Part I: Observations on the Declaration of Rights, 1

The first three articles state in general terms the whole Declaration of Rights; every subsequent article either springs from them or develops their meaning. The 4th, 5th, and 6th define more precisely what the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd express only in general terms.

The 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 11th articles declare principles according to which laws should be framed, consistent with the rights already declared. But some very good people in France and elsewhere question whether the 10th article adequately guarantees the right it is meant to uphold. Moreover, making religion a subject of human law diminishes its divine dignity and weakens its power over the mind. It then appears to man like light filtered through a cloud: its source is hidden from his sight, and he finds nothing to revere in the dim ray.*10

The remaining articles, beginning with the twelfth, are substantially contained in the principles of those before them. But France then had to undo what was wrong as well as establish what was right; in that particular situation, it was proper to be more explicit than would otherwise have been necessary.

While the Declaration of Rights was before the National Assembly, some members observed that a declaration of rights should be accompanied by a Declaration of Duties. The observation showed a thoughtful mind; its only error was not thinking far enough. By reciprocity, a Declaration of Rights is also a Declaration of Duties. Whatever right belongs to me as a man belongs equally to another; it is my duty to guarantee that right as well as possess it.

The first three articles form the foundation of liberty, individual and national. No country can be called free unless its government begins with the principles they contain and continues to preserve them undiminished. The whole Declaration of Rights is worth more to the world, and will do more good, than all the laws and statutes yet promulgated.

In the solemn preamble to the Declaration of Rights, we see the majestic spectacle of a nation undertaking, under the auspices of its Creator, to establish a Government. This scene is so new, so incomparably beyond anything in the European world, that to call it a Revolution diminishes it: it rises to a Regeneration of man. What are the present Governments of Europe but spectacles of injustice and oppression? What is the government of England? Do its own inhabitants not call it a market in which every man has his price, and corruption is a common trade carried on at the expense of a deceived people? No wonder, then, that the French Revolution is maligned. If it had done no more than destroy blatant despotism, perhaps Mr. Burke and others would have kept silent. Now they cry, “It has gone too far”—that is, too far for them. It looks corruption in the face, and the whole venal tribe takes fright. Their fear shows itself in their fury; they are merely making public the groans of wounded vice. Yet such opposition pays homage to the French Revolution rather than injuring it. The harder it is struck, the more sparks it sends forth; the danger is that it will not be struck enough. It has nothing to fear from attacks: truth has established it, and time will record it under a name as enduring as his own.

Having traced the French Revolution through most of its principal stages, from its beginning to the taking of the Bastille and its establishment through the Declaration of Rights, I shall close the subject with M. de la Fayette's forceful address: “May this great monument, raised to Liberty, serve as a lesson to the oppressor, and an example to the oppressed!”*11

Miscellaneous Chapter

To avoid interrupting the argument in the preceding part of this work or the narrative that follows, I have saved several observations to bring together in a Miscellaneous Chapter, where variety cannot be mistaken for disorder. Mr. Burke's book is miscellaneous from beginning to end. He meant to attack the French Revolution; but instead of proceeding in order, he has assaulted it with a mob of ideas that tumble over and destroy one another.

Yet the confusion and contradictions in Mr. Burke's book are easily explained. When a man defending a wrong cause tries to steer by anything but a fixed truth or principle, he is sure to lose his way. Without that guide constantly before him, he cannot hold all parts of an argument together and bring them to one conclusion. Neither memory nor invention can replace it. Memory fails him, and invention betrays him.

For all the nonsense—there is no better name for it—that Mr. Burke has put forward about hereditary rights and hereditary succession, and about a Nation having no right to form its own Government, he happened to offer some account of what Government is. “Government,” he says, “is a contrivance of human wisdom.”

If government is a contrivance of human wisdom, hereditary succession and so-called hereditary rights cannot be part of it: wisdom cannot be inherited. Nor can any contrivance be wise if it can entrust the government of a nation to an idiot. The position Mr. Burke has now taken is fatal to his entire cause. The argument shifts from hereditary rights to hereditary wisdom, and the question becomes: Who is the wisest man? He must now prove that everyone in the line of succession was a Solomon, or his claim to kingship fails. What a blow Mr. Burke has struck! To borrow a sailor's phrase, he has swabbed the deck and left scarcely a name legible on the list of Kings; and with a scythe as formidable as Death and Time, he has mowed down and thinned the House of Peers.

