more crucial than ever what examples were set and what policies were implemented. Their causes were no longer hidden away in cabinets or private conspiracy among factions. They could no longer be controlled by the power and influence of the elites, who had previously stirred up troubles with their complaints and quieted them with their corruption. The chain of influence, even in plotting and dissent, was broken in its most critical links. It was no longer just the elite and the masses. New interests emerged, along with new dependencies, connections, and communications. The middle class had grown far beyond its previous size. Like whatever is wealthiest and most significant in society, these classes became the center of all active politics; their influence was decisive. All the energies necessary for acquiring fortune were present among them, as well as the ramifications of their success. They had all the talents clamoring for recognition and impatient with their assigned role in established society. These groups had positioned themselves between the elite and the masses; their influence spread among the lower classes. The drive for ambition had taken hold of this class as intensely as it had in any other. They recognized the significance of their standing. The connections between the financial and business sectors, the academic exchanges, but especially the press, of which they largely held control, created a kind of widespread electric communication. The press, in fact, has made every government nearly democratic in spirit. Without it, the initial movements of this Revolution might never have occurred. However, the combined spirit of ambition and speculation could no longer be contained at will. There was no longer any way to halt a principle once it gained momentum. When Louis XVI, swayed by the opponents of the monarchy, intended to establish just one republic, he ended up creating two. When he aimed to take away half of his neighbor's crown, he lost all of his own. Louis XVI could not safely condone a new republic; still, between his throne and that perilous stronghold for an adversary, which he had supported, lay the entire Atlantic as a barrier. He had the English nation itself, friendly to liberty but opposed to that form of it, as a protective outpost. He was encircled by a barrier of monarchies, most of them allied with him and generally under his influence. Yet even with these protections, a republic established under his support and dependent on his power became disastrous for his throne. The very funds he had lent to bolster this republic, due to a trust that felt like betrayal to him, were promptly repaid to his enemies and turned into a resource for his assassins.
NEGATIVE RELIGION A NULLITY.
If mere dissent from the church of Rome be a merit, he that dissents the most perfectly is the most meritorious. In many points we hold strongly with that church. He that dissents throughout with that church will dissent with the church of England, and then it will be a part of his merit that he dissents with ourselves:—a whimsical species of merit for any set of men to establish. We quarrel to extremity with those who we know agree with us in many things, but we are to be so malicious even in the principle of our friendships, that we are to cherish in our bosom those who accord with us in nothing, because whilst they despise ourselves, they abhor, even more than we do, those with whom we have some disagreement. A man is certainly the most perfect Protestant who protests against the whole Christian religion. Whether a person's having no Christian religion be a title to favour, in exclusion to the largest description of Christians who hold all the doctrines of Christianity, though holding along with them some errors and some superfluities, is rather more than any man, who has not become recreant and apostate from his baptism, will, I believe, choose to affirm. The countenance given from a spirit of controversy to that negative religion may, by degrees, encourage light and unthinking people to a total indifference to everything positive in matters of doctrine; and, in the end, of practice too. If continued, it would play the game of that sort of active, proselytizing, and persecuting atheism, which is the disgrace and calamity of our time, and which we see to be as capable of subverting a government, as any mode can be of misguided zeal for better things.
If simply disagreeing with the Roman Church is a virtue, then the person who disagrees the most perfectly is the most virtuous. We strongly agree with that church on many points. Someone who completely dissents from that church will also disagree with the Church of England, and it will be part of his virtue that he disagrees with us as well—an odd kind of virtue for any group to establish. We argue fiercely with those we know share many of our views, but we should be so bitter, even in our friendships, that we prefer to support those who disagree with us on everything, because while they may look down on us, they truly loathe, even more than we do, those with whom we have some disagreements. A person is certainly the most complete Protestant if he protests against the entire Christian faith. Whether not having any Christian faith qualifies someone for favor, excluding the wider group of Christians who believe all the doctrines of Christianity, even if they hold some errors or unnecessary beliefs, is something I doubt anyone who hasn’t turned away from their baptism would claim. The attention given to this negative view of religion might gradually lead thoughtless people to become completely indifferent to all definitive beliefs in doctrine, and eventually, in practice too. If this persists, it could serve the agenda of that kind of active, missionary, and persecuting atheism, which is the shame and misfortune of our time, and which we see is capable of undermining a government just as effectively as any misguided zeal for better causes.
ANTECHAMBER OF REGICIDE.
To those who do not love to contemplate the fall of human greatness, I do not know a more mortifying spectacle, than to see the assembled majesty of the crowned heads of Europe waiting as patient suitors in the antechamber of regicide. They wait, it seems, until the sanguinary tyrant Carnot shall have snorted away the fumes of the indigested blood of his sovereign. Then, when, sunk on the down of usurped pomp, he shall have sufficiently indulged his meditations with what monarch he shall next glut his ravening maw, he may condescend to signify that it is his pleasure to be awake; and that he is at leisure to receive the proposals of his high and mighty clients for the terms on which he may respite the execution of the sentence he has passed upon them. At the opening of those doors, what a sight it must be to behold the plenipotentiaries of royal impotence, in the precedency which they will intrigue to obtain, and which will be granted to them according to the seniority of their degradation, sneaking into the regicide presence, and with the relics of the smile, which they had dressed up for the levee of their masters, still flickering on their curled lips, presenting the faded remains of their courtly graces, to meet the scornful, ferocious, sardonic grin of a bloody ruffian, who, whilst he is receiving their homage, is measuring them with his eye, and fitting to their size the slider of his guillotine! These ambassadors may easily return as good courtiers as they went; but can they ever return from that degrading residence, loyal and faithful subjects; or with any true affection to their master, or true attachment to the constitution, religion, or laws of their country? There is great danger that they, who enter smiling into this Trophonian cave, will come out of it sad and serious conspirators; and such will continue as long as they live. They will become true conductors of contagion to every country which has had the misfortune to send them to the source of that electricity. At best they will become totally indifferent to good and evil, to one institution or another. This species of indifference is but too generally distinguishable in those who have been much employed in foreign courts; but in the present case the evil must be aggravated without measure; for they go from their country, not with the pride of the old character, but in a state of the lowest degradation, and what must happen in their place of residence can have no effect in raising them to the level of true dignity, or of chaste self-estimation, either as men, or as representatives of crowned heads.
To those who don’t enjoy reflecting on the decline of human greatness, I can’t think of a more humiliating sight than seeing the powerful kings and queens of Europe waiting patiently, like eager petitioners, in the prelude to a murder of their ruler. They seem to wait for the bloody tyrant Carnot to shake off the remnants of his sovereign’s spilled blood. Once he has settled into his ill-gotten power, lost in thoughts about which monarch he’ll next satisfy his hunger for, he might finally decide to announce that he is awake and willing to hear the demands of his royal peers on how they can delay the execution he’s decided for them. When those doors swing open, it must be quite a scene to watch the representatives of royal ineffectiveness, vying for precedence based on how long they’ve been humiliated, sneaking into the presence of the executioner, with the remnants of their forced smiles still lingering on their lips, presenting their diminished courtesies to face the mocking, vicious grin of a merciless thug. While these ambassadors might return maintaining the same manners they had before, can they ever come back from that humiliating encounter as loyal subjects, or with genuine feelings for their master, or a true commitment to their constitution, faith, or the laws of their nation? There’s a significant risk that those who enter this dark place with smiles will emerge as serious conspirators; and they will remain that way for the rest of their lives. They will spread the infection of cynicism to every country unfortunate enough to send them to the source of this downfall. At best, they will become completely indifferent to right and wrong, or to any institution. This kind of indifference is often noticeable in those who have spent much time at foreign courts; but in this case, the situation will be even worse, because they leave their homeland not with the confidence of their former roles, but in a state of utter humiliation, and what transpires in their new home won’t elevate them to true dignity or self-respect, either as individuals or as representatives of their kings and queens.
TREMENDOUSNESS OF WAR.
As if war was a matter of experiment! As if you could take it up or lay it down as an idle frolic! As if the dire goddess that presides over it, with her murderous spear in hand, and her gorgon at her breast, was a coquette to be flirted with! We ought with reverence to approach that tremendous divinity, that loves courage, but commands counsel. War never leaves where it found a nation. It is never to be entered into without mature deliberation; not a deliberation lengthened out into a perplexing indecision, but a deliberation leading to a sure and fixed judgment. When so taken up, it is not to be abandoned without reason as valid, as fully, and as extensively considered. Peace may be made as unadvisedly as war. Nothing is so rash as fear; and the councils of pusillanimity very rarely put off, whilst they are always sure to aggravate, the evils from which they would fly.
As if war were just an experiment! As if you could pick it up or put it down like a casual game! As if the fearsome goddess who oversees it, with her deadly spear in hand and a gorgon at her side, were someone to be flirted with! We should approach that powerful force with respect; she loves bravery but demands wisdom. War never leaves a nation the way it found it. You should never enter into it without serious thought—not thought that drags on into confusing indecision, but thought that leads to a clear and firm decision. Once you engage in it, you shouldn't walk away without strong, well-considered reasons. Peace can be made as recklessly as war. Nothing is as reckless as fear, and the ideas of those who are cowardly rarely alleviate the problems they try to escape from; instead, they often make them worse.
ENGLISH OFFICERS.
There is no want of officers, that I have ever understood, for the new ships which we commission, or the new regiments which we raise. In the nature of things it is not with their persons, that the higher classes principally pay their contingent to the demands of war. There is another, and not less important part, which rests with almost exclusive weight upon them. They furnish the means,
There is no shortage of officers, as far as I can tell, for the new ships we commission or the new regiments we form. In reality, it's not their presence that the upper classes mainly contribute to the demands of war. There’s another, equally important responsibility that heavily falls on them. They provide the resources,
"How war may best upheld
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold,
In all her equipage."
"How war can best be supported Moves by her two main forces, strength and wealth, In all her preparations."
Not that they are exempt from contributing also by their personal service in the fleets and armies of their country. They do contribute, and in their full and fair proportion, according to the relative proportion of their numbers in the community. They contribute all the mind that actuates the whole machine. The fortitude required of them is very different from the unthinking alacrity of the common soldier, or common sailor, in the face of danger and death; it is not a passion, it is not an impulse, it is not a sentiment; it is a cool, steady, deliberate principle, always present, always equable; having no connection with anger; tempering honour with prudence; incited, invigorated, and sustained, by a generous love of fame; informed, moderated, and directed by an enlarged knowledge of its own great public ends; flowing in one blended stream from the opposite sources of the heart and the head; carrying in itself its own commission, and proving its title to every other command, by the first and most difficult command, that of the bosom in which it resides: it is a fortitude, which unites with the courage of the field the more exalted and refined courage of the council; which knows as well to retreat, as to advance; which can conquer as well by delay, as by the rapidity of a march, or the impetuosity of an attack; which can be, with Fabius, the black cloud that lowers on the tops of the mountains, or with Scipio, the thunderbolt of war; which, undismayed by false shame, can patiently endure the severest trial that a gallant spirit can undergo, in the taunts and provocations of the enemy, the suspicions, the cold respect, and "mouth-honour" of those, from whom it should meet a cheerful obedience; which, undisturbed by false humanity, can calmly assume that most awful moral responsibility of deciding, when victory may be too dearly purchased by the loss of a single life, and when the safety and glory of their country may demand the certain sacrifice of thousands. Different stations of command may call for different modifications of this fortitude; but the character ought to be the same in all. And never, in the most "palmy state" of our martial renown, did it shine with brighter lustre than in the present sanguinary and ferocious hostilities, wherever the British arms have been carried.
Not that they are exempt from contributing through their personal service in the fleets and armies of their country. They do contribute, and in their fair share, according to their numbers in the community. They provide all the intellect that drives the entire operation. The courage they need is very different from the blind eagerness of the ordinary soldier or sailor in the face of danger and death; it’s not a passion, it’s not an impulse, it’s not just a feeling; it’s a calm, steady, deliberate principle, always present, always balanced; it has nothing to do with anger; it balances honor with prudence; fueled, energized, and sustained by a genuine love of reputation; informed, moderated, and guided by a broad understanding of its significant public goals; flowing in one unified stream from the opposing sources of the heart and the mind; carrying in itself its own authority, and proving its claim to every other command, by the first and most difficult command, that of the heart itself: it’s a courage that combines the bravery of the battlefield with the more elevated and refined courage of the council; which knows when to retreat, as well as when to advance; which can win through delay as effectively as through the speed of a march or the fierceness of an attack; which can be, like Fabius, the ominous cloud hovering over the mountain tops, or like Scipio, the thunderbolt of war; which, undaunted by false shame, can patiently endure the toughest trials that a noble spirit can face, in the jibes and challenges from the enemy, the doubts, the cold respect, and “mouth-honor” of those who should offer eager obedience; which, undisturbed by false compassion, can calmly take on the serious moral responsibility of deciding when victory may come at too high a cost by losing even one life, and when the safety and glory of their country may require the certain sacrifice of thousands. Different commands may call for different forms of this courage; but the essence should be the same in all. And never, in the most prosperous time of our military fame, has it shone brighter than in the current bloody and brutal conflicts, wherever British forces have been deployed.
DIPLOMACY OF HUMILIATION.
It happens frequently that pride may reject a public advance, while interest listens to a secret suggestion of advantage. The opportunity has been afforded. At a very early period in the diplomacy of humiliation, a gentleman was sent on an errand, of which, from the motive of it, whatever the event might be, we can never be ashamed. Humanity cannot be degraded by humiliation. It is its very character to submit to such things. There is a consanguinity between benevolence and humility. They are virtues of the same stock. Dignity is of as good a race; but it belongs to the family of fortitude. In the spirit of that benevolence we sent a gentleman to beseech the Directory of regicide not to be quite so prodigal as their republic had been of judicial murder. We solicited them to spare the lives of some unhappy persons of the first distinction, whose safety at other times could not have been an object of solicitation. They had quitted France on the faith of the declaration of the rights of citizens. They never had been in the service of the regicides, nor at their hands had received any stipend. The very system and constitution of government that now prevails was settled subsequently to their emigration. They were under the protection of Great Britain, and in his majesty's pay and service. Not an hostile invasion, but the disasters of the sea, had thrown them upon a shore more barbarous and inhospitable than the inclement ocean under the most pitiless of its storms. Here was an opportunity to express a feeling for the miseries of war; and to open some sort of conversation, which (after our public overtures had glutted their pride), at a cautious and jealous distance, might lead to something like an accommodation. What was the event? A strange uncouth thing, a theatrical figure of the opera, his head shaded with three-coloured plumes, his body fantastically habited, strutted from the back scenes, and, after a short speech, in the mock heroic falsetto of stupid tragedy, delivered the gentleman who came to make the representation into the custody of a guard, with directions not to lose sight of him for a moment; and then ordered him to be sent from Paris in two hours.
It often happens that pride rejects a public approach, while self-interest listens to a secret suggestion of opportunity. The chance has been given. Early in the shameful diplomatic process, a man was sent on a mission that, regardless of the outcome, we can never regret. Humiliation cannot degrade humanity. It is simply in our nature to endure such things. There is a connection between kindness and humility. They are virtues from the same source. Dignity is of good lineage but belongs to the family of courage. In the spirit of that kindness, we sent a gentleman to ask the Directory of regicide not to be so wasteful as their republic had been with judicial executions. We requested that they spare the lives of some unfortunate individuals of high standing, whose safety normally wouldn't have been a matter of appeal. They had left France trusting in the declaration of citizens' rights. They had never served the regicides nor received any compensation from them. The very system and government that now exists was established after their departure. They were under the protection of Great Britain and in His Majesty's employment. They were not fleeing from a hostile invasion but were victims of sea disasters, landing on a shore more cruel and unwelcoming than the harshest storms of the ocean. This was a chance to show compassion for the horrors of war and to start some kind of dialogue that, after our public overtures had satisfied their pride, might cautiously lead to a form of agreement. What was the result? A bizarre and awkward figure, dressed theatrically and wearing a headpiece of tricolor plumes, strutted onto the stage and, after a short speech in a mock heroic voice typical of foolish tragedy, handed over the gentleman who came to deliver the message to a guard, instructing them not to lose sight of him for a moment; then ordered him to be sent out of Paris within two hours.
RELATION OF WEALTH TO NATIONAL DIGNITY.
We have a vast interest to preserve, and we possess great means of preserving it: but it is to be remembered that the artificer may be encumbered by his tools, and that resources may be among impediments. If wealth is the obedient and laborious slave of virtue and of public honour, then wealth is in its place, and has its use: but if this order is changed, and honour is to be sacrificed to the conservation of riches,—riches, which have neither eyes nor hands, nor anything truly vital in them, cannot long survive the being of their vivifying powers, their legitimate masters, and their potent protectors. If we command our wealth, we shall be rich and free: if our wealth command us, we are poor indeed. We are bought by the enemy with the treasure from our own coffers. Too great a sense of the value of a subordinate interest may be the very source of its danger, as well as the certain ruin of interests of a superior order. Often has a man lost his all because he would not submit to hazard all in defending it. A display of our wealth before robbers is not the way to restrain their boldness, or to lessen their rapacity. This display is made, I know, to persuade the people of England that thereby we shall awe the enemy, and improve the terms of our capitulation: it is made, not that we should fight with more animation, but that we should supplicate with better hopes. We are mistaken. We have an enemy to deal with who never regarded our contest as a measuring and weighing of purses. He is the Gaul that puts his SWORD into the scale. He is more tempted with our wealth as booty, than terrified with it as power. But let us be rich or poor, let us be either in what proportion we may, nature is false or this is true, that where the essential public force (of which money is but a part) is in any degree upon a par in a conflict between nations, that state, which is resolved to hazard its existence rather than to abandon its objects, must have an infinite advantage over that which is resolved to yield rather than to carry its resistance beyond a certain point. Humanly speaking, that people which bounds its efforts only with its being, must give the law to that nation which will not push its opposition beyond its convenience.
We have a strong interest in preservation, and we have the means to achieve it: but keep in mind that a craftsman can be weighed down by his tools, and resources can become obstacles. If wealth is a loyal and hardworking servant of virtue and public honor, then it serves its purpose well: but if that order shifts, and honor is sacrificed to protect wealth—wealth, which has neither sight nor sensation, and nothing genuinely vital in it—cannot survive for long without its life-giving forces, its rightful masters, and its strong defenders. If we control our wealth, we will be rich and free; if our wealth controls us, we are truly poor. We are spiriting away our own advantages at the hands of our enemies with the riches from our own pockets. A heightened awareness of the importance of a lesser interest can actually be the source of its danger, as well as the certain downfall of more important interests. Many have lost everything because they refused to risk it all in defense of what they had. Showing off our wealth in front of robbers won’t deter their boldness or lessen their greed. I know this display is intended to convince the people of England that it will intimidate the enemy and improve our surrender terms: it is intended not to inspire us to fight more vigorously but to encourage us to plead with greater hope. We are mistaken. Our enemy doesn't see our struggle as a contest of finances. He is the Gaul who weighs his SWORD against our assets. He is more tempted by our riches as loot than frightened by them as power. But whether we are rich or poor, regardless of the proportion, it is either true that nature is deceitful or this is the reality: when the essential public force (of which money is merely a part) is roughly equal in a conflict between nations, the state that is willing to risk its existence rather than abandon its goals holds a significant advantage over one that chooses to give in rather than extend its resistance beyond a certain limit. Logically speaking, the people who limit their efforts only to their survival will dominate the nation that won’t escalate its opposition beyond what is convenient.
AMBASSADORS OF INFAMY.
On this their gaudy day the new regicide Directory sent for their diplomatic rabble, as bad as themselves in principle, but infinitely worse in degradation. They called them out by a sort of roll of their nations, one after another, much in the manner in which they called wretches out of their prison to the guillotine. When these ambassadors of infamy appeared before them, the chief director, in the name of the rest, treated each of them with a short, affected, pedantic, insolent, theatric laconium: a sort of epigram of contempt. When they had thus insulted them in a style and language which never before was heard, and which no sovereign would for a moment endure from another, supposing any of them frantic enough to use it; to finish their outrage, they drummed and trumpeted the wretches out of their hall of audience.
On this flashy day, the new regicide Directory summoned their diplomatic entourage, just as misguided as they were, but even more degraded. They called them out by a list of their respective nations, much like how prisoners were summoned to the guillotine. When these disgraced ambassadors stepped forward, the chief director, representing the others, addressed each one with a brief, pretentious, pompous, snide, theatrical remark: a kind of contemptuous epigram. After insulting them in a tone and style never before heard, and that no monarch would tolerate from another—assuming any of them were reckless enough to use it—they ended their humiliation by drumming and trumpeting the unfortunate ambassadors out of their meeting hall.
Among the objects of this insolent buffoonery was a person supposed to represent the king of Prussia. To this worthy representative they did not so much as condescend to mention his master; they did not seem to know that he had one; they addressed themselves solely to Prussia in the abstract, notwithstanding the infinite obligation they owed to their early protector for their first recognition and alliance, and for the part of his territory he gave into their hands for the first-fruits of his homage. None but dead monarchs are so much as mentioned by them, and those only to insult the living by an invidious comparison. They told the Prussians they ought to learn, after the example of Frederick the Great, a love for France. What a pity it is, that he, who loved France so well as to chastise it, was not now alive, by an unsparing use of the rod (which indeed he would have spared little) to give them another instance of his paternal affection. But the Directory were mistaken. These are not days in which monarchs value themselves upon the title of GREAT: they are grown PHILOSOPHIC: they are satisfied to be good. Your lordship will pardon me for this no very long reflection on the short but excellent speech of the plumed director to the ambassador of Cappadocia. The imperial ambassador was not in waiting, but they found for Austria a good Judean representation. With great judgment his highness the Grand Duke had sent the most atheistic coxcomb to be found in Florence to represent, at the bar of impiety, the house of apostolic majesty, and the descendants of the pious, though high-minded, Maria Theresa. He was sent to humble the whole race of Austria before those grim assassins, reeking with the blood of the daughter of Maria Theresa, whom they sent, half-dead, in a dung-cart, to a cruel execution; and this true-born son of apostasy and infidelity, this renegado from the faith, and from all honour and all humanity, drove an Austrian coach over the stones which were yet wet with her blood;—with that blood which dropped every step through her tumbril, all the way she was drawn from the horrid prison, in which they had finished all the cruelty and horrors, not executed in the face of the sun! The Hungarian subjects of Maria Theresa, when they drew their swords to defend her rights against France, called her, with correctness of truth, though not with the same correctness, perhaps, of grammar, a king: Moriamur pro rege nostro Maria Theresa.—She lived and died a king, and others will have subjects ready to make the same vow, when, in either sex, they show themselves real kings.
Among the targets of this outrageous mockery was someone meant to represent the king of Prussia. They didn’t even bother to mention his master; it seemed they didn’t recognize he had one at all. They only addressed themselves to Prussia in general, despite the immense debt they owed to their early protector for their first acknowledgment and alliance, and for the piece of his territory he gave them as a sign of his loyalty. They mention only dead monarchs, and even then, it's only to insult the living with a spiteful comparison. They told the Prussians they should learn to love France, like Frederick the Great did. It’s a shame he wasn’t around to discipline them again—he would have used the rod without hesitation to show his fatherly love. But the Directory was wrong. These days, monarchs don’t take pride in the title of GREAT; they’ve become more PHILOSOPHIC; they’re content with being good. Please excuse my brief reflection on the short but excellent speech of the plumed director to the ambassador of Cappadocia. The imperial ambassador wasn't present, but they managed to find a suitable representative for Austria. With great judgment, His Highness the Grand Duke sent the most godless fool in Florence to represent the house of apostolic majesty and the descendants of the noble yet high-minded Maria Theresa before those grim executioners, stained with the blood of Maria Theresa’s daughter, whom they sent, half-dead, in a dung cart, to a brutal execution. This true-born son of betrayal and infidelity, this defector from faith and from all honor and humanity, drove an Austrian coach over the stones still damp with her blood—which dripped from her tumbril at every step as she was dragged from the horrid prison where they had carried out every cruelty and horror not seen by the light of day! Maria Theresa's Hungarian subjects, when they unsheathed their swords to defend her rights against France, called her, with truth if not always correct grammar, a king: Moriamur pro rege nostro Maria Theresa. She lived and died a king, and others will have subjects ready to make the same vow when they prove themselves true kings, regardless of gender.
DIFFICULTY THE PATH TO GLORY.
When you choose an arduous and slippery path, God forbid that any weak feelings of my declining age, which calls for soothings and supports, and which can have none but from you, should make me wish that you should abandon what you are about, or should trifle with it. In this house we submit, though with troubled minds, to that order which has connected all great duties with toils and with perils, which has conducted the road to glory through the regions of obloquy and reproach, and which will never suffer the disparaging alliance of spurious, false, and fugitive praise with genuine and permanent reputation. We know that the Power which has settled that order, and subjected you to it by placing you in the situation you are in, is able to bring you out of it with credit and with safety. His will be done. All must come right. You may open the way with pain, and under reproach. Others will pursue it with ease and with applause.
When you choose a tough and risky path, I hope my frail feelings from my old age, which need comfort and support that can only come from you, don’t make me wish for you to give up what you’re doing or take it lightly. In this house, we accept, even if it’s with a heavy heart, that hard work and risk are tied to all important responsibilities, leading the way to glory through criticism and blame, and that true and lasting reputation will never mingle with fake, fleeting praise. We understand that the force that set this order and placed you in your current role has the power to guide you through it successfully and honorably. May his will be done. Everything will turn out okay. You may carve out the path with difficulty and criticism, while others will walk it easily and with applause.
ROBESPIERRE AND HIS COUNTERPARTS.
They have murdered one Robespierre. This Robespierre they tell us was a cruel tyrant, and now that he is put out of the way, all will go well in France. Astraea will again return to that earth from which she has been an emigrant, and all nations will resort to her golden scales. It is very extraordinary, that the very instant the mode of Paris is known here, it becomes all the fashion in London. This is their jargon. It is the old bon ton of robbers, who cast their common crimes on the wickedness of their departed associates. I care little about the memory of this same Robespierre. I am sure he was an execrable villain. I rejoiced at his punishment neither more nor less than I should at the execution of the present Directory, or any of its members. But who gave Robespierre the power of being a tyrant? and who were the instruments of his tyranny? The present virtuous constitution-mongers. He was a tyrant, they were his satellites and his hangmen. Their sole merit is in the murder of their colleague. They have expiated their other murders by a new murder. It has always been the case among this banditti. They have always had the knife at each other's throats, after they had almost blunted it at the throats of every honest man. These people thought that, in the commerce of murder, he was like to have the better of the bargain if any time was lost; they therefore took one of their short revolutionary methods, and massacred him in a manner so perfidious and cruel, as would shock all humanity, if the stroke was not struck by the present rulers on one of their own associates. But this last act of infidelity and murder is to expiate all the rest, and to qualify them for the amity of a humane and virtuous sovereign and civilized people. I have heard that a Tartar believes, when he has killed a man, that all his estimable qualities pass with his clothes and arms to the murderer: but I have never heard that it was the opinion of any savage Scythian, that, if he kills a brother villain, he is, ipso facto, absolved of all his own offences. The Tartarian doctrine is the most tenable opinion. The murderers of Robespierre, besides what they are entitled to by being engaged in the same tontine of infamy, are his representatives, have inherited all his murderous qualities in addition to their own private stock. But it seems we are always to be of a party with the last and victorious assassins. I confess I am of a different mind, and am rather inclined, of the two, to think and speak less hardly of a dead ruffian, than to associate with the living. I could better bear the stench of the gibbeted murderer than the society of the bloody felons who yet annoy the world. Whilst they wait the recompense due to their ancient crimes, they merit new punishment by the new offences they commit. There is a period to the offences of Robespierre. They survive in his assassins. Better a living dog, says the old proverb, than a dead lion; not so here. Murderers and hogs never look well till they are hanged. From villany no good can arise, but in the example of its fate. So I leave them their dead Robespierre, either to gibbet his memory, or to deify him in their Pantheon with their Marat and their Mirabeau.
They’ve killed Robespierre. They say he was a cruel tyrant, and now that he’s out of the picture, everything will be fine in France. Astraea will return to the land she left, and all nations will seek her out again. It’s really strange that as soon as the latest trends from Paris hit here, they instantly become the fashion in London. That’s their talk. It’s just the old game among criminals who shift the blame for their common crimes onto the wickedness of their fallen comrades. I don’t care much about the memory of Robespierre. I know he was a horrible villain. I was no more pleased at his execution than I would be at the execution of the current Directory or any of its members. But who gave Robespierre the power to be a tyrant? And who were the tools of his tyranny? The current so-called virtuous constitution-makers. He was a tyrant, and they were his minions and executioners. Their only accomplishment is killing their colleague. They’ve atoned for their other murders with this new one. It’s always been the case with this group. They’ve always had knives at each other's throats after nearly blunting them on the throats of decent people. They thought that, in the business of murder, if they hesitated, he’d get the upper hand; so they resorted to one of their quick revolutionary methods and killed him in a way so treacherous and brutal that it would horrify anyone, except for the fact that it was done by the current rulers against one of their own. But this latest act of betrayal and murder is supposed to make up for all the others and qualify them for the favor of a humane and civilized sovereign and people. I’ve heard that a Tartar believes when he kills someone, all their admirable qualities pass onto him with their clothes and weapons; but I’ve never heard of any savage Scythian believing that if he kills a fellow villain, he automatically cleanses himself of all his own sins. The Tartar idea is the most plausible. The assassins of Robespierre, along with whatever they gain from being part of the same infamous crew, have inherited all his murderous traits on top of their own. Yet, it seems we are always expected to side with the most recent and successful killers. I admit I think differently; I’d rather think and speak less harshly of a dead scoundrel than associate with the living ones. I could stand the stench of a hanged murderer more easily than the company of the bloody criminals who still wreak havoc in the world. While they await their punishment for past crimes, they deserve even harsher penalties for the new ones they commit. There’s an end to Robespierre’s crimes, but they live on in his assassins. The old saying goes, better a living dog than a dead lion; not so here. Murderers and pigs never look right until they’re hanged. No good can come from wickedness, except as a lesson in its consequences. So I’ll leave them their dead Robespierre, either to disgrace his memory or to worship him in their Pantheon alongside their Marat and Mirabeau.
ACCUMULATION, A STATE PRINCIPLE.
There must be some impulse besides public spirit to put private interest into motion along with it. Monied men ought to be allowed to set a value on their money; if they did not, there could be no monied men. This desire of accumulation is a principle without which the means of their service to the state could not exist. The love of lucre, though sometimes carried to a ridiculous, sometimes to a vicious excess, is the grand cause of prosperity to all states. In this natural, this reasonable, this powerful, this prolific principle, it is for the satirist to expose the ridiculous: it is for the moralist to censure the vicious; it is for the sympathetic heart to reprobate the hard and cruel; it is for the judge to animadvert on the fraud, the extortion, and the oppression; but it is for the statesman to employ it as he finds it, with all its concomitant excellencies, with all its imperfections on its head. It is his part, in this case, as it is in all other cases where he is to make use of the general energies of nature, to take them as he finds them.
There has to be some motivation beyond just public spirit to get private interests moving alongside it. Wealthy individuals should be able to assign a value to their money; if they didn’t, there wouldn’t be any wealthy people. This desire to accumulate is a fundamental principle that enables them to contribute to the state. The love of money, even when it goes to extremes—whether ridiculous or harmful—is the main driver of prosperity for all nations. In this natural, reasonable, powerful, and productive principle, it’s up to the satirist to highlight the absurdities; it’s the moralist’s role to criticize the harmful behavior; it’s the compassionate person’s task to condemn the harsh and cruel actions; and it’s the judge's job to address fraud, extortion, and oppression. But it’s the responsibility of the statesman to make use of this principle as it is, with all its advantages and imperfections. In this regard, as in all situations where he needs to harness the natural forces at play, he must accept them as they are.
WARNING FOR A NATION.
With all these causes of corruption, we may well judge what the general fashion of mind will be through both sexes and all conditions. Such spectacles and such examples will overbear all the laws that ever blackened the cumbrous volumes of our statutes. When royalty shall have disavowed itself; when it shall have relaxed all the principles of its own support; when it has rendered the system of regicide fashionable, and received it as triumphant in the very persons who have consolidated that system by the perpetration of every crime; who have not only massacred the prince, but the very laws and magistrates which were the support of royalty, and slaughtered, with an indiscriminate proscription, without regard to either sex or age, every person that was suspected of an inclination to king, law, or magistracy,—I say, will any one dare to be loyal? Will any one presume, against both authority and opinion, to hold up this unfashionable, antiquated, exploded constitution? The Jacobin faction in England must grow in strength and audacity; it will be supported by other intrigues, and supplied by other resources than yet we have seen in action. Confounded at its growth, the government may fly to parliament for its support. But who will answer for the temper of a house of commons elected under these circumstances? Who will answer for the courage of a house of commons to arm the crown with the extraordinary powers that it may demand? But the ministers will not venture to ask half of what they know they want. They will lose half of that half in the contest: and when they have obtained their nothing, they will be driven by the cries of faction either to demolish the feeble works they have thrown up in a hurry, or, in effect, to abandon them. As to the House of Lords, it is not worth mentioning. The peers ought naturally to be the pillars of the crown; but when their titles are rendered contemptible, and their property invidious, and a part of their weakness, and not of their strength, they will be found so many degraded and trembling individuals, who will seek by evasion to put off the evil day of their ruin. Both houses will be in perpetual oscillation between abortive attempts at energy, and still more unsuccessful attempts at compromise. You will be impatient of your disease, and abhorrent of your remedy. A spirit of subterfuge and a tone of apology will enter into all your proceedings, whether of law or legislation. Your judges, who now sustain so masculine an authority, will appear more on their trial than the culprits they have before them. The awful frown of criminal justice will be smoothed into the silly smile of seduction. Judges will think to insinuate and soothe the accused into conviction and condemnation, and to wheedle to the gallows the most artful of all delinquents. But they will not be so wheedled. They will not submit even to the appearance of persons on their trial. Their claim to this exception will be admitted. The place in which some of the greatest names which ever distinguished the history of this country have stood, will appear beneath their dignity. The criminal will climb from the dock to the side-bar, and take his place and his tea with the counsel. From the bar of the counsel, by a natural progress, he will ascend to the bench, which long before had been virtually abandoned. They who escape from justice will not suffer a question upon reputation. They will take the crown of the causeway: they will be revered as martyrs; they will triumph as conquerors. Nobody will dare to censure that popular part of the tribunal, whose only restraint on misjudgment is the censure of the public. They who find fault with the decision will be represented as enemies to the institution. Juries that convict for the crown will be loaded with obloquy. The juries who acquit will be held up as models of justice. If parliament orders a prosecution, and fails (as fail it will), it will be treated to its face as guilty of a conspiracy maliciously to prosecute. Its care in discovering a conspiracy against the state will be treated as a forged plot to destroy the liberty of the subject; every such discovery, instead of strengthening government, will weaken its reputation.
With all these reasons for corruption, we can imagine what the general mindset will be like among both men and women of all backgrounds. Such spectacles and examples will overpower all the laws that have ever cluttered the cumbersome volumes of our statutes. When royalty has disowned itself; when it has loosened all the principles that support it; when it has made regicide fashionable, welcoming those who have established it through every crime; who have not only killed the prince, but also the very laws and officials that supported the monarchy; and slaughtered without discrimination—regardless of age or gender—everyone suspected of loyalty to the king, law, or magistrates—will anyone dare to be loyal? Will anyone have the audacity to uphold this unfashionable, outdated, irrelevant constitution against both authority and public opinion? The Jacobin faction in England will likely grow in strength and boldness; it will be bolstered by other schemes and resources we haven't yet witnessed in action. Overwhelmed by its rise, the government may turn to parliament for support. But who will vouch for the mood of a House of Commons elected under these circumstances? Who will guarantee the courage of a House of Commons to grant the crown the extraordinary powers it might demand? Yet, the ministers won't dare to ask for even half of what they know they need. They'll lose half of what they do ask for in the process: and when they end up with nothing, they will be pushed by factional outcry to either dismantle the weak structures they've hastily erected or essentially abandon them. As for the House of Lords, it’s hardly worth mentioning. The peers should ideally be the pillars of the crown; but when their titles become contemptible and their wealth is viewed negatively, becoming part of their vulnerability and not their strength, they will be found to be a group of degraded and fearful individuals trying to postpone their downfall. Both houses will constantly swing between failed attempts at decisiveness and even more unsuccessful attempts at compromise. You’ll be fed up with your situation and reluctant about your solution. A spirit of avoidance and a tone of apology will seep into all your legal and legislative actions. Your judges, who currently hold such robust authority, will appear more on trial than the defendants they oversee. The intimidating glare of criminal justice will soften into the foolish smile of seduction. Judges will try to coax and placate the accused into confessing and being condemned, hoping to charm even the most cunning criminals to the gallows. But they won't be easily persuaded. They will refuse even to consider themselves on trial. Their claim to this exception will be accepted. The places where some of the greatest names in this country’s history once stood will seem beneath their dignity. The accused will move from the dock to sit alongside their legal counsel. By natural progression, they will rise from the counsel's bench to the judges' seat, which had long been effectively abandoned. Those who flee from justice won’t let anyone question their reputation. They will claim the spotlight; they will be honored as martyrs; they will emerge as victors. No one will dare criticize that popular part of the tribunal, whose only check on wrongful judgment is public scrutiny. Those who challenge the verdict will be portrayed as enemies of the institution. Juries that convict for the crown will be met with scorn. The juries that acquit will be hailed as paragons of justice. If parliament instigates a prosecution and fails (as it likely will), it will be openly accused of maliciously conspiring to prosecute. Its efforts to uncover a conspiracy against the state will be dismissed as a fabricated plot to undermine individual liberty; every such revelation will weaken the government's reputation rather than strengthen it.
In this state things will be suffered to proceed, lest measures of vigour should precipitate a crisis. The timid will act thus from character; the wise from necessity. Our laws had done all that the old condition of things dictated to render our judges erect and independent; but they will naturally fail on the side upon which they had taken no precautions. The judicial magistrates will find themselves safe as against the crown, whose will is not their tenure; the power of executing their office will be held at the pleasure of those who deal out fame or abuse as they think fit. They will begin rather to consult their own repose and their own popularity, than the critical and perilous trust that is in their hands. They will speculate on consequences when they see at court an ambassador whose robes are lined with a scarlet dyed in the blood of judges. It is no wonder, nor are they to blame, when they are to consider how they shall answer for their conduct to the criminal of to-day turned into the magistrate of to-morrow.
In this situation, things will continue as they are, to avoid taking drastic action that could lead to a crisis. The timid will act this way by nature; the wise will act out of necessity. Our laws have done everything that the previous state of affairs required to make our judges strong and independent; however, they will inevitably falter in areas where no precautions were taken. The judges will find themselves secure against the crown, whose will does not determine their position; the ability to perform their duties will depend on those who grant them acclaim or criticism as they see fit. They will start to prioritize their own comfort and popularity over the important and risky responsibility they hold. They will think about the consequences when they see at court an ambassador whose robes are lined with the blood of judges. It’s not surprising, nor are they at fault, when they have to consider how they will justify their actions to the criminal of today who may become the magistrate of tomorrow.
SANTERRE AND TALLIEN.
Is it only an oppressive nightmare with which we have been loaded? Is it then all a frightful dream, and are there no regicides in the world? Have we not heard of that prodigy of a ruffian, who would not suffer his benignant sovereign, with his hands tied behind him, and stripped for execution, to say one parting word to his deluded people;—of Santerre, who commanded the drums and trumpets to strike up to stifle his voice, and dragged him backward to the machine of murder? This nefarious villain (for a few days I may call him so) stands high in France, as in a republic of robbers and murderers he ought. What hinders this monster from being sent as ambassador to convey to his majesty the first compliments of his brethren, the regicide Directory? They have none that can represent them more properly. I anticipate the day of his arrival. He will make his public entry into London on one of the pale horses of his brewery. As he knows that we are pleased with the Paris taste for the orders of knighthood, he will fling a bloody sash across his shoulders with the order of the Holy Guillotine, surmounting the Crown, appendant to the riband. Thus adorned, he will proceed from Whitechapel to the further end of Pall Mall, all the music of London playing the Marseillais hymn before him, and escorted by a chosen detachment of the Legion de l'Echaffaud. It were only to be wished, that no ill-fated loyalist for the imprudence of his zeal may stand in the pillory at Charing Cross, under the statue of King Charles the First, at the time of this grand procession, lest some of the rotten eggs, which the constitutional society shall let fly at his indiscreet head, may hit the virtuous murderer of his king. They might soil the state dress, which the ministers of so many crowned heads have admired, and in which Sir Clement Cotterel is to introduce him at St. James's.
Is this just an oppressive nightmare we've been burdened with? Is it all just a terrifying dream, and are there really no regicides in the world? Haven't we heard about that awful thug who wouldn’t let his kind sovereign, with his hands tied and stripped for execution, say a final word to his misled people; of Santerre, who ordered the drums and trumpets to play to drown out his voice and dragged him back to the killing machine? This despicable villain (for now I can call him that) holds a high position in France, just as he should in a nation of robbers and murderers. What’s stopping this monster from being sent as an ambassador to convey to his majesty the first greetings from his fellow regicides in the Directory? None could represent them better. I look forward to the day he arrives. He’ll make his public entrance into London on one of his brewery's pale horses. Knowing we enjoy the Parisian style for knighthood orders, he’ll throw a bloody sash across his shoulders with the order of the Holy Guillotine, topped by the Crown, hanging from the ribbon. Decked out like this, he’ll travel from Whitechapel to the end of Pall Mall, with all the music of London playing the Marseillaise before him, escorted by a select detachment of the Legion de l'Échafaud. I just hope no ill-fated loyalist, due to his rash zeal, ends up in the pillory at Charing Cross under the statue of King Charles the First at the time of this grand procession, lest some of the rotten eggs thrown by the constitutional society hit the noble murderer of his king. They might stain the formal attire that ministers from so many crowned heads have admired, and in which Sir Clement Cotterel is set to introduce him at St. James's.
If Santerre cannot be spared from the constitutional butcheries at home, Tallien may supply his place, and, in point of figure, with advantage. He has been habituated to commissions; and he is as well qualified as Santerre for this. Nero wished the Roman people had but one neck. The wish of the more exalted Tallien, when he sat in judgment, was, that his sovereign had eighty-three heads, that he might send one to every one of the departments. Tallien will make an excellent figure at Guildhall at the next sheriff's feast. He may open the ball with my Lady Mayoress. But this will be after he has retired from the public table, and gone into the private room for the enjoyment of more social and unreserved conversation with the ministers of state and the judges of the bench. There these ministers and magistrates will hear him entertain the worthy aldermen with an instructing and pleasing narrative of the manner in which he made the rich citizens of Bordeaux squeak, and gently led them by the public credit of the guillotine to disgorge their anti-revolutionary pelf.
If Santerre can't be spared from the constitutional mess at home, Tallien might take his place and actually do it better. He's used to these kinds of roles and is just as qualified as Santerre for this task. Nero famously wished the Roman people had just one neck. Tallien, sitting in judgment, wishes his sovereign had eighty-three heads so he could send one to each department. Tallien will look great at Guildhall during the next sheriff's feast. He might kick off the event with my Lady Mayoress. But that’ll happen after he steps away from the public table to enjoy more relaxed and open conversations with state ministers and judges. There, these ministers and magistrates will hear him share an entertaining and informative story about how he squeezed the wealthy citizens of Bordeaux and led them to part with their anti-revolutionary wealth through the public leverage of the guillotine.
All this will be the display, and the town-talk, when our regicide is on a visit of ceremony. At home nothing will equal the pomp and splendour of the Hotel de la Republique. There another scene of gaudy grandeur will be opened. When his citizen excellency keeps the festival, which every citizen is ordered to observe, for the glorious execution of Louis the Sixteenth, and renews his oath of detestation of kings, a grand ball, of course, will be given on the occasion. Then what a hurly-burly;—what a crowding;—what a glare of a thousand flambeaux in the square;—what a clamour of footmen contending at the door;—what a rattling of a thousand coaches of duchesses, countesses, and Lady Marys, choking the way, and overturning each other, in a struggle who should be first to pay her court to the Citoyenne, the spouse of the twenty-first husband, he the husband of the thirty-first wife, and to hail her in the rank of honourable matrons, before the four days' duration of marriage is expired!—Morals, as they were:—decorum, the great outguard of the sex, and the proud sentiment of honour, which makes virtue more respectable where it is, and conceals human frailty where virtue may not be, will be banished from this land of propriety, modesty, and reserve.
All of this will be the talk of the town when our regicide makes a ceremonial visit. At home, nothing will match the splendor of the Hotel de la Republique. Another scene of flashy grandeur will unfold. When his citizen excellency hosts the festival, which every citizen is required to observe, celebrating the glorious execution of Louis the Sixteenth and renewing his oath of disdain for kings, a grand ball will, of course, be held. Then, what chaos;—what a crowd;—what a dazzling display of a thousand torches in the square;—what a clamor of footmen vying at the door;—what a racket from countless carriages of duchesses, countesses, and Lady Marys, clogging the streets and colliding with one another, all scrambling to be the first to pay their respects to the Citoyenne, the wife of the twenty-first husband, who in turn is the husband of the thirty-first wife, and to greet her as one of the honorable matrons before their four-day marriage term is up!—Morals, as they used to be:—decorum, the great protector of women, and the proud sense of honor that makes virtue more admirable where it exists and hides human weaknesses where virtue might be lacking, will be pushed out of this land of propriety, modesty, and reserve.
SIR SYDNEY SMITH.
This officer having attempted, with great gallantry, to cut out a vessel from one of the enemy's harbours, was taken after an obstinate resistance, such as obtained him the marked respect of those who were witnesses of his valour, and knew the circumstances in which it was displayed. Upon his arrival at Paris, he was instantly thrown into prison; where the nature of his situation will best be understood, by knowing, that amongst its MITIGATIONS, was the permission to walk occasionally in the court, and to enjoy the privilege of shaving himself. On the old system of feelings and principles, his sufferings might have been entitled to consideration, and even in a comparison with those of citizen La Fayette, to a priority in the order of compassion. If the ministers had neglected to take any steps in his favour, a declaration of the sense of the House of Commons would have stimulated them to their duty. If they had caused a representation to be made, such a proceeding would have added force to it. If reprisal should be thought advisable, the address of the House would have given an additional sanction to a measure which would have been, indeed, justifiable without any other sanction than its own reason. But, no. Nothing at all like it. In fact, the merit of Sir Sydney Smith, and his claim on British compassion, was of a kind altogether different from that which interested so deeply the authors of the motion in favour of citizen La Fayette. In my humble opinion, Captain Sir Sydney Smith has another sort of merit with the British nation, and something of a higher claim on British humanity, than citizen La Fayette. Faithful, zealous, and ardent, in the service of his king and country; full of spirit; full of resources; going out of the beaten road, but going right, because his uncommon enterprise was not conducted by a vulgar judgment;—in his profession, Sir Sydney Smith might be considered as a distinguished person, if any person could well be distinguished in a service in which scarcely a commander can be named without putting you in mind of some action of intrepidity, skill, and vigilance, that has given them a fair title to contend with any men, and in any age. But I will say nothing farther of the merits of Sir Sydney Smith: the mortal animosity of the regicide enemy supersedes all other panegyric. Their hatred is a judgment in his favour without appeal. At present he is lodged in the tower of the Temple, the last prison of Louis the Sixteenth, and the last but one of Maria Antonietta of Austria; the prison of Louis the Seventeenth; the prison of Elizabeth of Bourbon. There he lies, unpitied by the grand philanthropy, to meditate upon the fate of those who are faithful to their king and country. Whilst this prisoner, secluded from intercourse, was indulging in these cheering reflections, he might possibly have had the further consolation of learning (by means of the insolent exultation of his guards), that there was an English ambassador at Paris; he might have had the proud comfort of hearing, that this ambassador had the honour of passing his mornings in respectful attendance at the office of a regicide pettifogger; and that in the evening he relaxed in the amusements of the opera, and in the spectacle of an audience totally new; an audience in which he had the pleasure of seeing about him not a single face that he could formerly have known in Paris; but in the place of that company, one indeed more than equal to it in display of gaiety, splendour, and luxury; a set of abandoned wretches, squandering in insolent riot the spoils of their bleeding country. A subject of profound reflection both to the prisoner and to the ambassador.
This officer bravely tried to take a ship from one of the enemy's harbors but was captured after a stubborn fight, earning the deep respect of those who witnessed his courage and understood the situation. Upon arriving in Paris, he was immediately thrown into prison, where the best part of his situation was that he was allowed to occasionally walk in the courtyard and had the privilege of shaving himself. According to the old values and principles, his suffering would have been taken into account and might have even been seen as more deserving of compassion than that of citizen La Fayette. If the ministers had failed to act in his favor, a declaration from the House of Commons would have pushed them to do their duty. If they had made a formal complaint, it would have strengthened their position. If they thought retaliation was necessary, the House's address would have added support to a measure that would be justified just by its own reasoning. But no. Nothing like that happened. In fact, Sir Sydney Smith’s merit and his appeal for British compassion were entirely different from what motivated those who supported citizen La Fayette. In my opinion, Captain Sir Sydney Smith holds a different kind of value for the British nation and has a greater claim on British humanity than citizen La Fayette. He was loyal, passionate, and dedicated to his king and country; spirited and resourceful; he didn't follow the usual paths but chose the right ones, as his exceptional endeavors weren't guided by ordinary judgment. In his line of work, Sir Sydney Smith could be seen as a standout figure, if anyone could actually stand out in a service where almost every commander is remembered for acts of bravery, skill, and vigilance that give them a rightful claim to challenge any men in any age. But I won't say more about Sir Sydney Smith's merits: the bitter hatred from his enemies overshadows any other praise. Their animosity serves as an unwavering endorsement of him. Right now, he's locked up in the Tower of the Temple, the last prison of Louis the Sixteenth, and the second to last for Maria Antoinette of Austria; it's also the prison of Louis the Seventeenth and Elizabeth of Bourbon. There he lies, without pity from the grand philanthropists, contemplating the fate of those who remain loyal to their king and country. While this prisoner, isolated and without contact, was engaging in these hopeful reflections, he might have found additional comfort in hearing (through the arrogant taunts of his guards) that an English ambassador was in Paris; he might have taken pride in knowing that this ambassador spent his mornings respectfully attending to a regicide petty official and spent his evenings enjoying the opera with an audience full of strangers—no familiar faces he would have recognized in Paris before; instead, there was a crowd that surpassed any previous gatherings in terms of joy, luxury, and extravagance—a group of reckless individuals squandering the resources of their bleeding country. A matter of deep reflection for both the prisoner and the ambassador.
A MORAL DISTINCTION.
I think we might have found, before the rude hand of insolent office was on our shoulder, and the staff of usurped authority brandished over our heads, that contempt of the suppliant is not the best forwarder of a suit; that national disgrace is not the high road to security, much less to power and greatness. Patience, indeed, strongly indicates the love of peace; but mere love does not always lead to enjoyment. It is the power of winning that palm which ensures our wearing it. Virtues have their place; and out of their place they hardly deserve the name. They pass into the neighbouring vice. The patience of fortitude and the endurance of pusillanimity are things very different, as in their principle, so in their effects.
I think we might have realized, before the rude hand of arrogant authority was on our shoulder, and the staff of seized power was looming over us, that looking down on those who ask for help isn't the best way to win a case; that national embarrassment isn't the right path to safety, let alone to power and greatness. Patience does indicate a desire for peace, but simply wanting it doesn't always lead to actually achieving it. It's the ability to secure that victory that ensures we can claim it. Virtues have their rightful place; when they're out of that place, they barely deserve the title. They turn into the nearby vice. The patience of bravery and the endurance of weakness are very different, both in their foundation and in their outcomes.
INFIDELS AND THEIR POLICY.
In the revolution of France two sorts of men were principally concerned in giving a character and determination to its pursuits: the philosophers and the politicians. They took different ways, but they met in the same end. The philosophers had one predominant object, which they pursued with a fanatical fury; that is, the utter extirpation of religion. To that every question of empire was subordinate. They had rather domineer in a parish of atheists than rule over a Christian world. Their temporal ambition was wholly subservient to their proselytizing spirit, in which they were not exceeded by Mahomet himself. They who have made but superficial studies in the natural history of the human mind, have been taught to look on religious opinions as the only cause of enthusiastic zeal and sectarian propagation. But there is no doctrine whatever, on which men can warm, that is not capable of the very same effect. The social nature of man impels him to propagate his principles, as much as physical impulses urge him to propagate his kind. The passions give zeal and vehemence. The understanding bestows design and system. The whole man moves under the discipline of his opinions. Religion is among the most powerful causes of enthusiasm. When anything concerning it becomes an object of much meditation, it cannot be indifferent to the mind. They who do not love religion, hate it. The rebels to God perfectly abhor the author of their being. They hate him "with all their heart, with all their mind, with all their soul, and with all their strength." He never presents himself to their thoughts, but to menace and alarm them. They cannot strike the sun out of heaven, but they are able to raise a smouldering smoke that obscures him from their own eyes. Not being able to revenge themselves on God, they have a delight in vicariously defacing, degrading, torturing, and tearing in pieces his image in man. Let no one judge of them by what he has conceived of them, when they were not incorporated, and had no lead. They were then only passengers in a common vehicle. They were then carried along with the general motion of religion in the community, and, without being aware of it, partook of its influence. In that situation, at worst, their nature was left free to counter-work their principles. They despaired of giving any very general currency to their opinions. They considered them as a reserved privilege for the chosen few. But when the possibility of dominion, lead, and propagation, presented itself, and that the ambition, which before had so often made them hypocrites, might rather gain than lose by a daring avowal of their sentiments, then the nature of this infernal spirit, which has "evil for its good," appeared in its full perfection. Nothing indeed but the possession of some power can with any certainty discover what at the bottom is the true character of any man. Without reading the speeches of Vergniaud, Francian of Nantes, Isnard, and some others of that sort, it would not be easy to conceive the passion, rancour, and malice of their tongues and hearts. They worked themselves up to a perfect frenzy against religion and all its professors. They tore the reputation of the clergy to pieces by their infuriated declamations and invectives, before they lacerated their bodies by their massacres. This fanatical atheism left out, we omit the principal feature in the French revolution, and a principal consideration with regard to the effects to be expected from a peace with it.
In the French Revolution, two main groups were mainly focused on shaping its actions: the philosophers and the politicians. They approached things differently, but ultimately aimed for the same goal. The philosophers had one major objective, which they pursued with intense zeal: the complete eradication of religion. All matters of power were secondary to that. They would rather dominate a community of atheists than rule over a Christian society. Their worldly ambitions were entirely aligned with their push for converts, matching the fervor of even Muhammad himself. Those with only a superficial understanding of human psychology are often taught to see religious beliefs as the sole cause of passionate zeal and sectarian growth. However, any doctrine that inspires strong feelings can produce the same effect. Human beings are driven by their social nature to spread their beliefs just as they are compelled by biological urges to reproduce. Emotions fuel enthusiasm and intensity, while intellect provides purpose and structure. A person is driven by their beliefs. Religion is a powerful source of fervor. When anything related to it becomes a subject of deep reflection, it cannot leave the mind indifferent. People who don't love religion often end up hating it. Those who rebel against God intensely despise the creator of their existence. They hate him "with all their heart, with all their mind, with all their soul, and with all their strength." He comes to their minds only to threaten and unsettle them. They can't strike the sun from the sky, but they can create a haze that obscures it from their view. Unable to take revenge on God, they find joy in vicariously damaging, degrading, torturing, and destroying His image in humanity. No one should judge them based on how they appeared when they were unconnected and had no lead. Back then, they were simply passengers in a common vehicle, swept along by the community's religious currents and unknowingly influenced by its power. In that state, at worst, their nature was still free to counteract their principles. They had little hope of widely spreading their opinions, viewing them as a special privilege for a select few. But once the chance for power, leadership, and spreading their beliefs arose, and their ambition—which had often turned them into hypocrites—could benefit from boldly embracing their views, then the true nature of this wicked spirit, which has "evil as its good," was fully revealed. Only through gaining some level of power can the true character of a person be reliably revealed. Without reading the speeches of Vergniaud, Francian of Nantes, Isnard, and others like them, it's hard to grasp the passion, bitterness, and malice in their words and hearts. They whipped themselves into a frenzy against religion and its followers. They shredded the reputation of the clergy with their furious speeches and attacks, before turning to massacre their bodies. If we exclude this fanatical atheism, we miss a key aspect of the French Revolution and an important consideration regarding the potential consequences of peace with it.
The other sort of men were the politicians. To them, who had little or not at all reflected on the subject, religion was in itself no object of love or hatred. They disbelieved it, and that was all. Neutral with regard to that object, they took the side which in the present state of things might best answer their purposes. They soon found that they could not do without the philosophers; and the philosophers soon made them sensible that the destruction of religion was to supply them with means of conquest, first at home, and then abroad. The philosophers were the active internal agitators, and supplied the spirit and principles: the second gave the practical direction. Sometimes the one predominated in the composition, sometimes the other. The only difference between them was in the necessity of concealing the general design for a time, and in their dealing with foreign nations; the fanatics going straightforward and openly, the politicians by the surer mode of zigzag. In the course of events, this, among other causes, produced fierce and bloody contentions between them. But at the bottom they thoroughly agreed in all the objects of ambition and irreligion, and substantially in all the means of promoting these ends.
The other type of men were the politicians. For them, who hardly thought about it at all, religion was neither something to love nor to hate. They simply didn’t believe in it, and that was that. Neutral about the topic, they aligned themselves with whatever suited their needs best in the current situation. They quickly realized they couldn’t manage without the philosophers; and the philosophers made it clear to them that destroying religion would give them the tools to conquer, first at home and then abroad. The philosophers were the active internal agitators, providing the spirit and principles, while the politicians offered the practical direction. Sometimes one would dominate, sometimes the other. The only difference between them was the need to temporarily hide their overall plan and how they interacted with foreign nations; the fanatics were straightforward and open, while the politicians took a more cautious zigzag approach. As events unfolded, this contributed to fierce and bloody conflicts between them. But fundamentally, they shared the same ambitions and irreligious goals, as well as essentially agreeing on the means to achieve these ends.
WHAT A MINISTER SHOULD ATTEMPT.
After such an elaborate display had been made of the injustice and insolence of an enemy, who seems to have been irritated by every one of the means which had been commonly used with effect to soothe the rage of intemperate power, the natural result would be, that the scabbard, in which we in vain attempted to plunge our sword, should have been thrown away with scorn. It would have been natural that, rising in the fulness of their might, insulted majesty, despised dignity, violated justice, rejected supplication, patience goaded into fury, would have poured out all the length of the reins upon all the wrath which they had so long restrained. It might have been expected that, emulous of the glory of the youthful hero in alliance with him, touched by the example of what one man, well formed and well placed, may do in the most desperate state of affairs, convinced there is a courage of the cabinet full as powerful, and far less vulgar than that of the field, our minister would have changed the whole line of that useless, prosperous prudence, which had hitherto produced all the effects of the blindest temerity. If he found his situation full of danger (and I do not deny that it is perilous in the extreme), he must feel that it is also full of glory; and that he is placed on a stage, than which no muse of fire that had ascended the highest heaven of invention could imagine anything more awful and august. It was hoped that, in this swelling scene in which he moved with some of the first potentates of Europe for his fellow-actors, and with so many of the rest for the anxious spectators of a part, which, as he plays it, determines for ever their destiny and his own, like Ulysses in the unravelling point of the epic story, he would have thrown off his patience and his rags together; and, stripped of unworthy disguises, he would have stood forth in the form and in the attitude of a hero. On that day it was thought he would have assumed the port of Mars; that he would bid to be brought forth from their hideous kennel (where his scrupulous tenderness had too long immured them) those impatient dogs of war, whose fierce regards affright even the minister of vengeance that feeds them; that he would let them loose, in famine, fever, plagues, and death, upon a guilty race, to whose frame, and to all whose habit, order, peace, religion, and virtue are alien and abhorrent. It was expected that he would at last have thought of active and effectual war; that he would no longer amuse the British lion in the chase of mice and rats; that he would no longer employ the whole naval power of Great Britain, once the terror of the world, to prey upon the miserable remains of a peddling commerce, which the enemy did not regard, and from which none could profit. It was expected that he would have re-asserted the justice of his cause; that he would have re-animated whatever remained to him of his allies, and endeavoured to recover those whom their fears had led astray; that he would have rekindled the martial ardour of his citizens; that he would have held out to them the example of their ancestry, the assertor of Europe, and the scourge of French ambition; that he would have reminded them of a posterity, which, if this nefarious robbery under the fraudulent name and false colour of a government, should in full power be seated in the heart of Europe, must for ever be consigned to vice, impiety, barbarism, and the most ignominious slavery of body and mind. In so holy a cause it was presumed that he would (as in the beginning of the war he did) have opened all the temples; and with prayer, with fasting, and with supplication (better directed than to the grim Moloch of regicide in France), have called upon us to raise that united cry which has so often stormed heaven, and with a pious violence forced down blessings upon a repentant people. It was hoped that when he had invoked upon his endeavours the favourable regard of the Protector of the human race, it would be seen that his menaces to the enemy, and his prayers to the Almighty, were not followed, but accompanied, with correspondent action. It was hoped that his shrilling trumpet should be heard, not to announce a show, but to sound a charge.
After such an elaborate demonstration of the injustice and arrogance of an enemy, who seems to have been provoked by every method that has commonly been used to calm the fury of unchecked power, it would be natural for the scabbard, where we unsuccessfully tried to sheathe our sword, to be discarded with disdain. It would have been expected that, empowered and enraged, insulted authority, scorned dignity, violated justice, rejected pleas, and a patience turned to fury would unleash all the pent-up anger they had long restrained. One might have anticipated that, inspired by the glory of a youthful hero aligned with him, moved by the example of what one capable person can achieve in desperate circumstances, and realizing that there is a courage in the cabinet just as powerful, yet far less common than that on the battlefield, our minister would have shifted away from the ineffective and misguided prudence that had previously mirrored reckless boldness. If he recognized his position to be filled with danger (and I do not deny it’s extremely perilous), he should also acknowledge it is filled with glory; he stands on a stage that no imaginative muse could depict as more fearsome and grand. It was hoped that, in this dramatic scene where he shared the stage with some of Europe’s leading powers as his allies, and with many others anxiously watching his performance, which now determines their fate and his, like Ulysses at a crucial point in an epic tale, he would have cast aside his patience and his rags together; and, free of unworthy disguises, presented himself in the form and stance of a hero. On that day, it was believed he would have taken on the demeanor of Mars; that he would command the release of the war dogs from their dreadful lair (where his careful reluctance had confined them for too long), those fierce creatures whose glaring looks intimidate even the minister of revenge who feeds them; that he would set them loose upon a guilty race, bringing famine, fever, plagues, and death to those whose very essence, order, peace, faith, and virtue are foreign and repulsive. It was expected he would finally think about active and effective warfare; that he would no longer distract the British lion with the trivial hunt for mice and rats; that he wouldn’t unleash the full naval power of Great Britain—once the terror of the world—on the pitiful remnants of a trivial commerce that the enemy ignored and from which no one benefited. It was anticipated that he would have reaffirmed the justice of his cause; that he would have revived any remaining support from his allies and tried to bring back those led astray by fear; that he would have reignited the martial spirit of his citizens; that he would have shown them the example of their ancestors, the defenders of Europe and the scourge of French ambition; that he would remind them of a future where, if this nefarious plunder under the deceptive guise of governance were to gain full control in the heart of Europe, it would lead to vice, irreverence, barbarism, and the most shameful slavery of both body and mind. In such a noble cause, it was presumed that he would, as he had done at the beginning of the war, open all the temples, and with prayer, fasting, and heartfelt supplication (better directed than at the grim Moloch of regicide in France), summon us to raise that united cry which has so often moved heaven, compelling blessings upon a repentant people. It was hoped that when he called upon the favorable regard of the Protector of humanity for his efforts, it would be evident that his threats to the enemy and his prayers to the Almighty were not just hollow words but were accompanied by real action. It was hoped that his blaring trumpet would be heard, not to announce a spectacle, but to signal a charge.
LAW OF VICINITY.
This violent breach in the community of Europe we must conclude to have been made (even if they had not expressly declared it over and over again) either to force mankind into an adoption of their system, or to live in perpetual enmity with a community the most potent we have ever known. Can any person imagine, that, in offering to mankind this desperate alternative, there is no indication of a hostile mind, because men in possession of the ruling authority are supposed to have a right to act without coercion in their own territories. As to the right of men to act anywhere according to their pleasure, without any moral tie, no such right exists. Men are never in a state of TOTAL independence of each other. It is not the condition of our nature: nor is it conceivable how any man can pursue a considerable course of action without its having some effect upon others; or, of course, without producing some degree of responsibility for his conduct. The SITUATIONS in which men relatively stand produce the rules and principles of that responsibility, and afford directions to prudence in exacting it. Distance of place does not extinguish the duties or the rights of men; but it often renders their exercise impracticable. The same circumstance of distance renders the noxious effects of an evil system in any community less pernicious. But there are situations where this difficulty does not occur; and in which, therefore, these duties are obligatory, and these rights are to be asserted. It has ever been the method of public jurists to draw a great part of the analogies, on which they form the law of nations, from the principles of law which prevail in civil community. Civil laws are not all of them merely positive. Those, which are rather conclusions of legal reason than matters of statutable provision, belong to universal equity, and are universally applicable. Almost the whole praetorian law is such. There is a "Law of Neighbourhood" which does not leave a man perfectly master on his own ground. When a neighbour sees a NEW ERECTION, in the nature of a nuisance, set up at his door, he has a right to represent it to the judge; who, on his part, has a right to order the work to be stayed; or, if established, to be removed. On this head the parent law is express and clear, and has made many wise provisions, which, without destroying, regulate and restrain the right of OWNERSHIP, by the right of VICINAGE. No INNOVATION is permitted that may redound, even secondarily, to the prejudice of a neighbour. The whole doctrine of that important head of praetorian law, "De novi operis nunciatione," is founded on the principle, that no NEW use should be made of a man's private liberty of operating upon his private property, from whence a detriment may be justly apprehended by his neighbour. This law of denunciation is prospective. It is to anticipate what is called damnum infectum, or damnum nondum factum, that is, a damage justly apprehended, but not actually done. Even before it is clearly known whether the innovation be damageable or not, the judge is competent to issue a prohibition to innovate, until the point can be determined. This prompt interference is grounded on principles favourable to both parties. It is preventive of mischief difficult to be repaired, and of ill blood difficult to be softened. The rule of law, therefore, which comes before the evil, is amongst the very best parts of equity, and justifies the promptness of the remedy; because, as it is well observed, Res damni infecti celeritatem desiderat, et periculosa est dilatio. This right of denunciation does not hold, when things continue, however inconveniently to the neighbourhood, according to the ANCIENT mode. For there is a sort of presumption against novelty, drawn out of a deep consideration of human nature, and human affairs; and the maxim of jurisprudence is well laid down, Vetustas pro lege semper habetur.
This violent disruption in the community of Europe must be seen as a move (even if they haven't explicitly repeated it numerous times) either to force people into accepting their system or to maintain a constant hostility against the strongest community we’ve ever known. Can anyone really believe that by presenting humanity with this desperate choice, there's no sign of a hostile mindset? Just because those in power are assumed to have the right to act without restriction in their own territories doesn’t mean they have the right to act anywhere without moral obligations. No such right exists. People are never fully independent of one another. That’s not how our nature works; it’s hard to imagine how anyone can pursue significant actions without impacting others or, of course, without taking on some degree of responsibility for their actions. The situations in which people stand relative to one another create the rules and principles of that responsibility and guide prudence in enforcing it. Distance doesn’t eliminate the duties or rights of individuals; it often makes them difficult to exercise. The same distance can lessen the harmful effects of a bad system in any community. However, there are circumstances where this challenge doesn’t apply, and in those situations, these duties are mandatory, and these rights must be asserted. Public jurists have always drawn many parallels for forming international law from the principles of law that exist in civil communities. Not all civil laws are merely established laws. Those that are conclusions of legal reasoning rather than statutory provisions belong to universal fairness and are universally applicable. Most praetorian law falls into this category. There is a "Law of Neighbourhood" that does not grant a person absolute control over their own property. If a neighbor sees a new construction that could be a nuisance at their door, they have the right to bring it to the judge's attention, who has the right to halt the project; or, if it’s already established, to order its removal. The underlying law is clear and has created many wise provisions that govern and limit the right of ownership by the right of vicinity, without destroying it. No innovation is allowed that could even indirectly harm a neighbor. The entire doctrine of that important area of praetorian law, "De novi operis nunciatione," is based on the principle that no new use of someone’s private freedom to act on their private property should create reasonable concerns of harm to a neighbor. This law of denunciation is proactive. It aims to prevent what is called damnum infectum, or potential damage that has not yet occurred, which is damage that is justly feared but not actually inflicted. Even before it’s clearly evident whether the innovation will cause damage, the judge has the authority to prohibit the innovation until the issue can be resolved. This quick intervention is based on principles that benefit both parties. It helps prevent harm that is hard to fix and tensions that are hard to ease. Therefore, the legal rule that intervenes before the harm happens is one of the best parts of equity and justifies the speed of the remedy; because, as it is often noted, Res damni infecti celeritatem desiderat, et periculosa est dilatio. This right of denunciation doesn’t apply when things continue, however inconveniently, according to the ancient way. There is a sort of presumption against novelty, stemming from a deep understanding of human nature and human affairs; and the legal maxim is well established, Vetustas pro lege semper habetur.
Such is the law of civil vicinity. Now where there is no constituted judge, as between independent states there is not, the vicinage itself is the natural judge. It is, preventively, the assertor of its own rights, or remedially, their avenger. Neighbours are presumed to take cognizance of each other's acts. "Vicini vicinorum facta praesumuntur scire." This principle, which, like the rest, is as true of nations as of individual men, has bestowed on the grand vicinage of Europe a duty to know, and a right to prevent, any capital innovation which may amount to the erection of a dangerous nuisance.
Such is the law of neighboring territories. When there is no established judge, as is the case between independent states, the neighborhood itself acts as the natural judge. It can either proactively defend its own rights or reactively seek justice. Neighbors are expected to be aware of each other's actions. "Vicini vicinorum facta praesumuntur scire." This principle, which holds true for both nations and individuals, imposes a responsibility on the larger community of Europe to be informed and to prevent any significant changes that might create a serious threat.
EUROPEAN COMMUNITY.
The operation of dangerous and delusive first principles obliges us to have recourse to the true ones. In the intercourse between nations, we are apt to rely too much on the instrumental part. We lay too much weight upon the formality of treaties and compacts. We do not act much more wisely when we trust to the interests of men as guarantees of their engagements. The interests frequently tear to pieces the engagements; and the passions trample upon both. Entirely to trust to either, is to disregard our own safety, or not to know mankind. Men are not tied to one another by papers and seals. They are led to associate by resemblances, by conformities, by sympathies. It is with nations as with individuals. Nothing is so strong a tie of amity between nation and nation as correspondence in laws, customs, manners, and habits of life. They have more than the force of treaties in themselves. They are obligations written in the heart. They approximate men to men, without their knowledge, and sometimes against their intentions. The secret, unseen, but irrefragable bond of habitual intercourse holds them together, even when their perverse and litigious nature sets them to equivocate, scuffle, and fight, about the terms of their written obligations. As to war, if it be the means of wrong and violence, it is the sole means of justice amongst nations. Nothing can banish it from the world. They who say otherwise, intending to impose upon us, do not impose upon themselves. But it is one of the greatest objects of human wisdom to mitigate those evils which we are unable to remove. The conformity and analogy of which I speak, incapable, like everything else, of preserving perfect trust and tranquillity among men, has a strong tendency to facilitate accommodation, and to produce a generous oblivion of the rancour of their quarrels. With this similitude, peace is more of peace, and war is less of war. I will go further. There have been periods of time in which communities, apparently in peace with each other, have been more perfectly separated than, in latter times, many nations in Europe have been in the course of long and bloody wars. The cause must be sought in the similitude throughout Europe of religion, laws, and manners. At bottom, these are all the same. The writers on public law have often called this AGGREGATE of nations a commonwealth. They had reason. It is virtually one great state having the same basis of general law, with some diversity of provincial customs and local establishments. The nations of Europe have had the very same Christian religion, agreeing in the fundamental parts, varying a little in the ceremonies and in the subordinate doctrines. The whole of the polity and economy of every country in Europe has been derived from the same sources. It was drawn from the old Germanic or Gothic custumary, from the feudal institutions which must be considered as an emanation from that custumary; and the whole has been improved and digested into system and discipline by the Roman law. From hence arose the several orders, with or without a monarch (which are called states), in every European country; the strong traces of which, where monarchy predominated, were never wholly extinguished or merged in despotism. In the few places where monarchy was cast off, the spirit of European monarchy was still left. Those countries still continued countries of states; that is, of classes, orders, and distinctions such as had before subsisted, or nearly so. Indeed, the force and form of the institution called states continued in greater perfection in those republican communities than under monarchies. From all those sources arose a system of manners and of education which was nearly similar in all this quarter of the globe; and which softened, blended, and harmonized the colours of the whole.
The way we handle misleading and dangerous fundamental ideas forces us to turn to the true ones. When it comes to interactions between countries, we tend to rely too much on the formal aspects. We place too much importance on the legalities of treaties and agreements. We aren't much smarter when we depend on people's self-interests as guarantees of their commitments. Those interests often break apart the commitments, and emotions can override both. Fully trusting either is to ignore our own safety or misunderstand human nature. People aren't connected by just documents and signatures. They come together through shared traits, commonalities, and mutual feelings. The relationship between nations is similar to that between individuals. Nothing ties countries together quite like shared laws, customs, behaviors, and lifestyles. These connections carry more weight than treaties themselves. They are obligations written in the heart. They bring people closer together, often unknowingly and sometimes against their will. The secret, unseen, but undeniable bond of regular interaction keeps them united, even when their conflicting and litigious nature pushes them to argue and fight about the terms of their written agreements. Regarding war, while it may be a source of injustice and violence, it is also the only method of achieving justice among nations. Nothing can eliminate it from the world. Those who suggest otherwise, intending to deceive us, do not deceive themselves. However, one of humanity's greatest tasks is to ease the suffering caused by issues we cannot eliminate. The similarities I refer to, although unable to create perfect trust and peace among people, tend to promote compromise and generate a generous forgetting of their grievances. With such similarities, peace is more peaceful, and war is less warlike. Let me go further. There have been times when communities, seemingly at peace, have been more isolated than many nations in Europe have been during long and bloody wars. The reason lies in the similarities across Europe in religion, laws, and customs. Essentially, they are all quite alike. Scholars of public law have often referred to this collective of nations as a commonwealth. They had their reasons. It essentially acts as one large state with a common foundation of general law, despite some variations in local customs and practices. The nations of Europe all share the same Christian faith, agreeing on the core principles while differing slightly in ceremonies and minor doctrines. The political and economic systems of every country in Europe have originated from the same sources. They descended from ancient Germanic or Gothic customs and from feudal institutions, which were an extension of those customs; all of this was refined and organized into systems and regulations by Roman law. This led to the emergence of various orders, with or without a monarchy (called states), in every European country; the strong remnants of which, where monarchy thrived, were never completely extinguished or absorbed into despotism. In the few places where monarchy was abolished, the spirit of European monarchy remained. Those countries continued to function as states; that is, as entities with classes, orders, and distinctions that had previously existed, or something similar. In fact, the strength and structure of the institution known as states existed in greater measure in those republican communities than in monarchies. From all these sources came a system of manners and education that was nearly uniform across this part of the world, which softened, mixed, and harmonized the character of the whole.
PERILS OF JACOBIN PEACE.
The same temper which brings us to solicit a Jacobin peace, will induce us to temporize with all the evils of it. By degrees our minds will be made to our circumstances. The novelty of such things, which produces half the horror, and all the disgust, will be worn off. Our ruin will be disguised in profit, and the sale of a few wretched baubles will bribe a degenerate people to barter away the most precious jewel of their souls. Our constitution is not made for this kind of warfare. It provides greatly for our happiness,—it furnishes few means for our defence. It is formed, in a great measure, upon the principle of jealousy of the crown; and, as things stood when it took that turn, with very great reason. I go further; it must keep alive some part of that fire of jealousy eternally and chastely burning, or it cannot be the British constitution. At various periods we have had tyranny in this country, more than enough. We have had rebellions, with more or less justification. Some of our kings have made adulterous connections abroad, and trucked away for foreign gold the interests and glory of their crown. But before this time our liberty has never been corrupted. I mean to say, that it has never been debauched from its domestic relations. To this time it has been English liberty, and English liberty only. Our love of liberty and our love of our country were not distinct things. Liberty is now, it seems, put upon a larger and more liberal bottom. We are men, and as men, undoubtedly nothing human is foreign to us. We cannot be too liberal in our general wishes for the happiness of our kind. But in all questions on the mode of procuring it for any particular community, we ought to be fearful of admitting those who have no interest in it, or who have, perhaps, an interest against it, into the consultation. Above all, we cannot be too cautious in our communication with those who seek their happiness by other roads than those of humanity, morals, and religion, and whose liberty consists, and consists alone, in being free from those restraints which are imposed by the virtues upon the passions.
The same attitude that leads us to ask for a Jacobin peace will also make us compromise with all its problems. Gradually, we’ll get used to our situation. The shock of such changes, which causes half the fear and all the disgust, will fade. Our downfall will be masked as a gain, and the sale of a few miserable trinkets will convince a corrupted population to trade away the most valuable part of their souls. Our constitution isn’t designed for this kind of battle. It greatly supports our happiness but provides few ways to defend ourselves. It’s largely based on the principle of suspicion towards the crown, and given the circumstances at the time, this was very reasonable. I go further; it must keep some of that enduring and pure jealousy alive, or it can’t be the British constitution. Throughout various times, we’ve experienced enough tyranny in this country. We’ve had rebellions, some justified and some not. Some of our kings have had scandalous affairs abroad and traded away the interests and glory of their crown for foreign gold. But until now, our liberty has never been tainted. I mean to say, it has never been corrupted in its domestic relationships. Up until now, it has been English liberty, and only English liberty. Our love for liberty and our love for our country were not separate things. Liberty now seems to be founded on a broader and more generous basis. We are human beings, and as humans, nothing human is foreign to us. We can’t be too generous in our general desires for the happiness of humanity. However, in all discussions about how to secure it for any specific community, we should be cautious about including those who have no stake in it or who might actually be against it. Above all, we must be careful in our dealings with those who seek their happiness through paths that stray from humanity, morals, and religion, and whose liberty consists solely in being free from the restraints imposed by virtues on their passions.
When we invite danger from a confidence in defensive measures, we ought, first of all, to be sure that it is a species of danger against which any defensive measures that can be adopted will be sufficient. Next we ought to know that the spirit of our laws, or that our own dispositions, which are stronger than laws, are susceptible of all those defensive measures which the occasion may require. A third consideration is, whether these measures will not bring more odium than strength to government; and the last, whether the authority that makes them, in a general corruption of manners and principles, can insure their execution? Let no one argue from the state of things, as he sees them at present, concerning what will be the means and capacities of government, when the time arrives, which shall call for remedies commensurate to enormous evils.
When we take on danger because we trust our protective measures, we should first make sure that it’s a type of danger that any protective steps we can take will actually be enough against. Then we need to understand whether our laws and our own attitudes, which are often stronger than laws, can handle all the protective actions required for the situation. A third point to consider is whether these actions will create more backlash than support for the government; and finally, we must ask whether the authority implementing these measures can ensure they’re carried out in a time when morals and principles are generally in decline. No one should judge from the current state of affairs regarding what the government's capabilities and resources will be when the time comes for solutions that match severe problems.
It is an obvious truth that no constitution can defend itself: it must be defended by the wisdom and fortitude of men. These are what no constitution can give: they are the gifts of God; and he alone knows whether we shall possess such gifts at the time when we stand in need of them. Constitutions furnish the civil means of getting at the natural; it is all that in this case they can do. But our constitution has more impediments than helps. Its excellencies, when they come to be put to this sort of proof, may be found among its defects.
It’s a clear truth that no constitution can protect itself; it relies on the wisdom and strength of people to do that. Those qualities can’t be provided by any constitution; they are gifts from God, and only He knows if we’ll have them when we need them most. Constitutions provide the legal tools to access what’s natural, and that’s all they can offer in this situation. However, our constitution has more obstacles than advantages. When put to the test, its strengths might actually reveal its weaknesses.
Nothing looks more awful and imposing than an ancient fortification. Its lofty, embattled walls, its bold, projecting, rounded towers, that pierce the sky, strike the imagination, and promise inexpugnable strength. But they are the very things that make its weakness. You may as well think of opposing one of these old fortresses to the mass of artillery brought by a French irruption into the field, as to think of resisting, by your old laws, and your old forms, the new destruction which the corps of Jacobin engineers of to-day prepare for all such forms and all such laws. Besides the debility and false principle of their construction to resist the present modes of attack, the fortress itself is in ruinous repair, and there is a practicable breach in every part of it.
Nothing looks more terrible and imposing than an ancient fortress. Its tall, battlemented walls and its bold, rounded towers that reach for the sky capture the imagination and promise unbeatable strength. But those are the very things that reveal its weaknesses. You might as well think about opposing one of these old fortifications to the massive artillery brought by a French invasion as to consider resisting, with your outdated laws and old systems, the new destruction that today's Jacobin engineers are preparing for all such structures and laws. Besides the weaknesses and flawed principles of their design to withstand modern attacks, the fortress itself is in disrepair, and there’s a practical breach in every part of it.
Such is the work. But miserable works have been defended by the constancy of the garrison. Weather-beaten ships have been brought safe to port by the spirit and alertness of the crew. But it is here that we shall eminently fail. The day that, by their consent, the seat of regicide has its place among the thrones of Europe, there is no longer a motive for zeal in their favour; it will at best be cold, unimpassioned, dejected, melancholy duty. The glory will seem all on the other side. The friends of the crown will appear, not as champions, but as victims; discountenanced, mortified, lowered, defeated, they will fall into listlessness and indifference. They will leave things to take their course; enjoy the present hour, and submit to the common fate.
This is the situation. But miserable tasks have been supported by the determination of the defenders. Weather-beaten ships have been brought safely to harbor by the enthusiasm and alertness of the crew. But this is where we will notably fail. Once the seat of regicide is accepted among the thrones of Europe, there will be no reason for passion in their support; at best, it will be a cold, uninspired, dreary duty. The glory will seem entirely on the other side. The supporters of the crown will appear not as heroes, but as victims; discouraged, humiliated, diminished, and defeated, they will slip into apathy and indifference. They will let things unfold as they will, enjoy the moment, and resign themselves to the shared fate.
PARLIAMENTARY AND REGAL PREROGATIVE.
Your throne cannot stand secure upon the principles of unconditional submission and passive obedience; on powers exercised without the concurrence of the people to be governed; on acts made in defiance of their prejudices and habits; on acquiescence procured by foreign mercenary troops, and secured by standing armies. These may possibly be the foundation of other thrones: they must be the subversion of yours. It was not to passive principles in our ancestors that we owe the honour of appearing before a sovereign, who cannot feel that he is a prince, without knowing that we ought to be free. The revolution is a departure from the ancient course of the descent of this monarchy. The people at that time re-entered into their original rights; and it was not because a positive law authorized what was then done, but because the freedom and safety of the subject, the origin and cause of all laws, required a proceeding paramount and superior to them. At that ever-memorable and instructive period, the letter of the law was superseded in favour of the substance of liberty. To the free choice, therefore, of the people, without either king or parliament, we owe that happy establishment, out of which both king and parliament were regenerated. From that great principle of liberty have originated the statutes, confirming and ratifying the establishment, from which your majesty derives your right to rule over us. Those statutes have not given us our liberties; our liberties have produced them. Every hour of your majesty's reign your title stands upon the very same foundation on which it was at first laid; and we do not know a better on which it can possibly be placed.
Your throne can’t stay secure based on unconditional submission and passive obedience; on powers used without the agreement of the people being governed; on actions taken against their beliefs and habits; on compliance bought with foreign mercenaries, and maintained by standing armies. These might support other thrones, but they will undermine yours. We owe the privilege of standing before a sovereign, who can’t see himself as a prince unless he understands that we should be free, to our ancestors who were not passive. The revolution marked a break from the traditional lineage of this monarchy. Back then, people reclaimed their original rights; it wasn’t because a law permitted what happened but because the freedom and safety of the citizens—the basis of all laws—called for action that was above and beyond them. During that memorable and enlightening time, the strict letter of the law was set aside for the essence of liberty. Therefore, we owe the prosperous establishment of our nation to the free choice of the people, independent of both king and parliament, which led to the rebirth of both. From that fundamental principle of liberty arose the laws that confirm and endorse the establishment from which your majesty claims the right to rule over us. Those laws didn’t grant us our liberties; our liberties brought them about. Every hour of your majesty's reign, your title rests on the same foundation it was originally built upon, and we don’t know a better one it could possibly be based on.
Convinced, sir, that you cannot have different rights and a different security in different parts of your dominions, we wish to lay an even platform for your throne; and to give it an unmovable stability, by laying it on the general freedom of your people; and by securing to your majesty that confidence and affection in all parts of your dominions, which makes your best security and dearest title in this the chief seat of your empire.
Convinced, sir, that you can't have different rights and different security in different areas of your territory, we want to create a level platform for your reign; and to give it solid stability by grounding it in the overall freedom of your people; and by ensuring that your majesty has the trust and support of all regions under your rule, which provides your greatest security and most valuable title in this the main seat of your empire.
Such, sir, being amongst us the foundation of monarchy itself, much more clearly and much more peculiarly is it the ground of all parliamentary power. Parliament is a security provided for the protection of freedom, and not a subtile fiction, contrived to amuse the people in its place. The authority of both houses can, still less than that of the crown, be supported upon different principles in different places, so as to be, for one part of your subjects, a protector of liberty, and for another a fund of despotism, through which prerogative is extended by occasional powers, whenever an arbitrary will finds itself straitened by the restrictions of law. Had it seemed good to parliament to consider itself as the indulgent guardian and strong protector of the freedom of the subordinate popular assemblies, instead of exercising its power to their annihilation, there is no doubt that it never could have been their inclination, because not their interest, to raise questions on the extent of parliamentary rights, or to enfeeble privileges which were the security of their own. Powers evident from necessity, and not suspicious from an alarming mode or purpose in the exertion, would, as formerly they were, be cheerfully submitted to; and these would have been fully sufficient for conservation of unity in the empire, and for directing its wealth to one common centre. Another use has produced other consequences; and a power which refuses to be limited by moderation must either be lost, or find other more distinct and satisfactory limitations.
Such, sir, being the foundation of monarchy itself, it is even more clearly the basis of all parliamentary power. Parliament is a safeguard for freedom and not a clever trick designed to entertain the people. The authority of both houses cannot, any more than the crown's, be supported by different principles in different places. It cannot be a protector of liberty for some subjects and a source of tyranny for others, through which power is extended by temporary measures whenever an arbitrary will feels constrained by the law. If parliament had chosen to see itself as the caring guardian and strong protector of the freedom of local assemblies, instead of working to eliminate them, there is no doubt that they would not have wanted to question the limits of parliamentary rights or weaken the privileges that safeguard their own interests. Powers that are clearly necessary and not suspiciously exercised would gladly be accepted, just as they were in the past; this would have been enough to maintain unity in the empire and channel its wealth to a common goal. A different approach has brought about different results, and a power that refuses to be restrained by moderation must either be lost or find other clearer and more acceptable limits.
BURKE'S DESIGN IN HIS GREATEST WORK.
He had undertaken to demonstrate by arguments which he thought could not be refuted, and by documents which he was sure could not be denied, that no comparison was to be made between the British government and the French usurpation. That they who endeavoured madly to compare them, were by no means making the comparison of one good system with another good system, which varied only in local and circumstantial differences; much less, that they were holding out to us a superior pattern of legal liberty, which we might substitute in the place of our old, and, as they described it, superannuated constitution. He meant to demonstrate that the French scheme was not a comparative good, but a positive evil. That the question did not at all turn, as had been stated, on a parallel between a monarchy and a republic. He denied that the present scheme of things in France did at all deserve the respectable name of a republic: he had therefore no comparison between monarchies and republics to make. That what was done in France was a wild attempt to methodize anarchy; to perpetuate and fix disorder. That it was a foul, impious, monstrous thing, wholly out of the course of moral nature. He undertook to prove that it was generated in treachery, fraud, falsehood, hypocrisy, and unprovoked murder. He offered to make out that those who had led in that business had conducted themselves with the utmost perfidy to their colleagues in function, and with the most flagrant perjury both towards their king and their constituents; to the one of whom the Assembly had sworn fealty, and to the other, when under no sort of violence or constraint, they had sworn a full obedience to instructions.—That, by the terror of assassination, they had driven away a very great number of the members, so as to produce a false appearance of a majority.—That this fictitious majority had fabricated a constitution, which, as now it stands, is a tyranny far beyond any example that can be found in the civilized European world of our age; that therefore the lovers of it must be lovers, not of liberty, but if they really understand its nature, of the lowest and basest of all servitude.
He set out to prove, using arguments he believed were unassailable and documents he was confident couldn’t be denied, that there was no basis for comparing the British government with the French takeover. Those who recklessly attempted to draw parallels were not comparing one good system to another good system that simply differed in local and circumstantial ways. They were definitely not presenting us with a superior model of legal freedom that we could adopt in place of our old, as they called it, outdated constitution. He aimed to show that the French system was not a comparative good but a real evil. The issue wasn’t about comparing a monarchy to a republic, as had been suggested. He denied that the current situation in France deserved to be called a republic at all, so he had no comparisons to make between monarchies and republics. What was happening in France was a chaotic attempt to organize anarchy, to solidify and entrench disorder. It was a disgraceful, blasphemous, monstrous thing, entirely contrary to the principles of morality. He intended to prove that it was born from betrayal, deceit, falsehood, hypocrisy, and unprovoked murder. He claimed that those leading this movement had acted with utter treachery towards their fellow officials and with the most blatant perjury towards both their king and their constituents; to the former, they had sworn loyalty, and to the latter, they had pledged full obedience to instructions without any form of coercion. He stated that, through the threat of assassination, they had driven away many members, creating a false semblance of a majority. This fabricated majority had produced a constitution that, as it stands, is a tyranny far worse than anything else seen in the civilized European world today; thus, those who support it must actually be supporters not of freedom, but if they truly grasp its nature, of the lowest and most despicable form of servitude.
He proposed to prove that the present state of things in France is not a transient evil, productive, as some have too favourably represented it, of a lasting good; but that the present evil is only the means of producing future and (if that were possible) worse evils.—That it is not an undigested, imperfect, and crude scheme of liberty, which may gradually be mellowed and ripened into an orderly and social freedom; but that it is so fundamentally wrong, as to be utterly incapable of correcting itself by any length of time, or of being formed into any mode of polity of which a member of the House of Commons could publicly declare his approbation.
He aimed to show that the current situation in France is not a temporary problem that could lead to something good, as some have too optimistically suggested, but that this current issue will only result in future and, if possible, even worse problems. He argued that this is not a poorly thought out and incomplete idea of freedom that might eventually develop into a structured and social freedom; it is so fundamentally flawed that it cannot correct itself over time or be shaped into any political system that a member of the House of Commons could publicly endorse.
LORD KEPPEL.
I ever looked on Lord Keppel as one of the greatest and best men of his age; and I loved and cultivated him accordingly. He was much in my heart, and I believe I was in his to the very last beat. It was at his trial at Portsmouth that he gave me this picture. With what zeal and anxious affection I attended him through that his agony of glory, what part my son took in the early flush and enthusiasm of his virtue, and the pious passion with which he attached himself to all my connections, with what prodigality we both squandered ourselves in courting almost every sort of enmity for his sake, I believe he felt, just as I should have felt such friendship on such an occasion. I partook indeed of this honour with several of the first, and best, and ablest in the kingdom, but I was behindhand with none of them; and I am sure, that if to the eternal disgrace of this nation, and to the total annihilation of every trace of honour and virtue in it, things had taken a different turn from what they did, I should have attended him to the quarter-deck with no less good-will and more pride, though with far other feelings, than I partook of the general flow of national joy that attended the justice that was done to his virtue.
I've always seen Lord Keppel as one of the greatest and kindest men of his time, and I cherished and respected him accordingly. He held a special place in my heart, and I believe I was in his to his very last moment. It was during his trial in Portsmouth that he gave me this picture. With what enthusiasm and genuine care I supported him through that painful yet glorious time, how my son was caught up in the early excitement and admiration for his integrity, and the heartfelt dedication he showed to all my connections—all of this, I believe, he felt, just as I would have valued such loyalty in a similar situation. I certainly shared this honor with several of the top, most capable individuals in the country, but I did not lag behind any of them; and I'm confident that if, to the eternal shame of this nation and the complete loss of all honor and virtue within it, things had gone differently, I would have accompanied him to the quarter-deck with just as much goodwill and even more pride, though with very different emotions, than I felt during the widespread national joy that celebrated the justice done to his integrity.
Pardon, my lord, the feeble garrulity of age, which loves to diffuse itself in discourse of the departed great. At my years we live in retrospect alone; and, wholly unfitted for the society of vigorous life, we enjoy, the best balm to all wounds, the consolation of friendship in those only whom we have lost for ever. Feeling the loss of Lord Keppel at all times, at no time did I feel it so much as on the first day when I was attacked in the House of Lords.
Sorry, my lord, for the weak chatter of old age, which likes to ramble on about the great people who are gone. At my age, we only look back at what has been; and, completely unable to engage with the lively world around us, we find the best remedy for all our aches—the comfort of friendship in those we've lost forever. I feel the absence of Lord Keppel all the time, but I felt it the most on that first day when I was criticized in the House of Lords.
Had he lived, that reverend form would have risen in its place, and, with a mild, parental reprehension to his nephew the duke of Bedford, he would have told him that the favour of that gracious prince, who had honoured his virtues with the government of the navy of Great Britain, and with a seat in the hereditary great council of his kingdom, was not undeservedly shown to the friend of the best portion of his life, and his faithful companion and counsellor under his rudest trials. He would have told him, that to whomever else these reproaches might be becoming, they were not decorous in his near kindred. He would have told him that when men in that rank lose decorum they lose everything. On that day I had a loss in Lord Keppel; but the public loss of him in this awful crisis—! I speak from much knowledge of the person, he never would have listened to any compromise with the rabble rout of this sans-culotterie of France. His goodness of heart, his reason, his taste, his public duty, his principles, his prejudices, would have repelled him for ever from all connection with that horrid medley of madness, vice, impiety, and crime.
If he had lived, that revered figure would have taken his place and, gently scolding his nephew, the Duke of Bedford, he would have reminded him that the favor of that kind prince—who had entrusted him with the command of the British navy and a seat in the hereditary council of the kingdom—was rightfully given to a friend who had shared the best moments of his life and had been his loyal advisor during tough times. He would have pointed out that, no matter how justified these criticisms might be for others, they were not appropriate for his close family. He would have insisted that when people in such positions lose their integrity, they lose everything. On that day, I suffered a loss in Lord Keppel; but the public loss of him in this terrible crisis—! Speaking from a deep understanding of the man, he would never have entertained any compromise with the chaotic mob of the French revolution. His good nature, reasoning, taste, sense of public duty, principles, and biases would have forever kept him away from that horrific mix of madness, vice, disrespect, and crime.
