Part I, 8

The French Constitution has reformed the condition of the clergy. It has raised the income of the lower and middle ranks and reduced that of the higher. None now receive less than twelve hundred livres (fifty pounds sterling), nor any more than two or three thousand pounds. What will Mr. Burke set against this? Hear what he says.

He says: "That the people of England 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 L10,000 a-year; and cannot see why it is in worse hands than estates to a like amount, in the hands of this earl or that squire." And Mr. Burke offers this as an example for France.

As to the first point, whether the archbishop precedes the duke or the duke the bishop, to the people in general it is, I believe, rather like Sternhold and Hopkins, or Hopkins and Sternhold: put whichever you please first. And since I confess I do not understand the merits of the case, I will not dispute it with Mr. Burke.

But I have something to say about the second point. Mr. Burke has framed the question incorrectly. His comparison is misplaced because he sets the bishop against the earl or the squire. He should set the bishop against the curate, and then the case would stand like this: "The people of England can see without pain or grudging, a Bishop of Durham, or a Bishop of Winchester, in possession of ten thousand pounds a-year, and a curate on thirty or forty pounds a-year, or less." No, sir, they certainly do not see such things without deep pain or resentment. This is a question that appeals to every person's sense of justice, and one among many that cries aloud for a constitution.

In France the cry of "the church! the church!" was repeated as often as it is in Mr. Burke's book and as loudly as when the Dissenters' Bill came before the English Parliament; but the greater part of the French clergy would no longer be deceived by that cry. They knew that, whatever the pretext, they themselves were among its principal targets. It was the cry of the clergy with rich benefices, raised to prevent any adjustment of income between those who received ten thousand pounds a year and the parish priest. The lesser clergy therefore joined their cause to those of all other oppressed classes and, through this union, gained redress.

The French Constitution has abolished tithes, that source of perpetual discord between the tithe-holder and the parishioner. Land subject to a tithe is effectively an estate held by two parties: one receives one-tenth of the produce, the other nine-tenths. Consequently, as a matter of equity, if improvements make the estate produce twice or three times as much as before, or increase its yield by any other proportion, the cost of those improvements ought to be shared in the same proportion by the parties who share the produce. But tithes do not work that way: the farmer bears the entire expense, and the tithe-holder takes a tenth of the added yield on top of his original tenth, thus receiving the value of two-tenths instead of one. Here is another case that cries out for a constitution.

The French Constitution has abolished or renounced both Toleration and Intolerance, and has established Universal Right of Conscience.

Toleration is not the opposite of Intolerance but its counterfeit. Both are forms of despotism. One claims the right to withhold Liberty of Conscience; the other claims the right to grant it. One is the Pope armed with fire and faggot; the other is the Pope selling or granting indulgences. The former is church and state, the latter church and commerce.

But Toleration can be seen in an even harsher light. Man does not worship himself but his Maker; the liberty of conscience he claims is not for his own service but for the service of his God. In this case, then, we must hold two connected ideas in mind: the mortal who offers worship and the Immortal Being who receives it. Toleration thus inserts itself not between man and man, church and church, or one religious denomination and another, but between God and man, between the being who worships and the Being who is worshipped. In the same act of assumed authority by which it permits man to offer worship, it presumptuously and blasphemously presumes to permit the Almighty to receive it.

If a bill were introduced in any Parliament entitled "An Act to tolerate or grant liberty to the Almighty to receive the worship of a Jew or Turk," or "to prohibit the Almighty from receiving it," everyone would recoil and call it blasphemy. There would be an uproar. The arrogance of religious toleration would then stand unmasked; but it is no less arrogant when only the name of "Man" appears in such laws, for the worshipper and the worshipped cannot be separated in thought. Who are you, then, vain dust and ashes!—whatever name you bear, whether King, Bishop, Church, State, Parliament, or anything else—to thrust your insignificance between the soul of man and its Maker? Attend to your own affairs. If he does not believe as you believe, that only proves you do not believe as he believes, and no earthly power can judge between you.

