Burke, Prudence, and the Spirit of Conservatism · Burke, Prudence, and the Spirit of Conservatism Table of Contents . REQUIRED READING. Excerpts from Levin, Yuval ... Burke, Edmund

Burke, Prudence, and the Spirit of Conservatism Table of Contents

REQUIRED READING Excerpts from Levin, Yuval. The Great Debate: Edmund Burke, Thomas Paine and the Birth of Right and Left

Chapter 6: Revolution and Reform .......................................................................................................... 1 Conclusion. ............................................................................................................................................. 17

Burke, Edmund. “Reflections on the Revolution in France”, in Muller, Jerry Z., Conservatism: An Anthology of Political Thought From David Hume to the Present .................................... 22

RECOMMENDED READING Pangle, Thomas L. and Ahrensdorf, Peter. “Burke’s Recovery of Ciceronian Natural Law”, in Justice Among Nations: On the Moral Basis of Power and Peace .............................................................. 43

Strauss, Leo. “Burke”, in Natural Right and History ........................................................................................ 44

Session 4 Required Reading Pt. 1:Levin, Yuval. The Great Debate: Edmund Burke, Thomas Paine and the Birth of Right and Left (Basic Books, 2013). pp. 177-204, 223-231.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

118. Ibid., 80-81.

119. Ibid., 260.

120. Ibid., 245.

121. Ibid., 83.

122. Ibid., 214.

123. Paine, Writings, 5: 2-3.

124. Ibid., 97-98.

125. Paine, Writings, 9: 270-271.

126. Ibid., 272.

127. Paine, Writings, 4: 306.

128. Ibid.

129. Paine, Writings, 5: 92-93.


131. Paine, Writings, 2: xx.


133. Ibid., 269.

134. Paine, Writings, 5: 232-233.

135. Ibid., 233.

136. Ibid., 234.

137. Burke, Writings, 3: 126-127.

138. Burke, Writings, 2: 428.



141. Ibid., 428.

142. Ibid., 428 and 461.

143. Ibid., 111.

144. Burke, Appeal, 106-108.

CHAPTER 6: REVOLUTION AND REFORM

Notes to Chapter 6 253

1. Cited in Foner, Tom Paine and Revolutionary America, 270.

2. Ibid., 236-237.

3. Ibid., 19-20.

4. Ibid., 46.




8. Ibid., 232.

9. Ibid., 241.

10. Ibid., 200.

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

Selection from “Reflections on the Revolution in France” by Edmund Burke found in: Muller, Jerry Z., Conservatism: An Anthology of Political Thought From David Hume to the Present (Princeton University Press, 1997). pp. 83-122.

22

“Reflections on the Revolution in France” by Edmund Burke 23



















42

Session 4 Recommended: Pangle and Ahrensdorf, “Burke’s Recovery of Ciceronian Natural Law", pp. 183-85.

43

Modern Idealism

and Liberties, his Majesty owes the Throne on which he sits, to the contrary principle. The several Treaties of Guarantee to the protestant Succession, more than once reclaimed, affirm the principle of interference which in a manner forms the basis of the public law of Europe.

Such intervention becomes acutely obligatory in the case of �adical threats to civilized order such as that posed by the French Terror. T he rigid noninterventionist policy and public pronouncements of the contemporary Pitt administration �n England represented an abdication of moral responsibility and a break with all precedent: "A more mischievous idea cannot exist than that any degree of wickedness, violence and oppression may prevail in a Country, that the most abominable, murderous and exterminatory Rebellions may rage in it, or the most atrocious and bloody tyranny may domineer, and that no neighboring power can take cognizance of either, or afford succour to the miserable sufferers."58

Session 4 Recommended Pt. 2:Strauss, Leo. “Burke” in Natural Right and History. (Univ. of Chicago Press, 1953). pp. 294-323.

44

45

296 NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY Ifected, it hardly did more than confirm, his views of what is Iright or wrong both morally and politically'6e f"The prrcti ril ch^r^"ter of Burke's thought parrly explains ilwhy he did not he sitate to use the language of modern natural ,Lright whenever that could assist him in persuading his modern ,faudience of the soundness of a policy which he recommended. fHe spoke of the srare of narure, of the rights of nature or of the trighis of man, and of the social compact or of the artiftcial t"i^r^rr* of the commonwealth'7o But he may be said to ilintegtate these notions into a classical or Thomistic frame- twork.

We must confine ourselves to a few examples' Burke is will- '[ing to gtant thut men in the state of nature, "uncovenanrcd" LmJn, h-rrre natural rights; in the state of natufe, everyone has ,.t"the right of se lf-defense, the first law of nature," the right to tgo.r.rrr"hi-self, i.e ., "to iudge for himself, and to assert his tI*r.ror.," and even "a right to every thing"' But "by hav- Ling a tight to every thing, they want every thing"' The state tof-rrrtoie is the state of "our naked, shivering nature" or of Iour nature not yet affected in any way by our virtues: ot- 9! iloriginal barbarism. Hence the state of nature and "the full Irigtts of men" which belong to it cannot supply lht :fi{1td Ifo"r civilized life. All wanrs of our nature-certainly, all higher !wants of our fiarufe-point ,way from the state of natufe to- Nward civil society: not "the state of rude nature".but,civil so- |ciety is the true state ofnature. Burke gfants that civii society Iis "ttre offspring of convention" or "a contract.'' But it is "a

ilcontract," t', prttt.rthip" of apurticvlar kind-"a partner-

N

ship in "r.ry oirtoe, afld in all perfection." It is a contfact in I69. IbiA., fi, 59-62;III, ro4; VI, 144-53' As regards tlre issue of progress' cf' II' I

156;III,279,366;Y1,11,106;VII,23,58;VI[,4!9;LcttcrsofEilmtndBske:4Scylio.n'lcil. Harold J. Laski, p. 303 (cited hercaftct ts "Letteri'); ct. also B*kc, schct worLt,

I- ;';l::: ,'i;i1i:r,3r4,348, +zo; u, rg, ze-,,145,2s4-sr,i,L rr,166; uI, a2; I

V, r53,177, 216;YL,29.

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 2Nalmost the same sense in which the wholc providential ordcr,"the gteat primeval contract of eternal socicty," can be saidto be a contfact,Tl

Burke admits that thc purpose of civil society is to safcguardthe rights of man and especially the right to the pursuit of happiness. But happiness can be found only by virruc, by thc rc-sffaints "which are imposed by the virtues upon the pas-sions." Hence the subiection to reason, to government, to law,or "the restraints on men, as well as thcir libcrties, arc to bereckoned among their rights." Man can nevcr act "withoutany moral tie," since "men are never ia a stlte of total indc-pendence of each other." Man's will must always bc undcr thcdominioo of reason, prudence, or virtuc. Burkc therefore seeksthe {oundation of government "in a conformity to our duties"and not in "imaginary rights of men." Accordingly, he dcnicsthe contention that all our duties arise from consent or fromconttact..72

The discussion regarding the "imaginary rights of men"centers on the right of everyone to be the sole iudgc of what isconducive to his self-preservation or to his happiness. It wasthis alleged right which seemed to iustify the demand thatevefyone must have some share, and, in a sense, as largc a shareas anyone else, in political power. Burke questions this dc-mand by going back to the principle on which thc allcgedbasic right is founded. He grants that cveryone has a naturalright to self-preservation and ro the pursuit of happioess. Buthe denies that everyone's right to selr-preservadon and to thcpursuit of happiness bccomes nugarory if cveryone docs nothave the right to iudge of the means conducivc to his sclf-preservation and to his happiness. The right to the satisfactionof waats or to the advantages of society is therefore trot neces-sarily a right to parricipation in political power. For the iudg-

71. b iA., ll, 22O, 3r2-3r, 149, 368-70 ; III, 82, 86; V, 2L2, 315, 498.72. Ibiil., II, 310, 331, 333, 538; III, 109; V, 80, 122, 216, 424.

