Part I: Observations on the Declaration of Rights, 2

Until now, English Parliaments have customarily regulated what was called the succession, assuming that the nation still consented to attach a monarchical branch to its government. Without that consent, Parliament could have had no authority to send to Holland or Hanover, or to impose a king on the nation against its will. That is the furthest Parliament can go in this matter. The nation's right, however, embraces the whole question, since it has the right to change its entire form of government. Parliament's right is merely one held in trust, a delegated right, and delegated by only a very small part of the nation; one of its Houses does not have even that. The nation's right, by contrast, is original and as universal as taxation. The nation pays for everything, and everything must conform to its general will.

I recall a speech in what is called the English House of Peers by the then Earl of Shelburne, made, I think, while he was Minister, that bears on this question. I cannot vouch for every detail from memory, but as nearly as I remember, its words and meaning were these: “The form of government is entirely at the nation's will at all times. If it chooses a monarchy, it has the right to have one; and if it later chooses a republic, it has the right to be a republic and to tell a king, ‘We have no further need of you.’”

When Mr. Burke says that “His Majesty's heirs and successors, each in their time and order, will come to the crown with the same content of their choice with which His Majesty had succeeded to that he wears,” he says too much even to the humblest person in the country, whose daily labor helps make up the million sterling a year that the country gives to the person it calls a king. Government exercised with insolence is despotism; add contempt, and it is worse still. To pay for contempt is slavery carried to its extreme. This kind of government comes from Germany, and it reminds me of what a Brunswick soldier, captured by the Americans in the late war, told me: “Ah! America is a fine, free country, worth fighting for. I know the difference from knowing my own country: where I come from, if the prince says eat straw, we eat straw.” God help the country, I thought, whether England or elsewhere, whose liberties depend for protection on German principles of government and Princes of Brunswick!

As Mr. Burke speaks now of England, now of France, and now of the world and government in general, it is difficult to answer his book without appearing to follow him over the same ground. Although principles of government are general subjects, in many cases it is nearly impossible to separate them from place and circumstance, especially when circumstances are offered as arguments, as they often are by Mr. Burke.

Earlier in his book, addressing the people of France, he says: “No experience has taught us”—meaning the English—“that in any other course or method than that of a hereditary crown, can our liberties be regularly perpetuated and preserved sacred as our hereditary right.” I ask Mr. Burke: who is to take those liberties away? M. de la Fayette, speaking to France, says: “For a Nation to be free, it is sufficient that she wills it.” Mr. Burke, however, presents England as unable to care for itself, and its liberties as requiring the protection of a king who holds it in “contempt.” If England has sunk so low, it is preparing to eat straw, as they do in Hanover or Brunswick. But beyond the folly of the claim, the facts are all against Mr. Burke. It was hereditary government that endangered the people's liberties. Charles I. and James II. prove the point; yet neither went so far as to hold the nation in contempt.

Since the people of one country can sometimes profit by hearing what another country's people say about it, the people of France may learn something from Mr. Burke's book, and the people of England may learn something from the answers it provokes. When nations dispute over freedom, a vast field of debate opens. The contest begins with the rights of war but none of its evils; and because knowledge is the prize contested, the side that suffers defeat wins the prize.

Mr. Burke speaks of what he calls a hereditary crown as though it were a product of nature, or as though, like time, it possessed a power to act independently of humanity and even against it, or as though it enjoyed universal consent. Alas! It has none of these qualities, but is the opposite of them all. It is a figment of imagination, whose propriety is more than doubtful and whose legality will, in a few years, be denied.

But to set this matter out more clearly than general terms allow, consider the heads under which what is called a hereditary crown—or, more properly, hereditary succession to the government of a nation—may be examined:

First, the right of a particular family to establish itself.

Secondly, the right of a nation to establish a particular family.

On the first head, a family establishing itself with hereditary powers on its own authority, without a nation's consent, everyone will agree in calling it despotism; trying to prove the point would insult their intelligence.

The second head, a nation establishing a particular family with hereditary powers, may not appear despotic at first thought. But if people think again, carrying their thought just one step beyond themselves to their children, they will see that hereditary succession becomes for others the very despotism they rejected for themselves. It excludes the consent of later generations, and excluding consent is despotism. When whoever holds the government at any time, or whoever stands to succeed him, tells a nation, “I hold this power in ‘contempt’ of you,” it matters nothing what authority he claims for saying so. For a person in slavery, knowing that his parent sold him is not a comfort but an added injury. And since what makes an act more criminal cannot be invoked to prove it lawful, hereditary succession cannot be established as a lawful thing.

