Reflections On The French Revolution Summary
Edmund Burke’s Reflections: Prejudice as Prudence
In his Reflections on The Revolution in France, Edmund Burke suspends his congratulations on the “new liberty of France”. To Burke, the French boast of a “spirit of liberty” that is nothing more than a “strong principle” (Refl. 90). One may now celebrate the triumph of metaphysical principles, but they must, too, consider how they combine with government in practice (Refl. 89-90). What should remain of France, when the troubled agitation of revolution subsides? Burke concludes that bodies of “free” and “equal” men lack the “prudence… in separate, insulated, private men,” and are therefore prone to misuse their power (Refl. 91).
A “manly, moral, regulated liberty” is impossible without consideration of public force and custom (Refl. 89). This essay, then, explores how, step-by-step, Burke exposes the vulgar character of the Revolution, and the impractical ideals of liberty and equality on which it stands. Burke cautions against the overthrow of institution, and instead suggests a policy of prudence, guided by one’s just prejudices: one should trust their natural affections, properly see the benefits of inherited values, and only act against their natural aversions.
Burke begins his Reflections distinguishing England’s Glorious Revolution from the insurgent activities in France. The purpose of the former is best encapsulated in England’s Declaration of Rights: William and Mary acted to affirm the “rights and liberties of the subject” and to preserve the crown’s succession (Refl. 100). These two interwoven missions honored the tradition set forth from the Magna Charta and did not make “any reference whatever to any other more general or prior right” (Refl. 100, 119). Most importantly, the Revolution continues to serve generations of Englishmen.
Burke finds this natural, for the very “idea of inheritance furnishes a sure principle of conservation” (Refl. 119). There may yet be further reforms in England’s political structure, but the new shape will always last if it is molded by ancient wisdom: “in what we improve, we are never wholly new; in what we retain, we are never wholly obsolete” (Refl. 119).
The present revolutionary activity in France is then a gross misunderstanding of these “true principles” (Refl. 100). The French mob of “warm and inexperienced enthusiasts” reject the inheritance of their forefathers and appeal to privileges and rights of their own innovation (Refl. 99-100). They act according to “erring fancies,” abandoning all institution and demanding that all congratulate the “highwayman and murderer, who has broke[n] prison, upon the recovery of his natural rights” (Refl. 90, 100).
To Burke, liberty and equality in the strictest sense are wholly compatible with, even foundational to, proper government. He refers to the equality of rights and liberties under the state, that no one under state rule deserves to suffer its oppression (Refl. 138, 149-150). Burke stands behind this with zero reservation. He believes that the character of modern European government finds its origins in ancient chivalry, an unspoken agreement that follows as thus: on the one hand, subjects, by custom, defer to their king, gladly accepting the reality of their lower rank and their being unfit to rule; the king, meanwhile, is subject to that same force of custom “to submit to the soft collar of social esteem” and refrain from despotism (Refl. 170). The severity of strength of custom compels both parties to exercise prudence and moderation, and neither can dissolve the agreement at their own fancy (Refl. 194).
An equality of rights and liberties, however, does not translate to an equality among all peoples in the state, and hardly constitutes a cause for the complete abolition of rank and order. He asks his readers to consider a statement from then-chancellor of France: “all occupations were honorable” (Refl. 138). Such an assertion is true insofar that the state should honor all honest employment. Even so, some employments are servile, and others admirable:
The nature of a hairdresser’s work is indubitably lesser than that of a king (Refl. 138).
A levelling ideology dismisses distinctions that are “the natural order of things,” conflating an equality of rights with an equality in merit and aptitude (Refl. 138). Yet, upon reviewing those now “elected into the Tiers Etat,” Burke finds none with ‘practical experience in the state” (Refl. 128). “The state suffers oppression,” Burke writes, “if such as they…are permitted to rule” (Refl. 138). Burke’s writing portends what is to follow in the French Revolution. When “the old feudal and chivalrous spirit of fealty” runs extinct, a military tyranny fills the void of institution: “massacre, torture, hanging! These are your rights of men” (Refl. 172, 345). One simply cannot keep to the abstract principles of equality in governance (Refl. 344-345). “You think you are combating prejudice,” Burke writes, “but you are at war with nature” (Refl. 138).
Burke proposes that the revolutionaries reexamine their passionate means by consulting their just prejudices. Indeed, the “stock of reason…in each man is small,” but prejudice may guide human reason in matters of conduct and government (Refl. 183). Burke leans into the psychology of pre-judgment. He argues that not all pre-judgments are arbitrary: rather, many involve a “profound and extensive wisdom” (Refl. 188-189). Here, Burke offers the example of church establishments. He claims that we not only know, but “feel inwardly that religion is basis of civil society” (Refl. 186). He draws a parallel between one’s fear of God and awe of kings, one’s reverence of priests and affection for parliament (Refl. 182). Burke demonstrates that prejudices such as these inform our faith in the very fabric and makeup of society. One cannot tear away one without the other.
Burke presses on, arguing that just prejudices affix ancient virtues to man’s behavior, so that in the moment of decision, “his duty becomes a part of his nature” (Refl. 183). In other words, just prejudices direct our natural affections toward actions and movements which reflect inherited values. Following this line of thought, the inverse should also be true: one’s natural feeling of aversion should be taken as a cause for alarm, an indication that some corruption of ancient wisdom or some conspiracy to ruin inherited values is taking place. Indeed, when “kings are hurl’d from their thrones,” one ought to be “alarmed into reflexion” (Refl. 175).
Burke advises that one not only stand by “such spectacles with melancholy sentiments,” but to act against continued revolt. After all, is the reality of just prejudice not enough evidence that humans naturally experience attachment to some relations and institutions? How, then, can “any man consider his country as nothing but carte blanche, upon which he may scribble whatever he pleases” (Refl. 266)?
Perhaps Burke’s theory of just prejudice sheds new light on his intentions for the infamous purple passage. There, Burke writes with lustful adulation of the queen of France:
“I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. —But the age of chivalry is gone.” (Refl. 170). In the fashion of first Athenian citizen Pericles. Burke hopes that his readers might remember their natural affections for the established institutions.
Burke asks that the French love their country. And confront what should be a natural aversion to the image of their monarchs fleeing “a band of cruel ruffians and assassins,” reeking of blood (Refl. 164). He advises that one “approach faults of the state as to the wounds of a father. With pious awe and trembling solicitude” (Refl. 194). Notice in Burke’s language his appeal to not only familial. But religious attachments. Indeed, Burke never objected to the act of reformation, only that the French should begin theirs “by its subversion” (Refl. 194). Instead of treating your father’s wound, you hope to find a cure by hacking the body, tossing it into a magician’s pot, and incanting gross estimations of prescriptions (Refl. 194).
Ultimately, Burke inspires his readers to confront the self as a product of convention, to engage in reformation with prudent sensibility. He recognizes the appeal of “liberté, égalité, fraternité” and demonstrates how a constrained form of these ideals best maximizes their utility in government. Burke ends his Reflections on a somber note, comparing his mission to that of a sailor aboard a sinking ship, “carrying the small weight of his reasons” to counterbalance the overloading on the other side (Refl. 377).
In conclusion, perhaps Burke writes this with humility. Thus, noting limitations even in his own judgment; perhaps Burke retains the slightest hope that natural aversion errs in this particular case, and the French Revolution proves to be a means of change necessary for the state’s conservation. It is all the more harrowing, then, that Burke’s predictions would almost invariably come true, that France would soon fall into the Reign of Terror. And, two years into Burke’s death, witness Napoleon’s rise to power.
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