46

298 NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

meot of the many, or ''the will of the mufly , and the ir inrerest,must very often differ." Political power or.participation inpolitical power does not belong to the rights of man, becausernen have a fight to good govefrment, and there is no neces-safy connection between good government and government bythe many; the rights of man, properly understood, point to-ward the predominance of the "true natural atistocracy" andtherewith to the predominance of property and especially l

landed property. In other words, everyone is indeed able toiudge properly of grievances by his feelings, provided that hcis not seduced by agitators into iudging of grievances by hisimagination. But the causes of grievances "are not matters offeeling, but of reason and foresight, and often of femore con-siderations, and of a very great combination of circumstances,which [the maiority] are utterly incapable of comprehend-ing." Burke therefore seeks the foundation of governmenr notin "imaginary rights of men" bur "in a provision for ourwants, and in a conformity to our duties." Accordingly, he de-nies thit nataral right by itself can tell much about the legiti-macy of a given constitution: that constitution is legitimate ioa given society which is most suitable to the provision forhuman,wants and to the promotion of virtue in that society;its suitability cannot be determined by natura! right but onlyby experience.Ts i

Burke does not rciect the view that all authority has its ulti-mate origin in the people or that the sovereign is ultimatelythe people or that all authority is ultimately derived fuom acompact of previously "uncovenanted" men. But he deniesthat these ultimate truths, or half-truths, are politically rcle-vant. "If civil society be the offspring of conr;ention, that coo-vention must be its law." For almost all ptactical pu4:oses,

73. Lbid.,l,!Lr,447;11,92, l2l, 138, tn,3ro,122-25,328,330-33,335;III,4F45,78, 85-86, 98-99, 109, 352, 358; 492-93; Y , 2O2, 2O7 , TlG27 , 122-2r, 342; YI, 2G2l,146.

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 2gg

the convention, the original compacr, i.e., the establishedconstitution, is the highest authority. Since the function ofcivil society is the satisfaction of wanrs, the establishcd con-stitution derives its authority less from the original convcn-tion or from its origin than from its beneficent workingthrough muny generations or from its fruits. The root of legiti-macy is not so much consent or contfact as proved beneficence,i.e., prescription. Only prescription, as distinguished from theoriginal compact of "uncovenanted" savages, can rcveal thewisdom of the consritution and thercfore legitimate the con-stitution. The habits produced on the basis of the originalcompact, and especially the habits of virtue, are infinitelymore important rhan the origiaal act itself. Only prescription,as distinguished from the origioal a.ct, ctn hallow a givensocial order. The people is so little rhe master of the consritu-tion that it is its creature. The strict ootion of the sovcreigntyof the people implies that the prcsent geoeration is sovcreign:"present conveniency" becomes the only "principlc of attach-ment" to the constitution. "Thc temporary possessors andlife-renters" in the commonwealth, "unmindful of what theyhave received from their ancestors," incvitably bccome un-mindful "of what is duc to rheir posterity." The people, orfor that mltte;r any other sovereign, is still lcss master of thcnatural law; natural law is not absorbed by the will of thesovereign or by the general will. As a consequence, thc dis-tinction between iust and uniust wars retains its full signifi-cance f.or Burkc; he abhors the notion that onc should deter-mine the foreign policy of a nation exclusively in tcrms of its"material interest. " Ta

Burke does not deny that under certain conditions the peoplcmay rlter the established order. But he admits this only as an

74. lbid., II, 58, 167, 178, 296, 105.6, 33r-32, "5,

349, l5?-&, 36fr7,422-23,5L3-L4,526,547; III, 15,4+45,54-55, 76-85, fi9,497,498; V,20!5, 216; VI, 3,21-XL,14!47; VII,99-101.

47

3OO NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

ultimate right. The health of society requircs that thc ulti-mate sovereignty of the people be almost always dormant. Heopposcs the theorists of the French Revolution because theytnro "a case of nccessity into a rule of law" or because they re-gard as normally valid what is valid only in exffeme cascs."But the very habit of statiog these exffeme cases is not verylaudable or safc." Burke's opioions, on the other hand, "trevercan lcad to an extreme, hcause their fouodation is laid in anopposition to cxtremes. " 76

Burke ttzces the extremism of the Frcnch Revolution to anovel philosophy. "The old morality" was a morality "ofsocial benevolence and ofindividual self-denial." The Parisianphilosophers dcny the nobility of "individual self-rcstraint"or of temlrrance or of "the scverc and resrictive virtues."They rccognize only the "liberal" virtues: "a virtue whichthey call humanity or benevolence."To Humanity thus under-stood goes well with dissoluteness. It even fosters it; it fostersthe loosening of the marr,iage bonds end the substitution of thetheatef for the church. In addition, "the same disciplinewhich . . . relaxes their morals," "hatdens thcir heartsl': theextreme humanitarianism of the thcorists of the French Revo-lution necessarily leads to bestiality. For that humanitariaf-ism is based on the premise that the funda^meatal moral factsare rights which correspond to the basic bodily wants; allsociability is derivative and, in fact, ardficial;certainly-, civil

75. Ibid.,l, 471, 473, 474;1I,291,296, 3ry16,468; III, 1]16, 52, 81, 1@; V, 12o.Cf. G. H. Dodgc ,Tk PoliticalTbcorlt o! tbc H4tcaott ol thDitlcrtioaQilcw Yott,1947),p.I05:Juricu hcld thet it is bcttcr "for public pcacc" that thc pcoplc do not koow thc truccxtcat of their powcrs; thc rights of thc poplc arc "rcmcdics which must not bc wastcdor applicd ia thc casc of oioor ylotrgs. Thcy erc mystcrics which must aot bc p,rofancdby crposing thcm too much bcfotc thc cycs of thc commoa hcrd." "Whco it comcs tothc dcstructioa of thc statc or rcligioa, thcn [thcsc rcncdics] can bc poduccd; bcyondthat I do aot think it cvil that thcy should bc covcrcd with silcacc."

76. I*ttcr to Riverol of Juac l, 1791 (d. Worhs,l, L*3L,427;1I,56,418),Wotb,V, 2O8, 326. Cf. Mootcsquicu, Dc l'ctpit des lok, XX, I (aod XIX, 16) oo thc conncctioabctwccn commcrcc aad thc mildacss of maoocrs as distinguishcd &om thcir purity.