As for the so-called denominations of religion: if everyone is free to judge his own religion, no religion is wrong; but if people are to judge one another's religion, no religion is right. Thus either all the world is right or all the world is wrong. But religion itself, whatever its name, directed from the universal family of humankind toward the Divine object of all adoration, is man bringing the fruits of his heart to his Maker. Though these fruits differ as the fruits of the earth do, each grateful offering is accepted.

A Bishop of Durham, a Bishop of Winchester, or the archbishop who takes precedence over dukes will not refuse a tithe-sheaf of wheat because it is not a cock of hay, or a cock of hay because it is not a sheaf of wheat, or a pig because it is neither. Yet these same men, in the guise of an established church, would not allow their Maker to receive the varied tithes of human devotion.

One of the recurring choruses of Mr. Burke's book is "Church and State." He does not mean one particular church or state, but any church and any state; he uses the expression as a general emblem of the political doctrine that church must always be joined to state in every country, and censures the National Assembly for not joining them in France. Let us give the matter some thought.

All religions are by nature kind and benevolent, and allied with moral principles. They could not initially have won converts by professing anything vicious, cruel, persecuting, or immoral. Like everything else, they had a beginning, and advanced by persuasion, exhortation, and example. How, then, do they lose their native gentleness and become harsh and intolerant?

The cause is the union Mr. Burke recommends. Breed the church with the state and you produce a kind of mule, capable only of destruction, not of nurturing life, called the Church established by Law. From birth it is a stranger to the very mother that bore it, and in time it kicks her out and destroys her.

The inquisition in Spain did not arise from the religion originally professed there, but from this mule bred of church and state. The burnings in Smithfield came from the same hybrid creature; and it was the later rebirth of this strange animal in England that revived bitterness and irreligion among the inhabitants and drove the people called Quakers and Dissenters to America. Persecution is not an original trait of any religion; but it is always the conspicuous trait of every religion established by law. Remove the legal establishment, and every religion regains its original benevolence. In America a catholic priest is a good citizen, a person of good character, and a good neighbor; an episcopalian minister is the same. This follows not from the particular men, but from the absence of any established religion in America.

If we also consider this in worldly terms, we can see its damaging effect on the prosperity of nations. The union of church and state has impoverished Spain. The revocation of the edict of Nantes drove silk manufacturing from that country to England; and church and state are now driving cotton manufacturing from England to America and France. Let Mr. Burke, then, continue preaching his antipolitical doctrine of Church and State. It will do some good. The National Assembly will not take his advice, but will profit from his folly. America was warned against this union by observing its harmful effects in England; and the National Assembly, having experienced them in France, has abolished it and, like America, established Universal Right of Conscience, and Universal Right of Citizenship.*7

Here I will end my comparison of the principles of the French Constitution, and conclude this part of the subject with some observations on the organization of the formal structures of the French and English governments.

The executive power in each country rests in the hands of a person called the King; but the French Constitution distinguishes the King from the Sovereign. It treats the office of King as an official position and locates Sovereignty in the nation.

The representatives of the nation who form the National Assembly and exercise legislative power arise from the people by election, as an inherent right of the people.—In England the case is different, and this difference stems from the original establishment of its so-called monarchy. By conquest, all the rights of the people, or the nation, were taken into the hands of the Conqueror, who added the title of King to that of Conqueror. Thus the things now held in France as rights of the people or nation are held in England as grants from what is called the crown. Both branches of Parliament in England were established by patents from the Conqueror's descendants. The House of Commons did not arise from the people's right to delegate or elect, but from a grant or favor.

Under the French Constitution the nation is always named before the king. The third article of the declaration of rights says: "The nation is essentially the source (or fountain) of all sovereignty." Mr. Burke argues that in England a king is the fountain—that he is the fountain of all honor. But since this idea plainly descends from the conquest, I will say only that conquest naturally turns everything upside down; and since Mr. Burke cannot be denied the privilege of speaking twice, and the image has only two parts, the fountain and the spout, he will be right the second time.