To reach a fuller decision on this head, we should consider the generation that undertakes to establish a family with hereditary powers separately from those that follow it, and consider also the capacity in which that first generation acts toward succeeding generations.

The generation that first chooses a person and places him at the head of its government, whether with the title of king or some other distinction, exercises its own choice, wise or foolish, as a free agent acting for itself. The person it installs is not hereditary: he is selected and appointed. Nor does the generation that installs him live under hereditary government, but under a government of its own choosing and making. If that generation and the person it installs were to live forever, there could never be hereditary succession; consequently, hereditary succession can arise only after the first parties die.

Since, therefore, hereditary succession does not concern the first generation, we must now ask in what capacity that generation acts toward the generation coming after it and all later generations.

It assumes a capacity to which it has neither right nor title. It changes from legislator to testator, attempting to make a will that takes effect after its makers' deaths and bequeaths the government. Nor does it merely attempt a bequest: it attempts to impose on the next generation a new and different form of government from the one under which it lived. As already observed, it lived not under a hereditary government but under one it chose and established itself. Yet now, by means of a will and testament that it has no authority to make, it attempts to strip the rising generation and all those to follow of the rights and freedom of action it exercised itself.

But even apart from whether any generation has the right to act collectively as a testator, what it tries to dispose of here lies beyond the scope of any law, will, or testament.

The rights of people in society cannot be bequeathed, transferred, or destroyed; they can only descend to those who follow. No generation has the power to stop that descent once and for all. If this or any other generation chooses to be enslaved, the next generation's right to be free is no less for it. Wrongs cannot be inherited as legal rights. When Mr. Burke attempts to maintain that at the Revolution of 1688 the English nation most solemnly renounced and surrendered its rights, for itself and for all its descendants forever, he speaks in terms that deserve no reply and can inspire only contempt for his principles for hire, or pity for his ignorance.

Look at hereditary succession however you will, as a product of a former generation's will and testament: it is an absurdity. A cannot make a will taking B's property from B and giving it to C. Yet that is precisely how what is called hereditary succession by law works. A former generation made a will to take the rights of the next generation and all future generations and convey them to a third person, who then comes forward to tell them, in Mr. Burke's language, that they have no rights: their rights have already been bequeathed to him, and he will govern in contempt of them. From such principles and such ignorance, good Lord deliver the world!

But after all, what is this metaphor called a crown—or rather, what is monarchy? Is it a thing, a name, or a fraud? Is it a “contrivance of human wisdom,” or a contrivance of human cunning to take money from a nation under plausible pretenses? Is it necessary to a nation? If so, what makes it necessary? What service does it perform, what business does it conduct, and what are its merits? Does the virtue reside in the metaphor or in the man? Does the goldsmith who makes the crown make the virtue too? Does it work like Fortunatus's wishing-cap or Harlequin's wooden sword? Does it turn a man into a conjurer? In short, what is it? It seems to be going badly out of fashion, becoming ridiculous, and being rejected in some countries as both needless and expensive. In America it is considered an absurdity. In France it has declined so far that only the man's goodness and the respect commanded by his personal character preserve the appearance of its existence.

If government is, as Mr. Burke describes it, “a contrivance of human wisdom,” I might ask him whether wisdom had sunk so low in England that it became necessary to import it from Holland and Hanover. But in justice to the country, I will say it had not; and even if it had, it chose the wrong cargo. Every country's wisdom, properly applied, is enough for all its purposes. England had no more real need to send for a Dutch Stadtholder or a German Elector than America had to do the same. If a country cannot understand its own affairs, how can a foreigner understand them, knowing neither its laws, its customs, nor its language? If there were one man so far wiser than all others that a nation needed his wisdom for instruction, some case might be made for monarchy. But when we look around a country and see how well every part understands its own affairs, and look around the world and see that, of all men, the race of kings is the least distinguished in ability, reason cannot help asking: What are these men kept for?

If there is something about monarchy that we Americans fail to understand, I wish Mr. Burke would be kind enough to tell us. In America I see a government covering a country ten times as large as England, conducted in good order for a fortieth of what government costs in England. If I ask an American whether he wants a king, he asks in return whether I take him for an idiot. How does this difference arise? Are we wiser or less wise than other people? In America I see most people living in an abundance unknown in monarchies; and I see the principle of its government—the equal Rights of Man—advancing rapidly through the world.

