Part II: Chapter III, 2

Experience in every age and country has shown that no one can govern Nature's distribution of intellectual gifts. She bestows them as she pleases. Whatever rule appears to govern the way she scatters them among humanity, that rule remains hidden from us. It would be as ridiculous to try to make human beauty hereditary as to make wisdom so. Whatever wisdom is in its essence, it is like a plant without seeds: it can be cultivated when it appears, but cannot be produced at will. Society as a whole always contains enough wisdom for every purpose; among its separate parts, however, its location changes continually. It rises in one today, in another tomorrow, and has most likely visited every family on earth in turn, only to depart again.

This is nature's order, and government must follow it or else, as we see, descend into ignorance. The hereditary system is thus as contrary to human wisdom as it is to human rights, as absurd as it is unjust.

Just as the republic of letters brings forth the finest writing by offering genius a fair and universal opportunity, so representative government is designed to produce the wisest laws by drawing wisdom from wherever it exists. I smile when I imagine the ridiculous insignificance into which literature and all the sciences would fall if they were made hereditary; the same thought applies to governments. A hereditary governor makes no more sense than a hereditary author. I do not know whether Homer or Euclid had sons; but I venture to say that, if they did and left their works unfinished, those sons could not have completed them.

Do we need stronger evidence of hereditary government's absurdity than the descendants of once-famous people in any walk of life provide? Is there not scarcely a case where the descendant is not the complete opposite? It seems the tide of intellectual power runs as far as it can through certain channels, then abandons them and rises elsewhere. How irrational, then, to establish hereditary channels of power through which wisdom refuses to flow! By persisting in this absurdity, people remain perpetually at odds with themselves: they accept as king, chief magistrate, or legislator someone they would not elect constable.

To the casual observer, revolutions seem to create genius and talent; in truth they only bring them into view. Within humanity lies a great store of dormant intelligence that, unless something awakens it, will descend to the grave unused. Society benefits when all its capacities are brought to bear; government should therefore be designed to bring forth, quietly and regularly, the full range of ability that never fails to appear in revolutions.

This cannot happen in the lifeless condition of hereditary government: it not only prevents talent from emerging but dulls it. When a nation's mind bows beneath a political superstition in its government, such as hereditary succession, it loses a considerable share of its power in every other field and undertaking. Hereditary succession demands obedience to ignorance no less than to wisdom; once the mind brings itself to show such indiscriminate reverence, it sinks beneath intellectual adulthood. It is fit to be great only in small matters. It betrays itself and smothers the very feelings that would expose the betrayal.

Though the ancient governments offer us a miserable picture of humanity's condition, one stands above all the others as an exception: the democracy of Athens. In that great and extraordinary people we find more to admire and less to condemn than in anything else history offers.

Mr. Burke knows so little of the fundamental principles of government that he confuses democracy with representation. The ancient democracies knew nothing of representation. In them, the people as a body assembled and enacted laws, grammatically speaking, in the first person. Simple democracy was nothing but the ancients' common assembly. The word describes both the form and the public principle of government. As these democracies grew in population and expanded in territory, the simple democratic form grew unwieldy and impracticable. Because representation was unknown, they either convulsively declined into monarchies or were swallowed by monarchies already in existence. Had representation then been understood as it is now, there is no reason to believe that the forms of government now called monarchical or aristocratic would ever have arisen. The lack of a means to unite the parts of society once it grew too populous and extensive for simple democracy—and, elsewhere in the world, the loose and isolated life of shepherds and herdsmen—gave those unnatural modes of government their opportunity to begin.

Because we must clear away the heap of errors in which the subject of government has been buried, I will turn to several more.

Courtiers and court governments have always made it their political craft to vilify something they call republicanism, but they never attempt to explain what republicanism was or is. Let us look into the matter.

The only forms of government are the democratic, the aristocratic, the monarchical, and what is now called the representative.

A republic is not a particular form of government. The word describes entirely the purpose, concern, or object for which government ought to be established and to which its work ought to be devoted: Res-Publica, public affairs or the public good, literally the public thing. It has an honorable origin, naming what government ought to be and do; in this sense it stands naturally opposed to monarchy, a word with a base original meaning. Monarchy signifies arbitrary power vested in one person, who exercises it for himself rather than for the res-publica.