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATT'RAL RIGHT 301

society is radically a*.ificial. Hence the virnres of the citizcncannot be grafted "oo the stock of the natural affections.'.But civil society is assumed to be not only necessary but noblcand sacred. Accordingly, the natrrral sentiments, all naturalscntiments, must be ruthlessly sacrificed to thc alleged requirc-mcnts of patriotism or of hum anity . The French revolutionistsarrive at these requiremcnts by approachinghuman affairs inthe attitude of scientists, of gcometricians or of chemists.Hence, they ate, from the outset, "worse than indiffercnrabout those feelings and habitudes, which are rhe support ofthe moral world." They "consider men in their experimenrs,no more than they do mice in an air pump, or in a rccipient ofmephitic gas." Accordingly, "they arcrcady to declare thatthey do not think rwo thousand ye ars too long a period for thegood that they pursue." "Thcir humanity is not dissoLved.They only give it a long prorogatioo. . . . Their humanity isat their horizon-and, like the horizon, it always flies bcforethem." It is this "scientific" attitudc of the French revolu-tionists or of their ftachers which also explains why their dis-soluteness, which they oppose as something natural to thcconventions of earlier gallantry, is "an unfashioned, indeli-cate, sour, gloomy, fcrocious medley of pcdantism and lewd-ness. "77

Burke opposes, then, not merely a change in regard ro thesubstance of the moral tcaching. He opposcs likewise, andeven primafily, a change in regard to its mode: thc new moralteachiog is the work of men who think about human affairsas gegmefficians think about figures and planes ruthet than asacting men think about a business before them. ft is this funda-mental change from a pracdc l to a rheoretical approachwhich, according to Burke, gave rhe Frcnch Revolution itsuoiquc chatacter.

"The present revolution in France seems to me . . . to bearTl. ll/rhs, U, 311, 409, 419,13&-40.V, r38, t40-42, ZO9-13.

48

fiz NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

little resemblance or analogy to any of those which have beenbrought about in Europe, upon principles metely political. Itis a revolution of doctrine and theoretic dogma. It has a muchgteatet resemblance to those changes which have been madeupon religious grounds, in which a spirit of proselytism makesan essential part. " The Fre nch Revolution, therefore, has a cer-tain resemblance to the Reformation . Yet ' 'this spirit of generalpolitical faction," or this "armed doctrine," is "separatedfrom religion" and is, in fact, atheistic; the "theoretic dog-ma" guiding the French Revolution is purely political' But,since that revolution extends the power of politics to religionand "even to the constitution of the mind of mafl," it is thefrrst "complrr, revolution" in the history of mankind. Its suc-cess cannot be explained, however, by the political principleswhich animate it. Those principles have at all times had apowerful appeal, since they are "most flattefing to the naturalpropensities of the unthinking multitude ." Hence there havebeen earlier insurrectionary attemPts "grounded on theserights of men, " Iike the Jacque rie and John Ball's insurrectionin the Middle Ages and the efforts of the exffeme wing duringthe English Civil War. But none of these attempts was success-ful. The success of the French Revolution can be explainedonly by that one among its features which ,distinguishes itfrom ail parallels. The French Revoluciori is the first "philo-sophic revolution." It is the first revolution which.waa- madeby men of letters, philosophers, "thoroughbred metaphysi-cians, " "not as subordinate instruments and trumpeters of sedi-tion, but as the chief contrivers and managers." It is the firstrevolution in which "the spirit of ambition is connected withthe spirit of speculation."za

In opposing this intrusion of the spirit of speculation or o{

78. Ibid.,II,284-87,299,300, 302,338-39, 152,16t-62,382-84,401-5, 4r4,42r-24,527;Lfi, 87-gL, 764, 350-52, 154, 176, 377, 179, 442-4J' 45G57; Y, 73, ttt, lr8, 139,

141,245,246,259 (thc italics arc in thc original).

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 303

theory into the field of practice or of politics, Burke may besaid to have restored the older view according to which theorycaflnot be the sole, or the sufficient, guide of practice. He maybe said to have returned to Aristotle in particular. But, to saynothing of other qaalifications, one must add immediatelythat no one before Burke had spoken on this subiecr withequal emphasis and force. One may even say that, from thepoint of view of political philosophy, Burke's remarks on theproblem of theory and practice are the most important part ofhis work. He spoke more emphatically and more forcefully onthis problem than Aristotle in particular had done because hehad to conrcnd with a new and most powerful form of "specu-latism," with a political docrinairism of philosophic origin.That "speculatist" approach to politics came ro his criticalattention a considerable time before rhe French Revolution.Years before 1789, he spoke of "the speculatists of our specu-lating age." It was the increased political significance of spec-ulation which, very early in his careet, most forcefully turnedBurke's attenrion to "the old quarrel between speculation andptactice."Te

It was in the light of that quarrel that he conceived hisgreatest political acrions: not only his action against theFrench Revolution but his action in favor of the Americancolonists as well. In both cases rhe political leaders whomBurke opposed insisted on cerrain rights: the English govern-ment insisted on the rights of sovereignty and the Frenchrevolutionists insisted on rhe rights of man. In both casesBurke proceeded in exactly the same manner: he questionedless the rights than the wisdom of exercising the rights. Inboth cases he tried to resrore the genuinely political approachas against a legalistic approach. Now he characteristically re-garded the legalistic approach as one form of "speculatism,"other forms being the approaches of the historian, the meta-

79. Ibid., I, 3r1; il, 363; III, r39, 356; V, 76; VII, 11.

49


physician, the theologian, and the mathem*ician. All thescapproaches to political matters havc this i! common-thatthcy arc not controlted by prudence, the controlling virtuc ofall practice. Whatever might have to bc said about the propri-ery of Burke's usage, it is here suficient to note that, in iudg-ing the political leaders whom he opposed in thc two mostimportant actions of his life, he traced their lack of prudenccless to passion than to the inmusion of the spirit of theory intothe field of politics.so

It has often been said that Burke, in the oame of history, at-tacked the theories which prevailed in his age. As will appearlater, this interpretation is not altogether uniustified. But, inorder to see its limited coffectness, one must start from thef.act, that what appeared to the generations after Burke as arurn to History, not to say as the discovery of History, wasprimarily a rettrn to the traditional view of the essentiallimitations of theory as distinguished from practice or pru-deace.

"Spbculatism" in its most thoroughgoing form would be thcview that all the light which practice needs is supplied by the-ory or philosophy or science. Over against this view Butkeasserts that theory is insuficient for the guidance of practiceand, in addition, has essentially a tendency to mislead prac-tice.8l Practice and hence practicalwisdod' or prudence are dis-tinguished from theory, in the first place, by the factt\attheyare corcerned with the particulat and changeable, r,vhereastheory is concerned with the universal and unchangeable. The-ory, "which regards man and the affairs of men," is primarilyconcerned with the principles of morality as well as with "thcprinciples of true politics fwhich] dre those of morality en-

n. 1bii1.,1,257,278,279,4O2,40r,4r1,432,435,479-W;ll,7,2yn' 52' 300, 3O4;III, 16; V, 295; VII, 161; YlI, 8-9; cf. also Emest Barkcr, Essay oa Gaotmaczr (Oxford,1945), P.u.

