Over the last week I have continued my “making up for a lack of a humanities education” reading and got through Reflections on the Revolution in France by Edmund Burke. It’s structurally unfamiliar, not a book but really a 280-page letter. It lacks chapters or section headings and is conversational and good-natured (at least regarding its recipient), which I think made it a relatively easy read.
Unsurprisingly, I think the fundamental argument is well-made. Incumbent constitutions and social structures have emerged over time. While imperfect, they represent wisdom accumulated over centuries of trial and error. Taking a lesson from 17th century England, Burke sees revolution as a path to chaos and tyranny, even when motivated by liberty. Instead, change must be respectful, cautious and incremental to avoid throwing away the best parts of existing constitutions.
Burke is disgusted by the French Revolution (only 18 months young when Reflections was written), which he sees as destructive, unjust and lead by people completely lacking in the wisdom required to rebuild a state from scratch.
Given Reflections is written early in the French Revolution, there are parts where it’s stunning how well Burke sees its eventual fate. In a couple of places he clearly describes the risks of something like the Reign of Terror. And the following passage so clearly lays out the rise of a Napoleon-like figure it makes your hair stand on-end.
In the weakness of one kind of authority, and in the fluctuation of all, the officers of an army will remain for some time mutinous and full of faction until some popular general, who understands the art of conciliating the soldiery, and who possesses the true spirit of command, shall draw the eyes of all men upon himself. Armies will obey him on his personal account. There is no other way of securing military obedience in this state of things. But the moment in which that event shall happen, the person who really commands the army is your master—the master (that is little) of your king, the master of your Assembly, the master of your whole republic.
But Burke is deeply chauvinistic. He has contempt for those outside the elite. Hairdressers, tallow-makers and even solicitors are the targets of a number of cheap shots. There’s a lot of antisemitism. The church, not the state, is responsible for alleviating poverty, and that role is secondary to its responsibility for public morality. Burke is completely uninterested in the question of why poverty exists, or whether the distribution of political power is relevant to it.
Also, Burke’s criticism of democracy really hasn’t stood the test of time. As he sees it, the English constitution’s wisdom extends to its disenfranchisement of the broader population, who aren’t virtuous, wise, or invested in the country’s success (since they don’t own property). This elitism is probably the part of his thinking that is most recognisable as “conservatism” rather than liberalism. But the subsequent 250 years of history has shown this was all wrong on his own terms. In fact, insofar as the English constitution has been successful, it has been so by becoming steadily more democratic.
In all, I found this interesting and complex. I suppose I was reading it to have a better understanding of “Burkean Conservatism”, which I’ve always suspected was something of a figleaf. In the end I’m unconvinced that it’s a real model for a genuine, modern conservatism. Burke’s elitism hasn’t stood the test of time on its own standards. And most of the rest of his thesis has more in common with liberal (if right-wing) thinkers like Hayek. It makes me think of Orwell’s description of Rudyard Kipling:
Kipling was a Conservative, a thing that does not exist nowadays. Those who now call themselves Conservatives are either Liberals, Fascists or the accomplices of Fascists.
Having taken the time to read Burke, I suspect this still pretty true today, even of those who call themselves “Burkean Conservatives”.