Lord Keppel had two countries; one of descent, and one of birth. Their interest and their glory are the same; and his mind was capacious of both. His family was noble, and it was Dutch: that is, he was the oldest and purest nobility that Europe can boast, among a people renowned above all others for love of their native land. Though it was never shown in insult to any human being, Lord Keppel was something high. It was a wild stock of pride, on which the tenderest of all hearts had grafted the milder virtues. He valued ancient nobility; and he was not disinclined to augment it with new honours. He valued the old nobility and the new, not as an excuse for inglorious sloth, but as an incitement to virtuous activity. He considered it as a sort of cure for selfishness and a narrow mind; conceiving that a man born in an elevated place in himself was nothing, but everything in what went before, and what was to come after him. Without much speculation, but by the sure instinct of ingenuous feelings, and by the dictates of plain, unsophisticated, natural understanding, he felt that no great commonwealth could by any possibility long subsist without a body of some kind or other of nobility, decorated with honour, and fortified by privilege. This nobility forms the chain that connects the ages of a nation, which otherwise (with Mr. Paine) would soon be taught that no one generation can bind another. He felt that no political fabric could be well made without some such order of things as might, through a series of time, afford a rational hope of securing unity, coherence, consistency, and stability to the state. He felt that nothing else can protect it against the levity of courts, and the greater levity of the multitude. That to talk of hereditary monarchy, without anything else of hereditary reverence in the commonwealth, was a low-minded absurdity, fit only for those detestable "fools aspiring to be knaves," who began to forge in 1789 the false money of the French constitution.—That it is one fatal objection to all NEW fancied and NEW FABRICATED republics (among a people who, once possessing such an advantage, have wickedly and insolently rejected it), that the PREJUDICE of an old nobility is a thing that CANNOT be made. It may be improved, it may be corrected, it may be replenished: men may be taken from it or aggregated to it, but the THING ITSELF is matter of INVETERATE opinion, and therefore CANNOT be matter of mere positive institution. He felt that this nobility in fact does not exist in wrong of other orders of the state, but by them, and for them.
Lord Keppel had two homelands: one of heritage and one of birth. Their interests and glory were intertwined, and he embraced both fully. His family was noble and Dutch, being the oldest and purest nobility Europe can claim, among a people celebrated for their love of their homeland. Although he never insulted anyone, Lord Keppel had a certain dignity. It was a proud spirit, tempered by the kindest of hearts with gentler virtues. He appreciated ancient nobility and was open to enhancing it with new honors. He valued both the old and new nobility, not as a reason for laziness, but as a motivation for virtuous action. He saw it as a remedy for selfishness and narrow-mindedness, believing that a man born into privilege is insignificant in himself, but important for what came before and what will follow. Without much overthinking, guided by genuine feelings and straightforward understanding, he was convinced that no great society could survive long without some form of nobility, adorned with honor and supported by privilege. This nobility links the eras of a nation, which, as Mr. Paine argued, could quickly learn that no generation can bind another. He believed that no political system could be well constructed without some order that would, over time, provide a realistic hope for unity, coherence, consistency, and stability of the state. He felt that nothing else could shield it from the frivolity of courts and the even greater frivolity of the masses. To speak of hereditary monarchy without any form of inherited respect in the society was a foolish absurdity, suited only for those detestable "fools aspiring to be knaves" who began forging the false currency of the French constitution in 1789. He saw that a serious flaw in all new, imagined republics, created by a people who had once enjoyed such advantages but then recklessly rejected them, was that the prejudice of an old nobility cannot be fabricated. It can be improved, corrected, or replenished; people can be removed or added, but the very concept is rooted in deep-seated opinions and cannot be simply established by legal decree. He understood that this nobility doesn't exist at the expense of other branches of the state, but rather for and alongside them.
"LABOURING POOR."
Let government protect and encourage industry, secure property, repress violence, and discountenance fraud, it is all that they have to do. In other respects, the less they meddle in these affairs the better; the rest is in the hands of our Master and theirs. We are in a constitution of things wherein—"Modo sol nimius, modo corripit imber." But I will push this matter no further. As I have said a good deal upon it at various times during my public service, and have lately written something on it which may yet see the light, I shall content myself now with observing, that the vigorous and laborious class of life has lately got, from the bon ton of the humanity of this day, the name of the "labouring poor." We have heard many plans for the relief of the "labouring poor." This puling jargon is not as innocent as it is foolish. In meddling with great affairs, weakness is never innoxious. Hitherto the name of poor (in the sense in which it is used to excite compassion) has not been used for those who can, but for those who cannot, labour—for the sick and infirm, for orphan infancy, for languishing and decrepit age: but when we affect to pity, as poor, those who must labour, or the world cannot exist, we are trifling with the condition of mankind. It is the common doom of man that he must eat his bread by the sweat of his brow, that is, by the sweat of his body, or the sweat of his mind. If this toil was inflicted as a curse, it is, as might be expected from the curses of the Father of all blessings—it is tempered with many alleviations, many comforts. Every attempt to fly from it, and to refuse the very terms of our existence, becomes much more truly a curse; and heavier pains and penalties fall upon those who would elude the tasks which are put upon them by the great Master Workman of the world, who, in his dealings with his creatures, sympathizes with their weakness, and speaking of a creation wrought by mere will out of nothing, speaks of six days of LABOUR and one of REST. I do not call a healthy young man, cheerful in his mind, and vigorous in his arms, I cannot call such a man POOR; I cannot pity my kind as a kind, merely because they are men. This affected pity only tends to dissatisfy them with their condition, and to teach them to seek resources where no resources are to be found, in something else than their own industry, and frugality, and sobriety. Whatever may be the intention (which, because I do not know, I cannot dispute) of those who would discontent mankind by this strange pity, they act towards us, in the consequences, as if they were our worst enemies.
Let the government protect and promote industry, secure property, suppress violence, and discourage fraud; that's all they need to do. In other matters, the less they interfere, the better. Everything else is in the hands of our Master and theirs. We live in a situation where—"Sometimes the sun shines, sometimes rain pours down." But I won’t delve into this any further. I have talked about it enough during my public service and have recently written something on it that may be published. For now, I’ll just point out that the hardworking class has recently been labeled the "labouring poor" by the elites of today's society. We’ve heard many proposals for helping the "labouring poor." This whiny language isn't as innocent as it seems; it’s not just foolish. When we interfere in significant matters, weakness is never harmless. Until now, the term "poor" (used to evoke sympathy) hasn’t referred to those who can work but to those who cannot—like the sick and disabled, orphaned children, and the elderly. When we pretend to pity those who must work, or else society cannot function, we’re trivializing the human condition. It’s a universal truth that humans must earn their living through hard work, whether that's physical labor or intellectual effort. If this struggle is seen as a curse, it's balanced out by many comforts and eases, as one might expect from the results of the ultimate giver of blessings. Trying to escape this reality, and rejecting the very basis of our existence, often brings a heavier burden; those who attempt to evade the responsibilities assigned to them by the Great Creator face greater hardships. He who relates to his creations in their struggles, spoke of six days of LABOR and one of REST when discussing a world brought into being from nothing. I don’t see a healthy young man, who is optimistic and strong, as POOR; I cannot feel sorry for people just because they are human. This false compassion only serves to make them unhappy with their situation and encourages them to look for solutions where there are none, aside from their own hard work, thrift, and self-control. Regardless of the intentions (which I can’t dispute since I don’t know them) of those who would sow discontent through this peculiar pity, the outcomes are as if they were our worst enemies.
STATE CONSECRATED BY THE CHURCH.
I beg leave to speak of our church establishment, which is the first of our prejudices, not a prejudice destitute of reason, but involving in it profound and extensive wisdom. I speak of it first. It is first, and last, and midst in our minds. For, taking ground on that religious system, of which we are now in possession, we continue to act on the early received and uniformly continued sense of mankind. That sense not only, like a wise architect, hath built up the august fabric of states, but like a provident proprietor, to preserve the structure from profanation and ruin, as a sacred temple purged from all the impurities of fraud, and violence, and injustice, and tyranny, hath solemnly and for ever consecrated the commonwealth, and all that officiate in it. This consecration is made, that all who administer in the government of men, in which they stand in the person of God himself, should have high and worthy notions of their function and destination; that their hope should be full of immortality; that they should not look to the paltry pelf of the moment, nor to the temporary and transient praise of the vulgar, but to a solid, permanent existence, in the permanent part of their nature, and to a permanent fame and glory, in the example they leave as a rich inheritance to the world.
I’d like to talk about our church establishment, which is our strongest belief—not a belief without reason, but one that holds deep and significant wisdom. I'm discussing it first because it is central to our thoughts. Grounded in the religious system we have, we continue to act in line with the long-held and consistently shared understanding of humanity. This understanding has not only built up the great structures of society like a skilled architect, but also, like a responsible owner, has safeguarded these structures from corruption and decay. It has treated the commonwealth like a sacred temple, cleansed from all fraud, violence, injustice, and tyranny. It has dedicated the commonwealth and everyone involved in it. This dedication is meant so that all who govern, representing God himself, hold noble views of their role and purpose; that their hopes are filled with immortality; that they do not focus on the trivial riches of today or the fleeting praise of the crowd, but aim for a solid, enduring existence in their true nature, along with lasting fame and honor in the legacy they leave as a valuable gift to the world.
Such sublime principles ought to be infused into persons of exalted situations; and religious establishments provided, that may continually revive and enforce them. Every sort of moral, every sort of civil, every sort of politic institution, aiding the rational and natural ties that connect the human understanding and affections to the divine, are not more than necessary, in order to build up that wonderful structure, Man; whose prerogative it is, to be in a great degree a creature of his own making; and who, when made as he ought to be made, is destined to hold no trivial place in the creation. But whenever man is put over men, as the better nature ought ever to preside, in that case more particularly, he should as nearly as possible be approximated to his perfection.
Such great principles should be instilled in people in high positions, along with religious institutions that can continually revive and reinforce them. Every kind of moral, civil, and political institution that supports the rational and natural connections between human understanding and emotions to the divine is essential to create that amazing structure, humanity; which has the unique ability to largely shape itself. When a person is formed as they should be, they are meant to occupy a significant role in creation. However, whenever one person is placed in authority over others, as the superior nature should always oversee, in that case especially, they should strive to be as close to perfection as possible.
The consecration of the state, by a state religious establishment, is necessary also to operate with a wholesome awe upon free citizens; because in order to secure their freedom, they must enjoy some determinate portion of power. To them therefore a religion connected with the state, and with their duty towards it, becomes even more necessary than in such societies, where the people, by the terms of their subjection, are confined to private sentiments, and the management of their own family concerns. All persons possessing any portion of power ought to be strongly and awfully impressed with an idea that they act in trust; and that they are to account for their conduct in that trust to the one great Master, Author, and Founder of society. This principle ought even to be more strongly impressed upon the minds of those who compose the collective sovereignty, than upon those of single princes. Without instruments, these princes can do nothing. Whoever uses instruments, in finding helps, finds also impediments. Their power is therefore by no means complete; nor are they safe in extreme abuse. Such persons, however elevated by flattery, arrogance, and self-opinion, must be sensible that whether covered or not by positive law, in some way or other they are accountable even here for the abuse of their trust. If they are not cut off by a rebellion of their people, they may be strangled by the very janissaries kept for their security against all other rebellion. Thus we have seen the king of France sold by his soldiers for an increase of pay. But where popular authority is absolute and unrestrained, the people have an infinitely greater, because a far better founded, confidence in their own power. They are themselves, in a great measure, their own instruments. They are nearer to their objects. Besides, they are less under responsibility to one of the greatest controlling powers on earth, the sense of fame and estimation. The share of infamy, that is likely to fall to the lot of each individual in public acts, is small indeed; the operation of opinion being in the inverse ratio to the number of those who abuse power. Their own approbation of their own acts has to them the appearance of a public judgment in their favour. A perfect democracy is therefore the most shameless thing in the world. As it is the most shameless, it is also the most fearless. No man apprehends in his person that he can be made subject to punishment. Certainly the people at large never ought: for as all punishments are for example towards the conservation of the people at large, the people at large can never become the subject of punishment by any human hand. (Quicquid multis peccatur inultum.) It is therefore of infinite importance that they should not be suffered to imagine that their will, any more than that of kings, is the standard of right and wrong. They ought to be persuaded that they are full as little entitled, and far less qualified, with safety to themselves, to use any arbitrary power whatsoever; that therefore they are not, under a false show of liberty, but in truth, to exercise an unnatural, inverted domination, tyranically to exact from those who officiate in the state, not an entire devotion to their interest, which is their right, but an abject submission to their occasional will; extinguishing thereby, in all those who serve them, all moral principle, all sense of dignity, all use of judgment, and all consistency of character; whilst by the very same process they give themselves up a proper, a suitable, but a most contemptible prey to the servile ambition of popular sycophants, or courtly flatterers.
The state's religious establishment is essential for instilling a healthy respect among free citizens because, to protect their freedom, they need a clear share of power. For them, a religion tied to the state and their responsibilities toward it is even more crucial than in societies where people, due to their subjugation, are limited to private beliefs and managing their family affairs. Anyone with any amount of power should be strongly and deeply aware that they are acting in trust, accountable for their actions in that trust to the one great Master, Creator, and Foundation of society. This principle should be particularly emphasized for those who form the collective power of the state rather than for individual rulers. Without tools, these rulers cannot accomplish anything. Anyone using tools not only seeks support but also encounters obstacles. Their power is thus not total, nor are they safe from any extreme misuse. These individuals, however flattered, arrogant, or self-assured they may be, must recognize that whether backed by law or not, they are still accountable for their misuse of power. If they aren’t toppled by a rebellion, they might be betrayed by the very guards meant to protect them from other insurrections. We've seen the King of France sold out by his soldiers for higher pay. In contrast, when popular authority is absolute and unrestricted, people have significantly more, and more justified, confidence in their power. They are largely their own tools, closer to their goals. Additionally, they are less bound by one of the greatest forces for control—the desire for reputation and esteem. The risk of disgrace that falls on each person for public actions is indeed quite minimal; public opinion affects them inversely to the number of those who abuse power. Their approval of their actions feels like public validation in their favor. A perfect democracy, then, is the most unashamed thing in existence. As it is the most unashamed, it is also the most fearless. No individual fears being punished. Certainly, the general populace should never be; since all punishments serve as examples for the well-being of the population as a whole, the people cannot be punished by any human means. (Quicquid multis peccatur inultum.) Therefore, it is crucial that they do not believe their will, any more than that of kings, defines right and wrong. They should be convinced they are just as unentitled, and far less capable, of safely exercising any arbitrary power; thus, they do not, under the guise of liberty, but rather, in reality, engage in an unnatural, inverted rule, tyrannically demanding from those who serve in the state not complete devotion to their interests, which is their right, but a shameful submission to their occasional desires. This extinguishes all moral principles, sense of dignity, judgment, and character consistency in those who serve them; at the same time, it turns them into a fitting yet contemptible target for the ambitions of popular flatterers or sycophants.
FATE OF LOUIS XVIII.
Let those who have the trust of political or of natural authority ever keep watch against the desperate enterprises of innovation: let even their benevolence be fortified and armed. They have before their eyes the example of a monarch, insulted, degraded, confined, deposed; his family dispersed, scattered, imprisoned; his wife insulted to his face like the vilest of the sex, by the vilest of all populace; himself three times dragged by these wretches in an infamous triumph; his children torn from him, in violation of the first right of nature, and given into the tuition of the most desperate and impious of the leaders of desperate and impious clubs; his revenues dilapidated and plundered; his magistrates murdered; his clergy proscribed, persecuted, famished; his nobility degraded in their rank, undone in their fortunes, fugitives in their persons; his armies corrupted and ruined; his whole people impoverished, disunited, dissolved; whilst through the bars of his prison, and amidst the bayonets of his keepers, he hears the tumult of two conflicting factions, equally wicked and abandoned, who agree in principles, in dispositions, and in objects, but who tear each other to pieces about the most effectual means of obtaining their common end; the one contending to preserve for a while his name, and his person, the more easily to destroy the royal authority—the other clamouring to cut off the name, the person, and the monarchy together, by one sacrilegious execution. All this accumulation of calamity, the greatest that ever fell upon one man, has fallen upon his head, because he had left his virtues unguarded by caution; because he was not taught that, where power is concerned, he who will confer benefits must take security against ingratitude.
Let those who hold political or natural authority always be on guard against the reckless pursuits of innovation: let even their goodwill be strengthened and prepared. They have in front of them the example of a king who was insulted, humiliated, confined, and overthrown; his family scattered, imprisoned, and separated; his wife dishonored to his face like the worst of women, by the lowest of the population; he himself dragged three times by these scoundrels in a disgraceful parade; his children taken from him, violating the most fundamental rights of nature, and handed over to the care of the most desperate and immoral leaders of ruthless groups; his wealth squandered and stolen; his officials murdered; his clergy outlawed, persecuted, and starved; his nobility degraded in status, ruined financially, and turned into fugitives; his armies corrupted and destroyed; his entire population impoverished, fractured, and dissolved; while through the bars of his prison, and amid the bayonets of his guards, he hears the chaos of two warring factions, equally vile and abandoned, who share the same principles, tendencies, and goals, but tear each other apart over the most effective ways to achieve their shared objective; one faction fighting to preserve his name and life for a while to more easily overthrow royal authority—the other screaming to eliminate his name, life, and monarchy altogether, through a single sacrilegious execution. All this accumulation of disaster, the greatest that has ever befallen one person, has descended upon him because he left his virtues unprotected by caution; because he wasn’t taught that, when it comes to power, those who wish to give benefits must also take precautions against ingratitude.
NOBILITY.
All this violent cry against the nobility I take to be a mere work of art. To be honoured and even privileged by the laws, opinions, and inveterate usages of our country, growing out of the prejudice of ages, has nothing to provoke horror and indignation in any man. Even to be too tenacious of those privileges is not absolutely a crime. The strong struggle in every individual to preserve possession of what he has found to belong to him, and to distinguish him, is one of the securities against injustice and despotism implanted in our nature. It operates as an instinct to secure property, and to preserve communities in a settled state. What is there to shock in this? Nobility is a graceful ornament to the civil order. It is the Corinthian capital of polished society. Omnes boni nobilitati semper favemus, was the saying of a wise and good man. It is indeed one sign of a liberal and benevolent mind to incline to it with some sort of partial propensity. He feels no ennobling principle in his own heart who wishes to level all the artificial institutions which have been adopted for giving a body to opinion, and permanence to fugitive esteem. It is a sour, malignant, envious disposition, without taste for the reality, or for any image or representation of virtue, that sees with joy the unmerited fall of what had long flourished in splendour and in honour. I do not like to see anything destroyed; any void produced in society; any ruin on the face of the land. It was therefore with no disappointment or dissatisfaction that my inquiries and observations did not present to me any incorrigible vices in the noblesse of France, or any abuse which could not be removed by a reform very short of abolition. Your noblesse did not deserve punishment: but to degrade is to punish.
All this loud outcry against the nobility seems to me to be just a piece of art. Being respected and even privileged by the laws, opinions, and long-standing traditions of our country, stemming from old prejudices, shouldn’t provoke horror or anger in anyone. Even clinging too tightly to those privileges isn’t really a crime. The strong urge in each person to hold on to what they believe belongs to them and to define themselves is one of the defenses against unfairness and tyranny that is part of our nature. It acts as an instinct to safeguard property and maintain communities in a stable state. What’s shocking about that? Nobility is a beautiful addition to civil society. It’s the Corinthian capital of a refined culture. Omnes boni nobilitati semper favemus, was the saying of a wise and good man. It's truly a sign of a generous and kind mind to be somewhat drawn to it. Someone who wants to erase all the artificial structures created to give form to opinions and permanence to fleeting esteem doesn’t feel any noble principle in their own heart. It’s a bitter, spiteful, envious attitude that finds joy in the undeserved downfall of what has long thrived in glory and honor. I don’t like to see anything destroyed; any emptiness created in society; any devastation on the landscape. Therefore, I was neither disappointed nor dissatisfied that my inquiries and observations didn’t uncover any unfixable vices among the French nobility, or any wrongdoing that couldn’t be addressed by reforms that fall far short of abolition. Your nobility doesn’t deserve punishment: but to degrade is to punish.
It was with the same satisfaction I found that the result of my inquiry concerning your clergy was not dissimilar. It is no soothing news to my ears, that great bodies of men are incurably corrupt. It is not with much credulity I listen to any when they speak evil of those whom they are going to plunder. I rather suspect that vices are feigned or exaggerated when profit is looked for in their punishment. An enemy is a bad witness; a robber is a worse. Vices and abuses there were undoubtedly in that order, and must be. It was an old establishment, and not frequently revised. But I saw no crimes in the individuals that merited confiscation of their substance, nor those cruel insults and degradations, and that unnatural persecution, which have been substituted in the place of meliorating regulation.
I found the result of my inquiry about your clergy to be similarly disappointing. It's not comforting to hear that large groups of people are hopelessly corrupt. I'm not inclined to believe what anyone says about those they're planning to exploit. I suspect that faults are either fabricated or exaggerated when there's a profit to be made from punishing them. An enemy is a poor witness; a thief is even worse. There were definitely flaws and issues in that organization, and there had to be, as it was an old establishment that hadn’t been updated frequently. However, I didn’t see any crimes among the individuals that would justify seizing their property, nor the cruel insults and humiliations, or the unnatural persecution that have replaced any efforts for better regulation.
If there had been any just cause for this new religious persecution, the atheistic libellers, who act as trumpeters to animate the populace to plunder, do not love anybody so much as not to dwell with complacence on the vices of the existing clergy. This they have not done. They find themselves obliged to rake into the histories of former ages (which they have ransacked with a malignant and profligate industry) for every instance of oppression and persecution which has been made by that body or in its favour, in order to justify, upon very iniquitous, because very illogical, principles of retaliation, their own persecutions and their own cruelties. After destroying all other genealogies and family distinctions, they invent a sort of pedigree of crimes. It is not very just to chastise men for the offences of their natural ancestors: but to take the fiction of ancestry in a corporate succession as a ground for punishing men who have no relation to guilty acts, except in names and general descriptions, is a sort of refinement in injustice belonging to the philosophy of this enlightened age. The Assembly punishes men, many, if not most, of whom abhor the violent conduct of ecclesiastics in former times as much as their present persecutors can do, and who would be as loud and as strong in the expression of that sense, if they were not well aware of the purposes for which all this declamation is employed. Corporate bodies are immortal for the good of the members, but not for their punishment. Nations themselves are such corporations. As well might we in England think of waging inexpiable war upon all Frenchmen for the evils which they have brought upon us in the several periods of our mutual hostilities. You might, on your part, think yourselves justified in falling upon all Englishmen on account of the unparalleled calamities brought upon the people of France by the unjust invasions of our Henries and our Edwards. Indeed, we should be mutually justified in this exterminatory war upon each other, full as much as you are in the unprovoked persecution of your present countrymen, on account of the conduct of men of the same name in other times.
If there had been any real reason for this new religious persecution, the atheistic critics, who serve as bullhorns to incite the public to plunder, don’t care about anyone enough to avoid delighting in the flaws of the current clergy. They haven’t done that. They feel the need to dig into the histories of past ages (which they have combed through with a malicious and shameless intensity) for every instance of oppression and persecution connected to that group or in its favor, so they can justify their own persecutions and cruelties based on very unfair and illogical principles of retaliation. After wiping out all other genealogies and family distinctions, they create a sort of family tree of crimes. It isn’t fair to punish people for the offenses of their biological ancestors; but to use the idea of collective ancestry as grounds for punishing individuals who aren’t connected to guilty actions, except by name and broad descriptions, is a kind of sophisticated injustice belonging to the philosophy of this enlightened age. The Assembly punishes many men, if not most, who despise the violent actions of past church members as much as their current persecutors do, and who would speak out loudly and passionately about it if they weren't fully aware of the reasons behind this rhetoric. Corporate entities persist for the benefit of their members, not for their punishment. Nations are like those corporations. We in England might as well consider waging an endless war against all French people for the wrongs they have done to us during various periods of our conflicts. On your end, you might feel justified in attacking all English people over the unparalleled disasters caused to the French by the unjust invasions of our Kings Henrys and Edwards. In fact, we would be equally justified in this mutual extermination war against each other, just as you are in the unprovoked persecution of your fellow countrymen because of the actions of people with the same name in other times.
LEGISLATION AND REPUBLICANS.
The legislators who framed the ancient republics knew that their business was too arduous to be accomplished with no better apparatus than the metaphysics of an undergraduate, and the mathematics and arithmetic of an exciseman. They had to do with men, and they were obliged to study human nature. They had to do with citizens, and they were obliged to study the effects of those habits which are communicated by the circumstances of civil life. They were sensible that the operation of this second nature on the first produced a new combination; and thence arose many diversities amongst men, according to their birth, their education, their professions, the periods of their lives, their residence in towns or in the country, their several ways of acquiring and of fixing property, and according to the quality of the property itself, all which rendered them as it were so many different species of animals. From hence they thought themselves obliged to dispose their citizens into such classes, and to place them in such situations in the state as their peculiar habits might qualify them to fill, and to allot to them such appropriated privileges as might secure to them what their specific occasions required, and which might furnish to each description such force as might protect it in the conflict caused by the diversity of interests that must exist, and must contend, in all complex society; for the legislator would have been ashamed that the coarse husbandman should well know how to assort and to use his sheep, horses, and oxen, and should have enough of common sense not to abstract and equalize them all into animals, without providing for each kind an appropriate food, care, and employment; whilst he, the economist, disposer, and shepherd of his own kindred, subliming himself into an airy metaphysician, was resolved to know nothing of his flocks but as men in general. It is for this reason that Montesquieu observed, very justly, that in their classification of the citizens, the great legislators of antiquity made the greatest display of their powers, and even soared above themselves. It is here that your modern legislators have gone deep into the negative series, and sunk even below their own nothing. As the first sort of legislators attended to the different kinds of citizens, and combined them into one commonwealth, the others, the metaphysical and alchemistical legislators, have taken the directly contrary course. They have attempted to confound all sorts of citizens, as well as they could, into one homogeneous mass; and then they divided this their amalgama into a number of incoherent republics. They reduce men to loose counters, merely for the sake of simple telling, and not to figures whose power is to arise from their place in the table. The elements of their own metaphysics might have taught them better lessons. The troll of their categorical table might have informed them that there was something else in the intellectual world besides SUBSTANCE and QUANTITY. They might learn from the catechism of metaphysics that there were eight heads more, in every complex deliberation, which they have never thought of; though these, of all the ten, are the subjects on which the skill of man can operate anything at all. So far from this able disposition of some of the old republican legislators, which follows with a solicitous accuracy the moral conditions and propensities of men, they have leveled and crushed together all the orders which they found, even under the coarse, unartificial arrangement of the monarchy, in which mode of government the classing of the citizens is not of so much importance as in a republic. It is true, however, that every such classification, if properly ordered, is good in all forms of government; and composes a strong barrier against the excesses of despotism, as well as it is the necessary means of giving effect and permanence to a republic. For want of something of this kind, if the present project of a republic should fail, all securities to a moderated freedom fail along with it; all the indirect restraints which mitigate despotism are removed; insomuch that if monarchy should ever again obtain an entire ascendancy in France, under this or under any other dynasty, it will probably be, if not voluntarily tempered at setting out by the wise and virtuous counsels of the prince, the most completely arbitrary power that has ever appeared on earth. This is to play a most desperate game.
The lawmakers who created the ancient republics understood that their task was too challenging to be handled with just the basic philosophy of a college student and the everyday math of a tax collector. They were dealing with people and had to understand human nature. They had citizens to consider and needed to examine how the customs shaped by civil life affected them. They knew that the influence of this second nature on the first produced new combinations, leading to many differences among people based on their birth, education, professions, stages of life, whether they lived in cities or the countryside, how they acquired and maintained property, and the nature of that property itself, all of which made them seem like different species. Consequently, they felt it necessary to organize their citizens into classes and place them in roles within the state where their unique habits would qualify them, granting them specific privileges to address their particular needs and provide protection in the conflicts arising from the diversity of interests in any complex society. The lawmakers would have been embarrassed if a simple farmer was skilled at managing his sheep, horses, and oxen, using common sense to treat each type according to its needs, while he, as the economic leader and caretaker of his own people, elevated himself to the level of a vague philosopher, ignoring the specific needs of humanity. This is why Montesquieu rightly noted that the great legislators of antiquity showcased their abilities in how they categorized citizens, even surpassing themselves. Conversely, modern lawmakers have regressed and are even more ineffective. While the earlier legislators focused on the various types of citizens to form a commonwealth, the latter, with their abstract theories, have gone in the opposite direction. They have tried to blend all types of citizens into one uniform group and then split this mix into many inconsistent republics. They reduce people to mere numbers for simplicity, neglecting the power that comes from their unique positions. The principles of their own philosophy could have taught them better. Their own theories should have informed them that there is more in the intellectual world than just SUBSTANCE and QUANTITY. They could recognize from the basics of philosophy that there are eight additional important areas to consider in any complex decision-making, which they have overlooked; these are the very subjects on which human skill can make a difference. Unlike the well-considered arrangements of some of the ancient republican lawmakers, which carefully tracked human morals and tendencies, they have flattened and fused all existing social orders, even under the rough, uncomplicated structure of monarchy, where categorizing citizens is less critical than in a republic. However, it is true that proper classification is beneficial in any form of government, serving as a strong defense against oppression and a vital way to ensure effectiveness and longevity in a republic. Without such measures, if the current republican project fails, all safeguards for a balanced freedom will vanish, along with the indirect restraints that soften tyranny. If monarchy were ever to regain full control in France, whether under this or another dynasty, it would likely become the most arbitrary rule ever seen, unless the new ruler’s wise and virtuous guidance tempers it from the start. This is a dangerous gamble.
PRINCIPLE OF STATE-CONSECRATION.
But one of the first and most leading principles on which the commonwealth and the laws are consecrated, is lest the temporary possessors and life-renters in it, unmindful of what they have received from their ancestors, or of what is due to their posterity, should act as if they were the entire masters; that they should not think it amongst their rights to cut off the entail, or commit waste on the inheritance, by destroying at their pleasure the whole original fabric of their society; hazarding to leave to those who come after them a ruin instead of an habitation—and teaching these successors as little to respect their contrivances, as they had themselves respected the institutions of their forefathers. By this unprincipled facility of changing the state as often, and as much, and in as many ways, as there are floating fancies or fashions, the whole chain and continuity of the commonwealth would be broken. No one generation could link with the other. Men would become little better than the flies of a summer.
But one of the first and most important principles on which the commonwealth and the laws are founded is to prevent temporary holders and life-renters from forgetting what they’ve received from their ancestors or what is owed to future generations. They shouldn’t act like they’re the sole masters of everything; they shouldn’t think it’s their right to end entailed property or waste the inheritance by casually destroying the foundation of their society. This reckless behavior risks leaving future generations with ruins instead of homes—and teaches them to value their own schemes as little as they valued the institutions of their forebears. With this irresponsible tendency to change things as frequently and in as many ways as there are fleeting trends or whims, the entire chain and continuity of the commonwealth would collapse. No one generation could connect with the next. People would become little more than the summer flies.
And first of all, the science of jurisprudence, the pride of the human intellect, which, with all its defects, redundancies, and errors, is the collected reason of ages, combining the principles of original justice with the infinite variety of human concerns, as a heap of old exploded errors, would be no longer studied. Personal self-sufficiency and arrogance (the certain attendants upon all those who have never experienced a wisdom greater than their own) would usurp the tribunal. Of course no certain laws, establishing invariable grounds of hope and fear, would keep the actions of men in a certain course, or direct them to a certain end. Nothing stable in the modes of holding property, or exercising function, could form a solid ground on which any parent could speculate in the education of his offspring, or in a choice for their future establishment in the world. No principles would be early worked into the habits. As soon as the most able instructor had completed his laborious course of institution, instead of sending forth his pupil, accomplished in a virtuous discipline, fitted to procure him attention and respect in his place in society, he would find everything altered; and that he had turned out a poor creature to the contempt and derision of the world, ignorant of the true grounds of estimation. Who would insure a tender and delicate sense of honour to beat almost with the first pulses of the heart, when no man could know what would be the test of honour in a nation, continually varying the standard of its coin? No part of life would retain its acquisitions. Barbarism with regard to science and literature, unskilfulness with regard to arts and manufactures, would infallibly succeed to the want of a steady education and settled principle; and thus the commonwealth itself would, in a few generations, crumble away, be disconnected into the dust and powder of individuality, and at length dispersed to all the winds of heaven. To avoid therefore the evils of inconstancy and versatility, ten thousand times worse than those of obstinacy and the blindest prejudice, we have consecrated the state, that no man should approach to look into its defects or corruptions but with due caution; that he should never dream of beginning its reformation by its subversion; that he should approach to the faults of the state as to the wounds of a father, with pious awe, and trembling solicitude. By this wise prejudice we are taught to look with horror on those children of their country, who are prompt rashly to hack that aged parent in pieces, and put him into the kettle of magicians, in hopes that by their poisonous weeds, and wild incantations, they may regenerate the paternal constitution, and renovate their father's life.
And first of all, the science of law, a point of pride for human intellect, despite its flaws, redundancies, and mistakes, represents the collective reasoning of ages, merging the principles of original justice with the endless diversity of human concerns. If it were to be dismissed as just a pile of old errors, it would no longer be studied. Personal self-sufficiency and arrogance—common traits among those who have never encountered a wisdom greater than their own—would take over the legal system. Naturally, there would be no clear laws to provide a consistent foundation for hope and fear, guiding people's actions or directing them toward specific goals. Nothing reliable in terms of property rights or exercising roles would create a solid basis for any parent to plan their child's education or future opportunities. No principles would be ingrained in their habits. When the best teacher completed their rigorous training, instead of sending out a student well-versed in virtuous conduct, capable of earning respect and attention in society, they would find everything had changed. The student would emerge as someone pitiful, facing the scorn and ridicule of the world, unaware of the true criteria for respect. Who could guarantee that a refined sense of honor, which should be instinctive, would develop when no one could determine what honor meant in a nation that constantly changed its standards? No aspect of life would retain its knowledge. Ignorance in science and literature, and lack of skill in arts and manufacturing, would undoubtedly follow from the absence of steady education and established principles; thus, the very society would, within a few generations, fall apart, disintegrating into the individual fragments of a dust-like state, eventually scattered to all the winds. To avoid the instability and unpredictability that are far worse than obstinacy and blind prejudice, we have set apart the state so that no one approaches it to critique its flaws or corruption without due caution; no one should even think of starting its reform through its destruction; instead, one should regard the state's faults with the same reverence and concern as one would treat the wounds of a father. This wise bias teaches us to view with horror those fellow citizens who rashly attempt to tear apart that venerable parent, throwing him into a pot like a wizard’s brew, hoping that through their toxic remedies and wild rituals, they can restore the family structure and renew their father’s essence.
BRITISH STABILITY.
Four hundred years have gone over us; but I believe we are not materially changed since that period. Thanks to our sullen resistance to innovation, thanks to the cold sluggishness of our national character, we still bear the stamp of our forefathers. We have not (as I conceive) lost the generosity and dignity of thinking of the fourteenth century; nor as yet have we subtilized ourselves into savages. We are not the converts of Rousseau; we are not the disciples of Voltaire; Helvetius has made no progress amongst us. Atheists are not our preachers; madmen are not our lawgivers. We know that WE have made no discoveries; and we think that no discoveries are to be made in morality; nor many in the great principles of government, nor in the ideas of liberty; which were understood long before we were born, altogether as well as they will be after the grave has heaped its mould upon our presumption, and the silent tomb shall have imposed its law on our pert loquacity. In England we have not yet been completely embowelled of our natural entrails; we still feel within us, and we cherish and cultivate, those inbred sentiments which are the faithful guardians, the active monitors of our duty, the true supporters of all liberal and manly morals. We have not been drawn and trussed, in order that we may be filled, like stuffed birds in a museum, with chaff and rags and paltry blurred shreds of paper about the rights of man. We preserve the whole of our feelings still native and entire, unsophisticated by pedantry and infidelity. We have real hearts of flesh and blood beating in our bosoms. We fear God; we look up with awe to kings; with affection to parliaments; with duty to magistrates; with reverence to priests; and with respect to nobility. Why? Because when such ideas are brought before our minds, it is NATURAL to be so affected; because all other feelings are false and spurious, and tend to corrupt our minds, to vitiate our primary morals, to render us unfit for rational liberty; and by teaching us a servile, licentious, and abandoned insolence, to be our low sport for a few holidays, to make us perfectly fit for, and justly deserving of, slavery, through the whole course of our lives.
Four hundred years have passed, but I believe we haven’t changed much since then. Thanks to our stubborn resistance to change and the slow, cold nature of our national character, we still carry the legacy of our ancestors. We haven’t lost the generosity and dignity of thought from the fourteenth century, nor have we turned ourselves into savages. We’re not followers of Rousseau, nor are we disciples of Voltaire; Helvetius hasn’t gained any ground with us. Atheists aren’t our preachers; madmen aren’t our lawmakers. We know that we haven’t made any discoveries, and we believe that there aren’t many discoveries left to be made in morality, in the foundational principles of government, or in the concepts of liberty; these were well understood long before we were born and will remain so even after the grave has covered our arrogance, and the silent tomb has enforced its law on our chatter. In England, we haven’t been completely stripped of our natural instincts; we still feel, cherish, and nurture those innate sentiments that are the faithful guardians, the active reminders of our duties, and the true supports of all noble and manly morals. We haven’t been drawn and tied up to be stuffed like birds in a museum, filled with chaff and scraps of paper about human rights. We maintain all our feelings intact and genuine, unsophisticated by academic pretension and disbelief. We have real hearts of flesh and blood beating in our chests. We fear God; we look up to kings with respect; we have affection for parliaments; we feel a sense of duty towards magistrates; we hold priests in reverence; and we respect the nobility. Why? Because when such ideas are presented to us, it is natural to feel this way; all other feelings are false and harmful, leading us to corrupt thoughts, damaging our core morals, making us unfit for true liberty; and by teaching us a servile, reckless, and disrespectful attitude, it turns our lives into a low spectacle for a few holidays, making us perfectly ready for, and rightly deserving of, slavery throughout our lives.
You see, sir, that in this enlightened age I am bold enough to confess, that we are generally men of untaught feelings; that instead of casting away all our old prejudices, we cherish them to a very considerable degree, and, to take more shame to ourselves, we cherish them because they are prejudices; and the longer they have lasted, and the more generally they have prevailed, the more we cherish them. We are afraid to put men to live and trade each on his own private stock of reason; because we suspect that the stock in each man is small, and that the individuals would do better to avail themselves of the general bank and capital of nations and of ages. Many of our men of speculation, instead of exploding general prejudices, employ their sagacity to discover the latent wisdom which prevails in them. If they find what they seek, and they seldom fail, they think it more wise to continue the prejudice, with the reason involved, than to cast away the coat of prejudice, and to leave nothing but the naked reason; because prejudice, with its reason, has a motive to give action to that reason, and an affection which will give it permanence. Prejudice is of ready application to the emergency; it previously engages the mind in a steady course of wisdom and virtue, and does not leave the man hesitating in the moment of decision, sceptical, puzzled, and unresolved. Prejudice renders a man's virtue his habit; and not a series of unconnected acts. Through just prejudice, his duty becomes a part of his nature.
You see, sir, in this enlightened age, I'm bold enough to admit that we often have unrefined emotions. Instead of abandoning our old biases, we hold onto them quite strongly, and, to make matters worse, we cling to them precisely because they are biases. The longer they've been around and the more widespread they are, the more we value them. We're hesitant to allow people to rely solely on their individual judgment because we suspect that most people's reasoning isn't very robust, and they would likely be better off using the collective knowledge and wisdom of society and history. Many of our thinkers, instead of challenging these common biases, use their insight to uncover the hidden wisdom behind them. If they find what they're looking for—which is often—they believe it's wiser to maintain the bias along with its reasoning rather than strip it away and leave just the bare reasoning. This is because a bias, along with its reasoning, provides a motivation to act and an emotional attachment that makes it last. Biases are readily applicable to situations; they keep the mind on a steady path of wisdom and morality, preventing a person from being stuck in indecision, doubt, and confusion when they need to make a choice. Bias allows a person's virtues to become habits instead of a series of random acts. Through just biases, a person's duties become part of their character.
LITERARY ATHEISTS.
The literary cabal had some years ago formed something like a regular plan for the destruction of the Christian religion. This object they pursued with a degree of zeal which hitherto had been discovered only in the propagators of some system of piety. They were possessed with a spirit of proselytism in the most fanatical degree; and from thence, by an easy progress, with the spirit of persecution according to their means. What was not to be done towards their great end by any direct or immediate act, might be wrought by a longer process through the medium of opinion. To command that opinion, the first step is to establish a dominion over those who direct it. They contrived to possess themselves, with great method and perseverance, of all the avenues to literary fame. Many of them indeed stood high in the ranks of literature and science. The world had done them justice; and in favour of general talents forgave the evil tendency of their peculiar principles. This was true liberality; which they returned by endeavouring to confine the reputation of sense, learning, and taste to themselves or their followers. I will venture to say that this narrow, exclusive spirit has not been less prejudicial to literature and to taste, than to morals and true philosophy. Those atheistical fathers have a bigotry of their own; and they have learnt to talk against monks with the spirit of a monk. But in some things they are men of the world. The resources of intrigue are called in to supply the defects of argument and wit. To this system of literary monopoly was joined an unremitting industry to blacken and discredit in every way, and by every means, all those who did not hold to their faction. To those who have observed the spirit of their conduct, it has long been clear that nothing was wanted but the power of carrying the intolerance of the tongue and of the pen into a persecution which would strike at property, liberty, and life.
The literary group had a while ago set up a kind of plan to destroy the Christian religion. They pursued this goal with a level of enthusiasm that had only been seen before among those promoting some kind of religious belief. They were driven by an intense zeal for conversion, and from there, it was easy to slide into persecution based on their resources. What they couldn’t achieve directly or immediately, they aimed to accomplish over time through shaping public opinion. To control that opinion, the first step was to gain influence over those who shape it. They systematically took over all the paths to literary success. Many of them were already well-respected in literature and science. The world had recognized their talents and, in appreciation, overlooked the negative impact of their specific beliefs. This was real generosity; they repaid it by trying to limit the recognition of intelligence, knowledge, and taste to themselves and their followers. I would argue that this narrow-minded, exclusive attitude has harmed literature and taste just as much as it has affected morals and true philosophy. These atheist leaders have their own form of bigotry; they criticize monks with the same mindset. But in some ways, they're worldly. They rely on intrigue to make up for their lack of convincing arguments and wit. Along with this literary monopoly, they worked tirelessly to tarnish and discredit anyone who didn’t align with their group. For those who have noticed their behavior, it has long been obvious that all that was missing was the ability to escalate their verbal and written intolerance into a persecution that would attack property, freedom, and life.
The desultory and faint persecution carried on against them, more from compliance with form and decency, than with serious resentment, neither weakened their strength, nor relaxed their efforts. The issue of the whole was, that, what with opposition, and what with success, a violent and malignant zeal, of a kind hitherto unknown in the world, had taken an entire possession of their minds, and rendered their whole conversation, which otherwise would have been pleasing and instructive, perfectly disgusting. A spirit of cabal, intrigue, and proselytism, pervaded all their thoughts, words, and actions. And, as controversial zeal soon turns its thoughts on force, they began to insinuate themselves into a correspondence with foreign princes; in hopes, through their authority, which at first they flattered, they might bring about the changes they had in view. To them it was indifferent whether these changes were to be accomplished by the thunderbolt of despotism, or by the earthquake of popular commotion. The correspondence between this cabal and the late king of Prussia, will throw no small light upon the spirit of all their proceedings. For the same purpose for which they intrigued with princes, they cultivated, in a distinguished manner, the monied interest of France; and partly through the means furnished by those whose peculiar offices gave them the most extensive and certain means of communication, they carefully occupied all the avenues to opinion.
The disorganized and weak persecution they faced was more about following social norms than genuine anger, and it neither diminished their strength nor reduced their efforts. Ultimately, whether from opposition or success, a fierce and toxic passion, unlike anything seen before, completely took over their minds, turning their conversations—which could have been enjoyable and informative—into something utterly unpleasant. A spirit of scheming, plotting, and converting filled all their thoughts, words, and actions. As their zeal for debate quickly shifted towards force, they started to reach out to foreign rulers, hoping that with their support—whom they initially flattered—they could achieve the changes they desired. They didn’t care if these changes came from the heavy hand of tyranny or the upheaval of popular revolt. The correspondence between this group and the late king of Prussia will shed significant light on the nature of all their actions. For the same reasons they conspired with princes, they also notably engaged the financial interests in France; and, aided by those whose specific roles provided them with the most extensive and reliable communication channels, they diligently controlled all avenues of public opinion.
Writers, especially when they act in a body, and with one direction, have great influence on the public mind; the alliance, therefore, of these writers with the monied interest, had no small effect in removing the popular odium and envy which attended that species of wealth. These writers, like the propagators of all novelties, pretended to a great zeal for the poor, and the lower orders, whilst in their satires they rendered hateful, by every exaggeration, the faults of courts, of nobility, and of priesthood. They became a sort of demagogues. They served as a link to unite, in favour of one object, obnoxious wealth to restless and desperate poverty.
Writers, especially when they work together and have a common goal, have a significant impact on public opinion. So, the partnership of these writers with wealthy interests helped lessen the public disdain and envy towards that kind of wealth. These writers, like those who push all new ideas, claimed to genuinely care for the poor and lower classes, while in their critiques, they exaggerated and vilified the flaws of the courts, nobility, and religious institutions. They became a kind of demagogue. They acted as a bridge, bringing together disliked wealth and the agitated and desperate poor for a common cause.
CITY OF PARIS.
The second material of cement for their new republic is the superiority of the city of Paris: and this I admit is strongly connected with the other cementing principle of paper circulation and confiscation. It is in this part of the project we must look for the cause of the destruction of all the old bounds of provinces and jurisdictions, ecclesiastical and secular, and the dissolution of all ancient combinations of things, as well as the formation of so many small unconnected republics. The power of the city of Paris is evidently one great spring of all their politics. It is through the power of Paris, now become the centre and focus of jobbing, that the leaders of this faction direct, or rather command, the whole legislative and the whole executive government. Everything therefore must be done which can confirm the authority of that city over the other republics. Paris is compact; she has an enormous strength, wholly disproportioned to the force of any of the square republics; and this strength is collected and condensed within a narrow compass. Paris has a natural and easy connection of its parts, which will not be affected by any scheme of a geometrical constitution, nor does it much signify whether its proportion of representation be more or less, since it has the whole draft of fishes in its drag-net. The other divisions of the kingdom being hackled and torn to pieces, and separated from all their habitual means, and even principles of union, cannot, for some time at least, confederate against her. Nothing was to be left in all the subordinate members, but weakness, disconnection, and confusion. To confirm this part of the plan, the Assembly has lately come to a resolution, that no two of their republics shall have the same commander-in-chief.
The second key element of cement for their new republic is the dominance of the city of Paris. I acknowledge that this is closely tied to the other unifying factor of paper circulation and confiscation. In this aspect of the initiative, we must examine the reason behind the dismantling of all the traditional boundaries of provinces and jurisdictions, both religious and secular, as well as the breakdown of all ancient associations and the rise of several small, disconnected republics. The power of the city of Paris is clearly a significant driving force behind all their political actions. It is through Paris's influence, now the center of political maneuvering, that the leaders of this faction manage—or rather control—the entire legislative and executive branches of government. Therefore, everything must be done to reinforce the authority of that city over the other republics. Paris is cohesive; it possesses immense power that is vastly disproportionate to the strength of any of the smaller republics, and this power is concentrated within a limited area. Paris has a natural and seamless connection among its parts, which won't be disrupted by any geometrical framework, nor does it matter much if its representation is more or less, since it casts a wide net over everything. Meanwhile, the other regions of the kingdom are fractured and stripped of all their usual means and even foundational principles for unity, making it unlikely for them to unite against her for some time. All that remains among the other factions is weakness, disconnection, and chaos. To solidify this plan, the Assembly has recently decided that no two of their republics will share the same commander-in-chief.
To a person who takes a view of the whole, the strength of Paris, thus formed, will appear a system of general weakness. It is boasted that the geometrical policy has been adopted, that all local ideas should be sunk, and that the people should be no longer Gascons, Picards, Bretons, Normans; but Frenchmen, with one country, one heart, and one Assembly. But instead of being all Frenchmen, the greater likelihood is, that the inhabitants of that region will shortly have no country. No man ever was attached by a sense of pride, partiality, or real affection, to a description of square measurements. He never will glory in belonging to the Chequer No. 71, or to any other badge-ticket. We begin our public affections in our families. No cold relation is a zealous citizen. We pass on to our neighbourhoods, and our habitual provincial connections. These are inns and resting-places. Such divisions of our country as have been formed by habit, and not by a sudden jerk of authority, were so many little images of the great country in which the heart found something which it could fill. The love to the whole is not extinguished by this subordinate partiality. Perhaps it is a sort of elemental training to those higher and more large regards, by which alone men come to be affected, as with their own concern, in the prosperity of a kingdom so extensive as that of France. In that general territory itself, as in the old name of provinces, the citizens are interested from old prejudices and unreasoned habits, and not on account of the geometric properties of its figure. The power and pre-eminence of Paris does certainly press down and hold these republics together as long as it lasts. But, for the reasons I have already given you, I think it cannot last very long.
To someone who sees the big picture, the strength of Paris appears to be a system of overall weakness. It's claimed that a geometric policy has been adopted, that all local identities should disappear, and that people should no longer be Gascons, Picards, Bretons, or Normans; but instead just Frenchmen, united with one country, one heart, and one Assembly. However, instead of everyone becoming Frenchmen, it’s more likely that the people from that area will soon have no country at all. No one feels pride, favoritism, or real affection for a description based on square measurements. No one will take pride in belonging to Checkpoint No. 71 or any other label. We form our public ties within our families first. A distant relative doesn’t make a passionate citizen. We then extend this to our neighborhoods and our usual provincial connections. These are like inns and resting places. The divisions within our country that emerge from habit, rather than abrupt authority, are like little reflections of the larger nation that resonates with our hearts. This love for the whole isn’t diminished by these smaller attachments. In fact, it may be a sort of foundational training for the broader interests that truly connect people to the welfare of a vast kingdom like France. Within that larger territory, as well as in the old names of its provinces, citizens are drawn by longstanding biases and ingrained habits, not by the geometric attributes of its shape. The influence and dominance of Paris certainly holds these republics together for now. But, for the reasons I’ve outlined, I believe it can't last much longer.
PRINCIPLE OF CHURCH PROPERTY.
Why should the expenditure of a great landed property, which is a dispersion of the surplus product of the soil, appear intolerable to you or to me, when it takes its course through the accumulation of vast libraries, which are the history of the force and weakness of the human mind; through great collections of ancient records, medals, and coins, which attest and explain laws and customs; through paintings and statues, that, by imitating nature, seem to extend the limits of creation; through grand monuments of the dead, which continue the regards and connections of life beyond the grave; through collections of the specimens of nature, which become a representative assembly of all the classes and families of the world, that by disposition facilitate, and, by exciting curiosity, open the avenues to science? If by great permanent establishments, all these objects of expense are better secured from the inconstant sport of personal caprice and personal extravagance, are they worse than if the same tastes prevailed in scattered individuals? Does not the sweat of the mason and carpenter, who toil in order to partake the sweat of the peasant, flow as pleasantly and as salubriously, in the construction and repair of the majestic edifices of religion, as in the painted booths and sordid sties of vice and luxury; as honourably and as profitably in repairing those sacred works, which grow hoary with innumerable years, as on the momentary receptacles of transient voluptuousness; in opera-houses, and brothels, and gaming-houses, and club-houses, and obelisks in the Champ de Mars? Is the surplus product of the olive and the vine worse employed in the frugal sustenance of persons, whom the fictions of a pious imagination raise to dignity by construing in the service of God, than in pampering the innumerable multitude of those who are degraded by being made useless domestics, subservient to the pride of man? Are the decorations of temples an expenditure less worthy a wise man, than ribbons, and laces, and national cockades, and petites maisons, and petits soupers, and all the innumerable fopperies and follies, in which opulence sports away the burthen of its superfluity?
Why should the expenses of vast land holdings, which distribute the extra produce of the land, seem unbearable to you or me when they manifest in the creation of extensive libraries, documenting the strengths and weaknesses of human thought; in grand collections of ancient records, medals, and coins, which prove and explain laws and customs; in paintings and sculptures that, by mimicking nature, appear to expand the boundaries of creation; in impressive monuments to the deceased, which keep the bonds and connections of life alive beyond the grave; and in collections showcasing natural specimens that represent all classes and families of the world, facilitating knowledge and sparking curiosity, thus paving the way for science? If large, lasting institutions better protect these sources of expenditure from unpredictable whims and personal excesses, are they any worse than if the same interests were pursued by scattered individuals? Does the labor of the mason and carpenter, who work to enjoy the fruits of the peasant's labor, flow as pleasantly and healthily in building and maintaining majestic religious structures as it does in the colorful stalls and sordid dwellings of vice and luxury; as honorably and profitably in restoring those sacred buildings that have aged over countless years, as it does in the temporary venues of fleeting pleasures; in opera houses, brothels, gaming houses, clubhouses, and obelisks in the Champ de Mars? Is the surplus from olives and grapes spent less wisely in the modest support of individuals, whom a pious imagination elevates by claiming they serve God, than in indulging the countless masses who are debased by being reduced to useless servants, serving the vanity of others? Are the adornments of temples a less worthy expenditure for a wise person than ribbons, laces, national cockades, small houses, little dinners, and all the countless vanities and follies in which the wealthy waste away their excess?
We tolerate even these; not from love of them, but for fear of worse. We tolerate them, because property and liberty, to a degree, acquire that toleration. But why proscribe the other, and surely, in every point of view, the more laudable use of estates? Why, through the violation of all property, through an outrage upon every principle of liberty, forcibly carry them from the better to the worse?
We put up with these things; not because we love them, but because we're afraid of something worse. We tolerate them because, to some extent, property and freedom allow for that tolerance. But why ban the other option, which is clearly a more admirable use of property? Why, by violating all property rights and disrespecting every principle of freedom, force them from a better situation to a worse one?
This comparison between the new individuals and the old corps, is made upon a supposition that no reform could be made in the latter. But, in a question of reformation, I always consider corporate bodies, whether sole or consisting of many, to be much more susceptible of a public direction by the power of the state, in the use of their property, and in the regulation of modes and habits of life in their members, than private citizens ever can be, or perhaps ought to be: and this seems to me a very material consideration for those who undertake anything which merits the name of a politic enterprise. So far as to the estates of monasteries.
This comparison between the new individuals and the old groups is based on the assumption that no reforms could be made in the latter. However, when it comes to reform, I believe that corporate entities, whether they are single or made up of many members, are much more open to public guidance by the government—regarding how they use their resources and how they regulate the lifestyles and behaviors of their members—than private citizens ever can be, or maybe even should be. This is an important factor for anyone taking on what deserves to be called a political initiative. This applies to the estates of monasteries.
With regard to the estates possessed by bishops and canons, and commendatory abbots, I cannot find out for what reason some landed estates may not be held otherwise than by inheritance. Can any philosophic spoiler undertake to demonstrate the positive or the comparative evil of having a certain, and that too a large, portion of landed property, passing in succession through persons whose title to it is, always in theory, and often, in fact, an eminent degree of piety, morals, and learning; a property, which, by its destination, in their turn, and on the score of merit, gives to the noblest families renovation and support, to the lowest the means of dignity and elevation; a property the tenure to which is the performance of some duty (whatever value you may choose to set upon that duty), and the character of whose proprietors demands, at least, an exterior decorum, and gravity of manners; who are to exercise a generous but temperate hospitality; part of whose income they are to consider as a trust for charity; and who, even when they fail in their trust, when they slide from their character, and degenerate into a mere common secular nobleman or gentleman, are in no respect worse than those who may succeed them in their forfeited possessions? Is it better that estates should be held by those who have no duty, than by those who have one?—by those whose character and destination point to virtues, than by those who have no rule and direction in the expenditure of their estates but their own will and appetite? Nor are these estates held altogether in the character or with the evils supposed inherent in mortmain. They pass from hand to hand with a more rapid circulation than any other. No excess is good; and therefore too great a proportion of landed property may be held officially for life: but it does not seem to me of material injury to any commonwealth, that there should exist some estates that have a chance of being acquired by other means than the previous acquisition of money.
Regarding the estates owned by bishops, canons, and commendatory abbots, I can’t understand why some pieces of land can only be inherited. Can any philosophical critic explain the actual or relative disadvantage of having a large portion of land passed down through people whose claim to it is, in theory and often in practice, rooted in a significant level of piety, moral integrity, and education? This property, by its nature, supports noble families and provides opportunities for those at the bottom to achieve dignity and advancement. The ownership is tied to fulfilling a duty (regardless of how you value that duty), and the character of the owners requires them to maintain at least a semblance of decorum and serious behavior; they are expected to extend generous yet measured hospitality, with part of their income considered a charitable trust. Even when they fail in their responsibilities or compromise their character, becoming nothing more than an ordinary secular nobleman or gentleman, they aren’t necessarily worse than those who might take over their lost properties. Is it preferable that estates are held by people without responsibilities rather than by those who do have them? By individuals whose roles point them towards virtue, instead of those who have no guidelines for spending their estates other than their own desires? Furthermore, these estates aren’t entirely governed or burdened by the issues typically associated with mortmain. They change hands more quickly than most other properties. No excess is beneficial, and thus too much landed property may be held officially for life. However, it doesn’t seem to me to harm any community that some estates can be obtained through means other than merely acquiring money.
PARSIMONY NOT ECONOMY.
I beg leave to tell him, that mere parsimony is not economy. It is separable in theory from it; and in fact it may, or it may not, be a PART of economy, according to circumstances. Expense, and great expense, may be an essential part in true economy. If parsimony were to be considered as one of the kinds of that virtue, there is, however, another and a higher economy. Economy is a distributive virtue, and consists not in saving, but in selection. Parsimony requires no providence, no sagacity, no powers of combination, no comparison, no judgment. Mere instinct, and that not an instinct of the noblest kind, may produce this false economy in perfection. The other economy has larger views. It demands a discriminating judgment, and a firm, sagacious mind. It shuts one door to impudent importunity, only to open another, and a wider, to unpresuming merit. If none but meritorious service or real talent were to be rewarded, this nation has not wanted, and this nation will not want, the means of rewarding all the service it ever will receive, and encouraging all the merit it ever will produce. No state, since the foundation of society, has been impoverished by that species of profusion. Had the economy of selection and proportion been at all times observed, we should not now have had an overgrown duke of Bedford, to oppress the industry of humble men, and to limit, by the standard of his own conceptions, the justice, the bounty, or, if he pleases, the charity of the crown.
I want to point out that just being stingy is not the same as being economical. They can be thought of as different concepts, and in reality, being stingy might be part of being economical, but it depends on the situation. Spending, even a lot, can be an important aspect of true economy. If we think of stinginess as a type of that virtue, there is, however, a better and higher form of economy. Economy is about making smart choices, not just saving money. Stinginess doesn’t require planning, cleverness, creativity, comparison, or judgment. It can come from basic instinct, and not even the best kind. The other form of economy has broader perspectives. It needs careful judgment and a wise, strong mind. It closes the door to unreasonable demands but opens a wider one to deserving talent. If only deserving work or real skill were rewarded, this country has enough resources to recognize all the work it will receive and encourage all the talent it will create. No society has ever been made poorer by this kind of generosity. If we had consistently practiced smart selection and balance, we wouldn’t have an overbearing Duke of Bedford oppressing the hard work of ordinary people and defining justice, generosity, or charity according to his own limited views.
MAJESTY OF THE BRITISH CONSTITUTION.
I wish my countrymen rather to recommend to our neighbours the example of the British constitution, than to take models from them for the improvement of our own. In the former they have got an invaluable treasure. They are not, I think, without some causes of apprehension and complaint; but these they do not owe to their constitution, but to their own conduct. I think our happy situation owing to our constitution; but owing to the whole of it, and not to any part singly; owing, in a great measure, to what we have left standing in our several reviews and reformations, as well as to what we have altered or superadded. Our people will find employment enough for a truly patriotic, free, and independent spirit, in guarding what they possess from violation. I would not exclude alteration neither; but even when I changed, it should be to preserve. I should be led to my remedy by a great grievance. In what I did, I should follow the example of our ancestors. I would make the reparation as nearly as possible in the style of the building. A politic caution, a guarded circumspection, a moral rather than a complexional timidity, were among the ruling principles of our forefathers in their most decided conduct. Not being illuminated with the light of which the gentlemen of France tell us they have got so abundant a share, they acted under a strong impression of the ignorance and fallibility of mankind. He that had made them thus fallible, rewarded them for having in their conduct attended to their nature. Let us imitate their caution, if we wish to deserve their fortune, or to retain their bequests. Let us add, if we please, but let us preserve what they have left; and, standing on the firm ground of the British constitution, let us be satisfied to admire, rather than attempt to follow in their desperate flights the aeronauts of France.
I prefer that my fellow countrymen encourage our neighbors to look at the example of the British constitution rather than copying them to improve our own. They have an invaluable treasure in their constitution. While they do have some reasons to worry and complain, I believe those issues stem not from their constitution but from their own behavior. I think our fortunate situation comes from our constitution as a whole, not just from any single part of it; it largely relies on what we have maintained through our various reviews and reforms, as well as what we have changed or added. Our people will have plenty of opportunities to truly embody a patriotic, free, and independent spirit by protecting what they have from being violated. I wouldn't eliminate the possibility of change either; but when I do, it should be with the intent to preserve. My motivation for any changes would come from a significant grievance. In my actions, I would look to our ancestors as a guide. I would aim to make any repairs as close as possible to the original style of the structure. A careful, cautious approach and a moral rather than a timid stance were guiding principles for our forefathers in their most determined actions. Without the enlightenment that the gentlemen of France claim to have in abundance, they operated with a strong awareness of mankind's ignorance and fallibility. The one who made them fallible rewarded them for behaving in accordance with their nature. If we wish to earn their success or retain their legacies, let us emulate their caution. Let’s add where we see fit, but let’s protect what they have bequeathed to us; and, standing firmly on the solid foundation of the British constitution, let’s choose to admire rather than desperately pursue the reckless ambitions of the aeronauts of France.
I have told you candidly my sentiments. I think they are not likely to alter yours. I do not know that they ought. You are young; you cannot guide, but must follow the fortune of your country. But hereafter they may be of some use to you, in some future form which your commonwealth may take. In the present it can hardly remain; but before its final settlement it may be obliged to pass, as one of our poets says, "through great varieties of untried being," and in all its transmigrations to be purified by fire and blood.
I’ve shared my feelings honestly with you. I don’t believe they’re likely to change yours, and I’m not sure they should. You’re young; you can’t lead, only follow the path of your country. However, later on, my thoughts might serve you in whatever direction your nation takes. Right now, it can't stay the same; but before it settles down, it might have to go through, as one of our poets puts it, "a lot of untested experiences," and during all its changes, it will be purified by challenges and conflict.
DUTY NOT BASED ON WILL.
I cannot too often recommend it to the serious consideration of all men, who think civil society to be within the province of moral jurisdiction, that if we owe to it any duty, it is not subject to our will. Duties are not voluntary. Duty and will are even contradictory terms. Now, though civil society might be at first a voluntary act (which in many cases it undoubtedly was), its continuance is under a permanent, standing covenant, co-existing with the society; and it attaches upon every individual of that society, without any formal act of his own. This is warranted by the general practice, arising out of the general sense of mankind. Men without their choice derive benefits from that association; without their choice they are subjected to duties in consequence of these benefits; and without their choice they enter into a virtual obligation as binding as any that is actual. Look through the whole of life and the whole system of duties. Much the strongest moral obligations are such as were never the results of our option. I allow, that if no supreme ruler exists, wise to form, and potent to enforce, the moral law, there is no sanction to any contract, virtual or even actual, against the will of prevalent power. On that hypothesis, let any set of men be strong enough to set their duties at defiance, and they cease to be duties any longer. We have but this one appeal against irresistible power—
I can’t stress enough how important it is for everyone, especially those who believe that civil society falls under moral law, to realize that if we owe any duty to it, that duty isn’t up to our personal choice. Duties aren’t optional. Duty and will are actually opposing concepts. While civil society may have started as a voluntary agreement (which it often was), its ongoing existence is based on a permanent, underlying agreement that exists alongside the society itself; it applies to every member of that society, regardless of any formal action on their part. This is supported by the collective behavior that comes from the general understanding of people. Individuals benefit from this association without choosing it; they are subjected to responsibilities due to these benefits, and they enter into a virtual obligation that is just as binding as any explicit one. If you look at all of life and the entire system of obligations, you’ll see that many of the strongest moral duties are those that were never the result of our choices. I acknowledge that if there isn't a supreme authority that is wise enough to create and powerful enough to enforce moral law, then there is no guarantee for any agreement, whether virtual or actual, that goes against the will of those in power. In that situation, if a group of people is strong enough to ignore their responsibilities, those responsibilities cease to exist. We have only this one recourse against unstoppable power—
"Si genus humanum et mortalia temnitis arma,
At sperate Deos memores fandi atque nefandi."
"Since you despise the human race and mortal weapons, keep in mind that the gods are aware of both words and deeds."
Taking it for granted that I do not write to the disciples of the Parisian philosophy, I may assume, that the awful Author of our being is the Author of our place in the order of existence; and that, having disposed and marshalled us by a divine tactic, not according to our will, but according to his, he has, in and by that disposition, virtually subjected us to act the part which belongs to the place assigned us. We have obligations to mankind at large, which are not in consequence of any special voluntary pact. They arise from the relation of man to man, and the relation of man to God, which relations are not matters of choice. On the contrary, the force of all the pacts which we enter into with any particular person, or number of persons, amongst mankind, depends upon those prior obligations. In some cases the subordinate relations are voluntary, in others they are necessary—but the duties are all compulsive. When we marry, the choice is voluntary, but the duties are not matter of choice. They are dictated by the nature of the situation. Dark and inscrutable are the ways by which we come into the world. The instincts which give rise to this mysterious process of nature are not of our making. But out of physical causes, unknown to us, perhaps unknowable, arise moral duties, which, as we are able perfectly to comprehend, we are bound indispensably to perform. Parents may not be consenting to their moral relation; but consenting or not, they are bound to a long train of burthensome duties towards those with whom they have never made a convention of any sort. Children are not consenting to their relation, but their relation, without their actual consent, binds them to its duties; or rather it implies their consent, because the presumed consent of every rational creature is in unison with the predisposed order of things. Men come in that manner into a community with the social state of their parents, endowed with all the benefits, loaded with all the duties, of their situation. If the social ties and ligaments, spun out of those physical relations which are the elements of the commonwealth, in most cases begin, and alway continue, independently of our will, so, without any stipulation on our own part, are we bound by that relation called our country, which comprehends (as it has been well said) "all the charities of all." Nor are we left without powerful instincts to make this duty as dear and grateful to us, as it is awful and coercive. It consists, in a great measure, in the ancient order into which we are born. We may have the same geographical situation, but another country; as we may have the same country in another soil. The place that determines our duty to our country is a social, civil relation.
Assuming I'm not writing to the followers of Parisian philosophy, I can suggest that the terrifying Creator of our existence is also the Creator of our place in the order of life. He has arranged and organized us by a divine strategy, not according to our desires but according to His, and through that arrangement, He has effectively made us act out the roles assigned to us. We have responsibilities to humanity that aren't the result of any specific voluntary agreement. These arise from the relationships between people and between individuals and God, which aren't matters of choice. In fact, the validity of all agreements we make with any particular person or group relies on those prior obligations. Sometimes these subordinate relationships are voluntary and sometimes they're necessary, but the duties involved are always obligatory. When we marry, our choice is voluntary, but the responsibilities that come with it are not. They're dictated by the nature of the situation. The ways we enter this world are dark and mysterious. The instincts that drive this complex process of nature are not created by us. Yet, from physical causes that are unknown to us—perhaps forever unknowable—arise moral duties that we are compelled to fulfill as soon as we understand them. Parents might not agree to their moral responsibilities, but whether they consent or not, they're bound to a long list of burdensome duties toward those they’ve never made any agreement with. Children don't consent to their relationship either, but even without their actual consent, they're tied to the obligations it entails; or it implies their consent because the presumed consent of every rational being aligns with the established order of things. People enter a community with the social status of their parents, inheriting all the benefits and all the duties that come with that status. If the social connections and bonds formed from these physical relationships—which are the foundation of society—usually begin and continue independently of our will, then we are also bound by the relationship known as our country, which includes (as has been aptly put) "all the charities of all." We're not left without strong instincts that make this duty as cherished and meaningful to us as it is serious and compulsory. A large part of this duty comes from the ancient order we are born into. We might occupy the same geographical area but belong to a different country, just as we can share the same country but exist on a different soil. The place that determines our duty to our country is a social, civil relationship.
ECCLESIASTICAL CONFISCATION.
The confiscators truly have made some allowance to their victims from the scraps and fragments of their own tables, from which they have been so harshly driven, and which have been so bountifully spread for a feast to the harpies of usury. But to drive men from independence to live on alms is itself great cruelty. That which might be a tolerable condition to men in one state of life, and not habituated to other things, may, when all these circumstances are altered, be a dreadful revolution; and one to which a virtuous mind would feel pain in condemning any guilt, except that which would demand the life of the offender. But to many minds this punishment of DEGRADATION and INFAMY is worse than death. Undoubtedly it is an infinite aggravation of this cruel suffering, that the persons who were taught a double prejudice in favour of religion, by education and by the place they held in the administration of its functions, are to receive the remnants of the property as alms from the profane and impious hands of those who had plundered them of all the rest; to receive (if they are at all to receive) not from the charitable contributions of the faithful, but from the insolent tenderness of known and avowed atheism, the maintenance of religion, measured out to them on the standard of the contempt in which it is held; and for the purpose of rendering those who receive the allowance vile, and of no estimation, in the eyes of mankind.
The confiscators have indeed made some small concessions to their victims from the scraps and leftovers of their own tables, from which they have been forcefully removed, and which have been lavishly spread for a feast to the greedy lenders. But pushing people from independence to rely on charity is a terrible cruelty. What might be an acceptable condition for someone in one way of life, who isn't used to anything else, could become a horrific turn of events when circumstances change; and a virtuous person would feel a deep discomfort in condemning anything but the crime that would warrant the offender's death. However, for many, this punishment of DEGRADATION and INFAMY is worse than death. It certainly makes this cruel suffering even worse that those who were taught a strong bias in favor of religion, through their upbringing and their roles in its administration, have to accept what little property remains as charity from the irreverent and godless hands of those who have stripped them of everything else; to receive (if they are allowed to receive at all) not from the generous donations of the faithful, but from the arrogant pity of known atheism, the support of religion, measured by the disdain in which it is held; and with the intention of making those who accept the aid seem despicable and worthless in the eyes of society.
But this act of seizure of property, it seems, is a judgment in law, and not a confiscation. They have, it seems, found out in the academies of the Palais Royal and the Jacobins, that certain men had no right to the possessions which they held under law, usage, the decisions of courts, and the accumulated prescription of a thousand years. They say that ecclesiastics are fictitious persons, creatures of the state, whom at pleasure they may destroy, and of course limit and modify in every particular; that the goods they possess are not properly theirs, but belong to the state which created the fiction; and we are therefore not to trouble ourselves with what they may suffer in their natural feelings and natural persons, on account of what is done towards them in this their constructive character. Of what import is it under what names you injure men, and deprive them of the just emoluments of a profession, in which they were not only permitted but encouraged by the state to engage; and upon the supposed certainty of which emoluments they had formed the plan of their lives, contracted debts, and led multitudes to an entire dependence upon them?
But this act of taking property seems to be a legal judgment, not a confiscation. They’ve apparently discovered in the academies of the Palais Royal and the Jacobins that certain individuals had no right to the possessions they held under law, custom, court decisions, and the long-standing practice of a thousand years. They claim that clergy are fictional entities, creations of the state, whom they can easily destroy and alter in any way they choose; that the assets they own don’t actually belong to them but to the state that created this fiction. Therefore, we shouldn’t be concerned about their natural feelings and personal identities regarding what’s done to them in this constructed role. What difference does it make under what labels you harm people and take away their rightful earnings from a profession that the state not only allowed but encouraged them to pursue? They based their lives on the assumed certainty of those earnings, incurred debts, and led many to entirely depend on them.
You do not imagine, sir, that I am going to compliment this miserable distinction of persons with any long discussion. The arguments of tyranny are as contemptible as its force is dreadful. Had not your confiscators, by their early crimes, obtained a power which secures indemnity to all the crimes of which they have since been guilty, or that they can commit, it is not the syllogism of the logician, but the lash of the executioner, that would have refuted a sophistry which becomes an accomplice of theft and murder. The sophistic tyrants of Paris are loud in their declamations against the departed regal tyrants, who in former ages have vexed the world. They are thus bold, because they are safe from the dungeons and iron cages of their old masters. Shall we be more tender of the tyrants of our own time, when we see them acting worse tragedies under our eyes? shall we not use the same liberty that they do, when we can use it with the same safety? when to speak honest truth only requires a contempt of the opinion of those whose actions we abhor?
You can’t possibly think, sir, that I’m going to spend a lot of time praising this pathetic distinction between people. The arguments in favor of tyranny are as worthless as its brutality is terrifying. If your confiscators hadn’t gained power through their early crimes, which shields them from the consequences of all the wrongs they’ve committed or could commit, it wouldn’t be the logic of a thinker that would challenge an argument that supports theft and murder, but the whip of the executioner. The tyrants in Paris are loud in their criticism of the past royal tyrants who once troubled the world. They can be so bold because they are free from the dungeons and iron cages of their former masters. Should we be kinder to the tyrants of our own time when we see them committing even worse acts right in front of us? Shouldn’t we use the same freedom they do, especially when we can do so safely? When speaking the honest truth just requires us to disregard the opinions of those whose actions we detest?
MORAL OF HISTORY.
We do not draw the moral lessons we might from history. On the contrary, without care it may be used to vitiate our minds and to destroy our happiness. In history a great volume is unrolled for our instruction, drawing the materials of future wisdom from the past errors and infirmities of mankind. It may, in the perversion, serve for a magazine, furnishing offensive and defensive weapons for parties in church and state, and supplying the means of keeping alive, or reviving, dissensions and animosities, and adding fuel to civil fury. History consists, for the greater part, of the miseries brought upon the world by pride, ambition, avarice, revenge, lust, sedition, hypocrisy, ungoverned zeal, and all the train of disorderly appetites which shake the public with the same
We don’t learn the important lessons we could from history. Instead, if we’re not careful, it can actually mess with our minds and ruin our happiness. History offers a wealth of knowledge for us to learn from, using the mistakes and weaknesses of humanity to help us gain wisdom for the future. Unfortunately, it can be twisted into a toolkit, providing offensive and defensive weapons for different factions in religion and government, fueling conflicts and resentment, and stoking the fires of civil unrest. Much of history is made up of the suffering caused by pride, ambition, greed, revenge, lust, rebellion, hypocrisy, unchecked passion, and all the other chaotic desires that shake society to its core.
—"troublous storms that toss
The private state, and render life unsweet."
---"troubling storms that shake the private life, and make existence bitter."
These vices are the CAUSES of those storms. Religion, morals, laws, prerogatives, privileges, liberties, rights of men, are the PRETEXTS. The pretexts are always found in some specious appearance of a real good. You would not secure men from tyranny and sedition, by rooting out of the mind the principles to which these fraudulent pretexts apply? If you did, you would root out everything that is valuable in the human breast. As these are the pretexts, so the ordinary actors and instruments in great public evils are kings, priests, magistrates, senates, parliaments, national assemblies, judges, and captains. You would not cure the evil by resolving that there should be no more monarchs, nor ministers of state, nor of the gospel; no interpreters of law; no general officers; no public councils. You might change the names. The things in some shape must remain. A certain quantum of power must always exist in the community, in some hands, and under some appellation. Wise men will apply their remedies to vices, not to names; to the causes of evil which are permanent, not to the occasional organs by which they act, and the transitory modes in which they appear. Otherwise you will be wise historically,—a fool in practice. Seldom have two ages the same fashion in their pretexts and the same modes of mischief. Wickedness is a little more inventive. Whilst you are discussing fashion, the fashion is gone by. The very same vice assumes a new body. The spirit transmigrates; and, far from losing its principle of life by the change of its appearance, it is renovated in its new organs with the fresh vigour of a juvenile activity. It walks abroad, it continues its ravages, whilst you are gibbeting the carcase, or demolishing the tomb. You are terrifying yourselves with ghosts and apparitions, whilst your house is the haunt of robbers. It is thus with all those who, attending only to the shell and husk of history, think they are waging war with intolerance, pride, and cruelty, whilst, under colour of abhorring the ill principles of antiquated parties, they are authorizing and feeding the same odious vices in different factions, and perhaps in worse.
These bad habits are the CAUSES of those conflicts. Religion, morals, laws, privileges, freedoms, and human rights are just the PRETEXTS. These pretexts always hide behind a false appearance of real good. You wouldn’t protect people from tyranny and rebellion by eliminating the ideas that these deceitful pretexts rely on, would you? If you did, you would eliminate everything valuable in human nature. Just as these are the pretexts, the usual players and tools in major public harms are kings, priests, judges, senates, parliaments, national assemblies, judicial officials, and military leaders. You wouldn’t solve the problem by declaring there should be no more monarchs, state ministers, or ministers of religion; no interpreters of law, no generals, no public councils. You could change the names, but the essential problems would still exist in some form. A certain amount of power will always exist in the community, in some hands, under some name. Wise individuals will address the vices, not the names; they will tackle the underlying causes of problems that persist, rather than focusing on the temporary channels through which they operate and the fleeting ways they appear. Otherwise, you’ll be historically knowledgeable but practically foolish. Rarely do two eras have the same trends in their pretexts or the same ways of causing harm. Evil is a bit more creative. While you’re debating trends, the trend has already passed. The same vice takes on a new form. The spirit changes but doesn’t lose its essence through the shift; it is revitalized in its new form with the renewed energy of youthful activity. It roams free, continuing its destruction while you’re busy hanging the carcass or tearing down the tomb. You’re scaring yourselves with ghosts and visions while your home is the hideout for thieves. This is the same for everyone who, by only focusing on the outer layers of history, believe they’re fighting against intolerance, pride, and cruelty, while under the guise of opposing the bad principles of outdated groups, they are actually endorsing and encouraging the same detestable vices in different factions, and perhaps even worse ones.
USE OF DEFECTS IN HISTORY.
Not that I derogate from the use of history. It is a great improver of the understanding, by showing both men and affairs in a great variety of views. From this source much political wisdom may be learned; that is, may be learned as habit, not as precept; and as an exercise to strengthen the mind, as furnishing materials to enlarge and enrich it, not as a repertory of cases and precedents for a lawyer: if it were, a thousand times better would it be that a statesman had never learned to read—vellem nescirent literas. This method turns their understanding from the object before them, and from the present exigencies of the world, to comparisons with former times, of which, after all, we can know very little, and very imperfectly; and our guides, the historians, who are to give us their true interpretation, are often prejudiced, often ignorant, often fonder of system than of truth. Whereas, if a man with reasonably good parts and natural sagacity, and not in the leading-strings of any master, will look steadily on the business before him, without being diverted by retrospect and comparison, he may be capable of forming a reasonably good judgment of what is to be done. There are some fundamental points in which nature never changes—but they are few and obvious, and belong rather to morals than to politics. But so far as regards political matter, the human mind and human affairs are susceptible of infinite modifications, and of combinations wholly new and unlooked for. Very few, for instance, could have imagined that property, which has been taken for natural dominion, should, through the whole of a vast kingdom, lose all its importance and even its influence. This is what history or books of speculation could hardly have taught us. How many could have thought, that the most complete and formidable revolution in a great empire should be made by men of letters, not as subordinate instruments and trumpeters of sedition, but as the chief contrivers and managers, and in a short time as the open administrators and sovereign rulers? Who could have imagined that atheism could produce one of the most violently operative principles of fanaticism? Who could have imagined that, in a commonwealth in a manner cradled in war, and in extensive and dreadful war, military commanders should be of little or no account? That the Convention should not contain one military man of name? That administrative bodies in a state of the utmost confusion, and of but a momentary duration, and composed of men with not one imposing part of character, should be able to govern the country and its armies with an authority which the most settled senates, and the most respected monarchs, scarcely ever had in the same degree? This, for one, I confess I did not foresee, though all the rest was present to me very early, and not out of my apprehension even for several years.
Not that I look down on the use of history. It's a great enhancer of understanding by showing both people and events from a wide range of perspectives. We can learn a lot of political wisdom from it; not as strict rules but as a habit, and as a way to exercise and deepen the mind, providing material to enrich it, rather than just a collection of cases and precedents for a lawyer. If it were that, it would be far better if a statesman never learned to read—I'd wish they didn’t know how to read. This approach shifts their focus away from the immediate situation and current realities to comparisons with the past, which, after all, we can know very little about and imperfectly. Our guides, the historians, who are supposed to offer us true interpretations, are often biased, often uninformed, often more committed to a system than to the truth. In contrast, if a person with decent intellect and natural insight, not under the influence of any master, focuses steadily on the task at hand without getting sidetracked by reflection and comparison, they can form a pretty good judgment of what needs to be done. There are some fundamental things in which human nature never changes—but they are few and obvious, belonging more to morals than politics. But when it comes to political matters, the human mind and human affairs can undergo endless modifications and entirely new and unexpected combinations. For instance, very few could have imagined that property, once considered a natural right, could lose all its importance and influence across a vast kingdom. This is something that history or speculative books would hardly have taught us. How many would have thought that the most significant and dramatic revolution in a major empire would be driven by intellectuals, not merely as subordinate tools or instigators of unrest, but as the main planners and operators, and soon as the open leaders and rulers? Who could have predicted that atheism could give rise to one of the most aggressively active forms of fanaticism? Who would have thought that in a republic practically born out of extensive and horrifying warfare, military leaders would be of little or no significance? That the Convention wouldn’t include a single notable military figure? That chaotic and short-lived administrative bodies, made up of men without a significant presence, could govern the country and its armies with an authority that even the most established senates and respected monarchs rarely held? I admit I didn't see this coming, even though the rest was clear to me early on, and I was aware of it for several years.
SOCIAL CONTRACT.
Society is indeed a contract. Subordinate contracts for objects of mere occasional interest may be dissolved at pleasure—but the state ought not to be considered nothing better than a partnership agreement in a trade of pepper and coffee, calico or tobacco, or some other such low concern, to be taken up for a little temporary interest, and to be dissolved by the fancy of the parties. It is to be looked on with other reverence; because it is not a partnership in things subservient only to the gross animal existence of a temporary and perishable nature. It is a partnership in all science; a partnership in all art; a partnership in every virtue, and in all perfection. As the ends of such a partnership cannot be obtained in many generations, it becomes a partnership not only between those who are living, but between those who are living, those who are dead, and those who are to be born. Each contract of each particular state is but a clause in the great primeval contract of eternal society, linking the lower with the higher natures, connecting the visible and invisible world, according to a fixed compact sanctioned by the inviolable oath which holds all physical and all moral natures each in their appointed place. This law is not subject to the will of those, who by an obligation above them, and infinitely superior, are bound to submit their will to that law. The municipal corporations of that universal kingdom are not morally at liberty at their pleasure, and on their speculations of a contingent improvement, wholly to separate and tear asunder the bands of their subordinate community, and to dissolve it into an unsocial, uncivil, unconnected chaos of elementary principles. It is the first and supreme necessity only, a necessity that is not chosen, but chooses, a necessity paramount to deliberation, that admits no discussion, and demands no evidence, which alone can justify a resort to anarchy. This necessity is no exception to the rule; because this necessity itself is a part too of that moral and physical disposition of things to which man must be obedient by consent of force: but if that which is only submission to necessity should be made the object of choice, the law is broken, nature is disobeyed, and the rebellious are outlawed, cast forth, and exiled from this world of reason, and order, and peace, and virtue, and fruitful penitence, into the antagonist world of madness, discord, vice, confusion, and unavailing sorrow.
Society is really a contract. Temporary agreements for things of small interest can be ended whenever, but the state shouldn’t be viewed as just a business partnership in trading goods like spices, fabrics, or tobacco, or anything so trivial that can be entered into for a short time and dismissed at will. It deserves more respect because it’s not just about meeting basic, fleeting needs. It’s a partnership in all knowledge; a partnership in all art; a partnership in every value, and in all that is excellent. Since the goals of such a partnership won’t be achieved in just one generation, it becomes a partnership that includes not only the current members but also those who have passed away and those who have yet to be born. Each agreement of each specific state is just a part of the larger, ancient contract of eternal society, connecting the lower with the higher realms, bridging the visible and the invisible world, under a binding agreement confirmed by an unbreakable oath that keeps all physical and moral natures in their designated places. This law isn’t subject to the whims of those who, bound by an obligation greater than themselves, must adhere to it. The governance structures of that universal kingdom aren’t morally free to casually break apart and completely sever the ties of their subordinate community based on uncertain improvements, and reduce it to a disconnected, chaotic mess of basic elements. It is the supreme necessity, a necessity that isn’t chosen, but instead chooses; a necessity greater than deliberation, one that doesn’t allow for discussion and requires no proof, which alone can legitimize a leap into anarchy. This necessity isn’t an exception to the rules because it is also part of the moral and physical order, which humanity must obey by consent of force: but if mere submission to necessity becomes a matter of choice, the law is violated, nature is defied, and the rebels are expelled, cast out, and banished from this world of reason, order, peace, virtue, and meaningful repentance, into the opposing world of insanity, discord, immorality, chaos, and unhelpful sorrow.
PRESCRIPTIVE RIGHTS.
The crown has considered me after long service; the crown has paid the duke of Bedford by advance. He has had a long credit for any service which he may perform hereafter. He is secure, and long may he be secure, in his advance, whether he performs any services or not. But let him take care how he endangers the safety of that constitution which secures his own utility or his own insignificance; or how he discourages those who take up even puny arms to defend an order of things which, like the sun of heaven, shines alike on the useful and the worthless. His grants are engrafted on the public law of Europe, covered with the awful hoar of innumerable ages. They are guarded by the sacred rules of prescription, found in that full treasury of jurisprudence from which the jejuneness and penury of our municipal law has, by degrees, been enriched and strengthened. This prescription I had my share (a very full share) in bringing to its perfection. The duke of Bedford will stand as long as prescriptive law endures; as long as the great stable laws of property, common to us with all civilized nations, are kept in their integrity, and without the smallest intermixture of laws, maxims, principles, or precedents, of the grand revolution. They are secure against all changes but one. The whole revolutionary system, institutes, digest, code, novels, text, gloss, comment, are not only not the same, but they are the very reverse, and the reverse fundamentally, of all the laws, on which civil life has hitherto been upheld in all the governments of the world. The learned professors of the rights of man regard prescription not as a title to bar all claim, set up against all possession, but they look on prescription as itself a bar against the possessor and proprietor. They hold an immemorial possession to be no more than a long-continued, and therefore an aggravated injustice.
The crown recognizes my long service; it has already compensated the Duke of Bedford. He has credit for any future services he might provide. He is secure, and will likely remain secure, in his advance, regardless of whether he performs any services. However, he should be cautious not to jeopardize the safety of the constitution that guarantees his own benefit or irrelevance; nor should he discourage those who take up even the smallest arms to defend a system that, like the sun in the sky, shines equally on the useful and the worthless. His grants are embedded in the public law of Europe, steeped in the ancient weight of countless ages. They are protected by the sacred rules of prescription, drawn from the vast treasury of legal knowledge that has gradually enriched and strengthened our often sparse municipal laws. I played a significant role in achieving the perfection of this prescription. The Duke of Bedford will endure as long as prescriptive law lasts; as long as the great, stable laws of property, shared with all civilized nations, remain intact and untainted by the laws, principles, or precedents of the grand revolution. They are safe from all changes except one. The entire revolutionary system—institutes, digests, codes, novels, texts, glosses, comments—are not only different but completely opposed, fundamentally, to all the laws that have upheld civil life throughout the governments of the world. The learned scholars of human rights view prescription not as a way to block all claims opposing possession but as a barrier against the possessor and owner. They see long-standing possession as merely a prolonged, thus aggravated, injustice.
Such are THEIR ideas, such THEIR religion, and such THEIR law. But as to OUR country and OUR race, as long as the well-compacted structure of our church and state, the sanctuary, the holy of holies of that ancient law, defended by reverence, defended by power, a fortress at once and a temple, shall stand inviolate on the brow of the British Sion; as long as the British monarchy, not more limited than fenced by the orders of the state, shall, like the proud Keep of Windsor, rising in the majesty of proportion, and girt with the double belt of its kindred and coeval towers,—as long as this awful structure shall oversee and guard the subjected land—so long the mounds and dykes of the low, fat Bedford Level will have nothing to fear from all the pickaxes of all the levellers of France. As long as our sovereign lord the king, and his faithful subjects, the lords and commons of this realm,—the triple cord, which no man can break; the solemn, sworn, constitutional frank-pledge of this nation; the firm guarantees of each other's being, and each other's rights; the joint and several securities, each in its place and order, for every kind and every quality, of property and of dignity:—as long as these endure, so long the duke of Bedford is safe: and we are all safe together—the high from the blights of envy and the spoliations of rapacity; the low from the iron hand of oppression and the insolent spurn of contempt. Amen! and so be it: and so it will be,—
Such are THEIR ideas, such is THEIR religion, and such is THEIR law. But regarding OUR country and OUR race, as long as the solid foundation of our church and state, the sanctuary, the holy of holies of that ancient law, defended by respect and supported by strength—a fortress and a temple at the same time—stands unbroken on the heights of British Sion; as long as the British monarchy, not more constrained than safeguarded by the orders of the state, shall resemble the proud Keep of Windsor, rising majestically, and encircled by its related and contemporary towers—so long as this formidable structure oversees and protects the subjected land—then the mounds and dikes of the low, fertile Bedford Level will have nothing to fear from all the pickaxes wielded by all the levelers of France. As long as our sovereign lord the king and his loyal subjects, the lords and commons of this realm—the triple bond that no one can break; the solemn, sworn, constitutional agreement of this nation; the solid guarantees of each other's existence and rights; the joint securities, each in its designated role, for every type and quality of property and dignity:—as long as these endure, the duke of Bedford is safe; and we are all safe together—the high from the blights of envy and the ravages of greed; the low from the iron grip of oppression and the arrogant disdain of contempt. Amen! And so it will be—
"Dum domus Aeneae Capitoli immobile saxum
Accolet; imperiumque pater Romanus habebit."
"Dum the house of Aeneas stands strong on the Capitol rock, the Roman father will hold power."
MADNESS OF INNOVATION.
Novelty is not the only source of zeal. Why should not a Maccabeus and his brethren arise to assert the honour of the ancient law, and to defend the temple of their forefathers, with as ardent a spirit as can inspire any innovator to destroy the monuments of the piety and the glory of ancient ages? It is not a hazarded assertion, it is a great truth, that when once things are gone out of their ordinary course, it is by acts out of the ordinary course they can alone be re-established. Republican spirit can only be combated by a spirit of the same nature: of the same nature, but informed with another principle, and pointing to another end. I would persuade a resistance, both to the corruption and to the reformation that prevails. It will not be the weaker, but much the stronger, for combating both together. A victory over real corruptions would enable us to baffle the spurious and pretended reformations. I would not wish to excite, or even to tolerate, that kind of evil spirit which invokes the powers of hell to rectify the disorders of the earth. No! I would add my voice with better, and I trust, more potent charms, to draw down justice and wisdom and fortitude from heaven, for the correction of human vice, and the recalling of human error from the devious ways into which it has been betrayed. I would wish to call the impulses of individuals at once to the aid and to the control of authority. By this, which I call the true republican spirit, paradoxical as it may appear, monarchies alone can be rescued from the imbecility of courts and the madness of the crowd. This republican spirit would not suffer men in high place to bring ruin on their country and on themselves. It would reform, not by destroying, but by saving, the great, the rich, and the powerful. Such a republican spirit, we perhaps fondly conceive to have animated the distinguished heroes and patriots of old, who knew no mode of policy but religion and virtue. These they would have paramount to all constitutions; they would not suffer monarchs, or senates, or popular assemblies, under pretences of dignity, or authority, or freedom, to shake off those moral riders which reason has appointed to govern every sort of rude power. These, in appearance loading them by their weight, do by that pressure augment their essential force. The momentum is increased by the extraneous weight. It is true in moral, as it is in mechanical science. It is true, not only in the draught, but in the race. These riders of the great, in effect, hold the reins which guide them in their course, and wear the spur that stimulates them to the goals of honour and of safety. The great must submit to the dominion of prudence and of virtue, or none will long submit to the dominion of the great.
Novelty isn't the only source of passion. Why can't a Maccabeus and his friends rise up to defend the honor of the ancient law and protect the temple of their ancestors with just as much enthusiasm as any innovator has to tear down the monuments of old piety and glory? It's not a rash statement; it's a profound truth that when things stray from their normal path, it's only through extraordinary actions that they can be restored. A spirit of independence can only be challenged by a spirit of the same kind, though informed by different principles and aiming for a different purpose. I advocate for resistance against both the corruption and the reformation occurring. This approach won’t be weaker but instead much stronger, as it tackles both at the same time. Overcoming real corruptions would help us thwart false and pretentious reformations. I wouldn't want to stir up or even accept that evil spirit that calls upon dark forces to fix the world's problems. No! I would rather add my voice, with better and hopefully more powerful appeals, to bring down justice, wisdom, and courage from heaven to correct human wrongs and lead human error back from the misguided paths it has taken. I would like to urge the actions of individuals to both support and be guided by authority. By this, which I call the true republican spirit, paradoxical as it may sound, only monarchies can be saved from the weakness of courts and the madness of the masses. This republican spirit wouldn't allow those in power to bring ruin upon their country and themselves. It would reform, not by destroying, but by saving the great, the wealthy, and the influential. We may fondly believe that such a republican spirit inspired the distinguished heroes and patriots of the past, who understood no policy but one founded on religion and virtue. They would hold these values above all constitutions; they wouldn't permit monarchs, senates, or popular assemblies, under pretexts of dignity, authority, or freedom, to discard the moral restraints that reason has put in place to govern all forms of unchecked power. These restraints, seemingly weighing them down, actually enhance their essential strength. The momentum increases with the added weight. This is true in moral contexts, just as it is in mechanical science. It's true not only in struggles but also in races. These moral restraints effectively hold the reins that steer the powerful and spur them toward the goals of honor and safety. The powerful must submit to the authority of prudence and virtue, or no one will long submit to their authority.
"Dis te minorem quod geris imperas."
"Dis, you rule over the lesser things you carry."
This is the feudal tenure which they cannot alter.
This is the feudal arrangement that they cannot change.
THE STATE, ITS OWN REVENUE.