Any government that does not act on the principle of a Republic—that does not make the res-publica its sole and entire object—is not a good government. Republican government means nothing more than government founded and conducted for the public interest, both individual and collective. It is not necessarily tied to any particular form, but it is most naturally allied with representation, the form best designed to secure the end for which a nation pays to support a government.

Various forms of government have presumed to call themselves republics. Poland calls itself a republic, though it is a hereditary aristocracy with a so-called elective monarchy. Holland calls itself a republic, though it is chiefly aristocratic, with a hereditary stadtholdership. But America's government, founded wholly on representation, is the only true Republic now existing, in character and in practice. Its only object is the nation's public business, and therefore it is properly a republic. Americans have taken care to ensure that this, and nothing else, remains their government's object: they have rejected everything hereditary and founded their governments on representation alone. Those who say a republic is unsuited to countries of great extent have, first, mistaken the business of government for its form: the res-publica belongs equally to every size of territory and population. Second, if they meant anything about form, they meant the simple democratic form of the ancient democracies, which had no representation. It is not, then, that a republic cannot be extensive; it is that it cannot be extensive in the simple democratic form. The natural question is: What form of government best conducts the Res-Publica, the Public Business of a nation, once that nation is too extensive and populous for simple democracy? It cannot be monarchy, because monarchy is open to an objection just as grave as the one against the simple democratic form.

An individual may indeed set out a system of principles on which government can be constitutionally founded across a territory of any extent. That is simply an exercise of the mind working through its own powers. But putting those principles into practice amid a nation's many varied circumstances—its agriculture, manufacturing, trade, commerce, etc., etc.—requires another kind of knowledge, obtainable only from the various parts of society. This is a body of practical knowledge no individual can possess. Thus the monarchical form is as limited in useful practice by a lack of knowledge as the democratic form was by the multitude of its people. The latter, when extended, declines into confusion; the former into ignorance and incapacity, as every great monarchy shows. The monarchical form could therefore not replace the democratic, since its disadvantages are just as great.

Still less could it do so when made hereditary. That is the most effective form of all for shutting out knowledge. Nor could the elevated democratic mind voluntarily submit to being ruled by children and idiots and the whole motley parade of insignificance that accompanies such a merely animal system, to the shame and reproach of reason and humanity.

As for the aristocratic form, it shares the vices and defects of monarchy, except that the larger number of people improves the odds of finding ability; there is still no guarantee that ability will be used and applied rightly.*17

Experience in every age and country has shown that we cannot control how nature distributes intelligence. She gives it wherever she chooses. Whatever rule she seems to follow in distributing it among people remains a secret to us. Trying to make wisdom hereditary would be as ridiculous as trying to make beauty hereditary. Whatever wisdom is made of, it is like a plant without seeds. We can nurture it when it appears, but we cannot deliberately produce it. Society as a whole always has enough wisdom for every purpose, but its location among individuals keeps changing. It appears in one person today and another tomorrow. It has probably passed through every family on earth in turn and then moved on.

Since this is how nature works, government must follow the same pattern. Otherwise, as we have seen, it will sink into ignorance. The hereditary system is therefore as contrary to human wisdom as it is to human rights. It is as absurd as it is unjust.

The world of writing gives talented people everywhere a fair chance and so brings forward the best writing. In the same way, representative government brings together wisdom wherever it is found and can produce the wisest laws. I smile when I imagine how worthless literature and every science would become if they were hereditary. The same applies to government. A hereditary ruler makes as little sense as a hereditary author. I do not know whether Homer or Euclid had sons. But if they did and left their works unfinished, I doubt their sons could have completed them.

Do we need better proof that hereditary government is absurd than the descendants of people once famous in any walk of life? Is it not almost always the case that their descendants have the opposite character? It is as though intelligence flows as far as it can through certain channels, then leaves those channels and appears elsewhere. How unreasonable, then, to establish hereditary channels for power when wisdom refuses to flow through them! By maintaining this absurd system, people keep acting against their own judgment. They accept as king, chief official, or lawmaker someone they would not elect as a constable.

People generally think that revolutions create talent and genius. In fact, they only bring those qualities into view. People have a large store of good sense that lies dormant. Unless something stirs it into action, they will carry it unused to their graves. Society benefits when it uses all its abilities. So government should be organized to bring out, peacefully and regularly, the full range of abilities that always appears during revolutions.