Until now, English Parliaments have regulated what they called the succession. They took for granted that the nation still agreed to include a monarchy in its government. Without that agreement, Parliament would have had no authority to send for someone from Holland or Hanover, or to impose a king on the nation against its will. Regulating the succession is the most Parliament can do in this matter. The nation's right covers the whole matter, because the nation can change its entire form of government. Parliament's right is only a right held in trust, delegated by a very small part of the nation. One of its Houses does not even have that much authority. But the nation's right belongs to it originally and extends as widely as taxation. The nation pays for everything, and everything must follow its general will.

I remember a speech in what is called the English House of Peers by the then Earl of Shelburne. I think he was Minister at the time. It applies here. I cannot recall every detail exactly, but as nearly as I remember, these were his words and their meaning: "The form of a government is entirely up to the nation at all times. If it chooses a monarchy, it has a right to one. If it later chooses to be a republic, it has a right to be a republic, and to tell a king, 'We have no further need of you.'"

Mr. Burke says that "His Majesty's heirs and successors, each in their time and order, will come to the crown with the same content of their choice with which His Majesty had succeeded to that he wears." This is an insult even to the poorest person in the country. Some of that person's daily work helps pay the million sterling a year the country gives the person it calls king. A government that acts arrogantly is despotic. Add contempt and it becomes worse. Paying someone to hold you in contempt is slavery carried to an extreme. This kind of government comes from Germany. It reminds me of a Brunswick soldier whom the Americans took prisoner in the recent war. He told me, "Ah! America is a fine free country, worth fighting for. I know the difference because I know my own country: there, if the prince says eat straw, we eat straw." I thought, God help any country, England or elsewhere, whose liberties depend for protection on German ideas of government and Princes of Brunswick!

Mr. Burke speaks sometimes about England, sometimes about France, and sometimes about the whole world and government in general. It is hard to answer his book without seeming to move among those subjects as he does. Principles of government are general matters. But in many cases it is almost impossible to separate them from particular places and circumstances. This is especially true when circumstances are used as arguments, as Mr. Burke often uses them.

Earlier in his book, he addresses the people of France and says: "No experience has taught us"—meaning the English—"that in any other course or method than that of a hereditary crown, can our liberties be regularly perpetuated and preserved sacred as our hereditary right." I ask Mr. Burke: who is going to take those liberties away? M. de la Fayette tells France: "For a Nation to be free, it is sufficient that she wills it." But Mr. Burke depicts England as unable to look after itself. Its liberties, he says, need a king who holds it in "contempt" to look after them. If England has sunk this low, it is getting ready to eat straw, as people do in Hanover or Brunswick. Besides being foolish, his claim contradicts the facts. Hereditary government was what put people's liberties in danger. Charles I. and James II. show this, though neither went so far as to hold the nation in contempt.

People in one country can sometimes benefit from hearing what people in other countries say about it. The people of France may learn something from Mr. Burke's book, and the people of England may learn something from the replies it brings about. When nations disagree over freedom, they open a wide field of debate. The argument begins with the rights involved in war, but without war's harms. Since they are competing for knowledge, even the side that loses wins the prize.

Mr. Burke speaks of what he calls a hereditary crown as though it grew in nature. He talks as if, like time, it could act independently of people and even against their wishes, or as if everyone agreed to it. But it has none of these qualities. It is the opposite in every respect. It exists in the imagination. Whether it is right is more than doubtful, and in a few years its legality will be denied.

Let me make this clearer than a general statement can. What is called a hereditary crown—or, more accurately, hereditary succession to the government of a nation—can be considered under two headings:

First, the right of a particular family to establish itself.

Second, the right of a nation to establish a particular family.

Take the first: a family gives itself hereditary power on its own authority, without the nation's consent. Everyone would call that despotism. Trying to prove it would insult their intelligence.

The second—a nation giving a particular family hereditary power—may not look like despotism at first. But think again. Look just one generation beyond yourselves, to your children. You will see that hereditary succession imposes on them the very despotism you rejected for yourselves. It shuts out the consent of later generations, and shutting out consent is despotism. Suppose a person in power, or one who stands next in line, tells a nation, "I hold this power in 'contempt' of you." The supposed basis of his claim makes no difference. It is no comfort to a person enslaved to know that a parent sold him; that knowledge only makes the wrong worse. What increases the criminal nature of an act cannot prove that act lawful. So hereditary succession cannot be established as legal.