The French Constitution places the legislative before the executive, the law before the king: la loi, le roi. This, too, follows the natural order of things, for laws must exist before they can be executed.

When a king in France addresses the National Assembly, he does not call it "My Assembly," as an English king calls it my "Parliament." He could not do so consistently with the constitution, nor would the expression be accepted. Its use may be fitting in England because, as I have noted, both Houses of Parliament arose by patent or favor from what is called the crown—not from the inherent rights of the people, as the National Assembly did in France, whose very name declares its origin.

The President of the National Assembly does not ask the King to grant the Assembly freedom of speech, as the English House of Commons does. The constitutional dignity of the National Assembly cannot abase itself so. Speech is, in the first place, one of the natural rights of man, a right always retained; in the National Assembly, its use is a duty, and the nation is its authority. Its members were elected by the largest body of people ever to exercise the right of election in Europe. They did not spring from the filth of rotten boroughs, nor are they the vassal representatives of aristocratic ones. Conscious of the dignity proper to their position, they uphold it. Their parliamentary language, whether for or against a proposal, is free, bold, and manly, and embraces every aspect and circumstance of the case. If a matter concerning the executive department or the person who presides over it (the king) comes before them, they debate it with the spirit of men and the language of gentlemen; their answer or address is returned in the same style. They do not stand apart in the gaping vacancy of vulgar ignorance, or bend in the cringing posture of servile insignificance. The graceful pride of truth knows no extremes and preserves, at every level of life, the upright character of man.

Now let us look at the other side. In the addresses of English Parliaments to their kings, we find neither the fearless spirit of the old Parliaments of France nor the calm dignity of the present National Assembly; nor do we find anything of the English manner, which has a certain bluntness. Since their style is neither imported from abroad nor naturally English, its origin must be sought elsewhere: in the Norman Conquest. It plainly belongs to the manners of vassalage and unmistakably marks the prostrate distance that exists nowhere among men except between conqueror and conquered. That this notion and language of vassalage survived even the Revolution of 1688 is plain from Parliament's declaration to William and Mary: "We do most humbly and faithfully submit ourselves, our heirs and posterities, for ever." Submission is wholly a term of vassalage, repugnant to the dignity of freedom and an echo of the language spoken at the Conquest.

The French Constitution has changed the position of the clergy. It has raised the incomes of clergy at the lower and middle levels and reduced those at the top. No one now receives less than twelve hundred livres (fifty pounds sterling), and no one receives more than two or three thousand pounds. What can Mr. Burke offer in response? Listen to him.

He says: "That the people of England 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 L10,000 a-year; and cannot see why it is in worse hands than estates to a like amount, in the hands of this earl or that squire." Mr. Burke offers this as an example for France.

As for whether an archbishop comes before a duke or a duke comes before a bishop, I think most people care about as much as they care whether the names Sternhold and Hopkins come in that order or Hopkins and Sternhold. Put whichever one you like first. I admit I do not understand why either order matters, so I will not argue with Mr. Burke about it.

But I have something to say about the rest. Mr. Burke has framed the question incorrectly. It makes no sense to compare the bishop with an earl or a squire. He should compare the bishop with a curate. Then the claim becomes: "The people of England can see without pain or grudging, a Bishop of Durham, or a Bishop of Winchester, in possession of ten thousand pounds a-year, and a curate on thirty or forty pounds a-year, or less." No, sir. People certainly do not see this without deep resentment. Everyone can recognize the injustice. It is one of many cases that cry out for a constitution.

In France, people shouted "the church! the church!" as often as Mr. Burke does in his book, and as loudly as they did when the Dissenters' Bill came before the English Parliament. But most French clergy would no longer be fooled by that cry. They knew that, whatever its stated purpose, they were among its main targets. It came from clergy with highly paid positions who wanted to stop any adjustment to the difference between their ten thousand pounds a year and a parish priest's income. The less wealthy clergy therefore joined forces with every other oppressed group and gained relief together.

