common course of things, it ought chiefly to be inculcated; nor can
anything be more preposterous than an anxious care and solicitude in
stating all the cases in which resistance may be allowed. Thus, though
a philosopher reasonably acknowledges in the course of an argument
that the rules of justice may be dispensed with in cases of urgent
necessity, what should we think of a preacher or casuist who should
make it his chief study to find out such cases and enforce them with
all the vehemence of argument and eloquence? Would he not be better
employed in inculcating the general doctrine than in displaying the
particular exceptions, which we are, perhaps, but too much inclined of
ourselves to embrace and extend?
There are, however, two reasons which may be pleaded in defence of that
party among us who have, with so much industry, propagated the maxims
of resistance—maxims which, it must be confessed, are in general so
pernicious and so destructive of civil society. The first is that their
antagonists carrying the doctrine of obedience to such an extravagant
height as not only never to mention the exceptions in extraordinary
cases (which might perhaps be excusable), but even positively to
exclude them, it became necessary to insist on these exceptions, and
defend the rights of injured truth and liberty. The second and perhaps
better reason is founded on the nature of the British constitution and
form of government.
It is almost peculiar to our constitution to establish a first
magistrate with such high pre-eminence and dignity that, though limited
by the laws, he is in a manner, so far as regards his own person, above
the laws, and can neither be questioned nor punished for any injury
or wrong which may be committed by him. His ministers alone,
or those who act by his commission, are obnoxious to justice; and
while the prince is thus allured by the prospect of personal safety
to give the laws their free course, an equal security is in effect
obtained by the punishment of lesser offenders, and at the same time a
civil war is avoided, which would be the infallible consequence were
an attack at every turn made directly upon the sovereign. But though
the constitution pays this salutary compliment to the prince, it can
never reasonably be understood by that maxim to have determined its
own destruction, or to have established a tame submission where he
protects his ministers, perseveres in injustice, and usurps the whole
power of the commonwealth. This case, indeed, is never expressly put by
the laws, because it is impossible for them in their ordinary course
to provide a remedy for it, or establish any magistrate with superior
authority to chastise the exorbitancies of the prince. But as a right
without remedy would be the greatest of all absurdities, the remedy in
this case is the extraordinary one of resistance, when affairs come
to that extremity that the constitution can be defended by it alone.
Resistance, therefore, must of course become more frequent in the
British Government than in others which are simpler and consist of
fewer parts and movements. Where the king is an absolute sovereign, he
has little temptation to commit such enormous tyranny as may justly
provoke rebellion; but where he is limited, his imprudent ambition,
without any great vices, may run him into that perilous situation.
This is commonly supposed to have been the case with Charles I., and
if we may now speak truth, after animosities are laid, this was also
the case with James II. These were harmless, if not, in their private
character, good men; but mistaking the nature of our constitution, and
engrossing the whole legislative power, it became necessary to oppose
them with some vehemence, and even to deprive the latter formally of
that authority which he had used with such imprudence and indiscretion.
OF THE COALITION OF PARTIES.
To abolish all distinctions of party may not be practicable, perhaps
not desirable, in a free government. The only parties which are
dangerous are such as entertain opposite views with regard to the
essentials of government, the succession of the crown, or the
more considerable privileges belonging to the several members of
the constitution; where there is no room for any compromise or
accommodation, and where the controversy may appear so momentous as to
justify even an opposition by arms to the pretensions of antagonists.
Of this nature was the animosity continued for above a century between
the parties in England—an animosity which broke out sometimes into
civil war, which occasioned violent revolutions, and which continually
endangered the peace and tranquillity of the nation. But as there
has appeared of late the strongest symptoms of a universal desire to
abolish these party distinctions, this tendency to a coalition affords
the most agreeable prospect of future happiness, and ought to be
carefully cherished and promoted by every lover of his country.
There is not a more effectual method of promoting so good an end than
to prevent all unreasonable insult and triumph of the one party over
the other, to encourage moderate opinions, to find the proper medium
in all disputes, to persuade each that its antagonist may possibly be
sometimes in the right, and to keep a balance in the praise and blame
which we bestow on either side. The two former essays, concerning
the original contract and passive obedience, are calculated for this
purpose with regard to the philosophical controversies between the
parties, and tend to show that neither side are in these respects so
fully supported by reason as they endeavour to flatter themselves.
We shall proceed to exercise the same moderation with regard to the
historical disputes, by proving that each party was justified by
plausible topics, that there were on both sides wise men who
meant well to their country, and that the past animosity between the
factions had no better foundation than narrow prejudice or interested
passion.