87. ll/orh.s,l,25g,27C!7L, 176;II,2r-26, W,11+15,552; III, 110; VI, 748; bttcn,P. 13r.


larged" or with "the proper cnds of governmcnt." Knowingthe propcr ends ofgovernmeot, ooe docs not know anything ofhow and to what cxteflt those ends can be rcalized. here andnow, undcr thcse particular circumstances both fixed andtransitory. And it is the circumstances which give "to evcrypolitical principlc its distinguishing colour and discriminaringeffect. " Political freedom, for examplc , frLy be a ble ssin I or Lcutse, according to thc diffcrence of circumstances. "The sci-cnce of coostructing a commonwealth, or renovating it, orreforming it," as distinguishcd fiom the knowledge of theprinciples of politics, is thcreforc an "experimcntal science,not to be taught a prini." Theory, then, deals not merely withthe proper ends of government but also with the means tothose ends. But thcre is hardly any rule regarding thoscmeans which is universally valid. Sometimes one is con-fronted even "with the dreadful exigence in which moralitysubmits to thc suspension of its own rules in favour of its ownprinciples. "s2 Since there are many rules of this kind which aresound in most cases, they have a plausibility thlt is positivelymisleading in regard to thc rarc cases in which their applica-tion would be f.atal. Such rules do not makc proper allowancefor chance, "to which speculators arc tarcly pleased to assignthat very large sharc to which she is iustly entitled in all hu-man affabs." Disregarding the power of chance and thus for-gefting that "prhaps the only moral trust with any certaintyin our hands, is the carc of. our own time," "they do not talkas politicians, but as prophets." The corcern with the univer-sll or the gencral is likcly to create a kind of blindness in re-gard to thc particular and the unique. Political rules derivedfrom cxperience cxpress the lessons drawn from what has suc-ceedcd or failed down to the present. They are therefore in-applicable to new situations. New situations somcrimes arise

82. Wob, I, 185, 312, 456; II, 7-8, 282-83,33t,358, 406, 42G27,43L,520, 533,142-41,149;IIl,1r-16,36,81,101, ,9,431-12,452; V,158,216; VI, L9,24,LL4,41L;vII, 93-94, 101.

50


in reaction to the very rules which uncontradicted previousexperience pronounced to be universally valid: man is inven-tive in good and in evil. Therefore k may happen that "ex-perience upon other data [than the actual circumstances of thecase], is of all things the most delusive."83

It follows from this that history is only of. very limitedvalue. From history "much political wisdom maybe learned,"but only "as habit, not as precept." History is liable to tutnmafl's understanding from "the business before him" to mis-leading analogies, and men are naturally inclined to succumbto that temptation. For it requires a much greltet effort toarticulate a hitherto unarticulated situation in its particularcharacter than to interpret it in the light of precedents whichhave been articulated abeady. "I have constantly observed,"Burke says, "that the generality ol people are fifty yea$, atleast, bchind hand in their politics . . . in books everything issettled for them, without the exertion of. any considerable dili-gence or sagacity. " This is not to deny that the politiciansometities needs history f.or the sake of "the business beforehim." Reason and good sense absolutely prescribe, e.g.,"whenever we are involved in difficultie s from the measureswe have pursued, that we should take a srict review of thosemeasures" or that we should "enter into the most ample his-torical detail." History has this in comrhon with practicalwisdom*that both are concerned with particulars; and'it hasthis in common with theory-thar the obiects of history, i.e.,past actions or tfansactions (acta), are not obiects 6f axionproper (agend,a), i.e., things which we have to do now. Thushistory, or "retrospective wisdom," createEJhe delusion thatit could "serve admirably to reconcile the old quarrel betweenspeculation and practice. " sa

Another way in which men try to evade the hardship in-81. Ibid., I, 277-78, 3t2, 365' II, 312, 374-75, 383; III, 15-17; V, 78, 151'54, 257.

84. Ibid., I,3ll,384-85; II,25; III, 416-57:'Y,258.


volved in articulating and handling dificult situations is le-galism. They sometimes act on the assumption that politicalquestions proper, which, as such, concern the here and now,can be fully answered by recourse ro law, which, as such, isconcerned with universals. It is with a view ro this differencebetween the prudential and the legal that Burke calls the legaltpproach sometimes "speculative" or "metaphysical." Hccontrasts "the limited and fixed" character of the legal, whichis "adapted to ordinary occasions," with the prudential,which alone can guide men "when i new and troubled scene isoPen6d."ao

Theory, then, is capable of a simplicity, uniformity, or ex-actness which ptactical wisdom necessarily lacks. It is charac-teristic of the rheory which regards man and the affairs of menthat it be primarily concerned either with the best or simplyiust order or with the stare of nature. In both forms theory isprimarily concerned with the simplest case . This simple casenever occurs in practice; no act:ual ordcr is simply iust, andevery social order is fundamenmlly different from the state ofnature . Therefore, practical wisdom always has to do with ex-ceptions, modifications, balances, compromiscs, or mixtures."These metaphysical rights entering into common life, likerays of light which pierce into a dense mcdium are, by thelaws of nature, refracted from their straight line." Since "theoblects of society arc of. the greatest possible complcxity,""the primitive rights of men" cannot continue "in thc sim-plicity of their original direction"; "and in proportion as[these rights] are metaphysically rrue, rhey are morally andpolitically false." Practical wisdom, in contradistinction totheory, requires, therefore, "the most delicate and compli-cated skill," a skill which arises only from long and variedpractice.s6

85. Ib i d., t, t9, 495-7, 451, 432; tI, 7, 25, 28 ; y, 295.86.[bid.,1,257,336-37,408,433,500-501;II,29-30,3rr-r5,437-38,454-55,515;

III, 16; V, r58; VI, 132-3].

51


On the other hand, Burke chancterizcs theory as "subtlc"or "refined" and sees in simplicity or plainness an essentialchartcter of sound politics: "refined policy has ever been thcparcot of confusion." The wants for which society has to pro-vide and the duties to which it has to conform may be said tobe known to everyonc through his feelings and his conscicncc.Political theory raises the question regarding the best solutionto the political problem. For this Purpose, to say nothing ofothefs, it transcends thc limits of common expericnce: it is''refined." The man of civil discretion is vaguely ^wure

of thebest solution but is clearly aware of which modification of thebest solution is appropriate in the circumstances. To take anexample from the pre sent day, he is aware of the fact that atpresent only "a wider, if a simpler culture"sT is possible. Theclarrity required for sound action is not necessarily enhanced bycnhanced clarity about the best solution or by enhanced theo-rctical cLatity of. any other kind: the clear light of the ivorytower or, for that matter, of the ltborutory obscures politicalthings by impairing the medium in which they exist. h r.eyrequire "the most delicate and complicated skill" to devise apolicy which agrees tolerably well with the ends of govetn-metrt in a given situation. But such a policy is a failure if thcpeople cannot see its soundness: "refincd policy" is destructivcof trust and hence of full obedience. Policy rpust be "plain" asregards "all broader grounds of policy," whereas it iq no.tnccessary that "the gound of. a paticalar mcasure, makiag apart of a pLan" should "suit the ordinary capacities oJ thosewho are to enioy it" or even that that ground should be di-vulged to them. "In the most essential point," "thc less in-quiring" can be and ought to be, by virtue of "their feelingsand their exprience," "on

^ P$ with the most wise andknowing."aa

87. Winston S. Churchill, Blood, Swcat, aadTczu Q.Icw York, D4f)' P. f8.88. Worh.r, l, 3r7, 428-29, 435, 4y, 489; ll, 26, ,0, 304, 358, 542; lII, Ll2, 44L:,

Y, t27, 278; Yl, 2L, 24; VII, 349.