This cannot happen in the dull conditions of hereditary government. That system not only blocks people's abilities but also numbs them. When a nation accepts a political superstition such as hereditary succession, people's minds lose much of their power to deal with every other matter. Hereditary succession demands the same obedience to an ignorant ruler as to a wise one. Once people can bring themselves to show such unthinking respect, their minds fall below adult maturity. They are fit to achieve great things only in trivial matters. Their minds betray themselves and smother the very feelings that would help them discover the deception.

The ancient governments give us a miserable picture of the human condition. But one stands apart from the others: the democracy of Athens. That remarkable people give us more to admire and less to condemn than anything else in history.

Mr. Burke knows so little about the principles on which governments are founded that he confuses democracy with representation. Ancient democracies had no representation. In them, the people as a whole met and made laws themselves, speaking, so to say, in the first person. Simple democracy was the ancient equivalent of a town meeting. The word describes both the structure of the government and its principle of serving the public. As their populations and territories grew, the simple democratic structure became too unwieldy to work. Because people did not yet know about representation, these democracies either broke down violently into monarchies or were swallowed by monarchies already in existence. If people had understood representation as we do now, there is no reason to think that governments now called monarchical or aristocratic would ever have arisen. As societies became too large and populous for simple democracy, they lacked a way to bring their parts together. That problem, along with the loose and isolated lives of shepherds and herders in other places, gave those unnatural forms of government a chance to begin.

We need to clear away the accumulated errors that cloud this subject. So I will address some more of them.

Courtiers and the governments around them have always found it politically useful to attack something they call republicanism. Yet they never try to explain what republicanism was or is. Let us look into it.

The only forms of government are democracy, aristocracy, monarchy, and what is now called representation.

A republic is not one particular form of government. The word describes the purpose, subject, or aim for which government should be established and which it should serve: res-publica, public affairs or the public good, literally the public thing. The word has a good origin and points to what government should be and do. In this sense it stands naturally against monarchy, a word with a bad original meaning. Monarchy means arbitrary power held by one person, who uses that power for himself rather than for the res-publica.

A government is not good unless it acts on the principle of a republic. In other words, the res-publica must be its one and only aim. Republican government simply means government set up and run for the benefit of the public, both as individuals and as a whole. It is not necessarily tied to any particular structure. But it fits most naturally with representative government, which is best suited to secure the purpose for which a nation pays to support government.

Various governments have chosen to call themselves republics. Poland calls itself a republic, though it is a hereditary aristocracy with what is called an elective monarchy. Holland calls itself a republic, though it is mostly aristocratic and has a hereditary Stadtholder. But America's government is based entirely on representation. It is the only real republic now in existence, both in its purpose and its actions. The business of the nation is its only concern, so it is rightly called a republic. Americans have made sure that their government will always have this purpose and no other: they rejected everything hereditary and based their governments on representation alone. Some say a republic cannot govern a very large country. First, they confuse the business of government with its structure. The res-publica applies equally to every size of territory and population. Second, if they meant a particular structure, they meant simple democracy, as practiced by ancient democracies without representation. The problem is not that a republic cannot cover a large area. The problem is that simple democracy cannot do so. This brings us to a natural question: once a nation becomes too large and populous for simple democracy, what form of government can best manage its res-publica, its public business? Monarchy cannot do so. It faces an objection as serious as the one that applies to simple democracy.

One person can perhaps devise a set of principles on which a constitutional government can be established across any size of territory. That requires only the exercise of one person's mind. But putting those principles into practice in the many different circumstances of a nation—its farming, manufacturing, trade, commerce, etc., etc.—requires another kind of knowledge. It can come only from the many parts of society. No individual can possess all this practical knowledge. So monarchy is as limited in what it can usefully do by a lack of knowledge as simple democracy is limited by a large population. As simple democracy expands, it sinks into confusion. Monarchy sinks into ignorance and inability, as every large monarchy shows. Monarchy therefore could not replace simple democracy; it has equally serious problems.

It would be even less capable of replacing it if made hereditary. Nothing shuts out knowledge more effectively. Nor would people with the independent spirit of a democracy have willingly submitted to rule by children, fools, and the whole assortment of incapable people that comes with a system based merely on family descent. Such a system disgraces human reason and humanity itself.

Aristocracy has the same vices and flaws as monarchy, except that a group has a better chance of containing capable people than a single family does. Even then, there is no guarantee that those abilities will be used well or for the right purposes.*17