The popular party, who afterwards acquired the name of Whigs, might
justify by very specious arguments that opposition to the crown, from
which our present free constitution is derived. Though obliged to
acknowledge that precedents in favour of prerogative had uniformly
taken place during many reigns before Charles I., they thought
that there was no reason for submitting any longer to so dangerous
an authority. Such might have been their reasoning. The rights of
mankind are so sacred that no prescription of tyranny or arbitrary
power can have authority sufficient to abolish them. Liberty is the
most inestimable of all blessings, and wherever there appears any
probability of recovering it, a nation may willingly run many hazards,
and ought not even to repine at the greatest effusion of blood or
dissipation of treasure. All human institutions, and none more than
government, are in continual fluctuation. Kings are sure to embrace
every opportunity of extending their prerogatives, and if favourable
incidents be not also laid hold of to extend and secure the privileges
of the people, a universal despotism must for ever prevail among
mankind. The example of all the neighbouring nations proves that
it is no longer safe to entrust with the crown the same exorbitant
prerogatives which had formerly been exercised during rude and simple
ages. And though the example of many late reigns may be pleaded in
favour of a power in the prince somewhat arbitrary, more remote reigns
afford instances of stricter limitations imposed on the crown, and
those pretensions of the Parliament, now branded with the title of
innovations, are only a recovery of the just rights of the people.
These views, far from being odious, are surely large and generous and
noble. To their prevalence and success the kingdom owes its liberty,
perhaps its learning, its industry, commerce, and naval power. By them
chiefly the English name is distinguished among the society
of nations, and aspires to a rivalship with that of the freest and
most illustrious commonwealths of antiquity. But as all these mighty
consequences could not reasonably be foreseen at the time when the
contest began, the royalists of that age wanted not specious arguments
on their side, by which they could justify their defence of the then
established prerogatives of the crown. We shall state the question, as
it might appear to them at the assembling of that Parliament, which by
their violent encroachments on the crown, began the civil wars.
The only rule of government, they might have said, known and
acknowledged among men, is use and practice. Reason is so uncertain
a guide that it will always be exposed to doubt and controversy.
Could it ever render itself prevalent over the people, men had always
retained it as their sole rule of conduct; they had still continued
in the primitive, unconnected state of nature, without submitting
to political government, whose sole basis is not pure reason, but
authority and precedent. Dissolve these ties, you break all the bonds
of civil society, and leave every man at liberty to consult his
particular interest, by those expedients which his appetite, disguised
under the appearance of reason, shall dictate to him. The spirit of
innovation is in itself pernicious, however favourable its particular
object may sometimes appear. A truth so obvious that the popular party
themselves are sensible of it, and therefore cover their encroachments
on the crown by the plausible pretence of their recovering the ancient
liberties of the people.
But the present prerogatives of the crown, allowing all the
suppositions of that party, have been incontestably established
ever since the accession of the house of Tudor, a period which,
as it now comprehends a hundred and sixty years, may be allowed
sufficient to give stability to any constitution. Would it not have
appeared ridiculous in the reign of the Emperor Adrian to talk of the
constitution of the republic as the rule of government, or to suppose
that the former rights of the senate and consuls and tribunes
were still subsisting?
But the present claims of the English monarchs are infinitely more
favourable than those of the Roman emperors during that age. The
authority of Augustus was a plain usurpation, grounded only on military
violence, and forms such an era in the Roman history as is obvious
to every reader. But if Henry VII. really, as some pretend, enlarged
the power of the crown, it was only by insensible acquisitions which
escaped the apprehension of the people, and have scarcely been remarked
even by historians and politicians. The new government, if it deserves
the name, is an imperceptible transition from the former; is entirely
engrafted on it; derives its title fully from that root; and is to be
considered only as one of those gradual revolutions to which human
affairs in every nation will be for ever subject.
The House of Tudor, and after them that of Stuart, exercised no
prerogatives, but what had been claimed and exercised by the
Plantagenets. Not a single branch of their authority can be said to
be altogether an innovation. The only difference is that perhaps the
more ancient kings exerted these powers only by intervals, and were not
able, by reason of the opposition of their barons, to render them so
steady a rule of administration.[109] But the sole inference from this
fact is that those times were more turbulent and seditious, and that
the laws have happily of late gained the ascendant.