Furthermore, practice presupposes attachment to a pafticu-lat ot, more precisely, to "otre's own" (one's country, ofle'speople, one's religious group, and the like), whereas theory isdetached. To be attached to something means to care for it, tohwe a concern with it, to be affected by it, or to have a stakein it. Practical matters, as distinguished from theoretical ones,"come home to the business and bosoms of men." The theo-retician as such is no more interested in his own case or in thecase of his own group than in any other. He is impardal andneuual, not to say "cold and languid. " "Speculators ought tobe neutral. A minister cannot be so. " Acting man is nece ssarilyand legitimately partial to what is his own; it is his duty totake sides. Burke does not mean that the theoretician mustnot pass "value iudgments" but that, as theoretician, he is apartisan of excellence regardless of when and where it isfound; he unqualifiedly prefers the good to what is his own.Acting man, however, is primarily concerned with what is hisown, with what is neafest and dearest to him, however de-ficient in excellence it may be. The horizon of practice is neces-sarily narrower than that of theory. By opening up a largervista, by thus revealing the limitations of any practical pur-suit, theory is liable to endanger full devotion to practice.8e

Practice lacks the freedom of theory also because it cannotwait: "we must submit . . . affaks to time." Prtctical thoughtis thought with a view to some deadline. It is concerned withthe most imminent rathet than with the most eligible. It lacksthe ease aod the leisure of theory. It does not permit man "toevade an opinion" or to suspend his iudgment. Therefore, itmust rest satisfied with a lower degree of. clarity or certaintythan theoretical thought. Every theoretical "decision" is re-versible; actions are irreversible. Theory can and must everagainbegin from the beginning. The very question of the bestsocial order means that one "moots cases . . . on the supposed

89. lbid., I,185-86, l24,5ol;1I,29,t20,280-8r,548; III, 379-80; VI,226; VlI,458.

52

3IO NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

ruin of the constitution," i.e., that one does something whichinpractical thought would bespeak "abadhabit." In contra-distinction to theory, practice is limited by past decisions and,therefore, by what is established. In human affairs, possessionpasses {or a title, whereas there is no presumption in lavot ofthe accepted view in theoretical matters.e0

Speculation, being essentially "private," is concerned withthe truth without any regard to public opinion. But "nationalmeasures" or "political problems do not primarily concerntruth or falsehood. They relate to good or evil. " They relate topeace and "mutual convenience," and their satisfactory han-dling requires''unsuspecting confidence, " consent, agreement,and compromise. Political action requires "a iudicious man-agement of the temper of the people. " Even in giving "a direc-tion . . . to the general sense of the community," it must"follow . . . the public inclination." Regardless of what onemight have to think of "the abstract value of the voice of thepeople, . . . opinion, the great support of the State, [depends]entirely upon that voice." Hence it may easily happen thatwhat is metaphysically true is politically false. "Establishedopinions," "allowed opinions which contribute so much tothe public tranquillity," must not be shaken, although theyare not "infallible." Preiudices must be "appeased." Politicallife requires that fundamental principles proper, which, assuch, transcend the established constitution, be kept ifl a.stateof dormancy. Temporary solurions of continuity must be"kept from the eye," or a "politic, well-wrought,veil" mustbe thrown over them. "There is a sacred veil to be drawn overthe beginnings of all governments." Whereas speculation is"innovatin g," whereas the "waters" of science "must betroubled, before they can exert their virtues," pfactice mustkeep as closely as possible to precedent, example, and tradi-tion: "old custom ... . is the great support of all the govern-

w. lbid., I, 87, r93, 123,316,4O5;71,26, 421-28,548,552; VI, 19; VII, 127.

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAI RIGHT 3I1ments in the world." Society rests, indeed, on consent. yct thcconsent cannot be achieved by reasoning alone, and in particu-lar not by the mere calculation of the advantages of living to-gethet-a calculation which may be completed in a brief spanof time-but solely by habits and preiudices which grow uponly in long periods. Whereas theory reiects error, preiudicc,or superstition, the statesmao puts these to use.er

The intrusion of theory into politics is liable ro have anuflsettling and inflaming effect. No actual social order is per-fect. "Speculative inquiries" neLessarily bring to light theimperfect character of the established order. If these inquiriesare introduced into political discussion, which, of necessity,lacks "the coolness of philosophic inquiry," they are liablc"to raise discontent in the people" in regard to the establishcdorder, discontent which may make rztiofialreform impossiblc.The most legitimate theoretical problems become, in the po-litical arena, "vexatious questions" and cause "a spirit ofliti-gation" and "fanaticism." Considerations transcending "thearguments of srates aod kingdoms" must be left "to theschools; for there only they may be discussed with safety."ez

As may be infered from the preceding paragraphs, Burke isnot conrenr with defending pracrical wisdom against thc en-croachmenrs of theoretical science. He parts company with thcAristotelian tradirion by disparaging theory and espcciallymetaphysics. He uses "meraphysics" and "mctaphysician',frequently in a derogarory sense. There is a connection be.tween this usage and the fact that he regards Aristotle's nrtu-ral philosophy as "unwothy of him," whereas hc conoidemEpicurean physics to be "the rnost approaching to rationrl."gr

9L. Ibid.,I, 87, r90, 257,2W, W,352,375, 41t, 432,47t,471,48r,1Eg, lglr !01;11,27-29,13-34, 44, 292,293,306, 335, 336, 349, 4zg-N, 439; III, 39-{0, fl, 101 ll0rV, 23O; VI, 98, 743, 306-7; VII, 4448, 59, @, 190; VIll, 274; Ltmrc, pp,lrltfi,

92. Work,I, 25re, 27V71,432;t1,28-29,33r; III, 12, t6, 2t, !9, !t, 'l{ff

lol,106; VI, 112.

93. Ibid., vI,250-5r.

53

3L2 NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

There is a connection between his strictures on metaphysicsand the skeptical tendencies of his contemporaries Humc andRousseau. At least so much must be said that Burke's distinc-tion between theory and practice is radically different fromAristotle 's, since it is not based on a clear conviction of theultimate superiority of theory or of the theoretical life.