The revenue of the state is the state. In effect all depends upon it, whether for support or for reformation. The dignity of every occupation wholly depends upon the quantity and the kind of virtue that may be exerted in it. As all great qualities of the mind which operate in public, and are not merely suffering and passive, require force for their display, I had almost said for their unequivocal existence, the revenue, which is the spring of all power, becomes in its administration the sphere of every active virtue. Public virtue, being of a nature magnificent and splendid, instituted for great things, and conversant about great concerns, requires abundant scope and room, and cannot spread and grow under confinement, and in circumstances straitened, narrow, and sordid. Through the revenue alone the body politic can act in its true genius and character, and therefore it will display just as much of its collective virtue, and as much of that virtue which may characterize those who move it, and are, as it were, its life and guiding principle, as it is possessed of a just revenue. For from hence not only magnanimity, and liberality, and beneficence, and fortitude, and providence, and the tutelary protection of all good arts, derive their food, and the growth of their organs, but continence, and self-denial, and labour, and vigilance, and frugality, and whatever else there is in which the mind shows itself above the appetite, are nowhere more in their proper element than in the provision and distribution of the public wealth. It is therefore not without reason that the science of speculative and practical finance, which must take to its aid so many auxiliary branches of knowledge, stands high in the estimation, not only of the ordinary sort, but of the wisest and best men; and as this science has grown with the progress of its object, the prosperity and improvement of nations has generally increased with the increase of their revenues; and they will both continue to grow and flourish, as long as the balance between what is left to strengthen the efforts of individuals, and what is collected for the common efforts of the state, bear to each other a due reciprocal proportion, and are kept in a close correspondence and communication.
The state's revenue is what defines the state. Everything hinges on it, whether for support or for improvement. The value of every job entirely relies on the amount and type of integrity that can be demonstrated in it. Since all significant qualities of the mind that engage in public matters—and are not simply passive—require strength to be shown, I might even say for their clear existence, the revenue, which is the source of all power, becomes the arena for every active virtue. Public virtue is grand and impressive, meant for big deeds and dealing with significant matters, needing plenty of space and opportunities to thrive; it can't flourish in cramped, limited, and mediocre circumstances. Through revenue alone, the political body can operate in its true essence and nature, and therefore it will exhibit as much of its collective virtue, and as much of that virtue which defines those who drive it, and are essentially its life and guiding principle, as it possesses a fair revenue. From this source, not only do nobility, generosity, kindness, courage, foresight, and the protective support of all good practices derive their sustenance and grow, but also restraint, self-control, diligence, vigilance, thriftiness, and everything else wherein the mind rises above mere desires finds its best application in the management and distribution of public wealth. Thus, it's no surprise that the study of both theoretical and practical finance, which relies on many other branches of knowledge, is highly regarded not just by the average person, but also by the wisest and most virtuous individuals; and as this field has evolved alongside its purpose, the prosperity and development of nations have generally increased with the growth of their revenues; they will continue to thrive as long as there is a proper balance between what is reserved to empower individuals and what is gathered for the common efforts of the state, maintaining a close relationship and communication.
METAPHYSICAL DEPRAVITY.
These philosophers are fanatics; independent of any interest, which if it operated alone would make them much more tractable, they are carried with such a headlong rage towards every desperate trial, that they would sacrifice the whole human race to the slightest of their experiments. I am better able to enter into the character of this description of men than the noble duke can be. I have lived long and variously in the world. Without any considerable pretensions to literature in myself, I have aspired to the love of letters. I have lived for a great many years in habitudes with those who professed them. I can form a tolerable estimate of what is likely to happen from a character chiefly dependent for fame and fortune on knowledge and talent, as well in its morbid and perverted state as in that which is sound and natural. Naturally, men so formed and finished are the first gifts of Providence to the world. But when they have once thrown off the fear of God, which was in all ages too often the case, and the fear of men, which is now the case, and when in that state they come to understand one another, and to act in corps, a more dreadful calamity cannot arise out of hell to scourge mankind. Nothing can be conceived more hard than the heart of a thorough-bred metaphysician. It comes nearer to the cold malignity of a wicked spirit than to the frailty and passion of a man. It is like that of the principle of evil himself, incorporeal, pure, unmixed, dephlegmated, defecated evil. It is no easy operation to eradicate humanity from the human breast. What Shakespeare calls "the compunctious visitings of nature," will sometimes knock at their hearts, and protest against their murderous speculations. But they have a means of compounding with their nature. Their humanity is not dissolved. They only give it a long prorogation. They are ready to declare, that they do not think two thousand years too long a period for the good that they pursue. It is remarkable, that they never see any way to their projected good but by the road of some evil. Their imagination is not fatigued with the contemplation of human suffering through the wild waste of centuries added to centuries of misery and desolation. Their humanity is at their horizon—and, like the horizon, it always flies before them. The geometricians and the chemists bring the one from the dry bones of their diagrams, and the other from the soot of their furnaces, dispositions that make them worse than indifferent about those feelings and habitudes which are the supports of the moral world. Ambition is come upon them suddenly; they are intoxicated with it, and it has rendered them fearless of the danger which may from thence arise to others or to themselves. These philosophers consider men in their experiments no more than they do mice in an air-pump, or in a recipient of mephitic gas. Whatever his grace may think of himself, they look upon him, and everything that belongs to him, with no more regard than they do upon the whiskers of that little long-tailed animal, that has been long the game of the grave, demure, insidious, spring-nailed, velvet-pawed, green-eyed philosophers, whether going upon two legs or upon four.
These philosophers are fanatics; regardless of any self-interest that could make them more reasonable, they are driven by such a reckless rage towards every desperate trial that they would sacrifice all of humanity for the slightest of their experiments. I understand this type of person better than the noble duke does. I have lived a long and varied life in this world. Although I have no significant claims to literature myself, I have sought a love for learning. I have spent many years alongside those who cherish it. I can make a fair assessment of what is likely to happen from individuals who mainly rely on knowledge and talent for their reputation and success, both in their twisted and unnatural forms as well as in their healthy and genuine states. Naturally, individuals like that are initially the greatest gifts from Providence to the world. But once they've cast aside the fear of God, which has often been the case throughout history, and the fear of others, which is the case now, and once they understand one another and begin to act in unison, a more terrible calamity could not arise from hell to torment humanity. There is nothing harder than the heart of a true metaphysician. It comes closer to the cold malice of an evil spirit than to the frailty and passion of a human being. It resembles the nature of pure evil itself—incorporeal, untainted, and undiluted. It is no simple task to remove humanity from the human heart. What Shakespeare calls "the compunctious visitings of nature" will sometimes knock at their hearts and protest against their deadly theories. However, they have a way of making peace with their nature. Their humanity is not absent; they simply postpone it indefinitely. They are prepared to claim that they do not think two thousand years is too long a wait for the good they seek. It’s notable that they never see a way to their intended good without traveling the path of some evil. They don't tire of considering human suffering through the endless centuries of misery and desolation. Their humanity remains on their horizon—and, like the horizon, it always recedes before them. The mathematicians and chemists derive their insights from the lifeless skeletons of their diagrams and from the soot of their furnaces, attitudes that make them worse than indifferent about the feelings and habits that uphold the moral world. Ambition hits them suddenly; they become intoxicated with it, making them brazen towards the dangers it may pose to others or themselves. These philosophers regard humans in their experiments no more than they do mice in an air pump or in a chamber of toxic gas. Whatever the duke may think of himself, they view him and everything associated with him with no more concern than they do the whiskers of that little long-tailed creature, long the prey of the grave, quiet, cunning, spring-nailed, velvet-pawed, green-eyed philosophers, whether it walks on two legs or four.
PERSONAL AND ANCESTRAL CLAIMS.
I really am at a loss to draw any sort of parallel between the public merits of his grace, by which he justifies the grants he holds, and these services of mine, on the favourable construction of which I have obtained what his grace so much disapproves. In private life, I have not at all the honour of acquaintance with the noble duke. But I ought to presume, and it costs me nothing to do so, that he abundantly deserves the esteem and love of all who live with him. But as to public service, why truly it would not be more ridiculous for me to compare myself in rank, in fortune, in splendid descent, in youth, strength, or figure, with the duke of Bedford, than to make a parallel between his services and my attempts to be useful to my country. It would not be gross adulation, but uncivil irony, to say, that he has any public merit of his own to keep alive the idea of the services by which his vast landed pensions were obtained. My merits, whatever they are, are original and personal; his are derivative. It is his ancestor, the original pensioner, that has laid up this inexhaustible fund of merit, which makes his grace so very delicate and exceptious about the merit of all other grantees of the crown. Had he permitted me to remain in quiet, I should have said, 'Tis his estate; that's enough. It is his by law; what have I to do with it or its history? He would naturally have said on his side, 'Tis this man's fortune. He is as good now as my ancestor was two hundred and fifty years ago. I am a young man with very old pensions: he is an old man with very young pensions,—that's all. Why will his grace, by attacking me, force me reluctantly to compare my little merit with that which obtained from the crown those prodigies of profuse donation by which he tramples on the mediocrity of humble and laborious individuals? I would willingly leave him to the herald's college, which the philosophy of the sans culottes (prouder by far than all the Garters, and Norroys, and Clarencieux, and Rouge Dragons, that ever pranced in a procession of what his friends call aristocrats and despots) will abolish with contumely and scorn. These historians, recorders, and blazoners of virtues and arms, differ wholly from that other description of historians, who never assign any act of politicians to a good motive. These gentle historians, on the contrary, dip their pens in nothing but the milk of human kindness. They seek no further for merit than the preamble of a patent, or the inscription of a tomb. With them every man created a peer is first a hero ready made. They judge of every man's capacity for office by the offices he has filled; and the more offices, the more ability. Every general-officer with them is a Marlborough; every statesman a Burleigh; every judge a Murray or a Yorke. They who, alive, were laughed at or pitied by all their acquaintance, make as good a figure as the best of them in the pages of Guillim, Edmondson, and Collins.
I honestly can't find any way to compare the public benefits of his grace, which he uses to justify his grants, with my own services, on which I’ve relied to gain what he so strongly disapproves of. In my private life, I don’t have the honor of knowing the noble duke at all. But I should assume, and it costs me nothing to think this way, that he truly deserves the respect and affection of everyone around him. However, when it comes to public service, it would be just as ridiculous for me to compare myself in rank, wealth, esteemed lineage, youth, strength, or appearance with the Duke of Bedford as it would be to compare his services to my efforts to help my country. It wouldn’t be flattery, but rather rude irony, to suggest that he has any public merit of his own to justify the grants that provide his significant income. My merits, whatever they may be, are original and personal; his are inherited. It is his ancestor, the original pensioner, who has created this endless source of merit, which makes his grace so fastidious and critical about the merit of all other crown grantees. If he had allowed me to remain in peace, I would have simply said, "It’s his estate; that’s enough. It is legally his; what business do I have with it or its history?" He would likely have said, "It’s this man’s fortune. He is just as good now as my ancestor was two hundred and fifty years ago. I’m a young man with very old pensions; he’s an old man with very young pensions—that's all." Why does his grace, by attacking me, force me to reluctantly compare my modest merits with those that earned the crown those hugely generous donations that allow him to look down on the average hardworking people? I would gladly leave him to the herald's college, which the philosophy of the sans culottes (much prouder than all the Garters, Norroys, Clarencieux, and Rouge Dragons that ever paraded in a procession of what his friends call aristocrats and despots) will eventually abolish with disdain. These historians, who record and celebrate virtues and heraldry, are completely different from the other type of historians who never credit politicians with good motivations. These more favorable historians, by contrast, only write with the milk of human kindness. They search for merit no further than the preamble of a grant or the engraving on a tomb. To them, every man made a peer is a ready-made hero. They judge a person’s ability for office by the positions they’ve held, and the more positions, the more capable they seem. Every general officer is a Marlborough to them; every statesman a Burleigh; every judge a Murray or a Yorke. Those who, while alive, were laughed at or pitied by everyone they knew appear just as impressive as the best of them in the pages of Guillim, Edmondson, and Collins.
MONASTIC AND PHILOSOPHIC SUPERSTITION.
But the institutions savour of superstition in their very principle; and they nourish it by a permanent and standing influence. This I do not mean to dispute; but this ought not to hinder you from deriving from superstition itself any resources which may thence be furnished for the public advantage. You derive benefits from many dispositions and many passions of the human mind, which are of as doubtful a colour, in the moral eye, as superstition itself. It was your business to correct and mitigate everything which was noxious in this passion, as in all the passions. But is superstition the greatest of all possible vices? In its possible excess I think it becomes a very great evil. It is, however, a moral subject; and of course admits of all degrees and all modifications. Superstition is the religion of feeble minds; and they must be tolerated in an intermixture of it, in some trifling or some enthusiastic shape or other, else you will deprive weak minds of a resource found necessary to the strongest. The body of all true religion consists, to be sure, in obedience to the will of the Sovereign of the world; in a confidence in his declarations, and in imitation of his perfections. The rest is our own. It may be prejudicial to the great end; it may be auxiliary. Wise men, who as such are not ADMIRERS (not admirers at least of the munera terrae), are not violently attached to these things, nor do they violently hate them. Wisdom is not the most severe corrector of folly. They are the rival follies, which mutually wage so unrelenting a war; and which make so cruel a use of their advantages, as they can happen to engage the immoderate vulgar, on the one side, or the other, in their quarrels. Prudence would be neuter; but if, in the contention between fond attachment and fierce antipathy concerning things in their nature not made to produce such heats, a prudent man were obliged to make a choice of what errors and excesses of enthusiasm he would condemn or bear, perhaps he would think the superstition which builds, to be more tolerable than that which demolishes; that which adorns a country, than that which deforms it; that which endows, than that which plunders; that which disposes to mistaken beneficence, than that which stimulates to real injustice; that which leads a man to refuse to himself lawful pleasures, than that which snatches from others the scanty subsistence of their self-denial. Such, I think, is very nearly the state of the question between the ancient founders of monkish superstition, and the superstition of the pretended philosophers of the hour.
But the institutions are rooted in superstition from the very start; and they maintain it with a constant influence. I’m not disputing that; however, it shouldn’t stop you from finding any benefits that may come from superstition for the public good. You gain advantages from many aspects and feelings of the human mind that are just as questionable, morally speaking, as superstition itself. It's your job to correct and lessen everything harmful about this feeling, just like with all feelings. But is superstition really the worst vice? In its possible extremes, I think it can become a serious problem. It is, though, a moral issue, so it can vary in degree and form. Superstition is the faith of weak minds; and they should be allowed to mix in a little of it, whether in a trivial or an overly enthusiastic way, or else you risk depriving those weak minds of something they need, even the strongest do. The core of all true religion is, of course, obedience to the will of the Sovereign of the universe; it involves faith in his teachings and striving to reflect his qualities. The rest is up to us. It may hinder the ultimate goal or help it. Wise people, who are not admirers (at least not admirers of material gains), are not overly attached to these matters, nor do they strongly dislike them. Wisdom isn’t the strictest corrector of folly. It’s the rival follies that engage in a relentless battle; and they exploit their advantages to manipulate the ignorant public, whether on one side or the other. Prudence would remain neutral; but if a prudent person had to choose between the fond affection and intense aversion regarding things that shouldn’t cause such conflict, perhaps they would find the superstition that constructs to be more acceptable than the one that destroys; the one that beautifies a nation, rather than the one that mars it; the one that provides, rather than the one that steals; the one that encourages mistaken generosity, rather than the one that incites real injustice; and the one that leads someone to deny themselves lawful pleasures, rather than the one that robs others of their limited means of restraint. That, I think, closely represents the debate between the early founders of monastic superstition and the superstition of the so-called philosophers of today.
DIFFICULTY AND WISDOM OF CORPORATE REFORM.
There are moments in the fortune of states when particular men are called to make improvements by great mental exertion. In those moments, even when they seem to enjoy the confidence of their prince and country, and to be invested with full authority, they have not always apt instruments. A politician, to do great things, looks for a POWER, what our workmen call a PURCHASE; and if he finds that power, in politics as in mechanics, he cannot be at a loss to apply it. In the monastic institutions, in my opinion, was found a great POWER for the mechanism of politic benevolence. There were revenues with a public direction; there were men wholly set apart and dedicated to public purposes, without any other than public ties and public principles; men without the possibility of converting the estate of the community into a private fortune; men denied to self-interests, whose avarice is for some community; men to whom personal poverty is honour, and implicit obedience stands in the place of freedom. In vain shall a man look to the possibility of making such things when he wants them. The winds blow as they list. These institutions are the products of enthusiasm; they are the instruments of wisdom. Wisdom cannot create materials; they are the gifts of nature or of chance; her pride is in the use. The perennial existence of bodies corporate and their fortunes are things particularly suited to a man who has long views; who meditates designs that require time in fashioning, and which propose duration when they are accomplished. He is not deserving to rank high, or even to be mentioned in the order of great statesmen, who, having obtained the command and direction of such a power as existed in the wealth, the discipline, and the habits of such corporations, as those which you have rashly destroyed, cannot find any way of converting it to the great and lasting benefit of his country. On the view of this subject, a thousand uses suggest themselves to a contriving mind. To destroy any power, growing wild from the rank productive force of the human mind, is almost tantamount, in the moral world, to the destruction of the apparently active properties of bodies in the material. It would be like the attempt to destroy (if it were in our competence to destroy) the expansive force of fixed air in nitre, or the power of steam, or of electricity, or of magnetism. These energies always existed in nature, and they were always discernible. They seemed, some of them unserviceable, some noxious, some no better than a sport to children; until contemplative ability, combining with practic skill, tamed their wild nature, subdued them to use, and rendered them at once the most powerful and the most tractable agents, in subservience to the great views and designs of men. Did fifty thousand persons, whose mental and whose bodily labour you might direct, and so many hundred thousand a year of a revenue, which was neither lazy nor superstitious, appear too big for your abilities to wield? Had you no way of using the men but by converting monks into pensioners? Had you no way of turning the revenue to account but through the improvident resource of a spendthrift sale? If you were thus destitute of mental funds, the proceeding is in its natural course. Your politicians do not understand their trade; and therefore they sell their tools.
There are times in the fortunes of nations when certain individuals are called upon to make improvements through significant mental effort. In those moments, even if they appear to have the trust of their leader and their nation, and to hold complete authority, they don't always have the right tools. A politician, to achieve great things, looks for a POWER, similar to what our workers refer to as a PURCHASE; and if he finds that power, in politics as in mechanics, he knows how to utilize it. In my view, monastic institutions provided a substantial POWER for the machinery of political goodwill. They had revenues directed toward public goals; they consisted of individuals wholly dedicated to public purposes, bound only by public ties and principles; individuals who couldn’t turn community assets into personal fortunes; individuals without self-interest, whose greed was directed towards some community; individuals for whom personal poverty was honorable, and unquestioning obedience replaced freedom. It’s futile for someone to hope for such resources when they need them. The winds blow as they will. These institutions stemmed from passion; they are instruments of wisdom. Wisdom can't create materials; they are gifts from nature or chance; its pride lies in their application. The ongoing existence of corporate bodies and their fortunes particularly suits someone who thinks long-term; who contemplates designs that need time to develop, and who aims for sustainability upon achieving them. A person doesn’t deserve to be regarded highly, or even mentioned among great statesmen, who, having gained control and direction of such power as existed in the wealth, discipline, and practices of the corporations you have foolishly destroyed, cannot find a way to channel it toward the significant and lasting benefit of their country. Regarding this matter, numerous potential uses come to mind for a creative thinker. Destroying any power that has grown unchecked from the fertile force of the human mind is almost morally equivalent to obliterating the seemingly active properties of physical bodies. It would be like trying to eliminate (if we could) the expansive force of fixed air in saltpeter, or the power of steam, or of electricity, or magnetism. These energies have always existed in nature, and they have always been recognizable. Some seemed useless, some harmful, some barely better than child’s play; until contemplative ability, combined with practical skill, tamed their wild nature, subdued them to practical use, and turned them into powerful, controllable agents, serving the grand visions and plans of humanity. Did the prospect of managing fifty thousand people, whose mental and physical labor you could direct, along with many hundreds of thousands a year in revenue, which was neither idle nor superstitious, seem too overwhelming for your capabilities? Did you have no way of utilizing the individuals except by turning monks into pensioners? Did you have no means to leverage the revenue except through the reckless act of selling off assets? If you lacked intellectual resources, then the outcome follows its natural course. Your politicians don’t understand their craft; therefore, they sell their tools.
DISTINCTIVE CHARACTER OF ENGLISH PROTESTANTISM.
"Protestantism of the English Church," very indefinite, because the term PROTESTANT, which you apply, is too general for the conclusions which one of your accurate understanding would wish to draw from it; and because a great deal of argument will depend on the use that is made of that term. It is NOT a fundamental part of the settlement at the Revolution, that the state should be protestant without ANY QUALIFICATION OF THE TERM. With a qualification it is unquestionably true; not in all its latitude. With the qualification, it was true before the Revolution. Our predecessors in legislation were not so irrational (not to say impious) as to form an operose ecclesiastical establishment, and even to render the state itself in some degree subservient to it, when their religion (if such it might be called) was nothing but a mere NEGATION of some other—without any positive idea either of doctrine, discipline, worship, or morals, in the scheme which they professed themselves, and which they imposed upon others, even under penalties and incapacities.—No! no! This never could have been done even by reasonable atheists. They who think religion of no importance to the state, have abandoned it to the conscience or caprice of the individual; they make no provision for it whatsoever, but leave every club to make, or not, a voluntary contribution towards its support, according to their fancies. This would be consistent. The other always appeared to me to be a monster of contradiction and absurdity. It was for that reason that, some years ago, I strenuously opposed the clergy who petitioned, to the number of about three hundred, to be freed from the subscription to the thirty-nine articles, without proposing to substitute any other in their place. There never has been a religion of the state (the few years of the Parliament only excepted), but that of THE ESPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ENGLAND; the Episcopal Church of England, before the Reformation, connected with the see of Rome, since then, disconnected and protesting against some of her doctrines, and against the whole of her authority, as binding in our national church: nor did the fundamental laws of this kingdom (in Ireland it has been the same) ever know, at any period, any other church AS AN OBJECT OF ESTABLISHMENT; or in that light, any other protestant religion. Nay, our protestant TOLERATION itself at the Revolution, and until within a few years, required a signature of thirty-six, and a part of the thirty-seventh, out of the thirty-nine articles. So little idea had they at the Revolution of ESTABLISHING Protestantism indefinitely, that they did not indefinitely TOLERATE it under that name. I do not mean to praise that strictness, where nothing more than merely religious toleration is concerned. Toleration, being a part of moral and political prudence, ought to be tender and large. A tolerant government ought not to be too scrupulous in its investigations; but may bear without blame, not only very ill-grounded doctrines, but even many things that are positively vices, where they are adulta et praevalida. The good of the commonwealth is the rule which rides over the rest; and to this every other must completely submit.
"Protestantism of the English Church" is very vague because the term PROTESTANT is too broad for the conclusions that someone with your understanding would want to draw from it. A lot of the argument will depend on how this term is used. It is NOT a fundamental part of the settlement at the Revolution that the state should be Protestant without ANY QUALIFICATION OF THE TERM. With a qualification, that statement holds true, but not in its entirety. With the qualification, it was true even before the Revolution. Our legislative predecessors were not so unreasonable (not to mention disrespectful) as to create a complex ecclesiastical establishment and even make the state somewhat subservient to it when their religion (if it could even be called that) was merely a NEGATION of another—without any positive idea of doctrine, discipline, worship, or morals in the belief system they claimed and imposed on others, even under penalties and restrictions. No! This could never have happened even with reasonable atheists. Those who regard religion as irrelevant to the state have left it to individual conscience or whim; they have made no provisions for it whatsoever, allowing every group to decide whether to contribute voluntarily to its support based on their preferences. This would be consistent. The other approach has always seemed to me a contradiction and absurdity. That's why, a few years ago, I strongly opposed the clergy—about three hundred of them—who petitioned to be freed from subscribing to the thirty-nine articles without suggesting any alternatives. There has never been a state religion (except for the few years of Parliament) other than THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ENGLAND; the Episcopal Church of England, before the Reformation, was connected with the see of Rome, and since then, has been disconnected while protesting against some of her doctrines and against her entire authority as binding in our national church. The fundamental laws of this kingdom (the same applies in Ireland) have never recognized any other church AS AN OBJECT OF ESTABLISHMENT; nor, in that sense, any other Protestant religion. In fact, our Protestant TOLERATION at the Revolution, and until just a few years ago, required a signature on thirty-six articles and part of the thirty-seventh out of the thirty-nine articles. They had so little idea at the Revolution of ESTABLISHING Protestantism in a vague sense that they didn’t even TOLERATE it indefinitely under that name. I don’t mean to endorse that strictness when it comes to merely religious toleration. Toleration, being part of moral and political prudence, should be generous and broad. A tolerant government shouldn’t be overly meticulous in its investigations; it can accept not only poorly grounded doctrines but even many things that are outright vices, as long as they are broadly accepted and predominant. The well-being of the common good is the guiding principle that takes precedence over everything else, and all else must ultimately submit to this.
FICTITIOUS LIBERTY.
A brave people will certainly prefer liberty accompanied with a virtuous poverty to a depraved and wealthy servitude. But before the price of comfort and opulence is paid, one ought to be pretty sure it is real liberty which is purchased, and that she is to be purchased at no other price. I shall always, however, consider that liberty as very equivocal in her appearance, which has not wisdom and justice for her companions, and does not lead prosperity and plenty in her train.
A brave people will definitely choose freedom with a humble lifestyle over corrupt and wealthy slavery. However, before paying the price for comfort and wealth, one should be quite certain that it's true freedom being bought, and that it comes at no other cost. I will always view freedom as questionable if it lacks wisdom and justice as companions, and if it doesn't bring prosperity and abundance along with it.
FRENCH IGNORANCE OF ENGLISH CHARACTER.
When I assert anything else, as concerning the people of England, I speak from observation, not from authority; but I speak from the experience I have had in a pretty extensive and mixed communication with the inhabitants of this kingdom, of all descriptions and ranks, and after a course of attentive observation, begun in early life, and continued for nearly forty years. I have often been astonished, considering that we are divided from you but by a slender dyke of about twenty-four miles, and that the mutual intercourse between the two countries has lately been very great, to find how little you seem to know of us. I suspect that this is owing to your forming a judgment of this nation from certain publications, which do, very erroneously, if they do at all, represent the opinions and dispositions generally prevalent in England. The vanity, restlessness, petulance, and spirit of intrigue, of several petty cabals, who attempt to hide their total want of consequence in bustle and noise, and puffing, and mutual quotation of each other, makes you imagine that our contemptuous neglect of their abilities is a general mark of acquiescence in their opinions. No such thing, I assure you. Because half a dozen grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with their importunate chink, whilst thousands of great cattle, reposed beneath the shadow of the British oak, chew the cud and are silent, pray do not imagine that those who make the noise are the only inhabitants of the field; that, of course, they are many in number; or that, after all, they are other than the little, shrivelled, meagre, hopping, though loud and troublesome insects of the hour.
When I claim anything else about the people of England, I'm speaking from observation, not authority; but I base my comments on the experiences I've had through extensive and diverse interactions with people from all walks of life in this kingdom, and this has been shaped by nearly forty years of careful observation that started in my early life. I’ve often been surprised, considering we're only separated by a narrow ditch of about twenty-four miles and that the exchange between our two countries has been significant lately, to see how little you seem to know about us. I suspect this is because you judge our nation based on certain publications that very inaccurately, if at all, represent the general opinions and attitudes in England. The vanity, restlessness, petulance, and scheming of a few small groups, who try to cover their complete lack of significance with noise and chaos, might make you think that our dismissive indifference to their abilities is a widespread acceptance of their views. That's not the case, I assure you. Just because a handful of grasshoppers under a fern make the field ring with their annoying chirps, while thousands of large cattle, resting in the shade of the British oak, quietly chew their cud, don’t assume that those making the noise are the only ones in the field; that they are numerous; or that, in the end, they are anything other than the small, shriveled, hungry, yet loud and bothersome insects of the moment.
THE "PEOPLE," AND "OMNIPOTENCE" OF PARLIAMENT.
When the supreme authority of the people is in question, before we attempt to extend or to confine it, we ought to fix in our minds, with some degree of distinctness, an idea of what it is we mean when we say the PEOPLE.
When we talk about the ultimate power of the people, before we try to expand or limit it, we should clearly understand what we mean when we say the PEOPLE.
In a state of RUDE nature there is no such thing as a people. A number of men in themselves have no collective capacity. The idea of a people is the idea of a corporation. It is wholly artificial; and made like all other legal fictions by common agreement. What the particular nature of that agreement was, is collected from the form into which the particular society has been cast. Any other is not THEIR covenant. When men, therefore, break up the original compact or agreement, which gives its corporate form and capacity to a state, they are no longer a people; they have no longer a corporate existence; they have no longer a legal, coactive force to bind within, nor a claim to be recognised abroad. They are a number of vague, loose individuals, and nothing more. With them all is to begin again. Alas! they little know how many a weary step is to be taken before they can form themselves into a mass, which has a true, politic personality.
In a natural state, there’s no such thing as a people. A group of men by themselves has no collective capacity. The concept of a people is like that of a corporation. It’s entirely artificial and created just like other legal fictions by mutual agreement. The specifics of that agreement can be inferred from the structure in which a society has been formed. Any other arrangement is not THEIR agreement. When men, therefore, break the original compact or agreement that gives a state its corporate form and capacity, they are no longer a people; they no longer have a corporate existence; they no longer possess a legal, binding force internally, nor do they have a claim to be recognized externally. They are just a collection of vague, loose individuals, and nothing more. Everything starts over for them. Unfortunately, they have no idea how many exhausting steps are ahead before they can unite into a cohesive entity with a true political identity.
We hear much from men, who have not acquired their hardness of assertion from the profundity of their thinking, about the omnipotence of a MAJORITY, in such a dissolution of an ancient society as hath taken place in France. But amongst men so disbanded, there can be no such thing as majority or minority; or power in any one person to bind another. The power of acting by a majority, which the gentlemen theorists seem to assume so readily, after they have violated the contract out of which it has arisen (if at all it existed), must be grounded on two assumptions; first, that of an incorporation produced by unanimity; and, secondly, an unanimous agreement, that the act of a mere majority (say of one) shall pass with them and with others as the act of the whole.
We hear a lot from men who haven't developed their certainty from deep thinking about the power of a MAJORITY, especially in an upheaval of an old society like what happened in France. But in a group of people so fragmented, there’s no real concept of majority or minority; no individual has the authority to control another. The idea that actions taken by a majority, which some theorists seem to accept so easily after they’ve broken the contract that gave rise to it (if it ever existed), relies on two assumptions: first, that there’s a unity formed through consensus; and second, a mutual agreement that the action of a simple majority (even just one) should be recognized by both them and others as the action of the whole group.
We are so little affected by things which are habitual, that we consider this idea of the decision of a MAJORITY as if it were a law of our original nature; but such constructive whole, residing in a part only, is one of the most violent fictions of positive law that ever has been or can be made on the principles of artificial incorporation. Out of civil society nature knows nothing of it; nor are men, even when arranged according to civil order, otherwise than by very long training, brought at all to submit to it. The mind is brought far more easily to acquiesce in the proceedings of one man, or a few, who act under a general procuration for the state, than in the vote of a victorious majority in councils, in which every man has his share in the deliberation. For there the beaten party are exasperated and soured by the previous contention, and mortified by the conclusive defeat. This mode of decision, where wills may be so nearly equal, where, according to circumstances, the smaller number may be the stronger force, and where apparent reason may be all upon one side, and on the other little else than impetuous appetite; all this must be the result of a very particular and special convention, confirmed afterwards by long habits of obedience, by a sort of discipline in society, and by a strong hand, vested with stationary, permanent power, to enforce this sort of constructive general will. What organ it is that shall declare the corporate mind is so much a matter of positive arrangement, that several states, for the validity of several of their acts, have required a proportion of voices much greater than that of a mere majority. These proportions are so entirely governed by convention, that in some cases the minority decides.
We are so little impacted by things that become routine that we treat the idea of a MAJORITY decision as if it were a law of our true nature. However, this notion, which exists only in some parts, is one of the most extreme fictions of positive law that has ever been created based on artificial constructs. Outside of civil society, nature knows nothing of it; nor are people, even when organized in a civil structure, able to easily submit to it without extensive training. It's much easier for the mind to accept decisions made by one person or a few acting on behalf of the state than it is to support the vote of a winning majority in assemblies where everyone participates in the discussion. This is because the losing party is often frustrated and bitter from the previous conflict and humiliated by their defeat. This decision-making process, where wills might be almost equal and where a smaller group can sometimes hold more power, and where it may seem like all logic is on one side while the other side has only raw desire, is definitely a result of a specific agreement that has been reinforced over time through habits of obedience, social discipline, and a strong authority with fixed, lasting power to enforce this type of collective will. Which body gets to express the shared will of the group is such a matter of social agreement that several states, for the validity of some of their actions, have required a larger number of votes than just a simple majority. These ratios are entirely determined by convention, to the point that in some cases, the minority holds the deciding vote.
MAGNANIMITY OF ENGLISH PEOPLE.
I do not accuse the people of England. As to the great majority of the nation, they have done whatever in their several ranks, and conditions, and descriptions, was required of them by their relative situations in society; and from those the great mass of mankind cannot depart, without the subversion of all public order. They look up to that government which they obey that they may be protected. They ask to be led and directed by those rulers whom Providence and the laws of their country have set over them, and under their guidance to walk in the ways of safety and honour. They have again delegated the greatest trust which they have to bestow to those faithful representatives who made their true voice heard against the disturbers and destroyers of Europe. They suffered, with unapproving acquiescence, solicitations which they had in no shape desired, to an unjust and usurping power whom they had never provoked, and whose hostile menaces they did not dread. When the exigencies of the public service could only be met by their voluntary zeal, they started forth with an ardour which out-stripped the wishes of those who had injured them by doubting whether it might not be necessary to have recourse to compulsion. They have, in all things, reposed an enduring, but not an unreflecting, confidence. That confidence demands a full return, and fixes a responsibility on the ministers entire and undivided. The people stands acquitted, if the war is not carried on in a manner suited to its objects. If the public honour is tarnished, if the public safety suffers any detriment, the ministers, not the people, are to answer it, and they alone. Its armies, its navies, are given to them without stint or restriction. Its treasures are poured out at their feet. Its constancy is ready to second all their efforts. They are not to fear a responsibility for acts of manly adventure. The responsibility which they are to dread is, lest they should show themselves unequal to the expectation of a brave people. The more doubtful may be the constitutional and economical questions upon which they have received so marked a support, the more loudly they are called upon to support this great war, for the success of which their country is willing to supersede considerations of no slight importance. Where I speak of responsibility, I do not mean to exclude that species of it which the legal powers of the country have a right finally to exact from those who abuse a public trust; but high as this is, there is a responsibility which attaches on them, from which the whole legitimate power of this kingdom cannot absolve them: there is a responsibility to conscience and to glory; a responsibility to the existing world, and to that posterity which men of their eminence cannot avoid for glory or for shame; a responsibility to a tribunal at which not only ministers, but kings and parliaments, but even nations themselves, must one day answer.
I don't blame the people of England. The vast majority of the nation has done whatever was expected of them based on their positions and roles in society; the great mass of people cannot stray from this without disrupting public order. They look to the government they obey for protection. They want to be led and guided by the leaders that fate and the laws of their country have placed over them, hoping to follow their guidance in paths of safety and honor. They have once again entrusted their greatest responsibility to the faithful representatives who have voiced their true opinions against the disruptors and destroyers in Europe. They have endured unwanted requests for support to an unjust and usurping power that they never provoked and whose threats they do not fear. When public service needs could only be met by their voluntary zeal, they stepped up with a passion that exceeded the desires of those who wronged them by questioning whether they might need to use force. They have placed their trust in them with a lasting, though thoughtful, confidence. That trust requires a full return and places a complete and undeniable responsibility on the ministers. The people are blameless if the war is not conducted in line with its goals. If public honor is damaged or public safety is compromised, the ministers—not the people—are solely responsible for it. The armies and navies are given to them without limits. Their treasures are laid at their feet. Their steadfastness is ready to support all their efforts. They shouldn’t fear responsibility for courageous actions. The responsibility they should worry about is whether they can live up to the expectations of a brave people. The more uncertain the constitutional and economic issues they've received strong support for, the more they are called to support this great war, as their country is willing to prioritize this over other important considerations. When I mention responsibility, I don’t mean to disregard the legal accountability that the country has the right to impose on those who misuse public trust; but even with that, there’s a level of responsibility they have that cannot be waived by the entire legitimate power of this kingdom: it's a responsibility to their conscience and to their legacy; a responsibility to the current world and to the future generations that people of their stature cannot escape for either glory or shame; a responsibility to a court where not only ministers but also kings and parliaments—and even nations—must ultimately answer.
TRUE BASIS OF CIVIL SOCIETY.
We know, and what is better, we feel inwardly, that religion is the basis of civil society, and the source of all good and of all comfort. In England we are so convinced of this, that there is no rust of superstition with which the accumulated absurdity of the human mind might have crusted it over in the course of ages, that ninety-nine in a hundred of the people of England would not prefer to impiety. We shall never be such fools as to call in an enemy to the substance of any system to remove its corruptions, to supply its defects, or to perfect its construction. If our religious tenets should ever want a further elucidation, we shall not call on atheism to explain them. We shall not light up our temple from that unhallowed fire. It will be illuminated with other lights. It will be perfumed with other incense than the infectious stuff which is imported by the smugglers of adulterated metaphysics. If our ecclesiastical establishment should want a revision, it is not avarice or rapacity, public or private, that we shall employ for the audit, or receipt, or application of its consecrated revenue. Violently condemning neither the Greek nor the Armenian, nor, since heats are subsided, the Roman system of religion, we prefer the Protestant; not because we think it has less of the Christian religion in it, but because, in our judgment, it has more. We are Protestants, not from indifference, but from zeal. We know, and it is our pride to know, that man is by his constitution a religious animal; that atheism is against, not only our reason, but our instincts; and that it cannot prevail long. But if, in the moment of riot, and in a drunken delirium from the hot spirit drawn out of the alembic of hell, which in France is now so furiously boiling, we should uncover our nakedness, by throwing off that Christian religion which has hitherto been our boast and comfort, and one great source of civilization amongst us, and among many other nations, we are apprehensive (being well aware that the mind will not endure a void) that some uncouth, pernicious, and degrading superstition might take place of it.
We know, and what’s even better, we feel deep down that religion is the foundation of society and the source of all goodness and comfort. In England, we’re so convinced of this that there’s no amount of superstition that the human mind has built up over time that would make ninety-nine out of a hundred people prefer irreverence. We will never be foolish enough to invite an enemy of any system to fix its flaws, address its shortcomings, or improve its structure. If our religious beliefs ever need clarification, we won’t turn to atheism for answers. We won’t light our temple with that unholy fire. It will be illuminated by other lights. It will be infused with different incense than the harmful stuff brought in by the smugglers of corrupted philosophy. If our church establishment needs a review, we won’t rely on greed or exploitation, public or private, to handle the management or use of its sacred funds. Without harshly criticizing the Greek or Armenian, nor, now that tensions have cooled, the Roman systems of religion, we prefer the Protestant faith; not because we believe it has less Christianity in it, but because we think it has more. We are Protestants, not out of indifference, but out of passion. We know, and we take pride in knowing, that humans are inherently religious beings; that atheism goes against not just our reason but our instincts; and that it won’t last long. However, if, in a moment of chaos and in a drunken frenzy from the destructive spirit boiling in France right now, we should expose our vulnerability by abandoning the Christian faith that has been our pride and comfort and a significant source of civilization for us and many other nations, we fear (knowing that the mind can’t stand a vacuum) that some strange, harmful, and degrading superstition might take its place.
ROUSSEAU.
It is undoubtedly true, though it may seem paradoxical, but in general, those who are habitually employed in finding and displaying faults, are unqualified for the work of reformation; because their minds are not only unfurnished with patterns of the fair and good, but by habit they come to take no delight in the contemplation of those things. By hating vices too much, they come to love men too little. It is therefore not wonderful that they should be indisposed and unable to serve them. From hence arises the complexional disposition of some of your guides to pull everything in pieces. At this malicious game they display the whole of their quadrimanous activity. As to the rest, the paradoxes of eloquent writers, brought forth purely as a sport of fancy, to try their talents, to rouse attention and excite surprise, are taken up by these gentleman, not in the spirit of the original authors, as means of cultivating their taste and improving their style. These paradoxes become with them serious grounds of action, upon which they proceed in regulating the most important concerns of the state. Cicero ludicrously describes Cato as endeavouring to act, in the commonwealth, upon the school paradoxes, which exercised the wits of the junior students in the Stoic philosophy. If this was true of Cato, these gentlemen copy after him in the manner of some persons who lived about his time—pede nudo Catonem. Mr. Hume told me that he had from Rousseau himself the secret of his principles of composition. That acute, though eccentric observer, had perceived, that to strike and interest the public, the marvellous must be produced; that the marvellous of the heathen mythology had long since lost its effects; that giants, magicians, fairies, and heroes of romance which succeeded, had exhausted the portion of credulity which belonged to their age; that now nothing was left to a writer but that species of the marvellous which might still be produced, and with as great an effect as ever, though in another way; that is, the marvellous in life, in manners, in characters, and in extraordinary situations, giving rise to new and unlooked-for strokes in politics and morals. I believe, that were Rousseau alive, and in one of his lucid intervals, he would be shocked at the practical frenzy of his scholars, who in their paradoxes are servile imitators, and even in their incredulity discover an implicit faith.
It’s definitely true, though it might seem contradictory, that generally, those who always focus on finding and pointing out faults are unfit for the task of making improvements. This is because their minds aren’t filled with examples of what’s good and right, and over time, they don’t even enjoy thinking about them. By hating vices too much, they end up caring less about people. So, it’s not surprising that they find it hard to help them. This leads to some of your leaders having a tendency to tear everything apart. In this malicious pursuit, they show off all their skills. As for the rest, the paradoxes of eloquent writers, created simply as a playful exercise of talent to grab attention and provoke surprise, are taken up by these gentlemen not in the spirit of the original authors, as a means to refine their taste and enhance their style. For them, these paradoxes become serious foundations for action, which they use to manage the most important affairs of the state. Cicero humorously describes Cato as trying to operate within the commonwealth based on the school paradoxes that challenged the wits of young Stoic philosophy students. If this was true of Cato, these gentlemen follow his example in a way reminiscent of some people who lived around his time—barefoot like Cato. Mr. Hume told me he got from Rousseau himself the secret of his writing principles. That sharp, though unconventional, observer realized that to captivate and engage the public, the extraordinary must be showcased; that the wonders of ancient mythology had lost their impact; that giants, magicians, fairies, and romantic heroes had drained the reservoir of credulity of their era; that now, a writer's only option is that type of extraordinary which can still be brought forth with the same effect, albeit in a different way; specifically, the marvelous in life, in behaviors, in personalities, and in unusual situations, leading to unexpected developments in politics and morals. I believe that if Rousseau were alive and having one of his clear moments, he would be appalled by the practical madness of his students, who in their paradoxes are unthinking imitators and even in their doubts reveal a hidden faith.
MORAL HEROES.
Mankind has no title to demand that we should be slaves to their guilt and insolence; or that we should serve them in spite of themselves. Minds, sore with the poignant sense of insulted virtue, filled with high disdain against the pride of triumphant baseness, often have it not in their choice to stand their ground. Their complexion (which might defy the rack) cannot go through such a trial. Something very high must fortify men to that proof. But when I am driven to comparison, surely I cannot hesitate for a moment to prefer to such men as are common, those heroes who, in the midst of despair, perform all the tasks of hope; who subdue their feelings to their duties; who, in the cause of humanity, liberty, and honour, abandon all the satisfactions of life, and every day incur a fresh risk of life itself. Do me the justice to believe that I never can prefer any fastidious virtue (virtue still) to the unconquered perseverance, to the affectionate patience of those who watch day and night by the bedside of their delirious country, who, for their love to that dear and venerable name, bear all the disgusts and all the buffets they receive from their frantic mother. Sir, I do look on you as true martyrs; I regard you as soldiers who act far more in the spirit of our Commander-in-Chief and the Captain of our salvation, than those who have left you; though I must first bolt myself very thoroughly, and know that I could do better, before I can censure them. I assure you, sir, that, when I consider your unconquerable fidelity to your sovereign, and to your country; the courage, fortitude, magnanimity, and long-suffering of yourself, and the Abbe Maury, and of Mr. Cazales, and of many worthy persons of all orders in your Assembly, I forget, in the lustre of these great qualities, that on your side has been displayed an eloquence so rational, manly, and convincing, that no time or country, perhaps, has ever excelled. But your talents disappear in my admiration of your virtues.
Mankind has no right to demand that we should be slaves to their guilt and arrogance, or that we should serve them despite themselves. Minds, hurt by the sharp sting of insulted virtue, filled with deep disdain against the pride of those who have triumphed through baseness, often have no choice but to stand their ground. Their strength (which might withstand anything) cannot endure such a trial. Something truly great must empower people to withstand that test. But when I compare, I cannot hesitate for a moment to choose over ordinary people those heroes who, in the midst of despair, carry out all the tasks of hope; who control their feelings in favor of their duties; who, in the name of humanity, freedom, and honor, give up all life's pleasures and risk their lives each day. Please believe me when I say that I can never value any refined virtue (still virtue) above the unyielding perseverance and loving patience of those who keep watch day and night by the side of their ailing country, who, out of love for that cherished and respected name, endure all the hardships and blows they receive from their frantic nation. Sir, I see you as true martyrs; I consider you soldiers who act much more in the spirit of our Commander-in-Chief and the Captain of our salvation than those who have left you; though I must first thoroughly convince myself and know that I could do better before I can criticize them. I assure you, sir, that when I think of your unwavering loyalty to your sovereign and your country; the courage, strength, nobility, and patience shown by you, the Abbe Maury, Mr. Cazales, and many other worthy people in your Assembly, I forget, in the brilliance of these great qualities, that you have shown an eloquence so rational, strong, and convincing, that no time or place has perhaps ever surpassed it. But your talents fade away in my admiration for your virtues.
KINGDOM OF FRANCE.
When I consider the face of the kingdom of France; the multitude and opulence of her cities; the useful magnificence of her spacious high-roads and bridges; the opportunity of her artificial canals and navigations, opening the conveniences of maritime communication through a solid continent of so immense an extent; when I turn my eyes to the stupendous works of her ports and harbours, and to her whole naval apparatus, whether for war or trade; when I bring before my view the number of her fortifications, constructed with so bold and masterly a skill, and made and maintained at so prodigious a charge, presenting an armed front and impenetrable barrier to her enemies upon every side; when I recollect how very small a part of that extensive region is without cultivation, and to what complete perfection the culture of many of the best productions of the earth have been brought in France; when I reflect on the excellence of her manufactures and fabrics, second to none but ours, and in some particulars not second; when I contemplate the grand foundations of charity, public and private; when I survey the state of all the arts that beautify and polish life; when I reckon the men she has bred for extending her fame in war, her able statesmen, the multitude of her profound lawyers and theologians, her philosophers, her critics, her historians and antiquaries, her poets and her orators, sacred and profane; I behold in all this something which awes and commands the imagination, which checks the mind on the brink of precipitate and indiscriminate censure, and which demands that we should very seriously examine, what and how great are the latent vices that could authorize us at once to level so specious a fabric with the ground. I do not recognise in this view of things, the despotism of Turkey. Nor do I discern the character of a government that has been, on the whole, so oppressive, or so corrupt, or so negligent, as to be utterly UNFIT FOR ALL REFORMATION. I must think such a government well deserved to have its excellences heightened, its faults corrected, and its capacities improved into a British constitution.
When I look at France and see its many cities and their wealth, the impressive roads and bridges that stretch out, and the man-made canals and routes that make maritime travel accessible across such a vast land; when I observe the incredible construction of its ports and harbors, and its entire naval operations, whether for defense or trade; when I consider the numerous fortifications built with such skill and maintained at such great expense, forming a strong defense against enemies from all sides; when I remember how little of this vast area remains uncultivated, and how perfectly the cultivation of many of the best agricultural products has been developed in France; when I think about the quality of its manufacturing and goods, second only to ours, and in some areas not even that; when I reflect on the significant charitable foundations, both public and private; when I look at the state of the arts that enhance and refine life; when I count the men who have emerged to expand France’s reputation in war, its capable leaders, the countless skilled lawyers and theologians, its philosophers, critics, historians, and archaeologists, its poets and speakers, both sacred and secular; I see in all of this something that inspires awe and stimulates the imagination, something that makes us pause before rushing to criticize indiscriminately, and which compels us to seriously consider what deep-rooted issues could justify destroying such a seemingly impressive structure. I do not see in this a reflection of the tyranny of Turkey. Nor do I see a government that has been, overall, oppressive, corrupt, or neglectful to the point of being completely UNFIT FOR REFORM. I believe such a government deserves to enhance its strengths, correct its weaknesses, and improve its capabilities into a British-style constitution.
GRIEVANCE AND OPINION.
This shows, in my opinion, how very quick and awakened all men ought to be who are looked up to by the public, and who deserve that confidence, to prevent a surprise on their opinions, when dogmas are spread, and projects pursued, by which the foundations of society may be affected. Before they listen even to moderate alterations in the government of their country, they ought to take care that principles are not propagated for that purpose, which are too big for their object. Doctrines limited in their present application, and wide in their general principles, are never meant to be confined to what they at first pretend. If I were to form a prognostic of the effect of the present machinations on the people, from their sense of any grievance they suffer under this constitution, my mind would be at ease. But there is a wide difference between the multitude, when they act against their government from a sense of grievance, or from zeal for some opinions. When men are thoroughly possessed with that zeal, it is difficult to calculate its force. It is certain that its power is by no means in exact proportion to its reasonableness. It must always have been discoverable by persons of reflection, but it is now obvious to the world, that a theory concerning government may become as much a cause of fanaticism as a dogma in religion. There is a boundary to men's passions when they act from feeling; none when they are under the influence of imagination. Remove a grievance, and, when men act from feeling, you go a great way towards quieting a commotion. But the good or bad conduct of a government, the protection men have enjoyed, or the oppression they have suffered, under it, are of no sort of moment when a faction, proceeding upon speculative grounds, is thoroughly heated against its form. When a man is, from system, furious against monarchy or episcopacy, the good conduct of the monarch or the bishop has no other effect than further to irritate the adversary. He is provoked at it, as furnishing a plea for preserving the thing which he wishes to destroy. His mind will be heated as much by the sight of a sceptre, a mace, or a verge, as if he had been daily bruised and wounded by these symbols of authority. Mere spectacles, mere names, will become sufficient causes to stimulate the people to war and tumult.
This shows, in my opinion, how quick and alert all public figures should be, especially those who deserve people's trust, to avoid surprises in their beliefs when new ideas are spread, and projects are pursued that could impact the foundations of society. Before considering even moderate changes to the government, they should ensure that principles being promoted for that purpose are suitable for the situation. Doctrines that are limited in their immediate application but broad in their general principles are never meant to be restricted to what they claim at first. If I were to predict the effect of current activities on the people, based on their grievances with this constitution, I would feel at ease. However, there is a significant difference between the public acting against their government out of grievance versus out of enthusiasm for certain beliefs. When people are consumed by that enthusiasm, it’s hard to gauge its strength. Its power is definitely not directly related to how reasonable it is. It must have always been clear to thoughtful individuals, but it is now obvious to everyone that a theory about government can become as much a source of fanaticism as a religious dogma. There is a limit to people’s passions when they act based on feelings; there is none when they are driven by imagination. Remove a grievance, and when people act out of feelings, you go a long way toward calming a disturbance. But the good or bad behavior of a government, the protection people have gotten, or the oppression they have experienced under it, becomes irrelevant when a faction, driven by abstract ideas, is fully stirred up against its structure. When someone is, out of ideological belief, angry against monarchy or episcopacy, the good actions of the monarch or bishop only serve to further irritate the opponent. They are provoked by it, seeing it as a reason for maintaining what they wish to eliminate. Their emotions will be inflamed just as much by the sight of a scepter, a mace, or a staff, as if they had been continually harmed by these symbols of authority. Mere visuals, mere names, will provide enough reasons to incite the people to rebellion and chaos.
PERPLEXITY AND POLICY.
Let us not deceive ourselves: we are at the beginning of great troubles. I readily acknowledge that the state of public affairs is infinitely more unpromising than at the period I have just now alluded to; and the position of all the powers of Europe, in relation to us, and in relation to each other, is more intricate and critical beyond all comparison. Difficult indeed is our situation. In all situations of difficulty men will be influenced in the part they take, not only by the reason of the case, but by the peculiar turn of their own character. The same ways to safety do not present themselves to all men, nor to the same men in different tempers. There is a courageous wisdom; there is also a false, reptile prudence, the result not of caution, but of fear. Under misfortunes it often happens that the nerves of the understanding are so relaxed, the pressing peril of the hour so completely confounds all the faculties, that no future danger can be properly provided for, can be justly estimated, can be so much as fully seen. The eye of the mind is dazzled and vanquished. An abject distrust of ourselves, an extravagant admiration of the enemy, present us with no hope but in a compromise with his pride, by a submission to his will. This short plan of policy is the only counsel which will obtain a hearing. We plunge into a dark gulf with all the rash precipitation of fear. The nature of courage is, without a question, to be conversant with danger: but in the palpable night of their terrors, men under consternation suppose, not that it is the danger, which, by a sure instinct, calls out the courage to resist it, but that it is the courage which produces the danger. They therefore seek for a refuge from their fears in the fears themselves, and consider a temporizing meanness as the only source of safety.
Let's not kid ourselves: we're just at the start of major troubles. I fully admit that the state of public affairs is way more discouraging than the time I just mentioned; and the relationships between all the powers of Europe, both with us and with each other, are more complicated and critical than ever. Our situation is indeed tough. In difficult times, people's decisions are influenced not only by reason but also by their own character. The paths to safety don't look the same to everyone, nor do they appear the same to the same people at different times. There's a kind of brave wisdom; then there's also a false, cowardly prudence that comes from fear rather than caution. During hard times, it often happens that our understanding becomes so overwhelmed by immediate dangers that we can't adequately prepare for future threats or even see them clearly. Our minds become foggy. A deep lack of self-confidence and an excessive admiration for the enemy leave us feeling that the only hope we have is to compromise with their pride and submit to their will. This simplistic approach is the only advice that gets taken seriously. We rush into a dark abyss with the reckless haste of fear. Courage, without a doubt, involves facing danger; but in the palpable darkness of their fears, panicked people wrongly believe that it's the danger that produces courage to resist it when it's really the opposite. Thus, they look for safety in their fears and see a compromising attitude as the only way to find security.
The rules and definitions of prudence can rarely be exact; never universal. I do not deny, that, in small, truckling states, a timely compromise with power has often been the means, and the only means, of drawling out their puny existence: but a great state is too much envied, too much dreaded, to find safety in humiliation. To be secure, it must be respected. Power, and eminence, and consideration, are things not to be begged. They must be commanded: and they who supplicate for mercy from others, can never hope for justice through themselves. What justice they are to obtain, as the alms of an enemy, depends upon his character; and that they ought well to know before they implicitly confide.
The rules and definitions of caution can rarely be precise; never universal. I don’t deny that, in small, submissive states, a timely compromise with those in power has often been the only way to prolong their weak existence. But a large state is too envied and too feared to find safety in humiliation. To be secure, it must be respected. Power, status, and respect are not things you can ask for; they must be commanded. Those who beg for mercy from others can never hope for justice on their own. The justice they might receive as the charity of an enemy depends on that enemy's character, which they should definitely understand before they blindly trust.
HISTORICAL INSTRUCTION.
Such is the effect of the perversion of history, by those, who, for the same nefarious purposes, have perverted every other part of learning. But those who will stand upon that elevation of reason, which places centuries under our eye, and brings things to the true point of comparison, which obscures little names, and effaces the colours of little parties, and to which nothing can ascend but the spirit and moral quality of human actions, will say to the teachers of the Palais Royal,—the cardinal of Lorraine was the murderer of the sixteenth century, you have the glory of being the murderers in the eighteenth; and this is the only difference between you. But history, in the nineteenth century, better understood, and better employed, will, I trust, teach a civilized posterity to abhor the misdeeds of both these barbarous ages. It will teach future priests and magistrates not to retaliate upon the speculative and inactive atheists of future times, the enormities committed by the present practical zealots and furious fanatics of that wretched error, which, in its quiescent state, is more than punished, whenever it is embraced. It will teach posterity not to make war upon either religion or philosophy, for the abuse which the hypocrites of both have made of the two most valuable blessings conferred upon us by the bounty of the universal Patron, who in all things eminently favours and protects the race of man.
Such is the impact of distorting history by those who, for the same selfish reasons, have twisted every other area of knowledge. But those who can rise to a level of reason that lets us view centuries at a glance and brings things into proper perspective—who can dim the light on trivial names and erase the biases of minor factions, and to which only the spirit and moral quality of human actions can ascend—will say to the educators of the Palais Royal: the cardinal of Lorraine was the murderer of the sixteenth century; you share the dishonor of being the murderers of the eighteenth century, and that is the only difference between you. However, history in the nineteenth century, better understood and applied, will, I hope, teach a civilized future to despise the wrongdoings of both of these brutal eras. It will guide future priests and judges not to retaliate against the theoretical and passive atheists of the future for the crimes committed by the current practical zealots and ruthless fanatics of that unfortunate belief, which is often held more accountable in its dormant state than when adopted. It will teach future generations not to wage war against either religion or philosophy because of the misuse that hypocrites from both have made of the two most precious gifts bestowed upon us by the generosity of the universal Creator, who, in all things, notably favors and protects humankind.
MONTESQUIEU.
Place, for instance, before your eyes, such a man as Montesquieu. Think of a genius not born in every country, or every time; a man gifted by nature with a penetrating, aquiline eye; with a judgment prepared with the most extensive erudition; with an herculean robustness of mind, and nerves not to be broken with labour; a man who could spend twenty years in one pursuit. Think of a man, like the universal patriarch in Milton (who had drawn up before him in his prophetic vision the whole series of the generations which were to issue from his loins), a man capable of placing in review, after having brought together from the east, the west, the north, and the south, from the coarseness of the rudest barbarism to the most refined and subtle civilization, all the schemes of government which had ever prevailed amongst mankind, weighing, measuring, collating, and comparing them all, joining fact with theory, and calling into council, upon all this infinite assemblage of things, all the speculations which have fatigued the understandings of profound reasoners in all times! Let us then consider, that all these were but so many preparatory steps to qualify a man, and such a man, tinctured with no national prejudice, with no domestic affection, to admire, and to hold out to the admiration of mankind, the constitution of England! And shall we Englishmen revoke to such a suit? Shall we, when so much more than he has produced remains still to be understood and admired, instead of keeping ourselves in the schools of real science, choose for our teachers men incapable of being taught, whose only claim to know is, that they have never doubted; from whom we can learn nothing but their own indocility; who would teach us to scorn what in the silence of our hearts we ought to adore?
Imagine, for example, a person like Montesquieu. Think of a genius not born in every country or era; a man naturally gifted with a sharp, keen eye; with a judgment honed by extensive knowledge; with a tremendous mental strength and resilience that can withstand hard work; a man who could dedicate twenty years to a single focus. Picture a man like the universal patriarch in Milton (who envisioned before him the entire line of generations to come), a man capable of reviewing, after gathering insights from the east, west, north, and south, from the rawest forms of barbarism to the most refined cultures, all the systems of government that have ever existed among people, evaluating, measuring, compiling, and comparing them all, integrating fact with theory, and bringing together all the discussions that have challenged the intellects of deep thinkers throughout history! Let’s consider that all these experiences were just steps to prepare a person, such a man, free from national biases and personal attachments, to appreciate and present to the world the constitution of England! And should we, as Englishmen, reject such a challenge? Should we, when so much beyond what he has offered remains to be discovered and appreciated, instead of immersing ourselves in real science, choose to learn from those unwilling to be taught, whose only qualification is that they have never questioned; from whom we can gain nothing but their own stubbornness; who would teach us to disdain what we should cherish in our hearts?
ARTICLES, AND SCRIPTURE.
If you will have religion publicly practised and publicly taught, you must have a power to say what that religion will be, which you will protect and encourage; and to distinguish it by such marks and characteristics, as you in your wisdom shall think fit. As I said before, your determination may be unwise in this as in other matters; but it cannot be unjust, hard, or oppressive, or contrary to the liberty of any man, or in the least degree exceeding your province.
If you want religion to be practiced and taught openly, you need to have the authority to define what that religion will be, which you will support and promote; and to identify it with certain signs and traits that you believe are appropriate. As I mentioned earlier, your choices might be unwise in this as in other areas; however, they cannot be unjust, harsh, or oppressive, or contradict anyone's freedom, nor can it exceed your scope in any way.
It is therefore as a grievance fairly none at all, nothing but what is essential not only to the order, but to the liberty of the whole community. The petitioners are so sensible of the force of these arguments, that they do admit of one subscription, that is, to the Scripture. I shall not consider how forcibly this argument militates with their whole principle against subscription as an usurpation on the rights of Providence: I content myself with submitting to the consideration of the house, that, if that rule were once established, it must have some authority to enforce the obedience; because you well know, a law without a sanction will be ridiculous. Somebody must sit in judgment on his conformity; he must judge on the charge; if he judges, he must ordain execution. These things are necessary consequences one of the other; and then this judgment is an equal and a superior violation of private judgment; the right of private judgment is violated in a much greater degree than it can be by any previous subscription. You come round again to subscription, as the best and easiest method; men must judge of his doctrine, and judge definitively; so that either his test is nugatory, or men must first or last prescribe his public interpretation of it.
It is therefore not a grievance at all, but rather something essential for both the order and the freedom of the entire community. The petitioners are well aware of the strength of these arguments, as they do accept one type of subscription, which is to the Scripture. I won’t delve into how strongly this argument goes against their entire principle of opposing subscription as an infringement on the rights of Providence. I will simply put forward for the house to consider that if that rule were to be established, it would need some authority to enforce compliance; because, as you know, a law without consequences is pointless. Someone has to judge his adherence; he must assess the accusations; if he makes a judgment, he must enforce it. These aspects are inevitably linked, and this judgment represents a significant violation of private judgment; the right to private judgment is infringed upon much more than it would be by any prior subscription. This leads you back to subscription as the most straightforward solution; people must evaluate his doctrine and make a definitive judgment, meaning that either his test is meaningless, or people have to define his public interpretation of it at some point.
PROBLEM OF LEGISLATION.
It is one of the finest problems in legislation, and what has often engaged my thoughts whilst I followed that profession, "What the state ought to take upon itself to direct by the public wisdom, and what it ought to leave, with as little interference as possible, to individual discretion." Nothing, certainly, can be laid down on the subject that will not admit of exceptions, many permanent, some occasional. But the clearest line of distinction which I could draw, whilst I had my chalk to draw any line, was this; that the state ought to confine itself to what regards the state, or the creatures of the state;—namely, the exterior establishment of its religion; its magistracy; its revenue; its military force by sea and land; the corporations that owe their existence to its fiat; in a word, to everything that is TRULY AND PROPERLY public; to the public peace, to the public safety, to the public order, to the public prosperity. In its preventive police it ought to be sparing of its efforts, and to employ means, rather few, unfrequent, and strong, than many and frequent, and, of course, as they multiply their puny politic race, and dwindle, small and feeble. Statesmen who know themselves will, with the dignity which belongs to wisdom, proceed only in this the superior orb and first mover of their duty steadily, vigilantly, severely, courageously: whatever remains will, in a manner, provide for itself. But as they descend from the state to a province, from a province to a parish, and from a parish to a private house, they go on accelerated in their fall. They CANNOT do the lower duty; and, in proportion as they try it, they will certainly fail in the higher. They ought to know the different departments of things; what belongs to laws, and what manners alone can regulate. To these, great politicians may give a leaning, but they cannot give a law.
It’s one of the toughest issues in legislation, and it’s often made me think while I was in that field, "What should the state take on to manage with public wisdom, and what should it leave, with as little intervention as possible, to individual choice?" There’s really no universal rule on this topic that doesn’t have exceptions, some long-lasting and some occasional. However, the clearest boundary I could discern, while I had the chance to draw any line, was this: the state should limit itself to matters that directly concern the state or its creatures; that is, the external setup of its religion; its government officials; its revenue; its military power both on land and at sea; the corporations that exist because of its authority; essentially, everything that is TRULY AND PROPERLY public; the public peace, safety, order, and prosperity. In its preventive policing, it should be careful with its efforts, using fewer, infrequent, but strong methods instead of many frequent ones, which tend to dilute their effectiveness and result in a weak enforcement. Statesmen who understand their roles will, with the wisdom they possess, operate in this higher realm of their duty steadily, vigilantly, sternly, and bravely: whatever remains will, in a sense, take care of itself. But as they move from the state to a province, from a province to a parish, and from a parish to a private home, they accelerate their decline. They CANNOT effectively handle the lower duties; and as they attempt to do so, they will certainly fail in the more important tasks. They should recognize the different areas of responsibility; what is governed by laws, and what can only be managed by social norms. Great politicians may lean towards these aspects, but they cannot legislate them.
ORDER, LABOUR, AND PROPERTY.
To tell the people that they are relieved by the dilapidation of their public estate, is a cruel and insolent imposition. Statesmen, before they valued themselves on the relief given to the people by the destruction of their revenue, ought first to have carefully attended to the solution of this problem:—Whether it be more advantageous to the people to pay considerably, and to gain in proportion; or to gain little or nothing, and to be disburthened of all contribution? My mind is made up to decide in favour of the first proposition. Experience is with me, and, I believe, the best opinions also. To keep a balance between the power of acquisition on the part of the subject, and the demands he is to answer on the part of the state, is the fundamental part of the skill of a true politician. The means of acquisition are prior in time and in arrangement. Good order is the foundation of all good things. To be enabled to acquire, the people, without being servile, must be tractable and obedient. The magistrate must have his reverence, the laws their authority. The body of the people must not find the principles of natural subordination by art rooted out of their minds. They must respect that property of which they cannot partake. They must labour to obtain what by labour can be obtained; and when they find, as they commonly do, the success disproportioned to the endeavour, they must be taught their consolation in the final proportions of eternal justice. Of this consolation whoever deprives them, deadens their industry, and strikes at the root of all acquisition as of all conservation. He that does this is the cruel oppressor, the merciless enemy of the poor and wretched; at the same time that by his wicked speculations he exposes the fruits of successful industry, and the accumulations of fortune, to the plunder of the negligent, the disappointed, and the unprosperous.
Telling people that they are better off because their public services are falling apart is a cruel and disrespectful trick. Before politicians brag about how they've helped people by wrecking their revenue, they should first think about this question: Is it better for people to pay a significant amount and benefit in return, or to pay little or nothing and be free from all costs? I’m convinced it’s better to go with the first option. My experience supports this, and I believe the best perspectives do too. Balancing what people can earn with what the state requires of them is a key skill for any true politician. The means of making money should come first in both timing and priority. Good organization is the basis of all good outcomes. For people to be able to earn without being subservient, they must be manageable and respectful. Authorities need respect, and laws must hold their power. The public should not be led to believe that natural hierarchies are entirely invalid. They need to respect properties that they can’t directly benefit from. They should work to gain what can be earned through effort, and when they see that their results don't match their efforts—which often happens—they need to be taught to find comfort in the ultimate fairness of justice. Whoever takes that consolation away from them stifles their motivation and undermines both earning and conserving wealth. That person becomes a cruel oppressor, a relentless enemy of the poor and unfortunate; at the same time, their selfish schemes expose the rewards of hard work and financial success to be seized by the careless, the let-down, and the unfortunate.
REGICIDAL LEGISLATURE.
This strange law is not made for a trivial object, not for a single port, or for a single fortress, but for a great kingdom; for the religion, the morals, the laws, the liberties, the lives and fortunes of millions of human creatures, who without their consent, or that of their lawful government, are, by an arbitrary act of this regicide and homicide government, which they call a law, incorporated into their tyranny.
This odd law isn't created for a minor purpose, nor for just one port or one fortress, but for an entire kingdom; for the beliefs, the values, the laws, the freedoms, the lives, and the fortunes of millions of people who, without their agreement or that of their legitimate government, are, through an arbitrary act of this tyrannical government, which they refer to as a law, subjected to oppression.
In other words, their will is the law, not only at home, but as to the concerns of every nation. Who has made that law but the regicide republic itself, whose laws, like those of the Medes and Persians, they cannot alter or abrogate, or even so much as take into consideration? Without the least ceremony or compliment, they have sent out of the world whole sets of laws and lawgivers. They have swept away the very constitutions under which the legislators acted, and the laws were made. Even the fundamental sacred rights of man they have not scrupled to profane. They have set this holy code at naught with ignominy and scorn. Thus they treat all their domestic laws and constitutions, and even what they had considered as a law of nature; but whatever they have put their seal on for the purposes of their ambition, and the ruin of their neighbours, this alone is invulnerable, impassible, immortal. Assuming to be masters of everything human and divine, here, and here alone, it seems they are limited, "cooped and cabined in;" and this omnipotent legislature finds itself wholly without the power of exercising its favourite attribute, the love of peace. In other words, they are powerful to usurp, impotent to restore; and equally by their power and their impotence they aggrandize themselves, and weaken and impoverish you and all other nations.
In other words, their will is the law, not just at home but also regarding every nation's matters. Who created that law but the regicide republic itself, whose laws, like those of the Medes and Persians, they cannot change or reject, or even consider? Without any ceremony or regard, they have eliminated entire sets of laws and lawgivers. They have dismantled the very constitutions under which the legislators operated and the laws were created. Even the fundamental sacred rights of man they have not hesitated to violate. They have disregarded this holy code with shame and contempt. This is how they handle all their domestic laws and constitutions, and even what they once thought was a law of nature; but whatever they have endorsed for their ambitions and to ruin their neighbors, that alone remains untouchable, unyielding, and eternal. Pretending to be masters of everything human and divine, they appear to be limited here, “cooped and cabined in;” and this all-powerful legislature finds itself completely unable to exercise its favorite trait, the love of peace. In other words, they are capable of seizing control but powerless to restore what was lost; through both their power and their inability, they enhance their own status and weaken and impoverish you and all other nations.
GOVERNMENT NOT TO BE RASHLY CENSURED.
The PURPOSE for which the abuses of government are brought into view, forms a very material consideration in the mode of treating them. The complaints of a friend are things very different from the invectives of an enemy. The charge of abuses on the late monarchy of France was not intended to lead to its reformation, but to justify its destruction. They, who have raked into all history for the faults of kings, and who have aggravated every fault they have found, have acted consistently; because they acted as enemies. No man can be a friend to a tempered monarchy who bears a decided hatred to monarchy itself. He, who at the present time, is favourable, or even fair, to that system, must act towards it as towards a friend with frailties, who is under the prosecution of implacable foes. I think it a duty, in that case, not to inflame the public mind against the obnoxious person by any exaggeration of his faults. It is our duty rather to palliate his errors and defects, or to cast them into the shade, and industriously to bring forward any good qualities that he may happen to possess. But when the man is to be amended, and by amendment to be preserved, then the line of duty takes another direction. When his safety is effectually provided for, it then becomes the office of a friend to urge his faults and vices with all the energy of enlightened affection, to paint them in their most vivid colours, and to bring the moral patient to a better habit. Thus I think with regard to individuals; thus I think with regard to ancient and respected governments and orders of men. A spirit of reformation is never more consistent with itself than when it refuses to be rendered the means of destruction.
The PURPOSE for which the abuses of government are discussed is a crucial factor in how to address them. Complaints from a friend are completely different from attacks from an enemy. The criticism of the former monarchy of France wasn't meant to inspire reform but to justify its downfall. Those who have dug through history to find the faults of kings and exaggerated every mistake have been consistent in their actions; they acted as adversaries. No one can truly support a balanced monarchy if they have a deep-seated hatred for monarchy itself. A person who currently supports or is even fair towards that system must treat it like a friend with flaws, who is being attacked by relentless enemies. In this case, I believe it’s important not to stir up public anger against the targeted individual by exaggerating their faults. Instead, it's our responsibility to soften the blow of their mistakes and shortcomings, or to downplay them, while highlighting any good qualities they may possess. However, when it's time to improve the individual, and through that improvement ensure their survival, the approach changes. Once their safety is guaranteed, it becomes a friend's duty to point out their faults and vices with all the intensity of genuine concern, to present them clearly, and to guide the person towards a better path. I feel this way about individuals; I feel this way about established and respected governments and institutions. A spirit of reform is never more true to itself than when it refuses to become a tool for destruction.
ETIQUETTE.
Etiquette, if I understand rightly the term, which in any extent is of modern usage, had its original application to those ceremonial and formal observances practised at courts, which had been established by long usage, in order to preserve the sovereign power from the rude intrusion of licentious familiarity, as well as to preserve majesty itself from a disposition to consult its ease at the expense of its dignity. The term came afterwards to have a greater latitude, and to be employed to signify certain formal methods used in the transactions between sovereign states.
Etiquette, as I interpret the term, which is somewhat modern, originally referred to the ceremonial and formal practices followed at royal courts, established over time to protect the sovereign authority from rude and inappropriate familiarity, and to safeguard majesty itself from the temptation to prioritize comfort over dignity. Later, the term expanded in meaning and came to refer to specific formal procedures used in interactions between sovereign states.
In the more limited, as well as in the larger sense of the term, without knowing what the etiquette is, it is impossible to determine whether it is a vain and captious punctilio, or a form necessary to preserve decorum in character and order in business. I readily admit, that nothing tends to facilitate the issue of all public transactions more than a mutual disposition in the parties treating to waive all ceremony. But the use of this temporary suspension of the recognised modes of respect consists in its being mutual, and in the spirit of conciliation, in which all ceremony is laid aside. On the contrary, when one of the parties to a treaty intrenches himself up to the chin in these ceremonies, and will not on his side abate a single punctilio, and that all the concessions are upon one side only, the party so conceding does by this act place himself in a relation of inferiority, and thereby fundamentally subverts that equality which is of the very essence of all treaty.
In both the specific and broader sense, without knowing the etiquette, it’s impossible to figure out whether it’s just a petty concern or an essential way to keep things respectful and organized. I admit that nothing streamlines public dealings more than both parties agreeing to skip the formalities. However, the key to this temporary pause in recognized forms of respect is that it should be mutual and rooted in a spirit of compromise, where all formalities are set aside. On the other hand, if one party insists on sticking to all these formalities and refuses to relent even a little, while the other side gives in completely, the conceding party puts themselves in a position of inferiority and disrupts the equality that is fundamental to any agreement.
ANCIENT ESTABLISHMENTS.
Old establishments are tried by their effects. If the people are happy, united, wealthy, and powerful, we presume the rest. We conclude that to be good, from whence good is derived. In old establishments, various correctives have been found for their aberrations from theory. Indeed, they are the results of various necessities and expediencies. They are not often constructed after any theory; theories are rather drawn from them. In them we often see the end best obtained, where the means seem not perfectly reconcilable to what we may fancy was the original scheme. The means taught by experience may be better suited to political ends than those contrived in the original project. They again re-act upon the primitive constitution; and sometimes improve the design itself, from which they seem to have departed. I think all this might be curiously exemplified in the British constitution. At worst, the errors and deviations of every kind in reckoning are found and computed, and the ship proceeds in her course. This is the case of old establishments; but in a new and merely theoretic system, it is expected that every contrivance shall appear, on the face of it, to answer its ends; especially where the projectors are no way embarrassed with an endeavour to accommodate the new building to an old one, either in the walls or on the foundations.
Old institutions are judged by their results. If the people are happy, united, wealthy, and powerful, we assume the rest is good. We conclude that where good outcomes exist, good must come from those outcomes. In established institutions, various solutions have been found for their deviations from theory. In fact, they arise from various needs and practical considerations. They are rarely designed with a specific theory in mind; theories are often developed based on them. In these institutions, we often see the best outcomes achieved, even when the methods used don’t perfectly align with what we might imagine was the original plan. The methods learned through experience may be better suited to political goals than those planned in the original design. They also influence the original structure and sometimes enhance the design itself, from which they appear to have strayed. I believe all this could be clearly illustrated in the British constitution. At the very least, any errors and variations in calculations are recognized and corrected, allowing the ship to continue on its course. This applies to established institutions; however, in a new and purely theoretical system, it is expected that every design visibly meets its goals, especially when the creators aren't constrained by the need to fit the new structure to an old one, either in the walls or on the foundations.
SENTIMENT AND POLICY.
Never was there a jar or discord between genuine sentiment and sound policy. Never, no never, did Nature say one thing and Wisdom say another. Nor are sentiments of elevation in themselves turgid and unnatural. Nature is never more truly herself than in her grandest form. The Apollo of Belvedere (if the universal robber has yet left him at Belvedere) is as much in nature as any figure from the pencil of Rembrandt, or any clown in the rustic revels of Teniers. Indeed, it is when a great nation is in great difficulties that minds must exalt themselves to the occasion, or all is lost. Strong passion, under the direction of a feeble reason, feeds a low fever, which serves only to destroy the body that entertains it. But vehement passion does not always indicate an infirm judgment. It often accompanies, and actuates, and is even auxiliary to a powerful understanding; and when they both conspire and act harmoniously, their force is great to destroy disorder within, and to repel injury from abroad. If ever there was a time that calls on us for no vulgar conception of things, and for exertions in no vulgar strain, it is the awful hour that Providence has now appointed to this nation. Every little measure is a great error; and every great error will bring on no small ruin. Nothing can be directed above the mark that we must aim at: everything below it is absolutely thrown away.
There’s never been a conflict between genuine feelings and good policy. Nature never says one thing while Wisdom says another. Also, feelings of greatness aren’t necessarily inflated or unnatural. Nature is most truly herself in her grandest forms. The Apollo of Belvedere (if the universal thief has left him in Belvedere) is just as much a part of nature as any figure painted by Rembrandt or any jester in Teniers’ country celebrations. In fact, it’s when a great nation faces significant challenges that minds must rise to the occasion, or everything is lost. Intense passion, guided by weak reasoning, leads to a destructive fever that only harms the body that holds it. But intense passion doesn’t always mean poor judgment. It often works with and even strengthens a powerful mind; when they collaborate harmoniously, their combined power is significant enough to eliminate internal disorder and fend off external threats. If there’s ever a time that demands extraordinary thinking and exceptional effort, it’s the critical moment that Providence has now set for this nation. Any minor action is a major mistake, and every major mistake will lead to great ruin. Nothing can be aimed at above the target we must hit; everything below it is a total waste.
PATRIOTISM.
I have little to recommend my opinions but long observation and much impartiality. They come from one who has been no tool of power, no flatterer of greatness; and who in his last acts does not wish to belie the tenor of his life. They come from one, almost the whole of whose public exertions has been a struggle for the liberty of others; from one in whose breast no anger durable or vehement has ever been kindled, but by what he considered as tyranny; and who snatches from his share in the endeavours which are used by good men to discredit opulent oppression, the hours he has employed on your affairs; and who in so doing persuades himself he has not departed from his usual office: they come from one who desires honours, distinctions, and emoluments, but little, and who expects them not at all; who has no contempt for fame, and no fear of obloquy; who shuns contention, though he will hazard an opinion; who would preserve consistency by varying his means to secure the unity of his end; and, when the equipoise of the vessel in which he sails may be endangered by overloading it upon one side, is desirous of carrying the small weight of his reasons to that which may preserve its equipoise.
I have little to support my opinions besides long observation and a lot of impartiality. They come from someone who has never been a tool of power or a flatterer of the powerful; and who, in his final actions, does not want to contradict the way he has lived. They come from someone whose public efforts have mostly been a fight for the freedom of others; from someone who has never felt lasting or intense anger except towards what he saw as tyranny; and who takes the time he has spent on your matters from his share in the efforts of good people to challenge wealthy oppression; and who convinces himself that he hasn’t strayed from his usual role by doing so: they come from someone who desires honors, distinctions, and rewards, but not much, and who doesn’t expect them at all; who has no disdain for fame and no fear of criticism; who avoids conflict, though he will express an opinion; who wants to maintain consistency while varying his methods to achieve his goal; and who, when the balance of the vessel in which he sails might be threatened by too much weight on one side, wants to shift the small weight of his reasons to the side that will keep it balanced.
NECESSITY, A RELATIVE TERM.
The only excuse to be made for all our mendicant diplomacy is the same as in the case of all other mendicancy;—namely, that it has been founded on absolute necessity. This deserves consideration. Necessity, as it has no law, so it has no shame: but moral necessity is not like metaphysical, or even physical. In that category it is a word of loose signification, and conveys different ideas to different minds. To the low-minded, the slightest necessity becomes an invincible necessity. "The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way, and I shall be devoured in the streets." But when the necessity pleaded is not in the nature of things, but in the vices of him who alleges it, the whining tones of commonplace beggarly rhetoric produce nothing but indignation; because they indicate a desire of keeping up a dishonourable existence, without utility to others, and without dignity to itself; because they aim at obtaining the dues of labour without industry; and by frauds would draw from the compassion of others what men ought to owe to their own spirit and their own exertions.
The only excuse for all our begging diplomacy is the same as for all other forms of begging: it’s based on absolute necessity. This is worth thinking about. Necessity, since it has no laws, also has no shame; but moral necessity isn’t like metaphysical or even physical necessity. In that context, it’s a loosely defined term that means different things to different people. To those with a narrow mindset, even the slightest necessity feels like an unchangeable one. "The lazy person says, 'There’s a lion in the way, and I’ll be killed out there.'" However, when the necessity being claimed comes not from the nature of things but from the flaws of the person claiming it, the pitiful tone of ordinary begging rhetoric only stirs up anger. This is because it shows a wish to maintain a dishonorable existence that serves no real purpose for others and lacks respect for itself; it seeks to gain what is earned through hard work without putting in any effort, and through deceit tries to extract from others what one should earn through their own spirit and hard work.
KING JOHN AND THE POPE.
He began with exacting an oath from the king, by which, without showing the extent of his design, he engaged him to everything he could ask. John swore to submit to the legate in all things relating to his excommunication. And first he was obliged to accept Langton as archbishop; then to restore the monks of Canterbury, and other deprived ecclesiastics, and to make them a full indemnification for all their losses. And now, by these concessions, all things seemed to be perfectly settled. The cause of the quarrel was entirely removed. But when the king expected for so perfect a submission a full absolution, the legate began a laboured harangue on his rebellion, his tyranny, and the innumerable sins he had committed; and in conclusion declared, that there was no way left to appease God and the Church but to resign his crown to the Holy See, from whose hands he should receive it purified from all pollutions, and hold it for the future by homage, and an annual tribute. John was struck motionless at a demand so extravagant and unexpected. He knew not on which side to turn. If he cast his eyes toward the coast of France, he there saw his enemy Philip, who considered him as a criminal as well as an enemy, and who aimed not only at his crown but his life, at the head of an innumerable multitude of fierce people, ready to rush in upon him. If he looked at his own army, he saw nothing there but coldness, disaffection, uncertainty, distrust, and a strength, in which he knew not whether he ought most to confide or fear. On the other hand, the papal thunders, from the wounds of which he was still sore, were leveled full at his head. He could not look steadily at these complicated difficulties; and truly it is hard to say what choice he had, if any choice were left to kings in what concerns the independence of their crown. Surrounded, therefore, with these difficulties; and that all his late humiliations might not be rendered as ineffectual as they were ignominious, he took the last step; and, in the presence of a numerous assembly of his peers and prelates, who turned their eyes from this mortifying sight, formally resigned his crown to the pope's legate; to whom at the same time he did homage, and paid the first fruits of his tribute. Nothing could be added to the humiliation of the king upon this occasion, but the insolence of the legate, who spurned the treasure with his foot, and let the crown remain a long time on the ground before he restored it to the degraded owner.
He started by getting an oath from the king, which, without revealing the full extent of his plan, committed him to everything he could ask for. John swore to obey the legate in matters related to his excommunication. First, he had to accept Langton as archbishop; then, he had to restore the monks of Canterbury and other removed church officials, compensating them fully for all their losses. With these concessions, everything seemed perfectly settled. The reason for the conflict was completely resolved. But just when the king expected a full absolution for such a complete submission, the legate launched into a drawn-out speech about his rebellion, his tyranny, and the countless sins he had committed. In the end, he declared that the only way to appease God and the Church was for him to surrender his crown to the Holy See, from where he would receive it purified of all its taints and would hold it in the future through homage and an annual tribute. John was stunned into silence by such an outrageous and unexpected demand. He didn’t know which way to turn. If he looked towards the coast of France, he saw his enemy Philip, who viewed him as both a criminal and an opponent, targeting not just his crown but his life, leading a vast army of fierce fighters ready to attack him. If he looked at his own army, he saw only coldness, disaffection, uncertainty, distrust, and a strength that left him unsure whether to trust or fear it. Meanwhile, the papal threats, from which he was still reeling, were aimed squarely at him. He couldn’t face these complicated challenges head-on; honestly, it’s tough to say what options he had, if any, as kings grapple with the independence of their crowns. Surrounded by these difficulties, and to ensure that his recent humiliations would not be as pointless as they were disgraceful, he took the final step. In front of a large assembly of his peers and church leaders, who averted their eyes from this shameful sight, he formally resigned his crown to the pope’s legate. At the same time, he performed homage and paid the first installment of his tribute. The king’s humiliation couldn’t have been greater on this occasion, except for the legate’s insolence, who kicked the treasure aside and left the crown on the ground for a long time before finally handing it back to the deposed king.
In this proceeding the motives of the king may be easily discovered; but how the barons of the kingdom, who were deeply concerned, suffered, without any protestation, the independency of the crown to be thus forfeited, is mentioned by no historian of that time. In civil tumults it is astonishing how little regard is paid by all parties to the honour or safety of their country. The king's friends were probably induced to acquiesce by the same motives that had influenced the king. His enemies, who were the most numerous, perhaps saw his abasement with pleasure, as they knew this action might be one day employed against him with effect. To the bigots it was enough, that it aggrandized the pope. It is, perhaps, worthy of observation, that the conduct of Pandulph towards King John bore a very great affinity to that of the Roman consuls to the people of Carthage in the last Punic war; drawing them from concession to concession, and carefully concealing their design, until they made it impossible for the Carthaginians to resist. Such a strong resemblance did the same ambition produce in such distant times; and it is far from the sole instance, in which we may trace a similarity between the spirit and conduct of the former and latter Rome in their common design on the liberties of mankind.
In this situation, the king’s motives can be easily understood; however, it’s never mentioned by any historian of that time how the barons of the kingdom, who were deeply affected, allowed the crown's independence to be forfeited without any opposition. During civil unrest, it's surprising how little attention all sides pay to the honor or safety of their country. The king's supporters were probably persuaded to go along with things for the same reasons that motivated the king. His enemies, who were more numerous, likely took pleasure in his downfall, knowing this action could be used against him effectively one day. For the extremists, it was sufficient that it boosted the pope’s power. It’s worth noting that Pandulph’s behavior towards King John closely resembled that of the Roman consuls towards the people of Carthage during the last Punic War; they led them from one concession to another while carefully hiding their true intentions until they made it impossible for the Carthaginians to resist. Such a strong similarity emerged from the same ambition across such distant times, and this is not the only instance where we can see similarities between the spirit and actions of ancient and modern Rome in their shared goal regarding the liberties of humanity.
CONSUMPTION AND PRODUCE.
The balance between consumption and production makes price. The market settles, and alone can settle, that price. Market is the meeting and conference of the CONSUMER and PRODUCER, when they mutually discover each other's wants. Nobody, I believe, has observed with any reflection what market is, without being astonished at the truth, the correctness, the celerity, the general equity, with which the balance of wants is settled. They, who wish the destruction of that balance, and would fain by arbitrary regulation decree, that defective production should not be compensated by increased price, directly lay their AXE to the root of production itself.
The balance between consumption and production determines price. The market establishes, and can only establish, that price. The market is where CONSUMERS and PRODUCERS meet and communicate their needs. I believe no one has critically reflected on what the market is without being amazed by the truth, accuracy, speed, and overall fairness with which the balance of needs is maintained. Those who want to disrupt that balance and wish to impose arbitrary rules to prevent poor production from being compensated by higher prices are essentially undermining the very foundation of production itself.
"PRIESTS OF THE RIGHTS OF MAN."
His Grace, like an able orator, as he is, begins with giving me a great deal of praise for talents which I do not possess. He does this to entitle himself, on the credit of this gratuitous kindness, to exaggerate my abuse of the parts which his bounty, and not that of nature, has bestowed upon me. In this, too, he has condescended to copy Mr. Erskine. These priests (I hope they will excuse me; I mean priests of the rights of man) begin by crowning me with their flowers and their fillets, and bedewing me with their odours, as a preface to the knocking me on the head with their consecrated axes. I have injured, say they, the constitution; and I have abandoned the Whig party and the Whig principles that I professed. I do not mean, my dear sir, to defend myself against his Grace. I have not much interest in what the world shall think or say of me; as little has the world an interest in what I shall think or say of any one in it; and I wish that his Grace had suffered an unhappy man to enjoy, in his retreat, the melancholy privileges of obscurity and sorrow. At any rate, I have spoken, and I have written, on the subject. If I have written or spoken so poorly as to be quite forgot, a fresh apology will not make a more lasting impression. "I must let the tree lie as it falls." Perhaps I must take some shame to myself. I confess that I have acted on my own principles of government, and not on those of his Grace, which are, I dare say, profound and wise; but which I do not pretend to understand. As to the party to which he alludes, and which has long taken its leave of me, I believe the principles of the book which he condemns are very conformable to the opinions of many of the most considerable and most grave in that description of politicians. A few indeed, who, I admit, are equally respectable in all points, differ from me, and talk his Grace's language. I am too feeble to contend with them. They have the field to themselves. There are others, very young and very ingenious persons, who form, probably, the largest part of what his Grace, I believe, is pleased to consider as that party. Some of them were not born into the world, and all of them were children, when I entered into that connection. I give due credit to the censorial brow, to the broad phylacteries, and to the imposing gravity, of those magisterial rabbins and doctors in the cabala of political science. I admit that "wisdom is as the gray hair to man, and that learning is like honourable old age." But, at a time when liberty is a good deal talked of, perhaps I might be excused, if I caught something of the general indocility. It might not be surprising, if I lengthened my chain a link or two, and in an age of relaxed discipline, gave a trifling indulgence to my own notions. If that could be allowed, perhaps I might sometimes (by accident, and without an unpardonable crime) trust as much to my own very careful, and very laborious, though, perhaps, somewhat purblind disquisitions, as to their soaring, intuitive, eagle-eyed authority. But the modern liberty is a precious thing. It must not be profaned by too vulgar an use. It belongs only to the chosen few, who are born to the hereditary representation of the whole democracy, and who leave nothing at all, no, not the offal, to us poor outcasts of the plebeian race.
His Grace, being a skilled speaker, begins by praising me for talents I don’t actually have. He does this to elevate himself based on this unwarranted kindness and to exaggerate my misuse of the advantages that he, not nature, has given me. In this, he also mimics Mr. Erskine. These priests (I hope they’ll forgive me; I mean advocates of the rights of man) start by showering me with their accolades and compliments, only to later strike me down with their sacred axes. They claim that I have harmed the constitution and that I’ve turned my back on the Whig party and the Whig ideals I once supported. I don’t intend, my dear sir, to defend myself against His Grace. I don’t care much about what the world thinks or says about me; nor does the world have any real interest in my thoughts or opinions about anyone. I wish His Grace had allowed a troubled man to enjoy the sad privileges of obscurity and grief in his retreat. Regardless, I have spoken and written on the topic. If my writing or speaking has been so poor that it’s forgotten, an additional apology won’t leave a more lasting impression. "I must let the tree lie as it falls." Perhaps I should feel some shame. I admit I’ve acted according to my own beliefs about governance, not His Grace’s, which I’m sure are profound and wise but which I don’t claim to understand. Regarding the party he mentions, which has long since parted ways with me, I believe the principles in the book he condemns are aligned with the views of many respectable figures among that group of politicians. A few, whom I acknowledge are equally respectable in every way, do differ from me and speak His Grace's language. I’m too weak to argue with them. They have the field to themselves. There are others, very young and remarkably talented individuals, who probably make up most of what His Grace views as that party. Some weren’t even born when I first joined that cause, and all of them were children. I recognize the authoritative demeanor, the broad headbands, and the serious expressions of those scholarly leaders in the political science field. I acknowledge that "wisdom is like gray hair to a man, and learning resembles honorable old age." But at a time when liberty is heavily discussed, perhaps I could be excused if I picked up a bit of the general disobedience. It wouldn’t be surprising if I extended my chain a bit and, in this age of relaxed standards, indulged my own ideas. If that could be permitted, maybe I could occasionally (by accident, and without committing an unforgivable crime) rely as much on my careful and laborious, though perhaps somewhat shortsighted, inquiries as I do on their lofty, instinctual, keen-eyed authority. But modern liberty is a precious thing. It should not be tarnished by too common a use. It belongs only to the select few who are born to represent the entire democracy and leave nothing behind, not even the scraps, for us poor outcasts of the common people.
"HIS GRACE."
Amongst those gentlemen who came to authority, as soon, or sooner than they came of age, I do not mean to include his Grace. With all those native titles to empire over our minds which distinguish the others, he has a large share of experience. He certainly ought to understand the British constitution better than I do. He has studied it in the fundamental part. For one election I have seen, he has been concerned in twenty. Nobody is less of a visionary theorist; nobody has drawn his speculations more from practice. No peer has condescended to superintend with more vigilance the declining franchises of the poor commons. "With thrice great Hermes he has outwatched the bear." Often have his candles been burned to the snuff, and glimmered and stunk in the sockets, whilst he grew pale at his constitutional studies; long sleepless nights has he wasted; long, laborious, shiftless journeys has he made, and great sums has he expended in order to secure the purity, the independence, and the sobriety of elections, and to give a check, if possible, to the ruinous charges that go nearly to the destruction of the right of election itself. Amidst these his labours, his Grace will be pleased to forgive me, if my zeal, less enlightened to be sure than his by midnight lamps and studies, has presumed to talk too favourably of this constitution, and even to say something sounding like approbation of that body which has the honour to reckon his Grace at the head of it. Those, who dislike this partiality, or, if his Grace pleases, this flattery of mine, have a comfort at hand. I may be refuted and brought to shame by the most convincing of all refutations—a practical refutation. Every individual peer for himself may show that I was ridiculously wrong: the whole body of those noble persons may refute me for the whole corps. If they please, they are more powerful advocates against themselves, than a thousand scribblers like me can be in their favour. If I were even possessed of those powers which his Grace, in order to heighten my offence, is pleased to attribute to me, there would be little difference. The eloquence of Mr. Erskine might save Mr.— from the gallows, but no eloquence could save Mr. Jackson from the effects of his own potion.
Among the gentlemen who gained authority, either as soon as or even before they came of age, I’m not including his Grace. Unlike others, who have inherent claims to rule over us, he has a wealth of experience. He definitely understands the British constitution better than I do. He has studied its fundamental aspects. While I've witnessed one election, he has been involved in twenty. No one is less of a dreamy theorist; no one has based their ideas more on real-world practice. No other peer has taken more care to oversee the diminishing rights of the common people. "With thrice great Hermes he has outwatched the bear." He has often burned the midnight oil, growing pale over his constitutional studies; he has spent long, sleepless nights and made countless tiring trips, all while spending significant sums to ensure the integrity, independence, and sobriety of elections and to push back against the damaging costs that nearly threaten the very right to vote. In the midst of his efforts, I hope his Grace will forgive me if my enthusiasm—less informed than his, for sure, by late-night readings—has led me to speak too kindly of this constitution, even suggesting some praise for the assembly that counts his Grace as its leader. For those who dislike my apparent bias, or, if his Grace prefers, my flattery, comfort is at hand. I could be completely proved wrong and embarrassed by the most convincing rebuttal of all—a practical one. Each peer can personally show that I was absurdly mistaken; the entire group of nobles can refute me collectively. If they wish, they can argue against themselves more powerfully than a thousand writers like me can advocate for them. Even if I had the abilities his Grace mistakenly attributes to me, it wouldn’t make much difference. The eloquence of Mr. Erskine might save Mr.— from the gallows, but no amount of eloquence could save Mr. Jackson from the consequences of his own potion.