The French Constitution has abolished tithes, a constant cause of conflict between the person collecting the tithe and the parishioner. Land subject to a tithe is effectively an estate shared by two parties. One receives one-tenth of its produce, the other nine-tenths. Fairness requires them to share the cost of improving the estate in the same proportions as they share its produce, whether an improvement doubles or triples the yield or raises it by any other amount. But that is not what happens with tithes. The farmer pays the entire cost of improving the land. The tithe-holder takes one-tenth of the additional produce as well as one-tenth of the original yield. He thus receives the value of two tenths instead of one. Here is another reason a constitution is needed.

The French Constitution has also done away with both Toleration and Intolerance. It has established a universal right to freedom of conscience.

Toleration is not the opposite of Intolerance. It is a disguised version of it. Both are forms of despotism. One claims the right to deny freedom of conscience, and the other claims the right to grant it. One is the Pope armed with fire and bundles of wood for burning people; the other is the Pope selling or granting indulgences. The first is church joined with state; the second is church turned into a business.

But there is an even stronger objection to Toleration. A person worships his Maker, not himself. He claims freedom of conscience in order to serve God, not himself. So two beings are necessarily involved: the mortal person offering worship and the immortal Being receiving it. Toleration therefore places itself not between one person and another, one church and another, or one religious denomination and another. It puts itself between God and a person—between the worshipper and the worshipped. When it assumes the authority to allow a person to worship, it also presumptuously and blasphemously claims the authority to allow the Almighty to receive that worship.

Suppose any Parliament considered a bill called "An Act to tolerate or grant liberty to the Almighty to receive the worship of a Jew or Turk," or one called "An Act to prohibit the Almighty from receiving it." Everyone would be shocked and call it blasphemy. There would be an uproar. Then the arrogance behind religious toleration would be plain to see. That arrogance is no less real when such laws name only "Man." The worshipper and the one worshipped cannot be separated in our minds. Who are you, vain dust and ashes, whatever your title—King, Bishop, Church, State, Parliament, or anything else—to force your small self between a person's soul and its Maker? Attend to your own affairs. If he does not believe what you believe, you do not believe what he believes either. No earthly power can decide which of you is right.

As for the different religious denominations, if each one judges only its own religion, no religion is wrong. If each judges the religions of others, no religion is right. So either everyone is right or everyone is wrong. But consider religion itself, whatever its name, as the worship humanity as a whole offers to God. A person brings his Maker what his heart produces. Those offerings may differ as much as the fruits of the earth, but each person's grateful gift is accepted.

A Bishop of Durham or Winchester, or the archbishop who takes precedence over dukes, will not refuse a sheaf of wheat paid as a tithe because it is not a haycock. Nor will he refuse a haycock because it is not wheat, or a pig because it is neither. Yet those same people, acting as an established church, will not allow their Maker to receive the varied offerings of human devotion.

"Church and State" is one of the constant refrains of Mr. Burke's book. He does not mean a particular church or state. He uses the phrase to promote the general political doctrine that church and state must always be joined in every country. He criticizes the National Assembly for not joining them in France. Let us think about this for a moment.

All religions are gentle and kind by nature and are linked to moral principles. They could not originally have gained followers by announcing that they were cruel, oppressive, immoral, or eager to persecute. Like everything else, they had a beginning, and they grew through persuasion, encouragement, and example. How, then, do they lose their original gentleness and become harsh and intolerant?

The cause is the connection Mr. Burke recommends. Joining church to state produces a kind of mule, an animal that can destroy but cannot reproduce. It is called the Church established by Law. From birth it is alien to the mother that gave rise to it. Eventually it kicks her out and destroys her.

The Spanish Inquisition did not come from the religion people originally practiced. It came from this mule produced by church and state. The burnings in Smithfield came from the same mixed creature. When it was bred again later in England, it revived bitterness and hostility to religion among the people and drove the Quakers and Dissenters to America. Persecution is not an original feature of any religion. But it is always a striking feature of religions established by law. Remove legal establishment, and every religion returns to its original kindness. In America, a Catholic priest is a good citizen, a person of good character, and a good neighbor. An Episcopalian minister is too. That comes not from the particular individuals, but from the absence of any legally established religion in America.

