In his classic 1790 text, Reflections on the Revolution in France, Edmund Burke writes:
‘To be attached to the subdivision, to love the little platoon we belong to in society, is the first principle (the germ, as it were) of public affections. […] The interest of that portion of social arrangement is a trust in the hands of all those who compose it; and as none but bad men would justify it in abuse, none but traitors would barter it away for their own personal advantage.’
With lines like these, it’s not hard to see why so many think of ‘Edmund Burke’ and ‘conservatism’ as synonymous, associating him with a die-hard resistance to change, a breathless exaltation of divinely-ordained hierarchy, and an elitist proponent of manners and traditions. Yet a new book on the British thinker and politician by Ross Carroll, a political theorist at Dublin City University, wants you to think about this again.
For one, as Carroll sees it, the label of ‘conservative’ is far too ambiguous to get anywhere. As with the similarly equivocal ‘liberal’, the contents of such a position are anything but clear. Conservatism in particular has frequently been castigated as a non-position, an obstinate opposition to change; Friedrich Hayek memorably argued that ‘by its very nature it cannot offer an alternative to the direction in which we are moving [… it can] only affect the speed, not the direction, of contemporary developments’. Yet many would contest this view, arguing alternatively that it offers a positive vision of tradition, stability, and community.
Instead, Carroll argues convincingly that to try and pigeonhole Burke into the category of ‘conservatism’ would not only be anachronistic, but that it ‘poorly captures the particular nature of his passions and political commitments’. Burke was not just a thinker and writer, but a constantly active politician and agitator, who pushed for a variety of causes that might be called progressive, and admonished the failings of the British elite, particularly with regards to the colonial administration in India. Thus, Carroll challenges the reader to ‘approach Burke on his own terms first’, and then decide how he ought to be thought of.
Furthermore, the book is firmly focused on understanding and drawing out Burke’s political theory in the context of his broader thought. Burke is a huge thinker, with writings on a vast range of topics, from history to art, and whole books could (and do) explore his work in these areas, not to mention unpacking his life and concrete effect on British politics. Carroll recognises that, to grasp Burke’s thought, it is vital to understand the range of areas within which he thinks. Indeed, he even argues that ‘the best political theory is interdisciplinary to its core’.
‘Political theory’ is an even more specific label than some might take it to be, however. Carroll, following thinkers like Hannah Arendt, counterposes the term with ‘political philosophy’. The latter does abstract and perhaps universal theorising, thinking about the best principles and institutions without considering the constraints of the real world; the former starts with a given society and a place within it, considering feasible reform, as limited by the wishes of others. As Burke argues, it is possible for a proposition to be ‘metaphysically true’ but ‘politically false’.
Carroll’s discussion of Burke is wide-ranging, lucid, and thoughtful: he emphatically rejects seeing the Reflections as the only piece worth studying, instead drawing on myriad texts, speeches, and pamphlets to give a full grounding in his corpus. Carroll also usefully situates Burke’s work and thought in the intellectual context of his time, frequently referring to other early modern thinkers, as well as exploring its legacy and criticism.
Apart from the Reflections, one of Burke’s best-known and earlier works is his Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful. This work, which (as the title suggests) is primarily a work of aesthetics and an exploration of the ways in which art works upon the individual, may not have many immediate links to his later political theory. Yet Carroll elegantly explains the links between on the one hand, Burke’s view on the connection the individual has towards the state, and on the other, his psychology of sympathy and empathy, which he – like Hume – takes to be a part of human nature. The sublime, in Burke’s view, is vast, commanding respect and awe by reminding us of our solitary nature. Faced with infinity and magnificence, we are affected with the passion of fear and reminded of death. In a Hobbesian way, then, the state is sublime, commanding respect and authority because it has the power to take life away. But Carroll notes that this is not enough: it must also present beauty and ‘inspire love and fondness as well as fear’. Hence the importance of pomp and ceremony – often beloved by a traditionalist.
Carroll also discusses Burke’s famed rhetorical and oratory skills; both in writing and speech, he has a formidable command of language, creating stark images and mercilessly castigating his opponents. His Letter to a Noble Lord, published at the end of his career, is described as ‘out[doing] Swift for macabre humour’. Given his understanding of the ways in which the confusing and unexpected images of poetry operate upon the mind, it is far from surprising that he cuts such a powerful figure in prose.
Whilst the chapter on ‘Freedom and Revolution’ gets to the heart of what Burke is most known for, Carroll cautions against seeing the Reflections as explaining his fame. On the contrary, by the time it was published, Burke was already very famous, even admired, and his opposition to the events in Paris shocked many of his contemporaries, who presumed that he would share their enthusiasm. Indeed, Reflections was published in 1790, far before events like the Reign of Terror. Carroll suggests that Burke’s opposition to the movement was not the result of particular policies of the revolutionaries, but the structures that they attempt to set up: reducing the power of the monarchy and moving towards unicameralism. He connects this to Burke’s arguments for the necessarily social nature of freedom, and the embedded wisdom of persistent institutions. Rather than seeing liberty as starting from the individual, Carroll argues that for Burke ‘liberties were concrete privileges and entitlements[…] embedded in a particular social order that had persisted for centuries’.
This belief in the importance of respecting political structures that were developed in the past is shown in what Carroll calls the three parts of Burke’s ‘political ethic’. Firstly, he ‘acknowledges the urge to dominate as an ineliminable human failing’. This can be seen as a kind of realism – he takes it that the facts of human nature necessarily mean that social cooperation is difficult, and the danger of tyranny lurks around every corner. Secondly, he is constantly on guard against the dangers of overconfidence. Each generation will have a new set of radicals who believe that they know best; that they are genuinely ground-breaking. Instead, Burke fundamentally believes that politics is a long, arduous, and historical process, and what we have today is the product of much labour – thinking that one knows best is naive at best, dangerous at worst. Lastly, Burke rejects a corrosive cynicism about the possibility of virtuous political conduct – even if bad institutions persist and suffering is commonplace, one ought not become apathetic and dejected, but must work to prevent what can be prevented. This last element of his ethic in particular stands in contrast to a lazy acceptance of the ways things are, which is often attributed to him.
That being said, Carroll doesn’t shy away from Burke’s problematic side. Both in writing and in life, he was often an apologist for vastly unfair socio-political regimes, and was crudely opposed to women’s participations in politics, as well as that of the economically-disadvantaged. Carroll neither hides the fact that Burke had many regrettable elements of his beliefs, nor that they were grounded in fallacious arguments or simple prejudice. Criticisms of Burke and his contemporaries abound. But Carroll treads a careful and sensible line between recognising Burke’s straightforwardly unjustifiable and shameful views on the types of people who can do politics, and praising his radicalism and support for unfashionable and progressive causes, which lead him into much disrepute.
Overall, then, the book is not just an enjoyable and readable introduction into the core of Burke’s political thought and writings, but it leaves a lasting impression of the complexity – and contradictions – of a figure who was very much a man of his time, whilst also being out of fit with it in a number of ways.
Image credit: Steven Christe