To reach a sounder judgment, we should look separately at the generation that first gives a family hereditary power and the generations that follow. We should also ask what authority the first generation claims over its successors.

The generation that first chooses a person to head its government, calling him king or giving him another title, makes its own choice, wise or foolish. It acts freely for itself. That first person is selected and appointed, not hereditary. The generation that appoints him lives under a government it has chosen and established, not a hereditary government. If both that generation and the person it chose lived forever, there could never be hereditary succession. Hereditary succession can arise only after those first parties die.

So hereditary succession does not apply to the first generation. We must now ask in what capacity that generation acts toward the generation just beginning and all those that follow.

It assumes a role to which it has no right or claim. Instead of acting as a lawmaker, it acts as someone making a will. It tries to make that will operate after its makers die and to leave the government to someone else. More than that, it tries to impose on the next generation a new kind of government, different from the one it lived under. As already noted, it lived under a government it chose and established, not a hereditary one. Now, through a will it has no authority to make, it tries to take away from the next generation and all future generations the rights and freedom to act that it exercised itself.

Apart from the question of whether any generation has the right to make a collective will, the things it tries to dispose of in this case cannot be disposed of under any law or will.

The rights people have in society cannot be left by will to someone else, transferred, or destroyed. They can only pass down to later generations. No generation can permanently block or cut off that passage. If this generation, or any other, chooses slavery, the next generation still has the right to be free. A wrong cannot become a lawful inheritance. Mr. Burke tries to argue that, at the Revolution of 1688, the English nation solemnly gave up its rights for itself and all its descendants forever. Such a claim does not deserve an answer. It can only inspire contempt for his corrupt principles or pity for his ignorance.

However we look at hereditary succession as the supposed will of an earlier generation, it is absurd. A cannot make a will that takes B's property and gives it to C. Yet this is exactly how so-called hereditary succession by law works. An earlier generation supposedly made a will taking the rights of the next generation and every later one and giving them to a third person. That person then comes forward and tells those generations, in Mr. Burke's terms, that they have no rights. Their rights have already been left to him, and he will rule while holding them in contempt. Good Lord, save the world from such principles and such ignorance!

After all, what is this metaphor called a crown? More precisely, what is monarchy? Is it a thing, a name, or a fraud? Is it "a contrivance of human wisdom," or a clever way to take money from a nation under convincing pretenses? Does a nation need it? If so, why? What does it do? What is its job, and what makes it worthwhile? Does its virtue lie in the metaphor or in the man? Does the goldsmith who makes a crown also make its virtue? Does it work like Fortunatus's wishing-cap or Harlequin's wooden sword? Does it turn a man into a magician? In short, what is it? It seems to be going out of fashion and becoming ridiculous. Some countries reject it as both useless and expensive. In America, people consider it absurd. In France, it has declined so far that only the man's goodness and the respect people have for his character keep up the appearance that it exists.

If government is what Mr. Burke calls it, "a contrivance of human wisdom," I might ask whether England had so little wisdom that it needed to import some from Holland and Hanover. To be fair to England, that was not the case. And even if it had been, England chose the wrong cargo. Every country has enough wisdom for its needs if it uses it properly. England had no more real need to send for a Dutch Stadtholder or a German Elector than America did to do the same. If a country cannot understand its own affairs, how will a foreigner understand them when he knows neither its laws, its customs, nor its language? If someone existed whose wisdom so far exceeded everyone else's that a nation needed his guidance, there might be an argument for monarchy. But look around any country and see how well each part understands its own affairs. Then look around the world and see that kings as a group are the least capable of all men. Reason must ask: why are these men kept?

If monarchy has some value that we in America do not understand, I wish Mr. Burke would tell us what it is. In America I see a government covering a country ten times the size of England. It operates in an orderly way at a fortieth of what government costs in England. If I ask someone in America whether he wants a king, he asks whether I think he is an idiot. Why is there this difference? Are we wiser or less wise than others? I see most people in America living with a level of plenty unknown in countries ruled by kings. And I see the principle behind its government—the equal Rights of Man—spreading rapidly around the world.