For the support of this contention, we do not have to relyentirely on a general impression derived from Burke's usageand the bent of his thought. He wrote one theoretical work:A Pbitosopbical, Inquirl into tlte )rigin of Oar lileas of tbe Sublimcand Beautiful.In that work he speaks in a nonpolemical toneabout the limitations of theoretic science: "When we go butone step beyond the immediate sensible qualities of things, wego out of our depth. AII we do after is but a faint struggle, thatiho*r we are in an element which does not belong to us."Our knowledge of bodily and mental phenomena is limited tothe manner of their operation, to their How; it can never reachtheir Why. The very title of the inquiry reveals the ancestry ofBurke 's sole theoretic effort; it is reminiscent of Locke and ofBurke 's acquaintance, Hume. Of Locke, Burke says that "theauthority of this great rr,an is doubtless as Sreat as that of anyman can be." The most important thesis of the Sublinac qndBea*tiful is in perfect agreement with British sensualism and inexplicit opposition to the classics; Burke denies that there is aconnection between beauty, on the one hand, and perfection,proportion, viftue, convenience, order, fitness, and any othersuch "creatures of the understanding," on the other. That is tosay, he refuses to understand visible or sensible beauty in thelight of intellectual beauty.ea

Th. .mrt.ipation of sensible beauty frorn its traditionallyassumed directedness toward intellectual beauty foreshadowsof accompanies a certain emancipation of sentiment and in-stinct from reason , ot a cettain depreciation ofreason. It is this

94. Ib;d.,1, tI4 tr,, I22,129, L3t,143-44,155; II, 441; VI, 98.

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 3L3

novel attitudc towafd reason which accounts for the nonclas-sical overtones in Burke's remarks on the difference betweentheory aad practice. Burke's opposition to modern "tational-ism" shifts almost insensibly into an opposition to "rational-ism" as such.es What he says about the defrciencies of reason isindeed p$dy raditional. On some occasions he does not gobeyond depreciating the iudgment of the individual in favor of"the ludgment of the human rlce," the wisdom of "thespecies" or "the ancient, permanent.sense of mankind," i.e.,the conscns*s gentiarn. On other occasions he doe s not go beyonddepreciating the experience which the individual can acquirein favor of the much more extensive and varied experience of"a long succession of generations" or of "the collected reasonof ages."so The novel element in Burke's critique of reason re-veals itself least ambiguously in its most important practicalconsequence: he relects the view that constitutions can be"made" in favor of the view that they must "grow"; he there-fore relects in particular the view that the best social order canbc or ought to be the work of an individual, of a wise "legisla-tor" or founder.eT

To see this more cleaily, it is necessary to conffast Burke'sview of the British constitution, which he regarded, to say the

95. Ia the S*blimc anil Buatifrl, Butke says that "our gardens, if nothing clse, dc-clarc we bcgio to fecl that mathemadcal idcas arc not thc true ltreasurcs of beauty,"and that this wrong view "arosc from thc Platonic thcory of fitness and aptitude"(Work:,1,122),lo.thc &cfccrionr or, ,l1c koolation in Fraacc, hc compares thc French revo-lutiooists to thc Frcnch "ornamental gardeners" (Worh:,11,413). Cf. ibid.,ll,306, 308;I, 280.

gA. Worh:, lI, 359, \il, 367, 435, 44O ; YI, 14G47.97. Friedrich von Gcotz, the Gctman translator of thc kflcctions on tbc Rctohtior in

Francc, says: "Konstitutioncn k6ooen schlechterdings nicht gemacht werdcn, siemffssca sich, wie Natur-Werke, durch allmnhliche Eotwicklung von selbst bildcn. . . .

Dicse Wahrheit ist die kostbarste, oiclleicbt dic cin4ige ui*lich nc* (&nx hdcbttcw gcabnt,aber dcbt tollstdndigc*tnnt u*rdc sic 4toor), um welche dic franz6sische Revolution dich6hcrq Staatswisscnschaft bereichert hat" (StaatuchriJtcn ud BrieJc fMunich, 1921], I,344) (thc italics arc not in thc origiaal).

54

tt4 NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

least, as second to nonc, with thc classical view of thc bestconstitution. According to the classics, the best constitution isa contrivance of reason, i.e., of conscious activity or of plan-ning on the part of an individual or of a few individuals. It isin accordancc with nature, or it is a natural order, since it ful-fils to the highest degree the requirements of the perfection ofhuman nature, or since its strucfire imitates the pattetn ofnaturc. But it is not natural as regards the manner of its pro-duction: it is a work of dcsign, planning, conscious making;it does not come into being by a natural process or by the imi-tation of. a natwal process. The best constitutiou is directedtoward e-variety of endswhichare linkedwithone anotherbynature in such a manner that one of these ends is the highestend; the best constitution is thcrefore directed particulady to-ward that single end which is by natue the highest. Accord-ing to Burkc, on the other hand, the best constitution is in ac-cordance with nature or is natural also and primarily becauseit has come into being not through planning but through theimitation of natural process, i.e., because it has come intobeing without guiding reflection, continuously, slowly, Rot tosay imperceptibly, "in a great length of time, and. by L gteltvatiety of accidents"; all "new fancied and new fabricated re-publics" are necessarily bad. The best constitution is thereforenot "formed upon a. tegular plan ot with arry unity of design"but directed toward "the greatest variety of ends."eE , ,

One goes beyond what Burke himself says if one ascribes tohim the view that a sound political order must be theproductof History. What came to be called "historical" was, forBurke, still "the local and accidental." What came to becalled "historical process" was for him still accidental causa-tion or accidental causation modified by the prudential han-dling of situations as they arose. AccordinglY, the sound po-litical order for him, in the last analysis, is the uniotended out-

98. Wofi:,Il, 31, 91, 305, 307-8, $9-4O;Y,148, 253-54.


come of accidental causation. He applied to th€ production ofthe sound political order what modern political economy hadtatght. about the production of public prosperity: the commongood is the product of activities which are not by themselvesordered toward the common good. Burke accepted the prin-ciple of modern political economy which is diametrically opposed to the classical ptinciple: "the love of lucre," "this nat-r:ral, this reasonable . . . principle," "is the grand cause ofprosperity to all states. " ee The good order or the rational is thcresult of forces which do not themselve s tend toward the goodorder or the rational. This principle was first applied to theplanetary system and thereafter to "the system of wanrs,"i.e., to economics.l0o The application of this principle to thcgenesis of the sound political order was one of the two mostimportant elements in the "discovery" of History. Thc other,equally important, element was supplied by the application ofthe same principle to the understanding of man's humanity;mafl's humanity was understood as acquired by virtue of acci-dental causation. This view, of which the classic exposition isto be found in Rousseau's Second Ditcoarsc,led to the consc-quence that "the historical process" was thought to culminatein an absolute moment: the moment in which man, the prod-uct of blind fate, becomes the seeing masrer of his fate by un-derstanding for the first time in an adequare manoer what isright and wrong politically and morally. It led to a "completerevolution," to a revolution extending "even to the constitu-tion of the mind o{ man." Burke denies the possibility of anabsolute moment; tnan can never become the seeing master of

9. Ibid.,II, 33; V, 313; VI, 1@; Ittterc, p. 270. As for Burkc's agrccmctrr with thcmodern "ecooomical politicians," sce cspecially W0rh.s,1,299,462; II,93, f94, j5l,431-32;Y ,89, f00, f24, 321; V[I, 69. One of thc few thiogs which Burkc sccms to havclcamcd through the French Revolution is that power and influence do not neccssarilygo with property. Compare Worb, I1I,372,456-57; V,256, with VI, 1l8; scc alsoBarker, ap. cit., p.759.