But Mr. Burke appears to have anticipated this reply and tried to forestall it by making government not merely a contrivance of human wisdom but a monopoly of wisdom. He puts the nation, as fools, on one side; on the other he places his wise government, all the wise men of Gotham. Then he proclaims that “Men have a Right that their Wants should be provided for by this wisdom.” Having made this proclamation, he goes on to explain both what their wants are and what their rights are. He has managed this cleverly: their want turns out to be a want of wisdom. Since that gives little comfort, he informs them that they have a right—not to any of the wisdom, but to be governed by it. And to inspire solemn reverence for this government's monopoly of wisdom, and for its immense power to do everything possible or impossible, right or wrong, he announces its powers with all the mystical gravity of an astrologer: “The rights of men in government are their advantages; and these are often in balance between differences of good; and 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.”

Since the astonished audience Mr. Burke imagines himself addressing may not understand this learned jargon, I shall interpret it. It means, my good people, that government follows no principle whatever; it can turn evil into good or good into evil at its pleasure. In short, government is arbitrary power.

But Mr. Burke has forgotten a few things. First, he has not shown where this wisdom originally came from; second, he has not shown by what authority it first began to act. As he presents it, either government has stolen wisdom or wisdom has stolen government. It has no origin, and its powers have no authority. In short, it is usurpation.

Whether this comes from shame, from an awareness of some fundamental defect in government that must be concealed, from both, or from some other cause, I will not attempt to decide. But a defender of monarchy never traces government to its source, or forward from it. This is one of the signs by which he can be known. A thousand years from now, those living in America or France will look back with thoughtful pride on the origins of their government and say, “This was the work of our glorious ancestors!” What can a spokesman for monarchy say? What can he celebrate? Alas, nothing. Something prevents him from looking back to the beginning, for fear that a robber or a Robin Hood should rise out of the long darkness of time and say, “I am the origin.” Hard as Mr. Burke labored over the Regency Bill and Hereditary Succession two years ago, and deep as he searched for precedents, he still lacked the courage to bring up William of Normandy and say, “There is the head of the list! There is the fountain of honor!”—the son of a prostitute and the plunderer of the English nation.

People's opinions about government are changing rapidly in every country. The Revolutions of America and France have cast a beam of light across the world that reaches into the human mind. The vast expense of governments has made people think by making them feel; once the veil begins to tear, it cannot be mended. Ignorance has a peculiar nature: once dispelled, it cannot be restored. It is not a thing in itself but merely the absence of knowledge. A man may be kept ignorant, but he cannot be made ignorant again. The mind discovers truth as the eye discovers objects: once it has seen an object, it cannot return to the state it was in before seeing it. Those who speak of a counter-revolution in France show how little they understand humanity. Language does not contain words capable of expressing even the means of bringing one about. It would require the erasure of knowledge, and no one has yet discovered how to make a man unknow what he knows or unthink what he has thought.

Mr. Burke labors in vain to halt the advance of knowledge. The effort is especially unbecoming in him, since a certain transaction known in the city has raised the suspicion that he receives a pension under a fictitious name. This may explain a strange doctrine he advances in his book: although he directs it at the Revolution Society, it is in effect directed against the whole nation.

“The King of England,” he says, “holds his crown”—for according to Mr. Burke it does not belong to the Nation—“in contempt of the choice of the Revolution Society, who have not a single vote for a king among them either individually or collectively; and his Majesty's heirs each in their time and order, will come to the Crown with the same contempt of their choice, with which his Majesty has succeeded to that which he now wears.”

Who is King in England or elsewhere, whether there is a King at all, or whether a people chooses a Cherokee chief or a Hessian hussar as King—none of this troubles me; that is their affair. But as a doctrine concerning the Rights of Men and Nations, this is as abhorrent as anything ever spoken in the most enslaved country on earth. Perhaps it sounds worse to me because I am not accustomed to hearing such despotism; I cannot judge that well. But I have no difficulty judging its abhorrent principle.

Mr. Burke does not mean merely the Revolution Society: he means the Nation, both in its original and its representative capacity. He makes that clear when he says its members have no vote either collectively or individually. The Revolution Society includes citizens of every description and members of both Houses of Parliament. If none of these has the right to vote in any capacity, neither the nation nor its Parliament has that right. This should warn every country against importing foreign families to be kings. It is curious that, although the English have long been in the habit of talking about kings, their kings have always belonged to a Foreign House: they hate Foreigners but are governed by them. It is now the House of Brunswick, one of the petty tribes of Germany.

