Dear Sir,
You are pleased to call again, and with some earnestness, for
my thoughts on the late proceedings in France.
I flatter myself that I love a manly, moral, regulated liberty
as well as any gentleman of that society, be he who he will; and
perhaps I have given as good proofs of my attachment to that
cause, in the whole course of my public conduct. I think I envy
liberty as little as they do, to any other nation. But I cannot
stand forward, and give praise or blame to any thing which relates
to human actions and human concerns, on a simple view of the
object, as it stands stripped of every relation, in all the
nakedness and solitude of metaphysical abstraction. Circumstances
(which with some gentlemen pass for nothing) give in reality to
every political principle its distinguishing colour, and
discriminating effect. The circumstances are what render every
civil and political scheme beneficial or noxious to mankind.
Abstractedly speaking, government, as well as liberty, is good;
yet could I, in common sense, ten years ago, have felicitated
France on her enjoyment of a government (for she then had a
government) without enquiry what the nature of that government
was, or how it was administered? Can I now congratulate the same
nation upon its freedom? Is it because liberty in the abstract may
be classed amongst the blessings of mankind, that I am seriously
to felicitate a madman, who has escaped from the protecting
restraint and wholesome darkness of his cell, on his restoration
to the enjoyment of light and liberty? Am I to congratulate a
highwayman and murderer, who has broke prison, upon the recovery
of his natural rights? This would be to act over and over again
the scene of the criminals condemned to the gallies, and their
heroic deliverer, the metaphysic Knight of the Sorrowful
Countenance.
The effect of liberty to individuals is, that they may do what
they please: We ought to see what it will please them to do,
before we risque congratulations, which may be soon turned into
complaints. Prudence would dictate this in the case of separate
insulated private men; but liberty, when men act in bodies, is power;
and particularly of so trying a thing as new power in new
persons, of whose principles, tempers, and dispositions, they have
little or no experience, and in situations where those who appear
the most stirring in the scene may possibly not be the real
movers.
It looks to me as if I were in a great crisis, not of the
affairs of France alone, but of all Europe, perhaps of more than
Europe. All circumstances taken together, the French revolution is
the most astonishing that has hitherto happened in the world. The
most wonderful things are brought about in many instances by means
the most absurd and ridiculous; in the most ridiculous modes; and
apparently, by the most contemptible instruments. Every thing
seems out of nature in this strange chaos of levity and ferocity,
and of all sorts of crimes jumbled together with all sorts of
follies. In viewing this monstrous tragi-comic scene, the most
opposite passions necessarily succeed, and sometimes mix with each
other in the mind; alternate contempt and indignation; alternate
laughter and tears; alternate scorn and horror.
A few years ago I should be ashamed to overload a matter, so
capable of supporting itself, by the then unnecessary support of
any argument; but this seditious, unconstitutional doctrine is now
publicly taught, avowed, and printed. The dislike I feel to
revolutions, the signals for which have so often been given from
pulpits; the spirit of change that is gone abroad; the total
contempt which prevails with you, and may come to prevail with us,
of all ancient institutions, when set in opposition to a present
sense of convenience, or to the bent of a present inclination: all
these considerations make it not unadviseable, in my opinion, to
call back our attention to the true principles of our own domestic
laws; that you, my French friend, should begin to know, and that
we should continue to cherish them. We ought not, on either side
of the water, to suffer ourselves to be imposed upon by the
counterfeit wares which some persons, by a double fraud, export to
you in illicit bottoms, as raw commodities of British growth
though wholly alien to our soil, in order afterwards to smuggle
them back again into this country, manufactured after the newest
Paris fashion of an improved liberty.
You might, if you pleased, have profited of our example, and
have given to your recovered freedom a correspondent dignity. Your
privileges, though discontinued, were not lost to memory. Your
constitution, it is true, whilst you were out of possession,
suffered waste and dilapidation; but you possessed in some parts
the walls, and in all the foundations of a noble and venerable
castle. You might have repaired those walls; you might have built
on those old foundations. Your constitution was suspended before
it was perfected; but you had the elements of a constitution very
nearly as good as could be wished. In your old states you
possessed that variety of parts corresponding with the various
descriptions of which your community was happily composed; you had
all that combination, and all that opposition of interests, you
had that action and counteraction which, in the natural and in the
political world, from the reciprocal struggle of discordant
powers, draws out the harmony of the universe. These opposed and
conflicting interests, which you considered as so great a blemish
in your old and in our present constitution, interpose a salutary
check to all precipitate resolutions. They render deliberation a
matter not of choice, but of necessity; they make all change a
subject of compromise, which naturally begets moderation;
they produce temperaments, preventing the sore evil of
harsh, crude, unqualified reformations; and the rendering all the
headlong exertions of arbitrary power, in the few or in the many,
for ever impracticable. Through that diversity of members and
interests, general liberty had as many securities as there were
separate views in the several orders; whilst by pressing down the
whole by the weight of a real monarchy, the separate parts would
have been prevented from warping and starting from their allotted
places.
You had all these advantages in your ancient states; but you
chose to act as if you had never been moulded into civil society,
and had everything to begin anew. You began ill, because you began
by despising every thing that belonged to you. You set up your
trade without a capital. If the last generations of your country
appeared without much lustre in your eyes, you might have passed
them by, and derived your claims from a more early race of
ancestors. Under a pious predilection of those ancestors, your
imaginations would have realized in them a standard of virtue and
wisdom, beyond the vulgar practice of the hour; and you would have
risen with the example to whose imitation you aspired. Respecting
your forefathers, you would have been taught to respect
yourselves. You would not have chosen to consider the French as a
people of yesterday, as a nation of low-born servile wretches
until the emancipating year of 1789.