Under what pretence can the popular party now talk of recovering the
ancient constitution? The former control over the kings was not
placed in the commons, but in the barons. The people had no authority,
and even little or no liberty, till the crown, by suppressing these
factious tyrants, enforced the execution of the laws, and obliged all
the subjects equally to respect each other’s rights, privileges, and
properties. If we must return to the ancient barbarous and Gothic
constitution, let those gentlemen, who now behave themselves with so
much insolence to their sovereign, set the first example. Let them
make court to be admitted as retainers to a neighbouring baron, and by
submitting to slavery under him, acquire some protection to themselves,
together with the power of exercising rapine and oppression over their
inferior slaves and villains. This was the condition of the commons
among their remote ancestors.
But how far back shall we go, in having recourse to ancient
constitutions and governments? There was a constitution still more
ancient than that to which these innovators affect so much to appeal.
During that period there was no Magna Charta. The barons themselves
possessed few regular, stated privileges, and the House of Commons
probably had not an existence.
It is pleasant to hear a house, while they are usurping the whole
power of the government, talk of reviving ancient institutions. Is it
not known that, though the representatives received wages from their
constituents, to be a member of their house was always considered as
a burden, and a freedom from it as a privilege? Will they persuade us
that power, which of all human acquisitions is the most coveted, and
in comparison of which even reputation and pleasure and riches are
slighted, could ever be regarded as a burden by any man?
The property acquired of late by the commons, it is said, entitles
them to more power than their ancestors enjoyed. But to what is
this increase of their property owing, but to an increase of their
liberty and their security? Let them therefore acknowledge that their
ancestors, while the crown was restrained by the seditious barons,
really enjoyed less liberty than they themselves have attained,
after the sovereign acquired the ascendant, and let them enjoy that
liberty with moderation, and not forfeit it by new exorbitant claims,
and by rendering it a pretence for endless innovations.
The true rule of government is the present established practice of the
age. That has most authority, because it is recent. It is also better
known for the same reason. Who has assured those tribunes that the
Plantagenets did not exercise as high acts of authority as the Tudors?
The historians, they say, do not mention them; but the historians
are also silent with regard to the chief exertions of prerogative by
the Tudors. Where any power or prerogative is fully and undoubtedly
established, the exercise of it passes for a thing of course, and
readily escapes the notice of history and annals. Had we no other
monuments of Elizabeth’s reign than what are preserved even by Camden,
the most copious, judicious, and exact of our historians, we should be
entirely ignorant of the most important maxims of her government.
Was not the present monarchical government to its full extent
authorized by lawyers, recommended by divines, acknowledged by
politicians, acquiesced in—nay, passionately cherished—by the people in
general; and all this during a period of at least a hundred and sixty
years, and till of late, without the least murmur or controversy? This
general consent surely, during so long a time, must be sufficient to
render a constitution legal and valid. If the origin of all power be
derived, as is pretended, from the people, here is their consent in the
fullest and most ample terms that can be desired or imagined.
But the people must not pretend, because they can, by their consent,
lay the foundations of government, that therefore they are to be
permitted, at their pleasure, to overthrow and subvert them. There
is no end of these seditious and arrogant claims. The power of the
crown is now openly struck at; the nobility are also in visible peril;
the gentry will soon follow; the popular leaders, who will
then assume the name of gentry, will next be exposed to danger; and
the people themselves, having become incapable of civil government,
and lying under the restraint of no authority, must, for the sake of
peace, admit, instead of their legal and mild monarchs, a succession of
military and despotic tyrants.
These consequences are the more to be dreaded, as the present fury of
the people, though glossed over by pretensions to civil liberty, is in
reality incited by the fanaticism of religion, a principle the most
blind, headstrong, and ungovernable by which human nature can ever
possibly be actuated. Popular rage is dreadful, from whatever motive
derived, but must be attended with the most pernicious consequences
when it arises from a principle which disclaims all control by human
law, reason, or authority.
These are the arguments which each party may make use of to justify
the conduct of their predecessors during that great crisis. The
event has shown that the reasonings of the popular party were better
founded; but perhaps, according to the established maxims of lawyers
and politicians, the views of the royalists ought beforehand to have
appeared more solid, more safe, and more legal. But this is certain,
that the greater moderation we now employ in representing past events,
the nearer we shall be to produce a full coalition of the parties and
an entire acquiescence in our present happy establishment. Moderation
is of advantage to every establishment; nothing but zeal can overturn
a settled power, and an over-active zeal in friends is apt to beget a
like spirit in antagonists. The transition from a moderate opposition
against an establishment to an entire acquiescence in it is easy and
insensible.