SPECULATION AND HISTORY.
I shall not live to behold the unravelling of the intricate plot which saddens and perplexes the awful drama of Providence now acting on the moral theatre of the world. Whether for thought or for action, I am at the end of my career. You are in the middle of yours. In what part of its orbit the nation, with which we are carried along, moves at this instant, it is not easy to conjecture. It may, perhaps, be far advanced in its aphelion.—But when to return?
I won't live to see the complicated story that troubles and confuses the heavy drama of fate currently playing out on the world's stage. Whether it's for thinking or doing, my time has come to an end. You’re just in the middle of your journey. It's hard to guess at this moment where the nation we’re part of is in its path. It might be far along in its aphelion. But when will it come back?
Not to lose ourselves in the infinite void of the conjectural world, our business is with what is likely to be affected, for the better or the worse, by the wisdom or weakness of our plans. In all speculations upon men and human affairs, it is of no small moment to distinguish things of accident from permanent causes, and from effects that cannot be altered. It is not every irregularity in our movement that is a total deviation from our course. I am not quite of the mind of those speculators who seem assured that, necessarily, and by the constitution of things, all states have the same periods of infancy, manhood, and decrepitude that are found in the individuals who compose them. Parallels of this sort rather furnish similitudes to illustrate or to adorn, than supply analogies from whence to reason. The objects which are attempted to be forced into an analogy are not found in the same classes of existence. Individuals are physical beings subject to laws universal and invariable. The immediate cause acting in these laws may be obscure; the general results are subjects of certain calculation. But commonwealths are not physical but moral essences. They are artificial combinations, and, in their proximate efficient cause, the arbitrary productions of the human mind. We are not yet acquainted with the laws which necessarily influence the stability of that kind of work made by that kind of agent. There is not in the physical order (with which they do not appear to hold any assignable connection) a distinct cause by which any of those fabrics must necessarily grow, flourish, or decay; nor, in my opinion, does the moral world produce anything more determinate on that subject than what may serve as an amusement (liberal, indeed, and ingenious, but still only an amusement) for speculative men. I doubt whether the history of mankind is yet complete enough, if ever it can be so, to furnish grounds for a sure theory on the internal causes which necessarily affect the fortune of a state. I am far from denying the operation of such causes: but they are infinitely uncertain and much more obscure, and much more difficult to trace, than the foreign causes that tend to raise, to depress, and sometimes to overwhelm, a community. It is often impossible in these political inquiries to find any proportion between the apparent force of any moral causes we may assign and their known operation. We are therefore obliged to deliver up that operation to mere chance, or, more piously (perhaps, more rationally), to the occasional interposition and irresistible hand of the Great Disposer. We have seen states of considerable duration, which for ages have remained nearly as they have begun, and could hardly be said to ebb or flow. Some appear to have spent their vigour at their commencement. Some have blazed out in their glory a little before their extinction. The meridian of some has been the most splendid. Others, and they the greatest number, have fluctuated, and experienced at different periods of their existence a great variety of fortune. At the very moment when some of them seemed plunged in unfathomable abysses of disgrace and disaster, they have suddenly emerged. They have begun a new course and opened a new reckoning; and, even in the depths of their calamity, and on the very ruins of their country, have laid the foundations of a towering and durable greatness. All this has happened without any apparent previous change in the general circumstances which had brought on their distress. The death of a man at a critical juncture, his disgust, his retreat, his disgrace, have brought innumerable calamities on a whole nation. A common soldier, a child, a girl at the door of an inn, have changed the face of fortune, and almost of nature.
Not to get lost in the endless void of speculation, our focus is on what is likely to be improved or worsened by the strengths or weaknesses of our plans. In all discussions about people and human events, it’s crucial to distinguish between random occurrences and lasting causes, as well as effects that can’t be changed. Not every irregularity in our actions is a complete departure from our path. I don’t fully agree with those theorists who seem convinced that all states inevitably go through the same stages of youth, adulthood, and decline that individual people do. Comparisons like these serve more to illustrate or embellish rather than to provide valid analogies for reasoning. The subjects that are forced into analogy don’t belong to the same categories of existence. Individuals are physical beings subject to universal and unchanging laws. The immediate causes acting within these laws might be unclear; however, the overall outcomes can be predicted with certainty. But governments aren’t just physical; they’re moral entities. They are artificial constructs and are, in their immediate effective cause, arbitrary creations of the human mind. We still don’t fully understand the laws that necessarily affect the stability of such works created by human agents. There isn’t a distinct physical cause (to which they don’t seem to have any clear connection) by which these constructs must, of necessity, grow, thrive, or decline; nor do I believe the moral world provides anything more definitive on this subject than concepts that might serve as entertainment (though, indeed, entertaining and clever, but still merely entertainment) for speculative thinkers. I wonder if the history of humanity is even complete enough, if it ever can be, to establish a solid theory on the internal factors that necessarily influence the fate of a state. I don’t deny these factors exist; they are just extremely uncertain, much more ambiguous, and far harder to trace than the external factors that might uplift, suppress, or sometimes overwhelm a community. In these political explorations, it is often impossible to find any correlation between the apparent strength of any moral causes we may identify and their known effects. We are, therefore, forced to leave this effect to sheer chance or, perhaps more piously (and maybe more rationally), to the occasional intervention of the Great Organizer. We have seen states that have lasted a long time, remaining almost unchanged since their inception, hardly fluctuating at all. Some appear to have exhausted their strength right from the start. Others have shone brightly just before their downfall. The height of some has been their most glorious phase. Yet, most have fluctuated, encountering various ups and downs throughout their existence. At the very moment when some of them seemed to be in bottomless despair and disaster, they suddenly turned around. They embarked on a new course and started anew; even in the depths of their misfortune, and amidst the ruins of their nation, they laid the groundwork for towering and lasting greatness. All of this occurred without any apparent change in the general conditions that had led to their struggles. The death of a single individual at a critical moment, their disappointment, withdrawal, or disgrace can unleash countless misfortunes on an entire nation. A common soldier, a child, or a girl at an inn can alter the landscape of fate, nearly reshaping reality itself.
Such, and often influenced by such causes, has commonly been the fate of monarchies of long duration. They have their ebbs and their flows. This has been eminently the fate of the monarchy of France. There have been times in which no power has ever been brought so low. Few have ever flourished in greater glory. By turns elevated and depressed, that power had been, on the whole, rather on the increase; and it continued not only powerful but formidable to the hour of the total ruin of the monarchy. This fall of the monarchy was far from being preceded by any exterior symptoms of decline. The interior were not visible to every eye; and a thousand accidents might have prevented the operation of what the most clear-sighted were not able to discern, nor the most provident to divine. A very little time before its dreadful catastrophe there was a kind of exterior splendour in the situation of the Crown, which usually adds to government strength and authority at home. The Crown seemed then to have obtained some of the most splendid objects of state ambition. None of the continental powers of Europe were the enemies of France. They were all either tacitly disposed to her, or publicly connected with her; and in those who kept the most aloof there was little appearance of jealousy; of animosity there was no appearance at all. The British nation, her great preponderating rival; she had humbled; to all appearance she had weakened; certainly had endangered, by cutting off a very large, and by far the most growing part of her empire. In that its acme of human prosperity and greatness, in the high and palmy state of the monarchy of France, it fell to the ground without a struggle. It fell without any of those vices in the monarch which have sometimes been the causes of the fall of kingdoms, but which existed, without any visible effect on the state, in the highest degree in many other princes; and, far from destroying their power, had only left some slight stains on their character. The financial difficulties were only pretexts and instruments of those who accomplished the ruin of that monarchy. They were not the causes of it.
Such, often influenced by various factors, has usually been the fate of long-lasting monarchies. They have their highs and lows. This has certainly been true for the monarchy of France. There have been times when its power fell to an all-time low. Few have ever enjoyed greater glory. By turns elevated and depressed, that power had, on the whole, been increasing; and it remained not only powerful but formidable up until the complete ruin of the monarchy. The decline of the monarchy was far from being preceded by any obvious signs of decay. The internal issues were not visible to everyone, and a thousand incidents might have prevented what even the most insightful could not see, nor the most careful could predict. Just before its dreadful downfall, there was a sort of external brilliance in the Crown's situation, which typically adds to a government's strength and authority at home. At that time, the Crown seemed to have achieved some of the most impressive goals of state ambition. None of the continental powers in Europe were enemies of France. They were all either quietly favorable or publicly allied with her; and even among those who maintained some distance, there was little sign of jealousy; there was no sign of animosity at all. The British nation, her major rival, had been humbled; it seemed she had weakened them; she certainly had endangered them by cutting off a large and rapidly growing part of her empire. At this pinnacle of human prosperity and greatness, in the high and flourishing state of the French monarchy, it collapsed without a struggle. It fell without any of the vices in the monarch that have sometimes led to the downfall of kingdoms, vices that existed, without any visible impact on the state, in many other rulers; and far from destroying their power, they only left minor blemishes on their character. The financial difficulties were merely excuses and tools used by those who brought about the ruin of that monarchy. They were not the actual causes.
Deprived of the old government, deprived in a manner of all government, France, fallen as a monarchy, to common speculators might have appeared more likely to be an object of pity or insult, according to the disposition of the circumjacent powers, than to be the scourge and terror of them all: but out of the tomb of the murdered monarchy in France has arisen a vast, tremendous unformed spectre, in a far more terrific guise than any which ever yet have overpowered the imagination and subdued the fortitude of man. Going straight forward to its end, unappalled by peril, unchecked by remorse, despising all common maxims and all common means, that hideous phantom overpowered those who could not believe it was possible she could at all exist, except on the principles which habit rather than nature had persuaded them were necessary to their own particular welfare, and to their own ordinary modes of action. But the constitution of any political being, as well as that of any physical being, ought to be known, before one can venture to say what is fit for its conservation, or what is the proper means of its power. The poison of other states is the food of the new republic. That bankruptcy, the very apprehension of which is one of the causes assigned for the fall of the monarchy, was the capital on which she opened her traffic with the world.
Deprived of the old government and essentially stripped of all governance, France, having fallen from monarchy, might have seemed to common speculators more like a target for pity or ridicule, depending on the attitudes of neighboring powers, rather than a force to be feared. Yet, from the grave of the executed monarchy in France has emerged a massive, terrifying specter, far more formidable than anything that has ever dominated human imagination or tested human resilience. Moving forward relentlessly, undeterred by danger, unburdened by guilt, and dismissing all conventional wisdom and strategies, this monstrous phantom overwhelmed those who couldn’t grasp that it could even exist outside the principles that habit, rather than nature, had convinced them were essential to their own well-being and typical behaviors. However, just as the structure of any living organism needs to be understood before we can decide what is necessary for its preservation or what supports its strength, the same applies to any political entity. The downfall of other states has become the sustenance of the new republic. That bankruptcy, which many say contributed to the monarchy’s collapse, became the capital that launched her dealings with the world.
LABOUR AND WAGES.
In the case of the farmer and the labourer, their interests are always the same, and it is absolutely impossible that their free contracts can be onerous to either party. It is the interest of the farmer, that his work should be done with effect and celerity: and that cannot be, unless the labourer is well fed, and otherwise found with such necessaries of animal life, according to his habitudes, as may keep the body in full force, and the mind gay and cheerful. For of all the instruments of his trade, the labour of man (what the ancient writers have called the instrumentum vocale) is that on which he is most to rely for the repayment of his capital. The other two, the semivocale in the ancient classification, that is, the working stock of cattle, and the instrumentum mutum, such as carts, ploughs, spades, and so forth, though not all inconsiderable in themselves, are very much inferior in utility or in expense; or, without a given portion of the first, are nothing at all. For, in all things whatever, the mind is the most valuable and the most important; and in this scale the whole of agriculture is in a natural and just order; the beast is as an informing principle to the plough and cart; the labourer is as reason to the beast; and the farmer is as a thinking and presiding principle to the labourer. An attempt to break this chain of subordination in any part is equally absurd; but the absurdity is the most mischievous in practical operation, where it is the most easy, that is, where it is the most subject to an erroneous judgment.
In the relationship between the farmer and the laborer, their interests are always aligned, and it’s impossible for their agreements to be unfair to either side. The farmer benefits when his work gets done efficiently and quickly, and that can only happen if the laborer is well-fed and provided with the necessary essentials for life, based on his needs, to keep him strong and in good spirits. Of all the tools he uses, human labor (what ancient writers referred to as instrumentum vocale) is the one the farmer relies on the most to recoup his investment. The other tools, like livestock (the semivocale in ancient classifications) and non-living tools such as carts, plows, and shovels (instrumentum mutum), while significant, are far less useful or costly and essentially useless without a solid amount of human labor. In every situation, the mind is the most valuable and crucial element; in agriculture, this hierarchy makes sense: the animal serves the plow and cart; the laborer provides reasoning for the animal; and the farmer acts as the guiding brain for the laborer. Trying to disrupt this chain of hierarchy at any level is just foolish, but it’s particularly disastrous in practice when it’s easy to misjudge the situation.
It is plainly more the farmer's interest that his men should thrive, than that his horses should be well fed, sleek, plump, and fit for use, or than that his waggons and ploughs should be strong, in good repair, and fit for service.
It is clearly more in the farmer's interest that his workers thrive than that his horses are well-fed, healthy, and ready for work, or that his wagons and plows are sturdy, well-maintained, and ready for use.
On the other hand, if the farmer cease to profit of the labourer, and that his capital is not continually manured and fructified, it is impossible that he should continue that abundant nutriment, and clothing, and lodging, proper for the protection of the instruments he employs.
On the other hand, if the farmer stops benefiting from the laborer, and his capital isn't constantly nurtured and renewed, it's impossible for him to keep providing the abundant food, clothing, and shelter necessary to protect the tools he uses.
It is therefore the first and fundamental interest of the labourer, that the farmer should have a full incoming profit on the product of his labour. The proposition is self-evident, and nothing but the malignity, perverseness, and ill-governed passions of mankind, and particularly the envy they bear to each other's prosperity, could prevent their seeing and acknowledging it, with thankfulness to the benign and wise Disposer of all things, who obliges men, whether they will or not, in pursuing their own selfish interests, to connect the general good with their own individual success.
It’s essential for workers that farmers earn a good profit from their labor. This idea is obvious, and only the negativity, stubbornness, and uncontrolled emotions of people, especially the jealousy they feel towards each other's success, could stop them from recognizing and appreciating it, along with gratitude to the kind and wise organizer of everything, who forces people, whether they like it or not, in the pursuit of their own self-interest, to link the common good with their personal success.
But who are to judge what that profit and advantage ought to be? Certainly no authority on earth. It is a matter of convention dictated by the reciprocal conveniences of the parties, and indeed by their reciprocal necessities.—But, if the farmer is excessively avaricious?—why so much the better—the more he desires to increase his gains, the more interested is he in the good condition of those upon whose labour his gains must principally depend.
But who gets to decide what that profit and advantage should be? Certainly no one on earth. It's all about what's agreed upon based on the mutual benefits of both parties, and really by their mutual needs. But what if the farmer is overly greedy? Well, that’s actually a good thing—the more he wants to increase his profits, the more invested he is in ensuring that those who work for him are in good condition, since his profits largely depend on their labor.
I shall be told by the zealots of the sect of regulation, that this may be true, and may be safely committed to the convention of the farmer and the labourer, when the latter is in the prime of his youth, and at the time of his health and vigour, and in ordinary times of abundance. But in calamitous seasons, under accidental illness, in declining life, and with the pressure of a numerous offspring, the future nourishers of the community, but the present drains and blood-suckers of those who produce them, what is to be done? When a man cannot live and maintain his family by the natural hire of his labour, ought it not to be raised by authority?
I will be told by the enthusiastic supporters of regulation that this might be true and could be safely entrusted to the agreement between farmers and laborers when the latter are in their prime, in good health and strength, and during regular times of plenty. But during tough times, when faced with unexpected illness, in old age, and under the burden of many children—the future supporters of the community, yet current financial drains on those who raise them—what should be done? When a person can’t support themselves and their family through their labor, shouldn’t their pay be increased by authority?
On this head I must be allowed to submit, what my opinions have ever been; and somewhat at large. And, first, I premise that labour is, as I have already intimated, a commodity, and, as such, an article of trade. If I am right in this notion, then labour must be subject to all the laws and principles of trade, and not to regulation foreign to them, and that may be totally inconsistent with those principles and those laws. When any commodity is carried to market, it is not the necessity of the vender, but the necessity of the purchaser, that raises the price. The extreme want of the seller has rather (by the nature of things with which we shall in vain contend) the direct contrary operation. If the goods at market are beyond the demand, they fall in their value; if below it, they rise. The impossibility of the subsistence of a man, who carries his labour to a market, is totally beside the question in his way of viewing it. The only question is, what is it worth to the buyer?
On this topic, I want to share my thoughts clearly. First, I want to establish that labor is, as I’ve mentioned before, a commodity, which means it’s something that can be traded. If I’m correct in this belief, then labor must follow all the rules and principles of trade, and not be subject to regulations that are unrelated and may contradict those principles and rules. When any commodity is sold at market, it’s not the seller's need that drives the price up, but rather the buyer's need. The seller's extreme need actually has the opposite effect. If the goods available are more than what people want, their value goes down; if they are less than what people want, their value goes up. The fact that a person selling their labor might struggle to survive isn’t relevant to the question at hand. The only important question is, what is it worth to the buyer?
But if the authority comes in and forces the buyer to a price, who is this in the case (say) of a farmer who buys the labour of ten or twelve labouring men, and three or four handicrafts, what is it, but to make an arbitrary division of his property among them?
But if the authority steps in and imposes a price on the buyer, what is this for a farmer who hires ten or twelve laborers and three or four craftsmen, if not an arbitrary division of his property among them?
The whole of his gains, I say it with the most certain conviction, never do amount anything like in value to what he pays to his labourers and artificers, so that a very small advance upon what ONE man pays to MANY may absorb the whole of what he possesses, and amount to an actual partition of all his substance among them. A perfect equality will indeed be produced;—that is to say, equal want, equal wretchedness, equal beggary, and on the part of the petitioners, a woeful, helpless, and desperate disappointment. Such is the event of all compulsory equalizations. They pull down what is above. They never raise what is below: and they depress high and low together beneath the level of what was originally the lowest.
The total of his earnings, I say this with complete certainty, never adds up to anything close to what he pays his workers and craftsmen. A very small increase in what one person pays to many could end up taking all he has, resulting in a true distribution of his resources among them. A perfect equality would indeed be created; that is to say, equal need, equal misery, equal poverty, and for those asking, a heartbreaking, helpless, and desperate disappointment. Such is the outcome of all forced equalizations. They lower what is above. They never elevate what is below: and they bring both the high and the low down together below the level of what was originally the lowest.
If a commodity is raised by authority above what it will yield with a profit to the buyer, that commodity will be the less dealt in. If a second blundering interposition be used to correct the blunder of the first, and an attempt is made to force the purchase of the commodity (of labour for instance), the one of these two things must happen, either that the forced buyer is ruined, or the price of the product of the labour, in that proportion, is raised. Then the wheel turns round, and the evil complained of falls with aggravated weight on the complainant. The price of corn, which is the result of the expense of all the operations of husbandry taken together, and for some time continued, will rise on the labourer, considered as a consumer. The very best will be, that he remains where he was. But if the price of the corn should not compensate the price of labour, what is far more to be feared, the most serious evil, the very destruction of agriculture itself, is to be apprehended.
If a commodity's price is set too high by authority, above what buyers can afford to pay for a profit, that commodity will be less traded. If a second misguided intervention is attempted to fix the first mistake and there's an effort to force people to buy the commodity (like labor, for example), one of two things will happen: either the forced buyer will suffer financial ruin, or the price of the labor's output will increase proportionally. Then the cycle continues, and the problem becomes even worse for the person complaining. The price of corn, which reflects the total costs of all farming activities over time, will increase for the worker as a consumer. The best outcome would be for him to stay in the same situation. However, if the price of corn doesn't match the price of labor, the more serious danger—actually the destruction of agriculture itself—could be expected.
Nothing is such an enemy to accuracy of judgment as a coarse discrimination: a want of such classification and distribution as the subject admits of. Increase the rate of wages to the labourer, say the regulators—as if labour was but one thing, and of one value. But this very broad, generic term, LABOUR, admits, at least, of two or three specific descriptions: and these will suffice, at least, to let gentlemen discern a little the necessity of proceeding with caution in their coercive guidance of those whose existence depends upon the observance of still nicer distinctions and subdivisions than commonly they resort to in forming their judgments on this very enlarged part of economy.
Nothing undermines accurate judgment more than a lack of careful distinction: a failure to classify and organize the subject properly. The regulators say to just raise wages for workers—as if labor were a single entity with a uniform value. But this broad term, LABOR, includes at least two or three specific categories, which should remind decision-makers to proceed carefully when trying to manage those whose livelihoods depend on even more precise distinctions and subdivisions than they usually consider in their economic evaluations.
The labourers in husbandry may be divided: 1st, into those who are able to perform the full work of a man; that is, what can be done by a person from twenty-one years of age to fifty. I know no husbandry-work (mowing hardly excepted) that is not equally within the power of all persons within those ages, the more advanced fully compensating by knack and habit what they lose in activity. Unquestionably, there is a good deal of difference between the value of one man's labour and that of another, from strength, dexterity, and honest application. But I am quite sure, from my best observation, that any given five men will, in their total, afford a proportion of labour equal to any other five within the periods of life I have stated; that is, that among such five men there will be one possessing all the qualifications of a good workman, one bad, and the other three middling, and approximating to the first and the last. So that in so small a platoon as that of even five, you will find the full complement of all that five men CAN earn. Taking five and five throughout the kingdom, they are equal: therefore, an error with regard to the equalization of their wages by those who employ five, as farmers do at the very least, cannot be considerable. 2ndly. Those who are able to work, but not the complete task of a day-labourer. This class is infinitely diversified, but will aptly enough fall into principal divisions. MEN, from the decline, which after fifty becomes every year more sensible to the period of debility and decrepitude, and the maladies that precede a final dissolution. WOMEN, whose employment on husbandry is but occasional, and who differ more in effective labour one from another, than men do, on account of gestation, nursing, and domestic management, over and above the difference they have in common with men in advancing, in stationary, and in declining life. CHILDREN, who proceed on the reverse order, growing from less to greater utility, but with a still greater disproportion of nutriment to labour than is found in the second of these subdivisions: as is visible to those who will give themselves the trouble of examining into the interior economy of a poor-house.
The laborers in agriculture can be categorized: 1st, into those who can do the full work of an adult; that is, what someone can accomplish from the ages of twenty-one to fifty. I don't know of any farming tasks (except maybe mowing) that aren't manageable by anyone in that age range, with older individuals compensating for their decreased activity with skill and experience. There is definitely a noticeable difference in the productivity of one person compared to another due to strength, skill, and dedication. However, I'm quite confident from my observations that any group of five men will collectively contribute the same amount of labor as any other group of five in the age range I mentioned; meaning that in such a group, there will be one person who has all the qualities of a good worker, one who is poor at their work, and three who are average and fall between the two extremes. Thus, even in a small group of five, you will find the full range of what five men can earn. Taking groups of five throughout the country, they are equal: therefore, any mistake regarding the equalization of their wages by those who hire five, like farmers do at minimum, is likely to be minor. 2nd. Those who are able to work but can't perform the full tasks of a day laborer. This group is extremely varied but can be divided into main categories. MEN, whose ability declines after fifty, becoming more noticeable each year with the onset of frailty and illnesses that precede death. WOMEN, whose agricultural work is only occasional and who vary significantly in their effective labor compared to men, due to pregnancy, nursing, and household responsibilities, in addition to the differences they share with men in advancing, maintaining, and declining years. CHILDREN, who move in the opposite direction, increasing from lesser to greater usefulness, but with an even greater imbalance of nutrition to labor than is seen in the second group: as can be observed by anyone who takes the time to look into the inner workings of a poorhouse.
This inferior classification is introduced to show, that laws prescribing, or magistrates exercising, a very stiff and often inapplicable rule, or a blind and rash discretion, never can provide the just proportions between earning and salary on the one hand, and nutriment on the other: whereas interest, habit, and the tacit convention, that arise from a thousand nameless circumstances, produce a TACT that regulates without difficulty, what laws and magistrates cannot regulate at all. The first class of labour wants nothing to equalize it; it equalizes itself. The second and third are not capable of any equalization.
This lower classification is meant to illustrate that laws that set overly strict and often unworkable rules, or judges who act with blind and hasty judgment, can never establish the right balance between earnings and salary on one side, and sustenance on the other. Meanwhile, factors like interest, habits, and the unspoken agreements that come from countless unnamed circumstances create a sense of TACT that effortlessly manages what laws and judges cannot control at all. The first category of labor doesn't require anything to balance it; it balances itself. The second and third categories can't be balanced at all.
But what if the rate of hire to the labourer comes far short of his necessary subsistence, and the calamity of the time is so great as to threaten actual famine? Is the poor labourer to be abandoned to the flinty heart and griping hand of base self-interest, supported by the sword of law, especially when there is reason to suppose that the very avarice of farmers themselves has concurred with the errors of government to bring famine on the land?
But what if the pay for workers is way below what they need to survive, and the situation is so dire that it threatens actual starvation? Should the struggling worker be left to the cold heart and tight grip of selfishness, backed by the law, especially when it seems that the greed of farmers has combined with the government's mistakes to cause famine in the land?
A COMPLETE REVOLUTION.
Before this of France, the annals of all time have not furnished an instance of a COMPLETE revolution. That Revolution seems to have extended even to the constitution of the mind of man. It has this of wonderful in it, that it resembles what Lord Verulam says of the operations of nature. It was perfect, not only in its elements and principles, but in all its members and its organs from the very beginning. The moral scheme of France furnishes the only pattern ever known, which they who admire will INSTANTLY resemble. It is indeed an inexhaustible repertory of one kind of examples. In my wretched condition, though hardly to be classed with the living, I am not safe from them. They have tigers to fall upon animated strength. They have hyaenas to prey upon carcasses. The national menagerie is collected by the first physiologists of the time; and it is defective in no description of savage nature. They pursue even such as me, into the obscurest retreats, and haul them before their revolutionary tribunals. Neither sex, nor age,—nor the sanctuary of the tomb, is sacred to them. They have so determined a hatred to all privileged orders, that they deny even to the departed the sad immunities of the grave. They are not wholly without an object. Their turpitude purveys to their malice; and they unplumb the dead for bullets to assassinate the living. If all revolutionists were not proof against all caution, I should recommend it to their consideration, that no persons were ever known in history, either sacred or profane, to vex the sepulchre, and, by their sorceries, to call up the prophetic dead, with any other event, than the prediction of their own disastrous fate.—"Leave me, oh leave me to repose!"
Before this time in France, there hasn't been a true COMPLETE revolution in all of history. This Revolution seems to have even changed the way people think. It's amazing because it reflects what Lord Verulam says about nature's processes. It was flawless, not just in its basic ideas and principles, but also in all its parts and functions right from the start. The moral framework of France provides the only example known that those who admire it will instantly mirror. It really is an endless source of one kind of examples. In my miserable state, although barely alive, I am not safe from them. They have tigers ready to pounce on living strength. They have hyenas that feed on corpses. The national menagerie is gathered by the leading physiologists of the time, and it includes every kind of savage nature. They even hunt down people like me, dragging us before their revolutionary courts. Neither gender, age, nor the sanctuary of the grave is off-limits to them. They have such a deep hatred for all privileged classes that they deny even the dead the sad protection of the grave. They are not entirely without purpose. Their depravity fuels their malice; they desecrate the dead to find bullets to attack the living. If all revolutionists weren't so reckless, I would advise them to consider that no one in history, whether sacred or worldly, has ever disturbed the grave or summoned the prophetic dead without facing the grim prediction of their own downfall. —"Leave me, oh leave me to rest!"
BRITISH GOVERNMENT IN INDIA.
The British government in India being a subordinate and delegated power, it ought to be considered as a fundamental principle in such a system, that it is to be preserved in the strictest obedience to the government at home. Administration in India, at an immense distance from the seat of the supreme authority; intrusted with the most extensive powers; liable to the greatest temptations; possessing the amplest means of abuse; ruling over a people guarded by no distinct or well-ascertained privileges, whose language, manners, and radical prejudices render not only redress, but all complaint on their part, a matter of extreme difficulty; such an administration, it is evident, never can be made subservient to the interests of Great Britain, or even tolerable to the natives, but by the strictest rigour in exacting obedience to the commands of the authority lawfully set over it.
The British government in India is a subordinate and delegated power. Therefore, it should be recognized as a fundamental principle in such a system that it must strictly obey the government at home. Administering India, which is far from the center of supreme authority and entrusted with extensive powers, faces significant temptations and has ample means for abuse. It rules over a people who have no clear or well-defined privileges, and whose language, customs, and deep-rooted biases make it extremely challenging for them to seek redress or even voice complaints. Clearly, such an administration can never truly serve the interests of Great Britain or be acceptable to the locals unless it rigorously enforces obedience to the commands of the lawful authority above it.
MONEY AND SCIENCE.
My exertions, whatever they have been, were such as no hopes of pecuniary reward could possibly excite; and no pecuniary compensation can possibly reward them. Between money and such services, if done by abler men than I am, there is no common principle of comparison: they are quantities incommensurable. Money is made for the comfort and convenience of animal life. It cannot be a reward for what mere animal life must indeed sustain, but never can inspire. With submission to his Grace, I have not had more than sufficient. As to any noble use, I trust I know how to employ, as well as he, a much greater fortune than he possesses. In a more confined application, I certainly stand in need of every kind of relief and easement much more than he does. When I say I have not received more than I deserve, is this the language I hold to majesty? No! Far, very far, from it! Before that presence, I claim no merit at all. Everything towards me is favour, and bounty. One style to a gracious benefactor; another to a proud and insulting foe.
My efforts, no matter what they’ve been, cannot be motivated by any expectation of financial reward, and no amount of money can adequately compensate them. There’s no real way to compare money to the kind of work that could be done by people who are more skilled than I am; they’re simply not on the same scale. Money is meant to make life easier and more comfortable, but it can't reward the deeper values that go beyond just survival. With all due respect to His Grace, I’ve only had just enough. When it comes to using wealth for noble purposes, I believe I know how to manage a much larger fortune than he has. In a more specific sense, I definitely need various forms of support and relief much more than he does. When I say I haven’t received more than what I deserve, is that how I speak to someone in power? No! It’s the complete opposite! In that presence, I claim no merit at all. Everything I receive feels like a favor, a gift. There’s one way to talk to a generous benefactor and a completely different way to address a proud and disrespectful enemy.
His Grace is pleased to aggravate my guilt, by charging my acceptance of his majesty's grant as a departure from my ideas, and the spirit of my conduct with regard to economy. If it be, my ideas of economy were false and ill-founded. But they are the Duke of Bedford's ideas of economy I have contradicted, and not my own. If he means to allude to certain bills brought in by me on a message from the throne in 1782, I tell him, that there is nothing in my conduct that can contradict either the letter or the spirit of those acts. Does he mean the Pay-office Act? I take it for granted he does not. The act to which he alludes, is, I suppose, the Establishment Act. I greatly doubt whether his Grace has ever read the one or the other. The first of these systems cost me, with every assistance which my then situation gave me, pains incredible. I found an opinion common through all the offices, and general in the public at large, that it would prove impossible to reform and methodize the office of paymaster-general. I undertook it, however; and I succeeded in my undertaking. Whether the military service, or whether the general economy of our finances, have profited by that act, I leave to those who are acquainted with the army, and with the treasury, to judge.
His Grace is happy to increase my guilt by claiming that accepting the king's grant goes against my beliefs and how I've acted regarding spending. If it does, then my beliefs about spending were wrong and unfounded. However, it's the Duke of Bedford's ideas about spending that I've challenged, not my own. If he's referring to certain bills I introduced based on a message from the throne in 1782, I assure him that nothing in my actions contradicts the letter or spirit of those laws. If he means the Pay-office Act, I'm pretty sure he doesn't. The act he's talking about is, I assume, the Establishment Act. I seriously doubt his Grace has read either one. Creating these systems took me an incredible amount of effort, even with all the support my position provided. I found a widespread belief across all offices and among the public that reforming and organizing the paymaster-general's office would be impossible. Yet, I took on the challenge and succeeded. Whether the military service or the overall management of our finances has benefited from that act is something I leave to those who are familiar with the army and the treasury to decide.
POLITICAL AXIOMS.
I.
Of all things, an indiscreet tampering with the trade of provisions is the most dangerous, and it is always worst in the time when men are most disposed to it: that is, in the time of scarcity. Because there is nothing on which the passions of men are so violent, and their judgment so weak, and on which there exists such a multitude of ill-founded popular prejudices.
Of all things, messing around with the supply of food is the most dangerous, especially during times when people are most tempted to do so: that is, during shortages. Because there's nothing that stirs up people's emotions so intensely and clouds their judgment so much, and where there are so many unfounded popular beliefs.
II.
The great use of government is as a restraint; and there is no restraint which it ought to put upon others, and upon itself too, rather than that which is imposed on the fury of speculating under circumstances of irritation. The number of idle tales, spread about by the industry of faction, and by the zeal of foolish good-intention, and greedily devoured by the malignant credulity of mankind, tends infinitely to aggravate prejudices, which, in themselves, are more than sufficiently strong. In that state of affairs, and of the public with relation to them, the first thing that government owes to us, the people, is INFORMATION; the next is timely coercion:—the one to guide our judgment; the other to regulate our tempers.
The main purpose of government is to serve as a check on behavior; and the most important restraint it should place on others, and on itself as well, is to control the reckless speculation that arises from provocation. The countless false stories, spread by political factions and fueled by misguided intentions and greedily believed by the gullible public, only serve to worsen existing prejudices, which are already quite strong on their own. Given this situation and the public's response to it, the first thing the government owes us, the people, is INFORMATION; the next is appropriate enforcement:—the former to help us make informed decisions, and the latter to keep our emotions in check.
III.
To provide for us in our necessities is not in the power of government. It would be a vain presumption in statesmen to think they can do it. The people maintain them, and not they the people. It is in the power of government to prevent much evil; it can do very little positive good in this, or perhaps in anything else. It is not only so of the state and statesmen, but of all the classes and descriptions of the rich—they are the pensioners of the poor, and are maintained by their superfluity. They are under an absolute, hereditary, and indefeasible dependence on those who labour, and are miscalled the poor.
It's not the government's job to provide for our needs. It would be foolish for politicians to believe they can do that. The people support them, not the other way around. The government can prevent a lot of harm, but it can do very little to create genuine good in this area, or maybe in any area. This applies not just to the government and politicians, but to all wealthy classes—the wealthy rely on the poor and are supported by their excess. They are completely dependent on those who work, who are wrongly labeled as the poor.
IV.
The labouring people are only poor, because they are numerous. Numbers in their nature imply poverty. In a fair distribution among a vast multitude none can have much. That class of dependent pensioners called the rich is so extremely small, that if all their throats were cut, and a distribution made of all they consume in a year, it would not give a bit of bread and cheese for one night's supper to those who labour, and who in reality feed both the pensioners and themselves.
The working class is only poor because there are so many of them. A large population naturally leads to poverty. If wealth were shared fairly among a huge number of people, no one would have much at all. The wealthy, who rely on others, are such a tiny group that if they were all eliminated and their annual consumption distributed among the workers, it wouldn’t even provide enough for a single meal of bread and cheese for those who actually do the work and feed both themselves and the wealthy.
V.
But the throats of the rich ought not to be cut, nor their magazines plundered; because in their persons they are trustees for those who labour, and their hoards are the banking-houses of these latter. Whether they mean it or not, they do, in effect, execute their trust—some with more, some with less, fidelity and judgment. But, on the whole, the duty is performed, and everything returns, deducting some very trifling commission and discount, to the place from whence it arose. When the poor rise to destroy the rich, they act as wisely for their own purposes as when they burn mills, and throw corn into the river, to make bread cheap.
But the rich shouldn't be harmed, nor should their belongings be taken; because they act as guardians for those who work, and their wealth serves as the banks for the latter. Whether they're aware of it or not, they do fulfill this role—some with more and some with less care and understanding. But overall, the responsibility is carried out, and everything returns, after taking out some small fees and discounts, to the source from which it came. When the poor rise up to destroy the rich, they are as misguided for their own interests as when they burn down mills and throw grain into the river to lower bread prices.
VI.
When I say, that we of the people ought to be informed, inclusively I say, we ought not to be flattered; flattery is the reverse of instruction. The POOR in that case would be rendered as improvident as the rich, which would not be at all good for them.
When I say that we, the people, should be informed, I mean that we shouldn't be flattered; flattery is the opposite of education. In that case, the poor would become just as careless as the rich, which would not be good for them at all.
VII.
Nothing can be so base and so wicked as the political canting language, "The labouring POOR." Let compassion be shown in action, the more the better, according to every man's ability; but let there be no lamentation of their condition. It is no relief to their miserable circumstances; it is only an insult to their miserable understandings. It arises from a total want of charity, or a total want of thought. Want of one kind was never relieved by want of any other kind. Patience, labour, sobriety, frugality, and religion, should be recommended to them; all the rest is downright FRAUD. It is horrible to call them "The ONCE HAPPY labourer."
Nothing is as low and as morally wrong as the political jargon of "The working poor." Compassion should be shown through actions— the more, the better, based on each person's ability— but there shouldn't be any mourning over their situation. It doesn't help their terrible circumstances; it only insults their limited understanding. This comes from a complete lack of kindness or a complete lack of thought. One type of need was never solved by another type of need. Patience, hard work, self-control, thrift, and faith should be encouraged for them; everything else is just pure deception. It's appalling to refer to them as "The once happy laborer."
VIII.
Whether what may be called the moral or philosophical happiness of the laborious classes is increased or not, I cannot say. The seat of that species of happiness is in the mind; and there are few data to ascertain the comparative state of the mind at any two periods. Philosophical happiness is to want little. Civil or vulgar happiness is to want much, and to enjoy much. IX.
Whether the so-called moral or philosophical happiness of the working classes has increased or not, I can’t say. The source of that type of happiness is in the mind, and there are few ways to determine the relative state of the mind at any two points in time. Philosophical happiness means wanting little. Civil or common happiness means wanting a lot and enjoying a lot. IX.
If the happiness of the animal man (which certainly goes somewhere towards the happiness of the rational man) be the object of our estimate, then I assert without the least hesitation, that the condition of those who labour (in all descriptions of labour, and in all gradations of labour, from the highest to the lowest inclusively) is on the whole extremely meliorated, if more and better food is any standard of melioration. They work more, it is certain, but they have the advantage of their augmented labour; yet whether that increase of labour be on the whole a GOOD or an EVIL, is a consideration that would lead us a great way, and is not for my present purpose. But as to the fact of the melioration of their diet, I shall enter into the detail of proof whenever I am called upon: in the mean time, the known difficulty of contenting them with anything but bread made of the finest flour, and meat of the first quality, is proof sufficient.
If the happiness of the working person (which definitely contributes to the happiness of the rational person) is what we're looking at, then I can say without a doubt that the condition of those who work (in all kinds of jobs, from the highest to the lowest) has significantly improved overall, if having more and better food is any measure of improvement. They certainly work more, but they benefit from their increased labor; however, whether that increase in labor is ultimately a GOOD or an EVIL is a discussion that would take us far and isn’t my focus right now. As for the fact that their diet has improved, I can provide detailed proof whenever needed; in the meantime, the well-known challenge of keeping them satisfied with anything less than high-quality flour bread and top-quality meat is proof enough.
X.
I further assert, that even under all the hardships of the last year, the labouring people did, either out of their direct gains, or from charity (which it seems is now an insult to them), in fact, fare better than they did in seasons of common plenty, fifty or sixty years ago; or even at the period of my English observation, which is about forty-four years. I even assert, that full as many in that class as ever were known to do it before continued to save money; and this I can prove, so far as my own information and experience extend.
I also assert that, despite all the challenges of the past year, working people actually fared better, either from their own earnings or from charity (which apparently is now seen as an insult to them), than they did during times of general abundance fifty or sixty years ago, or even during my own observations in England, which stretch back about forty-four years. I even claim that as many people in that class as ever before continued to save money, and I can prove this based on my own knowledge and experience.
XI.
It is not true that the rate of wages has not increased with the nominal price of provisions. I allow it has not fluctuated with that price, nor ought it; and the squires of Norfolk had dined when they gave it as their opinion, that it might or ought to rise and fall with the market of provisions. The rate of wages in truth has no DIRECT relation to that price. Labour is a commodity like every other, and rises or falls according to the demand. This is in the nature of things; however, the nature of things has provided for their necessities. Wages have been twice raised in my time: and they bear a full proportion or even a greater than formerly, to the medium of provision during the last bad cycle of twenty years. They bear a full proportion to the result of their labour. If we were wildly to attempt to force them beyond it, the stone which we had forced up the hill would only fall back upon them in a diminished demand, or what indeed is the far lesser evil, an aggravated price, of all the provisions which are the result of their manual toil.
It's not true that wages haven't increased alongside the nominal price of goods. I admit they haven't fluctuated with that price, nor should they; and the landowners in Norfolk had already made their opinions known when they suggested that wages might or should rise and fall with the market prices. The truth is, wages have no DIRECT correlation to those prices. Labor is a commodity just like any other, and its value goes up or down based on demand. That's just how things work; however, the nature of things has also accounted for their needs. Wages have been raised twice during my lifetime, and they now correspond quite well—or even better than before—to the average prices of goods over the last tough twenty years. They reflect a fair proportion of the results of their work. If we were to recklessly try to push them beyond this point, the efforts we made would only roll back on them, leading to a decreased demand or, what is indeed the lesser evil, a significantly increased price for all the goods that come from their hard work.
XII.
There is an implied contract, much stronger than any instrument or article of agreement between the labourer in any occupation and his employer—that the labour, so far as that labour is concerned, shall be sufficient to pay to the employer a profit on his capital, and a compensation for his risk; in a word, that the labour shall produce an advantage equal to the payment. Whatever is above that, is a direct TAX; and if the amount of that tax be left to the will and pleasure of another, it is an ARBITRARY TAX.
There’s an unspoken agreement, much stronger than any formal document or contract between a worker in any job and their employer—that the work, in relation to that work, should be enough to yield a profit for the employer on their investment, as well as cover their risk; in short, the work should generate a benefit equal to the payment. Anything beyond that is a direct TAX; and if the amount of that tax is determined by someone else's discretion, it is an ARBITRARY TAX.
DISAPPOINTED AMBITION.
The true cause of his drawing so shocking a picture is no more than this, and it ought rather to claim our pity than excite our indignation;—he finds himself out of power; and this condition is intolerable to him. The same sun which gilds all nature, and exhilarates the whole creation, does not shine upon disappointed ambition. It is something that rays out of darkness, and inspires nothing but gloom and melancholy. Men in this deplorable state of mind find a comfort in spreading the contagion of their spleen. They find an advantage too; for it is a general popular error to imagine the loudest complainers for the public to be the most anxious for its welfare. If such persons can answer the ends of relief and profit to themselves, they are apt to be careless enough about either the means or the consequences.
The real reason he's drawn such a shocking picture is simply this, and it should lead us to feel sorry for him rather than angry; he feels powerless, and that feeling is unbearable for him. The same sun that brightens everything in nature and lifts everyone's spirits doesn’t shine on unfulfilled ambition. It brings out darkness and inspires nothing but sadness and despair. People in this miserable state often find comfort in spreading their negativity. They also see a benefit; it’s a common misconception that the loudest critics care the most about the public's well-being. If those individuals can benefit themselves, they often don’t care at all about how they achieve it or what the consequences are.
DIFFICULTY AN INSTRUCTOR.
Their purpose everywhere seems to have been to evade and slip aside from DIFFICULTY. This it has been the glory of the great masters in all the arts to confront, and to overcome; and when they had overcome the first difficulty, to turn it into an instrument for new conquests over new difficulties; thus to enable them to extend the empire of their science; and even to push forward, beyond the reach of their original thoughts, the landmarks of the human understanding itself. Difficulty is a severe instructor, set over us by the supreme ordinance of a parental Guardian and Legislator, who knows us better than we know ourselves, as he loves us better too. Pater ipse colendi haud facilem esse viam voluit. He that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill. Our antagonist is our helper. This amicable conflict with difficulty obliges us to an intimate acquaintance with our object, and compels us to consider it in all its relations. It will not suffer us to be superficial. It is the want of nerves of understanding for such a task, it is the degenerate fondness for tricking short-cuts, and little fallacious facilities, that has in so many parts of the world created governments with arbitrary powers. They have created the late arbitrary monarchy of France; they have created the arbitrary republic of Paris. With them defects in wisdom are to be supplied by the plenitude of force. They get nothing by it. Commencing their labours on a principle of sloth, they have the common fortune of slothful men. The difficulties, which they rather had eluded than escaped, meet them again in their course; they multiply and thicken on them; they are involved, through a labyrinth of confused detail, in an industry without limit, and without direction; and, in conclusion, the whole of their work becomes feeble, vicious, and insecure.
Their goal everywhere seems to have been to avoid and sidestep DIFFICULTY. This is the glory of the great masters in all the arts—they confront and overcome challenges; and once they’ve tackled the first obstacle, they transform it into a tool for conquering new challenges, allowing them to expand the reach of their knowledge and even push the boundaries of human understanding beyond their original thoughts. Difficulty is a tough teacher, assigned to us by a higher power that knows us better than we know ourselves and loves us even more. Pater ipse colendi haud facilem esse viam voluit. Those who struggle with us strengthen our resolve and sharpen our skills. Our opponent is our ally. This friendly struggle with difficulty forces us to get to know our subject deeply and compels us to view it in all its aspects. It won’t let us be superficial. It is the lack of understanding needed for such a task and a lazy desire for quick shortcuts and easy ways that has led to the rise of governments with arbitrary powers in many parts of the world. They have created the recent arbitrary monarchy of France and the arbitrary republic of Paris. For them, wisdom is replaced by brute force. They gain nothing from this. Starting their efforts from a place of laziness, they share the common fate of the lazy. The difficulties they tried to avoid instead catch up with them; they multiply and stack up; they get caught up in a maze of confusing details, engaging in endless and directionless effort; and ultimately, their entire work becomes weak, flawed, and unstable.
It is this inability to wrestle with difficulty which has obliged the arbitrary Assembly of France to commence their schemes of reform with abolition and total destruction. But is it in destroying and pulling down that skill is displayed? Your mob can do this as well at least as your assemblies. The shallowest understanding, the rudest hand, is more than equal to that task. Rage and phrensy will pull down more in half an hour than prudence, deliberation, and foresight can build up in a hundred years. The errors and defects of old establishments are visible and palpable. It calls for little ability to point them out; and where absolute power is given, it requires but a word wholly to abolish the vice and the establishment together. The same lazy but restless disposition, which loves sloth and hates quiet, directs these politicians, when they come to work for supplying the place of what they have destroyed. To make everything the reverse of what they have seen, is quite as easy as to destroy. No difficulties occur in what has never been tried. Criticism is almost baffled in discovering the defects of what has not existed; and eager enthusiasm and cheating hope have all the wide field of imagination, in which they may expatiate with little or no opposition.
It’s this struggle to deal with challenges that has forced the French Assembly to start their reform plans with complete abolition and destruction. But is real skill shown in tearing things down? Your crowd can do that just as well as your assemblies. The simplest understanding and the roughest hands can handle that task easily. Anger and frenzy can destroy more in half an hour than careful planning and foresight can build in a hundred years. The flaws and issues of old systems are clear and obvious. It doesn’t take much talent to point them out; and when given absolute power, it only takes a word to completely eliminate both the problem and the system. The same lazy yet restless mindset, which enjoys idleness and despises stillness, drives these politicians when they try to replace what they’ve destroyed. Making everything the opposite of what they’ve seen is just as easy as destroying it. There are no challenges in trying something that hasn’t been done. Critiquing what has never existed is nearly impossible; and eager enthusiasm and false hope have a broad imaginative scope, where they can explore with little to no resistance.
SOVEREIGN JURISDICTIONS.
With regard to the sovereign jurisdictions, I must observe, Sir, that whoever takes a view of this kingdom in a cursory manner will imagine, that he beholds a solid, compacted, uniform system of monarchy; in which all inferior jurisdictions are but as rays diverging from one centre. But on examining it more nearly, you find much eccentricity and confusion. It is not a monarchy in strictness. But, as in the Saxon times this country was an heptarchy, it is now a strange sort of PENTARCHY. It is divided into five several distinct principalities, besides the supreme. There is indeed this difference from the Saxon times, that as in the itinerant exhibitions of the stage, for want of a complete company, they are obliged to throw a variety of parts on their chief performer; so our sovereign condescends himself to act not only the principal, but all the subordinate, parts in the play. He condescends to dissipate the royal character, and to trifle with those light, subordinate, lacquered sceptres in those hands that sustain the ball representing the world, or which wield the trident that commands the ocean. Cross a brook, and you lose the king of England; but you have some comfort in coming again under his majesty, though "shorn of his beams," and no more than prince of Wales. Go to the north, and you find him dwindled to a duke of Lancaster; turn to the west of that north, and he pops upon you in the humble character of earl of Chester. Travel a few miles on, the earl of Chester disappears; and the king surprises you again as count palatine of Lancaster. If you travel beyond Mount Edgecombe, you find him once more in his incognito, and he is duke of Cornwall. So that, quite fatigued and satiated with this dull variety, you are infinitely refreshed when you return to the sphere of his proper splendour, and behold your amiable sovereign in his true, simple, undisguised, native character of majesty.
Regarding the sovereign jurisdictions, I have to point out, Sir, that anyone who takes a quick look at this kingdom might think they see a solid, compact, uniform monarchy where all lesser jurisdictions are like rays coming from one center. However, when you examine it more closely, you'll find a lot of oddities and confusion. It's not a monarchy in the strictest sense. Just like in Saxon times when this country was an heptarchy, it is now a strange kind of PENTARCHY. It’s divided into five distinct principalities besides the supreme one. The difference from Saxon times is that, similar to traveling stage shows that have to give various roles to their main actor due to a lack of a full cast, our sovereign has to play not only the lead but all the supporting roles in the performance. He takes on the royal persona and has to deal with those lighter, lesser roles represented by the scepters in hands that hold the globe symbolizing the world or wield the trident that commands the sea. Cross a brook, and you lose the king of England; but you can find some comfort in coming back under his majesty, even if he’s “shorn of his beams,” and now just the prince of Wales. Head north, and he shrinks down to the duke of Lancaster; move west from there, and he appears before you as the humble earl of Chester. Travel a few more miles, and the earl of Chester vanishes; suddenly, you’re surprised to find him again as count palatine of Lancaster. If you go beyond Mount Edgecombe, he once again is incognito, now as the duke of Cornwall. After being tired and bored by this dull variety, you feel immensely refreshed when you return to the realm of his true splendor and see your charming sovereign in his real, simple, undisguised, native form of majesty.
PRUDERY OF FALSE REFORM.
Every one must remember that the cabal set out with the most astonishing prudery, both moral and political. Those, who in a few months after soused over head and ears into the deepest and dirtiest pits of corruption, cried out violently against the indirect practices in the electing and managing of parliaments, which had formerly prevailed. This marvellous abhorrence which the court had suddenly taken to all influence, was not only circulated in conversation through the kingdom, but pompously announced to the public, with many other extraordinary things, in a pamphlet which had all the appearance of a manifesto preparatory to some considerable enterprise. Throughout it was a satire, though in terms managed and decent enough, on the politics of the former reign. It was indeed written with no small art and address.
Everyone must remember that the group started out with an incredible sense of moral and political purity. Those who just a few months later found themselves deeply entrenched in corruption had loudly condemned the indirect methods used in electing and managing parliaments that had been common before. This remarkable disdain that the court suddenly developed for all forms of influence was not only spread through conversations across the country but also boldly proclaimed to the public, along with many other unusual things, in a pamphlet that looked much like a manifesto for some major initiative. Throughout, it contained satire—though expressed in a careful and respectful manner—aimed at the politics of the previous reign. It was, in fact, written with considerable skill and finesse.
In this piece appeared the first dawning of the new system; there first appeared the idea (then only in speculation) of SEPARATING THE COURT FROM THE ADMINISTRATION; of carrying everything from national connection to personal regards; and of forming a regular party for that purpose, under the name of KING'S MEN.
In this piece, the new system first began to take shape; it was here that the idea (still just a speculation at the time) of SEPARATING THE COURT FROM THE ADMINISTRATION emerged; shifting everything from national ties to personal interests; and establishing a formal group for that purpose, called the KING'S MEN.
To recommend this system to the people, a perspective view of the court, gorgeously painted, and finely illuminated from within, was exhibited to the gaping multitude. Party was to be totally done away, with all its evil works. Corruption was to be cast down from court, as Ate was from heaven. Power was thenceforward to be the chosen residence of public spirit; and no one was to be supposed under any sinister influence, except those who had the misfortune to be in disgrace at court, which was to stand in lieu of all vices and all corruptions. A scheme of perfection to be realized in a monarchy far beyond the visionary republic of Plato. The whole scenery was exactly disposed to captivate those good souls, whose credulous morality is so invaluable a treasure to crafty politicians. Indeed there was wherewithal to charm everybody, except those few who are not much pleased with professions of supernatural virtue, who know of what stuff such professions are made, for what purposes they are designed, and in what they are sure constantly to end. Many innocent gentlemen, who had been talking prose all their lives without knowing anything of the matter, began at last to open their eyes upon their own merits, and to attribute their not having been lords of the treasury and lords of trade many years before, merely to the prevalence of party, and to the ministerial power, which had frustrated the good intentions of the court in favour of their abilities. Now was the time to unlock the sealed fountain of royal bounty, which had been infamously monopolized and huckstered, and to let it flow at large upon the whole people. The time was come to restore royalty to its original splendour.
To promote this system to the public, a stunning view of the court, beautifully painted and brightly lit from within, was showcased to the amazed crowd. Political parties were to be completely eliminated along with all their harmful effects. Corruption was to be driven out of the court, just like Ate was cast down from heaven. From now on, power would be the chosen home of public spirit; no one would be seen as having any ulterior motives except those unfortunate enough to be out of favor at court, which was to represent all vices and corruptions. It was a vision of perfection to be achieved in a monarchy, far surpassing Plato's imagined republic. The entire scenario was carefully arranged to captivate those innocent souls whose gullible morality is a priceless asset to manipulative politicians. In fact, there was enough to enchant everyone, except for a few who aren’t easily swayed by claims of extraordinary virtue; they know exactly what these claims are made of, what purposes they serve, and how they typically end. Many naïve gentlemen, who had unknowingly been speaking prose their whole lives, finally began to recognize their own worth and blamed their lack of positions like lords of the treasury and lords of trade on the dominance of political parties and the ministerial power that had derailed the court's good intentions toward their talents. Now was the time to unlock the long-hidden fountain of royal generosity, which had been disgracefully controlled and traded, and to allow it to flow freely to the entire populace. The moment had arrived to restore royalty to its former glory.
EXAGGERATION.
If a few puny libellers, acting under a knot of factious politicians, without virtue, parts, or character (such they are constantly represented by these gentlemen), are sufficient to excite this disturbance, very perverse must be the disposition of that people amongst whom such a disturbance can be excited by such means. It is besides no small aggravation of the public misfortune, that the disease, on this hypothesis, appears to be without remedy. If the wealth of the nation be the cause of its turbulence, I imagine it is not proposed to introduce poverty, as a constable to keep the peace. If our dominions abroad are the roots which feed all this rank luxuriance of sedition, it is not intended to cut them off in order to famish the fruit. If our liberty has enfeebled the executive power, there is no design, I hope, to call in the aid of despotism, to fill up the deficiencies of law. Whatever may be intended, these things are not yet professed. We seem therefore to be driven to absolute despair: for we have no other materials to work upon but those out of which God has been pleased to form the inhabitants of this island. If these be radically and essentially vicious, all that can be said is, that those men are very unhappy, to whose fortune or duty it falls to administer the affairs of this untoward people. I hear it indeed sometimes asserted, that a steady perseverance in the present measures, and a rigorous punishment of those who oppose them, will in course of time infallibly put an end to these disorders. But this, in my opinion, is said without much observation of our present disposition, and without any knowledge at all of the general nature of mankind. If the matter of which this nation is composed be so very fermentable as these gentlemen describe it, leaven never will be wanting to work it up, as long as discontent, revenge, and ambition, have existence in the world. Particular punishments are the cure for accidental distempers in the state; they inflame rather than allay those heats which arise from the settled mismanagement of the government, or from a natural indisposition in the people. It is of the utmost moment not to make mistakes in the use of strong measures; and firmness is then only a virtue when it accompanies the most perfect wisdom. In truth, inconstancy is a sort of natural corrective of folly and ignorance.
If a few weak critics, working under a group of self-serving politicians, who are often depicted as having no integrity, integrity, or character, can create this kind of unrest, then the mindset of the people who can be stirred up by such means must be quite flawed. Additionally, it's a significant aggravation of the public's misfortune that, based on this assumption, the problem seems to be without a solution. If the nation's wealth is causing its turmoil, I assume nobody is suggesting we should bring in poverty to restore order. If our overseas territories are the source of all this rampant dissent, cutting them off to starve the problem is not the goal. If our freedom has weakened the government's authority, I hope there's no plan to resort to tyranny to compensate for the shortcomings of the law. Regardless of intentions, these haven't been stated yet. We therefore seem to be pushed toward total despair: our only resources to work with are those from which God created the people of this island. If these are fundamentally and inherently flawed, all one can say is that those responsible for managing this troubled population are quite unfortunate. I do hear occasionally that sticking to the current methods and harshly punishing dissenters will eventually put a stop to these disruptions. But, in my view, that perspective ignores our current state and overlooks human nature. If this nation is as easily stirred up as these individuals claim, there will always be plenty of discontent, revenge, and ambition to fuel it. Specific punishments might address temporary issues in governance; they tend to inflame rather than calm the passion that comes from persistent mismanagement or from the people's inherent disposition. It's crucial not to misjudge the application of strict measures; firmness is only a virtue when paired with sound judgment. In reality, inconsistency serves as a natural check on foolishness and ignorance.
TACTICS OF CABAL.
It is a law of nature, that whoever is necessary to what we have made our object, is sure, in some way, or in some time or other, to become our master. All this, however, is submitted to, in order to avoid that monstrous evil of governing in concurrence with the opinion of the people. For it seems to be laid down as a maxim, that a king has some sort of interest in giving uneasiness to his subjects: that all who are pleasing to them, are to be of course disagreeable to him: that as soon as the persons who are odious at court are known to be odious to the people, it is snatched at as a lucky occasion of showering down upon them all kinds of emoluments and honours. None are considered as well-wishers to the crown, but those who advised to some unpopular course of action; none capable of serving it, but those who are obliged to call at every instant upon all its power for the safety of their lives. None are supposed to be fit priests in the temple of government, but the persons who are compelled to fly into it for sanctuary. Such is the effect of this refined project; such is ever the result of all the contrivances, which are used to free men from the servitude of their reason and from the necessity of ordering their affairs according to their evident interests. These contrivances oblige them to run into a real and ruinous servitude, in order to avoid a supposed restraint that might be attended with advantage.
It’s a natural law that whoever is essential to what we’ve decided is our goal will eventually become our master, in some way or at some point. However, this is endured to avoid the terrible evil of governing alongside the opinions of the people. It seems to be a rule that a king has a certain interest in making his subjects uncomfortable: that anyone who pleases them is automatically displeasing to him. As soon as the people who are disliked at court are seen as disliked by the public, it’s eagerly taken as a chance to shower them with all kinds of rewards and honors. Only those who suggest unpopular actions are seen as loyal to the crown; only those who constantly have to call upon its power for their safety are considered capable of serving it. Only those who are forced to seek refuge in the temple of government are thought to be suitable priests there. Such is the effect of this complex scheme; such is always the result of the tactics used to free people from the bondage of their reason and from having to manage their affairs according to their clear interests. These tactics push them into a real and damaging servitude to avoid a supposed restriction that might actually be beneficial.
GOVERNMENT, RELATIVE, NOT ABSOLUTE.
I never govern myself—no rational man ever did govern himself—by abstractions and universals. I do not put abstract ideas wholly out of any question, because I well know, that under that name I should dismiss principles; and that without the guide and light of sound, well-understood principles, all reasonings in politics, as in everything else, would be only a confused jumble of particular facts and details, without the means of drawing out any sort of theoretical or practical conclusion. A statesman differs from a professor in an university: the latter has only the general view of society; the former—the statesmen—has a number of circumstances to combine with those general ideas, and to take into his consideration. Circumstances are infinite, are infinitely combined; are variable and transient; he who does not take them into consideration is not erroneous, but stark mad—dat operam ut cum ratione insaniat—he is metaphysically mad. A statesman, never losing sight of principles, is to be guided by circumstances; and judging contrary to the exigencies of the moment he may ruin his country for ever.
I never manage my own affairs—no rational person ever truly manages themselves—using just abstract concepts and general ideas. I don’t completely disregard abstract ideas because I know that would mean ignoring principles; without clear, well-understood principles to guide us, all reasoning in politics, as in everything else, would just be a messy collection of specific facts and details, without the ability to draw any theoretical or practical conclusions. A statesman is different from a university professor: the latter only has a broad view of society, while the former— the statesman—has to blend many circumstances with those general ideas and take them into account. Circumstances are countless, can be combined in endless ways, and are ever-changing; anyone who ignores them isn’t just wrong, they’re completely out of touch—dat operam ut cum ratione insaniat—they are metaphysically insane. A statesman, while always keeping principles in mind, must be guided by circumstances; if he judges against the needs of the moment, he could ruin his country forever.
I go on this ground, that government, representing the society, has a general superintending control over all the actions, and over all the publicly propagated doctrines of men, without which it never could provide adequately for all the wants of society; but then it is to use this power with an equitable discretion, the only bond of sovereign authority. For it is not, perhaps, so much by the assumption of unlawful powers, as by the unwise or unwarrantable use of those which are most legal, that governments oppose their true end and object; for there is such a thing as tyranny as well as usurpation. You can hardly state to me a case, to which legislature is the most confessedly competent, in which, if the rules of benignity and prudence are not observed, the most mischievous and oppressive things may not be done. So that after all, it is a moral and virtuous discretion, and not any abstract theory of right, which keeps governments faithful to their ends. Crude, unconnected truths are in the world of practice what falsehoods are in theory.
I believe that the government, as a representation of society, has a general oversight over all actions and publicly shared beliefs of individuals; without this, it cannot adequately meet the needs of society. However, this power must be exercised with fairness and wisdom, which is the essential principle of sovereign authority. It’s not just about the illegal assumption of power, but also about the reckless or unjust use of legal powers that can lead governments away from their true purpose; tyranny exists alongside usurpation. It’s hard to find a situation where the legislature is clearly the best authority, where failing to follow principles of kindness and prudence could not result in harmful and oppressive actions. Ultimately, it’s a moral and virtuous discretion, not just a theoretical understanding of rights, that ensures governments remain true to their purposes. Disconnected truths in practice are like falsehoods in theory.
A reasonable, prudent, provident, and moderate coercion may be a means of preventing acts of extreme ferocity and rigour; for by propagating excessive and extravagant doctrines, such extravagant disorders take place, as require the most perilous and fierce corrections to oppose them. It is not morally true, that we are bound to establish in every country that form of religion which in OUR minds is most agreeable to truth, and conduces most to the eternal happiness of mankind. In the same manner it is not true that we are, against the conviction of our own judgment, to establish a system of opinions and practises directly contrary to those ends, only because some majority of the people, told by the head, may prefer it. No conscientious man would willingly establish what he knew to be false and mischievous in religion, or in anything else. No wise man, on the contrary, would tyrannically set up his own sense so as to reprobate that of the great prevailing body of the community, and pay no regard to the established opinions and prejudices of mankind or refuse to them the means of securing a religious instruction suitable to these prejudices. A great deal depends on the state in which you find men.
A reasonable, careful, and moderate use of force can help prevent acts of extreme cruelty and harshness; because when overly extreme and outrageous beliefs spread, they can lead to serious chaos that requires tough corrections to counteract them. It's not morally correct that we should impose on every country the form of religion that seems most true to us and that we believe would promote the overall happiness of humanity. Similarly, it's not right to force a system of beliefs and practices that contradict those goals simply because a majority of people, led by authority, might choose it. No honest person would willingly promote what they know to be false and harmful in religion or anything else. On the other hand, no wise person would impose their own views to completely dismiss the majority opinion of the community, ignoring the established beliefs and biases of society or deny them the means to secure religious instruction that aligns with those biases. A lot depends on the circumstances in which you find people.
GENERAL VIEWS.
The foundations on which obedience to governments is founded, are not to be constantly discussed. That we are here, supposes the discussion already made and the dispute settled. We must assume the rights of what represents the public to control the individual, to make his will and his acts to submit to their will, until some intolerable grievance shall make us know that it does not answer its end, and will submit neither to reformation nor restraint. Otherwise we should dispute all the points of morality before we can punish a murderer, robber, and adulterer; we should analyze all society. Dangers by being despised grow great; so they do by absurd provision against them. Stulti est dixisse non putaram. Whether an early discovery of evil designs, an early declaration, and an early precaution against them, be more wise than to stifle all inquiry about them, for fear they should declare themselves more early than otherwise they would, and therefore precipitate the evil—all this depends on the reality of the danger. Is it only an unbookish jealousy, as Shakspeare calls it? It is a question of fact. Does a design against the constitution of this country exist? If it does, and if it is carried on with increasing vigour and activity by a restless faction, and if it receives countenance by the most ardent and enthusiastic applauses of its object, in the great council of this kingdom, by men of the first parts, which this kingdom produces, perhaps by the first it has ever produced, can I think that there is no danger? If there be danger, must there be no precaution at all against it? If you ask whether I think the danger urgent and immediate, I answer, thank God, I do not. The body of the people is yet sound, the constitution is in their hearts, while wicked men are endeavouring to put another into their heads. But if I see the very same beginnings, which have commonly ended in great calamities, I ought to act as if they might produce the very same effects. Early and provident fear is the mother of safety; because in that state of things the mind is firm and collected, and the judgment unembarrassed. But when the fear, and the evil feared, come on together, and press at once upon us, deliberation itself is ruinous, which saves upon all other occasions; because when perils are instant, it delays decision; the man is in a flutter, and in a hurry, and his judgment is gone, as the judgment of the deposed king of France and his ministers was gone, if the latter did not premeditately betray him. He was just come from his usual amusement of hunting, when the head of the column of treason and assassination was arrived at his house. Let not the king, let not the prince of Wales, be surprised in this manner. Let not both houses of parliament be led in triumph along with him, and have law dictated to them by the constitutional, the revolution, and the Unitarian societies. These insect reptiles, whilst they go on only caballing and toasting, only fill us with disgust; if they get above their natural size, and increase the quantity, whilst they keep the quality, of their venom, they become objects of the greatest terror. A spider in his natural size is only a spider, ugly and loathsome; and his flimsy net is only fit for catching flies. But, good God! suppose a spider as large as an ox, and that he spread cables about us, all the wilds of Africa would not produce anything so dreadful—
The reasons for obeying governments don’t need constant debate. The fact that we’re here implies that the discussion has already happened and the argument settled. We have to accept that what represents the public has the right to control individuals, forcing their wills and actions to submit, until something so intolerable makes us realize that it’s not fulfilling its purpose and will not accept reform or limitation. Otherwise, we would have to argue every moral issue before punishing a murderer, robber, or adulterer; we’d need to analyze society as a whole. Dangers become significant when ignored; they also grow when absurd measures are taken against them. It’s foolish to say that I never expected this. Whether it’s wiser to spot and declare evil intentions early and take precautions against them, rather than suppressing all inquiries out of fear that they might reveal themselves sooner and escalate the danger—this all depends on the real nature of the threat. Is it simply unfounded jealousy, as Shakespeare puts it? That’s a factual question. Does a threat to this country’s constitution exist? If it does, and if it’s being pursued with increasing energy by a restless group, and if it has the enthusiastic approval from influential figures in this kingdom’s parliament—perhaps the most significant figures it has ever produced—can I truly believe that there’s no risk? If there’s a risk, should we take no precautions against it at all? If you ask whether I think the danger is urgent and immediate, I’m grateful to say that I don’t. The majority of the people are still solid, the constitution is in their hearts, even while wicked individuals are trying to instill another system in their minds. But if I see the same early signs that usually lead to great disasters, I should act as if they might produce the same outcomes. Early and cautious fear leads to safety because, in those moments, the mind is steady and focused, and judgment is clear. But when fear and the feared evil come together and press upon us at once, deliberation becomes disastrous, which normally provides saving grace; because when threats are immediate, it delays decision-making; the person becomes flustered and rushed, and their judgment falters, just like the judgment of the deposed king of France and his ministers did, unless they deliberately betrayed him. He had just returned from his usual hunting when the head of the treasonous column arrived at his home. Let’s not allow the king or the prince of Wales to be caught off guard like this. Let’s not let both houses of parliament be taken along with him, having laws dictated to them by constitutional, revolutionary, and Unitarian groups. These small factions, while they keep to gossip and celebrations, only disgust us; if they grow beyond their natural size, increasing in number while maintaining their venom, they become extremely terrifying. A spider at its normal size is just a spider, ugly and disgusting, and its flimsy web is only good for catching flies. But, God forbid! Imagine a spider the size of an ox, spreading webs around us; nothing in the wilds of Africa could rival such a nightmare.
"Quale portentum neque militaris
Daunia in latis alit esculetis,
Nec Jubae tellus generat leonum
Arida nutrix."
"Such a marvel is neither nourished by the wide oaks of Daunia, nor does the dry land of Juba give birth to lions, the barren nurse."
Think of them, who dare menace in the way they do in their present state, what would they do if they had power commensurate to their malice. God forbid I ever should have a despotic master; but if I must, my choice is made. I will have Louis XVI. rather than Monsieur Bailly, or Brissot, or Chabot; rather George III., or George IV., than Dr. Priestley or Dr. Kippis, persons who would not load a tyrannous power by the poisoned taunts of a vulgar, low-bred insolence. I hope we have still spirit enough to keep us from the one or the other. The contumelies of tyranny are the worst parts of it.
Think about those who dare to threaten like they do now; what would they do if they had power equal to their hate? God forbid I ever have a tyrannical master; but if I must, I've made my choice. I would prefer Louis XVI over Monsieur Bailly, Brissot, or Chabot; I'd rather have George III or George IV than Dr. Priestley or Dr. Kippis, people who wouldn't undermine a cruel power with the venomous insults of vulgar, low-class arrogance. I hope we still have enough spirit to prevent this from happening. The insults of tyranny are the worst aspects of it.
MAGNITUDE IN BUILDING.
To the sublime in building, greatness of dimension seems requisite; for on a few parts, and those small, the imagination cannot rise to any idea of infinity. No greatness in the manner can effectually compensate for the want of proper dimensions. There is no danger of drawing men into extravagant designs by this rule; it carries its own caution along with it. Because too great a length in buildings destroys the purpose of greatness, which it was intended to promote; the perspective will lessen it in height as it gains in length, and will bring it at last to a point; turning the whole figure into a sort of triangle, the poorest in its effect of almost any figure that can be presented to the eye. I have ever observed, that colonnades and avenues of trees of a moderate length were, without comparison, far grander than when they were suffered to run to immense distances. A true artist should put a generous deceit on the spectators, and effect the noblest designs by easy methods. Designs that are vast only by their dimensions, are always the sign of a common and low imagination. No work of art can be great, but as it deceives; to be otherwise is the prerogative of nature only. A good eye will fix the medium betwixt an excessive length or height (for the same objection lies against both), and a short or broken quantity: and perhaps it might be ascertained to a tolerable degree of exactness, if it was my purpose to descend far into the particulars of any art.
To achieve greatness in architecture, it’s essential to have significant dimensions; with only a few small parts, our imagination can't reach any concept of infinity. No level of style can truly make up for inadequate size. This principle naturally prevents people from getting carried away with extravagant designs. That's because excessive length in buildings undermines their intended grandeur; as length increases, the overall height diminishes, eventually reducing it to a point, turning the entire shape into a sort of triangle, which is one of the least impressive forms visually. I've always noticed that colonnades and tree-lined paths of moderate length are far more magnificent than those that stretch on for miles. A true artist should skillfully deceive the viewers and achieve the most remarkable designs with simple techniques. Designs that are impressive solely due to their sheer size usually indicate a mediocre and shallow imagination. No artwork can be truly great unless it creates an illusion; only nature holds the right for things to exist without deception. A discerning eye will find the right balance between excessive length or height (as the same issue applies to both) and a short or fragmented form: and perhaps this could be determined quite accurately if my intention was to delve deeply into the specifics of any art.
SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE.
The second branch of the social passions is that which administers to SOCIETY IN GENERAL. With regard to this, I observe, that society, merely as society, without any particular heightenings, gives us no positive pleasure in the enjoyment; but absolute and entire SOLITUDE, that is, the total and perpetual exclusion from all society, is as great a positive pain as can almost be conceived. Therefore in the balance between the pleasure of general SOCIETY, and the pain of absolute solitude, PAIN is the predominant idea. But the pleasure of any particular social enjoyment outweighs very considerably the uneasiness caused by the want of that particular enjoyment; so that the strongest sensations relative to the habitudes of PARTICULAR SOCIETY are sensations of pleasure. Good company, lively conversations, and the endearments of friendship, fill the mind with great pleasure; a temporary solitude, on the other hand, is itself agreeable. This may perhaps prove that we are creatures designed for contemplation as well as action; since solitude as well as society has its pleasures; as from the former observation we may discern, that an entire life of solitude contradicts the purposes of our being, since death itself is scarcely an idea of more terror.
The second branch of social emotions refers to those that relate to SOCIETY IN GENERAL. In this regard, I notice that society, in and of itself, without any particular enhancements, doesn’t provide us with much pleasure. However, complete and total SOLITUDE—essentially being entirely cut off from all society—is a profound source of pain that’s hard to imagine. Therefore, when weighing the enjoyment of general SOCIETY against the pain of absolute solitude, PAIN clearly stands out as the stronger concept. On the other hand, the joy of specific social interactions significantly outweighs the discomfort from missing out on those particular experiences. As a result, the most intense feelings associated with the customs of PARTICULAR SOCIETY are feelings of pleasure. Great company, engaging conversations, and the warmth of friendship bring immense joy; meanwhile, temporary solitude can be quite pleasant. This might suggest that we are beings meant for both reflection and action, as solitude has its own pleasures just like society does. From this observation, we can infer that a life entirely spent in solitude contradicts our purpose, as the thought of death itself is hardly more frightening.
EAST-INDIA BILL AND COMPANY.
I therefore freely admit to the East-India their claim to exclude their fellow-subjects from the commerce of half the globe. I admit their claim to administer an annual territorial revenue of seven millions sterling; to command an army of sixty thousand men; and to dispose (under the control of a sovereign, imperial discretion, and with the due observance of the natural and local law) of the lives and fortunes of thirty millions of their fellow-creatures. All this they possess by charter, and by acts of parliament (in my opinion), without a shadow of controversy.
I completely acknowledge the East India Company's right to keep their fellow subjects out of trade with half the world. I recognize their claim to manage an annual territorial revenue of seven million pounds; to lead an army of sixty thousand soldiers; and to control (under the authority of a sovereign, imperial discretion, and with proper adherence to natural and local laws) the lives and wealth of thirty million of their fellow beings. They hold all of this by charter and through acts of parliament (in my view), without any doubt.
Those who carry the rights and claims of the company the furthest do not contend for more than this; and all this I freely grant. But granting all this, they must grant to me, in my turn, that all political power which is set over men, and that all privilege claimed or exercised in exclusion of them, being wholly artificial, and for so much a derogation from the natural quality of mankind at large, ought to be some way or other exercised ultimately for their benefit.
Those who advocate for the rights and claims of the company the most do not argue for anything beyond this; and I completely accept that. But in accepting all this, they must also acknowledge that all political power imposed on people, and all privileges claimed or exercised that exclude them, are entirely artificial, and therefore a deviation from the natural state of humanity as a whole, should ultimately be exercised for their benefit in some way.
If this is true with regard to every species of political dominion, and every description of commercial privilege, none of which can be original, self-derived rights, or grants for the mere private benefit of the holders, then such rights, or privileges, or whatever else you choose to call them, are all in the strictest sense a TRUST; and it is of the very essence of every trust to be rendered ACCOUNTABLE; and even totally to CEASE, when it substantially varies from the purposes for which alone it could have a lawful existence.
If this applies to every type of political power and every kind of commercial privilege, none of which can be original, self-derived rights, or grants solely for the private benefit of the holders, then these rights, privileges, or whatever else you want to call them, are all, in the strictest sense, a TRUST; and it is essential for every trust to be held ACCOUNTABLE; and it must even completely CEASE when it significantly deviates from the purposes for which it could lawfully exist.
This I conceive, Sir, to be true of trusts of power vested in the highest hands, and of such as seem to hold of no human creature. But about the application of this principle to subordinate, DERIVATIVE trusts, I do not see how a controversy can be maintained. To whom then would I make the East-India Company accountable? Why, to parliament, to be sure; to parliament, from which their trust was derived; to parliament, which alone is capable of comprehending the magnitude of its object, and its abuse; and alone capable of an effectual legislative remedy. The very charter, which is held out to exclude parliament from correcting malversation with regard to the high trust vested in the company, is the very thing which at once gives a title and imposes on us a duty to interfere with effect, wherever power and authority originating from ourselves are perverted from their purposes, and become instruments of wrong and violence. If parliament, Sir, had nothing to do with this charter, we might have some sort of Epicurean excuse to stand aloof, indifferent spectators of what passes in the company's name in India and in London. But if we are the very cause of the evil, we are in a special manner engaged to the redress; and for us passively to bear with oppressions committed under the sanction of our own authority, is in truth and reason for this house to be an active accomplice in the abuse.
I believe, Sir, that this is true for trusts of power given to the highest authorities, and for those trusts that seem to be held by no human being. However, when it comes to applying this principle to subordinate, DERIVATIVE trusts, I don't see how a debate can even exist. So, who should I hold the East India Company accountable to? Obviously, to parliament; to parliament, from which their trust originated; to parliament, which alone understands the scale of the situation and its misuse; and which can provide an effective legislative solution. The very charter that claims to prevent parliament from correcting misconduct concerning the important trust granted to the company is, in fact, what gives us both the right and the obligation to intervene effectively whenever the power and authority that comes from us are misused and turned into tools of wrongdoing and violence. If parliament, Sir, had nothing to do with this charter, we might have some sort of Epicurean excuse to remain distant, indifferent observers of what happens in the company's name in India and in London. But since we are the root cause of the problem, we are especially bound to correct it; and for us to passively tolerate the oppression happening under our own authority is essentially to be active accomplices in the abuse.
That the power, notoriously, grossly abused, has been bought from us is very certain. But this circumstance, which is urged against the bill, becomes an additional motive for our interference; lest we should be thought to have sold the blood of millions of men, for the base consideration of money. We sold, I admit, all that we had to sell; that is, our authority, not our control. We had not a right to make a market of our duties.
That the power has been obviously and seriously misused after being bought from us is definitely true. However, this issue, which is brought up against the bill, actually gives us more reason to step in; we don’t want to be seen as having traded the lives of millions of people for the cheap offer of money. I admit that we sold everything we could sell; that is, our authority, not our control. We had no right to turn our responsibilities into a business deal.
I ground myself therefore on this principle—that if the abuse is proved, the contract is broken, and we re-enter into all our rights; that is, into the exercise of all our duties. Our own authority is indeed as much a trust originally, as the company's authority is a trust derivatively; and it is the use we make of the resumed power that must justify or condemn us in the resumption of it. When we have perfected the plan laid before us by the right honourable mover, the world will then see what it is we destroy, and what it is we create. By that test we stand or fall; and by that test I trust that it will be found in the issue, that we are going to supersede a charter abused to the full extent of all the powers which it could abuse, and exercised in the plenitude of despotism, tyranny, and corruption; and that in one and the same plan, we provide a real chartered security for the RIGHTS OF MEN, cruelly violated under that charter.
I base my stance on this principle—that if the abuse is proven, the contract is broken, and we regain all our rights; that is, we can fully exercise all our responsibilities. Our authority is as much a trust by origin as the company's authority is a derivative trust; and it is our use of the regained power that must justify or condemn us in taking it back. Once we finalize the plan proposed by the honorable mover, the world will then see what we are destroying and what we are creating. By that measure, we will stand or fall; and I believe that in the end, it will be clear that we are going to replace a charter that has been abused to its full extent, exercised with complete despotism, tyranny, and corruption; and that through this single plan, we will provide a genuine chartered security for the RIGHTS OF MEN, which have been cruelly violated under that charter.
This bill, and those connected with it, are intended to form the magna charta of Hindostan. Whatever the treaty of Westphalia is to the liberty of the princes and free cities of the empire, and to the three religions there professed; whatever the great charter, the statute of tallege, the petition of right, and the declaration of right, are to Great Britain, these bills are to the people of India. Of this benefit, I am certain, their condition is capable; and when I know that they are capable of more, my vote shall most assuredly be for our giving to the full extent of their capacity of receiving; and no charter of dominion shall stand as a bar in my way to their charter of safety and protection.
This bill, along with others related to it, is meant to be the foundational document for India. Just as the Treaty of Westphalia represents the freedom of the princes and free cities in the empire and the three religions practiced there, the great charter, the statute of limitations, the petition of right, and the declaration of rights represent significant milestones for Great Britain; these bills serve a similar purpose for the people of India. I am confident they deserve this benefit, and knowing they are capable of receiving even more, I will definitely vote in favor of providing them with the full extent of what they can handle. No document of authority will prevent me from supporting their rights to safety and protection.
The strong admission I have made of the company's rights (I am conscious of it) binds me to do a great deal. I do not presume to condemn those who argue a priori, against the propriety of leaving such extensive political powers in the hands of a company of merchants. I know much is, and much more may be, said against such a system. But, with my particular ideas and sentiments, I cannot go that way to work. I feel an insuperable reluctance in giving my hand to destroy any established institution of government, upon a theory, however plausible it may be. My experience in life teaches me nothing clear upon the subject. I have known merchants with the sentiments and the abilities of great statesmen; and I have seen persons in the rank of statesmen, with the conceptions and characters of pedlars. Indeed, my observation has furnished me with nothing that is to be found in any habits of life or education, which tends wholly to disqualify men for the functions of government, but that by which the power of exercising those functions is very frequently obtained, I mean a spirit and habits of low cabal and intrigue; which I have never, in one instance, seen united with a capacity for sound and manly policy. To justify us in taking the administration of their affairs out of the hands of the East-India Company, on my principles, I must see several conditions. 1st. The object affected by the abuse should be great and important. 2nd. The abuse affecting this great object ought to be a great abuse. 3rd. It ought to be habitual, and not accidental. 4th. It ought to be utterly incurable in the body as it now stands constituted. All this ought to be made as visible to me as the light of the sun, before I should strike off an atom of their charter.
The strong acknowledgment I have made of the company's rights (I’m aware of it) commits me to a lot. I don’t intend to criticize those who argue beforehand against leaving extensive political powers in the hands of a group of merchants. I know there are many arguments against such a system, and many more could be made. However, with my own views and feelings, I cannot approach it that way. I feel a strong reluctance to support the destruction of any established government institution based on a theory, no matter how convincing it may seem. My life experience doesn’t provide any clear insights on the subject. I’ve known merchants with the mindset and skills of great statesmen, and I’ve seen people in the position of statesmen who have the mindset and character of peddlers. In fact, my observations haven’t shown me anything from any lifestyle or education that completely disqualifies individuals for government roles, except for what often leads to gaining the power to hold those roles, which is a tendency towards low intrigue and scheming; I have never seen that associated with the ability to pursue sound and principled policies. To justify taking the administration of their affairs away from the East India Company, based on my principles, I need to see several conditions. 1st. The issue affected by the abuse should be significant and important. 2nd. The abuse impacting this significant issue should be a serious abuse. 3rd. It should be habitual, not accidental. 4th. It should be completely incurable in its current form. All of this needs to be as clear to me as the sunlight before I would remove even a small part of their charter.
PARLIAMENTS AND ELECTIONS.
All are agreed, that parliaments should not be perpetual; the only question is, what is the most convenient time for their duration? On which there are three opinions. We are agreed, too, that the term ought not to be chosen most likely in its operation to spread corruption, and to augment the already overgrown influence of the Crown. On these principles I mean to debate the question. It is easy to pretend a zeal for liberty. Those, who think themselves not likely to be encumbered with the performance of their promises, either from their known inability, or total indifference about the performance, never fail to entertain the most lofty ideas. They are certainly the most specious, and they cost them neither reflection to frame, nor pains to modify, nor management to support. The task is of another nature to those, who mean to promise nothing that it is not in their intention, or may possibly be in their power, to perform; to those, who are bound and principled no more to delude the understandings than to violate the liberty of their fellow-subjects. Faithful watchmen we ought to be over the rights and privileges of the people. But our duty, if we are qualified for it as we ought, is to give them information, and not to receive it from them; we are not to go to school to them to learn the principles of law and government. In doing so, we should not dutifully serve, but we should basely and scandalously betray, the people, who are not capable of this service by nature, nor in any instance called to it by the constitution. I reverentially look up to the opinion of the people, and with an awe that is almost superstitious. I should be ashamed to show my face before them, if I changed my ground, as they cried up or cried down men, or things, or opinions; if I wavered and shifted about with every change, and joined in it, or opposed, as best answered any low interest or passion; if I held them up hopes, which I knew I never intended, or promised what I well knew I could not perform. Of all these things they are perfect sovereign judges, without appeal; but as to the detail of particular measures, or to any general schemes of policy, they have neither enough of speculation in the closet, nor of experience in business, to decide upon it. They can well see whether we are tools of a court, or their honest servants. Of that they can well judge; and I wish, that they always exercised their judgment; but of the particular merits of a measure I have other standards.**** That the frequency of elections proposed by this bill has a tendency to increase the power and consideration of the electors, not lessen corruptibility, I do most readily allow; so far it is desirable; this is what it has, I will tell you now what it has not: 1st. It has no sort of tendency to increase their integrity and public spirit, unless an increase of power has an operation upon voters in elections, that it has in no other situation in the world, and upon no other part of mankind. 2nd. This bill has no tendency to limit the quantity of influence in the Crown, to render its operation more difficult, or to counteract that operation, which it cannot prevent, in any way whatsoever. It has its full weight, its full range, and its uncontrolled operation on the electors exactly as it had before. 3rd. Nor, thirdly, does it abate the interest or inclination of ministers to apply that influence to the electors: on the contrary, it renders it much more necessary to them, if they seek to have a majority in parliament to increase the means of that influence, and redouble their diligence, and to sharpen dexterity in the application. The whole effect of the bill is therefore the removing the application of some part of the influence from the elected to the electors, and further to strengthen and extend a court interest already great and powerful in boroughs; here to fix their magazines and places of arms, and thus to make them the principal, not the secondary theatre of their manoeuvres for securing a determined majority in parliament. I believe nobody will deny, that the electors are corruptible. They are men; it is saying nothing worse of them; many of them are but ill informed in their minds, many feeble in their circumstances, easily over-reached, easily seduced. If they are many, the wages of corruption are the lower; and would to God it were not rather a contemptible and hypocritical adulation than a charitable sentiment to say, that there is already no debauchery, no corruption, no bribery, no perjury, no blind fury, and interested faction among the electors in many parts of this kingdom: nor is it surprising, or at all blamable, in that class of private men, when they see their neighbours aggrandised, and themselves poor and virtuous without that eclat or dignity, which attends men in higher situations.
Everyone agrees that parliaments shouldn't last forever; the only question is how long they should last. There are three different opinions on this. We're also in agreement that the term shouldn’t be set in a way that promotes corruption or increases the already excessive power of the Crown. I plan to discuss this based on these principles. It's easy to pretend to care about liberty. Those who think they won’t be burdened by their promises—either because they know they can't fulfill them or because they simply don’t care—often have the most grand ideas. These thoughts are certainly appealing and don’t require much effort to come up with, adjust, or maintain. However, it’s a different task for those who intend to make promises they genuinely plan to keep or that lie within their capability to fulfill; for those who are committed to not misleading the public or violating the freedom of their fellow citizens. We should be vigilant guardians of the people’s rights and privileges. But our duty, if we’re truly qualified, is to provide them with information, not to learn from them. We shouldn’t be looking to them for guidance on the principles of law and government. Doing so would mean we’re not serving them well at all; instead, we’d be dreadfully betraying people who, by nature, aren’t equipped for this role nor called to it by the constitution. I respectfully hold the opinion of the people in high regard, almost with a sense of reverence. I would feel ashamed to appear before them if I changed my stance simply because popular opinion shifted, if I wavered and flipped my position with every change, or joined in or opposed whatever served a selfish interest or passion; if I raised their hopes with promises I never intended to keep, or guaranteed things I knew I couldn’t fulfill. They are the ultimate judges of these matters, with no one to appeal to; however, when it comes to the details of specific actions or any overall political strategies, they don’t have enough understanding from theory or enough experience in practice to make sound decisions. They can certainly tell whether we are mere tools of the court or genuinely serving them. I wish they would always use their judgment in these matters; but for the specifics of any proposal, I have other criteria. The increased frequency of elections suggested by this bill does boost the power and influence of voters, and I fully acknowledge this; thus, it is a positive aspect. However, let me tell you what it does not accomplish: 1st. It does not enhance their integrity or public spirit, unless it increases their power in a way that differs from every other situation in the world and among all other people. 2nd. This bill does not limit the quantity of influence held by the Crown, nor does it make that influence harder to exert or counteract in any way. The influence remains as strong, extensive, and unchecked over the voters as it did before. 3rd. Also, it doesn’t lessen ministers' interest in using that influence on the voters; on the contrary, it makes it even more necessary for them to strengthen their means of exerting that influence to secure a majority in parliament and enhance their efforts and skills in applying it. The overall effect of the bill is merely to shift some of the influence from the elected officials back to the voters, and further bolster an already powerful court interest in boroughs; it serves to establish their strongholds and bases, making the voters the primary stage for their maneuvers to secure a decided majority in parliament. I think no one will argue that voters can be corrupt. They are human, and that’s not saying anything worse about them; many are poorly informed, many face tough situations, easily manipulated, and easily tempted. When there are many, the price of corruption drops; and it would be charitable to say that there is no debauchery, no corruption, no bribery, no perjury, no reckless violence, and no self-serving factions among voters in many areas of this kingdom. It’s not surprising, nor can it be blamed on individuals in that social class, when they see their neighbors rising in status while they remain poor and virtuous, lacking the flair or dignity that comes with higher positions.
But admit it were true, that the great mass of the electors were too vast an object for court influence to grasp, or extend to, and that in despair they must abandon it; he must be very ignorant of the state of every popular interest, who does not know, that in all the corporations, all the open boroughs, indeed in every district of the kingdom, there is some leading man, some agitator, some wealthy merchant, or considerable manufacturer, some active attorney, some popular preacher, some money-lender, etc. etc. who is followed by the whole flock. This is the style of all free countries.
But let’s be honest, if it were true that the vast majority of voters were too significant an influence for the court to control or reach, and that in frustration they had to give up on it; one must be very unaware of the state of public interest to not realize that in every corporation, all the open boroughs, and indeed in every district of the country, there’s always a leading figure, an agitator, a wealthy merchant, a prominent manufacturer, an active attorney, a popular preacher, a money-lender, etc., who is followed by the entire crowd. This is the nature of all free countries.
"—Multum in Fabia valet hic, valet ille Velina;
Cuilibet hic fasces dabit eripietque curule."
"—Much in Fabia counts here, much in Velina;
Here, anyone will be given the lictors and will snatch the curule."These spirits, each of which informs and governs his own little orb, are neither so many, nor so little powerful, nor so incorruptible, but that a minister may, as he does frequently, find means of gaining them, and through them all their followers. To establish, therefore, a very general influence among electors will no more be found an impracticable project, than to gain an undue influence over members of parliament. Therefore I am apprehensive, that this bill, though it shifts the place of the disorder, does by no means relieve the constitution. I went through almost every contested election in the beginning of this parliament, and acted as a manager in very many of them; by which, though as at a school of pretty severe and rugged discipline, I came to have some degree of instruction concerning the means, by which parliamentary interests are in general procured and supported.
These spirits, each of which controls its own little realm, aren't so few, so powerless, or so incorruptible that a minister can't find ways to win them over and, through them, their supporters. Therefore, establishing a broad influence among voters won't be seen as an impossible task, just as gaining undue influence over members of parliament isn't. That's why I'm concerned that this bill, while it moves the problem around, doesn't really help the constitution at all. I went through almost every contested election at the start of this parliament and managed quite a few of them; from that experience, which felt like a tough school of hard lessons, I gained some insight into how parliamentary interests are generally won and maintained.
Theory, I know, would suppose, that every general election is to the representative a day of judgment, in which he appears before his constituents to account for the use of the talent, with which they intrusted him, and for the improvement he has made of it for the public advantage. It would be so, if every corruptible representative were to find an enlightened and incorruptible constituent. But the practice and knowledge of the world will not suffer us to be ignorant, that the constitution on paper is one thing, and in fact and experience is another. We must know, that the candidate, instead of trusting at his election to the testimony of his behaviour in parliament, must bring the testimony of a large sum of money, the capacity of liberal expense in entertainments, the power of serving and obliging the rulers of corporations, of winning over the popular leaders of political clubs, associations, and neighbourhoods. It is ten thousand times more necessary to show himself a man of power, than a man of integrity, in almost all the elections with which I have been acquainted. Elections, therefore, become a matter of heavy expense; and if contests are frequent, to many they will become a matter of an expense totally ruinous, which no fortunes can bear; but least of all the landed fortunes, encumbered as they often, indeed as they mostly, are with debts, with portions, with jointures; and tied up in the hands of the possessor by the limitations of settlement. It is a material, it is in my opinion a lasting, consideration in all the questions concerning election. Let no one think the charges of elections a trivial matter. The charge therefore of elections ought never to be lost sight of in a question concerning their frequency; because the grand object you seek is independence. Independence of mind will ever be more or less influenced by independence of fortune; and if, every three years, the exhausting sluices of entertainments, drinkings, open houses, to say nothing of bribery, are to be periodically drawn up and renewed;—if government-favours, for which now, in some shape or other, the whole race of men are candidates, are to be called for upon every occasion, I see that private fortunes will be washed away, and every, even to the least, trace of independence borne down by the torrent. I do not seriously think this constitution, even to the wrecks of it, could survive five triennial elections. If you are to fight the battle, you must put on the armour of the ministry; you must call in the public, to the aid of private, money. The expense of the last election has been computed (and I am persuaded that it has not been over-rated) at 1,500,000 pounds;—three shillings in the pound more in the land tax. About the close of the last parliament, and the beginning of this, several agents for boroughs went about, and I remember well, that it was in every one of their mouths—"Sir, your election will cost you three thousand pounds, if you are independent; but if the ministry supports you, it may be done for two, and perhaps for less;" and, indeed, the thing spoke itself. Where a living was to be got for one, a commission in the army for another, a lift in the navy for a third, and custom-house offices scattered about without measure or number, who doubts but money may be saved? The treasury may even add money; but indeed it is superfluous. A gentleman of two thousand a year, who meets another of the same fortune, fights with equal arms; but if to one of the candidates you add a thousand a-year in places for himself, and a power of giving away as much among others, one must, or there is no truth in arithmetical demonstration, ruin his adversary, if he is to meet him and to fight with him every third year. It will be said, I do not allow for the operation of character; but I do; and I know it will have its weight in most elections; perhaps it may be decisive in some. But there are few in which it will be prevent great expenses.