The first three articles contain the whole Declaration of Rights in general terms. Every later article either grows out of them or explains them. The 4th, 5th, and 6th give more detail about what the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd state generally.

The 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and 11th articles state principles for making laws consistent with the rights already declared. But some very good people in France and elsewhere question whether the 10th article does enough to protect the right it addresses. Beyond that, making religion a matter for human law takes away its divine dignity and weakens its effect on the mind. Religion then appears to us like light passing through a cloud: its source is hidden, and the dim ray gives us nothing to revere.*10

The remaining articles, starting with the twelfth, are essentially included in the principles of the earlier ones. But France had to undo what was wrong as well as establish what was right. Its particular circumstances made more detail appropriate than would be needed elsewhere.

While the National Assembly considered the Declaration of Rights, some members said it should be accompanied by a Declaration of Duties. That showed they were thinking, but not thinking far enough. A Declaration of Rights also declares duties, because rights are mutual. Whatever right I have as a person belongs to another person too. It is my duty to protect that right as well as to possess it.

The first three articles form the basis of freedom for individuals and for nations. No country can be called free unless its government begins with those principles and keeps them intact. The entire Declaration of Rights is worth more to the world, and will do more good, than every law and statute issued so far.

The solemn introduction to the Declaration of Rights shows us a nation beginning the task, under its Creator's blessing, of establishing a Government. The sight is so new and so far beyond anything seen in Europe that calling it a Revolution understates it. It is a rebirth of humanity. What are Europe's present Governments but systems of injustice and oppression? What about England's government? Don't its own people call it a marketplace where everyone has a price and corruption is routine business paid for by a deceived public? It is no surprise, then, that people slander the French Revolution. Perhaps Mr. Burke and others would have kept quiet if it had merely destroyed open despotism. Now they cry, "It has gone too far"—too far for them, that is. It confronts corruption directly, and the people who profit by selling themselves are frightened. Their fury shows their fear. They are only giving voice to the pain of an injured vice. But such attacks pay tribute to the French Revolution rather than hurting it. The more blows it receives, the more sparks it throws off. The danger is that it will not be struck often enough. It need not fear attacks. Truth has secured its place, and time will give it a name as lasting as time itself.

I have followed the French Revolution through most of its main stages, from its beginnings to the taking of the Bastille and its establishment through the Declaration of Rights. I will close this subject with M. de la Fayette's forceful appeal: "May this great monument, raised to Liberty, serve as a lesson to the oppressor, and an example to the oppressed!"*11

Miscellaneous Chapter

I kept some observations for this Miscellaneous Chapter so I would not interrupt either the earlier argument or the account that follows. In that way, a variety of subjects need not become confusion. Mr. Burke's book is miscellaneous from beginning to end. He meant to attack the French Revolution, but instead of organizing his argument, he assaulted it with a crowd of ideas that collide with and destroy one another.

The confusion and contradictions in Mr. Burke's book are easy to explain. If a man defending a bad cause tries to steer by anything other than a steady principle or truth, he is certain to get lost. Without such a guide always before him, he cannot keep all the parts of an argument together and bring them to one conclusion. Memory cannot make up for its absence, nor can invention. Memory fails him, and invention betrays him.

Mr. Burke has written nonsense—there is no better word for it—about hereditary rights and hereditary succession, and has claimed that a Nation has no right to form its own Government. Yet in the course of his argument he gives an account of what Government is. "Government," he says, "is a contrivance of human wisdom."

If government is a product of human wisdom, hereditary succession and so-called hereditary rights cannot be part of it. Wisdom cannot be inherited. And an arrangement that might place a nation's government in the hands of an idiot cannot be wise. Mr. Burke's own position destroys his whole case. The argument has shifted from hereditary rights to hereditary wisdom. Now the question is: Who is wisest? He must prove that each person in a hereditary line was a Solomon, or that person's claim to be king is invalid. What a blow Mr. Burke has dealt! As a sailor would say, he has swabbed the deck. He has left barely a readable name on the list of Kings. With a scythe as frightening as Death and Time, he has cut down and thinned the House of Peers too.