There are many invincible arguments which should induce the malcontent
party to acquiesce entirely in the present settlement of the
constitution. They now find that the spirit of civil liberty, though
at first connected with religious fanaticism, could purge itself from
that pollution, and appear under a more genuine and engaging aspect—a
friend to toleration, and an encourager of all the enlarged and
generous sentiments that do honour to human nature. They may observe
that the popular claims could stop at a proper period, and after
retrenching the exorbitant prerogatives of the crown, could still
maintain a due respect to monarchy, to nobility, and to all ancient
institutions. Above all, they must be sensible that the very principle
which made the strength of their party, and from which it derived
its chief authority, has now deserted them and gone over to their
antagonists. The plan of liberty is settled, its happy effects are
proved by experience, a long tract of time has given it stability, and
whoever would attempt to overturn it, and to recall the past government
or abdicated family, would, besides other more criminal imputations,
be exposed in their turn to the reproach of faction and innovation.
While they peruse the history of past events, they ought to reflect,
both that the rights of the crown are long since annihilated, and that
the tyranny and violence and oppression to which they often gave rise
are ills from which the established liberty of the constitution has now
at last happily protected the people. These reflections will prove a
better security to our freedom and privileges than to deny, contrary
to the clearest evidence of facts, that such regal powers ever had
any existence. There is not a more effectual method of betraying a
cause than to lay the strength of the argument on a wrong place, and
by disputing an untenable post inure the adversaries to success and
victory.
NOTE, OF THE COALITION OF PARTIES.
[109] The author believes that he was the first writer who advanced
that the family of Tudor possessed in general more authority than their
immediate predecessors—an opinion which, he hopes, will be supported by
history, but which he proposes with some diffidence. There are strong
symptoms of arbitrary power in some former reigns, even after signing
of the charters. The power of the crown in that age depended less on
the constitution than on the capacity and vigour of the prince who wore
it.
OF THE PROTESTANT SUCCESSION.
I suppose that a member of Parliament in the reign of King William
or Queen Anne, while the establishment of the Protestant Succession
was yet uncertain, were deliberating concerning the party he would
choose in that important question, and weighing with impartiality
the advantages and disadvantages on each side. I believe the
following particulars would have entered into his consideration.
He would easily perceive the great advantages resulting from the
restoration of the Stuart family, by which we should preserve the
succession clear and undisputed, free from a pretender, with such a
specious title as that of blood, which with the multitude is always
the claim the strongest and most easily comprehended. It is in vain to
say, as many have done, that the question with regard to governors,
independent of government, is frivolous and little worth disputing,
much less fighting about. The generality of mankind never will enter
into these sentiments; and it is much happier, I believe, for society
that they do not, but rather continue in their natural prejudices and
prepossessions. How could stability be preserved in any monarchical
government (which, though perhaps not the best, is, and always has
been, the most common of any) unless men had so passionate a regard
for the true heir of their royal family, and even though he be weak in
understanding, or infirm in years, gave him so great a preference above
persons the most accomplished in shining talents or celebrated for
great achievements? Would not every popular leader put in his claim at
every vacancy, or even without any vacancy, and the kingdom become the
theatre of perpetual wars and convulsions? The condition of the Roman
Empire surely was not in this respect much to be envied, nor is that
of the Eastern nations, who pay little regard to the title of their
sovereigns, but sacrifice them every day to the caprice or momentary
humour of the populace or soldiery. It is but a foolish wisdom which
is so carefully displayed in under-valuing princes and placing them
on a level with the meanest of mankind. To be sure, an anatomist
finds no more in the greatest monarch than in the lowest peasant or
day-labourer, and a moralist may perhaps frequently find less. But
what do all these reflections tend to? We all of us still retain these
prejudices in favour of birth and family, and neither in our serious
occupations nor most careless amusements can we ever get entirely
rid of them. A tragedy that should represent the adventures
of sailors or porters, or even of private gentlemen, would presently
disgust us; but one that introduces kings and princes acquires in our
eyes an air of importance and dignity. Or should a man be able, by his
superior wisdom, to get entirely above such prepossessions, he would
soon, by means of the same wisdom, again bring himself down to them for
the sake of society, whose welfare he would perceive to be intimately
connected with them. Far from endeavouring to undeceive the people in
this particular, he would cherish such sentiments of reverence to their
princes as requisite to preserve a due subordination in society. And
though the lives of twenty thousand men be often sacrificed to maintain
a king in possession of his throne, or preserve the right of succession
undisturbed, he entertains no indignation at the loss on pretence that
every individual was perhaps in himself as valuable as the prince he
served. He considers the consequences of violating the hereditary right
of kings—consequences which may be felt for many centuries; while the
loss of several thousand men brings so little prejudice to a large
kingdom that it may not be perceived a few years afterwards.