Theory, I understand, suggests that every general election is like a day of judgment for representatives, where they present themselves to their constituents to explain how they've used the talents entrusted to them and how they've improved them for the public good. It could be that way if every corruptible representative faced an enlightened and incorruptible voter. However, real-life experiences teach us that the constitution on paper is one thing, while practice shows another reality. We have to recognize that a candidate, instead of relying on his performance in parliament at election time, must bring the backing of a significant amount of money, the ability to spend lavishly on entertainment, and the capacity to serve and help the leaders of corporations, along with winning over the popular leaders of political clubs, associations, and neighborhoods. In almost all the elections I’ve seen, it's far more important to present oneself as a person of power than as a person of integrity. Elections, therefore, become a substantial financial burden; if contests occur frequently, many individuals will find them financially devastating, which no fortune can sustain—especially the landed fortunes, which are often burdened with debts, portions, and jointures, and restricted by the terms of settlements. This is a significant and enduring point in all discussions about elections. No one should dismiss the costs of elections as insignificant. Therefore, the expenses of elections should never be overlooked when discussing their frequency; because the ultimate aim you seek is independence. Being mentally independent will always be affected by financial independence; and if, every three years, the relentless demands for entertainment, drinks, open houses—not to mention bribery—are constantly renewed; if government favors, which now, in one way or another, everyone is vying for, must be solicited at every occasion, I fear that individual fortunes will be depleted, and any trace of independence will be washed away by the flood. I seriously doubt this constitution, even in its remnants, could endure five elections every three years. If you’re going to fight this battle, you must don the armor of the ministry; you must bring public money into the mix with private funds. The cost of the last election has been estimated (and I believe it hasn’t been exaggerated) at 1,500,000 pounds—three shillings in additional land tax. Towards the end of the last parliament and the start of this one, several agents for boroughs were circulating, and I clearly recall them saying, "Sir, your election will cost you three thousand pounds if you want to be independent; but if the ministry backs you, it might be done for two thousand, or maybe even less;" and, indeed, it was self-evident. Where one could secure a living, another could get a commission in the army, a third could secure a position in the navy, and a variety of customs offices were available without limit—who doubts that money could be saved? The treasury could even provide additional funds; but honestly, that would be unnecessary. A gentleman with an income of two thousand a year competing against another with the same fortune fights on equal terms; but if one of the candidates has an extra thousand a year from offices for himself, along with the power to distribute as much to others, he must, unless arithmetic is lying, defeat his opponent if he’s expected to meet him in battle every three years. It may be said that I’m not taking character into account; but I am, and I recognize that it will have an impact in most elections; perhaps it could even be decisive in some. However, there are very few where it will prevent significant expenses.
The destruction of independent fortunes will be the consequence on the part of the candidate. What will be the consequence of triennial corruption, triennial drunkenness, triennial idleness, triennial law-suits, litigations, prosecutions, triennial phrensy, of society dissolved, industry interrupted, ruined; of those personal hatreds, that will never be suffered to soften; those animosities and feuds, which will be rendered immortal; those quarrels, which are never to be appeased; morals vitiated and gangrened to the vitals? I think no stable and useful advantages were ever made by the money got at elections by the voter, but all he gets is doubly lost to the public; it is money given to diminish the general stock of the community, which is in the industry of the subject. I am sure, that it is a good while before he or his family settle again to their business. Their heads will never cool; the temptations of elections will be for ever glittering before their eyes. They will all grow politicians; every one, quitting his business, will choose to enrich himself by his vote. They will all take the gauging-rod; new places will be made for them; they will run to the custom-house quay, their looms and ploughs will be deserted.
The destruction of independent fortunes will be the result for the candidate. What will come of the constant corruption, the constant drunkenness, the constant idleness, the endless lawsuits, the prosecutions, the madness? Society will break down, industry will be interrupted and ruined; personal hatreds will never soften; feuds will become eternal; quarrels will never be resolved; morals will be corrupted and decay to the core. I believe no lasting and beneficial outcomes come from the money gained at elections by voters; everything they get is ultimately a loss for the public. This money reduces the overall wealth of the community which relies on the effort of its people. It will take a long time before he or his family return to their regular work. Their anger will never fade; the allure of elections will always shine in front of them. They will all become political players; everyone will abandon their jobs in favor of profiting from their vote. They will all turn to measuring and assessing; new positions will be created for them; they will rush to the customs house, leaving their looms and plows behind.
So was Rome destroyed by the disorders of continual elections, though those of Rome were sober disorders. They had nothing but faction, bribery, bread, and stage plays, to debauch them. We have the inflammation of liquor superadded, a fury hotter than any of them. There the contest was only between citizen and citizen; here you have the contest of ambitious citizens on one side, supported by the Crown, to oppose to the efforts (let it be so) of private and unsupported ambition on the other. Yet Rome was destroyed by the frequency and charge of elections, and the monstrous expense of an unremitted courtship to the people. I think, therefore, the independent candidate and elector may each be destroyed by it; the whole body of the community be an infinite sufferer; and a vitious ministry the only gainer.
So, Rome was destroyed by the chaos of constant elections, even though those in Rome were more controlled. They were influenced mainly by factions, bribery, food, and entertainment. We add the chaos of alcohol, which is an even fiercer force. There, the conflict was just between citizens; here, you have ambitious citizens on one side, backed by the Crown, fighting against the efforts (if that’s what it is) of private and unassisted ambition on the other side. Yet, Rome fell because of the high frequency and cost of elections, along with the huge expense of constant courting of the people. Therefore, I believe that both independent candidates and voters can suffer greatly from this; the entire community can be seriously harmed, while a corrupt government is the only one that benefits.
RELIGION AND MAGISTRACY.
In a Christian commonwealth the church and the state are one and the same thing, being different integral parts of the same whole. For the church has been always divided into two parts, the clergy and the laity; of which the laity is as much an essential integral part, and has as much its duties and privileges, as the clerical member; and in the rule, order, and government of the church has its share. Religion is so far, in my opinion, from being out of the province of the duty of a Christian magistrate, that it is, and it ought to be, not only his care, but the principal thing in his care; because it is one of the great bonds of human society; and its object the supreme good, the ultimate end and object of man himself. The magistrate, who is a man, and charged with the concerns of men, and to whom very specially nothing human is remote and indifferent, has a right and a duty to watch over it with an unceasing vigilance, to protect, to promote, to forward it by every rational, just, and prudent means. It is principally his duty to prevent the abuses, which grow out of every strong and efficient principle, that actuates the human mind. As religion is one of the bonds of society, he ought not to suffer it to be made the pretext of destroying its peace, order, liberty, and its security. Above all, he ought strictly to look to it when men begin to form new combinations, to be distinguished by new names, and especially when they mingle a political system with their religious opinions, true or false, plausible or implausible.
In a Christian society, the church and the state are essentially the same entity, representing different but interconnected parts of a whole. The church has always been divided into two groups: the clergy and the laity. The laity is just as vital a component and has its own duties and privileges, just like the clergy; they also have a role in the church's governance. In my view, religion is not only within the responsibilities of a Christian magistrate but should be his primary concern, as it is one of the key foundations of human society and aims for the highest good, the ultimate purpose for humanity. The magistrate, being human and responsible for human affairs, has both the right and obligation to oversee religion with constant vigilance, to protect, support, and promote it through rational, fair, and sensible means. It is primarily his responsibility to prevent the negative consequences that arise from any strong principle motivating the human mind. Since religion is a unifying factor in society, he should not allow it to be used as an excuse to undermine peace, order, liberty, and security. Most importantly, he must pay close attention when individuals start forming new groups with different names, especially when they mix political ideas with their religious beliefs, whether those beliefs are true or false, convincing or unconvincing.
It is the interest, and it is the duty, and because it is the interest and the duty, it is the right of government to attend much to opinions; because, as opinions soon combine with passions, even when they do not produce them, they have much influence on actions. Factions are formed upon opinions; which factions become in effect bodies corporate in the state;—nay, factions generate opinions in order to become a centre of union, and to furnish watch-words to parties; and this may make it expedient for government to forbid things in themselves innocent and neutral. I am not fond of defining with precision what the ultimate rights of the sovereign supreme power in providing for the safety of the commonwealth may be, or may not extend to. It will signify very little what my notions, or what their own notions, on the subject may be; because, according to the exigence, they will take, in fact, the steps which seem to them necessary for the preservation of the whole; for as self-preservation in individuals is the first law of nature, the same will prevail in societies, who will, right or wrong, make that an object paramount to all other rights whatsoever.
It is both the interest and duty of the government, and because of this, it has the right to pay close attention to public opinions. This is important because opinions often merge with emotions, even if they don't create them, significantly affecting actions. Groups form around opinions; these groups effectively become organizations within the state. Moreover, factions create opinions to unify their members and provide slogans for their parties. This can lead the government to prohibit actions that are otherwise innocent and neutral. I'm not keen on precisely defining what the ultimate rights of the sovereign power are in safeguarding the common good or what they might not cover. My views, or theirs, on the matter don’t really matter because, depending on the situation, they will take whatever steps they believe are necessary to protect everyone. Just as self-preservation is the first law of nature for individuals, it will also be paramount in societies, which will, rightly or wrongly, prioritize this above all other rights.
PERSECUTION, FALSE IN THEORY.
The bottom of this theory of persecution is false. It is not permitted to us to sacrifice the temporal good of any body of men to our own ideas of the truth and falsehood of any religious opinions. By making men miserable in this life, they counteract one of the great ends of charity; which is, inasmuch as in us lies, to make men happy in every period of their existence, and most in what most depends upon us. But give to these old persecutors their mistaken principle, in their reasoning they are consistent, and in their tempers they may be even kind and good-natured. But whenever a faction would render millions of mankind miserable, some millions of the race co-existent with themselves, and many millions in their succession, without knowing, or so much as pretending to ascertain, the doctrines of their own school (in which there is much of the lash and nothing of the lesson), the errors, which the persons in such a faction fall into, are not those that are natural to human imbecility, nor is the least mixture of mistaken kindness to mankind an ingredient in the severities they inflict. The whole is nothing but pure and perfect malice. It is, indeed, a perfection in that kind belonging to beings of a higher order than man, and to them we ought to leave it. This kind of persecutors, without zeal, without charity, know well enough, that religion, to pass by all questions of the truth or falsehood of any of its particular systems (a matter I abandon to the theologians on all sides), is a source of great comfort to us mortals in this our short but tedious journey through the world. They know, that to enjoy this consolation, men must believe their religion upon some principle or other, whether of education, habit, theory, or authority. When men are driven from any of those principles, on which they have received religion, without embracing with the same assurance and cordiality some other system, a dreadful void is left in their minds, and a terrible shock is given to their morals. They lose their guide, their comfort, their hope. None but the most cruel and hard-hearted of men, who had banished all natural tenderness from their minds, such as those beings of iron, the atheists, could bring themselves to any persecution like this. Strange it is, but so it is, that men, driven by force from their habits in one mode of religion, have, by contrary habits, under the same force, often quietly settled in another. They suborn their reason to declare in favour of their necessity. Man and his conscience cannot always be at war. If the first races have not been able to make a pacification between the conscience and the convenience, their descendants come generally to submit to the violence of the laws, without violence to their minds.
The foundation of this theory of persecution is wrong. We cannot justify sacrificing the well-being of any group of people for our own beliefs about what is true or false in religion. By making people miserable in this life, we go against one of the main purposes of charity, which is to help others find happiness at every stage of their lives, especially in the areas where we have the most influence. If these old persecutors are given their flawed principle, they are logical in their reasoning, and they may even be kind and good-natured in their attitudes. However, whenever a group seeks to make millions of people suffer—both their contemporaries and future generations—without understanding or caring about the teachings of their own belief system (which often relies more on punishment than on education), the mistakes they make aren’t typical human failings, nor do they involve any genuine kindness towards others. The whole situation is simply driven by pure and cold malice. This kind of persecution belongs to beings of a higher order than humans, and we should leave it to them. These persecutors, lacking zeal and compassion, understand well that religion, regardless of the truth or falsehood of any specific belief system (a debate I leave to theologians on all sides), provides great comfort to us humans during this short yet challenging journey through life. They know that for people to find solace in their faith, they must believe it for some reason—be it education, habit, theory, or authority. When individuals are forcibly separated from the beliefs that have shaped their faith, without adopting another system with the same confidence and warmth, they are left with a dreadful emptiness and suffer a significant blow to their morals. They lose their guidance, comfort, and hope. Only the cruelest and most heartless individuals, devoid of any natural compassion—like those cold beings, the atheists—could inflict such persecution. It's strange but true that people forced out of their religious habits often find themselves quietly settling into another belief under similar pressure. They twist their reasoning to justify their need. A person's conscience can’t always be in conflict with their practical needs. If the earlier generations couldn’t resolve the struggle between conscience and convenience, their descendants typically end up conforming to the laws' demands without compromising their mental well-being.
IRISH LEGISLATION.
The legislature of Ireland, like all legislatures, ought to frame its laws to suit the people and the circumstances of the country, and not any longer to make it their whole business to force the nature, the temper, and the inveterate habits of a nation to a conformity to speculative systems concerning any kind of laws. Ireland has an established government, and a religion legally established, which are to be preserved. It has a people, who are to be preserved too, and to be led by reason, principle, sentiment, and interest to acquiesce in that government. Ireland is a country under peculiar circumstances. The people of Ireland are a very mixed people; and the quantities of the several ingredients in the mixture are very much disproportioned to each other. Are we to govern this mixed body as if it were composed of the most simple elements, comprehending the whole in one system of benevolent legislation; or are we not rather to provide for the several parts according to the various and diversified necessities of the heterogeneous nature of the mass? Would not common reason and common honesty dictate to us the policy of regulating the people in the several descriptions of which they are composed, according to the natural ranks and classes of an orderly civil society, under a common protecting sovereign, and under a form of constitution favourable at once to authority and to freedom; such as the British constitution boasts to be, and such as it is, to those who enjoy it?
The legislature of Ireland, like any legislature, should create its laws to fit the people and the country's situation, and not just make it their main priority to force the nature, temperament, and long-standing habits of a nation to conform to theoretical systems about any type of laws. Ireland has an established government and a legally recognized religion that need to be preserved. The people also need to be preserved and guided by reason, principle, sentiment, and interest to accept that government. Ireland is a country with unique circumstances. The people of Ireland are very diverse, and the proportions of the different groups are quite imbalanced. Should we govern this diverse population as if it were made up of simple elements, fitting it all into one system of generous legislation? Or should we provide for each part according to the various and different needs of the mixed nature of the population? Wouldn't common sense and common honesty suggest that we regulate the people according to the different categories they belong to, based on the natural ranks and classes of a well-ordered civil society, under a shared protecting leadership and a form of constitution that supports both authority and freedom, like the British constitution claims to be, and indeed is, for those who benefit from it?
HENRY OF NAVARRE.
I have observed the affectation which, for many years past, has prevailed in Paris even to a degree perfectly childish, of idolizing the memory of your Henry the Fourth. If anything could put any one out of humour with that ornament to the kingly character, it would be this overdone style of insidious panegyric. The persons who have worked this engine the most busily are those who have ended their panegyrics in dethroning his successor and descendant; a man, as good natured, at the least, as Henry the Fourth; altogether as fond of his people; and who has done infinitely more to correct the ancient vices of the state than that great monarch did, or we are sure he ever meant to do. Well it is for his panegyrists that they have not him to deal with. For Henry of Navarre was a resolute, active, and politic prince. He possessed indeed great humanity and mildness; but a humanity and mildness that never stood in the way of his interests. He never sought to be loved without putting himself first in a condition to be feared. He used soft language with determined conduct. He asserted and maintained his authority in the gross, and distributed his acts of concession only in the detail. He spent the income of his prerogative nobly; but he took care not to break in upon the capital; never abandoning for a moment any of the claims which he made under the fundamental laws, nor sparing to shed the blood of those who opposed him, often in the field, sometimes upon the scaffold. Because he knew how to make his virtues respected by the ungrateful, he has merited the praises of those, whom if they had lived in his time, he would have shut up in the Bastile, and brought to punishment along with the regicides whom he hanged after he had famished Paris into a surrender.
I’ve noticed the pretentiousness that has been rampant in Paris for many years now, almost to a childish extent, of glorifying the memory of your Henry the Fourth. If anything could make someone dislike that symbol of royal character, it would be this excessive and insincere praise. The people who have been the most active in this are those who ended their praises by undermining his successor and descendant—a man who is at least as good-natured as Henry the Fourth, just as caring about his people, and who has done far more to address the old problems of the state than that great monarch ever did or intended to. It’s fortunate for his admirers that they don’t have him to deal with. For Henry of Navarre was a determined, proactive, and shrewd leader. He indeed had great kindness and gentleness; however, his kindness and gentleness never got in the way of his interests. He never tried to be loved without first ensuring that he was also feared. He spoke softly but acted decisively. He asserted and upheld his authority openly, giving concessions only when necessary. He used his royal income generously, but he made sure not to touch the principal; he never gave up any of the claims he held under the fundamental laws, nor hesitated to spill the blood of those who opposed him, often in battle, and sometimes on the scaffold. Because he knew how to ensure his virtues were respected by the ungrateful, he earned the praises of those who, had they lived in his time, he would have locked up in the Bastille and punished alongside the regicides he executed after he starved Paris into surrender.
TEST ACTS.
In a discussion which took place in the year 1790, Mr. Burke declared his intention, in case the motion for repealing the Test Acts had been agreed to, of proposing to substitute the following test in the room of what was intended to be repealed. "I, A.B. do, in the presence of God, sincerely profess and believe, that a religious establishment in this state is not contrary to the law of God, or disagreeable to the law of nature, or to the true principles of the Christian religion, or that it is noxious to the community; and I do sincerely promise and engage, before God, that I never will, by any conspiracy, contrivance, or political device whatever, attempt, or abet others in any attempt, to subvert the constitution of the church of England, as the same is now by law established, and that I will not employ any power or influence, which I may derive from any office corporate, or any other office which I hold, or shall hold, under his majesty, his heirs and successors, to destroy and subvert the same; or, to cause members to be elected into any corporation, or into parliament, give my vote in the election of any member or members of parliament, or into any office, for or on account of their attachment to any other or different religious opinions or establishments, or with any hope, that they may promote the same to the prejudice of the established church; but will dutifully and peaceably content myself with my private liberty of conscience, as the same is allowed by law.
In a discussion that took place in 1790, Mr. Burke stated his intention, if the motion to repeal the Test Acts was approved, to propose the following test to replace what was set to be repealed: "I, A.B., do, in the presence of God, sincerely profess and believe that a religious establishment in this state is not against the law of God, not disagreeable to the law of nature, nor to the true principles of the Christian religion, and that it is not harmful to the community; and I sincerely promise and commit, before God, that I will never, through any conspiracy, scheme, or political maneuver, attempt or support others in any attempt to undermine the constitution of the Church of England, as it is currently established by law, and that I will not use any power or influence from any corporate office or any other position I hold or will hold under His Majesty, His heirs, and successors, to destroy or undermine it; or to influence the election of any members into any corporation or parliament, or give my vote in the election of any member of parliament or any office based on their support for any other or different religious beliefs or institutions, or with the expectation that they may promote those beliefs to the detriment of the established church; but I will respectfully and peacefully content myself with my private freedom of conscience, as allowed by law."
"So help me God."
"So help me God."
WHAT FACTION OUGHT TO TEACH.
If, however, you could find out these pedigrees of guilt, I do not think the difference would be essential. History records many things, which ought to make us hate evil actions; but neither history, nor morals, nor policy, can teach us to punish innocent men on that account. What lesson does the iniquity of prevalent factions read to us? It ought to lesson us into an abhorrence of the abuse of our own power in our own day; when we hate its excesses so much in other persons and in other times. To that school true statesmen ought to be satisfied to leave mankind. They ought not to call from the dead all the discussions and litigations which formerly inflamed the furious factions, which had torn their country to pieces; they ought not to rake into the hideous and abominable things, which were done in the turbulent fury of an injured, robbed, and persecuted people, and which were afterwards cruelly revenged in the execution, and as outrageously and shamefully exaggerated in the representation, in order, a hundred and fifty years after, to find some colour for justifying them in the eternal proscription and civil excommunication of a whole people.
If you could uncover these backgrounds of guilt, I don’t think the difference would be significant. History shows us many things that should make us despise evil actions; however, history, morals, and politics cannot teach us to punish innocent people because of that. What lesson does the wrongdoing of dominant groups teach us? It should teach us to be disgusted by the misuse of our own power today, especially when we detest its excesses in others at different times. That’s the lesson true statesmen should be content to leave to humanity. They shouldn't resurrect all the debates and conflicts that once fueled the angry factions that tore their country apart; they shouldn’t dig into the awful and despicable things done in the chaotic rage of a harmed, robbed, and oppressed populace, which were later cruelly avenged and outrageously exaggerated in their portrayals, in order to find justification for the perpetual exclusion and civil banishment of an entire group, a hundred and fifty years later.
GRIEVANCES BY LAW.
This business appears in two points of view. 1. Whether it is a matter of grievance. 2. Whether it is within our province to redress it with propriety and prudence. Whether it comes properly before us on a petition upon matter of grievance, I would not inquire too curiously. I know, technically speaking, that nothing agreeable to law can be considered as a grievance. But an over-attention to the rules of any act does sometimes defeat the ends of it, and I think it does so in this parliamentary act, as much at least as in any other. I know many gentlemen think, that the very essence of liberty consists in being governed according to law; as if grievances had nothing real and intrinsic; but I cannot be of that opinion. Grievances may subsist by law. Nay, I do not know whether any grievance can be considered as intolerable until it is established and sanctified by law. If the act of toleration were not perfect, if there were a complaint of it, I would gladly consent to amend it. But when I heard a complaint of a pressure on religious liberty, to my astonishment, I find that there was no complaint whatsoever of the insufficiency of the act of King William, nor any attempt to make it more sufficient. The matter therefore does not concern toleration, but establishment; and it is not the rights of private conscience that are in question, but the propriety of the terms, which are proposed by law as a title to public emoluments; so that the complaint is not, that there is not toleration of diversity in opinion, but that diversity in opinion is not rewarded by bishoprics, rectories, and collegiate stalls. When gentlemen complain of the subscription as matter of grievance, the complaint arises from confounding private judgment, whose rights are anterior to law, and the qualifications, which the law creates for its own magistracies, whether civil or religious. To take away from men their lives, their liberty, or their property, those things, for the protection of which society was introduced, is great hardship and intolerable tyranny; but to annex any condition you please to benefits, artificially created, is the most just, natural, and proper thing in the world. When e novo you form an arbitrary benefit, an advantage, pre-eminence, or emolument, not by nature, but institution, you order and modify it with all the power of a creator over his creature. Such benefits of institution are royalty, nobility, priesthood; all of which you may limit to birth; you might prescribe even shape and stature. The Jewish priesthood was hereditary. Founders' kinsmen have a preference in the election of Fellows in many colleges of our universities; the qualifications at All Souls are, that they should be—optime nati, bene vestiti, mediocriter docti.
This issue can be viewed from two angles. 1. Is it a grievance? 2. Is it within our authority to address it appropriately and wisely? Whether it truly falls under our consideration as a grievance in a petition, I won’t investigate too deeply. I understand that, technically speaking, nothing compliant with the law can be seen as a grievance. However, focusing too much on the specifics of any law can sometimes undermine its purpose, and I believe this is the case with this parliamentary act, just as with others. Many people believe that the core of liberty is being governed by the law, as if grievances have no actual, inherent meaning; but I don't share that view. Grievances can exist within the law. In fact, I’m not sure if any grievance can be deemed intolerable until it’s established and recognized by law. If the act of toleration were flawed, and there was a valid complaint about it, I would happily agree to improve it. But when I encountered a complaint regarding an infringement on religious liberty, I was shocked to discover that there were no complaints about the inadequacy of King William’s act, nor any efforts to strengthen it. Therefore, this issue isn’t about toleration, but about establishment; it’s not the rights of individual conscience at stake, but the appropriateness of the conditions set by law for public positions. So, the complaint isn’t that there isn't toleration of differing opinions, but that differing opinions aren't rewarded with bishoprics, rectories, and college positions. When people express grievances about the required subscriptions, it stems from mixing up private judgment—whose rights predate the law—and the qualifications that the law establishes for its own officials, whether civil or religious. To take away people's lives, liberty, or property, which are the very things society was meant to protect, is a serious injustice and unbearable tyranny; however, attaching any condition you choose to benefits that were artificially created is the most just, natural, and proper thing in the world. When you create a new arbitrary benefit, privilege, or position—not by nature, but through instatement—you shape and control it with the full authority of a creator over their creation. Such institutional benefits include royalty, nobility, and priesthood; all of which can be limited to birth; you could even dictate their physical form and stature. The Jewish priesthood was inherited. The relatives of founders often have preferential treatment in the selection of Fellows at many universities; the qualifications at All Souls are that they should be—well-born, well-dressed, and moderately educated.
By contending for liberty in the candidate for orders, you take away the liberty of the elector, which is the people; that is, the state. If they can choose, they may assign a reason for their choice; if they can assign a reason, they may do it in writing, and prescribe it as a condition; they may transfer their authority to their representatives, and enable them to exercise the same. In all human institutions a great part, almost all regulations, are made from the mere necessity of the case, let the theoretical merits of the question be what they will. For nothing happened at the reformation, but what will happen in all such revolutions. When tyranny is extreme, and abuses of government intolerable, men resort to the rights of nature to shake it off. When they have done so, the very same principle of necessity of human affairs, to establish some other authority, which shall preserve the order of this new institution, must be obeyed, until they grow intolerable; and you shall not be suffered to plead original liberty against such an institution. See Holland, Switzerland.
By fighting for freedom in the selection of candidates for office, you take away the freedom of the voters, which is the public; that is, the state. If they can choose, they can explain their choice; if they can explain it, they might do so in writing and make it a requirement; they can delegate their authority to their representatives, giving them the power to act on their behalf. In all human systems, many, if not all, rules are created out of necessity, regardless of the theoretical merits of the issue. For nothing that took place during the Reformation is unlike what occurs in all such revolutions. When tyranny is severe and government abuses are unbearable, people turn to their natural rights to break free from it. Once they do, the same principle of necessity in human affairs, to establish some other authority that will maintain the order of the new system, must be followed, until it becomes unbearable; and you won't be allowed to argue for original freedom against such a system. Look at Holland and Switzerland.
If you will have religion publicly practised and publicly taught, you must have a power to say what that religion will be which you will protect and encourage; and to distinguish it by such marks and characteristics, as you in your wisdom shall think fit. As I said before, your determination may be unwise in this as in other matters, but it cannot be unjust, hard, or oppressive, or contrary to the liberty of any man, or in the least degree exceeding your province.
If you want religion to be practiced and taught publicly, you need to have the authority to decide what that religion is and to identify it with the signs and traits that you believe are appropriate. As I mentioned earlier, your decision may be unwise in this and other areas, but it cannot be unfair, harsh, or oppressive, nor can it infringe on anyone's freedom, or go beyond what you're allowed to do.
It is therefore as a grievance fairly none at all, nothing but what is essential not only to the order, but to the liberty, of the whole community.
It is therefore not really a grievance at all, but rather something that is essential not only for the order but also for the freedom of the entire community.
REVOLUTIONARY POLITICS.
In France you are now in the crisis of a revolution, and in the transit from one form of government to another—you cannot see that character of men exactly in the same situation in which we see it in this country. With us it is militant; with you it is triumphant; and you know how it can act when its power is commensurate to its will. I would not be supposed to confine those observations to any description of men, or to comprehend all men of any description within them—No! far from it. I am as incapable of that injustice, as I am of keeping terms with those who profess principles of extremes; and who, under the name of religion, teach little else than wild and dangerous politics. The worst of these politics of revolution is this: they temper and harden the breast, in order to prepare it for the desperate strokes which are sometimes used in extreme occasions. But as these occasions may never arrive, the mind receives a gratuitous taint; and the moral sentiments suffer not a little, when no political purpose is served by the depravation. This sort of people are so taken up with their theories about the rights of man, that they have totally forgotten his nature. Without opening one new avenue to the understanding, they have succeeded in stopping up those that lead to the heart. They have perverted in themselves, and in those that attend to them, all the well-placed sympathies of the human breast.
In France, you're currently in the midst of a revolution, and during the shift from one government to another—you can't see the same character of people in such a situation as we do here. For us, it’s militant; for you, it’s triumphant; and you know how it can act when its power matches its will. I don’t want to limit these observations to any specific group of people or to include everyone in any one description—No! Not at all. I am just as incapable of that unfairness as I am of making peace with those who promote extreme principles; and who, under the guise of religion, teach little more than wild and reckless politics. The worst thing about this revolutionary politics is that they toughen and harden the heart, preparing it for the desperate actions that may sometimes be needed in extreme situations. But since these situations may never come, the mind suffers a needless corruption; and moral feelings are significantly harmed when no political purpose is fulfilled by this corruption. These kinds of people are so absorbed in their theories about human rights that they have completely forgotten about human nature. Without opening any new paths for understanding, they’ve managed to block those that lead to the heart. They’ve twisted the natural sympathies of the human heart both in themselves and in those who listen to them.
This famous sermon of the Old Jewry breathes nothing but this spirit through all the political part. Plots, massacres, assassinations, seem to some people a trivial price for obtaining a revolution. A cheap, bloodless reformation, a guiltless liberty, appear flat and vapid to their taste. There must be a great change of scene; there must be a magnificent stage effect; there must be a grand spectacle to rouse the imagination, grown torpid with the lazy enjoyment of sixty years' security, and the still unanimating repose of public prosperity. The preacher found them all in the French revolution. This inspires a juvenile warmth through his whole frame. His enthusiasm kindles as he advances; and when he arrives at his peroration it is in a full blaze. Then viewing, from the Pisgah of his pulpit, the free, moral, happy, flourishing, and glorious state of France, as in a bird-eye landscape of a promised land, he breaks out into rapture.
This famous sermon of the Old Jewry exudes nothing but this spirit throughout the political aspect. To some, plots, massacres, and assassinations seem like a minor cost for achieving a revolution. A cheap, bloodless reformation and a guilt-free freedom come across as dull and uninspiring to them. There has to be a dramatic change; there needs to be a spectacular stage presence; there must be an impressive show to awaken the imagination, which has grown sluggish from sixty years of security and the still comfort of public prosperity. The preacher found all of this in the French Revolution. It ignites a youthful passion in him. His enthusiasm grows as he continues, and when he reaches his conclusion, it’s in full force. Looking out from the height of his pulpit, he envisions the free, moral, happy, thriving, and glorious state of France, like a bird's-eye view of a promised land, and he bursts into rapture.
TOLERATION BECOME INTOLERANT.
When any dissenters, or any body of people, come here with a petition, it is not the number of people, but the reasonableness of the request, that should weigh with the house. A body of dissenters come to this house, and say, Tolerate us—we desire neither the parochial advantage of tithes, nor dignities, nor the stalls of your cathedrals. No! let the venerable orders of the hierarchy exist with all their advantages. And shall I tell them, I reject your just and reasonable petition, not because it shakes the church, but because there are others, while you lie grovelling upon the earth, that will kick and bite you? Judge which of these descriptions of men comes with a fair request—that, which says, Sir, I desire liberty for my own, because I trespass on no man's conscience;—or the other, which says, I desire that these men should not be suffered to act according to their consciences, though I am tolerated to act according to mine. But I sign a body of articles, which is my title to toleration; I sign no more, because more are against my conscience. But I desire that you will not tolerate these men, because they will not go so far as I, though I desire to be tolerated, who will not go as far as you. No, imprison them, if they come within five miles of a corporate town, because they do not believe what I do in point of doctrines. Shall I not say to these men, "Arrangez-vous, canaille?" You, who are not the predominant power, will not give to others the relaxation, under which you are yourself suffered to live. I have as high an opinion of the doctrines of the church as you. I receive them implicitly, or I put my own explanation on them, or take that which seems to me to come best recommended by authority. There are those of the dissenters, who think more rigidly of the doctrine of the articles relative to predestination, than others do. They sign the article relative to it ex animo, and literally. Others allow a latitude of construction. These two parties are in the church, as well as among the dissenters; yet in the church we live quietly under the same roof. I do not see why, as long as Providence gives us no further light into this great mystery, we should not leave things as the Divine wisdom has left them. But suppose all these things to me to be clear (which Providence however seems to have left obscure), yet whilst dissenters claim a toleration in things which, seeming clear to me, are obscure to them, without entering into the merit of the articles, with what face can these men say, Tolerate us, but do not tolerate them? Toleration is good for all, or it is good for none.
When any dissenters or any group of people come here with a petition, it’s not the number of people but the reasonableness of the request that should matter to the house. A group of dissenters comes to this house and says, "Tolerate us—we don’t want the benefits of tithes, titles, or positions in your cathedrals. No! Let the respected hierarchies exist with all their advantages." And should I tell them that I reject your fair and reasonable petition, not because it threatens the church, but because there are others who, while you are down on the ground, will attack you? Judge which of these groups presents a fair request—that which says, "Sir, I want freedom for myself, because I don’t violate anyone's conscience," or the other, which says, "I want these people to not be allowed to act according to their consciences, even though I am allowed to act according to mine." But I agree to a set of articles, which is my claim to toleration; I won't sign more because that goes against my conscience. But I want you to not tolerate these men because they don’t go as far as I do, even though I ask for toleration, while you won’t extend it to them. No, imprison them if they come within five miles of a corporate town because they don’t believe what I do regarding doctrines. Should I not say to these men, "Get it together, you low-lifes?" You, who are not in power, won’t give others the freedom that you yourself are allowed. I hold the church's doctrines in as high regard as you do. I accept them unconditionally, or I interpret them in my own way, or I rely on those that seem to have the most authority. There are dissenters who take a stricter view of the doctrine regarding predestination than others. They sign that article with sincerity and literally. Others allow for a range of interpretations. These two groups exist within the church as well as among dissenters; yet within the church we live peacefully under the same roof. I don’t see why, as long as Providence gives us no further clarity on this great mystery, we shouldn’t leave things as Divine wisdom has left them. But suppose all these matters are clear to me (which Providence seems to have left unclear), while dissenters claim toleration for things that, while clear to me, are obscure to them; without discussing the merits of the articles, how can these men say, "Tolerate us, but don’t tolerate them?" Toleration is good for everyone, or it’s good for no one.
The discussion this day is not between establishment on one hand, and toleration on the other, but between those, who being tolerated themselves, refuse toleration to others. That power should be puffed up with pride, that authority should degenerate into rigour, if not laudable, is but too natural. But this proceeding of theirs is much beyond the usual allowance to human weakness; it not only is shocking to our reason, but it provokes our indignation. Quid domini facient, audent cum talia fures? It is not the proud prelate thundering in his commission court, but a pack of manumitted slaves with the lash of the beadle flagrant on their backs, and their legs still galled with their fetters, that would drive their brethren into that prison-house from whence they have just been permitted to escape. If, instead of puzzling themselves in the depths of the Divine counsels, they would turn to the mild morality of the Gospel, they would read their own condemnation:—O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt because thou desiredst me: shouldest not thou also have compassion on thy fellow-servant, even as I had pity on thee?
The discussion today isn't about whether to establish authority or promote tolerance, but rather about those who, having received tolerance themselves, refuse to extend it to others. It's all too natural for power to become arrogant and for authority to turn harsh, if that's not to be commended. However, their actions go far beyond normal human flaws; they not only shock our sense of reason but also stir our anger. What should those in charge do when such thieves dare to act in this way? It's not the arrogant leader shouting in his courtroom, but a group of freed slaves, still marked by the scars of their bondage, who would push their fellow men back into the prison they've just managed to escape. If instead of getting lost in the complexities of divine intentions, they focused on the gentle teachings of the Gospel, they would find their own condemnation: "O you wicked servant, I forgave you all that debt because you asked me: shouldn’t you also show mercy to your fellow servant, just as I had pity on you?"
WILKES AND RIGHT OF ELECTION.
In the last session, the corps called the "king's friends" made a hardy attempt, all at once, TO ALTER THE RIGHT OF ELECTION ITSELF; to put it into the power of the House of Commons to disable any person disagreeable to them from sitting in parliament, without any other rule than their own pleasure; to make incapacities, either general for descriptions of men, or particular for individuals; and to take into their body, persons who avowedly never been chosen by the majority of legal electors, nor agreeably to any known rule of law.
In the last session, the group known as the "king's friends" made a bold attempt to change the very right of election itself; to give the House of Commons the power to prevent anyone they didn’t like from serving in parliament, based solely on their own preferences; to create disqualifications that could apply either to whole groups of people or specific individuals; and to include people who had clearly never been chosen by the majority of legal voters or according to any established legal rules.
The arguments upon which this claim was founded and combated, are not my business here. Never has a subject been more amply and more learnedly handled, nor upon one side, in my opinion, more satisfactorily; they who are not convinced by what is already written would not receive conviction THOUGH ONE AROSE FROM THE DEAD.
The arguments behind this claim and the debates surrounding it aren't my focus here. No topic has been discussed more thoroughly and intelligently, and one side, in my view, has presented its case more convincingly. Those who aren't swayed by what has already been written wouldn't be convinced EVEN IF SOMEONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD.
I too have thought on this subject: but my purpose here, is only to consider it as a part of the favourite project of government; to observe on the motives which led to it; and to trace its political consequences.
I have also thought about this topic, but my goal here is just to view it as part of the government's preferred plan, to look at the reasons behind it, and to explore its political consequences.
A violent rage for the punishment of Mr. Wilkes was the pretence of the whole. This gentleman, by setting himself strongly in opposition to the court cabal, had become at once an object of their persecution, and of the popular favour. The hatred of the court party pursuing, and the countenance of the people protecting him, it very soon became not at all a question on the man, but a trial of strength between the two parties. The advantage of the victory in this particular contest was the present, but not the only, nor by any means the principal, object. Its operation upon the character of the House of Commons was the great point in view. The point to be gained by the cabal was this; that a precedent should be established, tending to show, THAT THE FAVOUR OF THE PEOPLE WAS NOT SO SURE A ROAD AS THE FAVOUR OF THE COURT EVEN TO POPULAR HONOURS AND POPULAR TRUSTS. A strenuous resistance to every appearance of lawless power; a spirit of independence carried to some degree of enthusiasm; an inquisitive character to discover, and a bold one to display, every corruption and every error of government; these are the qualities which recommend a man to a seat in the House of Commons, in open and merely popular elections. An indolent and submissive disposition; a disposition to think charitably of all the actions of men in power, and to live in a mutual intercourse of favours with them; an inclination rather to countenance a strong use of authority, than to bear any sort of licentiousness on the part of the people; these are unfavourable qualities in an open election for members of parliament. The instinct which carries the people towards the choice of the former, is justified by reason; because a man of such a character, even in its exorbitances, does not directly contradict the purposes of a trust, the end of which is a control on power. The latter character, even when it is not in its extreme, will execute this trust but very imperfectly; and, if deviating to the least excess, will certainly frustrate instead of forwarding the purposes of a control on government. But when the House of Commons was to be new modelled, is principle was not only to be changed but reversed. Whilst any errors committed in support of power were left to the law, with every advantage of favourable construction, of mitigation, and finally of pardon: all excesses on the side of liberty, or in pursuit of popular favour, or in defence of popular rights and privileges, were not only to be punished by the rigour of the known law, but by a DISCRETIONARY proceeding, which brought on THE LOSS OF THE POPULAR OBJECT ITSELF. Popularity was to be rendered, if not directly penal, at least highly dangerous. The favour of the people might lead even to a disqualification of representing them. Their odium might become, strained through the medium of two or three constructions, the means of sitting as the trustee of all that was dear to them. This is punishing the offence in the offending part. Until this time, the opinion of the people, through the power of an assembly, still in some sort popular, led to the greatest honours and emoluments in the gift of the crown. Now the principle is reversed; and the favour of the court is the only sure way of obtaining and holding those honours which ought to be in the disposal of the people.
A fierce desire to punish Mr. Wilkes was the pretense behind everything. This man, by strongly opposing the court's secret dealings, quickly became a target for their harassment and also gained the support of the public. With the court party's hatred pursuing him and the people's support protecting him, it soon became less about him as an individual and more about a power struggle between the two sides. Winning this particular battle was important, but it wasn’t the only goal, nor the main one. The real focus was how this would affect the reputation of the House of Commons. The cabal aimed to establish a precedent showing that the people's favor was not a guaranteed pathway to popular honors and trusts, unlike the court's favor. A strong resistance against any signs of unlawful power; an independent spirit pushed to some level of enthusiasm; a curious nature to uncover and boldly expose every government corruption and mistake—these are the qualities that help a person secure a seat in the House of Commons through open and truly popular elections. In contrast, a lazy and submissive attitude; a tendency to overlook the actions of those in power and to engage in a mutually advantageous relationship with them; a willingness to support heavy-handed authority rather than tolerate any form of people’s freedom—these are negative traits in an open election for parliament members. The instinct that drives the people to choose the former is backed by reason; a person with such characteristics, despite their extremes, does not fundamentally oppose the purpose of a position that is meant to keep power in check. The latter, even when not extreme, will carry out this duty poorly, and any deviation, even slightly, will likely hinder rather than help the goals of legislative control. However, when the House of Commons was to be restructured, its principles were not only to be changed but turned upside down. Any mistakes made in support of power would be handled by the law, with all the advantages of favorable interpretations, mitigations, and ultimately pardons; but any transgressions related to freedom, popular appeal, or the defense of rights and privileges would not only be punished severely by the law but would also involve discretionary actions that could lead to losing the very popular objectives in question. Popularity was to be made, if not outright penalized, at least extremely risky. Gaining the people's favor might even lead to disqualification from representing them. Their disdain could become a means, filtered through a couple of interpretations, of sitting as the trustee of everything they hold dear. This is punishing the misstep where it hurts most. Up until now, the people's opinion, through a somewhat popular assembly, could lead to the highest honors and profits bestowed by the crown. Now, however, the principle is flipped; the court’s favor is the only reliable path to obtaining and retaining those honors that should belong to the people.
It signifies very little how this matter may be quibbled away. Example, the only argument of effect in civil life, demonstrates the truth of my proposition. Nothing can alter my opinion concerning the pernicious tendency of this example, until I see some man for his indiscretion in the support of power, for his violent and intemperate servility, rendered incapable of sitting in parliament. For as it now stands, the fault of overstraining popular qualities, and, irregularly if you please, asserting popular privileges, has led to disqualification; the opposite fault never has produced the slightest punishment. Resistance to power has shut the door of the House of Commons to one man; obsequiousness and servility, to none.
It really doesn’t matter how this issue is debated. For example, the only impactful argument in everyday life proves my point. Nothing will change my mind about the harmful nature of this example until I see someone punished for their wrongdoing in supporting power, for their extreme and submissive behavior, making them unfit to sit in parliament. As things stand now, overly pushing popular qualities and, if you like, irregularly claiming popular rights has led to disqualification; the opposite behavior has never resulted in any punishment. Standing up to power has closed the doors of the House of Commons to one person; but being obedient and servile has punished no one.
Not that I would encourage popular disorder, or any disorder. But I would leave such offences to the law, to be punished in measure and proportion. The laws of this country are for the most part constituted, and wisely so, for the general ends of government, rather than for the preservation of our particular liberties. Whatever, therefore, is done in support of liberty, by persons not in public trust, or not acting merely in that trust, is liable to be more or less out of the ordinary course of the law; and the law itself is sufficient to animadvert upon it with great severity. Nothing indeed can hinder that severe letter from crushing us, except the temperaments it may receive from a trial by jury. But if the habit prevail OF GOING BEYOND THE LAW, and superseding this judicature, of carrying offences, real or supposed, into the legislative bodies, who shall establish themselves into COURTS OF CRIMINAL EQUITY (so THE STAR CHAMBER has been called by Lord Bacon), all the evils of the STAR CHAMBER are revived. A large and liberal construction in ascertaining offences, and a discretionary power in punishing them, is the idea of CRIMINAL EQUITY; which is in truth a monster in jurisprudence. It signifies nothing whether a court for this purpose be a committee of council, or a house of commons, or a house of lords; the liberty of the subject will be equally subverted by it. The true end and purpose of that house of parliament which entertains such a jurisdiction, will be destroyed by it. I will not believe, what no other man living believes, that Mr. Wilkes was punished for the indecency of his publications, or the impiety of his ransacked closet. If he had fallen in a common slaughter of libellers and blasphemers, I could well believe that nothing more was meant than was pretended. But when I see, that, for years together, full as impious, and perhaps more dangerous, writings to religion, and virtue, and order, have not been punished, nor their authors discountenanced; that the most audacious libels on royal majesty have passed without notice; that the most treasonable invectives against the laws, liberties, and constitution of the country, have not met with the slightest animadversion; I must consider this as a shocking and shameless pretence. Never did an envenomed scurrility against everything sacred and civil, public and private, rage through the kingdom with such a furious and unbridled licence. All this while the peace of the nation must be shaken, to ruin one libeller, and to tear from the populace a single favourite.
Not that I would support chaos or any kind of disorder. But I would leave such offenses to the law to be punished appropriately. The laws in this country are mostly designed, wisely, for the greater good of governance, rather than for protecting our individual freedoms. Therefore, anything done to support liberty by people not in public office, or not acting solely in that role, is likely to fall outside the normal legal framework; and the law itself is harsh enough to deal with it severely. Nothing can really stop that harsh letter from overwhelming us, except the tempering influence of a trial by jury. But if the habit of going beyond the law becomes common, and if we start taking real or imagined offenses to legislative bodies that establish themselves as COURTS OF CRIMINAL EQUITY (as Lord Bacon referred to the STAR CHAMBER), all the issues of the STAR CHAMBER will resurface. A broad interpretation in defining offenses, along with discretionary power in punishing them, is the concept of CRIMINAL EQUITY; which is truly a monster in legal terms. It doesn’t matter whether a court for this purpose is a committee of the council, the house of commons, or the house of lords; the liberty of the individual will be equally compromised by it. The true purpose of that parliamentary body that entertains such authority will be undermined by it. I refuse to believe, which no one else believes, that Mr. Wilkes was punished for the indecency of his writings or the impropriety of his private materials. If he had fallen victim to a general crackdown on libelers and blasphemers, I could easily believe that nothing more was intended than what was stated. However, when I see that, for years, writings just as impious and perhaps more harmful to religion, virtue, and order have gone unpunished, and their authors ignored; that the most audacious attacks on royal authority have gone unnoticed; that the most treasonous insults against the laws, liberties, and constitution of the country have faced no consequences; I must view this as a shocking and shameless pretense. Never has scorn and contempt for everything sacred and civil, public and private, surged through the kingdom with such wild, unchecked freedom. All the while, the nation's peace is threatened just to take down one libeler and to strip the public of a single favorite.
Nor is it that vice merely skulks in an obscure and contemptible impunity. Does not the public behold with indignation, persons not only generally scandalous in their lives, but the identical persons who, by their society, their instruction, their example, their encouragement, have drawn this man into the very faults which have furnished the cabal with a pretence for his persecution, loaded with every kind of favour, honour, and distinction, which a court can bestow? Add but the crime of servility (the foedum crimen servitutis) to every other crime, and the whole mass is immediately transmuted into virtue, and becomes the just subject of reward and honour. When therefore I reflect upon this method pursued by the cabal in distributing rewards and punishments, I must conclude that Mr. Wilkes is the object of persecution, not on account of what he has done in common with others who are the objects of reward, but for that in which he differs from many of them: that he is pursued for the spirited dispositions which are blended with his vices; for his unconquerable firmness, for his resolute, indefatigable, strenuous resistance against oppression.
Nor is it true that vice only hides in a hidden and despised safety. Doesn’t the public witness with outrage people who are not only generally scandalous in their lives but also the same individuals who, through their company, their teachings, their examples, and their encouragement, have led this man into the very faults that give the cabal an excuse to persecute him, while he is surrounded by every kind of favor, honor, and distinction that a court can offer? Add just the crime of servility (the loathsome crime of servitude) to every other crime, and the entire situation is instantly transformed into virtue, becoming a deserving subject of reward and honor. So when I think about this approach taken by the cabal in handing out rewards and punishments, I have to conclude that Mr. Wilkes is being persecuted not for what he has done alongside others who are being rewarded, but for what sets him apart from many of them: that he is targeted for the spirited traits that accompany his vices; for his relentless firmness, for his determined, tireless, vigorous resistance against oppression.
In this case, therefore, it was not the man that was to be punished, nor his faults that were to be discountenanced. Opposition to acts of power was to be marked by a kind of civil proscription. The popularity which should arise from such an opposition was to be shown unable to protect it. The qualities by which court is made to the people, were to render every fault inexpiable, and every error irretrievable. The qualities by which court is made to power, were to cover and to sanctify everything. He that will have a sure and honourable seat in the House of Commons, must take care how he adventures to cultivate popular qualities; otherwise he may remember the old maxim, Breves et infaustos populi Romani amores. If, therefore, a pursuit of popularity expose a man to greater dangers than a disposition to servility, the principle which is the life and soul of popular elections will perish out of the constitution.
In this situation, it wasn’t the man who should be punished, nor his faults that should be frowned upon. Opposition to acts of power was meant to be treated like a form of civil exclusion. The popularity that could arise from such opposition would be shown as unable to offer protection. The qualities that win favor with the people would make every fault unforgivable and every mistake irreversible. The qualities that win favor with those in power would cover up and justify everything. Anyone who wants a secure and respected position in the House of Commons must be careful about how they try to develop popular qualities; otherwise, they might recall the old saying, "Brief and unfortunate are the loves of the Roman people." If pursuing popularity puts a person at greater risk than being submissive, then the very principle that drives popular elections will fade from the constitution.
ROCKINGHAM AND CONWAY.
It is now given out for the usual purposes, by the usual emissaries, that Lord Rockingham did not consent to the repeal of this act until he was bullied into it by Lord Chatham; and the reporters have gone so far as publicly to assert, in a hundred companies, that the honourable gentleman under the gallery, who proposed the repeal in the American committee, had another set of resolutions in his pocket directly the reverse of those he moved. These artifices of a desperate cause are at this time spread abroad, with incredible care, in every part of the town, from the highest to the lowest companies; as if the industry of the circulation were to make amends for the absurdity of the report. Sir, whether the noble lord is of a complexion to be bullied by Lord Chatham, or by any man, I must submit to those who know him. I confess, when I look back to that time, I consider him as placed in one of the most trying situations in which, perhaps, any man ever stood. In the House of Peers there were very few of the ministry, out of the noble lord's own particular connection (except Lord Egmont, who acted, as far as I could discern, an honourable and manly part), that did not look to some other future arrangement, which warped his politics. There were in both houses new and menacing appearances, that might very naturally drive any other, than a most resolute minister, from his measure or from his station. The household troops openly revolted. The allies of ministry (those, I mean, who supported some of their measures, but refused responsibility for any) endeavoured to undermine their credit, and to take ground that must be fatal to the success of the very cause which they would be thought to countenance. The question of the repeal was brought on by ministry in the committee of this house, in the very instant when it was known that more than one court negotiation was carrying on with the heads of the opposition. Everything, upon every side, was full of traps and mines. Earth below shook; heaven above menaced; all the elements of ministerial safety were dissolved. It was in the midst of this chaos of plots and counterplots; it was in the midst of this complicated warfare against public opposition and private treachery, that the firmness of that noble person was put to the proof. He never stirred from his ground: no, not an inch. He remained fixed and determined, in principle, in measure, and in conduct. He practised no managements. He secured no retreat. He sought no apology.
It's now being circulated for the usual reasons, by the usual sources, that Lord Rockingham only agreed to repeal this act after being pressured by Lord Chatham; and reporters have even claimed in numerous settings that the honorable gentleman under the gallery, who suggested the repeal in the American committee, actually had a completely opposing set of resolutions in his pocket. These tactics of a desperate situation are currently being disseminated with incredible effort throughout the town, from the highest to the lowest gatherings; as if the diligence of circulation could compensate for the absurdity of the claims. Sir, whether the noble lord could be pushed around by Lord Chatham or anyone else, I’ll leave to those who know him well. I admit, when I reflect on that time, I see him as being in one of the most challenging positions any person could ever face. In the House of Peers, there were very few in the ministry, apart from the noble lord's own close associates (except Lord Egmont, who appeared to play a commendable and honorable role), who weren’t looking toward some future arrangement that skewed his political stance. In both houses, there were new and ominous pressures that could easily push any less resolute minister away from their plans or their position. The household troops openly rebelled. The ministry's allies (those who backed some of their actions but refused to take responsibility for any) tried to undermine their credibility and adopt a stance that would be disastrous for the very cause they wanted to appear to support. The question of the repeal was raised by the ministry in the committee of this house just as it became known that multiple court negotiations were happening with opposition leaders. Everything, from every angle, was filled with traps and dangers. The ground below was shaking; the heavens above were threatening; all the elements of ministerial security were crumbling. It was amidst this chaos of plots and counterplots, this complicated struggle against public opposition and private betrayal, that the strength of that noble person was truly tested. He never wavered from his position: not even an inch. He remained steadfast and determined in principle, in action, and in behavior. He made no maneuvers. He secured no fallback. He sought no excuse.
I will likewise do justice, I ought to do it, to the honourable gentlemen who led us in this house. Far from the duplicity wickedly charged on him, he acted his part with alacrity and resolution. We all felt inspired by the example he gave us, down even to myself, the weakest in that phalanx. I declare for one, I knew well enough (it could not be concealed from anybody) the true state of things; but, in my life, I never came with so much spirits into this house. It was a time for a MAN to act in. We had powerful enemies, but we had faithful and determined friends; and a glorious cause. We had a great battle to fight, but we had the means of fighting; not as now, when our arms are tied behind us. We did fight that day, and conquer.
I will also give credit where it's due to the honorable gentlemen who led us in this house. Contrary to the false accusations against him, he fulfilled his role with eagerness and determination. We were all inspired by his example, even me, the weakest among us. For my part, I knew very well (it couldn’t be hidden from anyone) what the real situation was; but I’ve never entered this house with such energy before. It was a time for a MAN to take action. We had powerful enemies, but we also had loyal and determined friends, and a glorious cause. We had a significant battle to fight, and we had the means to fight it; not like now, when our hands are tied. We did fight that day, and we won.
I remember, Sir, with a melancholy pleasure, the situation of the honourable gentleman (General Conway.) who made the motion for the repeal; in that crisis when the whole trading interest of this empire, crammed into your lobbies, with a trembling and anxious expectation, waited, almost to a winter's return of light, their fate from your resolutions. When, at length, you had determined in their favour, and your doors, thrown open, showed them the figure of their deliverer in the well-earned triumph of his important victory, from the whole of that grave multitude there arose an involuntary burst of gratitude and transport. They jumped upon him like children on a long-absent father. They clung about him as captives about their redeemer. All England, all America joined to his applause. Nor did he seem insensible to the best of all earthly rewards, the love and admiration of his fellow-citizens. HOPE ELEVATED, AND JOY BRIGHTENED HIS CREST. I stood near him; and his face, to use the expression of the scripture of the first martyr, "his face was as if it had been the face of an angel." I do not know how others feel; but if I had stood in that situation, I never would have exchanged it for all that kings in their profusion could bestow. I did hope that that day's danger and honour would have been a bond to hold us all together for ever. But, alas! that, with other pleasing visions, is long since vanished.
I remember, Sir, with a bittersweet feeling, the situation of the honorable gentleman (General Conway) who proposed the repeal; in that moment when the entire trading community of this empire crowded into your lobbies, filled with nervous and anxious anticipation, waiting—almost through a long winter—for your decisions to determine their fate. When, at last, you ruled in their favor, and your doors swung open, revealing their savior celebrating the hard-earned victory, an involuntary wave of gratitude and joy erupted from that serious crowd. They surrounded him like children rushing to a long-absent father. They clung to him like captives to their liberator. All of England, all of America joined in his praise. He clearly felt the greatest of all earthly rewards, the love and admiration of his fellow citizens. HOPE LIFTED AND JOY GLOWED ON HIS FACE. I stood close by, and his expression, to use the words from the scripture about the first martyr, "his face was like that of an angel." I don’t know how others felt, but if I had been in that position, I wouldn't have traded it for all the riches that kings could offer. I hoped that the danger and honor of that day would bond us all together forever. But, sadly, that hope, like other comforting dreams, has long since faded.
Sir, this act of supreme magnanimity has been represented, as if it had been a measure of an administration, that having no scheme of their own, took a middle line, pilfered a bit from one side and a bit from the other. Sir, they took NO middle lines. They differed fundamentally from the schemes of both parties; but they preserved the objects of both. They preserved the authority of Great Britain. They made the Declaratory Act; they repealed the Stamp Act. They did both FULLY; because the Declaratory Act was without QUALIFICATION; and the repeal of the Stamp Act TOTAL. This they did in the situation I have described.
Sir, this act of great generosity has been portrayed as if it were a policy of an administration that, lacking its own plan, took a neutral approach, borrowing a bit from each side. Sir, they did NOT take a neutral approach. They fundamentally disagreed with the proposals of both parties; however, they maintained the goals of both. They upheld the authority of Great Britain. They created the Declaratory Act and repealed the Stamp Act. They accomplished both COMPLETELY; because the Declaratory Act was without CONDITION; and the repeal of the Stamp Act was TOTAL. They did this in the situation I have described.
POLITICS IN THE PULPIT.
It is plain that the mind of this POLITICAL preacher was at the time big with some extraordinary design; and it is very probable that the thoughts of his audience, who understood him better than I do, did all along run before him in his reflection, and in the whole train of consequences to which it led. Before I read that sermon, I really thought I had lived in a free country; and it was an error I cherished, because it gave me a greater liking to the country I lived in. I was indeed aware, that a jealous, ever-waking vigilance, to guard the treasure of our liberty, not only from invasion, but from decay and corruption, was our best wisdom, and our first duty. However, I considered that treasure rather as a possession to be secured, than as a prize to be contended for. I did not discern how the present time came to be so very favourable to all EXERTIONS in the cause of freedom. The present time differs from any other only by the circumstance of what is doing in France. If the example of that nation is to have an influence on this, I can easily conceive why some of their proceedings which have an unpleasant aspect, and are not quite reconcilable to humanity, generosity, good faith, and justice, are palliated with so much milky good-nature towards the actors, and born with so much heroic fortitude towards the sufferers. It is certainly not prudent to discredit the authority of an example we mean to follow. But allowing this, we are led to a very natural question:—What is that cause of liberty, and what are those exertions in its favour, to which the example of France is so singularly auspicious? Is our monarchy to be annihilated, with all the laws, all the tribunals, and all the ancient corporations of the kingdom? Is every land-mark of the country to be done away in favour of a geometrical and arithmetical constitution? Is the House of Lords to be voted useless? Is episcopacy to be abolished? Are the church lands to be sold to Jews and jobbers; or given to bribe new-invented municipal republics into a participation in sacrilege? Are all the taxes to be voted grievances, and the revenue reduced to a patriotic contribution, or patriotic presents? Are silver shoe-buckles to be substituted in the place of the land-tax and the malt-tax, for the support of the naval strength of this kingdom? Are all orders, ranks, and distinctions to be confounded, that out of universal anarchy, joined to national bankruptcy, three or four thousand democracies should be formed into eighty-three, and that they may all, by some sort of unknown attractive power, be organized into one? For this great end is the army to be seduced from its discipline and its fidelity, first by every kind of debauchery, and then by the terrible precedent of a donative in the increase of pay? Are the curates to be secluded from their bishops, by holding out to them the delusive hope of a dole out of the spoils of their own order? Are the citizens of London to be drawn from their allegiance by feeding them at the expense of their fellow-subjects? Is a compulsory paper currency to be substituted in the place of the legal coin of this kingdom? Is what remains of the plundered stock of public revenue to be employed in the wild project of maintaining two armies to watch over and to fight with each other? If these are the ends and means of the Revolution Society, I admit they are well assorted; and France may furnish them for both with precedents in point. I see that your example is held out to shame us. I know that we are supposed a dull, sluggish race, rendered passive by finding our situation tolerable, and prevented by a mediocrity of freedom from ever attaining to its full perfection. Your leaders in France began by affecting to admire, almost to adore, the British constitution; but, as they advanced, they came to look upon it with a sovereign contempt. The friends of your National Assembly amongst us have full as mean an opinion of what was formerly thought the glory of their country. The Revolution Society has discovered that the English nation is not free. They are convinced that the inequality in our representation is a"defect in our constitution SO GROSS AND PALPABLE, as to make it excellent chiefly in FORM and THEORY." (Discourse on the Love of our Country, 3rd edition page 39.) That a representation in the legislature of a kingdom is not only the basis of all constitutional liberty in it, but of "ALL LEGITIMATE GOVERNMENT; that without it a GOVERNMENT is nothing but a USURPATION;"—that "when the representation is PARTIAL, the kingdom possesses liberty only PARTIALLY; and if extremely partial it gives only a SEMBLANCE; and if not only extremely partial, but corruptly chosen, it becomes a NUISANCE." Dr. Price considers this inadequacy of representation as our FUNDAMENTAL GRIEVANCE; and though, as to the corruption of this semblance of representation, he hopes it is not yet arrived to its full perfection of depravity, he fears that "nothing will be done towards gaining for us this ESSENTIAL BLESSING, until some GREAT ABUSE OF POWER again provokes our resentment, or some GREAT CALAMITY again alarms our fears, or perhaps till the acquisition of a PURE AND EQUAL REPRESENTATION BY OTHER COUNTRIES, whilst we are MOCKED with the SHADOW, kindles our shame." To this he subjoins a note in these words. "A representation chosen chiefly by the treasury, and a FEW thousands of the DREGS of the people, who are generally paid for their votes."
It’s clear that this political preacher had something significant on his mind at the time, and it’s likely that the thoughts of his audience, who understood him better than I do, were already reaching conclusions about his reflections and their implications. Before I read that sermon, I genuinely believed I was living in a free country, and I held onto that belief because it made me appreciate my country even more. I was aware that maintaining our freedom requires constant vigilance to protect it from threats, decay, and corruption, and that this is our best wisdom and primary duty. However, I viewed that freedom as something to be safeguarded rather than a prize to fight for. I didn't realize how the current circumstances were incredibly favorable for efforts toward freedom. The current situation is unique mainly because of what is happening in France. If that country’s examples are influencing us, I can understand why some of their actions, which seem unpleasant and don’t align with humanity, generosity, good faith, and justice, are softened by so much goodwill toward those involved, and tolerated with such bravery toward the victims. It's certainly unwise to undermine the authority of an example we aim to follow. But if that’s the case, we naturally ask: what is this cause of liberty, and what are the efforts to support it that France's example seems to favor? Are we to dismantle our monarchy, getting rid of all laws, courts, and traditional institutions? Are we to erase all the markers of our country in favor of a purely mathematical constitution? Will the House of Lords be rendered obsolete? Is the church hierarchy to be eliminated? Should church lands be sold to Jews and traders, or given away to bribe newly created municipal republics into participating in wrongdoing? Should all taxes be declared grievances, and government revenue reduced to voluntary contributions or gifts? Are we to replace land taxes and malt taxes with silver shoe buckles to fund our navy? Will all social classes and distinctions be obliterated so that out of total chaos combined with national bankruptcy, a few thousand democracies could coalesce into eighty-three and somehow unite into one through some mysterious force? For this grand purpose, is the army to be tempted away from its discipline and loyalty, first through corruption and then through the tempting precedent of a pay raise? Will curates be separated from their bishops by dangling the false hope of a share of the spoils of their own order? Are London citizens to be swayed from their loyalty by benefiting at the cost of their fellow citizens? Is a compulsory paper currency to replace our proper currency? Will the remaining stolen public funds be wasted on the reckless idea of maintaining two armies to watch and fight each other? If these are the goals and methods of the Revolution Society, I admit they match well, and France may provide them with relevant examples. I see your example is meant to shame us. We're perceived to be a dull, sluggish people, made passive by finding our situation acceptable, and held back from experiencing true freedom by a mediocre level of it. Your leaders in France started by pretending to admire, even idolize, the British constitution; however, as they progressed, they began to look down on it with disdain. The supporters of your National Assembly among us have just as low an opinion of what used to be considered the pride of their country. The Revolution Society has concluded that the English nation is not free. They believe that the inequality in our representation is such a "glaring and palpable defect in our constitution that it makes it excellent mainly in form and theory." That having representation in a kingdom's legislature is not only the foundation of all constitutional liberty, but of "ALL LEGITIMATE GOVERNMENT; that without it, a GOVERNMENT is merely a USURPATION;"—that "when the representation is PARTIAL, the kingdom has only PARTIAL liberty; and if it is extremely partial, it gives only an ILLUSION; and if it is not only extremely partial but also corruptly elected, it becomes a NUISANCE." Dr. Price sees this lack of representation as our FOUNDATIONAL GRIEVANCE; and while he hopes that the corruption of this illusion of representation has not reached its peak of depravity, he fears that "nothing will change to secure us this ESSENTIAL BLESSING until some GREAT ABUSE OF POWER stirs our anger again, or some GREAT CALAMITY fears us again, or perhaps until some other countries achieve a PURE AND EQUAL REPRESENTATION, while we are MOCKED with the SHADOW." He adds a note saying, "A representation chosen mainly by the treasury and a few thousand of the dregs of the population, who are usually paid for their votes."
You will smile here at the consistency of those democratists, who, when they are not on their guard, treat the humbler part of the community with the greatest contempt, whilst, at the same time, they pretend to make them the depositories of all power. It would require a long discourse to point out to you the many fallacies that lurk in the generality and equivocal nature of the terms "inadequate representation." I shall only say here, in justice to that old-fashioned constitution, under which we have long prospered, that our representation has been found perfectly adequate to all the purposes for which a representation of the people can be desired or devised. I defy the enemies of our constitution to show the contrary. To detail the particulars in which it is found so well to promote its ends, would demand a treatise on our practical constitution. I state here the doctrine of the revolutionists, only that you and others may see, what an opinion these gentlemen entertain of the constitution of their country, and why they seem to think that some great abuse of power, or some great calamity, as giving a chance for the blessing of a constitution according to their ideas, would be much palliated to their feelings; you see WHY THEY are so much enamoured of your fair and equal representation, which being once obtained, the same effects might follow. You see they consider our House of Commons as only "a semblance," "a form," "a theory," "a shadow," "a mockery," perhaps "a nuisance."
You’ll find it amusing to see how consistent those advocates of democracy are. When they let their guard down, they show the greatest disdain for the less privileged people in society, all while claiming to give them full power. It would take a long discussion to point out the many misconceptions hidden in the vague and ambiguous phrase "inadequate representation." I’ll just say, in fairness to the traditional constitution that has served us well for so long, that our representation has proven perfectly sufficient for all the purposes we could want from a people's representation. I challenge the critics of our constitution to prove otherwise. To explain all the ways it effectively achieves its goals would require a detailed study of our practical constitution. I mention the views of the revolutionists only so you and others can see what they really think about their country's constitution and why they believe that some major abuse of power or disaster would give them an opportunity to create a constitution that aligns with their ideas, which they feel would alleviate their concerns; you see WHY they are so in love with your fair and equal representation, as achieving that would likely lead to similar outcomes. They view our House of Commons as nothing more than "a semblance," "a form," "a theory," "a shadow," "a mockery," maybe even "a nuisance."
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.
There is nothing more memorable in history than the actions, fortunes, and character of this great man; whether we consider the grandeur of the plans he formed, the courage and wisdom with which they were executed, or the splendour of that success, which, adorning his youth, continued without the smallest reserve to support his age even to the last moments of his life. He lived above seventy years, and reigned within ten years as long as he lived: sixty over his dukedom, above twenty over England; both of which he acquired or kept by his own magnanimity, with hardly any other title than he derived from his arms; so that he might be reputed, in all respects, as happy as the highest ambition, the most fully gratified, can make a man. The silent inward satisfactions of domestic happiness he neither had nor sought. He had a body suited to the character of his mind, erect, firm, large, and active; whilst to be active was a praise; a countenance stern, and which became command. Magnificent in his living, reserved in his conversation, grave in his common deportment, but relaxing with a wise facetiousness, he knew how to relieve his mind and preserve his dignity; for he never forfeited by a personal acquaintance that esteem he had acquired by his great actions. Unlearned in books, he formed his understanding by the rigid discipline of a large and complicated experience. He knew men much, and therefore generally trusted them but little; but when he knew any man to be good, he reposed in him an entire confidence, which prevented his prudence from degenerating into a vice. He had vices in his composition, and great ones; but they were the vices of a great mind: ambition, the malady of every extensive genius; and avarice, the madness of the wise: one chiefly actuated his youth; the other governed his age. The vices of young and light minds, the joys of wine, and the pleasures of love, never reached his aspiring nature. The general run of men he looked on with contempt, and treated with cruelty when they opposed him. Nor was the rigour of his mind to be softened but with the appearance of extraordinary fortitude in his enemies, which, by a sympathy congenial to his own virtues, always excited his admiration, and insured his mercy. So that there were often seen in this one man, at the same time, the extremes of a savage cruelty, and a generosity, that does honour to human nature. Religion, too, seemed to have a great influence on his mind from policy, or from better motives; but his religion was displayed in the regularity with which he performed his duties, not in the submission he showed to its ministers, which was never more than what good government required. Yet his choice of a counsellor and favourite was not, according to the mode of the time, out of that order, and a choice that does honour to his memory. This was Lanfranc, a man of great learning for the times, and extraordinary piety. He owed his elevation to William; but, though always inviolably faithful, he never was the tool or flatterer of the power which raised him; and the greater freedom he showed, the higher he rose in the confidence of his master. By mixing with the concerns of state he did not lose his religion and conscience, or make them the covers or instruments of ambition; but tempering the fierce policy of a new power by the mild lights of religion, he became a blessing to the country in which he was promoted. The English owed to the virtue of this stranger, and the influence he had on the king, the little remains of liberty they continued to enjoy; and at last such a degree of his confidence, as in some sort counterbalanced the severities of the former part of his reign.
There’s nothing more unforgettable in history than the actions, fortunes, and character of this remarkable man. Whether we look at the grandeur of his plans, the courage and wisdom with which he executed them, or the brilliance of his success—which, while he was young, continued to support him without reserve until the very end of his life—he stands out. He lived for over seventy years, reigning for nearly ten years as long as he lived: sixty years over his dukedom and more than twenty over England, both of which he gained or maintained through his own generosity, with hardly any title beyond that which he earned through his actions. In many ways, he can be seen as being as happy as anyone with the highest ambitions could hope to be. He neither had nor sought the quiet satisfaction of domestic happiness. His body matched the strength of his character—tall, firm, large, and active, with activity being a worthy trait; his face was stern and fit for command. He lived lavishly, spoke thoughtfully, was serious in his everyday demeanor, yet could lighten the mood with witty humor, knowing how to unwind while still maintaining his dignity. He never let personal relationships diminish the respect he had earned through his great actions. Uneducated in books, he shaped his understanding through the strict discipline of a wide and complex experience. He understood people well and generally trusted them little; however, when he recognized someone as good, he placed complete trust in them, which kept his caution from turning into a flaw. He had significant flaws, but they were the flaws of a great mind: ambition, the affliction of every ambitious genius, and avarice, the folly of the wise—ambition drove his youth, while avarice directed his later years. The typical vices of youthful and carefree minds, like the pleasures of wine and love, never appealed to his ambitious spirit. He looked down on most people and treated them harshly when they opposed him. The severity of his mindset softened only in the presence of exceptional courage in his enemies, which, through a shared appreciation for his own virtues, always earned his admiration and mercy. Thus, in this one man, one could often see the extremes of brutal cruelty and a generosity that honors human nature. Religion also seemed to greatly influence his mind, whether out of political necessity or genuine motives, but his display of faith was shown through his commitment to his duties rather than in his obedience to religious leaders, which was never more than what good governance required. Nevertheless, his choice of advisor and favorite was not typical for the time and reflects well on his memory. This was Lanfranc, a man of great learning for his time and remarkable piety. He owed his rise to William; yet, despite being unwaveringly loyal, he was never a tool or flatterer of the power that elevated him; and as he displayed greater independence, he gained more of his master's trust. By engaging in state matters, he did not sacrifice his faith and integrity, nor did he use them as means to achieve ambition; instead, by tempering the fierce politics of a new regime with the gentle principles of religion, he became a blessing to the country he served. The English owed the little remaining liberties they enjoyed to the virtue of this outsider and his influence on the king, and eventually came to a level of his confidence that in some ways balanced the harshness of the earlier part of his reign.
KING ALFRED.
When Alfred had once more reunited the kingdoms of his ancestors, he found the whole face of things in the most desperate condition; there was no observance of law and order; religion had no force; there was no honest industry; the most squalid poverty, and the grossest ignorance, had overspread the whole kingdom. Alfred at once enterprised the cure of all these evils. To remedy the disorders in the government, he revived, improved, and digested all the Saxon institutions; insomuch that he is generally honoured as the founder of our laws and constitution. (Historians, copying after one another, and examining little, have attributed to this monarch the institution of juries; an institution which certainly did never prevail amongst the Saxons. They have likewise attributed to him the distribution of England into shires, hundreds, and tithings, and of appointing officers over these divisions. But it is very obvious that the shires were never settled upon any regular plan, nor are they the result of any single design. But these reports, however ill imagined, are a strong proof of the high veneration in which this excellent prince has always been held; as it has been thought that the attributing these regulations to him would endear them to the nation. He probably settled them in such an order, and made such reformations in his government, that some of the institutions themselves, which he improved, have been attributed to him; and indeed there was one work of his, which serves to furnish us with a higher idea of the political capacity of that great man than any of these fictions. He made a general survey and register of all the property in the kingdom, who held it, and what it was distinctly; a vast work for an age of ignorance and time of confusion, which has been neglected in more civilized nations and settled times. It was called the "Roll of Winton," and served as a model of a work of the same kind made by William the Conqueror.) The shire he divided into hundreds; the hundreds into tithings; every freeman was obliged to be entered into some tithing, the members of which were mutually bound for each other for the preservation of the peace, and the avoiding theft and rapine. For securing the liberty of the subject, he introduced the method of giving bail, the most certain fence against the abuses of power. It has been observed, that the reigns of weak princes are times favourable to liberty; but the wisest and bravest of all the English princes is the father of their freedom. This great man was even jealous of the privileges of his subjects; and as his whole life was spent in protecting them, his last will breathes the same spirit, declaring, that he had left his people as free as their own thoughts. He not only collected with great care a complete body of laws, but he wrote comments on them for the instruction of his judges, who were in general by the misfortune of the time ignorant; and if he took care to correct their ignorance, he was rigorous towards their corruption. He inquired strictly into their conduct; he heard appeals in person; he held his Wittena-Gemotes, or parliaments, frequently, and kept every part of his government in health and vigour.
When Alfred reunited the kingdoms of his ancestors, he found everything in a desperate state; there was no law and order, religion had lost its influence, honest work was rare, and extreme poverty and ignorance were widespread throughout the kingdom. Alfred immediately set out to fix these issues. To address the problems in the government, he revived, improved, and organized all the Saxon institutions, earning him recognition as the founder of our laws and constitution. (Historians, who often copy each other without much scrutiny, have credited this king with the creation of juries, an institution that certainly didn't exist among the Saxons. They have also credited him with dividing England into shires, hundreds, and tithings, and appointing officials over these areas. However, it's clear that the shires were never established according to a consistent plan, nor were they the result of a single initiative. Still, these claims, however misguided, show the great respect in which this admirable king has always been held, as attributing these regulations to him helped endear them to the nation. He likely organized these institutions and made reforms in his government that led to some changes being credited to him; indeed, one of his achievements gives us a greater understanding of his political skill than any of these myths. He conducted a comprehensive survey and record of all property in the kingdom, detailing who owned it and what it was—an enormous task for a time of ignorance and confusion, one that has been overlooked even in more civilized nations during more stable times. This record was called the "Roll of Winton" and served as a model for a similar work created by William the Conqueror.) He divided the shire into hundreds and the hundreds into tithings, requiring every freeman to be part of a tithing, where members were mutually responsible for each other's safety and to prevent theft and violence. To protect the rights of the people, he introduced a system of bail, which effectively guards against the abuse of power. It's been noted that the reigns of weak kings tend to favor freedom, but the wisest and bravest of all English princes is the true father of their liberty. This great man was protective of his subjects' rights; his life was dedicated to safeguarding them, and his last wishes reflected this spirit, asserting that he left his people as free as their own thoughts. He not only compiled a thorough body of laws but also wrote commentaries on them to guide his judges, who were generally ignorant due to the circumstances of the time; while he worked to correct their ignorance, he was strict about their corruption. He closely examined their behavior, personally heard appeals, frequently held his Wittena-Gemotes, or parliaments, and kept every part of his government functioning effectively.
Nor was he less solicitous for the defence, than he had shown himself for the regulation, of his kingdom. He nourished with particular care the new naval strength, which he had established; he built forts and castles in the most important posts; he settled beacons to spread an alarm on the arrival of an enemy; and ordered his militia in such a manner, that there was always a great power in readiness to march, well appointed and well disciplined. But that a suitable revenue might not be wanting for the support of his fleets and fortifications, he gave great encouragement to trade; which by the piracies on the coasts, and the rapine and injustice exercised by the people within, had long become a stranger to this island.
He was just as concerned about defense as he was about managing his kingdom. He took special care to develop the new naval force he had created; he built forts and castles at key locations; he set up beacons to alert people of an enemy's arrival; and he organized his militia so that there was always a strong, well-equipped, and well-trained force ready to mobilize. To ensure his fleets and fortifications had the necessary funding, he strongly encouraged trade, which had long been absent from this island due to piracy along the coasts and the theft and injustices committed by the locals.
In the midst of these various and important cares, he gave a peculiar attention to learning, which by the rage of the late wars had been entirely extinguished in his kingdom. "Very few there were (says this monarch) on this side the Humber, that understood their ordinary prayers; or that were able to translate any Latin book into English; so few, that I do not remember even one qualified to the southward of the Thames when I began my reign." To cure this deplorable ignorance, he was indefatigable in his endeavours to bring into England men of learning in all branches from every part of Europe; and unbounded in his liberality to them. He enacted by a law, that every person possessed of two hides of land should send their children to school until sixteen. Wisely considering where to put a stop to his love even of the liberal arts, which are only suited to a liberal condition, he enterprised yet a greater design than that of forming the growing generation,—to instruct even the grown; enjoining all his earldormen and sheriffs immediately to apply themselves to learning or to quit their offices. To facilitate these great purposes, he made a regular foundation of a university, which with great reason is believed to have been at Oxford. Whatever trouble he took to extend the benefits of learning amongst his subjects, he showed the example himself, and applied to the cultivation of his mind with unparalleled diligence and success. He could neither read nor write at twelve years old; but he improved his time in such a manner that he became one of the most knowing men of his age, in geometry, in philosophy, in architecture, and in music. He applied himself to the improvement of his native language; he translated several valuable works from Latin, and wrote a vast number of poems in the Saxon tongue with a wonderful facility and happiness. He not only excelled in the theory of the arts and sciences, but possessed a great mechanical genius for the executive part; he improved the manner of ship-building, introduced a more beautiful and commodious architecture, and even taught his countrymen the art of making bricks, most of the buildings having been of wood before his time; in a word, he comprehended in the greatness of his mind the whole of government and all its parts at once; and what is most difficult to human frailty, was the same time sublime and minute. Religion, which in Alfred's father was so prejudicial to affairs, without being in him at all inferior in its zeal and fervour, was of a more enlarged and noble kind; far from being a prejudice to his government, it seems to have been the principle that supported him in so many fatigues, and fed like an abundant source his civil and military virtues. To his religious exercises and studies he devoted a full third part of his time. It is pleasant to trace a genius even in its smallest exertions; in measuring and allotting his time for the variety of business he was engaged in. According to his severe and methodical custom, he had a sort of wax candles, made of different colours, in different proportions, according to the time he allotted to each particular affair; as he carried these about with him wherever he went, to make them burn evenly, he invented horn lanthorns. One cannot help being amazed, that a prince, who lived in such turbulent times, who commanded personally in fifty-four pitched battles, who had so disordered a province to regulate, who was not only a legislator but a judge, and who was continually superintending his armies, his navies, the traffic of his kingdom, his revenues, and the conduct of all his officers, could have bestowed so much of his time on religious exercises and speculative knowledge; but the exertion of all his faculties and virtues seemed to have given a mutual strength to all of them. Thus all historians speak of this prince, whose whole history was one panegyric; and whatever dark spots of human frailty may have adhered to such a character, they are entirely hid in the splendour of his many shining qualities and grand virtues, that throw a glory over the obscure period in which he lived, and which is for no other reason worthy of our knowledge.
In the midst of these various and important concerns, he paid special attention to education, which had been completely wiped out in his kingdom due to the chaos of the recent wars. "Very few people (says this ruler) on this side of the Humber knew their basic prayers, or could translate any Latin book into English; so few, that I don’t even remember one capable to the south of the Thames when I began my reign." To address this awful ignorance, he worked tirelessly to bring educated people from all over Europe to England and was exceedingly generous with them. He established a law that required everyone with two hides of land to send their children to school until they turned sixteen. Recognizing where to put a limit on his passion for the liberal arts, which are suitable only for a wealthy class, he took on an even greater challenge than just educating the younger generation—he aimed to educate adults too; he ordered all his earldormen and sheriffs to either focus on learning or step down from their roles. To support these ambitious goals, he founded a university, widely believed to be in Oxford. No matter how much effort he put into spreading the benefits of education to his subjects, he set an example himself, applying himself to personal development with unmatched dedication and success. He couldn't read or write at twelve, but he made such good use of his time that he became one of the most knowledgeable individuals of his time in geometry, philosophy, architecture, and music. He focused on enhancing his native language; he translated several important works from Latin and wrote a large number of poems in the Saxon language with remarkable ease and skill. He not only excelled in theoretical knowledge of the arts and sciences but also had an incredible talent for practical applications; he improved shipbuilding techniques, introduced more attractive and functional architecture, and even taught his fellow countrymen how to make bricks, as most buildings had been made of wood before his time. In short, he grasped the entirety of governance and all its components at once; and what is most challenging for human limitations, he was both grand and detailed at the same time. Religion, which had been detrimental to his father's rule, was, in his case, equally zealous and fervent but of a broader and nobler kind; far from hindering his government, it seemed to be the foundation that supported him through many struggles and fueled his civic and military virtues. He dedicated a full third of his time to his religious practices and studies. It’s interesting to observe genius even in its slightest expressions, such as when he measured and allocated his time for the different tasks he was engaged in. Sticking to his strict and methodical ways, he had wax candles of various colors and sizes for different time allotments for each task; to ensure they burned evenly, he created horn lanterns to carry them around. It’s astonishing that a prince who lived through such chaotic times, commanded in fifty-four battles, managed a disordered province, was not only a lawmaker but also a judge, and constantly oversaw his armies, navy, trade, revenue, and the behavior of all his officers could dedicate so much time to religious activities and theoretical knowledge; yet the exertion of all his abilities and virtues seemed to strengthen each other mutually. Thus, every historian speaks of this prince whose entire life reads like a tribute; and whatever flaws of human nature may have clung to such a figure, they are completely overshadowed by his many admirable qualities and grand virtues that shine a light on the obscure period in which he lived, making it worthy of our attention.
DRUIDS.
The Druids are said to be very expert in astronomy, in geography, and in all parts of mathematical knowledge. And authors speak, in a very exaggerated strain, of their excellence in these, and in many other sciences. Some elemental knowledge I suppose they had; but I can scarcely be persuaded that their learning was either deep or extensive. In all countries where Druidism was professed, the youth were generally instructed by that order; and yet was there little either in the manners of the people, in their way of life, or their works of art, that demonstrates profound science, or particularly mathematical skill. Britain, where their discipline was in its highest perfection, and which was therefore resorted to by the people of Gaul, as an oracle in Druidical questions, was more barbarous in all other respects than Gaul itself, or than any other country then known in Europe. Those piles of rude magnificence, Stonehenge and Abury, are in vain produced in proof of their mathematical abilities. These vast structures have nothing which can be admired, but the greatness of the work; and they are not the only instances of the great things, which the mere labour of many hands united, and persevering in their purpose, may accomplish with very little help from mechanics. This may be evinced by the immense buildings, and the low state of the sciences, among the original Peruvians. The Druids were eminent, above all the philosophic lawgivers of antiquity, for their care in impressing the doctrine of the soul's immortality on the minds of their people, as an operative and leading principle. This doctrine was inculcated on the scheme of transmigration, which some imagine them to have derived from Pythagoras. But it is by no means necessary to resort to any particular teacher for an opinion which owes its birth to the weak struggles of unenlightened reason, and to mistakes natural to the human mind. The idea of the soul's immortality is indeed ancient, universal, and in a manner inherent in our nature; but it is not easy for a rude people to conceive any other mode of existence than one similar to what they had experienced in life; nor any other world as the scene of such an existence, but this we inhabit, beyond the bounds of which the mind extends itself with great difficulty. Admiration, indeed, was able to exalt to heaven a few selected heroes; it did not seem absurd, that those, who in their mortal state had distinguished themselves as superior and overruling spirits, should after death ascend to that sphere, which influences and governs everything below; or that the proper abode of beings, at once so illustrious and permanent, should be in that part of nature, in which they had always observed the greatest splendour and the least mutation. But on ordinary occasions it was natural some should imagine, that the dead retired into a remote country, separated from the living by seas or mountains. It was natural, that some should follow their imagination with a simplicity still purer, and pursue the souls of men no further than the sepulchres, in which their bodies had been deposited; whilst others of deeper penetration, observing that bodies, worn out by age, or destroyed by accidents, still afforded the materials for generating new ones, concluded likewise, that a soul being dislodged did not wholly perish, but was destined, by a similar revolution in nature, to act again, and to animate some other body. This last principle gave rise to the doctrine of transmigration; but we must not presume of course, that where it prevailed it necessarily excluded the other opinions; for it is not remote from the usual procedure of the human mind, blending, in obscure matters, imagination and reasoning together, to unite ideas the most inconsistent. When Homer represents the ghosts of his heroes appearing at the sacrifices of Ulysses, he supposes them endued with life, sensation, and a capacity of moving, but he has joined to these powers of living existence uncomeliness, want of strength, want of distinction, the characteristics of a dead carcass. This is what the mind is apt to do; it is very apt to confound the ideas of the surviving soul and the dead body. The vulgar have always, and still do confound these very irreconcilable ideas. They lay the scene of apparitions in churchyards; they habit the ghost in a shroud; and it appears in all the ghastly paleness of a corpse. A contradiction of this kind has given rise to a doubt, whether the Druids did in reality hold the doctrine of transmigration. There is positive testimony, that they did hold it. There is also testimony as positive, that they buried, or burned with the dead, utensils, arms, slaves, and whatever might be judged useful to them, as if they were to be removed into a separate state. They might have held both these opinions; and we ought not to be surprised to find error inconsistent.
The Druids were known to be very skilled in astronomy, geography, and all areas of mathematics. Many writers have exaggerated their expertise in these subjects and other sciences. They likely had some basic knowledge, but it’s hard to believe their understanding was either deep or extensive. In all the places where Druidism was practiced, young people were generally taught by the Druids; however, there was little in the behavior of the people, their lifestyles, or their art that showed any profound knowledge or notable mathematical skill. Britain, where their teachings were most fully developed and which was viewed as an authority on Druidical matters by the people of Gaul, was actually more barbaric in many ways than Gaul itself or any other known country in Europe. Those massive structures, Stonehenge and Avebury, are often cited as proof of their mathematical abilities, but these grand constructions don’t showcase anything admirable beyond their sheer size. They exemplify what can be achieved by the collective effort of many hands working together, with only minimal mechanical assistance. This can also be seen in the grand buildings and limited scientific advancements among the early Peruvians. The Druids were particularly notable among ancient philosophers for their emphasis on the idea of the soul's immortality as a fundamental belief for their people. This idea was often linked to the notion of reincarnation, which some think they took from Pythagoras. But it’s not essential to trace this belief back to a specific teacher, as it likely arose from the basic struggles of human reasoning and common errors. The concept of the soul's immortality is ancient, widespread, and somewhat ingrained in our nature; however, it can be challenging for a less developed society to envision any existence beyond what they have experienced in life, or to imagine a different world for such an existence apart from the one they inhabit, which is typically hard for them to understand. Indeed, admiration could elevate a few select heroes to a heavenly realm; it didn’t seem unreasonable to believe that those who had distinguished themselves in life as powerful spirits would ascend after death to that realm, which governs all below, or that truly illustrious beings would reside in a part of nature where they had always seen the most brilliance and least change. But it was natural for many to think that the dead moved to a distant land, separated from the living by seas or mountains. Others might simply consider that the souls of the deceased remained close to their graves, while those with deeper insights might notice that bodies, worn by age or damaged by circumstances, would still provide materials for creating new ones, leading them to believe that a dislodged soul didn’t completely vanish but was meant, through a similar natural cycle, to take on another body. This last idea led to the belief in reincarnation; however, we shouldn’t assume that where it was accepted, it completely ruled out other beliefs. It’s common for the human mind to mix imagination and reasoning when dealing with unclear concepts, creating combinations of highly inconsistent ideas. When Homer depicts the spirits of his heroes appearing at Ulysses’ sacrifices, he suggests they possess life, sensation, and the ability to move, but he has combined these living attributes with the unattractive qualities, lack of strength, and indistinctive features of a dead body. This tendency to confuse the idea of a surviving soul with that of a dead body is something the mind does easily. Common people have consistently mixed these conflicting concepts throughout history, imagining ghostly figures in graveyards, draped in shrouds, exhibiting the ghastly pallor of corpses. Such contradictions have led to questions about whether the Druids truly believed in reincarnation. There is clear evidence that they did. There is also solid evidence that they buried or burned with the dead items like tools, weapons, and slaves, which they considered useful in another life. They might have held both beliefs, and it shouldn't surprise us to find inconsistencies in human thinking.
SAXON CONQUEST AND CONVERSION.
But whatever was the condition of the other parts of Europe, it is generally agreed that the state of Britain was the worst of all. Some writers have asserted, that except those who took refuge in the mountains of Wales and Cornwall, or fled into Armorica, the British race was, in a manner, destroyed. What is extraordinary, we find England in a very tolerable state of population in less than two centuries after the first invasion of the Saxons; and it is hard to imagine either the transplantation, or the increase, of that single people to have been, in so short a time, sufficient for the settlement of so great an extent of country. Others speak of the Britons, not as extirpated, but as reduced to a state of slavery; and here these writers fix the origin of personal and predial servitude in England.
But whatever the situation in other parts of Europe, it’s generally agreed that Britain was in the worst condition of all. Some writers have claimed that except for those who found refuge in the mountains of Wales and Cornwall or who fled to Armorica, the British race was essentially wiped out. Interestingly, we see England in a fairly decent state of population less than two centuries after the first Saxon invasion, and it's hard to believe that the movement or growth of that single people could have been enough in such a short time to populate such a large area. Others describe the Britons not as annihilated but as being reduced to a state of slavery; and here these writers trace the origin of personal and land servitude in England.
I shall lay fairly before the reader all I have been able to discover concerning the existence or condition of this unhappy people. That they were much more broken and reduced than any other nation which had fallen under the German power, I think may be inferred from two considerations: first, that in all other parts of Europe the ancient language subsisted after the conquest, and at length incorporated with that of the conquerors; whereas in England, the Saxon language received little or no tincture from the Welsh; and it seems, even among the lowest people, to have continued a dialect of pure Teutonic to the time in which it was itself blended with the Norman. Secondly, that on the continent, the Christian religion, after the northern irruptions, not only remained, but flourished. It was very early and universally adopted by the ruling people. In England it was so entirely extinguished, that, when Augustin undertook his mission, it does not appear that among all the Saxons there was a single person professing Christianity. The sudden extinction of the ancient religion and language appears sufficient to show that Britain must have suffered more than any of the neighbouring nations on the continent. But it must not be concealed, that there are likewise proofs, that the British race, though much diminished, was not wholly extirpated; and that those who remained, were not merely as Britons reduced to servitude; for they are mentioned as existing in some of the earlier Saxon laws. In these laws they are allowed a compensation on the footing of the meaner kind of English; and they are even permitted, as well as the English, to emerge out of that low rank into a more liberal condition. This is degradation, but not slavery. (Leges Inae 32 de Cambrico homine agrum possidente. Id. 54.) The affairs of that whole period are, however, covered with an obscurity not to be dissipated. The Britons had little leisure or ability to write a just account of a war by which they were ruined; and the Anglo-Saxons, who succeeded them, attentive only to arms, were until their conversion, ignorant of the use of letters.
I will present to the reader everything I've been able to find out about the situation of this unfortunate people. It's clear they were much more broken and diminished than any other nation that fell under German control. This can be inferred from two points: first, in other parts of Europe, the ancient language continued after the conquest and eventually mixed with that of the conquerors. However, in England, the Saxon language barely absorbed any influence from the Welsh, and even among the lowest classes, it seems to have remained a pure Teutonic dialect until it mixed with Norman. Second, on the continent, the Christian religion not only survived the northern invasions but thrived. It was adopted very early and widely by the ruling classes. In England, it was completely wiped out, so much so that when Augustine began his mission, there doesn’t seem to have been a single Saxon who practiced Christianity. The quick disappearance of the ancient religion and language suggests that Britain suffered more than its neighboring nations on the continent. However, it's important to note that there are also indications that although the British population was greatly reduced, it wasn't completely exterminated; and those who remained weren't merely Britons in servitude, as they are mentioned in some earlier Saxon laws. In these laws, they are granted compensation on par with the lower class of English people, and they are allowed, like the English, to rise from that low status into a more privileged position. This represents degradation, but not slavery. (Leges Inae 32 de Cambrico homine agrum possidente. Id. 54.) Nonetheless, the events of that entire period are shrouded in a darkness that can't be cleared away. The Britons had little time or means to write an accurate account of a war that led to their downfall; and the Anglo-Saxons who succeeded them, focused only on warfare, were ignorant of writing until their conversion.
It is on this darkened theatre that some old writers have introduced those characters and actions, which have afforded such ample matter to poets, and so much perplexity to historians. This is the fabulous and heroic age of our nation. After the natural and just representations of the Roman scene, the stage is again crowded with enchanters, giants, and all the extravagant images of the wildest and most remote antiquity. No personage makes so conspicuous a figure in these stories as King Arthur; a prince, whether of British or Roman origin, whether born on this island or in Armorica, is uncertain; but it appears that he opposed the Saxons with remarkable virtue, and no small degree of success, which has rendered him and his exploits so large an argument of romance, that both are almost disclaimed by history. Light scarce begins to dawn until the introduction of Christianity, which, bringing with it the use of letters, and the arts of civil life, affords at once a juster account of things and facts that are more worthy of relation; nor is there, indeed, any revolution so remarkable in the English story.