100. Cf. Hcgel, kcbtspbiloto2hie , scc. 189 Zusatz.

55

316 NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 317

crn political cconomy, could aPpcar to have emerged through

" .tdifi.rtion of the traditionel belicf in Providence. Thatmodification is usually describcd aB "ecculariza,tion"' "Sccu-laizatiot" is thc "tcmporalization" of thc spiritual or of thccrcrnal. It is thc atrcmpt to intcgrate thc etcrnal into a rcm-poral context. It thcrcforc prcsupposcs that thc eternal is noiong.t undcrstood as cternal. "Sccularization," in othct*oidr, prcsupposes a radical changc of thought, a transitioaof thought from onc planc to an cntirely diffcrcnt planc. Thisradical ihrng" appcars in its undisguiscd form in the etner-gencc of moJcra philosophy or science; it is not primarily a

Ihrog. within theology. What presents- itsclf as the "secu-

larizition" of thcological concepts will havc to be undcr-stood, in thc last analysis, as an adaptation of traditional thc-ologyto thc intcllcctual climatc produced by modcrn philoso-phior scicnce both natural and political. Thc "scculariza-iio"" of thc undcrstanding of Providencc culminates in thevicw that thc ways of God are scrutablc to sufficicntly cn-lightcned mcn. Thc theological tradition recognizcd thc mys-."iioo, characrcr of Providcncc cspecially by the fact that Goduscs or pcrmits cvil for his good ends. It asserted, thcrcfore,that man cannot takc his bcarings by God's providcncc butonly by God's law, which simply-forbids man to do cvil. Inproportion as the providential otder.came to be rcgarded as

inr"ttigiUt" ro man, and thercforc evil came to bc regardcd as

cvidenily treccssary or uscfu1, thc prohibidon against doingevil losi its evidence. Hcnce various ways of action whichwerc prcviously condemned as cvil could now be regardcd as

good. Tt e goais of human action werc lowcred' Bt1: it is prc-Iiscty a loicring of thcsc goals which modern_political phi-losoitty consciously intended from its very beginning'

Burke was satisfied that the Frcnch Revolutioa was thor-oughly cvil. Hc.oadgmned it as sffongly and as unqualificdly

"s iciodry condcmn thc Communist rcvolution. Hc rcgardcd

it as possiblc that thc French Rcvolutioo, which conducted "a

hisfate;whatthewisestindividualcanthinkoutforhimsclfis always inferior to what has been Produced "in a greati;"grh Jf ,i-", and by a. greatvatiety of accidents"' He dcnics

th.i.for", if not the'fealibility, at least thc legitimacy' of a;;.o-pf.r. revolution"; a[ otler moral or political crrors.al-.ort ird. into insignificancc if compared with the error under-

tyiog tt. French icvolution. The agc of the French Revolu-,ioolfrt from being the absolute moment, is "the most uncn-

iighl*a age, the-least qualified for lcgislation that.perhapstis bee' si-ncc the first iormation of civil society." One-ist.mpt.d to say that it is the age of' perfcct sinfulness' Notadmiiration, but cootempt of the preseut; not cootcmpt' butadmiration of the ancieit order aod eventually of thc agc ofchivalry, is the sound attitud"e--everything good is.inhtry*'What is ne eded is not "metaphysical iurisprudcncc" Uyt '. fis-;";i;;i iurisprudence."ror Th-us'Burke Paves the way for "thchistorical slhool." But his intransigent opposition to thcFrench Revolution must not blind us to the fa,ct that' in opoosing the Freach Revolution, hc has rccoursc to thc samc

il;l;;.;;rl principle which is at thc bottom of thc rcvolu-tionary theorims ,od *hi.h is alien to all earlicr thought'

It aimost gocs without saying that Burkc rcgards thc qoa-

nection betw-cen "the love of lucre" and prosperity, on thc-onc

hand, and, " a great variety of accideots" and a hcalthy polrtr-calorder,onth"other,rtp,t'ofthcprovidentialotder;itisbecause the processes which arc rot guided by humaa rcflcc-

Ii* ,r. part'of the providcntial ordcr that their products.arci"n"ir.fy superior in wisdom to the products of rcflectioo'From a ti.iLt point of view, Kant has in,tcrp:cted the tcach-ing of Rousscai's scconil Discoarsc as a vindication of Provr-4s;g..'o' Accordingll, the idea of History, prcciscly likc mod-

l(JL. Worhs,ll,l449;3fl; VI, 413; scc also Thomas W' Copclard' &hmul fub:Six Ertalt (Ioodon, f950)' P. 232'

Lo2. Wohs,II, 33, 3o7; V, sg, r0o' 321; Kant' Sitntlhbc Wcrlu' cd' Krrl Vorlindg'YIII, 2BO.

56


war agtinst all sects and all teligions," might be victoriousand thus that the revolutionary state might exist "as a nui-sance on the earth for several hundred years." He regarded it,therefore, as possible that the victory of the French Revolu-tion might have been decreed by Providence. In accordancewith his "secularized" understanding of Providence, he drewfrom this the conclusion that "if the system of Europe, takingin laws, manoers, religion and politics" is doomed, "they,who persist in opposing this mighty cutrent in human a;ffairs. . . will oot be resolute and frrm, but perverse and obsti-nate."roa Burke comes close to suggesting that to oppose athoroughly evil current in human affairs is pervetse if thatcurrent is suficiently powerful; he is oblivious of the nobilityof last-ditch resistance. He does not consider that, in a waywhich no man can foresee, re sistance in a forloro position tothe enemies of mankind, "going down with guns blazing andflag flying," mly contribute gteatly toward keeping awakethe recollection of the immense loss sustained by mankind,may inspire and strengthen the desire and the hope for its re-covery, andmay become tbeaconfor those who humbly cfiryon the works of humani ty it a see mingly e ndless valley of dark-ness and destruction. He does not consider this because he istoo certain that man can know whether a cause lost now islost forever or that lrnar car understand sufficieirtly the mean-ing of a providential dispensation as distinguished from themoral law. It is only a short step from this thought of'Burke tothe supersession of the distinction between good and bad bythe distinction between the progressive and the retrograde, orbetween what is and what is not in harmony with the histori-cal process. We are here certainly at the pole opposite to Cato'who dared to espouse a lost cause.

Whereas Burke's "conservatism" is in full agreement withclassical thought, his interptetation of his "conservatism"

]lol. wrt t, Iu, 175, 193, tA!; vm, 5rc; Ltttcr, p. $.


prepared an approach to human affairs which is even moreforeign to classical thought than was the vcry "radicalism" ofthe theorists of the French Revolution. Political philosophyor political theory had been from its inception the quest forcivil society as it ought to be. Burke's political theory is, ortends to become, identical with a theory of the British consti-rution, i.e., an attempt to "discover the latent wisdom whichprevails" in the actaal. One might think that Burke wouldhave to measure the British constitutionby a standard ran-scending it in order to rccognize it as wise, and to a certain ex-tent he undoubtedly does precisely this: he does not tire ofspeaking of natural right, which, as such, is anterior to theBriiish constitution. But he also says that "our coastitution isa prescriptive constitution; it is a constitution whose sole au-thority is that it has existed time out of mind" or that'theBritish constitution claims and asserts the liberties of theBritish " as an estate especially belonging to the people of thiskingdom, without any refercnce whatever to any other moregeneral or prior right." Prescription cannot be the sole au-thority for a constitution, and therefore recourse to rightsanterior to the constitution, i.e., to natural rights, cannot besuperfluous unless prescription by itself is a suficient g\atuntyof goodness. Transcendent standards can be dispensed with ifthe standard is inherent in the process; "the actual and thepresent is the rational." What could appear as a return to theprimeval equation of the good with the ancestral is, in fact, tpreparation for Hegel.roa