Mr. Burke seems to have expected this reply and tried to defend against it. He says government is not merely a product of human wisdom; it has a monopoly on wisdom. He puts the foolish nation on one side and his government of wisdom—all the wise men of Gotham—on the other. Then he proclaims that "Men have a Right that their Wants should be provided for by this wisdom." After that, he explains to people both their wants and their rights. He does it skillfully: what they want, he says, is wisdom. That is little comfort, so he tells them they have a right, not to share in wisdom, but to be governed by it. To make them deeply respectful of this government with its monopoly on wisdom, and impressed by its ability to do anything, possible or impossible, right or wrong, he describes its powers in grand, mysterious terms, like an astrologer: "The rights of men in government are their advantages; and these are often in balance between differences of good; and 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 amazed audience Mr. Burke imagines may not understand this scholarly jargon. I will translate it for them. Good people, this is what it means: government follows no principle at all. It may turn evil into good or good into evil as it pleases. In short, government has unlimited, arbitrary power.

But Mr. Burke forgot a few things. First, he has not shown where this wisdom originally came from. Second, he has not shown what authority first gave it power to act. As he presents it, either government stole wisdom or wisdom stole government. It has no origin, and its power has no authority. In short, it is a seizure of power.

I cannot say whether it comes from shame, from knowing that a basic flaw in the government must be hidden, from both, or from some other cause. But a defender of monarchy never traces government back to its source or forward from it. That is one sure way to recognize him. In a thousand years, people living in America or France will look back with thoughtful pride on the origins of their government and say, "Our remarkable ancestors did this!" What can a defender of monarchy say? What can he be proud of? Nothing, unfortunately. Something keeps him from looking back to the beginning. He fears that some robber or Robin Hood will emerge from the distant past and say, "I am the origin." Two years ago Mr. Burke worked hard on the Regency Bill and Hereditary Succession and searched deeply for precedents. Yet he did not dare bring up William of Normandy and say, "There is the first name on the list! There is the source of honor!" William was the son of a prostitute and the man who plundered the English nation.

People's views about government are changing quickly everywhere. The Revolutions in America and France have cast light across the world and into people's minds. The immense cost of governments has made people think by making them feel its effects. Once the veil begins to tear, it cannot be repaired. Ignorance has a special nature: once it is removed, it cannot be restored. It is not a thing in its own right, only the absence of knowledge. People can be kept ignorant, but they cannot be made ignorant again. When the mind discovers truth, it works like the eye seeing an object. Once an object has been seen, the mind cannot return to the condition it was in before seeing it. Those who talk about a counter-revolution in France understand very little about people. Language does not even have words for the means of bringing one about. It would require erasing knowledge, and no one has found a way to make a person forget what they know or stop thinking thoughts they have thought.

Mr. Burke is working in vain to halt the spread of knowledge. It looks especially bad coming from him, given a certain transaction known in the city that has raised suspicions he receives a pension under an assumed name. That may explain a strange claim in his book. He aims it at the Revolution Society, but it actually targets the whole nation.

"The King of England," he says, "holds his crown (for it does not belong to the Nation, according to Mr. Burke) in contempt of the choice of the Revolution Society, who have not a single vote for a king among them either individually or collectively; and his Majesty's heirs each in their time and order, will come to the Crown with the same contempt of their choice, with which his Majesty has succeeded to that which he now wears."

I do not concern myself with who is King of England or any other place, whether it has a King at all, or whether its people choose a Cherokee chief or a Hessian hussar as King. Those choices are theirs. But this doctrine, as it affects the Rights of Men and Nations, is as hateful as anything ever said in the most enslaved country on earth. Perhaps it sounds worse to me because I am not used to hearing such despotism; I cannot judge that well. But I can certainly judge how hateful its principle is.

Mr. Burke does not really mean the Revolution Society. He means the Nation, both as a whole and through its representatives. He makes that clear by saying its members have no vote either together or individually. The Revolution Society includes all kinds of citizens and members of both Houses of Parliament. If none of them has a right to vote in any of these roles, neither the nation nor its Parliament has that right. Every country should take warning before bringing in foreign families as kings. It is curious that although the people of England habitually talk about kings, their kings always come from a Foreign House. They hate foreigners, yet foreigners govern them. The current one is the House of Brunswick, one of Germany's minor tribes.