It is in this darkened theater that some old writers have introduced characters and actions that have provided a wealth of material for poets and plenty of confusion for historians. This is the legendary and heroic age of our nation. After the authentic and fair representations of the Roman era, the stage is once again filled with enchanters, giants, and all the wildest and most distant images from antiquity. No character stands out more in these stories than King Arthur; whether he is of British or Roman descent, or born on this island or in Armorica, is unclear. However, it is evident that he fought against the Saxons with notable bravery and considerable success, which has made him and his adventures such a significant subject of romance that both are almost rejected by historical accounts. It is only with the arrival of Christianity that light truly begins to shine, as it brings the use of written language and the arts of civil life, providing a more accurate account of events and facts that are truly worthy of being told. Indeed, there is no revolution more significant in English history.
The bishops of Rome had for sometime meditated the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons. Pope Gregory, who is surnamed the Great, affected that pious design with an uncommon zeal; and he at length found a circumstance highly favourable to it in the marriage of a daughter of Charibert, a king of the Franks, to the reining monarch of Kent. This opportunity induced Pope Gregory to commission Augustin, a monk of Rheims, and a man of distinguished piety, to undertake this arduous enterprise.
The bishops of Rome had been considering the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons for some time. Pope Gregory, nicknamed the Great, passionately supported this noble goal with great enthusiasm; eventually, he discovered a highly advantageous situation in the marriage of a daughter of Charibert, a king of the Franks, to the reigning monarch of Kent. This opportunity led Pope Gregory to appoint Augustine, a monk from Rheims known for his exceptional piety, to take on this challenging mission.
It was in the year of Christ 600, and 150 years after the coming of the first Saxon colonies into England, that Ethelbert, king of Kent, received intelligence of the arrival in his dominions of a number of men in a foreign garb, practising several strange and unusual ceremonies, who desired to be conducted to the king's presence, declaring that they had things to communicate to him and to his people of the utmost importance to their eternal welfare. This was Augustin, with forty of the associates of his mission, who now landed in the Isle of Thanet, the same place by which the Saxons had before entered, when they extirpated Christianity.
It was the year 600 AD, 150 years after the first Saxon colonies settled in England, when Ethelbert, the king of Kent, heard about the arrival of some foreigners in his kingdom. These men were dressed differently and performed strange ceremonies. They asked to be brought before the king, claiming they had important messages for him and his people regarding their eternal well-being. This was Augustine, accompanied by forty members of his mission, who had just landed on the Isle of Thanet, the same place where the Saxons had previously come ashore when they wiped out Christianity.
MINISTERIAL RESPONSIBILITY.
It is no excuse at all for a minister, who at our desire takes a measure contrary to our safety, that it is our own act. He who does not stay the hand of suicide, is guilty of murder. On our part, I say, that to be instructed, is not to be degraded or enslaved. Information is an advantage to us; and we have a right to demand it. He that is bound to act in the dark cannot be said to act freely. When it appears evident to our governors that our desires and our interests are at variance, they ought not to gratify the former at the expense of the latter. Statesmen are placed on an eminence, that they may have a larger horizon than we can possibly command. They have a whole before them, which we can contemplate only in the parts, and often without the necessary relations. Ministers are not only our natural rulers but our natural guides. Reason clearly and manfully delivered, has in itself a mighty force: but reason in the mouth of legal authority, is, I may fairly say, irresistible. I admit that reason of state will not, in many circumstances, permit the disclosure of the true ground of a public proceeding. In that case silence is manly and it is wise. It is fair to call for trust when the principle of reason itself suspends its public use. I take the distinction to be this: The ground of a particular measure, making a part of a plan, it is rarely proper to divulge; all the broader grounds of policy, on which the general plan is to be adopted, ought as rarely to be concealed. They, who have not the whole cause before them, call them politicians, call them people, call them what you will, are no judges. The difficulties of the case, as well as its fair side, ought to be presented. This ought to be done; and it is all that can be done. When we have our true situation distinctly presented to us, if then we resolve, with a blind and headlong violence, to resist the admonitions of our friends, and to cast ourselves into the hands of our potent and irreconcilable foes, then, and not till then, the ministers stand acquitted before God and man, for whatever may come.
It’s no excuse for a minister, who acts against our safety at our request, to claim it's our doing. Someone who doesn’t prevent self-harm is guilty of causing harm. I argue that being educated is not the same as being degraded or enslaved. Knowledge benefits us, and we have the right to seek it. Those who must operate in ignorance cannot be said to act freely. When it becomes clear to our leaders that our desires conflict with our interests, they should not serve the former at the expense of the latter. Politicians are in a position that allows them a broader perspective than we can have. They see the whole picture, while we can only view the parts, often missing essential connections. Ministers are not just our natural leaders but also our natural guides. Well-reasoned arguments, presented clearly and boldly, have great power; but reason conveyed through legal authority is, I can confidently say, compelling. I acknowledge that, in many situations, state interests may not allow for the clear explanation of the true rationale behind a public action. In those cases, remaining silent is both noble and wise. It's reasonable to expect trust when the core of reason itself is withheld from public view. I believe the distinction is this: while the rationale behind a specific action that forms part of a larger plan is rarely appropriate to share, the broader principles of policy guiding the overall plan should seldom be hidden. Those who don’t have the complete context, whether we call them politicians, common people, or anything else, aren’t qualified to judge. Both the challenges and the benefits of the situation should be presented. This must be done; it’s all that can be done. When we clearly understand our actual circumstances and then choose, in a reckless and blind manner, to ignore our friends’ warnings and place ourselves in the hands of our powerful and stubborn enemies, only then are the ministers absolved before God and mankind for whatever consequences may follow.
MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS AND THEIR RESULTS.
In the change of religion, care was taken to render the transit from falsehood to truth as little violent as possible. Though the first proselytes were kings, it does not appear that there was any persecution. It was a precept of Pope Gregory, under whose auspices this mission was conducted, that the heathen temples should not be destroyed, especially where they were well built; but that, first removing the idols, they should be consecrated anew by holier rites, and to better purposes (Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. i. c. 30.), in order that the prejudices of the people might not be too rudely shocked by a declared profanation of what they had so long held sacred; and that everywhere beholding the same places, to which they had formerly resorted for religious comfort, they might be gradually reconciled to the new doctrines and ceremonies which were there introduced; and as the sacrifices used in the Pagan worship were always attended with feasting, and consequently were highly grateful to the multitude, the pope ordered, that oxen should as usual be slaughtered near the church, and the people indulged in their ancient festivity. (Id. c. eod.) Whatever popular customs of heathenism were found to be absolutely not incompatible with Christianity were retained; and some of them were continued to a very late period. Deer were at a certain season brought into St. Paul's Church in London, and laid on the altar (Dugdale's History of St. Paul's.); and this custom subsisted until the Reformation. The names of some of the church festivals were, with a similar design, taken from those of the heathen, which had been celebrated at the same time of the year. Nothing could have been more prudent than these regulations; they were indeed formed from a perfect understanding of human nature.
In the shift of religion, efforts were made to make the transition from falsehood to truth as smooth as possible. Even though the initial converts were kings, there doesn’t seem to have been any persecution. Pope Gregory, under whose guidance this mission was carried out, instructed that the pagan temples should not be destroyed, especially if they were well-built. Instead, the idols should be removed first, and then the temples should be reconsecrated with more sacred rites for better purposes (Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. i. c. 30). This was to ensure that the people’s long-held sacred beliefs were not too violently challenged by openly destroying what they revered. By seeing the same places where they had previously sought religious comfort, they could gradually adjust to the new teachings and practices introduced there. Since the sacrifices performed in pagan worship were usually accompanied by feasting and were therefore very appealing to the people, the pope ordered that oxen should continue to be slaughtered near the church, allowing the people to enjoy their traditional festivities (Id. c. eod.). Any popular customs from paganism that did not directly clash with Christianity were kept, and some of them persisted for a very long time. For instance, deer were brought into St. Paul’s Church in London during a certain season and placed on the altar (Dugdale's History of St. Paul's). This practice continued until the Reformation. To align with this approach, some names of church festivals were taken from pagan celebrations held at the same time of year. These regulations were incredibly wise; they demonstrated a deep understanding of human nature.
Whilst the inferior people were thus insensibly led into a better order, the example and countenance of the great completed the work. For the Saxon kings and ruling men embraced religion with so signal, and in their rank so unusual, a zeal, that in many instances they even sacrificed to its advancement the prime objects of their ambition. Wulfere, king of the West Saxons, bestowed the Isle of Wight on the king of Sussex, to persuade him to embrace Christianity. (Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. iv. c. 13.) This zeal operated in the same manner in favour of their instructors. The greatest kings and conquerors frequently resigned their crowns, and shut themselves up in monasteries. When kings became monks, a high lustre was reflected upon the monastic state, and great credit accrued to the power of their doctrine, which was able to produce such extraordinary effects upon persons, over whom religion has commonly the slightest influence.
While the lesser people were gradually guided into a better way of life, the example and support of the powerful completed the transformation. The Saxon kings and leaders adopted Christianity with such remarkable and unusual passion that, in many cases, they even sacrificed their main ambitions for its advancement. Wulfere, the king of the West Saxons, gave the Isle of Wight to the king of Sussex to encourage him to convert to Christianity. (Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. iv. c. 13.) This zeal also worked in favor of their teachers. The greatest kings and conquerors often gave up their crowns and retired to monasteries. When kings became monks, it greatly enhanced the status of monastic life and added significant credibility to the power of their teachings, which could achieve such extraordinary results on individuals whom religion typically influenced the least.
The zeal of the missionaries was also much assisted by their superiority in the arts of civil life. At their first preaching in Sussex, that country was reduced to the greatest distress from a drought, which had continued for three years. The barbarous inhabitants, destitute of any means to alleviate the famine, in an epidemic transport of despair frequently united forty and fifty in a body, and joining their hands, precipitated themselves from the cliffs, and were either drowned or dashed to pieces on the rocks. Though a maritime people, they knew not how to fish; and this ignorance probably arose from a remnant of Druidical superstition, which had forbidden the use of that sort of diet. In this calamity, Bishop Wilfred, their first preacher, collecting nets, at the head of his attendants, plunged into the sea; and having opened this great resource of food, he reconciled the desperate people to life, and their minds to the spiritual care of those who had shown themselves so attentive to their temporal preservation. (Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. iv. c. 13.) The same regard to the welfare of the people appeared in all their actions. The Christian kings sometimes made donations to the church of lands conquered from their heathen enemies. The clergy immediately baptized and manumitted their new vassals. Thus they endeared to all sorts of men doctrines and teachers, which could mitigate the rigorous law of conquest; and they rejoiced to see religion and liberty advancing with an equal progress. Nor were the monks in this time in anything more worthy of their praise than in their zeal for personal freedom. In the canon, wherein they provided against the alienation of their lands, among other charitable exceptions to this restraint, they particularize the purchase of liberty. (Spelm. Concil. Page 329.) In their transactions with the great the same point was always strenuously laboured. When they imposed penance, they were remarkably indulgent to persons of that rank. But they always made them purchase the remission of corporal austerity by acts of beneficence. They urged their powerful penitents to the enfranchisement of their own slaves, and to the redemption of those which belonged to others; they directed them to the repair of highways, and to the construction of churches, bridges, and other works of general utility. (Instauret etiam Dei ecclesiam; et instauret vias publicas, pontibus super aquas profundas et super caenosas vias; et manumittat servos suos proprios, et redimat ab aliis hominibus servos suos ad libertatem.—L. Eccl. Edgari 14.) They extracted the fruits of virtue even from crimes, and whenever a great man expiated his private offences, he provided in the same act for the public happiness. The monasteries were then the only bodies corporate in the kingdom; and if any persons were desirous to perpetuate their charity by a fund for the relief of the sick or indigent, there was no other way than to confide this trust to some monastery. The monks were the sole channel, through which the bounty of the rich could pass in any continued stream to the poor; and the people turned their eyes towards them in all their distresses.
The enthusiasm of the missionaries was greatly supported by their skills in everyday life. When they first preached in Sussex, the area was suffering due to a drought that had lasted three years. The desperate locals, with no way to ease the famine, often banded together in groups of forty or fifty, joined hands, and jumped from the cliffs, either drowning or crashing onto the rocks. Despite living by the sea, they didn't know how to fish, likely due to remnants of Druid superstition that prohibited eating such food. In this crisis, Bishop Wilfred, their first preacher, gathered nets and, along with his followers, dove into the sea. By opening up this vital food source, he restored the community's hope and made them receptive to the spiritual guidance of those who had cared for their physical survival. (Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. iv. c. 13.) This concern for the people's well-being was evident in all their actions. The Christian kings sometimes donated lands taken from their pagan enemies to the church. The clergy promptly baptized and freed their new vassals. This endeared the teachings and teachers, which could soften the harsh law of conquest, to people of all kinds, and they were glad to see religion and freedom advancing side by side. The monks, too, stood out for their commitment to personal freedom during this time. In a canon safeguarding their lands from being sold off, they included exceptions for charitable purposes, specifically for purchasing freedom. (Spelm. Concil. Page 329.) They consistently emphasized this point in their dealings with the powerful. When they imposed penance, they were particularly lenient toward individuals of that status. However, they always required them to buy forgiveness for their physical hardships through acts of generosity. They encouraged influential penitents to free their own slaves and redeem those belonging to others; they directed them to repair roads, build churches, bridges, and other public works. (Instauret etiam Dei ecclesiam; et instauret vias publicas, pontibus super aquas profundas et super caenosas vias; et manumittat servos suos proprios, et redimat ab aliis hominibus servos suos ad libertatem.—L. Eccl. Edgari 14.) They found the positive aspects of virtue even within wrongdoings, and whenever a prominent person made amends for their personal offenses, they ensured that their actions also contributed to the welfare of the public. During that time, monasteries were the only corporate entities in the kingdom, and if anyone wanted to ensure their charitable acts continued through a fund for aiding the sick or needy, the only option was to trust a monastery with that responsibility. The monks were the primary means through which the wealthy could continuously support the poor, and the people looked to them in their times of trouble.
We must observe, that the monks of that time, especially those from Ireland (Aidanus Finam et Colmanus mirae sanctitatis fuerunt et parsimoniae. Adeo enim sacerdotes erant illius temporis ab avaritia immunes, ut nec territoria nisi coacti acciperent.—Hen. Hunting. apud Decem. l. iii. page 333. Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. iii. c. 26.), who had a considerable share in the conversion of all the northern parts, did not show that rapacious desire of riches, which long disgraced, and finally ruined, their successors. Not only did they not seek, but seemed even to shun, such donations. This prevented that alarm, which might have arisen from an early and declared avarice. At this time the most fervent and holy anchorites retired to places the furthest that could be found from human concourse and help, to the most desolate and barren situations, which even from their horror seemed particularly adapted to men who had renounced the world. Many persons followed them in order to partake of their instructions and prayers, or to form themselves upon their example. An opinion of their miracles after their death drew still greater numbers. Establishments were gradually made. The monastic life was frugal, and the government moderate. These causes drew a constant concourse. Sanctified deserts assumed a new face; the marshes were drained, and the lands cultivated. And as this revolution seemed rather the effect of the holiness of the place than of any natural causes, it increased their credit; and every improvement drew with it a new donation. In this manner the great abbeys of Croyland and Glastonbury, and many others, from the most obscure beginnings, were advanced to a degree of wealth and splendour little less than royal. In these rude ages, government was not yet fixed upon solid principles, and everything was full of tumult and distraction. As the monasteries were better secured from violence by their character, than any other places by laws, several great men, and even sovereign princes, were obliged to take refuge in convents, who, when by a more happy revolution in their fortunes they were reinstated in their former dignities, thought they could never make a sufficient return for the safety they had enjoyed under the sacred hospitality of these roofs. Not content to enrich them with ample possessions, that others also might partake of the protection they had experienced, they formally erected into an asylum those monasteries, and their adjacent territory. So that all thronged to that refuge, who were rendered unquiet by their crimes, their misfortunes, or the severity of their lords; and content to live under a government, to which their minds were subject, they raised the importance of their masters by their numbers, their labour, and above all, by an inviolable attachment.
We should note that the monks of that time, especially those from Ireland (Aidan, Finan, and Colman were remarkable for their holiness and simplicity. They were so free from greed that they only accepted land when forced to.—Hen. Hunting. apud Decem. l. iii. page 333. Bed. Hist. Eccl. l. iii. c. 26.), who played a significant role in converting the northern regions, did not demonstrate the greedy desire for wealth that later tarnished and ultimately destroyed their successors. Not only did they not pursue donations, but they also seemed to avoid them. This helped prevent any concerns that might arise from early and overt greed. At that time, the most fervent and holy hermits retreated to the most remote and desolate places, far from human presence and assistance, which seemed ideal for those who had renounced the world. Many people followed them to learn from their teachings and prayers or to emulate their example. The belief in their miracles after their deaths attracted even more followers. Over time, communities began to form. The monastic lifestyle was simple, and governance was moderate. These factors attracted continuous gatherings. Blessed wastelands transformed; swamps were drained, and land was cultivated. Since this transformation seemed more a result of the holiness of the area than of natural causes, it enhanced their reputation, and each improvement brought in new donations. This is how the great abbeys of Croyland and Glastonbury and many others, starting from the most humble beginnings, grew to a level of wealth and glory almost royal. In those rough times, the government wasn't yet based on solid principles, and everything was chaotic. Monasteries were better protected from violence by their reputation than other places were by laws, leading several nobles and even sovereign princes to seek refuge in these convents. When their fortunes changed for the better and they regained their former positions, they felt they could never repay the safety they found under the sacred hospitality of these roofs. Not satisfied with just enriching them with land, they wanted others to also benefit from the protection they had received, so they officially designated those monasteries and their surrounding areas as sanctuaries. As a result, anyone troubled by their sins, misfortunes, or harsh lords flocked to that refuge, and by willingly living under a governance that they accepted, they boosted their masters' importance through their numbers, their labor, and, above all, their unwavering loyalty.
The monastery was always the place of sepulture for the greatest lords and kings. This added to the other causes of reverence a sort of sanctity, which, in universal opinion, always attends the repositories of the dead; and they acquired also thereby a more particular protection against the great and powerful; for who would violate the tomb of his ancestors, or his own? It was not an unnatural weakness to think, that some advantage might be derived from lying in holy places, and amongst holy persons: and this superstition was fomented with the greatest industry and art. The monks of Glastonbury spread a notion, that it was almost impossible any person should be damned, whose body lay in their cemetery. This must be considered as coming in aid of the amplest of their resources, prayer for the dead.
The monastery was always the burial place for the greatest lords and kings. This added to the reverence a sense of holiness, which, in everyone's eyes, always surrounds the final resting places of the dead; and it also provided a special protection against the powerful; after all, who would desecrate the tomb of their ancestors or their own? It wasn't unreasonable to believe that being buried in sacred ground among holy people could offer some benefit: this superstition was fueled with great effort and skill. The monks of Glastonbury promoted the idea that it was nearly impossible for anyone to be condemned if their body rested in their cemetery. This should be seen as an enhancement of their most valuable resource, prayers for the dead.
But there was no part of their policy, of whatever nature, that procured to them a greater or juster credit, than their cultivation of learning and useful arts. For if the monks contributed to the fall of science in the Roman empire, it is certain, that the introduction of learning and civility into this northern world is entirely owing to their labours. It is true, that they cultivated letters only in a secondary way, and as subsidiary to religion. But the scheme of Christianity is such, that it almost necessitates an attention to many kinds of learning. For the Scripture is by no means an irrelative system of moral and divine truths; but it stands connected with so many histories, and with the laws, opinions, and manners of so many various sorts of people, and in such different times, that it is altogether impossible to arrive to any tolerable knowledge of it, without having recourse to much exterior inquiry. For which reason the progress of this religion has always been marked by that of letters. There were two other circumstances at this time, that contributed no less to the revival of learning. The sacred writings had not been translated into any vernacular language, and even the ordinary service of the church was still continued in the Latin tongue; all, therefore, who formed themselves for the ministry, and hoped to make any figure in it, were in a manner driven to the study of the writers of polite antiquity, in order to qualify themselves for their most ordinary functions. By this means a practice, liable in itself to great objections, had a considerable share in preserving the wrecks of literature; and was one means of conveying down to our times those inestimable monuments, which otherwise, in the tumult of barbarous confusion on one hand, and untaught piety on the other, must inevitably have perished. The second circumstance, the pilgrimages of that age, if considered in itself, was as liable to objection as the former; but it proved of equal advantage to the cause of literature. A principal object of these pious journeys was Rome, which contained all the little that was left in the western world, of ancient learning and taste. The other great object of those pilgrimages was Jerusalem; this led them into the Grecian empire, which still subsisted in the East with great majesty and power. Here the Greeks had not only not discontinued the ancient studies, but they added to the stock of arts many inventions of curiosity and convenience that were unknown to antiquity. When, afterwards, the Saracens prevailed in that part of the world, the pilgrims had also, by the same means, an opportunity of profiting from the improvements of that laborious people; and however little the majority of these pious travellers might have had such objects in their view, something useful must unavoidably have stuck to them; a few certainly saw with more discernment, and rendered their travels serviceable to their country by importing other things besides miracles and legends. Thus a communication was opened between this remote island and countries, of which it otherwise could then scarcely have heard mention made; and pilgrimages thus preserved that intercourse amongst mankind, which is now formed by politics, commerce, and learned curiosity. It is not wholly unworthy of observation, that Providence, which strongly appears to have intended the continual intermixture of mankind, never leaves the human mind destitute of a principle to effect it. This purpose is sometimes carried on by a sort of migratory instinct, sometimes by the spirit of conquest; at one time avarice drives men from their homes, at another they are actuated by a thirst of knowledge; where none of these causes can operate, the sanctity of particular places attracts men from the most distant quarters. It was this motive which sent thousands in those ages to Jerusalem and Rome; and now, in a full tide, impels half the world annually to Mecca.
But there was no part of their policy, regardless of its nature, that earned them greater or fairer recognition than their pursuit of learning and useful skills. If the monks were responsible for the decline of science in the Roman Empire, it’s definitely true that the introduction of knowledge and civilization into this northern world is entirely due to their efforts. It’s true that they focused on education primarily as a support for religion. However, the Christian faith is designed in such a way that it almost requires attention to many types of learning. The Scriptures are not just a collection of moral and divine truths; they are connected to a variety of histories, laws, beliefs, and customs of many different peoples across various times. Therefore, it's impossible to gain a reasonable understanding of them without extensive outside inquiry. This is why the spread of Christianity has always coincided with advancements in education. At that time, two other factors significantly contributed to the revival of learning. The sacred texts had not been translated into any common language, and even regular church services were still conducted in Latin. Therefore, anyone preparing for the ministry and hoping to achieve any status in it was essentially compelled to study the writings of polite antiquity to qualify themselves for even the most basic duties. This practice, despite being problematic, played a significant role in preserving the remnants of literature and helped pass down those invaluable texts, which otherwise, amidst the chaos of barbarism and uneducated piety, would have inevitably been lost. The second factor, the pilgrimages of that era, was also fraught with its own issues, but it proved equally beneficial for literature. A primary destination for these pious journeys was Rome, which held almost everything that remained of ancient learning and culture in the western world. Another major destination was Jerusalem, which led pilgrims into the Greek Empire, still strong and powerful in the East. Here, the Greeks not only continued the ancient studies but also contributed many new inventions and conveniences that were unknown in ancient times. Later, when the Saracens gained control of that region, pilgrims had the chance to benefit from the advancements of that industrious society; and although most of these pious travelers may not have intended to seek such knowledge, some surely came away with useful insights, with a few even bringing back more than just miracles and legends to benefit their homeland. Thus, a connection was established between this remote island and regions of which it would otherwise barely have heard, with pilgrimages facilitating the exchange among people that is now maintained through politics, commerce, and scholarly interest. It’s worth noting that Providence, which clearly seems to have intended for humanity to continually intermingle, never leaves the human mind without a means to achieve it. This purpose sometimes manifests as a migratory urge, sometimes through the spirit of conquest; at times, greed drives people from their homes, while at other times a thirst for knowledge compels them; where none of these factors come into play, the sanctity of specific places draws people from the farthest corners. This motivation led thousands in those times to journey to Jerusalem and Rome, and now, in full swing, drives half the world every year to Mecca.
By those voyages, the seeds of various kinds of knowledge and improvement were at different times imported into England. They were cultivated in the leisure and retirement of monasteries; otherwise they could not have been cultivated at all: for it was altogether necessary to draw certain men from the general rude and fierce society, and wholly to set a bar between them and the barbarous life of the rest of the world, in order to fit them for study, and the cultivation of arts and science. Accordingly, we find everywhere, in the first institutions for the propagation of knowledge amongst any people, that those, who followed it, were set apart and secluded from the mass of the community.
By those voyages, different kinds of knowledge and advancements were brought into England at various times. They were nurtured in the quiet and solitude of monasteries; otherwise, they wouldn’t have been cultivated at all. It was essential to separate certain individuals from the rough and violent society, completely isolating them from the barbaric lifestyle of the rest of the world, to prepare them for studying and developing arts and sciences. As a result, we see that in the early institutions aimed at spreading knowledge among any group of people, those who pursued it were isolated and set apart from the wider community.
The great ecclesiastical chair of this kingdom, for near a century, was filled by foreigners; they were nominated by the popes, who were in that age just or politic enough to appoint persons of a merit in some degree adequate to that important charge. Through this series of foreign and learned prelates, continual accessions were made to the originally slender stock of English literature. The greatest and most valuable of these accessions was made in the time and by the care of Theodorus, the seventh archbishop of Canterbury. He was a Greek by birth; a man of a high ambitious spirit, and of a mind more liberal, and talents better cultivated, than generally fell to the lot of the western prelates. He first introduced the study of his native language into this island. He brought with him a number of valuable books in many faculties; and amongst them a magnificent copy of the works of Homer; the most ancient and best of poets, and the best chosen to inspire a people, just initiated into letters, with an ardent love, and with a true taste for the sciences. Under his influence a school was formed at Canterbury; and thus the other great fountain of knowledge, the Greek tongue, was opened in England in the year of our Lord 669.
The prominent ecclesiastical seat of this kingdom was occupied by foreigners for nearly a century; they were appointed by the popes, who at that time were just or politically savvy enough to choose individuals whose skills were somewhat suitable for such an important role. Through this succession of foreign and educated bishops, continuous contributions were made to the originally limited body of English literature. The most significant and valuable contribution during this period came from Theodorus, the seventh archbishop of Canterbury. He was Greek by birth; a man with high ambitions, a more liberal mindset, and better-developed talents than those typically found among western bishops. He was the first to introduce the study of his native language to this island. He brought with him many valuable books across various fields; among them was a magnificent copy of Homer's works, the most ancient and greatest of poets, best suited to instill in a newly literate people a passionate love and a genuine appreciation for the sciences. Under his influence, a school was established in Canterbury, thus opening the other great source of knowledge, the Greek language, in England in the year 669 AD.
COMMON LAW AND MAGNA CHARTA.
The common law, as it then prevailed in England, was in a great measure composed of some remnants of the old Saxon customs, joined to the feudal institutions brought in at the Norman conquest. And it is here to be observed, that the constitutions of Magna Charta are by no means a renewal of the laws of St. Edward, or the ancient Saxon laws, as our historians and law-writers generally, though very groundlessly, assert. They bear no resemblance, in any particular, to the laws of St. Edward, or to any other collection of these ancient institutions. Indeed, how should they? The object of Magna Charta is the correction of the feudal policy, which was first introduced, at least in any regular form, at the Conquest, and did not subsist before it. It may be further observed, that in the preamble to the Great Charter it is stipulated, that the barons shall HOLD the liberties, there granted TO THEM AND THEIR HEIRS, from THE KING AND HIS HEIRS; which shows, that the doctrine of an unalienable tenure was always uppermost in their minds. Their idea even of liberty was not (if I may use the expression) perfectly free; and they did not claim to possess their privileges upon any natural principle or independent bottom, but, just as they held their lands, from the king. This is worthy of observation. By the feudal law all landed property is, by a feigned conclusion, supposed to be derived, and therefore to be mediately or immediately held, from the Crown. If some estates were so derived, others were certainly procured by the same original title of conquest, by which the crown itself was acquired; and the derivation from the king could in reason only be considered as a fiction of law. But its consequent rights being once supposed, many real charges and burthens grew from a fiction made only for the preservation of subordination; and in consequence of this, a great power was exercised over the persons and estates of the tenants. The fines on the succession to an estate, called in the feudal language "Reliefs," were not fixed to any certainty; and were therefore frequently made so excessive, that they might rather be considered as redemptions, or new purchases, than acknowledgments of superiority and tenure. With respect to that most important article of marriage, there was, in the very nature of the feudal holding, a great restraint laid upon it. It was of importance to the lord, that the person, who received the feud, should be submissive to him; he had therefore a right to interfere in the marriage of the heiress, who inherited the feud. This right was carried further than the necessity required; the male heir himself was obliged to marry according to the choice of his lord: and even widows, who had made one sacrifice to the feudal tyranny, were neither suffered to continue in the widowed state, nor to choose for themselves the partners of their second bed. In fact, marriage was publicly set up to sale. The ancient records of the exchequer afford many instances where some women purchased, by heavy fines, the privilege of a single life; some the free choice of a husband; others the liberty of rejecting some person particularly disagreeable. And, what may appear extraordinary, there are not wanting examples, where a woman has fined in a considerable sum, that she might not be compelled to marry a certain man; the suitor on the other hand has outbid her; and solely by offering more for the marriage than the heiress could to prevent it, he carried his point directly and avowedly against her inclinations. Now, as the king claimed no right over his immediate tenants, that they did not exercise in the same, or in a more oppressive manner over their vassals, it is hard to conceive a more general and cruel grievance than this shameful market, which so universally outraged the most sacred relations among mankind. But the tyranny over women was not over with the marriage. As the king seized into his hands the estate of every deceased tenant in order to secure his relief, the widow was driven often by a heavy composition to purchase the admission to her dower, into which it should seem she could not enter without the king's consent.
The common law that existed in England at the time was largely made up of remnants of old Saxon customs, mixed with the feudal systems that came with the Norman conquest. It’s important to note that the principles in Magna Carta are not merely a revival of the laws of St. Edward or the ancient Saxon laws, despite what our historians and legal writers often, but inaccurately, claim. They don't resemble St. Edward's laws or any other collection of those ancient rules in any significant way. In fact, how could they? The purpose of Magna Carta was to correct the feudal policies that were first established, at least in an organized form, during the Conquest and didn’t exist before it. Additionally, in the preamble to the Great Charter, it states that the barons shall HOLD the liberties granted TO THEM AND THEIR HEIRS from THE KING AND HIS HEIRS; this indicates that the idea of an unalienable tenure was always at the forefront of their minds. Their view of liberty wasn’t completely free, and they didn’t claim their privileges based on any natural principle or independent basis, but instead, just like they held their lands, from the king. This is noteworthy. According to feudal law, all land ownership is, through a constructed conclusion, assumed to be derived and therefore held, either directly or indirectly, from the Crown. While some estates were derived that way, others were certainly acquired through the same original title of conquest that the crown itself held; the connection to the king can only be reasonably seen as a legal fiction. But once the rights arising from this assumption were established, many real charges and burdens arose from a fiction created solely to maintain subordination, leading to significant power being exercised over the tenants' persons and estates. The fines on passing down an estate, known in feudal terms as "Reliefs," weren’t set at any definite amount; hence, they were often so exorbitant that they could be viewed as redemptions or new purchases rather than recognitions of superiority and tenure. Regarding marriage, there was a significant restriction tied to the nature of feudal holdings. It was crucial for the lord that the person who received the feud be submissive to him; therefore, he had the right to interfere in the marriage of the heiress who inherited the feud. This right extended beyond necessity; the male heir was required to marry according to his lord’s choice, and even widows, who had already sacrificed to feudal oppression, were neither allowed to remain single nor choose their second partners. In fact, marriage was effectively put up for sale. Ancient records show numerous instances where women paid substantial fines to gain the privilege of being single; some purchased the freedom to choose their husbands, while others bought the right to refuse particularly undesirable suitors. Remarkably, there are also cases where a woman paid a considerable sum to avoid being forced to marry a certain man; the suitor outbid her and won her hand directly against her wishes by offering more than she could afford to prevent it. Since the king held no power over his direct tenants that they didn’t also exert in the same or even harsher ways over their vassals, it’s hard to imagine a more widespread and cruel injustice than this disgraceful practice that violated the most sacred relationships among people. But the oppression of women didn’t end with marriage. When a tenant passed away, the king seized the estate to secure his relief, often forcing the widow to pay a hefty sum for permission to claim her dower, suggesting she couldn’t access it without the king’s approval.
All these were marks of a real and grievous servitude. The Great Charter was made not to destroy the root, but to cut short the overgrown branches, of the feudal service; first, in moderating, and in reducing to a certainty, the reliefs, which the king's tenants paid on succeeding to their estate according to their rank; and secondly, in taking off some of the burthens, which had been laid on marriage, whether compulsory or restrictive, and thereby preventing that shameful market, which had been made in the persons of heirs, and the most sacred things amongst mankind.
All of this was evidence of true and serious oppression. The Great Charter was designed not to eliminate the root but to trim back the excessive branches of feudal obligations; first, by moderating and clarifying the payments that the king's tenants made when inheriting their estates based on their status, and second, by removing some of the burdens imposed on marriage, whether mandatory or limiting, thus stopping the disgraceful trade that had been made with the lives of heirs and the most sacred aspects of humanity.
There were other provisions made in the Great Charter, that went deeper than the feudal tenure, and affected the whole body of the civil government. A great part of the king's revenue then consisted in the fines and amercements, which were imposed in his courts. A fine was paid there for liberty to commence, or to conclude a suit. The punishment of offences by fine was discretionary; and this discretionary power had been very much abused. But by Magna Charta things were so ordered, that a delinquent might be punished, but not ruined, by a fine or amercement, because the degree of his offence, and the rank he held, were to be taken into consideration. His freehold, his merchandise, and those instruments, by which he obtained his livelihood, were made sacred from such impositions. A more grand reform was made with regard to the administration of justice. The kings in those days seldom resided long in one place, and their courts followed their persons. This erratic justice must have been productive of infinite inconvenience to the litigants. It was now provided, that civil suits, called COMMON PLEAS, should be fixed to some certain place. Thus one branch of jurisdiction was separated from the king's court, and detached from his person. They had not yet come to that maturity of jurisprudence as to think this might be made to extend to criminal law also; and that the latter was an object of still greater importance. But even the former may be considered as a great revolution. A tribunal, a creature of mere law, independent of personal power, was established, and this separation of a king's authority from his person was a matter of vast consequence towards introducing ideas of freedom, and confirming the sacredness and majesty of laws.
There were other provisions made in the Great Charter that went deeper than just feudal tenure and affected the entire civil government. A large part of the king's revenue at the time came from fines and penalties imposed in his courts. A fine was paid there to initiate or conclude a lawsuit. Punishing offenses with fines was at the king's discretion, and this power had often been abused. But with Magna Carta, it was arranged so that a wrongdoer could be punished but not ruined by a fine or penalty, as their level of offense and social status would be taken into account. Their property, goods, and the means by which they earned their living were protected from these impositions. A more significant reform was made regarding the administration of justice. The kings back then rarely stayed in one place for long, and their courts traveled with them. This unpredictable justice must have caused significant inconvenience for those involved in legal disputes. It was now established that civil lawsuits, known as COMMON PLEAS, would take place in a specific location. Thus, one aspect of jurisdiction was separate from the king's court and his presence. They had not yet reached the level of legal maturity to consider extending this to criminal law, which was even more critical. However, the former was still a significant shift. A legal body that existed solely because of the law, independent of personal authority, was created, and this separation of the king's power from his person was extremely important for introducing ideas of freedom and reinforcing the sanctity and authority of the law.
But the grand article, and that which cemented all the parts of the fabric of liberty, was this: "that no freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or disseized, or outlawed, or banished, or in any wise destroyed, but by judgment of his peers."
But the main point, which held together the entire framework of freedom, was this: "no freeman shall be taken or imprisoned, or stripped of his property, or declared an outlaw, or exiled, or in any way harmed, except by the judgment of his peers."
There is another article of nearly as much consequence as the former, considering the state of the nation at that time, by which it is provided, that the barons shall grant to their tenants the same liberties which they had stipulated for themselves. This prevented the kingdom from degenerating into the worst imaginable government, a feudal aristocracy. The English barons were not in the condition of those great princes, who had made the French monarchy so low in the preceding century; or like those, who reduced the imperial power to a name. They had been brought to moderate bounds by the policy of the first and second Henrys, and were not in a condition to set up for petty sovereigns by an usurpation equally detrimental to the Crown and the people. They were able to act only in confederacy; and this common cause made it necessary to consult the common good, and to study popularity by the equity of their proceedings. This was a very happy circumstances to the growing liberty.
There’s another important point, almost as significant as the previous one, considering the state of the nation at that time, which states that the barons must grant their tenants the same rights that they had secured for themselves. This helped prevent the kingdom from falling into the worst possible government, a feudal aristocracy. The English barons were not like those powerful princes who had brought the French monarchy down so low in the previous century, nor like those who reduced the imperial power to mere symbolism. They had been brought under control by the policies of the first and second Henrys, and were not in a position to act as petty rulers by usurping power in a way that would harm both the Crown and the people. They were only able to act together as a group, and this shared purpose made it essential for them to consider the common good and to gain support through fair actions. This was a very positive development for the emerging sense of freedom.
EUROPE AND THE NORMAN INVASION.
Before the period of which we are going to treat, England was little known or considered in Europe. Their situation, their domestic calamities, and their ignorance, circumscribed the views and politics of the English within the bounds of their own island. But the Norman conqueror threw down all these barriers. The English laws, manners, and maxims, were suddenly changed; the scene was enlarged; and the communication with the rest of Europe being thus opened, has been preserved ever since in a continued series of wars and negotiations. That we may therefore enter more fully into the matters which lie before us, it is necessary that we understand the state of the neighbouring continent at the time when this island first came to be interested in its affairs.
Before the time we’re going to discuss, England was little known or valued in Europe. Their location, domestic issues, and lack of knowledge limited the perspectives and politics of the English to their own island. But the Norman conqueror removed all these barriers. The English laws, customs, and principles changed dramatically; the landscape expanded; and with the opening of communication with the rest of Europe, this connection has been maintained through an ongoing series of wars and negotiations. To better understand the topics ahead, we need to grasp the condition of the neighboring continent when this island first became interested in its affairs.
The northern nations, who had overrun the Roman empire, were at first rather actuated by avarice than ambition, and were more intent upon plunder than conquest; they were carried beyond their original purposes, when they began to form regular governments, for which they had been prepared by no just ideas of legislation. For a long time, therefore, there was little of order in their affairs, or foresight in their designs. The Goths, the Burgundians, the Franks, the Vandals, the Suevi, after they had prevailed over the Roman empire, by turns prevailed over each other in continual wars, which were carried on upon no principles of a determinate policy, entered into upon motives of brutality and caprice, and ended as fortune and rude violence chanced to prevail. Tumult, anarchy, confusion, overspread the face of Europe; and an obscurity rests upon the transactions of that time, which suffers us to discover nothing but its extreme barbarity.
The northern nations that took over the Roman Empire were initially driven more by greed than by ambition and were more focused on looting than on actual conquest. They strayed from their original goals when they began to establish formal governments, for which they had no solid understanding of how to create laws. For a long time, there was little order in their activities or planning in their strategies. The Goths, the Burgundians, the Franks, the Vandals, and the Suevi, after defeating the Roman Empire, continuously battled each other in ongoing wars that lacked clear policies and were motivated by brutality and whim, ending based on luck and rough force. Chaos, anarchy, and confusion swept across Europe, leaving a dark shadow over that period, revealing nothing but its extreme barbarism.
Before this cloud could be dispersed, the Saracens, another body of barbarians from the south, animated by a fury not unlike that, which gave strength to the northern irruptions, but heightened by enthusiasm, and regulated by subordination and uniform policy, began to carry their arms, their manners, and religion into every part of the universe. Spain was entirely overwhelmed by the torrent of their armies; Italy, and the islands, were harassed by their fleets, and all Europe alarmed by their vigorous and frequent enterprises. Italy, who had so long sat the mistress of the world, was by turns the slave of all nations. The possession of that fine country was hotly disputed between the Greek emperor and the Lombards, and it suffered infinitely by that contention. Germany, the parent of so many nations, was exhausted by the swarms she had sent abroad. However, in the midst of this chaos there were principles at work, which reduced things to a certain form, and gradually unfolded a system, in which the chief movers and main springs were the papal and the imperial powers; the aggrandisement or diminution of which have been the drift of almost all the politics, intrigues, and wars, which have employed and distracted Europe to this day.
Before this chaos could be resolved, the Saracens, another group of barbarians from the south, fueled by a rage similar to that which empowered the northern invasions, but intensified by enthusiasm and organized under a unified strategy, began to spread their arms, customs, and religion throughout the world. Spain was completely overwhelmed by the flood of their armies; Italy and the islands were troubled by their fleets, and all of Europe was alarmed by their aggressive and frequent campaigns. Italy, which had been the ruler of the world for so long, became a servant to all nations. Control of that beautiful country was fiercely contested between the Greek emperor and the Lombards, causing immense suffering from that conflict. Germany, the source of many nations, was drained by the hordes she had sent out. Yet, amidst this turmoil, there were forces at work that brought order and gradually developed a system, with the main drivers being the papal and imperial powers; the rise or fall of which have shaped almost all the politics, schemes, and wars that have occupied and troubled Europe up to this day.
From Rome the whole western world had received its Christianity. She was the asylum of what learning had escaped the general desolation; and even in her ruins she preserved something of the majesty of her ancient greatness. On these accounts she had a respect and a weight, which increased every day amongst a simple religious people, who looked but a little way into the consequences of their actions. The rudeness of the world was very favourable for the establishment of an empire of opinion. The moderation with which the popes at first exerted this empire, made its growth unfelt until it could no longer be opposed. And the policy of later popes, building on the piety of the first, continually increased it; and they made use of every instrument but that of force. They employed equally the virtues and the crimes of the great; they favoured the lust of kings for absolute authority, and the desire of subjects for liberty; they provoked war, and mediated peace; and took advantage of every turn in the minds of men, whether of a public or private nature, to extend their influence, and push their power from ecclesiastical to civil; from subjection to independency; from independency to empire.
From Rome, the whole western world received its Christianity. It was the refuge for the knowledge that had survived the widespread destruction, and even in its ruins, it maintained a sense of the grandeur of its ancient greatness. Because of this, it commanded respect and influence that grew daily among a simple, religious people who didn't always think deeply about the impact of their actions. The roughness of the world was very conducive to creating an empire of ideas. The way the early popes managed this power was so subtle that its growth went unnoticed until it became unchallengeable. Later popes built on the devotion of the early ones, continuously strengthening their influence, using every tool except for force. They utilized both the virtues and the wrongdoings of the powerful; they supported kings' desires for absolute control as well as subjects' wants for freedom; they incited wars while brokering peace; and they seized every opportunity, whether it was public or private, to expand their sway and transition their authority from religious to civil, from dependence to independence, and from independence to empire.
France had many advantages over the other parts of Europe. The Saracens had no permanent success in that country. The same hand, which expelled those invaders, deposed the last of a race of heavy and degenerate princes, more like eastern monarchs than German leaders, and who had neither the force to repel the enemies of their kingdom, nor to assert their own sovereignty. This usurpation placed on the throne princes of another character; princes, who were obliged to supply their want of title by the vigour of their administration. The French monarch had need of some great and respected authority to throw a veil over his usurpation, and to sanctify his newly-acquired power by those names and appearances, which are necessary to make it respectable to the people. On the other hand, the pope, who hated the Grecian empire, and equally feared the success of the Lombards, saw with joy this new star arise in the north, and gave it the sanction of his authority. Presently after he called it to his assistance. Pepin passed the Alps, relieved the pope, and invested him with the dominion of a large country in the best part of Italy.
France had many advantages over other parts of Europe. The Saracens were never able to succeed permanently in that country. The same force that drove those invaders out also removed the last of a line of weak and corrupt princes, who resembled eastern monarchs more than German leaders, and who lacked the strength to defend their kingdom against enemies or to assert their own authority. This takeover installed new rulers; leaders who had to compensate for their lack of rightful claim by the effectiveness of their governance. The French king needed some significant and respected authority to cover up his takeover and legitimize his newly-gained power with the names and appearances necessary to win the people's respect. On the other hand, the pope, who despised the Grecian empire and feared the success of the Lombards, welcomed this new force rising in the north and gave it his blessing. Soon after, he called for its help. Pepin crossed the Alps, aided the pope, and granted him control over a large region in central Italy.
Charlemagne pursued the course which was marked out for him, and put an end to the Lombard kingdom, weakened by the policy of his father, and the enmity of the popes, who never willingly saw a strong power in Italy. Then he received from the hand of the pope the imperial crown, sanctified by the authority of the Holy See, and with it the title of emperor of the Romans; a name venerable from the fame of the old empire, and which was supposed to carry great and unknown prerogatives; and thus the empire rose again out of its ruins in the West; and what is remarkable, by means of one of those nations which had helped to destroy it. If we take in the conquests of Charlemagne, it was also very near as extensive as formerly; though its constitution was altogether different, as being entirely on the northern model of government.
Charlemagne followed the path laid out for him and brought an end to the Lombard kingdom, which had been weakened by his father's policies and the hostility of the popes, who never welcomed a strong power in Italy. He then received the imperial crown from the pope, blessed by the authority of the Holy See, along with the title of emperor of the Romans; a title respected because of the legacy of the ancient empire and believed to carry significant and unknown powers. In this way, the empire rose again from its ruins in the West, and interestingly, it was through one of the nations that had contributed to its downfall. Considering Charlemagne's conquests, the empire was nearly as vast as it had been before, although its structure was completely different, reflecting a northern style of governance.
From Charlemagne the pope received in return an enlargement and a confirmation of his new territory. Thus the papal and imperial powers mutually gave birth to each other. They continued for some ages, and, in some measure, still continue closely connected, with a variety of pretensions upon each other, and on the rest of Europe. Though the imperial power had its origin in France, it was soon divided into two branches, the Gallic and the German. The latter alone supported the title of empire; but the power being weakened by this division, the papal pretensions had the greater weight. The pope, because he first revived the imperial dignity, claimed a right of disposing of it, or at least of giving validity to the election of the emperor. The emperor, on the other hand, remembering the rights of those sovereigns, whose title he bore, and how lately the power, which insulted him with such demands, had arisen from the bounty of his predecessors, claimed the same privileges in the election of a pope. The claims of both were somewhat plausible; and they were supported, the one by force of arms, and the other by ecclesiastical influence, powers which in those days were very nearly balanced. Italy was the theatre upon which this prize was disputed. In every city the parties in favour of each of the opponents were not far from an equality in their numbers and strength. Whilst these parties disagreed in the choice of a master, by contending for a choice in their subjection, they grew imperceptibly into freedom, and passed through the medium of faction and anarchy into regular commonwealths. Thus arose the republics of Venice, of Genoa, of Florence, Sienna, and Pisa, and several others. These cities, established in this freedom, turned the frugal and ingenious spirit contracted in such communities to navigation and traffic; and pursuing them with skill and vigour, whilst commerce was neglected and despised by the rustic gentry of the martial governments, they grew to a considerable degree of wealth, power, and civility.
From Charlemagne, the pope received an expansion and confirmation of his new territory in return. Thus, the papal and imperial powers essentially created each other. They remained closely intertwined for many years and, to some extent, still are, with various claims against each other and the rest of Europe. Although the imperial power originated in France, it quickly split into two branches: the Gallic and the German. Only the German branch held onto the title of empire, but this division weakened the power, allowing the papal claims to carry more weight. The pope, having revived the imperial title, asserted a right over it—or at least to validate the election of the emperor. Conversely, the emperor, remembering the rights of the sovereigns whose title he held, and how recently the power that insulted him with such demands had arisen from the generosity of his predecessors, claimed similar privileges in the election of a pope. Both claims were somewhat credible; one was backed by military force, while the other was supported by ecclesiastical influence, powers that were nearly balanced at that time. Italy was the battleground for this contest. In every city, the factions supporting each opponent were nearly equal in numbers and strength. As these factions disagreed over their choice of leader and fought for their preference in governance, they gradually moved toward freedom and evolved from factionalism and chaos into organized republics. This led to the rise of the republics of Venice, Genoa, Florence, Sienna, Pisa, and several others. Established in this newfound freedom, these cities redirected their resourceful and innovative spirit into navigation and trade; and as they pursued these with skill and determination, while commerce was overlooked and scorned by the rural gentry of the martial governments, they grew into significant centers of wealth, power, and civility.
The Danes, who in this latter time preserved the spirit and the numbers of the ancient Gothic people, had seated themselves in England, in the Low Countries, and in Normandy. They passed from thence to the southern part of Europe, and in this romantic age gave rise in Sicily and Naples to a new kingdom, and a new line of princes.
The Danes, who in this later time kept the spirit and the population of the ancient Gothic people, had settled in England, the Low Countries, and Normandy. From there, they moved to the southern part of Europe, and during this adventurous age, they established a new kingdom and a new line of princes in Sicily and Naples.
All the kingdoms on the continent of Europe were governed nearly in the same form; from whence arose a great similitude in the manners of their inhabitants. The feodal discipline extended itself everywhere, and influenced the conduct of the courts, and the manners of the people, with its own irregular martial spirit. Subjects, under the complicated laws of a various and rigorous servitude, exercised all the prerogatives of sovereign power. They distributed justice, they made war and peace at pleasure. The sovereign, with great pretensions, had but little power; he was only a greater lord among great lords, who profited of the differences of his peers; therefore no steady plan could be well pursued, either in war or peace. This day a prince seemed irresistible at the head of his numerous vassals, because their duty obliged them to war, and they performed this duty with pleasure. The next day saw this formidable power vanish like a dream, because this fierce undisciplined people had no patience, and the time of the feudal service was contained within very narrow limits. It was therefore easy to find a number of persons at all times ready to follow any standard, but it was hard to complete a considerable design, which required a regular and continued movement. This enterprising disposition in the gentry was very general, because they had little occupation or pleasure but in war; and the greatest rewards did then attend personal valour and prowess. All that professed arms, became in some sort on an equality. A knight was the peer of a king; and men had been used to see the bravery of private persons opening a road to that dignity. The temerity of adventurers was much justified by the ill order of every state, which left it a prey to almost any who should attack it with sufficient vigour. Thus, little checked by any superior power, full of fire, impetuosity, and ignorance, they longed to signalize themselves wherever an honourable danger called them; and wherever that invited, they did not weigh very deliberately the probability of success. The knowledge of this general disposition in the minds of men will naturally remove a great deal of our wonder at seeing an attempt, founded on such slender appearances of right, and supported by a power so little proportioned to the undertaking as that of William, so warmly embraced and so generally followed, not only by his own subjects, but by all the neighbouring potentates. The counts of Anjou, Bretagne, Ponthieu, Boulogne, and Poictou, sovereign princes; adventurers from every quarter of France, the Netherlands, and the remotest parts of Germany, laying aside their jealousies and enmities to one another, as well as to William, ran with an inconceivable ardour into this enterprise; captivated with the splendour of the object, which obliterated all thoughts of the uncertainty of the event. William kept up this fervour by promises of large territories to all his allies and associates in the country to be reduced by their united efforts. But after all it became equally necessary to reconcile to his enterprise the three great powers, of whom we have just spoken, whose disposition must have had the most influence on his affairs.
All the kingdoms in Europe were governed in pretty much the same way, which led to a lot of similarities in the behaviors of their people. Feudalism spread everywhere and shaped the actions of the courts and the character of the people with its own chaotic warrior spirit. Subjects, under the complicated and harsh laws of various forms of servitude, exercised many powers that were usually reserved for rulers. They administered justice, waged war, and made peace whenever they chose. The sovereign, despite having grand ambitions, had very little real power; he was just a bigger lord among many lords, who took advantage of the rivalries among his peers. As a result, it was difficult to pursue any consistent strategy, either in war or in peace. On one day, a prince might appear unstoppable at the head of his many vassals, as their duties compelled them to fight, and they did so willingly. The very next day, this impressive power could disappear like a dream, because this fierce, undisciplined group had little patience, and their feudal service lasted only a short time. It was always easy to find people ready to rally around any banner, but it was hard to carry out a significant plan that required steady and sustained effort. This adventurous tendency among the nobility was widespread because they had little else to occupy or entertain them other than war, and the greatest rewards at that time were given for personal bravery and skill. Anyone involved in arms was seen as somewhat equal; a knight could be considered on par with a king, and people were used to seeing the courage of ordinary individuals lead them to that high status. The boldness of adventurers was somewhat justified by the disorder in every state, which made them vulnerable to anyone who attacked with enough determination. Thus, with little to hold them back from a greater authority, filled with energy and enthusiasm, and lacking knowledge, they were eager to make a name for themselves wherever an honorable challenge arose; when that call came, they didn't carefully consider their chances of success. Understanding this widespread mindset among people helps explain why we see an endeavor, based on such flimsy claims of right and backed by a power so unequal to the task, as William's attempt so eagerly accepted and widely supported, not just by his own people but by all the nearby rulers as well. The counts of Anjou, Brittany, Ponthieu, Boulogne, and Poitou—sovereign princes; adventurers from all over France, the Netherlands, and the farthest parts of Germany—put aside their rivalries and animosities toward each other, and even against William, and rushed into this venture with incredible enthusiasm, dazzled by the glorious goal that overshadowed any thoughts about the uncertainty of the outcome. William fueled this enthusiasm by promising vast territories to all his allies and participants in the land they were to conquer together. However, it also became crucial to win over the three major powers we just mentioned, whose views would have had the most influence on his endeavors.
His feudal lord the king of France was bound by his most obvious interests to oppose the further aggrandisement of one already too potent for a vassal; but the king of France was then a minor; and Baldwin, earl of Flanders, whose daughter William had married, was regent of the kingdom. This circumstance rendered the remonstrance of the French council against his design of no effect; indeed the opposition of the council itself was faint; the idea of having a king under vassalage to their crown might have dazzled the more superficial courtiers; whilst those, who thought more deeply, were unwilling to discourage an enterprise, which they believed would probably end in the ruin of the undertaker. The emperor was in his minority, as well as the king of France; but by what arts the duke prevailed upon the imperial council to declare in his favour, whether or no by an idea of creating a balance to the power of France, if we can imagine that any such idea then subsisted, is altogether uncertain; but it is certain, that he obtained leave for the vassals of the empire to engage in his service, and that he made use of this permission. The pope's consent was obtained with still less difficulty. William had shown himself in many instances a friend to the church, and a favourer of the clergy. On this occasion he promised to improve those happy beginnings in proportion to the means he should acquire by the favour of the Holy See. It is said that he even proposed to hold his new kingdom as a fief from Rome. The pope, therefore, entered heartily into his interests; he excommunicated all those that should oppose his enterprise, and sent him, as a means of ensuring success, a consecrated banner.
His feudal lord, the king of France, was obviously motivated to stop the growing power of a vassal who was already too strong; however, the king was just a minor at the time, and Baldwin, the earl of Flanders, whose daughter William had married, was acting as regent for the kingdom. This situation made the protests from the French council against his plans ineffective; in fact, the council’s opposition was weak. The idea of having a king under the dominion of their crown might have impressed the more superficial courtiers, while those who thought more critically were hesitant to discourage a venture they believed would likely end in disaster for the one undertaking it. Both the emperor and the king of France were still minors; however, it remains unclear how the duke convinced the imperial council to support him, whether it was due to the notion of balancing the power of France—if we can even imagine such a concept at that time—or some other reason. What is certain is that he received permission for the vassals of the empire to join his service and he took advantage of this approval. Securing the pope's consent was even easier. William had demonstrated his support for the church and the clergy on many occasions. On this particular occasion, he promised to enhance those promising beginnings depending on the resources he gained from the Holy See. It is said that he even suggested holding his new kingdom as a fief from Rome. Therefore, the pope enthusiastically supported his cause; he excommunicated anyone who opposed his plans and sent him a consecrated banner as a means to ensure his success.
ANCIENT INHABITANTS OF BRITAIN.
That Britain was first peopled from Gaul, we are assured by the best proofs: proximity of situation, and resemblance in language and manners. Of the time in which this event happened, we must be contented to remain in ignorance, for we have no monuments. But we may conclude that it was a very ancient settlement, since the Carthaginians found this island inhabited when they traded hither for tin; as the Phoenicians, whose tracks they followed in this commerce, are said to have done long before them. It is true, that when we consider the short interval between the universal deluge and that period, and compare it with the first settlement of men at such a distance from this corner of the world, it may seem not easy to reconcile such a claim to antiquity with the only authentic account we have of the origin and progress of mankind; especially as in those early ages the whole face of nature was extremely rude and uncultivated; when the links of commerce, even in the countries first settled, were few and weak; navigation imperfect; geography unknown; and the hardships of travelling excessive. But the spirit of migration, of which we have now only some faint ideas, was then strong and universal; and it fully compensated all these disadvantages. Many writers indeed imagine, that these migrations, so common in the primitive times, were caused by the prodigious increase of people beyond what their several territories could maintain. But this opinion, far from being supported, is rather contradicted by the general appearance of things in that early time, when in every country vast tracts of land were suffered to lie almost useless in morasses and forests. Nor is it, indeed, more countenanced by the ancient modes of life, no way favourable to population. I apprehend that these first settled countries, so far from being overstocked with inhabitants, were rather thinly peopled; and that the same causes, which occasioned that thinness, occasioned also those frequent migrations, which make so large a part of the first history of almost all nations. For in these ages men subsisted chiefly by pasturage or hunting. These are occupations which spread the people without multiplying them in proportion; they teach them an extensive knowledge of the country, they carry them frequently and far from their homes, and weaken those ties which might attach them to any particular habitation.
That Britain was first inhabited by people from Gaul is well-supported by strong evidence: its geographical proximity and the similarities in language and customs. We have to accept that we don't know when this happened since we lack records. However, we can infer that it was an ancient settlement, as the Carthaginians found this island already populated when they came to trade for tin, just as the Phoenicians, whose trade routes they followed, are believed to have done long before them. It's true that when we consider the brief span between the Great Flood and that period, and compare it to the initial establishment of humans so far from this part of the world, it might seem hard to reconcile such claims of ancient origins with the one reliable account we have about the beginnings and development of humanity; especially since in those early times, the landscape was very rough and undeveloped, with limited trade connections even in the first settled areas, poor navigation, unknown geography, and the challenges of travel. However, the spirit of migration, of which we only have a vague understanding now, was then strong and widespread; it effectively made up for all these disadvantages. Many writers believe that these migrations, common in ancient times, were driven by the explosive population growth beyond what local lands could support. But this belief seems unsupported and is more contradicted by the general state of things back then, when large expanses of land were left mostly untouched by marshes and forests. In fact, the ancient ways of life didn’t favor population growth either. I think these first settled areas were not overcrowded but rather sparsely populated; and the same factors that caused that sparsity also led to those frequent migrations that are a significant part of the early history of nearly all nations. In those times, people mainly lived by herding or hunting. These activities spread people out without increasing their numbers significantly; they provided a broad understanding of the land, often took them far away from their homes, and weakened the bonds that might have tied them to specific places.
It was in a great degree from this manner of life, that mankind became scattered in the earliest times over the whole globe. But their peaceful occupations did not contribute so much to that end, as their wars, which were not the less frequent and violent because the people were few, and the interests for which they contended of but small importance. Ancient history has furnished us with many instances of whole nations, expelled by invasion, falling in upon others, which they have entirely overwhelmed; more irresistible in their defeat and ruin than in their fullest prosperity. The rights of war were then exercised with great inhumanity. A cruel death, or a servitude scarcely less cruel, was the certain fate of all conquered people; the terror of which hurried men from habitations to which they were but little attached, to seek security and repose under any climate, that however in other respects undesirable, might afford them refuge from the fury of their enemies. Thus the bleak and barren regions of the north, not being peopled by choice, were peopled as early, in all probability, as many of the milder and more inviting climates of the southern world, and thus, by a wonderful disposition of the Divine Providence, a life of hunting, which does not contribute to increase, and war, which is the great instrument in the destruction of men, were the two principal causes of their being spread so early and so universally over the whole earth. From what is very commonly known of the state of North America, it need not be said, how often, and to what distance, several of the nations on that continent are used to migrate; who, though thinly scattered, occupy an immense extent of country. Nor are the causes of it less obvious—their hunting life, and their inhuman wars.
It was largely due to this way of life that humanity spread out across the globe in ancient times. However, it wasn’t their peaceful activities that drove this spread; it was their wars, which were frequent and violent despite the small population and the relatively minor interests they fought over. Ancient history provides many examples of entire nations being pushed out by invasions and then overwhelming others, often more forcefully in their defeat and destruction than they had ever been in their prosperity. The rules of war back then were exercised with extreme cruelty. A brutal death or a harsh servitude was the inevitable fate of all conquered peoples, and this fear drove people away from homes they were only loosely attached to, seeking safety and comfort in any climate that, while undesirable in other ways, could offer refuge from the wrath of their enemies. Thus, the cold and barren northern regions were populated not by choice but likely around the same time as many of the more temperate and inviting climates of the southern world. By an extraordinary arrangement of Divine Providence, a hunting lifestyle, which does not help populations grow, and war, which is a major cause of destruction, were the two main reasons for their early and widespread presence on Earth. From what is widely understood about North America's situation, it is clear how often and how far many nations on that continent migrate, despite being sparsely populated across a vast area. The reasons for this are equally obvious—their hunting lifestyle and their brutal wars.
Such migrations, sometimes by choice, more frequently from necessity, were common in the ancient world. Frequent necessities introduced a fashion, which subsisted after the original causes. For how could it happen, but from some universally established public prejudice, which always overrules and stifles the private sense of men, that a whole nation should deliberately think it a wise measure to quit their country in a body, that they might obtain in a foreign land a settlement, which must wholly depend upon the chance of war? Yet this resolution was taken, and actually pursued by the entire nation of the Helvetii, as it is minutely related by Caesar. The method of reasoning which led them to it, must appear to us at this day utterly inconceivable; they were far from being compelled to this extraordinary migration by any want of subsistence at home; for it appears that they raised without difficulty as much corn in one year as supported them for two; they could not complain of the barrenness of such a soil.
Such migrations, sometimes voluntary but more often out of necessity, were common in the ancient world. These frequent necessities created a trend that lasted long after the initial reasons. How could an entire nation decide it was smart to leave their homeland in search of a new one, relying entirely on the uncertainty of war for their future? Yet, this decision was made and acted upon by the entire Helvetii nation, as detailed by Caesar. The reasoning behind their choice must seem completely unfathomable to us today; they were not forced into this significant migration due to lack of resources at home, as it seems they produced enough grain in one year to sustain them for two, and they couldn’t complain about the fertility of their land.
This spirit of migration, which grew out of the ancient manners and necessities, and sometimes operated like a blind instinct, such as actuates birds of passage, is very sufficient to account for the early habitation of the remotest parts of the earth; and in some sort also justifies that claim which has been so fondly made by almost all nations to great antiquity. Gaul, from whence Britain was originally peopled, consisted of three nations; the Belgae towards the north; the Celtae in the middle countries; and the Aquitani to the south. Britain appears to have received its people only from the two former. From the Celtae were derived the most ancient tribes of the Britons, of which the most considerable were called Brigantes. The Belgae, who did not even settle in Gaul until after Britain had been peopled by colonies from the former, forcibly drove the Brigantes into the inland countries, and possessed the greatest part of the coast, especially to the south and west. These latter, as they entered the island in a more improved age, brought with them the knowledge and practice of agriculture, which however only prevailed in their own countries; the Brigantes still continued their ancient way of life by pasturage and hunting. In this respect alone they differed; so that what we shall say in treating of their manners is equally applicable to both. And though the Britons were further divided into an innumerable multitude of lesser tribes and nations, yet all being the branches of these two stocks, it is not to our purpose to consider them more minutely.
This spirit of migration, stemming from ancient customs and needs, sometimes operating like a blind instinct similar to migratory birds, explains why the most remote parts of the earth were settled early on. It also supports the claim made by many nations about their great antiquity. Gaul, from which Britain was originally populated, was made up of three groups: the Belgae in the north, the Celtae in the central regions, and the Aquitani in the south. Britain seems to have received its inhabitants mainly from the first two groups. The earliest tribes of Britons came from the Celtae, with the most notable being the Brigantes. The Belgae, who didn’t settle in Gaul until after Britain had been colonized by the Celtae, forcefully pushed the Brigantes into the inland areas and took over most of the coast, particularly in the south and west. These latter settlers entered the island during a more advanced time and brought with them agricultural knowledge and practices, which, however, were only common in their own regions. The Brigantes continued their traditional lifestyle focused on grazing and hunting. In this aspect, they were different; everything we’ll discuss about their customs applies to both groups. Although the Britons were further divided into countless smaller tribes and nations, since they all originated from these two main groups, there’s no need for us to examine them in greater detail.
Britain was in the time of Julius Caesar, what it is at this day in climate and natural advantages, temperate, and reasonably fertile. But destitute of all those improvements, which in a succession of ages it has received from ingenuity, from commerce, from riches and luxury, it then wore a very rough and savage appearance. The country, forest or marsh; the habitations, cottages; the cities, hiding-places in woods; the people, naked, or only covered with skins; their sole employment, pasturage and hunting. They painted their bodies for ornament or terror, by a custom general among all savage nations; who being passionately fond of show and finery, and having no object but their naked bodies on which to exercise this disposition, have in all times painted or cut their skins, according to their ideas of ornament. They shaved the beard on the chin; that on the upper lip was suffered to remain, and grow to an extraordinary length, to favour the martial appearance, in which they placed their glory. They were in their natural temper not unlike the Gauls; impatient, fiery, inconstant, ostentatious, boastful, fond of novelty; and like all barbarians, fierce, treacherous, and cruel. Their arms were short javelins, small shields of a slight texture, and great cutting swords with a blunt point, after the Gaulish fashion.
Britain during the time of Julius Caesar was much like it is today in terms of climate and natural benefits—mild and reasonably fertile. However, it lacked all the advancements gained over the years through innovation, trade, wealth, and luxury, giving it a very rough and wild look. The land consisted of forests or marshes; the homes were simple cottages; the cities were more like concealed spots in the woods; and the people were either naked or dressed in animal skins. Their main activities were herding and hunting. They painted their bodies for decoration or intimidation, which was a common practice among all primitive societies. These groups, who loved to stand out and show off, had no canvas but their own skin, so they often painted or tattooed themselves based on their ideas of beauty. They shaved their chins but left their mustaches to grow long, enhancing their martial appearance, which they took pride in. In terms of temperament, they were not unlike the Gauls—impatient, fiery, unpredictable, showy, and boastful, with a love for new experiences. Like many other barbaric tribes, they were fierce, untrustworthy, and cruel. Their weapons included short javelins, small, light shields, and large cutting swords with blunt tips, following the Gaulish style.
Their chiefs went to battle in chariots, not unartfully contrived, nor unskilfully managed. I cannot help thinking it something extraordinary, and not easily to be accounted for, that the Britons should have been so expert in the fabric of those chariots, when they seem utterly ignorant in all other mechanic arts: but thus it is delivered to us. They had also horse, though of no great reputation in their armies. Their foot was without heavy armour; it was no firm body; nor instructed to preserve their ranks, to make their evolutions, or to obey their commanders; but in tolerating hardships, in dexterity of forming ambuscades (the art military of savages), they are said to have excelled. A natural ferocity, and an impetuous onset, stood them in the place of discipline.
Their leaders went into battle in chariots that were well-designed and skillfully handled. I find it quite remarkable, and hard to explain, that the Britons were so skilled at constructing these chariots, despite seeming to lack knowledge in all other mechanical crafts. Yet, that’s how it’s presented to us. They also had horses, although they didn’t have a strong reputation within their armies. Their infantry didn’t wear heavy armor; they weren’t organized; nor were they trained to maintain their formations, execute maneuvers, or follow orders. However, they excelled in enduring hardships and hiding in ambush (a military tactic of primitive warriors). Their natural aggression and fierce charges substituted for proper discipline.
PUBLIC PROSECUTIONS.
Public prosecutions are become little better than schools for treason; of no use but to improve the dexterity of criminals in the mystery of evasion; or to show with what complete impunity men may conspire against the commonwealth; with what safety assassins may attempt its awful head. Everything is secure, except what the laws have made sacred; everything is tameness and languor that is not fury and faction. Whilst the distempers of a relaxed fibre prognosticate and prepare all the morbid force of convulsion in the body of the state, the steadiness of the physician is overpowered by the very aspect of the disease. The doctor of the constitution, pretending to underrate what he is not able to contend with, shrinks from his own operation. He doubts and questions the salutary but critical terrors of the cautery and the knife. He takes a poor credit even from his defeat, and covers impotence under the mask of lenity. He praises the moderation of the laws, as, in his hands, he sees them baffled and despised. Is all this, because in our day the statutes of the kingdom are not engrossed in as firm a character, and imprinted in as black and legible a type as ever? No! the law is a clear, but it is a dead letter. Dead and putrid, it is insufficient to save the state, but potent to infect and to kill. Living law, full of reason, and of equity and justice (as it is, or it should not exist), ought to be severe and awful too; or the words of menace, whether written on the parchment roll of England, or cut into the brazen tablet of Rome, will excite nothing but contempt. How comes it, that in all the state prosecutions of magnitude, from the Revolution to within these two or three years, the Crown has scarcely ever retired disgraced and defeated from its courts? Whence this alarming change? By a connection easily felt, and not impossible to be traced to its cause, all the parts of the state have their correspondence and consent. They who bow to the enemy abroad, will not be of power to subdue the conspirator at home. It is impossible not to observe, that, in proportion as we approximate to the poisonous jaws of anarchy, the fascination grows irresistible. In proportion as we are attracted towards the focus of illegality, irreligion, and desperate enterprise, all the venomous and blighting insects of the state are awakened into life. The promise of the year is blasted, and shrivelled and burned up before them. Our most salutary and most beautiful institutions yield nothing but dust and smut; the harvest of our law is no more than stubble. It is in the nature of these eruptive diseases in the state to sink in by fits, and re-appear. But the fuel of the malady remains; and in my opinion is not in the smallest degree mitigated in its malignity, though it waits the favourable moment of a freer communication with the source of regicide to exert and to increase its force.
Public prosecutions have become little more than training grounds for treason; they mostly help criminals get better at evading the law or demonstrate how safely people can conspire against the government, even attempting to take out its leaders. Everything feels secure, except for what the laws have declared sacred; everything else is dull and lifeless unless fueled by anger and conflict. While the ailments of a weakened system signal and prepare for a complete breakdown in the state, the resolve of the authority is overwhelmed by the very appearance of the problem. The caretaker of the constitution, pretending to underestimate what he can't manage, backs away from his own remedies. He doubts the helpful yet risky scares of urgent measures and the harsh treatments. He gains little respect from his failures and masks his powerlessness with a guise of kindness. He praises the moderation of the laws, as he watches them be thwarted and disrespected. Is this because, in our time, the kingdom's statutes aren't written in a solid, prominent way anymore? No! The law is clear, but it's a dead letter. Dead and decaying, it's not enough to save the state, but it's capable of spreading disease and destruction. Living law, filled with reason, equity, and justice (as it should be) should also be strict and formidable; otherwise, the threats, whether inscribed on England's documents or etched into Rome's tablets, will only invite scorn. Why is it that in all significant state prosecutions, from the Revolution to just a few years ago, the Crown has rarely left the courts feeling defeated and embarrassed? Where does this concerning shift come from? There’s an observable and traceable connection between all parts of the state. Those who yield to the enemy overseas will find it hard to overcome the traitor at home. It’s hard not to see that as we get closer to the dangerous edges of anarchy, the pull becomes irresistible. As we draw nearer to the heart of illegality, irreligion, and reckless actions, all the toxic elements of the state spring to life. The promise of the year is ruined, withered, and consumed in their wake. Our most beneficial and beautiful institutions yield nothing but ashes and soot; the outcome of our law is nothing more than scraps. It's in the nature of these eruptive illnesses in the state to fade in and out. But the cause of the sickness persists; in my view, it is not diminished in its wickedness, even as it waits for a favorable moment to reconnect with the source of tyranny to unleash and amplify its power.
Is it that the people are changed, that the commonwealth cannot be protected by its laws? I hardly think it. On the contrary, I conceive that these things happen because men are not changed, but remain always what they always were; they remain what the bulk of us ever must be, when abandoned to our vulgar propensities, without guide, leader, or control; that is, made to be full of a blind elevation in prosperity; to despise untried dangers; to be overpowered with unexpected reverses; to find no clue in a labyrinth of difficulties, to get out of a present inconvenience with any risk of future ruin; to follow and to bow to fortune; to admire successful though wicked enterprise, and to imitate what we admire; to contemn the government which announces danger from sacrilege and regicide, whilst they are only in their infancy and their struggle, but which finds nothing that can alarm in their adult state, and in the power and triumph of those destructive principles. In a mass we cannot be left to ourselves. We must have leaders. If none will undertake to lead us right, we shall find guides who will contrive to conduct us to shame and ruin.
Is it that people have changed, so the government can't protect itself with its laws? I doubt it. In fact, I believe these issues arise because people haven't changed; they stay the same as they've always been. We often drift into our baser instincts when left without guidance or control. We tend to be blindly confident in good times, to underestimate unknown risks, to be overwhelmed by sudden setbacks, to struggle to find a way out of a maze of problems, to escape current troubles at the risk of future disaster, to follow and depend on luck, to admire successful but immoral ventures, and to mimic what we admire. We often disregard the government that warns against threats like sacrilege and regicide when they are just beginning, yet we overlook the dangers when these principles are established and in control. As a group, we can't be left to our own devices. We need leaders. If no one is willing to guide us properly, we'll end up following leaders who will lead us to embarrassment and failure.
TRUE NATURE OF A JACOBIN WAR.
As to me, I was always steadily of opinion, that this disorder was not in its nature intermittent. I conceived that the contest, once begun, could not be laid down again, to be resumed at our discretion; but that our first struggle with this evil would also be our last. I never thought we could make peace with the system; because it was not for the sake of an object we pursued in rivalry with each other, but with the system itself, that we were at war. As I understood the matter, we were at war not with its conduct, but with its existence; convinced that its existence and its hostility were the same.
For my part, I’ve always believed that this issue wasn’t just a temporary problem. I thought that once the fight started, we couldn’t just put it aside and pick it up whenever we wanted; our first battle against this evil would also be our last. I never believed we could come to an agreement with the system because we weren’t competing with each other for a specific goal, but rather fighting against the system itself. To me, the conflict wasn’t about how it was managed but about its very existence; I was convinced that its presence and its hostility were one and the same.
The faction is not local or territorial. It is a general evil. Where it least appears in action, it is still full of life. In its sleep it recruits its strength, and prepares its exertion. Its spirit lies deep in the corruption of our common nature. The social order which restrains it, feeds it. It exists in every country in Europe; and among all orders of men in every country, who look up to France as to a common head. The centre is there. The circumference is the world of Europe wherever the race of Europe may be settled. Everywhere else the faction is militant; in France it is triumphant. In France is the bank of deposit, and the bank of circulation, of all the pernicious principles that are forming in every state. It will be a folly scarcely deserving of pity, and too mischievous for contempt, to think of restraining it in any other country whilst it is predominant there. War, instead of being the cause of its force, has suspended its operation. It has given a reprieve, at least, to the Christian world. The true nature of a Jacobin war, in the beginning, was, by most of the Christian powers, felt, acknowledged, and even in the most precise manner declared. In the joint manifesto, published by the emperor and the king of Prussia, on the 4th of August, 1792, it is expressed in the clearest terms, and on principles which could not fail, if they had adhered to them, of classing those monarchs with the first benefactors of mankind. This manifesto was published, as they themselves express it, "to lay open to the present generation, as well as to posterity, their motives, their intentions, and the DISINTERESTEDNESS of their personal views; taking up arms for the purpose of preserving social and political order amongst all civilized nations, and to secure to EACH state its religion, happiness, independence, territories, and real constitution."—"On this ground, they hoped that all empires and all states would be unanimous; and becoming the firm guardians of the happiness of mankind, that they could not fail to unite their efforts to rescue a numerous nation from its own fury, to preserve Europe from the return of barbarism, and the universe from the subversion and anarchy with which it was threatened." The whole of that noble performance ought to be read at the first meeting of any congress, which may assemble for the purpose of pacification. In that peace "these powers expressly renounce all views of personal aggrandisement," and confine themselves to objects worthy of so generous, so heroic, and so perfectly wise and politic an enterprise. It was to the principles of this confederation, and to no other, that we wished our sovereign and our country to accede, as a part of the commonwealth of Europe. To these principles, with some trifling exceptions and limitations, they did fully accede. (See Declaration, Whitehall, October 29, 1793.) And all our friends who took office acceded to the ministry (whether wisely or not), as I always understood the matter, on the faith and on the principles of that declaration.
The faction isn't localized or confined to specific areas. It's a widespread evil. Even when it's not visibly active, it’s still very much alive. In its quiet moments, it gathers strength and gets ready for action. Its essence is deeply rooted in the corruption of our shared nature. The social structures that try to control it, actually nourish it. It exists in every country in Europe and among all social classes in each nation that looks to France as a central authority. The center is there. The outer edges span the entirety of Europe wherever Europeans may reside. Elsewhere, the faction acts aggressively; in France, it reigns supreme. France serves as the repository and distributor of all the harmful ideas taking shape in every nation. It would be foolish, hardly deserving of empathy and too damaging to be ignored, to believe we can contain it in any other country while it holds sway there. War hasn’t caused its strength; instead, it has paused its influence, at least temporarily, giving a break to the Christian world. At the onset, the true essence of a Jacobin war was recognized, acknowledged, and clearly declared by most Christian powers. In the joint manifesto released by the emperor and the king of Prussia on August 4, 1792, this was stated in the clearest terms, based on principles that, had they been followed, would have placed these monarchs among the greatest benefactors of humanity. This manifesto was published, as they stated, "to reveal to the current generation and to future ones our motivations, intentions, and the SELFLESSNESS of our aims; taking up arms to maintain social and political order among all civilized nations, and to ensure that EACH state retains its religion, happiness, independence, territories, and true constitution."— "Based on this principle, they hoped that all empires and states would stand together, and, as the steadfast protectors of human happiness, would unite their efforts to save a large nation from its own rage, shield Europe from a return to barbarism, and protect the world from the chaos and disorder that threatened it." The entirety of that inspiring document should be reviewed at the first assembly of any congress aiming for peace. In that peace, "these powers explicitly renounce all ambitions for personal gain," focusing instead on goals worthy of such a noble, brave, and truly wise and strategic endeavor. We wanted our sovereign and our nation to join this coalition of principles, as part of the European community. With a few minor exceptions and caveats, they fully agreed to these principles. (See Declaration, Whitehall, October 29, 1793.) And all our allies who took office did so (whether wisely or not), as I always understood, based on the trust and principles outlined in that declaration.
As long as these powers flattered themselves that the menace of force would produce the effect of force, they acted on those declarations: but when their menaces failed of success, their efforts took a new direction. It did not appear to them that virtue and heroism ought to be purchased by millions of rix-dollars. It is a dreadful truth, but it is a truth that cannot be concealed; in ability, in dexterity, in the distinctness of their views, the Jacobins are our superiors. They saw the thing right from the very beginning. Whatever were the first motives to the war among politicians, they saw that in its spirit, and for its objects, it was a CIVIL WAR; and as such they pursued it. It is a war between the partisans of the ancient, civil, moral, and political order of Europe, against a sect of fanatical and ambitious atheists which means to change them all. It is not France extending a foreign empire over other nations: it is a sect aiming at universal empire, and beginning with the conquest of France. The leaders of that sect secured the CENTRE OF EUROPE; and that secured, they knew, that whatever might be the event of battles and sieges, their CAUSE was victorious. Whether its territory had a little more or a little less peeled from its surface, or whether an island or two was detached from its commerce, to them was of little moment. The conquest of France was a glorious acquisition. That once well laid as a basis of empire, opportunities never could be wanting to regain or to replace what had been lost, and dreadfully to avenge themselves on the faction of their adversaries. They saw it was a CIVIL WAR. It was their business to persuade their adversaries that it ought to be a FOREIGN war. The Jacobins everywhere set up a cry against the new crusade; and they intrigued with effect in the cabinet, in the field, and in every private society in Europe. Their task was not difficult. The condition of princes, and sometimes of first ministers too, is to be pitied. The creatures of the desk, and the creatures of favour, had no relish for the principles of the manifestoes. They promised no governments, no regiments, no revenues from whence emoluments might arise by perquisite or by grant. In truth, the tribe of vulgar politicians are the lowest of our species. There is no trade so vile and mechanical as government in their hands. Virtue is not their habit. They are out of themselves in any course of conduct recommended only by conscience and glory. A large, liberal, and prospective view of the interests of states passes with them for romance; and the principles that recommend it, for the wanderings of a disordered imagination. The calculators compute them out of their senses. The jesters and buffoons shame them out of everything grand and elevated. Littleness in object and in means, to them appears soundness and sobriety. They think there is nothing worth pursuit, but that which they can handle; which they can measure with a two-foot rule; which they can tell upon ten fingers.
As long as these powers convinced themselves that the threat of force would have the same impact as actual force, they acted on those claims. But when their threats didn't succeed, their efforts took a different direction. They didn't believe that virtue and heroism should be bought with millions of rix-dollars. It's a harsh reality, but one that can’t be hidden; in skill, agility, and clarity of their vision, the Jacobins are superior to us. They recognized the situation correctly from the very start. Regardless of the initial motives for the war among politicians, they understood that in spirit and objectives, it was a CIVIL WAR, and they pursued it as such. It’s a conflict between supporters of the traditional civil, moral, and political order of Europe and a group of fanatical and ambitious atheists looking to change everything. This isn’t about France expanding its empire over other nations; it’s about a group vying for universal dominance, starting with the conquest of France. The leaders of that group took control of the CENTRE OF EUROPE; and once that was secured, they knew that no matter the outcome of battles and sieges, their CAUSE was victorious. Whether their territory was slightly larger or smaller, or whether an island or two was lost from their trade, didn't matter much to them. The conquest of France was a significant gain. With that stronghold, opportunities would always arise to reclaim what was lost and to take revenge on their opponents. They recognized it was a CIVIL WAR. Their goal was to convince their enemies that it should be viewed as a FOREIGN war. The Jacobins everywhere raised alarms about the new crusade; they skillfully maneuvered in government, on the battlefield, and within every social group in Europe. Their job wasn’t hard. The situation of princes, and sometimes that of prime ministers, deserves sympathy. The office-bound and favorite courtiers had no appreciation for the principles in the manifestoes. They offered no governments, no troops, no income that could bring them personal gain or positions of privilege. In reality, the group of ordinary politicians is the lowest among us. There is no role more base and mechanical than governance in their hands. They lack virtue. They are oblivious to a path guided only by conscience and honor. A broad and generous outlook on the interests of states is dismissed by them as mere fantasy, and the principles backing it are seen as the musings of a disturbed mind. Those who calculate their outcomes drive them mad. The jesters and buffoons mock them out of any noble ambitions. To them, small goals and limited means seem reasonable and sensible. They believe there’s nothing worth pursuing except what they can control—what they can measure with a ruler and count on their fingers.
Without the principles of the Jacobins, perhaps without any principles at all, they played the game of that faction. There was a beaten road before them. The powers of Europe were armed; France had always appeared dangerous; the war was easily diverted from France as a faction, to France as a state. The princes were easily taught to slide back into their old, habitual course of politics. They were easily led to consider the flames that were consuming France, not as a warning to protect their own buildings (which were without any party-wall, and linked by a contignation into the edifice of France), but as a happy occasion for pillaging the goods, and for carrying off the materials, of their neighbour's house. Their provident fears were changed into avaricious hopes. They carried on their new designs without seeming to abandon the principles of their old policy. They pretended to seek, or they flattered themselves that they sought, in the accession of new fortresses, and new territories, a DEFENSIVE security. But the security wanted was against a kind of power, which was not so truly dangerous in its fortresses nor in its territories, as in its spirit and its principles. They aimed, or pretended to aim, at DEFENDING themselves against a danger from which there can be no security in any DEFENSIVE plan. If armies and fortresses were a defence against jacobinism, Louis the Sixteenth would this day reign a powerful monarch over a happy people.
Without the principles of the Jacobins, perhaps without any principles at all, they played the game of that faction. There was a clear path ahead of them. The powers of Europe were armed; France had always seemed dangerous; the war was easily shifted from France as a faction to France as a state. The princes quickly learned to revert to their old, familiar political ways. They were easily led to see the flames engulfing France not as a warning to protect their own structures (which had no party wall and were connected to the building of France) but as a great opportunity to loot the resources and materials of their neighbor's house. Their cautious fears turned into greedy hopes. They pursued their new plans without appearing to abandon the principles of their previous policies. They pretended to seek, or deluded themselves into believing they sought, a DEFENSIVE security through the acquisition of new fortresses and territories. But the security they really needed was against a kind of power that was not genuinely threatening in its fortresses or territories, but in its spirit and principles. They aimed, or claimed to aim, at DEFENDING themselves against a danger for which there can be no real security in any DEFENSIVE strategy. If armies and fortresses were a defense against Jacobinism, Louis the Sixteenth would currently reign as a powerful monarch over a happy people.
This error obliged them, even in their offensive operations, to adopt a plan of war, against the success of which there was something little short of mathematical demonstration. They refused to take any step which might strike at the heart of affairs. They seemed unwilling to wound the enemy in any vital part. They acted through the whole, as if they really wished the conservation of the Jacobin power, as what might be more favourable than the lawful government to the attainment of the petty objects they looked for. They always kept on the circumference; and the wider and remoter the circle was, the more eagerly they chose it as their sphere of action in this centrifugal war. The plan they pursued, in its nature demanded great length of time. In its execution, they, who went the nearest way to work, were obliged to cover an incredible extent of country. It left to the enemy every means of destroying this extended line of weakness. Ill success in any part was sure to defeat the effect of the whole. This is true of Austria. It is still more true of England. On this false plan, even good fortune, by further weakening the victor, put him but the further off from his object.
This mistake forced them, even in their offensive actions, to follow a war strategy that had almost mathematical certainty of failure. They avoided taking any steps that could hit the core of the situation. They seemed reluctant to hurt the enemy in any significant way. They operated throughout as if they genuinely wanted to maintain Jacobin power, since having a legitimate government would be more beneficial for the small goals they were aiming for. They always stayed on the outskirts; the larger and more distant the circle, the more they preferred it as their area of engagement in this scattered conflict. The strategy they chose naturally required a lot of time. In carrying it out, those who tried to take the most direct approach had to cover an enormous area. It left the enemy with every opportunity to exploit this long stretch of vulnerability. Failure in any one area was sure to undermine the overall impact. This is particularly true for Austria, and even more so for England. Following this misguided strategy, even good luck, by further diminishing the victor, only moved him further away from his goals.
As long as there was any appearance of success, the spirit of aggrandisement, and consequently the spirit of mutual jealousy, seized upon all the coalesced powers. Some sought an accession of territory at the expense of France, some at the expense of each other, some at the expense of third parties; and when the vicissitude of disaster took its turn, they found common distress a treacherous bond of faith and friendship. The greatest skill conducting the greatest military apparatus has been employed; but it has been worse than uselessly employed, through the false policy of the war. The operations of the field suffered by the errors of the cabinet. If the same spirit continues when peace is made, the peace will fix and perpetuate all the errors of the war; because it will be made upon the same false principle. What has been lost in the field, in the field may be regained. An arrangement of peace in its nature is a permanent settlement; it is the effect of counsel and deliberation, and not of fortuitous events. If built upon a basis fundamentally erroneous, it can only be retrieved by some of those unforeseen dispensations, which the all-wise but mysterious Governor of the world sometimes interposes, to snatch nations from ruin. It would not be pious error, but mad and impious presumption, for any one to trust in an unknown order of dispensations, in defiance of the rules of prudence, which are formed upon the known march of the ordinary providence of God.
As long as there was any sign of success, the desire for power and, therefore, the spirit of jealousy took hold of all the combined forces. Some wanted to gain territory at France's expense, some at each other's expense, and some at the cost of third parties. When disasters struck, they discovered that shared suffering was a deceptive bond of loyalty and friendship. The best strategy and the largest military resources were used; however, their efforts proved to be worse than counterproductive due to the misguided policies of the war. The mistakes made by the government negatively impacted the military operations. If the same attitude persists after peace is established, the peace will solidify and perpetuate all the errors of the war because it will be based on the same flawed principles. What has been lost on the battlefield can be regained there. A peace agreement is supposed to be a permanent solution; it stems from careful thought and planning, not random events. If it is based on fundamentally wrong assumptions, the only way to correct it would be through those unexpected divine interventions that the wise but mysterious ruler of the world occasionally uses to rescue nations from disaster. It would not be a faithful miscalculation, but a reckless and irreverent assumption for anyone to rely on an unknown order of circumstances, ignoring the principles of prudence based on the known workings of God's ordinary providence.
NATIONAL DIGNITY.
National dignity in all treaties I do admit is an important consideration. They have given us a useful hint on that subject: but dignity, hitherto, has belonged to the mode of proceeding, not to the matter of a treaty. Never before has it been mentioned as the standard for rating the conditions of peace; no, never by the most violent of conquerors. Indemnification is capable of some estimate: dignity has no standard. It is impossible to guess what acquisitions pride and ambition may think fit for their DIGNITY.
National dignity in all treaties is definitely an important factor. They've pointed that out, but until now, dignity has related more to how things are done rather than the actual content of a treaty. It has never been used as a standard to evaluate peace conditions; not even by the fiercest conquerors. Compensation can be measured, but dignity cannot. It's impossible to predict what gains pride and ambition might consider worthy of their DIGNITY.
PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT NOT ABSOLUTE, BUT RELATIVE.
I reprobate no form of government merely upon abstract principles. There may be situations in which the purely democratic form will become necessary. There may be some (very few, and very particularly circumstanced) where it would be clearly desirable. This I do not take to be the case of France, or of any other great country. Until now, we have seen no examples of considerable democracies. The ancients were better acquainted with them. Not being wholly unread in the authors, who had seen the most of those constitutions, and who best understood them, I cannot help concurring with their opinion, that an absolute democracy, no more than absolute monarchy, is to be reckoned among the legitimate forms of government. They think it rather the corruption and degeneracy, than the sound constitution of a republic. If I recollect rightly, Aristotle observes, that a democracy has many striking points of resemblance with a tyranny. (When I wrote this, I quoted from memory, after many years had elapsed from my reading the passage. A learned friend has found it, and it is as follows:—
I don't reject any form of government just based on abstract ideas. There may be situations where a purely democratic system becomes necessary. There might be a few very specific instances where it would clearly be beneficial. However, I don't think this applies to France or any other major country. So far, we haven't seen significant democracies. The ancients understood them better. Having read the authors who were most familiar with those systems and who understood them best, I can't help but agree with their view that absolute democracy, just like absolute monarchy, shouldn't be considered a legitimate form of government. They see it more as a corruption and decline rather than a solid foundation for a republic. If I remember correctly, Aristotle pointed out that democracy shares many striking similarities with tyranny. (When I wrote this, I recalled from memory after many years had passed since I read the passage. A knowledgeable friend has found it, and it goes like this:—
To ethos to auto, kai ampho despotika ton Beltionon, kai ta psephismata, osper ekei ta epitagmata kai o demagogos kai o kolax, oi autoi kai analogoi kai malista ekateroi par ekaterois ischuousin, oi men kolakes para turannois, oi de demagogoi para tois demois tois toioutois.—
To ethos to auto, kai ampho despotika ton Beltionon, kai ta psephismata, osper ekei ta epitagmata kai o demagogos kai o kolax, oi autoi kai analogoi kai malista ekateroi par ekaterois ischuousin, oi men kolakes para turannois, oi de demagogoi para tois demois tois toioutois.—
"The ethical character is the same; both exercise despotism over the better class of citizens; and decrees are in the one, what ordinances and arrets are in the other: the demagogue too, and the court favourite, are not unfrequently the same identical men, and always bear a close analogy; and these have the principal power, each in their respective forms of government, favourites with the absolute monarch, and demagogues with a people such as I have described."—Arist. Politic. lib. iv. cap 4.)
"The moral character is the same; both impose control over the more virtuous citizens; and laws in one case are similar to the regulations and decrees in the other: the demagogue and the court favorite are often the exact same individuals, and they always share a close resemblance; these individuals hold significant power, each in their particular form of government, favorites with the absolute ruler and demagogues with a populace like the one I've described."—Arist. Politic. lib. iv. cap 4.)
Of this I am certain, that in a democracy, the majority of the citizens is capable of exercising the most cruel oppressions upon the minority, whenever strong divisions prevail in that kind of polity, as they often must; and that oppression of the minority will extend to far greater numbers, and will be carried on with much greater fury, than can almost ever be apprehended from the dominion of a single sceptre. In such a popular persecution, individual sufferers are in a much more deplorable condition than in any other. Under a cruel prince they have the balmy compassion of mankind to assuage the smart of their wounds; they have the plaudits of the people to animate their generous constancy under their sufferings: but those who are subjected to wrong under multitudes, are deprived of all external consolation. They seem deserted by mankind, overpowered by a conspiracy of their whole species. But admitting democracy not to have that inevitable tendency to party tyranny, which I suppose it to have, and admitting it to possess as much good in it when unmixed, as I am sure it possesses when compounded with other forms; does monarchy, on its part, contain nothing at all to recommend it? I do not often quote Bolingbroke, nor have his works in general left any permanent impression on my mind. He is a presumptuous and a superficial writer. But he has one observation, which, in my opinion, is not without depth and solidity. He says, that he prefers a monarchy to other governments, because you can better ingraft any description of republic on a monarchy, than anything of monarchy upon the republican forms. I think him perfectly in the right. The fact is so historically; and it agrees well with the speculation.
I am certain that in a democracy, the majority of citizens can inflict the most cruel oppression on the minority whenever there are strong divisions in that system, as is often the case. The oppression of the minority tends to affect even greater numbers and is executed with much greater intensity than can typically be expected from the rule of a single leader. In such popular persecution, the individual victims are in a much worse state than in any other situation. Under a cruel king, they have the genuine compassion of humanity to help ease their pain; they receive the support of the people to bolster their bravery in the face of suffering. However, those who suffer wrongs at the hands of the majority feel completely abandoned by society, overwhelmed by a conspiracy of their entire kind. But even if we assume that democracy doesn't have that inevitable tendency toward tyranny of the majority, which I believe it does, and even if we acknowledge that it possesses some good when not mixed with other forms, does monarchy have nothing at all to recommend it? I don’t often quote Bolingbroke, and his works haven't left a lasting mark on my mind. He can be presumptuous and superficial. But he makes one point that I believe holds some depth and validity: he prefers monarchy to other forms of government because it’s easier to integrate a type of republic into a monarchy than to incorporate elements of monarchy into republican systems. I think he is completely right. This is historically true, and it aligns well with theoretical reflections.
I know how easy a topic it is to dwell on the faults of departed greatness. By a revolution in the state, the fawning sycophant of yesterday is converted into the austere critic of the present hour. But steady, independent minds, when they have an object of so serious a concern to mankind as government under their contemplation, will disdain to assume the part of satirists and declaimers. They will judge of human institutions as they do of human characters. They will sort out the good from the evil, which is mixed in mortal institutions, as it is in mortal men.