Look at the material effects as well, and we can see how this union has damaged the prosperity of nations. Joining church and state has made Spain poorer. Repealing the Edict of Nantes drove silk manufacturing out of that country and into England. Now church and state are driving cotton manufacturing from England to America and France. Let Mr. Burke keep preaching his doctrine against sound politics, Church and State. It will do some good. The National Assembly will not take his advice, but it will learn from his foolishness. America saw the harm this arrangement caused in England and avoided it. The National Assembly has experienced its harm in France and abolished it. Like America, France has established universal freedom of conscience and universal rights of citizenship.*7

I will stop comparing the principles of the French Constitution with those of England here. I will close this part with a few remarks about the way the French and English governments are formally organized.

In both countries, executive power belongs to someone called the King. But the French Constitution distinguishes the King from the sovereign. It treats kingship as an office and locates sovereignty in the nation.

The representatives who make up the National Assembly hold legislative power. They come from the people through elections, which the people possess as an inherent right. England is different, because of how its monarchy was originally established. The conquest placed all the people's and the nation's rights in the hands of the Conqueror, who added the title of King to that of Conqueror. As a result, rights now held by the people or the nation in France are treated in England as gifts from what is called the crown. Both houses of England's Parliament were established by patents issued by the Conqueror's descendants. The House of Commons did not begin as an expression of the people's right to choose representatives. It began as a grant or favor.

The French Constitution always names the nation before the king. The third article of the declaration of rights says: "The nation is essentially the source (or fountain) of all sovereignty." Mr. Burke argues that in England the king is the fountain—the source of all honor. This notion plainly comes from the conquest. I will say only that conquest turns everything upside down. Mr. Burke may speak twice, since his image has only two parts, a fountain and a spout. He will get it right the second time.

The French Constitution puts the legislature before the executive, and the law before the king: la loi, le roi. This is the natural order too, since a law must exist before anyone can carry it out.

When a French king addresses the National Assembly, he does not call it "My Assembly," as English kings speak of "my Parliament." He could not properly use that phrase under the constitution, and it would not be accepted. It might be appropriate in England. As I said, both houses of Parliament began as grants or favors from the crown, not as expressions of the people's inherent rights. The National Assembly does come from those rights, as its name makes clear.

The President of the National Assembly does not ask the King to give its members freedom of speech, as the English House of Commons does. The National Assembly's standing under the constitution will not allow it to lower itself that way. Freedom of speech is a natural right that people always keep. For the Assembly, speaking is also a duty, authorized by the nation. Its members were elected by more voters than Europe had ever seen participating in an election. They did not emerge from the corruption of rotten boroughs, nor do they represent aristocratic boroughs as dependents. They know the dignity of their position and uphold it. Whether they support or oppose a proposal, they speak freely, boldly, and as adults, addressing every aspect and circumstance of it. If a matter involving the executive branch or the king who heads it comes before them, they debate it with courage and courtesy. They respond to the king or address him in the same way. They do not stand at a distance, gaping in ignorant emptiness, or stoop to servile flattery. Truth has a graceful pride that avoids both extremes and keeps a human being upright in every walk of life.

Now consider the other side. Addresses from English Parliaments to their kings show neither the fearless spirit of France's old Parliaments nor the calm dignity of today's National Assembly. They also show none of the English manner of speaking, which tends toward bluntness. Since the style comes from neither France nor England's own character, we must look elsewhere for its source: the Norman Conquest. It plainly belongs to the manner of subjects under a conqueror. It marks the humiliating distance between conqueror and conquered, unlike any other relationship between people. The Revolution of 1688 did not even remove that servile way of thinking and speaking. Parliament declared to William and Mary: "We do most humbly and faithfully submit ourselves, our heirs and posterities, for ever." Submission is the language of subjection. It goes against the dignity of freedom and echoes the words spoken at the Conquest.