We have noted before that what appeared later on as thediscovery of History was originally rather the recovery of thedistinction between theory and practice. That distinction hadbeen blurred by the doctrinairism of the seventeenth and eight-eenth centuries or, what is fundamentally the same thing, by

lO4. Worb,II, 306, 359, 443;111,110, 112; VI, 146; Hcgcl, op. cit., Voredc; cf. alsoBetker, op. cit., p. 22J.

ti

57

I32O NATURAL RIGHT AND HISTORY

the understanding of all theory as csscntially in the scrvicc ofpractice Qcicntia proptu ?otcnriam). Thc recovcry of the distinc-tibn bctween thcory and practicc was from the outsct modificdby skepticism in regard to theorctical mctaphysics, a skcpti-cism which culminatcd in the dcprcciation of theory in favorof practice. In accordance with thcse anteccdents, thc highcstform of practice-thc foundation or formation of a politicalsociety-was viewed as a quasi-natural process not controllcdby reflection; thus it could become a purcly thcoretical thcmc.Political theory became undcrstanding of what practice hasproduced or ofthe actual and ceased to be the quest for whatought to be; political theory ceascd to be "theoretically prac-tical" (i.e., deliberative at a second temove) and becamcpurely theotetical in the way iawhich metaphysics (and phys-ics) were traditionally understood to be purely theorctical.Therc came into beiag a new type of theory, of mctaphysics,having as its highest theme human action and its productrather than the whole, which is in no way the obiect of hu-mao actioo. Within the whole and the metaphysic that isoriented upon it, human action occupies a high but subordi-nate place. When metaphysics came, as it now did, to regardhuman action and its product as the end toward which,allother beings orprocesses are directed, mctaphysics became phi-losophy of history. Philosophy of history was primarily the-ory, i.e., contemplation, of human practice and thprewithnecessarily of completed hu,man practice; it presupposid thatsignificant human action, History, was completed. py becom-ing thc highest theme of philosophy, practice ceascd to bcpractice prolrr, i.e., conccm with agcnila. The revolts againstHegelianism oo the part of Kicrkegriard and Nietzschc, in sof.* as they now exercise a strong influence on public opinion,thus appear as attempts to recover the possibility of practice,i.e., of a human life which has a significant and undeterminedfuture. But these attempts incrcased the confusioo, sincc thcy

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 32Idcstroyed, as far as in them lay, thc very possibility of thcory."Doctrinairism" and "existentialism" appear to us as the twofaulty extrcmes. While being opposed to cach othcr, thcyagrce with each other in thc dccisive respect-thcy agree inignoring prudencc, "thc god of this lowcr world."106 Prudcnceand "this lower world" cannot bc secn properly without somcknowledge of "the higher wodd"-without genuine tbcoria.

Among the grcat thcoretical writings of the past, nonescems to be nearer in spirit to Burke 's statements on rhe Britishconstitution than Cicero's Rcpfiilic. The similarity is all themore rcmarkable since Burke cannot have known Ciccro'smastcrpiecc, which was not recovered until 1820. Just asBurkc rcgards the British constitution as the model, Cicerocontcnds that the bcst polity is the Roman polity; Cicerochooses to describe the Roman polity rather than to invcnr ancwone, as Socrates had done in Plato's Rcpublic. These con-tcntions of Burke and of Cicero arc, if taken by themselves, inperfcct agrecmcnt with thc classical principles: the best politybcing essentially "possible," it could have become act:ual at.somc place and at somc time. One should note, however, thatrwhcreas Burke assumed that the modcl constitution was actaalin his time, Ciccro assumed that the bcst polity had been ac-tual in the past but was no longer actual. Above all, Ciceromadc it pcrfcctly clear that the characteristics of the bestpolity can bc detcrmined without rcgard to any example, andcspccially to thc cxample of the Roman polity. In the re specrunder discussion, therc is no difference between Cicero andPlato in particular; Plato commenced a sequel to his Rcpublic,namely the Critiat, in which the "invented" polity of theRcpablic was to be shown to have been actual in the Athenianpast. The following agreement between Burke and Cicerosccms to be mote important: iust as Burke traced the excellenceof the British constitution to the f.act, that it had comc into

lO5. Wrhs,ll,28.

58


bcing " in a great length of time" and thus embodies "the col-lcctcd reason of ages," Cicero traced the superiority of theRoman polity to the f.act that it was not the work of one manor of one generation but of many men and many genefations.Cicero calls the way in which the Roman order developed intothc best polity, "some natural road." Still, "the very idea ofthe fabrication of a new government" did not fill Cicero, asit did Burke, "with disgust and horror." If Cicero preferredthe Roman polity, which was the work of many men andm?ty generations, to the Spartan polity, which was the workof one man, he did not deoy that the Spartan polity was re-spectable. In his presentation of the origins of the Romanpolity, Romulus appears almost as the counterpart of Lycur-gus; Cicero did not abandon the notion that civil societies arefounded by superior individuals. It is "counsel and training"as opposed to chance that Cicero understands to be the "natu.ral road" by which the Roman polity reached its perfection;he does not understand the "natural road" to be processesunguided by reflection.to6

Burke disagreed with the classics in regard to the genesis ofthc sound social order because he disagreed with them in re-gard to the character of the sound social order. As he saw ip,the sound social or political order must not be "formed upona rcgular plao or with any unity of design" because such"systematical" proceedings, such "presumption in thp wis-dom of human contrivances," would be incompatible with thehighest possible degree of "personal liberty"; the starc mustpursue "the greatest variety of ends" and must as little as pos-sible "sacrifrce any one of them to another, or to the whole"'It must bc concerned with "individuality" or have the highestpossible regard for "individual feeling and individual inter-cst." It is for this reason that the genesis of the sound social

106. ciccro kllblic i. 3L:32,34,7O-71; ii. 2-3, 15, 17,2r-22,30,37,51-52,66;t.2; Ofuct i.76. Considcr also Polybius vi. 4' 13, 9. 10, l0' LZ-L4' 48.2'

THE CRISIS OF MODERN NATURAL RIGHT 1J21

order must not be a process guided by reflection but must comcas close as possible to natural, imperceptible proccss: the natu'ral is the individual, and thc universal is a cteature of the un-derstanding. Naturalness and free flowering of individualityare the same. Hence the free development of the individuals intheir individuality, f.ar fuom leading to chaos, is productive ofthe best order, an order which is not only compatible with"some irregularity in the whole mass" but requires it' Thereis beauty in irregularity: "method and exactness, the soul ofproportion, are found rather preiudicial than serviceable toih.lror. of beauty."107 The quarrel between the ancients andthe moderns concerns eventually, and perhaps even from thebeginning, the status of "individuality." Burke himself wasstill too deeply imbued with the spirit of "sound antiquity"to allow the concern with individuality to overpower the con-cern with virtue.

lo7. Worh;,1, 117,462; II, 309; V, 253-55.

59

Documents

Burke, Prudence, and the Spirit of Conservatism · Burke, Prudence, and the Spirit of Conservatism Table of Contents . REQUIRED READING. Excerpts from Levin, Yuval ... Burke, Edmund