I understand how tempting it is to focus on the flaws of past greatness. When there's a shift in power, yesterday's flattering followers quickly become today's harsh critics. However, steady and independent thinkers, when considering something as significant to humanity as government, won’t take on the roles of satirists or loudmouths. They will evaluate human institutions just as they do human beings. They will separate the good from the bad, just as it exists in both institutions and individuals.
DECLARATION OF 1793.
It is not difficult to discern what sort of humanity our government is to learn from these syren singers. Our government also, I admit with some reason, as a step towards the proposed fraternity, is required to abjure the unjust hatred which it bears to this body, of honour and virtue. I thank God I am neither a minister nor a leader of opposition. I protest I cannot do what they desire. I could not do it if I were under the guillotine; or as they ingeniously and pleasantly express it, "looking out of the little national window." Even at that opening I could receive none of their light. I am fortified against all such affections by the declaration of the government, which I must yet consider as lawful, made on the 29th of October, 1793, and still ringing in my ears.
It’s not hard to see what kind of humanity our government is meant to learn from these siren singers. I acknowledge that our government, as part of the proposed brotherhood, needs to let go of the unjust animosity it holds towards this group of honor and virtue. Thank God I am neither a minister nor an opposition leader. I truly can’t do what they want. I wouldn’t be able to, even if I were facing execution; or as they cleverly and amusingly say, “looking out of the little national window.” Even at that threshold, I wouldn’t absorb any of their light. I’m strengthened against all such feelings by the government’s declaration, which I still consider lawful, made on October 29, 1793, and it’s still echoing in my ears.
("In their place has succeeded a system destructive of all public order, maintained by proscriptions, exiles, and confiscations without number; by arbitrary imprisonment; by massacres which cannot be remembered without horror; and at length by the execrable murder of a just and beneficent sovereign, and of the illustrious princess, who, with an unshaken firmness, has shared all the misfortunes of her royal consort, his protracted sufferings, his cruel captivity, and ignominious death." They (the allies) have had to encounter acts of aggression without pretext, open violation of all treaties, unprovoked declarations of war; in a word, whatever corruption, intrigue, or violence, could effect for the purpose, openly avowed, of subverting all the institutions of society, and of extending over all the nations of Europe that confusion, which has produced the misery of France."—"This state of things cannot exist in France without involving all the surrounding powers in one common danger, without giving them the right, without imposing it upon them as a duty, to stop the progress of an evil, which exists only by the successive violation of all law and all property, and which attacks the fundamental principles by which mankind is united in the bonds of civil society."—"The king would impose none other than equitable and moderate conditions, not such as the expense, the risks, and the sacrifices of the war might justify; but such as his majesty thinks himself under the indispensable necessity of requiring, with a view to these considerations, and still more to that of his own security and of the future tranquillity of Europe. His majesty desires nothing more sincerely than thus to terminate a war, which he in vain endeavoured to avoid, and all the calamities of which, as now experienced by France, are to be attributed only to the ambition, the perfidy, and the violence of those, whose crimes have involved their own country in misery, and disgraced all civilized nations."—"The king promises, on his part, the suspension of hostilities, friendship, and (as far as the course of events will allow, of which the will of man cannot dispose) security and protection to all those who, by declaring for a monarchical form of government, shall shake off the yoke of sanguinary anarchy; of that anarchy which has broken all the most sacred bonds of society, dissolved all the relations of civil life, violated every right, confounded every duty; which uses the name of liberty to exercise the most cruel tyranny, to annihilate all property, to seize on all possessions: which founds its power on the pretended consent of the people, and itself carries fire and sword through extensive provinces for having demanded their laws, their religion, and their LAWFUL SOVEREIGN."
("Instead, we have a system that destroys all public order, upheld by countless bans, exiles, and confiscations; by arbitrary arrests; by horrific massacres we can hardly bear to remember; and ultimately, by the despicable murder of a just and kind ruler, along with the remarkable princess who has steadfastly shared all the hardships of her royal partner, his prolonged suffering, cruel imprisonment, and shameful death." They (the allies) have faced unprovoked acts of aggression, blatant violations of all treaties, and unjust declarations of war; in short, everything that corruption, scheming, or violence could do to openly aim to dismantle all societal institutions and spread chaos across Europe, which has led to France's suffering."—"This situation cannot persist in France without dragging all neighboring powers into a shared danger, without granting them the right—and making it their duty—to halt the growth of a problem that only thrives through continuous disregard for all laws and properties, and that attacks the fundamental principles that bind humanity together in civil society."—"The king would impose only fair and reasonable conditions, not those dictated by the costs, risks, and sacrifices of war, but those his majesty feels absolutely necessary, considering his own security and the future peace of Europe. His majesty sincerely wishes to end this war, which he tried in vain to avoid, and all the disasters now affecting France are solely due to the ambition, treachery, and violence of those whose actions have plunged their own country into misery and disgraced all civilized nations."—"The king promises, on his side, to suspend hostilities, offer friendship, and (as far as circumstances allow, which are beyond human control) security and protection to all who, by supporting a monarchy, will throw off the burdensome yoke of bloody anarchy; that anarchy which has shattered the most sacred ties of society, dissolved all civil relationships, violated every right, and confused every duty; which uses the term liberty to enforce the most brutal tyranny, to obliterate all property, to seize what belongs to others: which bases its power on the supposed consent of the people, and itself brings destruction across vast regions for demanding their laws, their religion, and their LAWFUL SOVEREIGN."
Declaration sent by his majesty's command to the commanders of his majesty's fleets and armies employed against France, and to his majesty's ministers employed at foreign courts.)
Declaration sent by his majesty's command to the leaders of his majesty's fleets and armies deployed against France, and to his majesty's ministers working at foreign courts.)
This declaration was transmitted not only to our commanders by sea and land, but to our ministers in every court of Europe. It is the most eloquent and highly-finished in the style, the most judicious in the choice of topics, the most orderly in the arrangement, and the most rich in the colouring, without employing the smallest degree of exaggeration, of any state paper that has ever yet appeared. An ancient writer, Plutarch, I think it is, quotes some verses on the eloquence of Pericles, who is called "the only orator that left stings in the minds of his hearers." Like his, the eloquence of the declaration, not contradicting, but enforcing sentiments of the truest humanity, has left stings that have penetrated more than skin-deep into my mind; and never can they be extracted by all the surgery of murder, never can the throbbings they have created be assuaged by all the emolient cataplasms of robbery and confiscation. I CANNOT love the republic.
This declaration was sent not only to our leaders by sea and land but also to our representatives in every court in Europe. It is the most articulate and well-crafted in style, the most thoughtfully selected in topics, the most organized in structure, and the most vibrant in language, without using any exaggeration of any kind, of any state document that has ever been presented. An ancient author, Plutarch, I believe, quotes some lines about the eloquence of Pericles, who is described as "the only orator who left a lasting impact on his listeners." Similar to his, the eloquence of this declaration, which does not contradict but rather reinforces the truest feelings of humanity, has left marks that have gone deeper than just surface level into my mind; and they can never be removed by any means of violence, nor can the pains they have caused be eased by any soothing remedies from theft and confiscation. I CANNOT love the republic.
MORAL DIET.
To diet a man into weakness and languor, afterwards to give him the greater strength, has more of the empiric than the rational physician. It is true that some persons have been kicked into courage; and this is no bad hint to give to those who are too forward and liberal in bestowing insults and outrages on their passive companions. But such a course does not at first view appear a well-chosen discipline to form men to a nice sense of honour, or a quick resentment of injuries. A long habit of humiliation does not seem a very good preparative to manly and vigorous sentiment. It may not leave, perhaps, enough of energy in the mind fairly to discern what are good terms or what are not. Men low and dispirited may regard those terms as not at all amiss, which in another state of mind they would think intolerable: if they grow peevish in this state of mind, they may be roused, not against the enemy whom they have been taught to fear, but against the ministry, who are more within their reach, and who have refused conditions that are not unreasonable, from power that they have been taught to consider as irresistible.
To weaken a man through deprivation and then give him greater strength is more about trial and error than real medical knowledge. It's true that some people have been pushed into bravery; this is a useful reminder for those who are too quick to insult and mistreat their passive peers. However, this method doesn’t seem like a good way to cultivate a strong sense of honor or a sharp reaction to offenses. A long habit of being humiliated doesn’t appear to be a solid foundation for developing manly and vigorous feelings. It may not leave enough energy in the mind to clearly recognize what’s acceptable and what isn't. Disheartened men may view certain terms as perfectly fine, which in a different mindset they would find intolerable. If they grow irritable in this state, they might lash out, not at the enemy they’ve been taught to fear, but at the authorities who are more accessible and who have rejected reasonable conditions, coming from a power they’ve been led to see as unbeatable.
KING WILLIAM'S POLICY.
His majesty did determine; and did take and pursue his resolution. In all the tottering imbecility of a new government, and with parliament totally unmanageable, he persevered. He persevered to expel the fears of his people by his fortitude—to steady their fickleness by his constancy—to expand their narrow prudence by his enlarged wisdom—to sink their factious temper in his public spirit. In spite of his people he resolved to make them great and glorious; to make England, inclined to shrink into her narrow self, the arbitress of Europe, the tutelary angel of the human race. In spite of the ministers, who staggered under the weight that his mind imposed upon theirs, unsupported as they felt themselves by the popular spirit, he infused into them his own soul, he renewed in them their ancient heart, he rallied them in the same cause. It required some time to accomplish this work. The people were first gained, and through them their distracted representatives. Under the influence of King William, Holland had rejected the allurements of every seduction, and had resisted the terrors of every menace. With Hannibal at her gates, she had nobly and magnanimously refused all separate treaty, or anything which might for a moment appear to divide her affection or her interest, or even to distinguish her in identity from England. Having settled the great point of the consolidation (which he hoped would be eternal) of the countries made for a common interest, and common sentiment, the king, in his message to both houses, calls their attention to the affairs of the STATES-GENERAL. The House of Lords was perfectly sound, and entirely impressed with the wisdom and dignity of the king's proceedings. In answer to the message, which you will observe was narrowed to a single point (the danger of the States-General), after the usual professions of zeal for his service, the lords opened themselves at large. They go far beyond the demands of the message. They express themselves as follows: "We take this occasion FURTHER to assure your majesty, that we are sensible of the GREAT AND IMMINENT DANGER TO WHICH THE STATES-GENERAL ARE EXPOSED. AND WE PERFECTLY AGREE WITH THEM IN BELIEVING THAT THEIR SAFETY AND OURS ARE SO INSEPARABLY UNITED, THAT WHATSOEVER IS RUIN TO THE ONE MUST BE FATAL TO THE OTHER.
His majesty made a decision and followed through with it. In the shaky chaos of a new government, with a completely unmanageable parliament, he persisted. He worked to calm his people's fears with his bravery, steady their wavering loyalties with his determination, broaden their narrow-mindedness with his greater wisdom, and suppress their divisive attitudes with his public spirit. Despite what his people wanted, he was determined to make them great and glorious; to transform England, which was inclined to retreat into itself, into the arbiter of Europe, the guardian angel of humanity. Against the ministers, who struggled under the weight of his expectations and felt unsupported by the public sentiment, he breathed new life into them, restored their former strength, and united them in a common cause. This undertaking took time. They first won over the people, and through them, their confused representatives. Under King William's influence, Holland had resisted the temptations of every bribe and faced every threat with courage. Even with Hannibal at her gates, she nobly rejected any separate treaty or anything that might momentarily seem to compromise her loyalty or interests, or distinguish her from England. After solidifying the crucial point of uniting the nations for a common purpose and shared values, the king, in his message to both houses, called attention to the affairs of the STATES-GENERAL. The House of Lords was completely united and fully supportive of the king's actions. In response to the message, which you will see focused on a single issue (the danger to the States-General), the lords went much further than what was asked. They expressed themselves as follows: "We take this opportunity to further assure your majesty that we recognize the great and imminent danger facing the States-General. We fully agree with them that their safety and ours are so intertwined that whatever harms one will be fatal to the other."
"We humbly desire your majesty will be pleased NOT ONLY to made good all the articles of any FORMER treaties to the States-General, but that you will enter into a strict league, offensive and defensive, with them, FOR THEIR COMMON PRESERVATION; AND THAT YOU WILL INVITE INTO IT ALL PRINCES AND STATES WHO ARE CONCERNED IN THE PRESENT VISIBLE DANGER, ARISING FROM THE UNION OF FRANCE AND SPAIN.
"We respectfully request that Your Majesty not only honor all the terms of previous treaties with the States-General but also form a strong offensive and defensive alliance with them for their mutual protection. Additionally, we ask that you invite all princes and states who are affected by the current clear threat posed by the union of France and Spain to join this alliance."
"And we further desire your majesty, that you will be pleased to enter into such alliances with the EMPEROR as your majesty shall think fit, pursuant to the ends of the treaty of 1689; towards all which we assure your majesty of our hearty and sincere assistance; not doubting, but whenever your majesty shall be obliged to be engaged for the defence of your allies, AND SECURING THE LIBERTY AND QUIET OF EUROPE, Almighty God will protect your sacred person in so righteous a cause. And that the unanimity, wealth, and courage, of your subjects will carry your majesty with honour and success THROUGH ALL THE DIFFICULTIES OF A JUST WAR."
"And we also ask your majesty to please form alliances with the EMPEROR as you see fit, in line with the treaty of 1689; for all of this, we assure your majesty of our wholehearted and sincere support; we have no doubt that whenever your majesty needs to defend your allies and ensure the freedom and peace of EUROPE, Almighty God will protect you in such a noble cause. May the unity, prosperity, and bravery of your subjects lead your majesty to honor and success through all the challenges of a just war."
The House of Commons was more reserved; the late popular disposition was still in a great degree prevalent in the representative, after it had been made to change in the constituent body. The principle of the grand alliance was not directly recognised in the resolution of the Commons, nor the war announced, though they were well aware the alliance was formed for the war. However, compelled by the returning sense of the people, they went so far as to fix the three great immovable pillars of the safety and greatness of England, as they were then, as they are now, and as they must ever be to the end of time. They asserted in general terms the necessity of supporting Holland, of keeping united with our allies, and maintaining the liberty of Europe; though they restricted their vote to the succours stipulated by actual treaty. But now they were fairly embarked, they were obliged to go with the course of the vessel; and the whole nation, split before into a hundred adverse factions, with a king at its head evidently declining to his tomb, the whole nation, lords, commons, and people, proceeded as one body, informed by one soul. Under the British union, the union of Europe was consolidated; and it long held together with a degree of cohesion, firmness, and fidelity, not known before or since in any political combination of that extent.
The House of Commons was more cautious; the previously popular sentiment was still quite strong among the representatives, even after it had changed in the electorate. The principle of the grand alliance wasn’t directly acknowledged in the Commons' resolution, nor was the war mentioned, even though they were well aware that the alliance was formed for that purpose. However, influenced by the shifting perspectives of the people, they acknowledged the three essential pillars of England's safety and greatness, which were true then, are true now, and will always be true. They generally stated the importance of supporting Holland, staying united with our allies, and defending European freedom; however, they limited their vote to the support outlined in the existing treaty. But now that they were fully committed, they had to follow the course set for them; and the entire nation, which had been divided into many conflicting factions, with a king obviously nearing his end, came together as one entity, driven by a single purpose. Under the British union, the unity of Europe was strengthened, and it maintained a level of cohesion, stability, and loyalty that had not been seen before or since in any political arrangement of that scale.
Just as the last hand was given to this immense and complicated machine, the master workman died: but the work was formed on true mechanical principles, and it was as truly wrought. It went by the impulse it had received from the first mover. The man was dead; but the grand alliance survived in which King William lived and reigned. That heartless and dispirited people, whom Lord Somers had represented about two years before as dead in energy and operation, continued that war to which it was supposed they were unequal in mind, and in means, for nearly thirteen years. For what have I entered into all this detail? To what purpose have I recalled your view to the end of the last century? It has been done to show that the British nation was then a great people—to point out how and by what means they came to be exalted above the vulgar level, and to take that lead which they assumed among mankind. To qualify us for that pre-eminence, we had then a high mind and a constancy unconquerable; we were then inspired with no flashy passions, but such as were durable as well as warm, such as corresponded to the great interests we had at stake. This force of character was inspired, as all such spirit must ever be, from above. Government gave the impulse. As well may we fancy, that of itself the sea will swell, and that without winds the billows will insult the adverse shore, as that the gross mass of the people will be moved, and elevated, and continue by a steady and permanent direction to bear upon one point, without the influence of superior authority, or superior mind.
Just as the last piece was added to this huge and complex machine, the master craftsman died; but the work was built on solid mechanical principles, and it was truly crafted. It operated based on the momentum it received from the initial force. The man was gone, but the grand alliance in which King William lived and ruled endured. That weary and dispirited people, whom Lord Somers had described about two years earlier as lacking energy and capability, continued the war that it was thought they were ill-equipped to handle, for almost thirteen years. Why am I going into all this detail? What’s the point of recalling your attention to the end of the last century? It’s to show that the British nation was then a great people—to highlight how and by what means they rose above the ordinary, and to take the lead among humanity. To qualify for that superiority, we had a lofty spirit and an unbreakable determination; we were driven by enduring passions, not superficial ones, aligned with the significant interests we had at stake. This strength of character was inspired, as all such spirit must be, from above. Government provided the momentum. It’s as unlikely to think that the sea will swell on its own, and that without winds the waves will crash against the opposing shore, as it is to believe that the masses of the people will be stirred, uplifted, and directed steadily towards one goal without the influence of a greater authority or intellect.
This impulse ought, in my opinion, to have been given in this war; and it ought to have been continued to it at every instant. It is made, if ever war was made, to touch all the great springs of action in the human breast. It ought not to have been a war of apology. The minister had, in this conflict, wherewithal to glory in success; to be consoled in adversity; to hold high his principle in all fortunes. If it were not given him to support the falling edifice, he ought to bury himself under the ruins of the civilized world. All the art of Greece, and all the pride and power of eastern monarchs, never heaped upon their ashes so grand a monument.
This drive should, in my opinion, have been present throughout this war; and it should have been felt at every moment. It is designed, if any war is, to activate all the major motivations in human nature. It should not have been a war of excuses. The minister had everything he needed in this conflict to take pride in success; to find comfort in failure; to uphold his principles in all circumstances. If he couldn’t support the crumbling structure, he should have buried himself beneath the ruins of the civilized world. All the art of Greece, and all the pride and power of eastern monarchs, never created such a magnificent monument to their legacy.
DISTEMPER OF REMEDY.
This distemper of remedy, grown habitual, relaxes and wears out, by a vulgar and prostituted use, the spring of that spirit which is to be exerted on great occasions. It was in the most patient period of Roman servitude that themes of tyrannicide made the ordinary exercise of boys at school—cum perimit saevos classis numerosa tyrannos. In the ordinary state of things, it produces in a country like ours the worst effects, even on the cause of that liberty which it abuses with the dissoluteness of an extravagant speculation. Almost all the high-bred republicans of my time have, after a short space, become the most decided, thorough-paced courtiers; they soon left the business of a tedious, moderate, but practical resistance, to those of us whom, in the pride and intoxication of their theories, they have slighted as not much better than Tories. Hypocrisy, of course, delights in the most sublime speculations; for, never intending to go beyond speculation, it costs nothing to have it magnificent. But even in cases where rather levity than fraud was to be suspected in these ranting speculations, the issue has been much the same. These professors, finding their extreme principles not applicable to cases which call only for a qualified, or, as I may say, civil, and legal resistance, in such cases employ no resistance at all. It is with them a war or a revolution, or it is nothing. Finding their schemes of politics not adapted to the state of the world in which they live, they often come to think lightly of all public principle; and are ready, on their part, to abandon for a very trivial interest what they find of very trivial value. Some indeed are of more steady and persevering natures; but these are eager politicians out of parliament, who have little to tempt them to abandon their favourite projects. They have some change in the Church or State, or both, constantly in their view. When that is the case, they are always bad citizens, and perfectly unsure connections. For, considering their speculative designs as of infinite value, and the actual arrangement of the state as of no estimation, they are at best indifferent about it. They see no merit in the good, and no fault in the vicious management of public affairs; they rather rejoice in the latter, as more propitious to revolution. They see no merit or demerit in any man, or any action, or any political principle, any further than as they may forward or retard their design of change: they therefore take up, one day, the most violent and stretched prerogative, and another time the wildest democratic ideas of freedom, and pass from the one to the other without any sort of regard to cause, to person, or to party.
This repetitive behavior of seeking remedies has become a bad habit, draining the energy needed for significant actions. It was during the most patient era of Roman oppression that discussions about killing tyrants became routine for schoolboys. In a situation like ours, it leads to terrible outcomes, even undermining the very liberty it misuses with the recklessness of wild speculation. Almost all the elite republicans of my time quickly transformed into fervent courtiers; they abandoned the slow, steady, but practical resistance to those of us whom they dismissed in their arrogance and intoxication with theories as barely better than Tories. Hypocrisy thrives on grand ideas because it never intends to go beyond theory, making it cheap to appear impressive. Even in cases where their less-than-serious approaches might be seen as naive rather than deceitful, the outcomes are often similar. These theorists find their extreme beliefs don't apply to situations that require a more moderate, civil, and legal form of resistance, so they don’t resist at all. For them, it’s either a war or a revolution, or nothing at all. Often, when their political ideas don’t fit the reality they live in, they start to undervalue all public principles and are quick to discard what they find trivial in exchange for minimal gain. Some are steadier and more persistent, but these are active politicians outside of Parliament, motivated by little to pull them away from their favorite causes. They constantly seek changes in the Church or State, or both. When that happens, they become poor citizens and unstable allies. They view their theoretical plans as infinitely valuable and the current state of affairs as insignificant, leading them to be indifferent. They see no merit in good governance and no fault in corrupt public management; instead, they often cheer for the latter, seeing it as more likely to spur revolution. They assess people, actions, or political principles solely based on how they serve their desire for change; thus, they shift between advocating for the most extreme powers one day and the most radical democratic ideals the next, switching back and forth with no concern for the reasons, individuals, or parties involved.
WAR AND WILL OF THE PEOPLE.
In matters of state, a constitutional competence to act is in many cases the smallest part of the question. Without disputing (God forbid I should dispute) the sole competence of the king and the parliament, each in its province, to decide on war and peace, I venture to say, no war CAN be long carried on against the will of the people. This war, in particular, cannot be carried on unless they are enthusiastically in favour of it. Acquiescence will not do. There must be zeal. Universal zeal in such a cause, and at such a time as this is, cannot be looked for; neither is it necessary. Zeal in the larger part carries the force of the whole. Without this, no government, certainly not our government, is capable of a great war. None of the ancient regular governments have wherewithal to fight abroad with a foreign foe, and at home to overcome repining, reluctance, and chicane. It must be some portentous thing, like regicide France, that can exhibit such a prodigy. Yet even she, the mother of monsters, more prolific than the country of old called Ferax monstrorum, shows symptoms of being almost effete already; and she will be so, unless the fallow of a peace comes to recruit her fertility. But whatever may be represented concerning the meanness of the popular spirit, I, for one, do not think so desperately of the British nation. Our minds, as I said, are light, but they are not depraved. We are dreadfully open to delusion and to dejection; but we are capable of being animated and undeceived.
In terms of government, having the constitutional authority to act is often just a small part of the issue. Without arguing (God forbid I should argue) the exclusive authority of the king and the parliament, each in their own area, to decide on war and peace, I dare to say that no war can be sustained for long against the people's will. Specifically, this war cannot continue unless they are fully in support of it. Mere agreement won’t suffice; there must be passion. Widespread passion for such a cause, especially at this time, cannot be expected, nor is it necessary. The enthusiasm of a significant majority carries the weight for everyone. Without this, no government, especially not ours, can handle a significant war. None of the old regular governments have the resources to fight abroad against a foreign enemy while also dealing with discontent, reluctance, and deceit at home. It would take something extraordinary, like revolutionary France, to showcase such a feat. Yet even she, the birthplace of chaos, more fertile than the ancient land known for its monsters, is showing signs of becoming almost exhausted already; and she will be unless a period of peace allows her to regain her strength. However, despite any claims about the low spirit of the people, I personally don’t think that poorly of the British nation. Our thoughts may be light, but they aren't corrupt. We are unfortunately very susceptible to illusions and discouragement; however, we are also capable of being uplifted and enlightened.
It cannot be concealed: we are a divided people. But in divisions, where a part is to be taken, we are to make a muster of our strength. I have often endeavoured to compute and to class those who, in any political view, are to be called the people. Without doing something of this sort we must proceed absurdly. We should not be much wiser, if we pretended to very great accuracy in our estimate; but I think, in the calculation I have made, the error cannot be very material. In England and Scotland, I compute that those of adult age, not declining in life, of tolerable leisure for such discussions, and of some means of information, more or less, and who are above menial dependence (or what virtually is such), may amount to about four hundred thousand. There is such a thing as a natural representative of the people. This body is that representative; and on this body, more than on the legal constituent, the artificial representative depends. This is the British public; and it is a public very numerous. The rest, when feeble, are the objects of protection; when strong, the means of force. They who affect to consider that part of us in any other light, insult while they cajole us; they do not want us for counsellors in deliberation, but to list us as soldiers for battle.
It’s clear that we are a divided nation. But in our divisions, where a choice has to be made, we need to show our strength. I have often tried to identify and categorize those who, in any political sense, can be called the people. Without doing something like this, we would be acting absurdly. We wouldn’t be much smarter if we pretended to have extreme precision in our estimates, but I believe that in the calculation I’ve made, the error isn’t significant. In England and Scotland, I estimate that those of adult age, not nearing old age, who have some free time to engage in such discussions, and who have some level of information, more or less, and who are not in dependent jobs (or something similar), may total about four hundred thousand. There is such a thing as a natural representative of the people. This group is that representative; and this body, more than the legal constituents, is what the artificial representatives rely on. This is the British public, which is quite large. The rest, when weak, are in need of protection; when strong, they are a means of force. Those who pretend to see that part of us in any other way either insult us while flattering us; they don’t want us as advisors in decision-making, but to recruit us as soldiers for battle.
Of these four hundred thousand political citizens, I look upon one-fifth, or about eighty thousand, to be pure Jacobins; utterly incapable of amendment; objects of eternal vigilance, and, when they break out, of legal constraint. On these, no reason, no argument, no example, no venerable authority, can have the slightest influence. They desire a change; and they will have it if they can. If they cannot have it by English cabal, they will make no sort of scruple of having it by the cabal of France, into which already they are virtually incorporated. It is only their assured and confident expectation of the advantages of French fraternity, and the approaching blessings of regicide intercourse, that skins over their mischievous dispositions with a momentary quiet. This minority is great and formidable. I do not know whether if I aimed at the total overthrow of a kingdom, I should wish to be encumbered with a larger body of partisans. They are more easily disciplined and directed than if the number were greater. These, by their spirit of intrigue, and by their restless agitating activity, are of a force far superior to their numbers; and, if times grew the least critical, have the means of debauching or intimidating many of those who are now sound, as well as of adding to their force large bodies of the more passive part of the nation. This minority is numerous enough to make a mighty cry for peace, or for war, or for any object they are led vehemently to desire. By passing from place to place with a velocity incredible, and diversifying their character and description, they are capable of mimicking the general voice. We must not always judge of the generality of the opinion by the noise of the acclamation.
Out of these four hundred thousand political citizens, I consider one-fifth, or about eighty thousand, to be true Jacobins; completely incapable of change; subjects to constant monitoring, and, when they act out, of legal constraints. No reason, argument, example, or respected authority can influence them at all. They want change, and they’ll pursue it if they can. If they can’t achieve it through English groups, they won’t hesitate to seek it through factions in France, which they are already essentially a part of. It’s only their firm belief in the benefits of French solidarity and the impending advantages of forming alliances through violence that keeps their disruptive tendencies in check, if only temporarily. This minority is large and intimidating. I'm not sure if, in aiming for the total downfall of a kingdom, I would want a bigger group of supporters. They're easier to manage and direct than if their numbers were larger. Their intrigue and restless activism give them a power far greater than their size; if circumstances became even slightly critical, they have the means to corrupt or intimidate many of those who currently support the status quo, as well as to boost their ranks with large groups of the more passive populace. This minority is large enough to create a powerful call for peace, war, or any cause they are passionately driven to pursue. By moving quickly from place to place and changing their identities, they can imitate the general sentiment. We shouldn’t always judge the majority opinion by the loudness of their cheers.
FALSE POLICY IN OUR FRENCH WAR.
We have never put forth half the strength which we have exerted in ordinary wars. In the fatal battles which have drenched the continent with blood, and shaken the system of Europe to pieces, we have never had any considerable army of a magnitude to be compared to the least of those by which, in former times, we so gloriously asserted our place as protectors, not oppressors, at the head of the great commonwealth of Europe. We have never manfully met the danger in front: and when the enemy, resigning to us our natural dominion of the ocean, and abandoning the defence of his distant possessions to the infernal energy of the destroying principles which he had planted there for the subversion of the neighbouring colonies, drove forth, by one sweeping law of unprecedented despotism, his armed multitudes on every side, to overwhelm the countries and states which had for centuries stood the firm barriers against the ambition of France; we drew back the arm of our military force, which had never been more than half raised to oppose him. From that time we have been combating only with the other arm of our naval power; the right arm of England I admit; but which struck almost unresisted with blows that could never reach the heart of the hostile mischief. From that time, without a single effort to regain those outworks, which ever till now we so strenuously maintained, as the strong frontier of our own dignity and safety, no less than the liberties of Europe; with but one feeble attempt to succour those brave, faithful, and numerous allies, whom, for the first time since the days of our Edwards and Henrys, we now have in the bosom of France itself; we have been intrenching, and fortifying, and garrisoning ourselves at home: we have been redoubling security on security, to protect ourselves from invasion, which has now become to us a serious object of alarm and terror. Alas! the few of us who have protracted life in any measure near to the extreme limits of our short period, have been condemned to see strange things; new systems of policy, new principles, and not only new men, but what might appear a new species of men. I believe that any person who was of age to take a part in public affairs forty years ago (if the intermediate space of time were expunged from his memory) would hardly credit his senses, when he should hear from the highest authority, that an army of two hundred thousand men was kept up in this island, and that in the neighbouring island there were at least fourscore thousand more. But when he had recovered from his surprise on being told of this army, which has not its parallel, what must be his astonishment to be told again, that this mighty force was kept up for the mere purpose of an inert and passive defence, and that in its far greater part, it was disabled by its constitution and very essence from defending us against an enemy by any one preventive stroke, or any one operation of active hostility? What must his reflections be on learning further, that a fleet of five hundred men of war, the best appointed, and to the full as ably commanded as any this country ever had upon the sea, was for the greater part employed in carrying on the same system of unenterprising defence? what must be the sentiments and feelings of one who remembers the former energy of England, when he is given to understand that these two islands, with their extensive and everywhere vulnerable coast, should be considered as a garrisoned sea-town; what would such a man, what would any man think, if the garrison of so strange a fortress should be such, and so feebly commanded, as never to make a sally; and that, contrary to all which has hitherto been seen in war, an infinitely inferior army, with the shattered relics of an almost annihilated navy, ill found and ill manned, may with safety besiege this superior garrison, and, without hazarding the life of a man, ruin the place, merely by the menaces and false appearances of an attack? Indeed, indeed, my dear friend, I look upon this matter of our defensive system as much the most important of all considerations at this moment. It has oppressed me with many anxious thoughts, which, more than any bodily distemper, have sunk me to the condition in which you know that I am. Should it please Providence to restore to me even the late weak remains of my strength, I propose to make this matter the subject of a particular discussion. I only mean here to argue, that the mode of conducting the war on our part, be it good or bad, has prevented even the common havoc of war in our population, and especially among that class whose duty and privilege of superiority it is to lead the way amidst the perils and slaughter of the field of battle.
We have never shown half the strength that we have used in ordinary wars. In the deadly battles that have soaked the continent with blood and shattered the European system, we have never fielded any significant army comparable to the smallest ones that, in earlier times, we proudly used to assert our position as protectors, not oppressors, at the forefront of the great European commonwealth. We have never bravely faced danger head-on: when the enemy, giving up our natural control of the ocean and neglecting the defense of his faraway possessions to the destructive forces he unleashed against neighboring colonies, unleashed his armed forces on all fronts with a brutal law of unprecedented despotism to overpower the countries and states that had stood as barriers against France's ambition for centuries, we merely withdrew our military force, which had never been fully raised to confront him. Since then, we have been fighting only with the other part of our naval power; the "right arm" of England, I’ll admit, but it struck almost unopposed with blows that could never reach the core of the hostile threat. Since that time, without even a single effort to reclaim those defenses that we had always vigorously maintained as critical to our dignity and safety, as well as the liberties of Europe, with only a weak attempt to assist those brave and loyal allies we now have within France itself for the first time since our Edwards and Henrys, we have been digging in, fortifying, and reinforcing ourselves at home: we have been doubling down on security to protect ourselves from invasion, which has now become a serious cause of alarm and fear. Sadly, those of us who have lived close to the limits of our brief existence have been forced to witness strange events; new policies, new principles, and not just new people, but what could seem like a new kind of person. I believe that anyone who was involved in public affairs forty years ago (if the period in between was erased from their memory) would hardly believe their eyes when they hear from the highest authority that an army of two hundred thousand was stationed on this island, and that in the nearby island, there were at least eighty thousand more. But once they recovered from their shock upon being informed about this unparalleled army, how astonished would they be to learn that this huge force was maintained solely for a passive defense, and that for the most part, it was incapable in its very nature of defending us against an enemy with any preventive action or active hostility? What would they think upon discovering further that a fleet of five hundred warships, the best equipped and commanded as well as any this country ever had at sea, was largely employed to carry on the same unambitious defense? What would be the thoughts and feelings of someone who remembers the former vitality of England when told that these two islands, with their vast and vulnerable coastlines, should be considered a garrisoned seaport; what would such a person, what would anyone, think if a garrison in such a peculiar fortress was too weakly commanded to ever make an offensive move; and that, contrary to all previous military experience, a much smaller army, along with the remnants of a nearly destroyed navy—poorly equipped and inadequately manned—could safely besiege this superior garrison and, without risking a single life, devastate the place simply through threats and the illusion of an attack? Indeed, my dear friend, I see our defensive strategy as the most critical issue at this moment. It has burdened me with many anxious thoughts, which, more than any physical ailment, have brought me to the state in which you know I currently am. If Providence were to restore some of my recent fragile strength, I would plan to discuss this matter in detail. My only intention here is to argue that the way we have conducted the war, whether good or bad, has prevented even the usual devastation of war among our population, especially among that class whose duty and privilege it is to lead amidst the dangers and slaughter of the battlefield.
MORAL ESSENCE MAKES A NATION.
Mere locality does not constitute a body politic. Had Cade and his gang got possession of London, they would not have been the lord mayor, aldermen, and common council. The body politic of France existed in the majesty of its throne, in the dignity of its nobility, in the honour of its gentry, in the sanctity of its clergy, in the reverence of its magistracy, in the weight and consideration due to its landed property in the several bailliages, in the respect due to its moveable substance represented by the corporations of the kingdom. All these particular moleculae united form the great mass of what is truly the body politic in all countries. They are so many deposits and receptacles of justice; because they can only exist by justice. Nation is a moral essence, not a geographical arrangement, or a denomination of the nomenclator. France, though out of her territorial possession, exists; because the sole possible claimant, I mean the proprietary, and the government to which the proprietary adheres, exists, and claims. God forbid, that if you were expelled from your house by ruffians and assassins, that I should call the material walls, doors, and windows of—, the ancient and honourable family of—. Am I to transfer to the intruders, who, not content to turn you out naked to the world, would rob you of your very name, all the esteem and respect I owe to you? The regicides in France are not France. France is out of her bounds, but the kingdom is the same.
Simply being in a place doesn’t make a political entity. If Cade and his gang had taken over London, they wouldn't have become the lord mayor, aldermen, or common council. The political body of France exists in the majesty of its throne, in the dignity of its nobility, in the honor of its gentry, in the sanctity of its clergy, in the respect for its magistrates, in the significance of its land in various regions, and in the regard for its movable assets represented by the kingdom's corporations. All these individual elements come together to form the real body politic in every country. They are all containers of justice; because they can only exist through justice. A nation is a moral essence, not just a geographical arrangement or a name in a list. France, even without its territory, still exists; because the only legitimate owner, meaning the proprietor, and the government that the proprietor supports, still exist and claim it. God forbid that if you were kicked out of your home by thugs and killers, I should refer to the physical walls, doors, and windows of—the ancient and honorable family of—. Am I supposed to give the intruders—who not only throw you out into the world but would take away your very name—all the respect and esteem I owe to you? The regicides in France are not France. France may be outside its borders, but the kingdom remains the same.
PUBLIC SPIRIT.
Other great states, having been without any regular, certain course of elevation or decline, we may hope that the British fortune may fluctuate also; because the public mind, which greatly influences that fortune, may have its changes. We are therefore never authorised to abandon our country to its fate, or to act or advise as if it had no resource. There is no reason to apprehend, because ordinary means threaten to fail, that no others can spring up. Whilst our heart is whole, it will find means, or make them. The heart of the citizen is a perennial spring of energy to the state. Because the pulse seems to intermit, we must not presume that it will cease instantly to beat. The public must never be regarded as incurable. I remember in the beginning of what has lately been called the Seven Years' War, that an eloquent writer and ingenious speculator, Dr. Brown, upon some reverses which happened in the beginning of that war, published an elaborate philosophical discourse to prove that the distinguishing features of the people of England have been totally changed, and that a frivolous effeminacy was become the national character. Nothing could be more popular than that work. It was thought a great consolation to us, the light people of this country (who were and are light, but who were not and are not effeminate), that we had found the causes of our misfortunes in our vices. Pythagoras could not be more pleased with his leading discovery. But whilst in that splenetic mood we amused ourselves in a sour, critical speculation, of which we were ourselves the objects, and in which every man lost his particular sense of the public disgrace in the epidemic nature of the distemper; whilst, as in the Alps, goitre ["i" circumflex] kept goitre ["i" acute] in countenance; whilst we were thus abandoning ourselves to a direct confession of our inferiority to France, and whilst many, very many, were ready to act upon a sense of that inferiority, a few months effected a total change in our variable minds. We emerged from the gulf of that speculative despondency, and were buoyed up to the highest point of practical vigour. Never did the masculine spirit of England display itself with more energy, nor ever did its genius soar with a prouder pre-eminence over France, than at the time when frivolity and effeminacy had been at least tacitly acknowledged as their national character by the good people of this kingdom.
Other great nations, having experienced fluctuating fortunes without a steady path of rise or fall, we can hope that British fortunes may also change; because public opinion, which heavily influences that fortune, can shift as well. Therefore, we are never justified in abandoning our country to its fate or in acting or advising as if it had no options. There’s no reason to fear that because ordinary resources seem to be failing, no alternatives can emerge. As long as our spirit is intact, it will find a way or create one. The spirit of the citizen is a constant source of strength for the state. Just because the pulse seems to wane, we shouldn't assume that it will stop beating altogether. The public should never be seen as hopeless. I recall that at the beginning of what has recently been termed the Seven Years' War, an articulate writer and thoughtful theorist, Dr. Brown, published an elaborate piece claiming that the defining traits of the English people had completely changed and that a trivial weakness had become part of the national identity. That work gained a lot of popularity. It was considered a great comfort for us, the energetic people of this nation (who were and are energetic but who were not and are not weak), to identify the causes of our misfortunes in our flaws. Pythagoras would have been no more pleased with his leading discovery. But while we were caught in that critical mindset, amusing ourselves with sour thoughts where we were both the subjects and the victims, we lost our individual sense of public shame in the widespread nature of the issue; while, like in the Alps, one goitre kept another goitre in check; while we were thus surrendering to a stark admission of our inferiority to France, and as many were prepared to act on that sense of inferiority, just a few months brought about a complete change in our fluctuating mindset. We rose from the depths of that pessimistic speculation and were lifted to the highest level of practical energy. Never has the strong spirit of England shown itself with more vigor, nor has its genius risen with more pride above France, than at the time when triviality and weakness had at least implicitly been recognized as their national character by the good people of this kingdom.
PROGRESSIVE GROWTH OF CHRISTIAN STATES.
When I contemplate the scheme on which France is formed, and when I compare it with these systems, with which it is, and ever must be, in conflict, those things, which seem as defects in her polity, are the very things which make me tremble. The states of the Christian world have grown up to their present magnitude in a great length of time, and by a great variety of accidents. They have been improved to what we see them with greater or less degrees of felicity and skill. Not one of them has been formed upon a regular plan or with any unity of design. As their constitutions are not systematical, they have not been directed to any PECULIAR end, eminently distinguished, and superseding every other. The objects which they embrace are of the greatest possible variety, and have become in a manner infinite. In all these old countries, the state has been made to the people, and not the people conformed to the state. Every state has pursued not only every sort of social advantage, but it has cultivated the welfare of every individual. His wants, his wishes, even his tastes, have been consulted. This comprehensive scheme virtually produced a degree of personal liberty in forms the most adverse to it. That liberty was found, under monarchies styled absolute, in a degree unknown to the ancient commonwealths. From hence the powers of all our modern states meet, in all their movements, with some obstruction. It is therefore no wonder, that, when these states are to be considered as machines to operate for some one great end, this dissipated and balanced force is not easily concentrated, or made to bear with the whole force of the nation upon one point.
When I think about how France is structured and compare it to other systems that are and always will be in conflict with it, the things that seem like flaws in its government are actually what makes me uneasy. The countries of the Christian world have developed to their current size over a long time and through various events. They've evolved into what we see today with differing levels of success and skill. None of them have been created with a clear plan or unified design. Because their constitutions aren't systematic, they haven't been aimed at any specific goal that stands out and overrides all others. The objectives they focus on are incredibly diverse and essentially limitless. In all these older countries, the state has been created for the people, not the other way around. Each state has sought not just every kind of social benefit but has also promoted the well-being of every individual. People's needs, desires, and even preferences have been taken into account. This broad approach has effectively resulted in a level of personal freedom even in the most restrictive environments. That freedom was found, even in so-called absolute monarchies, to a degree not known to the ancient republics. Consequently, the powers of all our modern states encounter some obstacles in their operations. Therefore, it's not surprising that when these states are viewed as mechanisms aimed at achieving a single significant goal, this fragmented and balanced force is not easily focused or directed to exert the full strength of the nation on one single point.
The British state is, without question, that which pursues the greatest variety of ends, and is the least disposed to sacrifice any one of them to another, or to the whole. It aims at taking in the entire circle of human desires, and securing for them their fair enjoyment. Our legislature has been ever closely connected, in its most efficient part, with individual feeling, and individual interest. Personal liberty, the most lively of these feelings and the most important of these interests, which in other European countries has rather arisen from the system of manners and the habitudes of life, than from the laws of the state (in which it flourished more from neglect than attention), in England, has been a direct object of government.
The British state definitely pursues the widest range of goals and is the least likely to sacrifice one for another, or even for the greater good. It aims to encompass all human desires and ensure everyone can enjoy them fairly. Our legislature has always been closely tied to individual feelings and interests, especially in its most effective aspects. Personal freedom, which is one of the strongest feelings and most significant interests, has developed differently in other European countries, emerging more from social customs and lifestyle habits rather than from state laws, where it thrived due to neglect rather than attention. In England, personal liberty has been a direct focus of government.
On this principle England would be the weakest power in the whole system. Fortunately, however, the great riches of this kingdom arising from a variety of causes, and the disposition of the people, which is as great to spend as to accumulate, has easily afforded a disposable surplus that gives a mighty momentum to the state. This difficulty, with these advantages to overcome it, has called forth the talents of the English financiers, who, by the surplus of industry poured out by prodigality, have outdone everything which has been accomplished in other nations. The present minister has outdone his predecessors; and, as a minister of revenue, is far above my power of praise. But still there are cases in which England feels more than several others (though they all feel) the perplexity of an immense body of balanced advantages, and of individual demands, and of some irregularity in the whole mass.
On this principle, England would be the weakest power in the entire system. Fortunately, the kingdom's great wealth, stemming from various factors, along with the people's tendency to spend just as much as they save, has created a significant surplus that provides strong momentum to the state. This challenge, paired with these advantages, has brought forth the skills of English financiers, who, fueled by the excess of industry driven by extravagance, have surpassed everything achieved by other nations. The current minister has exceeded his predecessors and, as a revenue minister, deserves high praise from me. However, there are still situations where England experiences more strain than several other countries (though they all feel it) due to the complexities of balancing massive advantages, individual needs, and some irregularities within the overall system.
France differs essentially from all those governments, which are formed without system, which exist by habit, and which are confused with the multitude, and with the perplexity of their pursuits. What now stands as government in France is struck out at a heat. The design is wicked, immoral, impious, oppressive; but it is spirited and daring; it is systematic; it is simple in its principle; it has unity and consistency in perfection.
France is fundamentally different from those governments that are formed randomly, that exist out of habit, and that blend in with the masses and the chaos of their activities. What we see as government in France is created in a reactionary manner. The design is evil, immoral, unjust, and oppressive; but it is bold and ambitious; it has a clear structure; it is straightforward in its principles; it is unified and consistent to perfection.
PETTY INTERESTS.
It is undoubtedly the business of ministers very much to consult the inclinations of the people, but they ought to take great care that they do not receive that inclination from the few persons who may happen to approach them. The petty interests of such gentlemen, the low conceptions of things, their fears arising from the danger to which the very arduous and critical situation of public affairs may expose their places; their apprehensions from the hazards to which the discontents of a few popular men at elections may expose their seats in parliament; all these causes trouble and confuse the representations which they make to ministers of the real temper of the nation. If ministers, instead of following the great indications of the constitution, proceed on such reports, they will take the whispers of a cabal for the voice of the people, and the counsels of imprudent timidity for the wisdom of a nation.
It is definitely important for ministers to consider the wishes of the people, but they need to be careful not to base those wishes on the opinions of just a few individuals who may reach out to them. The small interests of these individuals, their narrow views, and their fears about the risks that the challenging and critical state of public affairs may pose to their positions; their worries about the threats that a handful of disgruntled individuals at elections may pose to their seats in parliament; all of these factors distort and confuse how they represent the true feelings of the nation to ministers. If ministers choose to act on such reports instead of adhering to the fundamental principles of the constitution, they risk mistaking the murmurs of a small group for the voice of the people and the advice of cautious fear for the wisdom of the nation.
PIUS VII.
It is not for his Holiness we intend this consolatory declaration of our own weakness, and of the tyrannous temper of his grand enemy. That prince has known both the one and the other from the beginning. The artists of the French revolution had given their very first essays and sketches of robbery and desolation against his territories, in a far more cruel "murdering piece" than had ever entered into the imagination of painter or poet. Without ceremony they tore from his cherishing arms the possessions which he held for five hundred years, undisturbed by all the ambition of all the ambitious monarchs who, during that period, have reigned in France. Is it to him, in whose wrong we have in our late negotiation ceded his now unhappy countries near the Rhone, lately amongst the most flourishing (perhaps the most flourishing for their extent) of all the countries upon earth, that we are to prove the sincerity of our resolution to make peace with the republic barbarism? That venerable potentate and pontiff is sunk deep into the vale of years; he is half disarmed by his peaceful character; his dominions are more than half disarmed by a peace of two hundred years, defended as they were, not by forces, but by reverence; yet in all these straits, we see him display, amidst the recent ruins and the new defacements of his plundered capital, along with the mild and decorated piety of the modern, all the spirit and magnanimity of ancient Rome! Does he, who, though himself unable to defend them, nobly refused to receive pecuniary compensations for the protection he owed to his people of Avignon, Carpentras, and the Venaisin;—does he want proofs of our good disposition to deliver over that people without any security for them, or any compensation to their sovereign, to this cruel enemy? Does he want to be satisfied of the sincerity of our humiliation to France, who has seen his free, fertile, and happy city and state of Bologna, the cradle of regenerated law, the seat of sciences and of arts, so hideously metamorphosed, whilst he was crying to Great Britain for aid, and offering to purchase that aid at any price? Is it him, who sees that chosen spot of plenty and delight converted into a Jacobin ferocious republic, dependent on the homicides of France? Is it him, who, from the miracles of his beneficent industry, has done a work which defied the power of the Roman emperors, though with an enthralled world to labour for them; is it him, who has drained and cultivated the PONTINE MARSHES, that we are to satisfy of our cordial spirit of conciliation, with those who, in their equity, are restoring Holland again to the seas, whose maxims poison more than the exhalations of the most deadly fens, and who turn all the fertilities of nature and of art into a howling desert? Is it to him, that we are to demonstrate the good faith of our submissions to the cannibal republic; to him who is commanded to deliver into their hands Ancona and Civita Vecchia, seats of commerce, raised by the wise and liberal labours and expenses of the present and late pontiffs; ports not more belonging to the Ecclesiastical State than to the commerce of Great Britain; thus wresting from his hands the power of the keys of the centre of Italy, as before they had taken possession of the keys of the northern part, from the hands of the unhappy king of Sardinia, the natural ally of England? Is it to him we are to prove our good faith in the peace which we are soliciting to receive from the hands of his and our robbers, the enemies of all arts, all sciences, all civilization, and all commerce?
It’s not for His Holiness that we’re making this comforting statement about our own weaknesses and the oppressive nature of his great enemy. That prince has known both from the start. The artists of the French Revolution launched their initial attempts at robbery and destruction against his lands with a far more brutal “murderous piece” than anything that could have been envisioned by artists or poets. Without hesitation, they ripped from his protective embrace the possessions he had held for five hundred years, untouched by the ambitions of all the monarchs who ruled in France during that time. Are we really supposed to show him, after we recently ceded his now unfortunate regions near the Rhone—once among the most thriving (perhaps the most thriving for their size) places on earth—our commitment to make peace with this barbaric republic? That venerable ruler and pontiff is deep into his old age; his peaceful nature has left him partly disarmed; his territories have been more than half disarmed by two hundred years of peace, defended not by military might, but by respect; yet in all these difficulties, we see him embody, amidst the fresh ruins and recent defacements of his looted capital, alongside the gentle and ornate piety of modern times, all the spirit and greatness of ancient Rome! Does he, who, although he can’t protect them, nobly turned down monetary compensation to defend his people of Avignon, Carpentras, and Venaisin—does he need proof of our good intentions to hand over that people without any guarantees for their safety or any compensation for their sovereign to this cruel enemy? Does he need to be convinced of our genuine humility towards France, who has witnessed his once free, fertile, and happy city and state of Bologna, the birthplace of renewed law, the center of knowledge and the arts, grotesquely transformed while he was appealing to Great Britain for help and offering to buy that help at any cost? Is it he who sees that chosen land of abundance and joy turned into a brutal Jacobin republic, reliant on the murderers of France? Is it he, who, through the miracles of his generous efforts, has achieved what defied the power of the Roman emperors, even with an enslaved world laboring for them; is it he who has drained and cultivated the PONTINE MARSHES, whom we must convince of our sincere spirit of reconciliation with those who, in their fairness, are restoring Holland to the seas, whose principles contaminate more than the fumes from the deadliest swamps, and who turn all the seeds of nature and artistry into a barren wasteland? Is it him that we need to convince of our good faith in the peace we’re seeking from the hands of his and our thieves, the enemies of all arts, all sciences, all civilization, and all commerce?
EXTINCTION OF LOCAL PATRIOTISM.
That day was, I fear, the fatal term of LOCAL patriotism. On that day, I fear, there was an end of that narrow scheme of relations called our country, with all its pride, its prejudices, and its partial affections. All the little quiet rivulets, that watered an humble, a contracted, but not an unfruitful field, are to be lost in the waste expanse, and boundless, barren ocean of the homicide philanthropy of France. It is no longer an object of terror, the aggrandizement of a new power, which teaches as a professor that philanthropy in their chair; whilst it propagates by arms, and establishes by conquest, the comprehensive system of universal fraternity. In what light is all this viewed in a great assembly? The party which takes the lead there has no longer any apprehensions, except those that arise from not being admitted to the closest and most confidential connections with the metropolis of that fraternity. That reigning party no longer touches on its favourite subject, the display of those horrors, that must attend the existence of a power, with such dispositions and principles, seated in the heart of Europe. It is satisfied to find some loose, ambiguous expressions in its former declarations, which may set it free from its professions and engagements. It always speaks of peace with the regicides as a great and an undoubted blessing; and such a blessing as, if obtained, promises, as much as any human disposition of things can promise, security and permanence. It holds out nothing at all definite towards this security. It only seeks, by a restoration, to some of their former owners, of some fragments of the general wreck of Europe, to find a plausible plea for a present retreat from an embarrassing position. As to the future, that party is content to leave it, covered in a night of the most palpable obscurity. It never once has entered into a particle of detail of what our own situation, or that of other powers, must be, under the blessings of the peace we seek. This defect, to my power, I mean to supply; that if any persons should still continue to think an attempt at foresight is any part of the duty of a statesman, I may contribute my trifle to the materials of his speculation.
That day was, I fear, the end of local patriotism. On that day, I fear, the close-knit ties that we called our country, with all its pride, prejudices, and partial loyalties, came to a close. All the little quiet streams that nurtured a humble, limited, yet not unproductive landscape will be swallowed up by the vast, barren ocean of France's misguided philanthropy. It is no longer something to fear—the rise of a new power that teaches philanthropy from a lofty position while spreading its influence through force and establishing a global system of brotherhood through conquest. How is all of this perceived in a large assembly? The leading party no longer worries about anything except not being part of the closest and most secret connections with the heart of that brotherhood. That ruling party has stopped discussing its favorite topic: the horrors that must accompany the presence of a power with such intentions and principles right in the center of Europe. It feels comfortable finding some vague, ambiguous language in its earlier statements that might allow it to break free from its promises and commitments. It continually refers to peace with those who have committed regicide as a great and undeniable blessing, one that, if achieved, holds the promise of as much security and stability as anything in human affairs can. It offers nothing specific regarding this security. Its only aim, through restoring some parts of the general devastation of Europe to their previous owners, is to create a plausible reason for retreating from an awkward situation. As for the future, that party is content to leave it in a thick fog of uncertainty. It has never once delved into the details of what our situation or that of other powers will look like under the blessings of the peace we seek. This shortcoming, to my mind, I intend to address; if anyone believes that any attempt at foresight is part of what a statesman should do, I hope to contribute my small insight to the conversation.
As to the other party, the minority of to-day, possibly the majority of to-morrow, small in number but full of talents and every species of energy, which, upon the avowed ground of being more acceptable to France, is a candidate for the helm of this kingdom, it has never changed from the beginning. It has preserved a perennial consistency. This would be a never-failing source of true glory, if springing from just and right; but it is truly dreadful if it be an arm of Styx, which springs out of the profoundest depths of a poisoned soil. The French maxims were by these gentlemen at no time condemned. I speak of their language in the most moderate terms. There are many who think that they have gone much further; that they have always magnified and extolled the French maxims; that not in the least disgusted or discouraged by the monstrous evils, which have attended these maxims from the moment of their adoption both at home and abroad, they still continue to predict, that in due time they must produce the greatest good to the poor human race. They obstinately persist in stating those evils as matter of accident; as things wholly collateral to the system. It is observed, that this party has never spoken of an ally of Great Britain with the smallest degree of respect or regard; on the contrary, it has generally mentioned them under opprobrious appellations, and in such terms of contempt or execration, as never had been heard before, because no such would have formerly been permitted in our public assemblies. The moment, however, that any of those allies quitted this obnoxious connection, the party has instantly passed an act of indemnity and oblivion in their favour. After this, no sort of censure on their conduct; no imputation on their character! From that moment their pardon was sealed in a reverential and mysterious silence. With the gentlemen of this minority, there is no ally, from one end of Europe to the other, with whom we ought not to be ashamed to act. The whole college of the states of Europe is no better than a gang of tyrants. With them all our connexions were broken off at once. We ought to have cultivated France, and France alone, from the moment of her revolution. On that happy change, all our dread of that nation as a power was to cease. She became in an instant dear to our affections, and one with our interests. All other nations we ought to have commanded not to trouble her sacred throes, whilst in labour to bring into a happy birth her abundant litter of constitutions.
As for the other group, the minority today, and possibly the majority tomorrow, small in number but rich in talent and all kinds of energy, which seeks to lead this kingdom on the grounds of being more acceptable to France, it has remained unchanged from the beginning. It has maintained a consistent position. This could be a never-ending source of true glory if it were based on justice and righteousness; however, it is truly horrifying if it stems from a poisoned source. These gentlemen have never condemned French principles at any time. I am using the most moderate language possible. Many believe they have gone much further; that they have always praised and glorified French principles; that they are not at all disturbed or discouraged by the immense evils associated with these principles since their adoption both at home and abroad, and they still insist that, in due time, they will bring about the greatest good for humanity. They stubbornly claim that these evils are mere accidents, collateral to the system. It is noted that this group has never spoken about any ally of Great Britain with even a hint of respect or regard; instead, they usually refer to them in derogatory terms, using levels of contempt or hatred that have never been heard before, as such language was previously not allowed in our public gatherings. However, the moment any of those allies sever their connection, this group hastily enacts an indemnity and oblivion in their favor. After that, there is no criticism of their actions; no questioning of their character! Their pardon is sealed in a respectful and mysterious silence from that moment on. For these gentlemen in this minority, there is no ally in Europe with whom we should not be ashamed to associate. The entire political landscape of Europe is nothing more than a group of tyrants. We severed all ties with them at once. We should have nurtured France, and France alone, from the moment of her revolution. With that fortunate change, all our fears about that nation as a power should have vanished. She instantly became dear to our hearts and aligned with our interests. All other nations should have been instructed not to interfere with her sacred struggles while she worked to give birth to her abundant constitutions.
WALPOLE AND HIS POLICY.
There has not been in this century any foreign peace or war, in its origin, the fruit of popular desire; except the war that was made with Spain in 1739. Sir Robert Walpole was forced into the war by the people, who were inflamed to this measure by the most leading politicians, by the first orators, and the greatest poets, of the time. For that war, Pope sung his dying notes. For that war, Johnson, in more energetic strains, employed the voice of his early genius. For that war, Glover distinguished himself in the way in which his muse was the most natural and happy. The crowd readily followed the politicians in the cry for a war, which threatened little bloodshed, and which promised victories that were attended with something more solid than glory. A war with Spain was a war of plunder. In the present conflict with regicide, Mr. Pitt has not hitherto had, nor will, perhaps, for a few days have, many prizes to hold out in the lottery of war, to attempt the lower part of our character. He can only maintain it by an appeal to the higher; and to those, in whom that higher part is the most predominant, he must look the most for his support. Whilst he holds out no inducements to the wise, nor bribes to the avaricious, he may be forced by a vulgar cry into a peace ten times more ruinous than the most disastrous war. The weaker he is in the fund of motives which apply to our avarice, to our laziness, and to our lassitude, if he means to carry the war to any end at all, the stronger he ought to be in his addresses to our magnanimity and to our reason.
There hasn't been any foreign peace or war in this century that originated from the will of the people, except for the war with Spain in 1739. Sir Robert Walpole was pushed into that war by the public, who were stirred by the top politicians, the leading speakers, and the greatest poets of the time. For that war, Pope expressed his final thoughts in verse. For that war, Johnson powerfully channeled the voice of his early genius. For that war, Glover made his mark in the most natural and fitting way for his muse. The public eagerly followed the politicians in calling for a war that promised little bloodshed and offered victories that came with something more substantial than just glory. A war with Spain was a war for profit. In the current struggle against tyranny, Mr. Pitt hasn’t had, and perhaps won’t have for a few days, many rewards to offer in the gamble of war to appeal to our lower instincts. He can only uphold it by appealing to our higher ideals, and he must seek support from those who embody those higher values the most. While he offers no incentives to the wise or bribes to the greedy, he might be pressured by popular demand into a peace that is ten times more destructive than the worst war. The less he has to motivate our greed, laziness, and apathy, if he wants to achieve any outcome in this war, the more he needs to strengthen his appeals to our nobility and reason.
In stating that Walpole was driven by a popular clamour into a measure not to be justified, I do not mean wholly to excuse his conduct. My time of observation did not exactly coincide with that event: but I read much of the controversies then carried on. Several years after the contests of parties had ceased, the people were amused, and in a degree warmed, with them. The events of that era seemed then of magnitude, which the revolutions of our time have reduced to parochial importance; and the debates, which then shook the nation, now appear of no higher moment than a discussion in a vestry. When I was very young, a general fashion told me I was to admire some of the writings against that minister; a little more maturity taught me as much to despise them. I observed one fault in his general proceeding. He never manfully put forward the entire strength of his cause. He temporised, he managed, and, adopting very nearly the sentiments of his adversaries, he opposed their inferences. This, for a political commander, is the choice of a weak post. His adversaries had the better of the argument, as he handled it, not as the reason and justice of his cause enabled him to manage it. I say this, after having seen, and with some care examined, the original documents concerning certain important transactions of those times. They perfectly satisfied me of the extreme injustice of that war, and of the falsehood of the colours which, to his own ruin, and guided by a mistaken policy, he suffered to be daubed over that measure. Some years after, it was my fortune to converse with many of the principal actors against that minister, and with those who principally excited that clamour. None of them, no not one, did in the least defend the measure, or attempt to justify their conduct. They condemned it as freely as they would have done in commenting upon any proceeding in history, in which they were totally unconcerned. Thus it will be. They who stir up the people to improper desires, whether of peace or war, will be condemned by themselves. They who weakly yield to them will be condemned by history.
In saying that Walpole was pushed by public outcry into a decision that can't really be justified, I don’t fully excuse his actions. My period of observation didn’t exactly line up with that event, but I read a lot about the debates happening back then. Several years after the party conflicts had settled, people still found some entertainment and even passion in them. The events of that time seemed significant, which the changes of our era have reduced to minor local issues; the debates that once shook the nation now feel about as important as a discussion in a church meeting. When I was younger, there was a general expectation for me to admire certain writings against that minister; as I grew a bit older, I learned to disregard them. I noticed one flaw in his overall approach. He never fully presented the strength of his case. He played it safe, managed the situation, and closely aligned himself with the views of his opponents, only countering their conclusions. For a political leader, that’s a weak position to take. His opponents won the argument because of how he approached it, rather than using the reason and justice of his cause. I say this after having seen and carefully examined the original documents related to some significant events from that time. They clearly convinced me of the extreme unfairness of that war and how the misleading narratives, which led to his downfall and were driven by misguided policies, were unfairly painted over that decision. Years later, I had the chance to talk to many key figures who opposed that minister and who primarily generated that public outcry. Not one of them defended the decision or tried to justify their actions. They condemned it as freely as they would have while commenting on any unrelated historical event. This is how it goes: those who incite people towards improper desires, whether for peace or war, will end up condemning themselves. Those who weakly give in to those desires will be condemned by history.
POLITICAL PEACE.
How a question of peace can be discussed without having them in view, I cannot imagine. If you or others see a way out of these difficulties, I am happy. I see, indeed, a fund from whence equivalents will be proposed. I see it, but I cannot just now touch it. It is a question of high moment. It opens another Iliad of woes to Europe.
How a question of peace can be talked about without considering them, I can't understand. If you or anyone else has a solution to these problems, I'm glad. I do see a source from which solutions could be suggested. I see it, but I can't access it at the moment. This is a matter of great importance. It brings up another long list of troubles for Europe.
Such is the time proposed for making A COMMON POLITICAL PEACE; to which no one circumstance is propitious. As to the grand principle of the peace, it is left, as if by common consent, wholly out of the question.
Such is the time suggested for establishing A COMMON POLITICAL PEACE; for which no single circumstance is favorable. Regarding the main principle of the peace, it is left, seemingly by mutual agreement, entirely off the table.
Viewing things in this light, I have frequently sunk into a degree of despondency and dejection hardly to be described; yet out of the profoundest depths of this despair, an impulse, which I have in vain endeavoured to resist, has urged me to raise one feeble cry against this unfortunate coalition which is formed at home, in order to make a coalition with France, subversive of the whole ancient order of the world. No disaster of war, no calamity of season, could ever strike me with half the horror which I felt from what is introduced to us by this junction of parties, under the soothing name of peace. We are apt to speak of a low and pusillanimous spirit as the ordinary cause by which dubious wars terminated in humiliating treaties. It is here the direct contrary. I am perfectly astonished at the boldness of character, at the intrepidity of mind, the firmness of nerve, in those who are able with deliberation to face the perils of Jacobin fraternity.
Seeing things this way, I have often fallen into a level of despair and sadness that’s hard to put into words; yet from the depths of this despair, a feeling that I have tried in vain to resist has compelled me to raise a weak cry against this unfortunate alliance being formed at home, aimed at creating a partnership with France that threatens to overturn the entire traditional order of the world. No disaster of war, no natural calamity, could ever fill me with as much dread as what this merging of parties brings to us, disguised under the comforting term of peace. We tend to blame a weak and cowardly spirit for the way uncertain wars end in shameful treaties. But here, it’s the exact opposite. I am completely stunned by the courage of character, the bravery of spirit, the steadiness of nerve, in those who can calmly confront the dangers of Jacobin brotherhood.
This fraternity is indeed so terrible in its nature, and in its manifest consequences, that there is no way of quieting our apprehensions about it, but by totally putting it out of sight, by substituting for it, through a sort of periphrasis, something of an ambiguous quality, and describing such a connection under the terms of "THE USUAL RELATIONS OF PEACE AND AMITY." By this means the proposed fraternity is hustled in the crowd of those treaties, which imply no change in the public law of Europe, and which do not upon system affect the interior condition of nations. It is confounded with those conventions in which matters of dispute among sovereign powers are compromised, by the taking off a duty more or less, by the surrender of a frontier town, or a disputed district, on the one side or the other; by pactions in which the pretensions of families are settled (as by a conveyancer, making family substitutions and successions), without any alterations in the laws, manners, religion, privileges, and customs, of the cities, or territories, which are the subject of such arrangements.
This fraternity is so destructive in nature and its obvious consequences that the only way to ease our fears about it is to completely ignore it, replacing it with something vague and describing such a connection as "THE USUAL RELATIONS OF PEACE AND FRIENDSHIP." In this way, the proposed fraternity gets lost among those treaties that imply no change in the public law of Europe and do not significantly affect the internal situation of nations. It gets mixed up with those agreements where disputes among sovereign powers are resolved by reducing a duty here or there, by giving up a border town, or a contested area from one side to the other; by deals where family claims are settled (like a legal advisor sorting through family transfers and successions) without any changes to the laws, customs, religion, privileges, or practices of the cities or territories involved in these arrangements.
All this body of old conventions, composing the vast and voluminous collection called the corps diplomatique, forms the code or statute law, as the methodised reasonings of the great publicists and jurists form the digest and jurisprudence of the Christian world. In these treasures are to be found the USUAL relations of peace and amity in civilized Europe; and there the relations of ancient France were to be found amongst the rest.
All these old customs, which make up the large and extensive collection known as the corps diplomatique, create the code or statutory law, just as the organized arguments of prominent publicists and legal experts create the summary and legal practices of the Christian world. Within these resources are the STANDARD relationships of peace and friendship in civilized Europe; and there, the relationships of ancient France can be found among others.
The present system in France is not the ancient France. It is not the ancient France with ordinary ambition and ordinary means. It is not a new power of an old kind. It is a new power of a new species. When such a questionable shape is to be admitted for the first time into the brotherhood of Christendom, it is not a mere matter of idle curiosity to consider how far it is in its nature alliable with the rest, or whether "the relations of peace and amity" with this new state are likely to be of the same nature with the USUAL relations of the states of Europe.
The current system in France is not the France of the past. It isn't the old France with regular ambitions and average resources. It's not just a new type of old power. It's a new kind of power altogether. When such an uncertain form is introduced for the first time into the community of Christianity, it's not just a matter of idle curiosity to think about how compatible it is with the others, or whether "the relationships of peace and friendship" with this new state will be similar to the usual relationships among the states of Europe.
PUBLIC LOANS.
It is never, therefore, wise to quarrel with the interested views of men, whilst they are combined with the public interest and promote it: it is our business to tie the knot, if possible, closer. Resources that are derived from extraordinary virtues, as such virtues are rare, so they must be unproductive. It is a good thing for a monied man to pledge his property on the welfare of his country; he shows that he places his treasure where his heart is; and, revolving in this circle, we know that "wherever a man's treasure is, there his heart will be also." For these reasons, and on these principles, I have been sorry to see the attempts which have been made, with more good meaning than foresight and consideration, towards raising the annual interest of this loan by private contributions. Wherever a regular revenue is established, there voluntary contribution can answer no purpose, but to disorder and disturb it in its course. To recur to such aids is, for so much, to dissolve the community, and to return to a state of unconnected nature. And even if such a supply should be productive, in a degree commensurate to its object, it must also be productive of much vexation, and much oppression. Either the citizens, by the proposed duties, pay their proportion according to some rate made by public authority, or they do not. If the law be well made, and the contributions founded on just proportions, everything superadded by something that is not as regular as law, and as uniform in its operation, will become more or less out of proportion. If, on the contrary, the law be not made upon proper calculation, it is a disgrace to the public wisdom, which fails in skill to assess the citizen in just measure, and according to his means. But the hand of authority is not always the most heavy hand. It is obvious, that men may be oppressed by many ways, besides those which take their course from the supreme power of the state. Suppose the payment to be wholly discretionary. Whatever has its origin in caprice, is sure not to improve in its progress, nor to end in reason. It is impossible for each private individual to have any measure conformable to the particular condition of each of his fellow-citizens, or to the general exigencies of his country. 'Tis a random shot at best.
It’s never wise to argue against people’s self-interests when they align with the public good and support it; we should aim to strengthen that bond if we can. Resources arising from exceptional virtues are rare, so they tend to be unproductive. It’s commendable for a wealthy person to tie their assets to the well-being of their country; it shows they invest where their values lie, and we know that “where a person's treasure is, there their heart will be also.” For these reasons, I’ve been disappointed to see the well-meaning but shortsighted attempts made to increase the annual interest of this loan through private donations. Once a steady revenue is in place, voluntary contributions only disrupt its effectiveness. Relying on such aid essentially dissolves the community and reverts us to a disconnected state. Even if this support is somewhat effective, it often brings plenty of frustration and hardship. Citizens must either pay their share based on a rate set by public authority or they don’t. If the law is well-crafted and contributions are fairly assessed, any extras introduced by something less structured will end up being imbalanced. Conversely, if the law isn’t based on careful consideration, it reflects poorly on public leadership, which fails to fairly assess citizens based on their means. However, authority doesn’t always exert the heaviest pressure. It’s clear that people can be burdened in many ways beyond the actions of the state’s highest power. If the payments are entirely optional, they won’t lead to improvement and won’t be guided by reason. It’s impossible for any individual to judge the specific situations of their fellow citizens or the overall needs of the country accurately. At best, it’s a shot in the dark.
When men proceed in this irregular mode, the first contributor is apt to grow peevish with his neighbours. He is but too well disposed to measure their means by his own envy, and not by the real state of their fortunes, which he can rarely know, and which it may in them be an act of the grossest imprudence to reveal. Hence the odium and lassitude, with which people will look upon a provision for the public, which is bought by discord at the expense of social quiet. Hence the bitter heart-burnings, and the war of tongues, which is so often the prelude to other wars. Nor is it every contribution, called voluntary, which is according to the free will of the giver. A false shame, or a false glory, against his feelings and his judgment, may tax an individual to the detriment of his family, and in wrong of his creditors. A pretence of public spirit may disable him from the performance of his private duties. It may disable him even from paying the legitimate contributions which he is to furnish according to the prescript of the law; but what is the most dangerous of all is, that malignant disposition to which this mode of contribution evidently tends, and which at length leaves the comparatively indigent to judge of the wealth, and to prescribe to the opulent, or those whom they conceive to be such, the use they are to make of their fortunes. From thence it is but one step to the subversion of all property.
When people act in this unreasonable way, the first person involved tends to become irritated with others. They are likely to judge others' situations based on their own jealousy rather than by an accurate understanding of their circumstances, which they can rarely grasp and which it could be foolish for others to disclose. This leads to disdain and fatigue towards public efforts that arise from conflict instead of maintaining social peace. It brings on resentments and gossip that often precede actual conflicts. Not every so-called voluntary contribution is genuinely offered of the giver’s own free will. Feelings of false shame or the pursuit of misguided glory can force an individual to give at the expense of their family and to the detriment of their creditors. Pretending to be community-minded can hinder someone from fulfilling their personal responsibilities. It may even prevent them from paying the rightful dues they owe according to the law. But the most dangerous aspect of this method of contributing is the harmful attitude it fosters, which ultimately leads the less fortunate to judge the wealthy, or those they perceive as wealthy, and dictate how they should use their resources. This mindset is a short step away from undermining all property rights.
HISTORICAL STRICTURES.
The author does not confine the benefit of the regicide lesson to kings alone. He has a diffusive bounty. Nobles, and men of property, will likewise be greatly reformed. They too will be led to a review of their social situation and duties; "and will reflect, that their large allotment of worldly advantages is for the aid and benefit of the whole." Is it then from the fate of Juignie, archbishop of Paris, or of the cardinal de Rochefoucault, and of so many others, who gave their fortunes, and, I may say, their very beings, to the poor, that the rich are to learn, that their "fortunes are for the aid and benefit of the whole?" I say nothing of the liberal persons of great rank and property, lay and ecclesiastic, men and women, to whom we have had the honour and happiness of affording an asylum,—I pass by these, lest I should never have done, or lest I should omit some as deserving as any I might mention. Why will the author then suppose, that the nobles and men of property in France have been banished, confiscated, and murdered, on account of the savageness and ferocity of their character, and their being tainted with vices beyond those of the same order and description in other countries? No judge of a revolutionary tribunal, with his hands dipped in their blood, and his maw gorged with their property, has yet dared to assert what this author has been pleased, by way of a moral lesson, to insinuate.
The author doesn’t limit the benefit of the lesson about killing kings to just the kings themselves. He has a broader generosity. Nobles and wealthy individuals will also undergo significant change. They too will be prompted to reconsider their social position and responsibilities; “and will realize that their large share of worldly advantages exists for the help and benefit of everyone.” So, is it from the fate of Juignie, the Archbishop of Paris, or Cardinal de Rochefoucault, and so many others who gave their fortunes—and I might say, their very lives—to the poor, that the wealthy are supposed to learn that their “fortunes are for the aid and benefit of the whole?” I won’t mention the generous individuals of high status and wealth, both secular and religious, men and women, to whom we have had the privilege and joy of offering refuge,—I’ll skip over these, lest I go on forever or forget to mention some as deserving as anyone I might name. Why would the author then believe that the nobles and wealthy individuals in France have been exiled, stripped of their belongings, and killed because of their brutality and fierceness, and their being marked by vices worse than those of similar classes in other countries? No judge of a revolutionary court, with his hands stained with their blood and his stomach full of their possessions, has yet had the audacity to claim what this author has chosen to insinuate as a moral lesson.
Their nobility, and their men of property, in a mass, had the very same virtues and the very same vices, and in the very same proportions, with the same description of men in this and in other nations. I must do justice to suffering honour, generosity, and integrity. I do not know, that any time, or any country, has furnished more splendid examples of every virtue, domestic and public. I do not enter into the councils of Providence: but, humanly speaking, many of these nobles and men of property, from whose disastrous fate we are, it seems, to learn a general softening of character, and a revision of our social situations and duties, appear to me full as little deserving of that fate, as the author, whoever he is, can be. Many of them, I am sure, were such, as I should be proud indeed to be able to compare myself with, in knowledge, in integrity, and in every other virtue. My feeble nature might shrink, though theirs did not, from the proof; but my reason and my ambition tell me, that it would be a good bargain to purchase their merits with their fate.
Their noble class and wealthy individuals had the same virtues and vices, in the same proportions, as similarly categorized people in this and other countries. I must credit those who endured hardship with honor, generosity, and integrity. I’m not sure that any time or place has offered such remarkable examples of every virtue, both at home and in public life. I don’t speculate on the will of Providence, but, looking at it from a human perspective, many of these nobles and wealthy individuals – whose unfortunate fate we seem destined to learn from for a general softening of character and a reexamination of our social roles and responsibilities – appear as undeserving of that fate as the creator, whoever they may be. I’m certain many of them were individuals I would be proud to be compared to regarding knowledge, integrity, and every other virtue. While my weaker nature might hesitate, theirs did not in facing the truth; but my reason and ambition suggest that it would be worthwhile to gain their merits at the cost of their fate.
For which of his vices did that great magistrate, D'Espremenil, lose his fortune and his head? What were the abominations of Malesherbes, that other excellent magistrate, whose sixty years of uniform virtue was acknowledged, in the very act of his murder, by the judicial butchers, who condemned him? On account of what misdemeanors was he robbed of his property, and slaughtered with two generations of his offspring; and the remains of the third race, with a refinement of cruelty, and lest they should appear to reclaim the property forfeited by the virtues of their ancestor, confounded in an hospital with the thousands of those unhappy foundling infants, who are abandoned, without relation, and without name, by the wretchedness or by the profligacy of their parents?
For what vices did the great magistrate, D'Espremenil, lose his fortune and his life? What wrongs did Malesherbes commit, that other esteemed magistrate, whose sixty years of consistent virtue were recognized, even at the moment of his execution, by the judicial executioners who sentenced him? What offenses led to him being stripped of his property and slaughtered along with two generations of his children; and the remnants of the third generation, with a cruel twist, were tossed into a hospital to prevent them from reclaiming what their ancestor had lost, mingled with the thousands of unfortunate abandoned infants, left without family or name due to the destitution or immorality of their parents?
Is the fate of the queen of France to produce this softening of character? Was she a person so very ferocious and cruel as, by the example of her death, to frighten us into common humanity? Is there no way to teach the emperor a softening of character, and a review of his social situation and duty, but his consent, by an infamous accord with regicide, to drive a second coach with the Austrian arms through the streets of Paris, along which, after a series of preparatory horrors, exceeding the atrocities of the bloody execution itself, the glory of the imperial race had been carried to an ignominious death? Is this a lesson of MODERATION to a descendant of Maria Theresa, drawn from the fate of the daughter of that incomparable woman and sovereign? If he learns this lesson from such an object, and from such teachers, the man may remain, but the king is deposed. If he does not carry quite another memory of that transaction in the inmost recesses of his heart, he is unworthy to reign; he is unworthy to live. In the chronicle of disgrace he will have but this short tale told of him, "he was the first emperor of his house that embraced a regicide: he was the last that wore the imperial purple."—Far am I from thinking so ill of this august sovereign, who is at the head of the monarchies of Europe, and who is the trustee of their dignities and his own. What ferocity of character drew on the fate of Elizabeth, the sister of King Louis the Sixteenth? For which of the vices of that pattern of benevolence, of piety, and of all the virtues, did they put her to death? For which of her vices did they put to death the mildest of all human creatures, the duchess of Biron? What were the crimes of those crowds of matrons and virgins of condition, whom they massacred, with their juries of blood, in prisons and on scaffolds? What were the enormities of the infant king, whom they caused, by lingering tortures, to perish in their dungeon, and whom, if at last they despatched by poison, it was in that detestable crime the only act of mercy they have ever shown?
Is the queen of France’s fate meant to soften her character? Was she really so fierce and cruel that her death example scares us into being human? Is there no way to teach the emperor to soften his character and reconsider his social responsibilities and duties except through a disgraceful pact with killers, driving a second carriage with the Austrian emblem through the streets of Paris? After a series of horrifying events, worse than the brutal execution itself, the glory of the imperial line was dragged to a shameful end. Is this a lesson in MODERATION for a descendant of Maria Theresa, taken from the fate of her incomparable daughter? If he learns this lesson from such a source and these teachers, the man may survive, but the king is overthrown. If he doesn’t carry a different memory of that event in the depths of his heart, he is unworthy to rule; he is unworthy to live. In the history of disgrace, his story will be told as, "he was the first emperor of his house to align with regicides; he was the last to wear the imperial purple."—I don't think so poorly of this esteemed sovereign, who leads the monarchies of Europe and upholds their dignities and his own. What brutality of character led to the fate of Elizabeth, sister of King Louis the Sixteenth? For what vice of hers, who exemplified benevolence, piety, and virtue, was she put to death? For what vices were they executed, the kindest of all, the duchess of Biron? What crimes did those groups of noble women and maidens commit, whom they slaughtered with their bloody juries in prisons and on the gallows? What were the wrongs of the infant king, whom they made to suffer slow tortures in their dungeon, and if they eventually killed him with poison, that was the only bit of mercy they ever showed?
What softening of character is to be had, what review of their social situations and duties is to be taught, by these examples, to kings, to nobles, to men of property, to women, and to infants? The royal family perished, because it was royal. The nobles perished, because they were noble. The men, women, and children, who had property, because they had property to be robbed of. The priests were punished, after they had been robbed of their all, not for their vices, but for their virtues and their piety, which made them an honour to their sacred profession, and to that nature, of which we ought to be proud, since they belong to it. My Lord, nothing can be learned from such examples, except the danger of being kings, queens, nobles, priests, and children, to be butchered on account of their inheritance. These are things, at which not vice, not crime, not folly, but wisdom, goodness, learning, justice, probity, beneficence, stand aghast. By these examples our reason and our moral sense are not enlightened, but confounded; and there is no refuge for astonished and affrighted virtue, but being annihilated in humility and submission, sinking into a silent adoration of the inscrutable dispensations of Providence, and flying, with trembling wings, from this world of daring crimes, and feeble, pusillanimous, half-bred, bastard justice, to the asylum of another order of things, in an unknown form, but in a better life.
What kind of character development can we learn from these examples for kings, nobles, wealthy individuals, women, and even infants? The royal family fell because they were royal. The nobles fell because they were noble. The men, women, and children with wealth suffered because they had something to lose. The priests were punished after losing everything, not for their faults, but for their virtues and piety, which brought honor to their sacred role and to the nature we should take pride in since it’s part of who we are. My Lord, these examples teach us nothing but the risks of being kings, queens, nobles, priests, and children who could be slaughtered for their inheritance. This is something that leaves wisdom, goodness, knowledge, justice, integrity, and generosity in shock. Rather than enlightening our reasoning and moral understanding, these examples confuse us; and there’s no refuge for bewildered and frightened virtue except to be humbled and submissive, sinking into a quiet reverence for the mysterious ways of Providence, and fleeing, with trembling wings, from this world of bold crimes and weak, cowardly, half-hearted justice, toward the sanctuary of a different kind of existence, in an unknown form, but in a better life.
Whatever the politician or preacher of September or of October may think of the matter, it is a most comfortless, disheartening, desolating example. Dreadful is the example of ruined innocence and virtue, and the completest triumph of the completest villainy, that ever vexed and disgraced mankind! The example is ruinous in every point of view, religious, moral, civil, political. It establishes that dreadful maxim of Machiavel, that in great affairs men are not to be wicked by halves. This maxim is not made for a middle sort of beings, who, because they cannot be angels, ought to thwart their ambition, and not endeavour to become infernal spirits. It is too well exemplified in the present time, where the faults and errors of humanity, checked by the imperfect timorous virtues, have been overpowered by those who have stopped at no crime. It is a dreadful part of the example, that infernal malevolence has had pious apologists, who read their lectures on frailties in favour of crimes; who abandon the weak, and court the friendship of the wicked. To root out these maxims, and the examples that support them, is a wise object of years of war. This is that war. This is that moral war. It was said by old Trivulzio, that the battle of Marignan was the battle of the giants, that all the rest of the many he had seen were those of the cranes and pigmies. This is true of the objects, at least, of the contest. For the greater part of those, which we have hitherto contended for, in comparison, were the toys of children.
Whatever the politician or preacher thinks about this in September or October, it’s a deeply unsettling and discouraging example. It’s horrifying to witness the destruction of innocence and virtue, and the complete victory of villainy that has ever plagued and shamed humanity! This example is damaging from every angle—religious, moral, civil, and political. It establishes that terrible principle from Machiavelli that in major matters, people can’t be partially wicked. This principle isn’t meant for a middle group of people who, because they can’t be angels, should hold back their ambitions instead of trying to become evil spirits. It’s too clearly demonstrated today, where the flaws and mistakes of humanity, hindered by imperfect, timid virtues, have been overwhelmed by those who will stop at nothing in their crimes. What’s even more alarming is that wickedness has found religious supporters, who preach about human frailties to excuse these crimes; they abandon the weak and seek alliances with the immoral. To eliminate these principles and the examples that back them up is a wise goal for years of struggle. This is that struggle. This is that moral struggle. Old Trivulzio said that the battle of Marignan was a battle of giants, while all the others he’d witnessed were like battles of cranes and pygmies. This holds true, at least regarding the stakes involved in the contest. Most of what we’ve fought for so far, in comparison, were just child’s play.
The October politician is so full of charity and good nature, that he supposes, that these very robbers and murderers themselves are in a course of melioration; on what ground I cannot conceive, except on the long practice of every crime, and by its complete success. He is an Origenist, and believes in the conversion of the devil. All that runs in the place of blood in his veins is nothing but the milk of human kindness. He is as soft as a curd, though, as a politician, he might be supposed to be made of sterner stuff. He supposes (to use his own expression) "that the salutary truths, which he inculcates, are making their way into their bosoms." Their bosom is a rock of granite, on which falsehood has long since built her stronghold. Poor truth has had a hard work of it with her little pickaxe. Nothing but gunpowder will do. As a proof, however, of the progress of this sap of Truth, he gives us a confession they had made not long before he wrote. "Their fraternity" (as was lately stated by themselves in a solemn report) "has been the brotherhood of Cain and Abel, and they have organized nothing but Bankruptcy and Famine." A very honest confession, truly; and much in the spirit of their oracle, Rousseau. Yet, what is still more marvellous than the confession, this is the very fraternity to which our author gives us such an obliging invitation to accede. There is, indeed, a vacancy in the fraternal corps; a brother and a partner is wanted. If we please, we may fill up the place of the butchered Abel; and, whilst we wait the destiny of the departed brother, we may enjoy the advantages of the partnership, by entering, without delay, into a shop of ready-made bankruptcy and famine. These are the douceurs, by which we are invited to regicide fraternity and friendship. But still our author considers the confession as a proof, that "truth is making its way into their bosoms." No! It is not making its way into their bosoms. It has forced its way into their mouths! The evil spirit, by which they are possessed, though essentially a liar, is forced, by the tortures of conscience, to confess the truth: to confess enough for their condemnation, but not for their amendment. Shakspeare very aptly expresses this kind of confession, devoid of repentance, from the mouth of a usurper, a murderer, and a regicide—
The October politician is so full of kindness and good intentions that he believes these very robbers and murderers are on a path to improvement; I can’t understand why, except for their long history of crime and its complete success. He’s an Origenist and believes in the redemption of the devil. All that flows in his veins is just the milk of human kindness. He’s as soft as a curd, even though you’d think he’d be made of tougher stuff as a politician. He believes (to use his own words) that "the beneficial truths he teaches are finding their way into their hearts." Their hearts are like granite, where falsehood has long built its stronghold. Poor truth has struggled with a little pickaxe. Only dynamite will work. However, as proof of the progress of this sap of Truth, he shares a confession they made not long before he wrote. "Their brotherhood" (as they stated in a formal report) "has been the brotherhood of Cain and Abel, and they have organized nothing but Bankruptcy and Famine." A very honest confession, indeed, in the spirit of their oracle, Rousseau. Yet, what's even more astonishing than the confession is that this is the very brotherhood our author invites us to join. There’s actually a vacancy in the fraternal group; a brother and a partner are needed. If we want, we can take the place of the slain Abel; and while we wait for the fate of the departed brother, we can enjoy the perks of the partnership by stepping straight into a shop of ready-made bankruptcy and famine. These are the enticements by which we are invited to royal fraternity and friendship. But still, our author thinks the confession proves that "truth is making its way into their hearts." No! It’s not making its way into their hearts. It has forced its way into their mouths! The evil spirit that possesses them, though fundamentally a liar, is compelled, by the torments of conscience, to confess the truth: enough for their condemnation, but not for their improvement. Shakespeare very aptly captures this type of confession, lacking repentance, from the mouth of a usurper, a murderer, and a regicide—
"We are ourselves compelled,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence."
"We are forced, Even with the full weight of our mistakes, To present our case."
Whence is their amendment? Why, the author writes, that, on their murderous insurrectionary system, their own lives are not sure for an hour; nor has their power a greater stability. True. They are convinced of it; and accordingly the wretches have done all they can to preserve their lives, and to secure their power; but not one step have they taken to amend the one, or to make a more just use of the other.
Whence is their amendment? Why, the author writes that, with their violent insurrectionary system, their own lives aren’t safe for even an hour; nor is their power any more stable. True. They know this, and as a result, the miserable ones have done everything they can to save their lives and maintain their power; but they haven’t taken a single step to improve either one, or to use the other more justly.
CONSTITUTION NOT THE PEOPLE'S SLAVE.
There is one topic upon which I hope I shall be excused in going a little beyond my design. The factions, now so busy amongst us, in order to divest men of all love for their country, and to remove from their minds all duty with regard to the state, endeavour to propagate an opinion, that the PEOPLE, in forming their commonwealth, have by no means parted with their power over it. This is an impregnable citadel, to which these gentlemen retreat whenever they are pushed by the battery of laws and usages, and positive conventions. Indeed, it is such and of so great force, that all they have done, in defending their outworks, is so much time and labour thrown away. Discuss any of their schemes—their answer is—It is the act of the PEOPLE, and that is sufficient. Are we to deny to a MAJORITY of the people the right of altering even the whole frame of their society, if such should be their pleasure? They may change it, say they, from a monarchy to a republic to-day, and to-morrow back again from a republic to a monarchy, and so backward and forward as often as they like. They are masters of the commonwealth; because in substance they are themselves the commonwealth. The French revolution, say they, was the act of the majority of the people; and if the majority of any other people, the people of England for instance, wish to make the same change, they have the same right. Just the same, undoubtedly. That is, none at all. Neither the few nor the many have a right to act merely by their will, in any matter connected with duty, trust, engagement, or obligation. The constitution of a country being once settled upon some compact, tacit or expressed, there is no power existing of force to alter it, without the breach of the covenant, or the consent of all the parties. Such is the nature of a contract. And the votes of a majority of the people, whatever their infamous flatterers may teach in order to corrupt their minds, cannot alter the moral any more than they can alter the physical essence of things. The people are not to be taught to think lightly of their engagements to their governors; else they teach governors to think lightly of their engagements towards them. In that kind of game in the end the people are sure to be losers. To flatter them into a contempt of faith, truth, and justice, is to ruin them; for in these virtues consist their whole safety. To flatter any man, or any part of mankind, in any description, by asserting, that in engagements he or they are free whilst any other human creature is bound, is ultimately to vest the rule of morality in the pleasure of those who ought to be rigidly submitted to it; to subject the sovereign reason of the world to the caprices of weak and giddy men.
There’s one topic I hope I can discuss a bit more than I originally intended. The factions that are so active among us are trying to strip people of their love for their country and remove any sense of duty toward the state. They aim to spread the idea that when the PEOPLE formed their government, they didn’t give up their power over it. This is a stronghold these folks retreat to whenever they’re challenged by laws, traditions, and formal agreements. In fact, their position is so solid that all their efforts to defend their arguments just waste time and energy. If you question any of their plans, their response will always be—It’s the act of the PEOPLE, and that’s enough. Are we really going to say that a MAJORITY of the people don’t have the right to change the entire structure of their society if they want to? They could flip it from a monarchy to a republic today, and then back again tomorrow, switching back and forth as often as they please. They are the rulers of the commonwealth because, in reality, they are the commonwealth. They claim the French Revolution was led by the majority of the people, and if the majority of another group, say the people of England, want to make the same change, they have the same right. Absolutely. In other words, none at all. Neither the few nor the many have the right to act solely based on their will in any matter involving duty, trust, commitment, or obligation. Once a country’s constitution is established through some agreement, whether it’s implied or expressed, there is no power to change it without breaking that agreement or getting consent from all parties involved. That’s how contracts work. And the votes of a majority, no matter what their unscrupulous flatterers might say to warp their understanding, cannot change moral obligations any more than they can change the physical nature of reality. The people should not be taught to take their commitments to their leaders lightly; otherwise, they’re teaching leaders to take their commitments to the people lightly. In that kind of scenario, the people are sure to end up on the losing side. To flatter them into dismissing faith, truth, and justice is to lead them to ruin because their safety relies entirely on these virtues. To flatter any individual or group by claiming that, in commitments, they are free while other humans are bound, ultimately places the authority of morality in the hands of those who should be held strictly to it; it reduces the profound reasoning of the world to the whims of foolish and fickle individuals.
But, as no one of us men can dispense with public or private faith, or with any other tie of moral obligation, so neither can any number of us. The number engaged in crimes, instead of turning them into laudable acts, only augments the quantity and intensity of the guilt. I am well aware that men love to hear of their power, but have an extreme disrelish to be told of their duty. This is of course, because every duty is a limitation of some power. Indeed arbitrary power is so much to the depraved taste of the vulgar, of the vulgar of every description, that almost all the dissensions, which lacerate the commonwealth, are not concerning the manner in which it is to be exercised, but concerning the hands in which it is to be placed. Somewhere they are resolved to have it. Whether they desire it to be vested in the many or the few, depends with most men upon the chance which they imagine they themselves may have of partaking in the exercise of that arbitrary sway, in the one mode or in the other.
But just as no man can do without public or private faith, or any other moral obligation, neither can any group of us. Having a larger number of people involved in crimes doesn’t make them commendable; it only increases the extent and severity of the guilt. I know that people love to hear about their power, but they really dislike being reminded of their responsibilities. This is because every responsibility limits some aspect of power. In fact, the craving for unchecked power appeals so much to the base instincts of the masses—of all kinds—that most of the conflicts tearing apart society aren’t about how that power should be exercised, but rather about who should hold it. They are determined to have it. Whether they want it to be in the hands of many or a few usually depends on the chances they think they have of sharing in that arbitrary authority, in either case.
It is not necessary to teach men to thirst after power. But it is very expedient that by moral instruction, they should be taught, and by their civil constitutions they should be compelled, to put many restrictions upon the immoderate exercise of it, and the inordinate desire. The best method of obtaining these two great points forms the important, but at the same time the difficult, problem to the true statesman. He thinks of the place in which political power is to be lodged, with no other attention, than as it may render the more or the less practicable, its salutary restraint, and its prudent direction. For this reason no legislator, at any period of the world, has willingly placed the seat of active power in the hands of the multitude: because there it admits of no control no regulation, no steady direction whatsoever. The people are the natural control on authority; but to exercise and to control together is contradictory and impossible.
It's unnecessary to teach people to crave power. However, it's crucial that they learn through moral education and are required by their laws to impose many limits on the excessive use of it and the overwhelming desire for it. Finding the best way to achieve these two important goals is a significant but challenging task for a true statesman. He considers where political power should be held, focusing solely on how that location can make it either easier or harder to manage its beneficial limits and wise guidance. For this reason, no lawmaker has ever willingly given active power to the masses, as it leads to no control, no regulation, and no steady direction at all. The public is the natural check on authority; however, exercising and controlling power simultaneously is contradictory and impossible.
As the exorbitant exercise of power cannot, under popular sway, be effectually restrained, the other great object of political arrangement, the means of abating an excessive desire of it, is in such a state still worse provided for. The democratic commonwealth is the foodful nurse of ambition. Under the other forms it meets with many restraints. Whenever, in states which have had a democratic basis, the legislators have endeavoured to put restraints upon ambition, their methods were as violent, as in the end they were ineffectual: as violent indeed as any the most jealous despotism could invent. The ostracism could not very long save itself, and much less the state which it was meant to guard, from the attempts of ambition, one of the natural, inbred, incurable distempers of a powerful democracy.
