Reflections on the Revolution in France Book

What first attracted me to Edmund Burke was the endorsement of a friend. "Burke is such a good writer," he told me, "that he momentarily convinced me that monarchy is a great idea." A writer good enough to do that, I thought, was worth a read; and since I recently read Thomas Paine's refutation of Burke's attack on the French Revolution, The Rights of Man, it seemed like the perfect time to give Burke a go.

But now, after reading this book, I think it is far more than a dazzling piece of rhetoric. A dazzling piece of rhetoric it surely is; Burke's writing style is in a league with Gibbon's for eloquence, elegance, and power. He is a master of the written word, and a pleasure to read.

But, as I said, Burke is far more than a silver-tongued sophist. He is full of perspicacious insights into politics, and wise maxims of government. I feel slightly odd saying such things about a proud monarchist, and a founder of modern conservatism; but I cannot deny being captivated by his way of thinking. So permit me to jot down some of these ideas.

The first, and perhaps most important, tenet of Burke's political advise is the importance of compromise:

These opposed and conflicting interests, which you considered as so great a blemish in your old and in our present Constitution, interpose a salutary check to all precipitate resolutions. They render deliberation a matter, not of choice, but of necessity; they make all change a subject of compromise, which naturally begets moderation; they produce temperaments, preventing the sore evil of harsh, crude, unqualified reformations, and rendering all the headlong exertions of arbitrary power, in the few or in the many, forever impracticable.

Politics, as has been rightly said, is the art of compromise. This is a truism; but truisms are likely to be forgot. Take, for example Burke's contemporary, Thomas Paine. I admire Paine for championing the liberty and rights of the common people, and for his tireless criticism of oppression. But it must be said that Paine is distinguished for his inability to compromise. If Paine had his way, every government the world over would have its own revolution in order to establish a representative democracy. A representative democracy is a very wonderful thing; yet even for such a prize I would be hesitant to advocate revolution in any and all circumstances. One wonders whether Paine's goals could be equally accomplished through the slower but less bloody process of reform.

This brings me to the second of Burke's tenets: gradualism. Burke is perhaps more aware than any other political writer I've come across (excepting Machiavelli) that a state is a complex organism. It is not animated by abstract principles, but by human wants'which are various, and which often intersect, overlap, and conflict with one another. This complex tapestry of desire makes the art of statecraft'like the art of medicine'one of balancing, adjusting, fine-tuning. To advocate a revolution for all political injustice is like advocating open heart surgery for all maladies.

Instead, the best policy is to begin slowly, cautiously, taking the political problem piecemeal, prescribing no cures too severe, and no reforms too immoderate. A good politician strives to keep what is good in a system, and to replace what is bad. A man's heart might not be the most efficient organ that could be contrived for the purpose of pumping blood; but it does not follow that all hearts should be replaced by mechanical pumps. The trauma of the change might very well outweigh whatever gains in the abstract function of the organ.

This brings me to another of Burke's points: politics is an attempt to solve a practical problem, not to realize an abstract system. In Burke's words: "The science of constructing a commonwealth, or renovating it, or reforming it, is, like every other experimental science, not to be taught a priori." This is not to say that all reflections on the nature of justice, of right, or of ethics ought to be discarded. This is just to say that such philosophical arguments should be regarded as means and not ends.

If you show me a politician bent on realizing an abstract system, I will show you a bad politician. Many, if not most, political decisions are between a greater and a lesser evil. The options are restrained by the exigencies of the moment; and if these quotidian problems are regarded as mere trifles by a politician, then that politician would be neglecting his duty. For better or for worse, we are not in the position to imagine the world anew; the world is not a blank page to be written on. There are no countries populated by abstract people seeking abstract justice; our world is the world of real people, with real habits and hostilities, people with their own customs, cultures, and conventions, their own provincial prejudices and preferences.

This leads naturally to another Burkean principle: the importance of concrete, specific circumstances. In his words: "Circumstances (which with some gentlemen pass for nothing) give in reality to every political principal its distinguishing color and discriminating effect. The circumstances are what render every civil and political scheme beneficial or noxious to mankind." This is why much philosophical speculation regarding ethics strikes me as limited'every situation is unique. One cannot abstract from a situation only the essential form; to do so would abstract away all of the pertinent information. If one were to unthinkingly apply the same criteria to every action in one's life, the result would be absurd'perhaps abhorrent; the criteria must vary with the circumstances, the principle with the particulars.

Burke's argument, as a whole, is an argument against radicalism. A radical is somebody who has more allegiance to a principle than to people, to a system than to a citizen. A radical is a doctor who would prescribe the same cure in all cases, the same government for all peoples in all times. A radical is somebody who cannot brook a delay in their plans'who believes every second their ideas aren't put into practice is a second misspent. A radical is somebody who is averse to compromise, because they are sure they are right and good, while their opponents are wrong and wicked.

There are radicals on both the right and the left. There are those who would abolish all taxes and regulations, and those who would abolish all property; who would convert everyone to their religion, or would ban the worship of any religion; who would kill a man for an idea, and would starve a countryside for a scheme. Burke reminds us that our knowledge, our aims, our wisdom, is limited; deciding the right policy is not a matter of a simple theoretical criteria, but of the application of years of accumulated experience, and the balancing of multiple perspectives and desires. Government is not a product of sublime reason or abstract logic. Instead, "Government is a contrivance of human wisdom to provide for human wants."

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As a little postscript, I'd just like to point out that, whatever your politics, you must admit that Burke was right about the French Revolution. It did not end well. But the most striking of his insights into the political situation in France is a straightforward prediction of Napoleon:
"In the weakness of one kind of authority, and in the fluctuation of all, the officers of an army will remain for some time mutinous and full of faction, until some popular general, who understands the art of conciliating the soldiery, and who possesses the true spirit of command, shall draw the eyes of all men upon himself. Armies will obey him on his personal account. There is no other way of securing military obedience in this state of things. But the moment in which that event shall happen, the person who really commands the army is your master'the master (that is little) of your king, the master of your Assembly, the master of your whole republic."