As the excessive use of power can't be effectively limited under popular control, the other major goal of political organization—finding ways to curb that excessive desire—is even less effectively addressed. A democratic society feeds ambition. In other systems, there are many checks on it. Whenever legislators in democratically structured states have tried to impose limits on ambition, their methods have been as harsh as they were ultimately useless: as harsh as anything the most paranoid dictatorship could come up with. Ostracism couldn't last very long to protect itself, and even less so the state it was supposed to defend, from the ambitions that are a natural, inherent, and unavoidable flaw of a strong democracy.
MODERN "LIGHTS."
Great lights they say are lately obtained in the world; and Mr. Burke, instead of shrouding himself in exploded ignorance, ought to have taken advantage of the blaze of illumination which has been spread about him. It may be so. The enthusiasts of this time, it seems, like their predecessors in another faction of fanaticism, deal in lights.—Hudibras pleasantly says to them, they
Great insights are said to be available in the world lately; and Mr. Burke, instead of hiding in outdated ignorance, should have made use of the bright light surrounding him. This may be true. The enthusiasts of this era, it seems, like their predecessors in another form of fanaticism, focus on enlightenment.—Hudibras humorously tells them, they
"Have LIGHTS, where better eyes are blind,
As pigs are said to see the wind."
"Have lights, where better eyes can’t see, As pigs are said to sense the wind."
The author of the Reflections has HEARD a great deal concerning the modern lights; but he has not yet had the good fortune to SEE much of them. He has read more than he can justify to anything but the spirit of curiosity, of the works of these illuminators of the world. He has learned nothing from the far greater number of them, than a full certainty of their shallowness, levity, pride, petulance, presumption, and ignorance. Where the old authors whom he has read, and the old men whom he has conversed with, have left him in the dark, he is in the dark still. If others, however, have obtained any of this extraordinary light, they will use it to guide them in their researches and their conduct. I have only to wish, that the nation may be as happy and as prosperous under the influence of the new light, as it has been in the sober shade of the old obscurity.
The author of the Reflections has heard a lot about modern thinkers, but he hasn’t had much luck actually seeing much of their work. He’s read more than he can really justify beyond a simple curiosity about these people who claim to illuminate the world. From the far greater number of them, he has learned nothing more than a solid awareness of their superficiality, frivolity, arrogance, irritability, overconfidence, and ignorance. Where the old authors he has read and the older people he has talked to have left him confused, he remains confused still. If others, however, have gained any of this remarkable insight, they will use it to guide their inquiries and their actions. All I can do is hope that the nation will be as happy and successful under the new influence as it has been in the calm shade of the old darkness.
REPUBLICS IN THE ABSTRACT.
In the same debate, Mr. Burke was represented by Mr. Fox as arguing in a manner which implied that the British constitution could not be defended, but by abusing all republics ancient and modern. He said nothing to give the least ground for such a censure. He never abused all republics. He has never professed himself a friend or an enemy to republics or to monarchies in the abstract. He thought that the circumstances and habits of every country, which it is always perilous and productive of the greatest calamities to force, are to decide upon the form of its government. There is nothing in his nature, his temper, or his faculties, which should make him an enemy to any republic modern or ancient. Far from it. He has studied the form and spirit of republics very early in life; he has studied them with great attention; and with a mind undisturbed by affection or prejudice. He is indeed convinced that the science of government would be poorly cultivated without that study. But the result in his mind from that investigation has been, and is, that neither England nor France, without infinite detriment to them, as well in the event as in the experiment, could be brought into a republican form; but that everything republican which can be introduced with safety into either of them, must be built upon a monarchy; built upon a real, not a nominal, monarchy, AS ITS ESSENTIAL BASIS; that all such institutions, whether aristocratic or democratic, must originate from the crown, and in all their proceedings must refer to it; that by the energy of that main spring alone those republican parts must be set in action, and from thence must derive their whole legal effect (as amongst us they actually do), or the whole will fall into confusion. These republican members have no other point but the crown in which they can possibly unite.
In the same debate, Mr. Fox suggested that Mr. Burke argued in a way that implied the British constitution could only be defended by criticizing all republics, both ancient and modern. However, Mr. Burke said nothing to warrant such criticism. He has never insulted all republics and has never claimed to be either a friend or an enemy of republics or monarchies in general. He believed that the unique circumstances and traditions of each country, which should never be forced, should determine the form of its government. There is nothing in his character, temperament, or abilities that would make him oppose any republic, whether modern or ancient. Quite the opposite. He studied the structure and essence of republics early in his life with great diligence, with a mind free from bias or favoritism. He genuinely believes that the study of government would be poorly developed without this examination. However, his conclusion from that research is that neither England nor France could adopt a republican form of government without significant harm to both, both in theory and in practice. Instead, any republican elements introduced safely into either country must be based on a monarchy—a true monarchy, not just a symbolic one, as its foundation. He argues that all such institutions, whether aristocratic or democratic, must originate from the crown and should reference it in all their actions. Only through the energy of this fundamental source can the republican aspects function effectively, and they must derive their entire legal authority from it (as they do in our case), or else everything will descend into chaos. These republican components have no other focal point for unity than the crown.
This is the opinion expressed in Mr. Burke's book. He has never varied in that opinion since he came to years of discretion. But surely, if it any time of his life he had entertained other notions (which however he has never held or professed to hold), the horrible calamities brought upon a great people, by the wild attempt to force their country into a republic, might be more than sufficient to undeceive his understanding, and to free it for ever from such destructive fancies. He is certain, that many, even in France, have been made sick of their theories by their very success in realizing them.
This is the view expressed in Mr. Burke's book. He has never changed that view since he became an adult. But surely, if at any point in his life he had entertained different ideas (which he has never claimed to have), the terrible disasters caused by the reckless attempt to force their country into a republic could easily have opened his eyes and freed him permanently from such harmful thoughts. He is sure that many, even in France, have become disillusioned with their theories precisely because of their success in putting them into practice.
AN ENGLISH MONARCH.
He is a real king, and not an executive officer. If he will not trouble himself with contemptible details, nor wish to degrade himself by becoming a party in little squabbles, I am far from sure, that a king of Great Britain, in whatever concerns him as a king, or indeed as a rational man, who combines his public interest with his personal satisfaction, does not possess a more real, solid, extensive power, than the king of France was possessed of before this miserable revolution. The direct power of the king of England is considerable. His indirect, and far more certain power, is great indeed. He stands in need of nothing towards dignity; of nothing towards splendour; of nothing towards authority; of nothing at all towards consideration abroad. When was it that a king of England wanted wherewithal to make him respected, courted, or perhaps even feared, in every state of Europe?
He’s a true king, not just an executive officer. If he doesn’t get involved in petty details or lower himself by engaging in small arguments, I’m not at all convinced that a king of Great Britain, in anything that relates to his role as a king or even as a rational person, who balances his public duties with his personal interests, doesn’t have a more real, solid, and extensive power than the king of France had before this terrible revolution. The king of England's direct power is substantial. His indirect power, which is even more reliable, is indeed quite large. He doesn’t need anything for his dignity; nothing for his splendor; nothing for his authority; nothing at all for his respect abroad. When has a king of England ever lacked what he needed to be respected, sought after, or even feared in every state of Europe?
PHYSIOGNOMY.
The PHYSIOGNOMY has a considerable share in beauty, especially in that of our own species. The manners give a certain determination to the countenance; which, being observed to correspond pretty regularly with them, is capable of joining the effect of certain agreeable qualities of the mind to those of the body. So that to form a finished human beauty, and to give it its full influence, the face must be expressive of such gentle and amiable qualities, as correspond with the softness, smoothness, and delicacy of the outward form.
The PHYSIOGNOMY plays a significant role in beauty, especially in our own species. Our mannerisms influence the expression on our faces, and since these expressions often reflect our behaviors, they can combine the positive traits of our minds with those of our bodies. Therefore, to create a complete picture of human beauty and maximize its impact, the face should express gentle and kind qualities that align with the softness, smoothness, and delicacy of the outer appearance.
THE EYE.
I have hitherto purposely omitted to speak of the EYE, which has so great a share in the beauty of the animal creation, as it did not fall so easily under the foregoing heads, though in fact it is reducible to the same principles. I think then, that the beauty of the eye consists, first, in its CLEARNESS; what COLOURED eye shall please most, depends a good deal on particular fancies; but none are pleased with an eye whose water (to use that term) is dull and muddy. We are pleased with the eye in this view, on the principle upon which we like diamonds, clear water, glass, and such-like transparent substances. Secondly, the motion of the eye contributes to its beauty, by continually shifting its direction; but a slow and languid motion is more beautiful than a brisk one; the latter is enlivening; the former lovely. Thirdly, with regard to the union of the eye with the neighbouring parts, it is to hold the same rule that is given of other beautiful ones; it is not to make a strong deviation from the line of the neighbouring parts; nor to verge into any exact geometrical figure. Besides all this, the eye affects, as it is expressive of some qualities of the mind, and its principal power generally arises from this; so that what we have just said of the physiognomy is applicable here.
I have intentionally not discussed the EYE until now, even though it plays a significant role in the beauty of animals. It didn’t quite fit into the previous points, but it can still be understood through the same principles. I believe the beauty of the eye lies, first, in its CLARITY; which COLORED eye is most pleasing often depends on personal tastes, but nobody likes an eye with dull and muddy "water." We appreciate the eye for the same reason we like diamonds, clear water, glass, and other transparent things. Second, the movement of the eye adds to its beauty by constantly changing direction; a slow and gentle movement is more beautiful than a quick one—the latter is lively, while the former is lovely. Third, regarding how the eye connects with nearby features, it should follow the same rules as other attractive elements; it shouldn’t deviate too much from the lines of the surrounding parts or conform to strict geometrical shapes. Additionally, the eye expresses certain qualities of the mind, and its main power often stems from this, making what we discussed about physiognomy relevant here.
ABOLITION AND USE OF PARLIAMENTS.
According to their invariable course, the framers of your constitution have begun with the outer abolition of the parliaments. These venerable bodies, like the rest of the old government, stood in need of reform, even though there should be no change made in the monarchy. They required several more alterations to adapt them to the system of a free constitution. But they had particulars in their constitution, and those not a few, which deserved approbation from the wise. They possessed one fundamental excellence,—they were independent. The most doubtful circumstance attendant on their office, that of its being vendible, contributed however to this independency of character. They held for life. Indeed they may be said to have held by inheritance. Appointed by the monarch, they were considered as nearly out of his power. The most determined exertions of that authority against them only showed their radical independence. They composed permanent bodies politic, constituted to resist arbitrary innovation; and from that corporate constitution, and from most of their forms, they were well calculated to afford both certainty and stability to the laws. They had been a safe asylum to secure these laws, in all the revolutions of humour and opinion. They had saved that sacred deposit of the country during the reigns of arbitrary princes, and the struggles of arbitrary factions. They kept alive the memory and record of the constitution. They were the great security to private property; which might be said (when personal liberty had no existence) to be, in fact, as well guarded in France as in any other country. Whatever is supreme in a state, ought to have, as much as possible, its judicial authority so constituted as not only not to depend upon it, but in some sort to balance it. It ought to give a security to its justice against its power. It ought to make its judicature, as it were, something exterior to the state. These parliaments had furnished, not the best certainly, but some considerable corrective to the excesses and vices of the monarchy. Such an independent judicature was ten times more necessary when a democracy became the absolute power of the country. In that constitution, elective, temporary, local judges, such as you have contrived, exercising their dependent functions in a narrow society, must be the worst of all tribunals. In them it will be vain to look for any appearance of justice towards strangers, towards the obnoxious rich, towards the minority of routed parties, towards all those who in the election have supported unsuccessful candidates. It will be impossible to keep the new tribunals clear of the worst spirit of faction. All contrivances by ballot we know experimentally to be vain and childish to prevent a discovery of inclinations. Where they may the best answer the purposes of concealment, they answer to produce suspicion; and this is a still more mischievous cause of partiality.
According to their consistent approach, the creators of your constitution have started by completely eliminating the parliaments. These respected institutions, like the rest of the old government, needed reform, even if no changes were made to the monarchy. They required further changes to fit into the framework of a free constitution. However, they had several specific aspects in their structure that were commendable in the eyes of the wise. One key strength they had was their independence. The most questionable aspect of their role, that it could be bought and sold, contributed to this independence. They held their positions for life. In fact, they could be said to hold them through inheritance. Appointed by the monarch, they were seen as largely free from his control. Any serious attempts by that authority to challenge them only highlighted their fundamental independence. They formed permanent political bodies, designed to resist arbitrary changes; and because of that collective structure, along with most of their procedures, they were well positioned to provide both certainty and stability to the laws. They had served as a reliable refuge to protect these laws during all the shifts in mood and opinion. They preserved that important legacy of the country throughout the reigns of overstepping monarchs and the conflicts of rival factions. They kept the history and record of the constitution alive. They were a significant safeguard for private property, which could be said (when personal freedom was absent) to have been as well protected in France as in any other nation. Anything supreme in a state should, as much as possible, have its judicial authority set up in a way that not only doesn’t rely on it but also balances it in some way. It should ensure the fairness of its justice against its power. It should create a judiciary that is, in a sense, separate from the state. These parliaments had provided, while not perfectly, a significant check to the excesses and flaws of the monarchy. Such an independent judiciary was even more crucial when a democracy held full power in the country. In that framework, your proposed system of elected, temporary, local judges, who perform their dependent roles in a small community, would be the worst kind of courts. It would be pointless to expect any semblance of justice from them towards outsiders, the despised wealthy, the minority of defeated parties, or anyone who supported unsuccessful candidates in the elections. It would be impossible to keep these new courts free from the worst kind of factional spirit. We have learned from experience that any attempts at secret voting are futile and childish when it comes to hiding true intentions. When they may serve the purpose of keeping things under wraps, they only end up creating suspicion; and this suspicion generates an even more harmful bias.
If the parliaments had been preserved, instead of being dissolved at so ruinous a change to the nation, they might have served in this new commonwealth, perhaps not precisely the same (I do not mean an exact parallel), but nearly the same, purposes as the court and senate of Areopagus did in Athens; that is, as one of the balances and correctives to the evils of a light and unjust democracy. Every one knows that this tribunal was the great stay of that state; every one knows with what a care it was upheld, and with what a religious awe it was consecrated. The parliaments were not wholly free from faction, I admit; but this evil was exterior and accidental, and not so much the vice of their constitution itself, as it must be in your new contrivance of sexennial elective judicatories. Several English commend the abolition of the old tribunals, as supposing that they determined everything by bribery and corruption. But they have stood the test of monarchic and republican scrutiny. The court was well disposed to prove corruption on those bodies when they were dissolved in 1771.—Those who have again dissolved them would have done the same if they could—but both inquisitions having failed, I conclude, that gross pecuniary corruption must have been rather rare amongst them.
If the parliaments had been kept intact instead of being dissolved during such a disastrous change for the nation, they might have fulfilled in this new commonwealth, perhaps not exactly the same (I’m not saying it would be a perfect match), but similar roles as the court and senate of Areopagus did in Athens; that is, as one of the checks and balances to the issues of a superficial and unjust democracy. Everyone knows that this tribunal was crucial for that state; everyone knows how carefully it was maintained and how it was held in deep respect. The parliaments were not completely free from factionalism, I acknowledge; however, this issue was external and coincidental, and not so much a flaw in their constitution itself, as it has to be in your new system of six-year elected judiciaries. Some English people praise the abolishment of the old tribunals, believing they made all decisions through bribery and corruption. But they have survived the tests of monarchical and republican scrutiny. The court was inclined to expose corruption in those bodies when they were dissolved in 1771. Those who dissolved them again would have done the same if they had the chance—but since both inquiries failed, I conclude that serious financial corruption must have been rather uncommon among them.
It would have been prudent, along with the parliaments, to preserve their ancient power of registering, and of remonstrating at least, upon all the decrees of the National Assembly, as they did upon those which passed in the time of the monarchy. It would be a means of squaring the occasional decrees of a democracy to some principles of general jurisprudence. The vice of the ancient democracies, and one cause of their ruin, was, that they ruled, as you do, by occasional decrees,—psephismata. This practice soon broke in upon the tenor and consistency of the laws; it abated the respect of the people towards them; and totally destroyed them in the end.
It would have been wise, along with the parliaments, to keep their traditional power to register and at least voice objections to all the decisions of the National Assembly, just as they did during the monarchy. This would help align the occasional decisions of a democracy with some basic principles of law. The flaw of ancient democracies, and one reason for their downfall, was that they governed, like you do, with occasional decisions—psephismata. This practice quickly undermined the stability and consistency of the laws; it decreased the public’s respect for them and ultimately led to their complete destruction.
Your vesting the power of remonstrance, which, in the time of the monarchy, existed in the parliament of Paris, in your principal executive officer, whom, in spite of common sense, you persevere in calling king, is the height of absurdity. You ought never to suffer remonstrance from him who is to execute. This is to understand neither counsel nor execution; neither authority nor obedience. The person whom you call king, ought not to have this power, or he ought to have more.
Your granting the power of protest, which used to exist in the Parliament of Paris during the monarchy, to your main executive officer, whom you stubbornly continue to call king despite all logic, is ridiculous. You should never allow someone who is supposed to execute decisions to also provide protests. This shows a lack of understanding of both advice and execution; neither authority nor obedience. The person you refer to as king should not have this power, or he should have even more.
CROMWELL AND HIS CONTRASTS.
Cromwell, when he attempted to legalize his power, and to settle his conquered country in a state of order, did not look for dispensers of justice in the instruments of his usurpation. Quite the contrary. He sought out, with great solicitude and selection, and even from the party most opposite to his designs, men of weight and decorum of character; men unstained with the violence of the times, and with hands not fouled with confiscation and sacrilege: for he chose an HALE for his chief justice, though he absolutely refused to take his civic oaths, or to make any acknowledgment whatsoever of the legality of his government. Cromwell told this great lawyer, that since he did not approve his title, all he required of him was, to administer, in a manner agreeable to his pure sentiments and unspotted character, that justice without which human society cannot subsist: that it was not his particular government, but civil order itself, which, as a judge, he wished him to support. Cromwell knew how to separate the institutions expedient to his usurpation from the administration of the public justice of his country. For Cromwell was a man in whom ambition had not wholly suppressed, but only suspended, the sentiments of religion, and the love (as far as it could consist with his designs) of fair and honourable reputation. Accordingly, we are indebted to this act of his for the preservation of our laws, which some senseless assertors of the rights of men were then on the point of entirely erasing, as relics of feudality and barbarism. Besides, he gave in the appointment of that man, to that age, and to all posterity, the most brilliant example of sincere and fervent piety, exact justice, and profound jurisprudence. (See Burnet's Life of Hale.) But these are not the things in which your philosophic usurpers choose to follow Cromwell.
Cromwell, when he tried to legitimize his power and bring order to his conquered country, didn’t look for judges among the tools of his takeover. Instead, he carefully sought out respected and honorable men, even from the opposing party. He wanted individuals who weren’t tainted by the violence of the era and whose hands weren’t dirty with confiscation and sacrilege. That’s why he chose HALE as his chief justice, even though Hale outright refused to take civic oaths or acknowledge the legality of Cromwell’s government. Cromwell told this great lawyer that since he didn’t agree with his title, all he needed from him was to administer justice in a way that reflected his pure beliefs and unblemished character, emphasizing that it wasn’t about his specific regime but rather about upholding civil order itself. Cromwell understood how to distinguish the institutions necessary for his power from the execution of public justice. He was a man whose ambition hadn’t completely drowned out his sense of religion and his desire for fairness and honorable reputation, as much as his goals allowed. Because of this decision, we owe the preservation of our laws to him, which some foolish advocates for human rights were about to completely erase, viewing them as vestiges of feudalism and barbarism. Additionally, by appointing Hale, he provided that era and future generations with a remarkable example of genuine and passionate piety, true justice, and deep legal wisdom. (See Burnet's Life of Hale.) However, those are not the aspects that your philosophical usurpers choose to emulate from Cromwell.
One would think, that after an honest and necessary revolution (if they had a mind that theirs should pass for such) your masters would have imitated the virtuous policy of those who have been at the head of revolutions of that glorious character. Burnet tells us, that nothing tended to reconcile the English nation to the government of King William so much as the care he took to fill the vacant bishoprics with men who had attracted the public esteem by their learning, eloquence, and piety, and, above all, by their known moderation in the state. With you, in your purifying revolution, whom have you chosen to regulate the church? Mr. Mirabeau is a fine speaker—and a fine writer,—and a fine—a very fine man;—but really nothing gave more surprise to everybody here, than to find him the supreme head of your ecclesiastical affairs. The rest is of course. Your Assembly addresses a manifesto to France, in which they tell the people, with an insulting irony, that they have brought the church to its primitive condition. In one respect their declaration is undoubtedly true; for they have brought it to a state of poverty and persecution. What can be hoped for after this? Have not men (if they deserve the name), under this new hope and head of the church, been made bishops for no other merit than having acted as instruments of atheists; for no other merit than having thrown the children's bread to dogs; and in order to gorge the whole gang of usurers, pedlars, and itinerant Jew-discounters at the corners of streets, starved the poor of their Christian flocks, and their own brother pastors? Have not such men been made bishops to administer in temples, in which (if the patriotic donations have not already stripped them of their vessels) the churchwardens ought to take security for the altar-plate, and not so much as to trust the chalice in their sacrilegious hands, so long as Jews have assignats on ecclesiastic plunder, to exchange for the silver stolen from churches?
One would think that after an honest and necessary revolution (if they wanted it to be seen as such), your leaders would have followed the wise example of those who led similar glorious revolutions. Burnet tells us that nothing helped the English people accept King William’s government more than his efforts to fill vacant bishop positions with individuals who earned public respect through their knowledge, eloquence, and piety, and, most importantly, their well-known moderation in governance. In your own so-called purifying revolution, who have you chosen to oversee the church? Mr. Mirabeau is an impressive speaker—and a talented writer—and a great—truly great man; but honestly, nothing surprised everyone here more than finding him in charge of your ecclesiastical matters. The rest is predictable. Your Assembly issues a manifesto to France, telling the people, with sarcastic irony, that they have returned the church to its original state. In one way, their statement is undoubtedly accurate; they have indeed reduced it to a condition of poverty and persecution. What can we expect after this? Haven't people (if they can be called that), under this new hope and church leadership, been made bishops purely for having served the interests of atheists; for no reason other than having neglected the needy and, to satisfy a whole group of usurers, peddlers, and traveling moneylenders, let the poor of their Christian communities and their fellow pastors starve? Have not such individuals been given bishops' roles to run places of worship where, if patriotic donations haven't already stripped the altars bare, the churchwardens should be taking precautions for the altar silver and should not trust the chalice in those sacrilegious hands, as long as moneylenders have claims on church property to trade for the precious metals stolen from the churches?
DELICACY.
An air of robustness and strength is very prejudicial to beauty. An appearance of DELICACY, and even of fragility, is almost essential to it. Whoever examines the vegetable or animal creation will find this observation to be founded in nature. It is not the oak, the ash, or the elm, or any of the robust trees of the forest, which we consider as beautiful; they are awful and majestic; their inspire a sort of reverence. It is the delicate myrtle, it is the orange, it is the almond, it is the jasmine, it is the vine, which we look on as vegetable beauties. It is the flowery species, so remarkable for its weakness and momentary duration, that gives us the liveliest idea of beauty and elegance. Among animals, the greyhound is more beautiful than the mastiff; and the delicacy of a gennet, a barb, or an Arabian horse, is much more amiable than the strength and stability of some horses of war or carriage. I need here say little of the fair sex, where I believe the point will be easily allowed me. The beauty of women is considerably owing to their weakness or delicacy, and is even enhanced by their timidity, a quality of mind analogous to it. I would not here be understood to say, that weakness betraying very bad health has any share in beauty; but the ill effect of this is not because it is weakness, but because the ill state of health, which produces such weakness, alters the other conditions of beauty; the parts in such a case collapse; the bright colour,—the lumen purpureum juventae, is gone; and the fine variation is lost in wrinkles, sudden breaks, and right lines.
An air of strength and robustness is quite harmful to beauty. A delicate and even fragile appearance is almost essential to it. Anyone who looks at plant or animal life will find this observation rooted in nature. It's not the oak, ash, or elm, or any of the strong trees of the forest, that we consider beautiful; they are impressive and majestic, inspiring a sense of reverence. Instead, it’s the delicate myrtle, orange, almond, jasmine, and vine that we see as beautiful plants. It's the flowering species, marked by their fragility and short lifespan, that gives us the clearest notion of beauty and elegance. Among animals, the greyhound is far more beautiful than the mastiff; the elegance of a gennet, barb, or Arabian horse is much more appealing than the brute strength and durability of war or draft horses. I hardly need to mention the fairer sex, where I believe this point will be readily accepted. The beauty of women is significantly tied to their delicacy or fragility and is even heightened by their timidity, a mental quality that aligns with it. I don’t mean to suggest that the weakness associated with very poor health contributes to beauty; rather, the negative effects arise not from weakness itself but from the poor health that causes such weakness, which disrupts other aspects of beauty. In such cases, the features may sag, the vibrant color—the bright flush of youth—is lost; and the lovely variations fade into wrinkles, harsh lines, and abrupt changes.
CONFISCATION AND CURRENCY.
As to the operation of the first (the confiscation and paper currency) merely as a cement, I cannot deny that these, the one depending on the other, may for some time compose some sort of cement, if their madness and folly in the management, and in the tempering of the parts together, does not produce a repulsion in the very outset. But allowing to the scheme some coherence and some duration, it appears to me, that if, after a while, the confiscation should not be found sufficient to support the paper coinage (as I am morally certain it will not), then, instead of cementing, it will add infinitely to the dissociation, distraction, and confusion of these confederate republics, both with relation to each other, and to the several parts within themselves. But if the confiscation should so far succeed as to sink the paper currency, the cement is gone with the circulation. In the mean time its binding force will be very uncertain, and it will straiten or relax with every variation in the credit of the paper.
As for the first operation (the confiscation and paper currency) merely acting as a glue, I can’t deny that these two, relying on each other, might temporarily form some kind of bond, as long as their mismanagement and the way they combine don’t immediately cause a backlash. But if we assume the scheme has some consistency and lasts for a while, it seems to me that if, after some time, the confiscation fails to adequately support the paper currency (which I’m pretty sure it will), then instead of holding things together, it will only lead to more separation, distraction, and confusion among these allied republics, both in relation to one another and within their individual parts. However, if the confiscation is somewhat successful and manages to undermine the paper currency, then the glue disappears along with the circulation. In the meantime, its capacity to hold things together will be very uncertain and will tighten or loosen with every change in the paper's credit.
One thing only is certain in this scheme, which is an effect seemingly collateral, but direct, I have no doubt, in the minds of those who conduct this business, that is, its effect in producing an OLIGARCHY in every one of the republics. A paper circulation, not founded on any real money deposited or engaged for, amounting already to four-and-forty millions of English money, and this currency by force substituted in the place of the coin of the kingdom, becoming thereby the substance of its revenue, as well as the medium of all its commercial and civil intercourse, must put the whole of what power, authority, and influence, is left, in any form whatsoever it may assume, into the hands of the managers and conductors of this circulation.
One thing is clear in this plan, which has a seemingly indirect but definitely direct impact on the minds of those running this business: it creates an OLIGARCHY in each of the republics. A paper currency, not based on any real money deposited or allocated, already totaling forty-four million pounds, and this currency being forcibly replaced with the kingdom's coin, essentially becomes the source of its revenue and the means for all its commercial and civil interactions. This must concentrate all remaining power, authority, and influence, in whatever form it takes, into the hands of those who manage and control this currency.
In England we feel the influence of the bank; though it is only the centre of a voluntary dealing. He knows little indeed of the influence of money upon mankind, who does not see the force of the management of a monied concern, which is so much more extensive, and in its nature so much more depending on the managers than any of ours. But this is not merely a money concern. There is another member in the system inseparably connected with this money management. It consists in the means of drawing out at discretion portions of the confiscated lands for sale; and carrying on a process of continual transmutation of paper into land, and of land into paper. When we follow this process in its effects, we may conceive something of the intensity of the force with which this system must operate. By this means the spirit of money-jobbing and speculation goes into the mass of land itself, and incorporates with it. By this kind of operation, that species of property becomes (as it were) volatilized; it assumes an unnatural and monstrous activity, and thereby throws into the hands of the several managers, principal and subordinate, Parisian and provincial, all the representative of money, and perhaps a full tenth part of all the land in France, which has now acquired the worst and most pernicious part of the evil of a paper circulation,—the greatest possible uncertainty in its value. They have reversed the Latonian kindness to the landed property of Delos. They have sent theirs to be blown about, like the light fragments of a wreck, oras et littora circum.
In England, we feel the impact of the bank, even though it only serves as the center for voluntary transactions. Anyone who doesn't recognize how money influences people really doesn't understand the power that comes from managing a financial entity, which is far more extensive and relies much more on its managers than anything we have. But this isn’t just about money. There’s another aspect of the system that’s tightly linked to this financial management. It includes the ability to selectively sell off parts of confiscated land and continually exchange paper for land and land for paper. When we look at the effects of this process, we can get a sense of the immense force with which this system operates. This way, the mindset of money trading and speculation becomes part of the land itself. Through this process, that type of property seems to become volatile; it takes on an unnatural and chaotic nature, putting into the hands of various managers, both top-level and subordinate, in Paris and the provinces, nearly a tenth of all the land in France, which now suffers from the worst issues of paper circulation—the greatest uncertainty in its value. They have completely reversed the benevolence once shown to the land of Delos. They have allowed their property to be tossed around like the scattered pieces of a wreck, oras et littora circum.
The new dealers, being all habitually adventurers, and without any fixed habits or local predilections, will purchase to job out again, as the market of paper, or of money, or of land, shall present an advantage. For though a holy bishop thinks that agriculture will derive great advantage from the "ENLIGHTENED" usurers who are to purchase the church confiscations, I, who am not a good, but an old farmer, with great humility beg leave to tell his late lordship, that usury is not tutor of agriculture; and if the word "enlightened" be understood according to the new dictionary, as it always is in your new schools, I cannot conceive how a man's not believing in God can teach him to cultivate the earth with the least of any additional skill or encouragement. "Diis immortalibus sero," said an old Roman, when he held one handle of the plough, whilst Death held the other. Though you were to join in the commission all the directors of the two academies to the directors of the Caisse d'Escompte, an old experienced peasant is worth them all. I have got more information upon a curious and interesting branch of husbandry, in one short conversation with an old Carthusian monk, than I have derived from all the Bank directors that I have ever conversed with. However, there is no cause for apprehension from the meddling of money-dealers with rural economy. These gentlemen are too wise in their generation. At first, perhaps, their tender and susceptible imaginations may be captivated with the innocent and unprofitable delights of a pastoral life; but in a little time they will find that agriculture is a trade much more laborious, and much less lucrative, than that which they had left. After making its panegyric, they will turn their backs on it like their great precursor and prototype. They may, like him, begin by singing "Beatus ille"—but what will be the end?
The new dealers, who are all naturally adventurous and don’t have any set habits or local favorites, will buy to resell whenever the market for paper, money, or land offers a good opportunity. Even though a well-meaning bishop believes that agriculture will greatly benefit from the "ENLIGHTENED" moneylenders who will buy the church's confiscated lands, I, as an old farmer with no grand pretensions, humbly ask his lordship to consider that usury does not nurture agriculture. And if "enlightened" is understood in the way it is typically defined in today's schools, I cannot see how a person's disbelief in God would give them any better skills or motivation for farming. "Late to the immortal gods," said an old Roman, while he held one handle of the plow and Death held the other. Even if you appointed all the heads of the two academies alongside the directors of the Caisse d'Escompte, an experienced old farmer is worth more than them all. I’ve learned more about an interesting aspect of farming in one brief conversation with an old Carthusian monk than I have from all the bank directors I've ever spoken to. However, there’s no need for concern about moneylenders getting involved in farming. These gentlemen are too savvy for that. At first, maybe their sensitive imaginations will be enchanted by the simple, unproductive joys of a pastoral life, but soon they will realize that farming is a much harder and less profitable business than what they left behind. After praising it, they will turn away just like their famous forerunner. They might start by singing "Beatus ille"—but what will be the outcome?
"Haec ubi locutus foenerator Alphius,
Jamjam futurus rusticus
Omnem relegit Idibus pecuniam;
Quaerit Calendis ponere."
"Then, having spoken, the moneylender Alphius, About to become a farmer, Collects all his money on the Ides; He plans to invest it on the Calends."
They will cultivate the Caisse d'Eglise, under the sacred auspices of this prelate, with much more profit than its vineyards and its corn-fields. They will employ their talents according to their habits and their interests. They will not follow the plough whilst they can direct treasuries, and govern provinces.
They will develop the Caisse d'Eglise, under the holy guidance of this prelate, with far more benefit than its vineyards and its grain fields. They will use their skills based on their routines and interests. They won’t work in the fields when they can manage finances and oversee regions.
Your legislators, in everything new, are the very first who have founded a commonwealth upon gaming, and infused this spirit into it, as its vital breath. The great object in these politics is to metamorphose France from a great kingdom into one great play-table: to turn its inhabitants into a nation of gamesters; to make speculation as extensive as life; to mix it with all its concerns; and to divert the whole of the hopes and fears of the people from their usual channels into the impulses, passions, and superstitions of those who live on chances. They loudly proclaim their opinion, that this their present system of a republic cannot possibly exist without this kind of gaming fund; and that the very thread of its life is spun out of the staple of these speculations. The old gaming in funds was mischievous enough undoubtedly; but it was so only to individuals. Even when it had its greatest extent in the Mississippi and South Sea, it affected but few, comparatively; where it extends further, as in lotteries, the spirit has but a single object. But where the law, which in most circumstances forbids, and in none countenances, gaming, is itself debauched, so as to reverse its nature and policy, and expressly to force the subject to this destructive table, by bringing the spirit and symbols of gaming into the minutest matters, and engaging everybody in it, and in everything, a more dreadful epidemic distemper of that kind is spread than yet has appeared in the world. With you a man can neither earn nor buy his dinner without a speculation. What he receives in the morning will not have the same value at night. What he is compelled to take as pay for an old debt will not be received as the same when he comes to pay a debt contracted by himself; nor will it be the same when by prompt payment he would avoid contracting any debt at all. Industry must wither away. Economy must be driven from your country. Careful provision will have no existence. Who will labour without knowing the amount of his pay? Who will study to increase what none can estimate? Who will accumulate, when he does not know the value of what he saves? If you abstract it from its uses in gaming, to accumulate your paper wealth, would be not the providence of a man, but the distempered instinct of a jackdaw.
Your lawmakers, in everything new, are the very first to establish a society based on gambling and have infused this spirit into it like it's essential air. The main goal of this political system is to transform France from a large kingdom into one big gambling table: to turn its people into a nation of gamblers; to make speculation as widespread as life itself; to mix it into all aspects of their lives; and to redirect the hopes and fears of the people from their usual paths into the impulses, passions, and superstitions of those who live off chance. They loudly declare that this current republican system cannot survive without this kind of gambling fund; that the very essence of its existence is woven from these speculations. The old methods of gambling in financial markets were undoubtedly harmful, but they only affected individuals. Even when it reached its peak with the Mississippi and South Sea bubbles, it impacted relatively few people. Where it expands further, like in lotteries, the spirit has only one aim. But when the law, which normally forbids and never allows gambling, itself becomes corrupted—overturning its true purpose and policy, and explicitly forcing the public into this harmful game by infusing the spirit and symbols of gambling into the smallest details of life, involving everyone in it and everything—a more terrible epidemic of this nature spreads than has ever been seen in the world. Here, a person can neither earn nor buy a meal without speculation. What someone receives in the morning won’t hold the same value by night. What they are compelled to take as payment for an old debt won’t be considered the same when they go to pay a debt they incurred themselves; nor will it be perceived the same when they try to pay promptly in order to avoid any debt at all. Work will fade away. Frugality will vanish from your country. Thoughtful planning will cease to exist. Who will work without knowing their pay? Who will strive to increase what can't be measured? Who will save when they don’t know the worth of what they accumulate? If you take away its utility in gambling, amassing your paper wealth would be not the wisdom of a person, but the erratic instinct of a magpie.
"OMNIPOTENCE OF CHURCH PLUNDER."
Their fanatical confidence in the omnipotence of church plunder has induced these philosophers to overlook all care of the public estate, just as the dream of the philosopher's stone induces dupes, under the more plausible delusion of the hermetic art, to neglect all rational means of improving their fortunes. With these philosophic financiers, this universal medicine made of church mummy is to cure all the evils of the state. These gentlemen, perhaps, do not believe a great deal in the miracles of piety; but it cannot be questioned, that they have an undoubting faith in the prodigies of sacrilege. Is there a debt which presses them?—Issue assignats. Are compensations to be made, or a maintenance decreed to those whom they have robbed of their freehold in their office, or expelled from their profession?—Assignats. Is a fleet to be fitted out?—Assignats. If sixteen millions sterling of these assignats, forced on the people, leave the wants of the state as urgent as ever—issue, says one, thirty millions sterling of assignats—says another, issue fourscore millions more of assignats. The only difference among their financial factions is on the greater or the lesser quantity of assignats to be imposed on the public sufferance. They are all professors of assignats. Even those, whose natural good sense and knowledge of commerce, not obliterated by philosophy, furnish decisive arguments against this delusion conclude their arguments by proposing the emission of assignats. I suppose they must talk of assignats, as no other language would be understood. All experience of their inefficacy does not in the least discourage them. Are the old assignats depreciated at market? What is the remedy? Issue new assignats.—Mais si maladia opiniatria, non vult se garire, quid illi facere? assignare—postea assignare; ensuita assignare. The word is a trifle altered. The Latin of your present doctors may be better than that of your old comedy; their wisdom and the variety of their resources are the same. They have not more notes in their song than the cuckoo; though, far from the softness of that harbinger of summer and plenty, their voice is as harsh and as ominous as that of the raven.
Their extreme confidence in the church's ability to seize wealth has led these thinkers to ignore all responsibility for public affairs, just like how the illusion of the philosopher's stone causes fools, under the more believable pretense of alchemy, to neglect all practical ways to improve their situation. For these financial philosophers, this universal cure made from church relics is supposed to solve all the state’s problems. These gentlemen may not have much faith in the miracles of faith; however, it’s clear they have unwavering belief in the wonders of sacrilege. Is there a debt weighing on them?—Just issue assignats. Are there compensations to be made, or support to be given to those they’ve dispossessed of their rightful positions or driven out of their jobs?—Assignats. Is a fleet supposed to be launched?—Assignats. If sixteen million pounds’ worth of these assignats, forced onto the people, leaves the state's needs just as pressing as before—one says, issue thirty million pounds worth of assignats—another suggests issuing eighty million more assignats. The only disagreement among their financial groups is about how many assignats to impose on the public’s patience. They are all advocates of assignats. Even those whose common sense and understanding of trade, not clouded by philosophy, present solid arguments against this illusion still wrap up their points by suggesting the issuance of assignats. I guess they must speak about assignats, as no other language would make sense to them. No amount of evidence of their ineffectiveness discourages them at all. Are the old assignats losing value in the market? What’s the solution? Issue new assignats.—But if the stubborn illness refuses to be cured, what do they do? Assign more—then assign again; then assign. The term is slightly altered. The Latin of your current doctors may be better than that of your older comedies; their knowledge and the diversity of their methods remain the same. They have no more notes in their song than the cuckoo; yet, unlike the gentleness of that herald of summer and abundance, their voice is as harsh and foreboding as that of a raven.
UGLINESS.
It may, perhaps, appear like a sort of repetition of what we have before said, to insist here upon the nature of UGLINESS; as I imagine it to be in all respects the opposite to those qualities which we have laid down for the constituents of beauty. But though ugliness be the opposite to beauty, it is not the opposite to proportion and fitness. For it is possible that a thing may be very ugly with any proportions, and with a perfect fitness to any uses. Ugliness I imagine likewise to be consistent enough with an idea of the sublime. But I would by no means insinuate that ugliness of itself is a sublime idea, unless united with such qualities as excite a strong terror.
It might seem like I'm repeating what we've already discussed, but I need to emphasize the nature of UGLINESS here because I believe it’s completely opposite to the qualities we've identified as essential for beauty. However, while ugliness is the opposite of beauty, it’s not necessarily the opposite of proportion and suitability. A thing can be very ugly yet still have any proportions and be perfectly suited for its purposes. I also think ugliness can coexist with the idea of the sublime. That said, I’m not suggesting that ugliness alone is a sublime idea unless it’s paired with qualities that evoke a strong sense of terror.
GRACE.
GRACEFULNESS is an idea not very different from beauty; it consists in much the same things. Gracefulness is an idea belonging to POSTURE and MOTION. In both these, to be graceful, it is requisite that there be no appearance of difficulty; there is required a small inflection of the body; and a composure of the parts in such a manner, as not to encumber each other, not to appear divided by sharp and sudden angles. In this ease, this roundness, this delicacy of attitude and motion, it is that all the magic of grace consists, and what is called its je ne sais quoi; as will be obvious to any observer, who considers attentively the Venus de Medicis, the Antinous, or any statue generally allowed to be graceful in a high degree.
GRACEFULNESS is a concept that's quite similar to beauty; it encompasses many of the same elements. Gracefulness relates to POSTURE and MOTION. To truly be graceful, there should be no sign of effort; the body needs a slight bend, and the parts should be arranged in a way that they don’t get in each other’s way, avoiding sharp or sudden angles. In this ease, roundness, and delicacy of posture and movement lies all the magic of grace, along with its indescribable quality; this will be clear to anyone who carefully observes the Venus de Medicis, the Antinous, or any statue that is widely regarded as highly graceful.
ELEGANCE AND SPECIOUSNESS.
When any body is composed of parts smooth and polished, without pressing upon each other, without showing any ruggedness or confusion, and at the same time affecting some REGULAR SHAPE, I call it ELEGANT. It is closely allied to the beautiful, differing from it only in this REGULARITY; which, however, as it makes a very material difference in the affection produced, may very well constitute another species. Under this head I rank those delicate and regular works of art, that imitate no determinate object in nature, as elegant buildings, and pieces of furniture. When any object partakes of the above-mentioned qualities, are of those of beautiful bodies, and is withal of great dimensions, it is full as remote from the idea of mere beauty: I call it FINE or SPECIOUS.
When something is made up of smooth, polished parts that don’t press against each other, don’t show any roughness or chaos, and at the same time maintains a REGULAR SHAPE, I consider it ELEGANT. It's closely related to beauty, with the only difference being this REGULARITY; however, since this makes a significant difference in the feelings it evokes, it can definitely be seen as another category. In this category, I include those delicate and regular works of art that don’t imitate any specific object in nature, like elegant buildings and pieces of furniture. When an object has the qualities mentioned above, shares traits with beautiful objects, and is also large, it strays far from simply being beautiful: I call it FINE or SPECIOUS.
THE BEAUTIFUL IN FEELING.
The foregoing description of beauty, so far as it is taken in by the eye, may be greatly illustrated by describing the nature of objects which produce a similar effect through the touch. This I call the beautiful in FEELING. It corresponds wonderfully with what causes the same species of pleasure to the sight. There is a chain in all our sensations; they are all but different sorts of feelings calculated to be affected by various sorts of objects, but all to be affected after the same manner. All bodies that are pleasant to the touch, are so by the slightness of the resistance they make. Resistance is either to motion along the surface, or to the pressure of the parts on one another: if the former be slight, we call the body smooth; if the latter, soft. The chief pleasure we receive by feeling, is in the one or the other of these qualities; and if there be a combination of both, our pleasure is greatly increased. This is so plain, that it is rather more fit to illustrate other things, than to be illustrated itself by an example. The next source of pleasure in this sense, as in every other, is the continually presenting somewhat new; and we find that bodies which continually vary their surface, are much the most pleasant or beautiful to the feeling, as any one that pleases may experience. The third property in such objects is, that though the surface continually varies its direction, it never varies it suddenly. The application of anything sudden, even though the impression itself have little or nothing of violence, is disagreeable. The quick application of a finger a little warmer or colder than usual, without notice, makes us start; a slight tap on the shoulder, not expected, has the same effect. Hence it is that angular bodies, bodies that suddenly vary the direction of the outline, afford so little pleasure to the feeling. Every such change is a sort of climbing or falling in miniature; so that squares, triangles, and other angular figures, are neither beautiful to the sight nor feeling. Whoever compares his state of mind, on feeling soft, smooth, variated, unangular bodies, with that in which he finds himself on the view of a beautiful object, will perceive a very striking analogy in the effects of both; and which may go a good way towards discovering their common cause. Feeling and sight, in this respect, differ in but a few points. The touch takes in the pleasure of softness, which is not primarily an object of sight; the sight, on the other hand, comprehends colour, which can hardly be made perceptible to the touch: the touch again has the advantage in a new idea of pleasure resulting from a moderate degree of warmth; but the eye triumphs in the infinite extent and multiplicity of its objects. But there is such a similitude in the pleasures of these senses, that I am apt to fancy, if it were possible that one might discern colour by feeling (as it is said some blind men have done), that the same colours, and the same disposition of colouring, which are found beautiful to the sight, would be found likewise most grateful to the touch. But, setting aside conjectures, let us pass to the other sense: of Hearing.
The previous description of beauty, as perceived by the eye, can be greatly highlighted by discussing the nature of objects that create a similar effect through touch. I refer to this as the beautiful in FEELING. It aligns wonderfully with what brings the same type of pleasure to the sight. There’s a connection in all our sensations; they’re all just different kinds of feelings that are affected by various types of objects, but they’re all impacted in a similar way. All things that feel pleasant to the touch do so because of the slight resistance they offer. Resistance can either be to movement across the surface or to the pressure of the parts against each other: if the former is slight, we call the object smooth; if the latter, soft. The main pleasure we get from touch comes from one or the other of these qualities, and if there’s a combination of both, our pleasure is greatly enhanced. This is so straightforward that it’s better suited to illustrate other things rather than needing an example itself. The next source of pleasure in this sense, as in all others, comes from constantly presenting something new; we find that objects that frequently change their surface are much more pleasant or beautiful to the touch, as anyone who enjoys experiencing them can attest. The third quality of such objects is that, although their surfaces continuously change direction, they never do so suddenly. Anything sudden, even if the impact itself is mild, is unpleasant. A quick touch from a slightly warmer or cooler finger, without warning, can make us jump; a slight tap on the shoulder when we aren’t expecting it has the same effect. This is why angular objects, which suddenly change the direction of their outline, provide so little pleasure to the touch. Each such change feels like a little climb or fall; therefore, squares, triangles, and other angular shapes are neither beautiful to the sight nor the touch. Anyone who compares their emotional state when feeling soft, smooth, varied, non-angular objects with how they feel when viewing a beautiful object will notice a significant similarity in the effects of both; this may reveal a lot about their shared cause. Touch and sight differ in only a few areas here. Touch includes the pleasure of softness, which isn’t primarily a sight-related object; sight, however, encompasses color, which is hard to perceive through touch. Touch also has the advantage of providing a new sensation of pleasure from a moderate degree of warmth; on the other hand, the eye celebrates the vast range and variety of its objects. But there’s such similarity in the pleasures of these senses that I can’t help but think that if it were possible to perceive color through touch (as it’s said some blind individuals have), the same colors and arrangements found beautiful to the sight would also be most pleasing to the touch. But putting aside speculation, let’s move on to the other sense: Hearing.
THE BEAUTIFUL IN SOUNDS.
In this sense we find an equal aptitude to be affected in a soft and delicate manner; and how far sweet or beautiful sounds agree with our descriptions of beauty in other senses, the experience of every one must decide. Milton has described this species of music in one of his juvenile poems. (L'Allegro.) I need not say that Milton was perfectly well versed in that art; and that no man had a finer ear, with a happier manner of expressing the affections of one sense by metaphors taken from another. The description is as follows:—
In this way, we find an equal ability to be touched in a gentle and delicate manner; and how much pleasant or beautiful sounds fit with our ideas of beauty in other senses is something everyone must decide for themselves. Milton described this type of music in one of his early poems (L'Allegro). I don't need to mention that Milton was highly skilled in that art and that no one had a keener ear for expressing the feelings of one sense through metaphors from another. The description is as follows:—
—"And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in SOFT Lydian airs:
In notes with many a WINDING bout
Of LINKED SWEETNESS LONG DRAWN out;
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The MELTING voice through MAZES running;
UNTWISTING all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony."
—"And always against worries about food,
Wrap me in gentle Lydian tunes:
In notes that twist and turn a lot
Of connected sweetness stretched out;
With playful attention and dizzy skill,
The soothing voice weaving through paths;
UNTWISTING all the chains that bind
The hidden soul of harmony."Let us parallel this with the softness, the winding surface, the unbroken continuance, the easy gradation of the beautiful in other things; and all the diversities of the several senses, with all their several affections; will rather help to throw lights from one another to finish one clear, consistent idea of the whole, than to obscure it by their intricacy and variety.
Let’s compare this to the softness, the curvy surface, the seamless flow, and the smooth transition of beauty in other things. The different ways we experience things through our senses, with all their various feelings, will actually help to illuminate each other and create a clear, cohesive idea of the whole, rather than complicating it with their complexity and variety.
To the above-mentioned description I shall add one or two remarks. The first is; that the beautiful in music will not bear that loudness and strength of sounds, which may be used to raise other passions; nor notes which are shrill or harsh, or deep; it agrees best with such as are clear, even, smooth, and weak. The second is: that great variety, and quick transitions from one measure or tone to another, are contrary to the genius of the beautiful in music. Such transitions often excite mirth, or other sudden or tumultuous passions; but not that sinking, that melting, that languor, which is the characteristical effect of the beautiful as it regards every sense. (I ne'er am merry when I hear sweet music.—Shakspeare.) The passion excited by beauty is in fact nearer to a species of melancholy, than to jollity and mirth. I do not here mean to confine music to any one species of notes, or tones, neither is it an art in which I can say I have any great skill. My sole design in this remark is, to settle a consistent idea of beauty. The infinite variety of the affections of the soul will suggest to a good head, and skilful ear, a variety of such sounds as are fitted to raise them. It can be no prejudice to this, to clear and distinguish some few particulars, that belong to the same class, and are consistent with each other, from the immense crowd of different, and sometimes contradictory, ideas, that rank vulgarly under the standard of beauty. And of these it is my intention to mark such only of the leading points as show the conformity of the sense of hearing with the other senses, in the article of their pleasures.
To the description above, I want to add a couple of remarks. First, the beauty in music can't handle the loudness and intensity of sounds that may be used to evoke other emotions; it aligns best with sounds that are clear, smooth, and gentle. Second, a large range and quick shifts from one rhythm or pitch to another contradict the essence of beauty in music. These shifts often provoke joy or other sudden and chaotic feelings, but not the sense of sinking, melting, or languor that characterizes beauty across all senses. (I’m never cheerful when I hear sweet music.—Shakespeare.) The emotion triggered by beauty is actually closer to a form of melancholy than to happiness and joy. I don't mean to limit music to any specific types of notes or tones, nor do I claim to be particularly skilled in this art. My main aim with these remarks is to establish a consistent understanding of beauty. The infinite variety of human emotions will inspire a thoughtful mind and trained ear to seek out sounds that correspond to them. It won't hurt to clarify a few specific aspects that fall within the same category and are consistent with each other, amidst the overwhelming array of different, and occasionally conflicting, ideas that are commonly labeled as beauty. My intention is to highlight only those key points that illustrate how the sense of hearing aligns with the other senses in terms of pleasure.
BRITISH CHURCH.
It is something extraordinary, that the only symptom of alarm in the Church of England should appear in the petition of some dissenters; with whom, I believe, very few in this house are yet acquainted; and of whom you know no more than that you are assured by the honourable gentleman, that they are not Mahometans. Of the Church we know they are not, by the name that they assume. They are then dissenters. The first symptom of an alarm comes from some dissenters assembled round the lines of Chatham; these lines become the security of the Church of England! The honourable gentleman, in speaking of the lines of Chatham, tells us that they serve not only for the security of the wooden walls of England, but for the defence of the Church of England. I suspect the wooden walls of England secure the lines of Chatham, rather than the lines of Chatham secure the wooden walls of England.
It’s quite remarkable that the only sign of concern in the Church of England comes from a petition by some dissenters, with whom I believe very few people in this room are familiar; and all you know about them is that, as the honorable gentleman assures you, they are not Muslims. As for the Church, we know they’re not part of it by the name they go by. So, they are dissenters. The first sign of concern comes from some dissenters gathered around the lines of Chatham; these lines are said to protect the Church of England! The honorable gentleman mentions that the lines of Chatham not only safeguard England's wooden walls but also defend the Church of England. I suspect that it’s the wooden walls of England that actually protect the lines of Chatham, rather than the other way around.
Sir, the Church of England, if only defended by this miserable petition upon your table, must, I am afraid, upon the principles of true fortification, be soon destroyed. But fortunately her walls, bulwarks, and bastions, are constructed of other materials than of stubble and straw; are built up with the strong and stable matter of the gospel of liberty, and founded on a true, constitutional, legal establishment. But, Sir, she has other securities; she has the security of her own doctrines; she has the security of the piety, the sanctity of her own professors; their learning is a bulwark to defend her; she has the security of the two universities, not shook in any single battlement, in any single pinnacle. ...
Sir, the Church of England, if it's only defended by this pathetic petition on your table, I’m afraid it will soon be destroyed based on true principles of defense. Fortunately, her walls, fortifications, and strongholds are made of stronger materials than stubble and straw; they are built on the solid foundation of the gospel of liberty and rooted in a genuine, constitutional, legal establishment. But, Sir, she has additional safeguards; she has the strength of her own doctrines; she has the commitment and integrity of her own members; their knowledge serves as a shield to protect her; she has the backing of the two universities, which are unshaken in any single point or in any single aspect. ...
But if, after all, this danger is to be apprehended, if you are really fearful that Christianity will indirectly suffer by this liberty, you have my free consent; go directly, and by the straight way, and not by a circuit, in which in your road you may destroy your friends, point your arms against these men who do the mischief you fear promoting; point your arms against men, who, not contented with endeavouring to turn your eyes from the blaze and effulgence of light, by which life and immortality is so gloriously demonstrated by the Gospel, would even extinguish that faint glimmering of nature, that only comfort supplied to ignorant man before this great illumination—them who, by attacking even the possibility of all revelation, arraign all the dispensations of Providence to man. These are the wicked dissenters you ought to fear; these are the people against whom you ought to aim the shafts of law; these are the men to whom, arrayed in all the terrors of government, I would say, You shall not degrade us into brutes; these men, these factious men, as the honourable gentleman properly called them, are the just objects of vengeance, not the conscientious dissenter; these men, who would take away whatever ennobles the rank or consoles the misfortunes of human nature, by breaking off that connection of observations, of affections, of hopes and fears, which bind us to the Divinity, and constitute the glorious and distinguishing prerogative of humanity, that of being a religious creature; against these I would have the laws rise in all their majesty of terrors, to fulminate such vain and impious wretches, and to awe them into impotence by the only dread they can fear or believe, to learn that eternal lesson—Discite justitiam moniti, et non temnere Divos.
But if this danger is something to be concerned about, if you genuinely fear that Christianity will suffer because of this freedom, you have my full support; go straight ahead, not in a roundabout way that might harm your allies. Take aim at those who are causing the trouble you fear; target those who, instead of letting you see the brilliant light that the Gospel vividly shows as the proof of life and immortality, would even snuff out that faint glimmer of nature, which was the only comfort for ignorant people before this great enlightenment—those who, by questioning even the possibility of revelation, challenge all of God's interactions with humanity. These are the harmful dissenters you should worry about; these are the people you should direct the law against; these are the individuals, backed by the full force of the government, I would tell, You shall not reduce us to beasts; these men, these troublemakers, as the honorable member rightly called them, are the rightful targets of retribution, not the sincere dissenters; these people who would take away everything that elevates our status or comforts us in our misfortunes by severing the connections of observations, emotions, hopes, and fears that tie us to the Divine, and define our glorious and unique human privilege of being religious beings; against these, I would have the laws rise in all their severe authority, to punish such foolish and irreverent individuals, and to intimidate them into submission with the only fear they might acknowledge or believe, to learn that eternal lesson—Discite justitiam moniti, et non temnere Divos.
At the same time that I would cut up the very root of atheism, I would respect all conscience; all conscience, that is really such, and which perhaps its very tenderness proves to be sincere. I wish to see the established Church of England great and powerful; I wish to see her foundations laid low and deep, that she may crush the giant powers of rebellious darkness; I would have her head raised up to that heaven to which she conducts us. I would have her open wide her hospitable gates by a noble and liberal comprehension; but I would have no breaches in her wall; I would have her cherish all those who are within, and pity all those who are without; I would have her a common blessing to the world, an example, if not an instructor, to those who have not the happiness to belong to her; I would have her give a lesson of peace to mankind, that a vexed and wandering generation might be taught to seek for repose and toleration in the maternal bosom of Christian charity, and not in the harlot lap of infidelity and indifference.
At the same time that I challenge the very core of atheism, I want to respect everyone's conscience; every true conscience, which perhaps its very sensitivity shows to be genuine. I want to see the Church of England become great and powerful; I want her foundations to be solid and deep, so she can overcome the massive forces of rebellious darkness. I want her head lifted up to that heaven to which she guides us. I want her to open her welcoming gates wide with noble and generous acceptance; but I don’t want any gaps in her walls. I want her to care for everyone within her, and to feel compassion for those outside her. I want her to be a common blessing to the world, a shining example, if not a teacher, for those who aren’t fortunate enough to belong to her; I want her to offer a lesson of peace to humanity, so that a troubled and searching generation might learn to find rest and acceptance in the caring embrace of Christian love, rather than in the deceitful arms of disbelief and indifference.
INDEX.
Abstract views, on the danger of.
Abstract views, on the danger of.
Abstract words, effects of.
Effects of abstract words.
Accumulation a state principle.
Accumulation is a state principle.
Administration and legislation, on the due balance of.
Administration and legislation, on the proper balance of.
Age, our own, on the injustice paid to.
Age, our own, on the injustice we have faced.
Alfred the Great, political genius of.—the promoter of learning.—his religious character.
Alfred the Great, a political genius and advocate for education, is known for his religious character.
Ambassadors of infamy, their tyranny.
Ambassadors of infamy, their rule.
Ambition, incentives of.—disappointed, picture of.
Disappointed about ambition and incentives.
America, great national progress of.—on her resistance to taxation.—on her early colonization, and the greatness of her future.—on the Protestantism of.—on the embassy of England to.
America, significant national progress of.—on her resistance to taxes.—on her early colonization, and the greatness of her future.—on the Protestantism of.—on the embassy of England to.
Analogy, on the pleasures of.
On the joys of analogy.
Anarchy contrasted and compared with reformation.
Anarchy compared to and contrasted with reform.
Architecture, influence of.
Influence of architecture.
Armed discipline, necessity of.
Discipline through necessity.
Art, on correct judgment in.
Art, based on sound judgment.
"Articles" of the Church, necessity of the.
"Articles" of the Church, necessity of the.
Atheism, atrocious principles of.—incapable of repentance.
Atheism, terrible principles of.—unable to feel remorse.
Atheists, literary, their proselytism and bigotry.
Atheists, in literature, with their preaching and intolerance.
Attraction, Newton's discovery of the property of.
Attraction, Newton's discovery of this property.
Authority, abuses of, dangerous.
Abuses of authority are dangerous.
Axioms, political.
Political axioms.
Barons, English, on the restraints imposed upon the.
Barons, English, on the restrictions placed upon them.
Bathurst, Lord, on his recollections of American colonization.
Bathurst, Lord, on his memories of American colonization.
Beautiful, what constitutes the.—in feeling, Burke's ideas of.—in sounds, on our general ideas of.
Beautiful, what it consists of.—in feeling, Burke's concepts of.—in sounds, regarding our general ideas of.
Beauty, delicacy essential to.—female, on the influence of.
Beauty and delicacy are essential to femininity and have a significant influence.
Bedford, duke of, on the royal grants to.—on his attacks on Mr. Burke.—reply to "his Grace."
Bedford, Duke of, on the royal grants to.—on his criticisms of Mr. Burke.—response to "his Grace."
Bribery, objects and evils of.
Bribery and its harmful effects.
Britain, her war with France vindicated.—state of, at the time of the Saxon conquest.—the ancient inhabitants of.
Britain, her war with France justified.—condition of, at the time of the Saxon conquest.—the original residents of.
British dominion in the East Indies, on the extent of.
British rule in the East Indies, regarding its scope.
British stability, on the principles and duration of.
British stability, based on its principles and how long it lasts.
Building, on magnitude in, necessary to sublimity.
Building on the magnitude necessary for greatness.
Burke, Edmund, his defence of his political principles.—the design of, in his greatest work.
Burke, Edmund, his defense of his political principles.—the purpose of, in his most significant work.
Cabal, on the tactics of.
Cabal on tactics.
Candid policy, on the advantages of, to a government.
Candid policy, on the benefits of, to a government.
Carnatic, dreadful scenes in the.—war and desolation of the.
Carnatic, terrifying scenes during the war and destruction in the.
Carnot, the sanguinary tyranny of.
Carnot, the bloody tyranny of.
Character, private, a basis for public confidence.
Character, personal, a foundation for public trust.
Charlemagne, on the conquests of.
Charlemagne, on the conquests.
Chatham, Lord, his great qualities.—his political errors.
Chatham, Lord, his great qualities—his political mistakes.
Chivalry, on the moralizing charm of.
Chivalry, on the appealing morals of.
Christian religion, the idea of divinity humanized by the. —state of, at the time of the Saxon conquest.
Christian religion, the concept of a humanized divinity during the time of the Saxon conquest.
Christianity, on the profession of.—means adopted for its early establishment.
Christianity, on the profession of.—methods used for its early establishment.
Church of England, its outward dignity defended.—the state consecrated by the.—on the "Articles" of the.—eulogy on the.
Church of England, its outward dignity defended.—the state consecrated by the.—on the "Articles" of the.—eulogy on the.
Church and State, on the unity between.—one and the same in a Christian commonwealth.
Church and State, on their unity—together as one in a Christian community.
"Church plunder, omnipotence of!"
"Church looting, power of!"
Church property, on the existence and preservation of.
Church property, regarding its existence and preservation.
Circumstances, on the nature of.
Nature of circumstances.
Civil freedom a blessing, and not an abstract speculation.
Civil freedom is a blessing, not just an abstract idea.
Civil list, advantages of reform in the.
Civil list, benefits of reform in the.
Civil rights, on the nature of.
Civil rights, on the nature of.
Civil society, on the true basis of.
Civil society, based on the true foundation of.
Claims, personal and ancestral.
Claims, personal and family.
Coalitions, false, instability of.
False coalitions, instability of.
Colonies, on the art of cementing the ties of.—on their right to the advantages of the British constitution.—on their progress.
Colonies, on the art of strengthening their connections.—on their right to the benefits of the British constitution.—on their development.
Combination, distinct from faction.
Coalition, different from faction.
Commerce, one of the great sources of our power.—on the philosophy of.
Commerce, one of our major sources of power.—on the philosophy of.
Common law, on its ancient constitution.
Common law, in its ancient form.
Common Pleas, on the early establishment of.
Common Pleas, on the early establishment of.
Commons. See "House of."
Commons. See "House of Commons."
Commonwealth, on the science of constructing a.
Commonwealth, on the science of constructing a.
Comparison, utility and advantages of.
Comparison, benefits, and advantages of.
Concession, on the wisdom of, on the part of a government.
Concession, based on the wisdom of, by a government.
Confidence of the people, necessity of the.—political, dangers of.—public, private character a basis for.—reciprocal, on the necessity of.
Confidence of the people, necessity of the.—political, dangers of.—public, private character a basis for.—reciprocal, on the necessity of.
Confiscation, arising from the paper currency.
Confiscation, coming from the paper money.
Conservation, progress and principles of.
Conservation, progress, and principles.
Constituents, on the power and control of.
Constituents, on the power and control of.
Constitution of England, liberty its distinguishing feature.—on the right of the colonies to its advantages.—not fabricated but inherited.—majesty of the.—not the slave of the people.
Constitution of England, with liberty as its key feature.—on the right of the colonies to its benefits.—not made up but inherited.—the majesty of the.—not the servant of the people.
Consumption and produce, the balance between settles the price of.
Consumption and production determine the price balance.
Contact, on the assimilating power of.
Contact, on the absorbing power of.
Contracted views, on the pettiness of.
Contracted views on the triviality of.
Conway, General, eulogy on.
Conway, General, funeral speech.
Corporate reform, on the difficulty and wisdom of.
Corporate reform, on the challenges and insights of.
Correction, on the principle of, in connection with conservation.
Correction, based on the principle of conservation.
Corruption, public, evil consequences of.—cannot be self-reformed.
Corruption, public, and its harmful consequences—cannot reform itself.
Cowardice, political, contemptibility of.
Political cowardice and contempt.
Credit, national, on the advantages of.
Credit, national, on the benefits of.
Cromwell, the government of, contrasted with that of the French revolution.
Cromwell's government was compared to that of the French Revolution.
Crown, its influence.—on pensions from the.—its prerogative.—on the hereditary succession of the.
Crown, its influence.—on pensions from the.—its rights.—on the hereditary succession of the.
Cruelty, political, reckless oppression of.
Political cruelty and reckless oppression.
Curiosity, the most superficial of all the affections.
Curiosity, the most trivial of all emotions.
Danes, their early dominion.
Danes, their early rule.
"Declaration of 1793," against France.
"1793 Declaration," against France.
Deity, contemplation of his attributes.
God, reflecting on his qualities.
Delicacy essential to beauty.
Essence of beauty.
Democracy, a perfect one the most shameless thing in the world.—its resemblance to tyranny.
Democracy, a perfect example of the most shameless thing in the world—its similarity to tyranny.
Democrats, inconsistency of.
Democrats, their inconsistency.
Despotism courts obscurity, and shuns the light.—on the defective policy of.—of the age of Louis XIV., a mere gilded tyranny.—monarchical, preferable to republican.
Despotism seeks obscurity and avoids the light. — on the flawed policies of — the era of Louis XIV., a mere golden tyranny. — Monarchical, rather than republican.
D'Espremenil, sacrifice of.
D'Espremenil, act of sacrifice.
Difficulty, on contentions with.
Difficulty with arguments over.
Directory of France, its insolent assumption.
Directory of France, its bold assumption.
Dissent, on Dr. Price's preaching the democracy of.
Dissent regarding Dr. Price's teachings on democracy.
Dissenters, animadversions on the.
Criticism of the dissenters.
Distraction, on the evils of.
The evils of distraction.
Divine power, its influences on the human idea.
Divine power and its effects on human thought.
Divinity, our idea of the, humanized by the Christian religion.
Divinity, our concept of it, made relatable by the Christian faith.
Druids, their knowledge and influence.
Druids, their knowledge and power.
Duty, not based on will.
Responsibility, not driven by desire.
East-India Company, on the bill for controlling the political power of.—See "India."
East India Company, regarding the legislation to control political power in—See "India."
Ecclesiastical confiscation, on the injustice of.
Ecclesiastical confiscation, on the injustice of.
Economy, on the state principles of.—does not consist of parsimony.—and public spirit, advantage of.
Economy, based on the principles of the state, doesn't just mean being frugal, but also includes the benefits of public spirit.
Election, on Wilkes's right of.
Election, on Wilkes's right side.
Elections, frequent, on the evil tendency of.—expenses of.
Elections, which happen often, due to the negative trends—costs of.
Electors, on the conduct and duties of.
Electors, on their responsibilities and actions.
Elegance, Burke's ideas of.
Burke's concepts of elegance.
Elizabeth, Princess, of France, sanguinary treatment of.
Elizabeth, Princess of France, has faced brutal treatment.
England, on the magnanimity of her people.
England, on the generosity of her people.
English character, on French ignorance of.
English character, on French ignorance of.
Establishments, ancient, on the advantages of.
Establishments, ancient, on the advantages of.
Eternity little understood.
Eternity is little understood.
Etiquette, on its ancient and modern application.
Etiquette, in its historical and contemporary use.
Europe, on the state of, in 1789.—at the time of the Norman invasion.
Europe, in 1789.—during the Norman invasion.
European community, on the principles of.
European community, on the principles of.
Exaggeration, evils of.
Evils of exaggeration.
Extremes, on the fallacy of.
Fallacies of extremes.
Eye, the, its characteristics of beauty.
Eye, its beautiful features.
Faction, combination distinct from.—what it ought to teach.
Faction, a combination that is distinct from—what it should teach.
Falkland Island, fisheries extended to.
Falkland Islands, fisheries expanded to.
False regret, to be lamented.
False regret is to be regretted.
Favouritism of government the cause of popular ferment.
Favoritism in government is the cause of public unrest.
Female beauty, on the influence of.
Female beauty, on the influence of.
Feudal baronage, the root of our primitive constitution.—principles, their history and application to modern times.—changes effected in.—law, principles of the.
Feudal baronage, the foundation of our early constitution.—principles, their history and relevance to today.—changes made in.—law, principles of the.
Fisheries of New England; on the hardy spirit with which they are conducted.
Fisheries of New England; on the resilient spirit with which they operate.
Flattery, the reverse of instruction.
Flattery, the opposite of guidance.
Fox, Right Hon. Charles, eulogy on.—Burke's confidence in.
Fox, Right Hon. Charles, eulogy on.—Burke's trust in.
France, on the dangers arising from.—her revolution of 1789.—frightful scenes of the.—founded on regicide, Jacobinism, and atheism.—war with, vindicated.—reflections on her revolution.—the existing state of things in, productive of the worst evils.—on the political and intellectual greatness of.—the great political changes of.—revolution of, a complete one.—early conquests and dominion of.—declaration of England against, in 1793.—false policy in our war with.—historical strictures on.—atrocities perpetrated in.
France, regarding the dangers arising from her revolution of 1789. Frightful scenes of chaos founded on regicide, Jacobinism, and atheism. The war with her was justified. Reflections on her revolution reveal that the current state of affairs produces the worst evils. Discussions on her political and intellectual greatness. The significant political changes of her revolution were complete. Early conquests and dominance of France. The declaration of England against her in 1793. Misguided policies in our war with her. Historical critiques on the events in France and the atrocities committed there.
Freedom, a blessing and not an abstract speculation.—character of just freedom.—on the conservative progress of.
Freedom is a blessing, not just a vague idea.—the nature of true freedom.—regarding its conservative progress.
French, natural self-destruction of the.
French, natural self-destruction.
Gaul, the ancient inhabitants of.
The ancient inhabitants of Gaul.
Gentleman, our civilization dependent on the spirit of a.
Gentleman, our civilization depends on the spirit of a.
Glory, difficulty the path to.
The path to glory is difficult.
God, contemplations of His attributes;—on the adorable wisdom of.
God, thoughts on His qualities;—about His amazing wisdom.
Government, on the evils of weakness in.—on the influence of place in.—on the advantages of candid policy in.—virtue and wisdom qualify for.—not made in virtue of natural rights.—not to be rashly censured.—on the duties of.—principles of, not absolute but relative.—general views of the foundations of.—and legislation, matters of reason and judgment.—favouritism, the cause of popular ferment.
Government, on the issues caused by weakness in—on the impact of status in—on the benefits of an honest policy in—virtue and wisdom are qualifications for—are not based solely on natural rights—should not be quickly criticized—on the responsibilities of—principles of, are not absolute but relative—general perspectives on the foundations of—and legislation, subjects of reason and judgment—favoritism, the root of public unrest.
Gracefulness, on our ideas of.
Gracefulness in our ideas of.
Grant, on Burke's acceptance of a.
Grant, on Burke's acceptance of a.
Great men, the guide-posts and landmarks of the State.
Great men are the signposts and landmarks of the State.
Green Cloth, origin of the ancient Court of.
Green Cloth, source of the ancient Court of.
Grenville, Right Hon. Mr., his great political qualities and character.
Grenville, Right Hon. Mr., his exceptional political skills and character.
Grievance and opinion, on the different qualities of.
Grievance and opinion, on the different qualities of.
Grievances by law, on the different views of.
Grievances by law, regarding different perspectives.
Henry IV. of France, sovereign qualities of.
Henry IV of France, characteristics of his leadership.
Heroism, moral, on the virtues of.
Heroism, moral, on the virtues of.
"His Grace," Burke's reply to.
"Your Grace," Burke's response to.
History, on the moral of.—on the use of defects in.—on the perversion of.—speculations on.—strictures on, as connected with France.
History, on the moral of.—on the use of flaws in.—on the perversion of.—speculations on.—critiques on, as related to France.
House of Commons, its nature and functions.—on the control of the constituency over.—Mr. Burke's preparation for the.—its constitution.—privilege of the.—contrasted with the National Assembly of France.
House of Commons, its nature and functions.—on the control of the constituency over.—Mr. Burke's preparation for the.—its constitution.—privilege of the.—contrasted with the National Assembly of France.
Howard, the philanthropist, his genius and humanity.
Howard, the philanthropist, his brilliance and compassion.
Human ideas, on the influence of divine power on.
Human ideas about the influence of divine power.
Human nature, on the libellers of.
Human nature, on the critics of.
Humiliation, on the diplomacy of.
Diplomatic humiliation.
Hyder Ali, on his formidable military operations in the Carnatic.
Hyder Ali, during his impressive military campaigns in the Carnatic.
Ideal, definition of the.
Definition of the ideal.
Imagination, unity of.
Unity of imagination.
Imitation an instructive law.
Imitation is a learning tool.
Impartiality, appeal to.
Appeal for impartiality.
Imperial power, its establishment in Western Europe.
Imperial power and its rise in Western Europe.
Impracticable, the, not to be desired.
Not worth wanting.
India, East, on the territorial extent of British dominion in.—on its opulence and importance.—necessity of reforming the government of.—Hyder Ali's formidable military resistance.—on the British government in.
India, East, on the land controlled by British rule in.—on its wealth and significance.—the need to reform the government of.—Hyder Ali's strong military opposition.—on the British government in.
Individual good and public benefit, a comparison of.
Individual good and public benefit, a comparison of.
Induction, on the process of.
Induction process.
Infidels, on the policy of.
Infidels, regarding the policy of.
Infinity, little understood.
Infinity, not fully understood.
Injustice, economy of.
Economic injustice.
Innovation, on the madness of.
Madness of Innovation.
Investigation, the best method of teaching.
Investigation is the best way to learn.
Ireland, on the legislation of.
Ireland, on the law of.
Ireland and Magna Charta, historical notices of.
Ireland and Magna Carta, historical notes on.
Jacobin peace, on the perils of.
Jacobin peace, on the dangers of.
Jacobin war, on the true nature of a.
Jacobin war, on the true nature of a.
Jacobinism, atrocious principles of.—ferocity of.
Jacobinism, horrible principles of.—ferocity of.
Jealousy, political, different under different circumstances.
Jealousy varies politically and depends on the circumstances.
John, King, on his difficulties with the pope.
John, King, on his struggles with the pope.
Jurisprudence, on the science of.
Law, on the science of.
Justice, early reform in the administration of.
Justice, early reform in the administration of.
Keppel, Lord, one of the greatest and best men of his age.—his exalted virtues.
Keppel, Lord, one of the greatest and most admirable men of his time—his remarkable qualities.
Kings, the power of, not based on popular choice.
Kings derive their power not from the choice of the people.
Labour, on the necessity of.—on the importance of.—rises or falls according to the demand.
Labour, on the necessity of.—on the importance of.—increases or decreases based on demand.
Labouring classes poor, because they are numerous.—on the moral happiness of the.
Labouring classes are poor because there are so many of them—on their moral happiness.
"Labouring poor," on the puling jargon respecting the.—on the canting phraseology of.—on the melioration of their condition.
"Laboring poor," about the whiny talk regarding the.—on the preachy language of.—on the improvement of their situation.
Language, on the moral effects of.
Language, on the moral effects of.
Laws, when bad, are productive of base subserviency.
Laws, when they're unjust, lead to a degrading kind of obedience.
Legislation, on the due balance of, with the administration.—on the problem of.
Legislation, regarding the proper balance with the administration—on the issue of.
Legislation and government, matters of reason and judgment.
Legislation and government are matters of reason and judgment.
Legislative capacity, on the limits of.
Legislative capacity, on the limits of.
Legislators of the ancient republics.
Ancient republic legislators.
Legislature of France, regicidal character of the.
Legislature of France, character of regicide.
Levellers, moral, the representatives of a servile principle.
Levellers, moral, the representatives of a submissive principle.
Libellers of human nature, falsity of the term.
Libellers of human nature, falsehood of the term.
Liberty, its preservation the duty of a member of the House of Commons.—in what it consists;—character of just liberty.—on the abstract theory of.—on fictitious liberty.
Liberty, preserving it is the responsibility of a member of the House of Commons.—what it really is;—the nature of true liberty.—on the theoretical side of.—on false liberty.
"Lights," modern, on the petulance and ignorance of.
"Lights," modern, on the stubbornness and lack of understanding of.
Loans, public, on the policy of.
Loans, public, on the policy of.
Louis XVI., on his cruel treatment.—historical estimate of.—his mistaken views of society.—on the fate of.
Louis XVI, regarding his cruel treatment—historical evaluation of—his misguided views of society—on his fate.
Love, a mixed passion.
Love, a complicated passion.
Love and dread, their union in religion.
Love and fear, their connection in faith.
Low aims and low instruments, the baseness of.
Low aims and low tools, the lowness of.
Magistracy, religious duties of the.
Religious duties of the magistrate.
Magna Charta, Ireland a partaker of.—the oldest reformation of England.—on the early constitutions of.
Magna Carta, Ireland as a participant of—the earliest reform of England—on the early constitutions of.
Magnanimity, on its superiority.
Generosity, on its superiority.
Malesherbes, atrocious treatment of.
Malesherbes, terrible treatment of.
Man, Nature anticipates the desires of.
Nature knows what he wants.
Mankind, ancient state of.
Humanity, ancient state of.
Manners and morals, correspondent systems of.—more important than laws.
Manners and morals, corresponding systems of—more important than laws.
Maria Antoinette, her beauty and misfortunes.—sanguinary treatment of.
Maria Antoinette, her beauty and misfortunes.—brutal treatment of.
Maria Theresa, her high-minded principles.
Maria Theresa, her noble ideals.
Marriage, feudal restraints on.
Marriage, feudal restrictions on.
Maxims, false, evils of, when assumed as first principles.
Maxims, false, evils of, when taken as fundamental principles.
Measures of government, on judging of the.
Measures of government, on judging of the.
Member of Parliament, difficulties of becoming a good one.
Member of Parliament, challenges of becoming a good one.
Metaphysical depravity, on the dangers of.
Metaphysical depravity and the risks it poses.
Migrations of ancient history.
Ancient migrations.
Minister of state, what he ought to attempt.
Minister of State, what he should try to do.
Ministers, on the responsibility of.
Ministers, regarding their responsibilities.
Missionaries, their early zeal in propagating Christianity.
Missionaries, their initial passion for spreading Christianity.
Monarch of England, on the sovereign power of the.
Monarch of England, on the sovereign power of the.
Monastic institutions, on the results of.
Monastic institutions, based on the results of.
Money and science.
Cash and science.
Monks, their early zeal in the cause of Christianity.
Monks, their initial passion for the cause of Christianity.
Montesquieu, on the genius of.
Montesquieu, on the genius of.
Moral debasement, a progressive principle.
Moral decline, a progressive principle.
Moral diet, on the use of.
Moral diet, on the use of.
Moral distinctions defined.
Moral distinctions clarified.
Moral effects resulting from language.
Ethical effects of language.
Moral essence constitutes a nation.
The moral essence shapes a nation.
Moral heroism, on the virtues of.
Moral heroism, on the virtues of.
Moral instincts, on the sacredness of.
Moral instincts, on the sacredness of.
Moral levelling, a servile principle.
Moral leveling, a submissive principle.
Nation, moral essence constitutes a.
A nation's moral essence.
National Assembly of France, the House of Commons contrasted with.
National Assembly of France, compared to the House of Commons.
National Assembly, on its philosophic vanity.
National Assembly, on its intellectual pride.
National dignity, importance of, in all treaties.
National dignity, its importance in all treaties.
Nature, Sir I. Newton's discoveries of the phenomena of.—anticipates the desires of man.
Nature, Sir I. Newton's discoveries of the phenomena of.—anticipates the desires of man.
Necessity, a relative term.
Necessity is a relative term.
Neighbourhood, on the law of.
Neighborhood, on the law of.
Neutrality, on the uncertainty and contemptibility of.
Neutrality, regarding the uncertainty and unworthiness of.
New England, fisheries of, on the hardy spirit of the.
New England, fisheries of, on the resilient spirit of the.
Newton, Sir Isaac, his discoveries of the phenomena of nature.
Newton, Sir Isaac, his discoveries of natural phenomena.
Nobility a graceful ornament to the civil order.
Nobility is a graceful addition to society.
Norman invasion, state of Europe and of England at the time of the.
Norman invasion, the state of Europe and England at that time.
"Not so bad as we seem," justificatory remarks on.
"Not as bad as we appear," they said to justify themselves.
Novelty, its effects on the mind.
Novelty and its impact on the mind.
Obscure, powerful influence of the.
Obscure, powerful influence of the.
Obscurity, courted by despotism and all false religions.
Obscurity, sought after by tyranny and all the fake religions.
Office, on the emoluments of.
Office, on the salaries of.
Officers, English, on the admirable qualifications of.
Officers, English, regarding their impressive qualifications.
Opinion, on acting from, against the government.
Opinion, on acting from, against the government.
Opinions, power survives the shock of.
Opinions, power endures the impact of.
Oppression, on the voice of.
Oppression, in the spotlight.
Order, the foundation of all things.
Order is the foundation of everything.
Outcasts, political, on the usual treatment of.
Outcasts, political, on the usual treatment of.
Painting, influence of.
Influence of painting.
Paper currency, confiscation arising from.
Confiscation of paper currency.
Parental experience, reflections on.
Reflections on parenting experience.
Paris, on the boasted superiority of.
Paris, on the claimed superiority of.
Parliament, difficulties of becoming a good member of.—Mr. Burke's preparation for.—a deliberative assembly.—on its identity with the people.—on the privilege of.—property more than ability represented in. —on the "omnipotence" of.
Parliament, the challenges of being a good member of.—Mr. Burke's preparation for.—a discussion group.—on its connection with the people.—on the privilege of.—property more than ability represented in.—on the "all-powerfulness" of.
Parliamentary prerogative, on the principles of.
Parliamentary prerogative, based on the principles of.
Parliamentary retrospect.
Parliamentary review.
Parliaments, on the proper period of their duration.—on the abolition and use of.
Parliaments, regarding the appropriate length of their existence—on the elimination and implementation of.
Parsimony is not economy.
Parsimony isn't the same as economy.
Party, on decorum in.—character and objects of.—political connections of.
Party, on courtesy in.—character and goals of.—political connections of.
Party divisions, inseparable from a free government.
Party divisions are an essential part of a free government.
Party man, character of a, vindicated.
Party man, character of a, vindicated.
Patriotic distinction.
Patriotic recognition.
Patriotic services, on the justice of public salary for.
Patriotic services regarding the fairness of public salaries.
Patriotism, the true source of public income.—on the true characteristics of.—local, on the extinction of.
Patriotism, the real source of public income.—on the real characteristics of.—local, on the end of.
Peace, political, on the difficulties of.
Peace, political, on the challenges of.
Peers, privileges of the.
Privileges of peers.
Pensions from the crown the obligations of gratitude, and not the fetters of servility.
Pensions from the crown are obligations of gratitude, not chains of servility.
People, on their disputes with their rulers.—voice of the, to be consulted.—necessity of securing their confidence.—on their identity with parliament.—kingly power not based on their choice.—on the true meaning of the term.—war, and will of the.—the constitution not the slave of the.
People, in their disagreements with their rulers—speak out to be heard—it's important to gain their trust—regarding their connection to parliament—kingly power isn't derived from their choice—about the real meaning of the term—war, and the will of the people—the constitution isn't bound by it.
Perplexity, on the political state of.
Confusion about the political situation.
Persecution, theory of, its falsity.
The false theory of persecution.
Petty interests, against being influenced by.
Small interests, resisting outside influence.
Philosophic vanity of the French National Assembly.
Philosophical vanity of the French National Assembly.
Physiognomy, on the influence of.
The influence of physiognomy.
Pictures represented by words.
Words that create images.
Pilgrimages advantageous to the cause of literature.
Pilgrimages that benefit the cause of literature.
Pius VII., territories of, assailed by France.
Pius VII, territories of, attacked by France.
Place the object of party.—on the influence of, in government.
Place the focus of the party—on the government’s influence.
Poetry, its dominion over the passions.
Poetry's influence on emotions.
Policy, genuine sentiment not discordant with.—national.
Policy, true sentiment not inconsistent with.—national.
Polish revolution, reflections on the.
Reflections on the Polish Revolution.
Political axioms.
Political principles.
Political charity, characteristics of.
Political charity, its characteristics.
Political connections, on the nature of.
Political connections, on the nature of.
Political empiricism, its character.
Political empiricism, its nature.
Political outcasts, on the usual treatment of.
Political outcasts, on the usual treatment of.
Politicians, theorizing, on the follies of.
Politicians, theorizing, on the mistakes of.
Politics, without principle.—remarks on.—on the state of feeling with regard to.—in connection with the pulpit.
Politics without principle.—comments on.—about the current sentiment regarding.—related to the pulpit.
Poor, on the folly of their overthrowing the rich.
Poor, on the foolishness of trying to overthrow the rich.
Pope, his exactions from King John.
Pope, his demands from King John.
Popular discontent, on the general prevalence of, in all times.
Popular discontent, which has been common in all eras.
Popular opinion, on the fallacy of, as a standard.
Popular opinion, on the fallacy of, as a standard.
Power, on the tendencies of.—survives the shock of opinions.
Power, on the tendencies of.—endures the impact of opinions.
Practice more certain than theory.
Practice trumps theory.
Prerogative of the crown.—parliamentary and regal.
Prerogative of the crown.—parliamentary and royal.
Prescriptive rights, on the justice and necessity of.
Prescriptive rights, regarding their fairness and necessity.
Prevention, principle of, necessary for every political institution.
Prevention is a key principle necessary for every political institution.
Price, Dr., on his preaching the democracy of Dissent.
Price, Dr., on his preaching the democratic values of Dissent.
"Priests of the Rights of Man."
"Priests of the Rights of Man."
Principle, on the absence of, in politics.
Principle, on the absence of, in politics.
Privilege of Parliament.
Parliamentary privilege.
Proscription, the miserable invention of ungenerous ambition.
Proscription, the cruel idea born from selfish ambition.
Prosecutions, public, little better than schools of treason.
Prosecutions, public, are barely any better than breeding grounds for treason.
Protestantism of America.—English, on the distinctive character of.
Protestantism in America.—English, on its unique characteristics.
Provisions, danger of tampering with the trade of.—rate of wages no direct relation to.
Provisions, risks of interfering with the trade of.—wage rates have no direct connection to.
Prudence of timely reform.—rules and definitions of.
Prudence of timely reform.—rules and definitions of.
Public benefit, as compared with individual good.
Public benefit, compared to individual good.
Public corruption, evil consequences of.
Corruption in public office, harmful outcomes of.
Public income, patriotism the true source of.
Public income, the true source of patriotism.
Public men, on the libellers of.
Public men, on the slanderers of.
Public spirit united with economy, advantages of.—a part of our national character.
Public spirit combined with frugality, benefits of.—a part of our national identity.
Pulpit, politics in the.
Politics from the pulpit.
Real and ideal, definition of the.
Real and ideal, definition of the.
Reason and taste, on the standard of.
Reason and taste, based on the standard of.
Reform, timely, on the prudence of.—false, on the prudery of.
Reform, on time, about being careful.—false, about being overly modest.
Reformation, English, a time of trouble and confusion.—contrasted and compared with anarchy.
Reformation, English, a time of turmoil and uncertainty.—compared and contrasted with chaos.
Reformations in England, principles of the.
Reformations in England, principles of the.
Reformers, on the difficulties of.
Reformers on the challenges of.
Refusal, productive of a revenue.
Refusal that generates revenue.
Regal prerogative, on the principles of.
Regal privilege, based on the principles of.
Regicidal legislature of France.
French regicide legislature.
Regicide, atrocious principles of.—the sanguinary ante-chamber of.
Regicide, terrible principles of.—the bloody waiting room of.
Reliefs, on the ancient customs of.
Reliefs, on the ancient customs of.
Religion, on the union of love and dread in.—our civilization dependent on the spirit of.—within the province of a Christian magistrate.—false, courts obscurity.—negative, a nullity.
Religion, based on the mix of love and fear in our society, relies on the essence of a Christian leader. It's misleading, surrounded by ambiguity. It's just a negative, an emptiness.
Remedy, on the distemper of.
Cure for the distemper of.
Representatives, on the conduct and duty of.
Representatives, on their behavior and responsibilities.
Republicanism, on the jargon of.
Republicanism, in the terminology of.
Republicans, on the legislation of.
Republicans on the legislation.
Republics, on the character of, in the abstract.
Republics, regarding their character, in the abstract.
Resignation of the mind.
Mental resignation.
Restrictive virtues too high for humanity.
Restrictive virtues that are too demanding for humans.
Retrospect of the memory.—parliamentary.
Memory review.—parliamentary.
Revenue, refusal productive of a.—the state its own.—necessity of its payment.—on the best mode of raising the.
Revenue, refusal leading to a— the state itself.— necessity of its payment.— on the best way to raise it.
Revolution of France, horrors of the.—Burke's idea of.—its frightful scenes.—founded on regicide, Jacobinism, and atheism.—reflections on.—causes of the.—evils of.—on the politics of the.—specious justification of.
Revolution of France, horrors of the.—Burke's perspective on.—its terrifying events.—based on regicide, Jacobinism, and atheism.—thoughts on.—causes of the.—problems of.—on the politics of the.—misleading justification of.
Revolution, the Glorious, of England in 1688.—its objects.—principles of the.
Revolution, the Glorious, of England in 1688.—its purposes.—principles of the.
Revolution Society, dangerous objects of the.
Revolution Society, dangerous objects of the.
Revolutions of France and England compared.
Revolutions of France and England compared.
"Right, Declaration of," its objects.
"Okay, Declaration of," its objects.
"Right, Petition of," on the famous law of.
"Right, Petition of," on the famous law of.
Rights, natural and civil.—prescriptive, on the justice and necessity of.
Rights, both natural and civil—based on the fairness and need of.
Robespierre, on the instruments of his tyranny.
Robespierre, on the tools of his oppression.
Rockingham, Lord, vindication of his measures.
Rockingham, Lord, defense of his policies.
Rome, the great centre of early Christianity in the western world.—assailed by France.
Rome, the great center of early Christianity in the western world, was attacked by France.
Rousseau, philosophic vanity of.—paradoxical writings of.
Rousseau, the vanity of philosophy—his paradoxical writings.
Rulers, on the disputes of the people with.
Rulers, on the conflicts of the people with.
Salaries, public, on the justice of, for particular service.
Salaries, public, concerning the fairness of, for specific services.
Santerre, the regicide atrocity of.
Santerre, the atrocity of regicide.
Saracens, irruptions of the.
Sarracen invasions.
Saville, Sir George, his intellectual and moral character.
Saville, Sir George, his intellectual and moral character.
Saxon conquests, state of Britain at the time of.—religious conversion of the Saxons.
Saxon conquests, the situation in Britain at that time—religious conversion of the Saxons.
Self-inspection tends to concentrate the forces of the soul.
Self-reflection tends to focus the energies of the soul.
Sentiment, genuine, not discordant with sound policy.
Sentiment, genuine, not conflicting with sound policy.
Silence, prudential advantages of.
Silent wisdom.
Simon, the son of Onias, scriptural panegyric on.
Simon, the son of Onias, is honored in a scriptural praise.
Smith, Sir Sidney, on his treatment as a French prisoner.
Smith, Sir Sidney, regarding his treatment as a French prisoner.
Social contract, definition of the.
Definition of social contract.
Society and solitude, on the balance between.
Society and solitude, on the balance between.
Solitude a positive pain.
Solitude is a positive pain.
Sound of words, its effect.
Impact of words and sounds.
Sovereign jurisdictions, on the advantage of.
Sovereign jurisdictions, on the advantage of.
Speciousness, ideas of.
Misleading ideas.
Speculation and history, general disquisition on.
Speculation and history, general discussion on.
State, the, on the union of the Church with.—consecrated by the Church.—the revenue of, its own.
State, the, on the union of the Church with.—consecrated by the Church.—the revenue of, its own.
State-consecration, on the principles of.
State consecration, based on principles of.
Style, on clearness and strength in.
Style, focusing on clarity and strength.
Sublime, sources of, and what constitutes the.
Sublime, sources of, and what makes it.
Subserviency, base, bad laws productive of.
Subservience, lowly, harmful laws that result in.
Subsistence, means of, should be certain.
Subsistence must be guaranteed.
Superstition, monastic and philosophic.
Superstition, religious and philosophical.
Sympathy, on the bond of.—extensions of.—its influences.
Sympathy, on the bond of—extensions of—its influences.
Tallien, the regicide atrocity of.
Tallien, the regicide tragedy of.
Taste, philosophy of.—principles of.—standard of.
Taste, philosophy of—principles—standard.
Taxation, on the principle involved in.—on the right of.
Taxation, based on the principle involved in—on the right of.
Test Acts, Burke's proposed oath on the.
Test Acts, Burke's proposed oath on the.
Theodorus, archbishop of Canterbury, the great promoter of English literature.
Theodorus, archbishop of Canterbury, the major supporter of English literature.
Theory, liability to error in. —on the proper use of.
Theory, risk of making mistakes in. —on the correct application of.
Toleration, on the intolerancy of.
Toleration of intolerance.
Townshend, Right Hon. Charles, his character and great acquirements.
Townshend, the Right Honorable Charles, his character and significant achievements.
Truth, on the security of.
Truth, regarding security.
Ugliness, on the nature of.
The nature of ugliness.
Vanity, philosophic, ethics of.
Philosophical ethics of vanity.
Venality, dangers of.
Dangers of corruption.
Virtues, the restrictive, almost too high for humanity.
Virtues, the limitations that often feel too lofty for human beings.
Visionary, character of the.
Character of the visionary.
Voice of the people to be consulted.
Voice of the people to be heard.
Vulgar, conceptions of the.
Vulgar conceptions of the.
Wages, on their connection with labour.
Wages and their relationship with work.
Walpole, Sir Robert, on the policy of.
Walpole, Sir Robert, on the policy of.
War, on the tremendous consequences of.
War, on the massive consequences of.
War and will of the people.
War and the will of the people.
Warning for a nation, founded on the state of public affairs.
Warning for a nation, based on the state of public affairs.
Weakness in government, on the evils of.
Weakness in government, on the evils of.
Wealth, on the relation of, to national dignity.
Wealth and its connection to national dignity.
Wilkes, John, on his right of election to Parliament.
Wilkes, John, regarding his right to vote for Parliament.
William the Conqueror, on the sovereign qualities of;—his policy.
William the Conqueror, regarding his royal qualities;—his approach.
William III., on his succession to the English crown.—his vigorous policy against France.
William III, upon taking the English crown, implemented a strong policy against France.
Words, their power and influence.—effect of.—various qualities of.
Words, their power and influence—effects—various qualities.
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