character of Burke’s first publication,—the “Vindication of Natural Society,” which pretended to be written by Lord Bolingbroke. Burke was then only six-and-twenty; but he had made up his mind, which he never changed, against the à priori method in political philosophy, which he was to see reach such a height of mischievous absurdity in the French Revolution. It is true, we of another century may think that Burke carried his reverence for natural laws of society into superstition when he discouraged action, and admired passive waiting on the course of human affairs. It is true, we may see how unwelcome his incessant announcements of the results of his reasonings were in parliament, where the members were divided between poetical and sympathetic enthusiasm about the metaphysics and sentiment of French politics and the hard dry notions of practical politics which prevailed under an ignorant and wilful king and a Tory party at which the country would blush at this day. It is true, Burke left no great single work, general in its character, and thorough in its treatment of a province of philosophy; but yet he was a representative man in political philosophy. He united in himself the intuitive perception of general truths which some persons suppose to constitute a proof of first principles, with the clear and constant conviction that the search for first principles in politics is as mischievous as vain. While Montesquieu’s countrymen were preaching away about social contracts and savage states of society, and natural social rights, and personifying abstractions of any sort that pleased their fancy, Burke,—the born-poet, the man of imagination, fancy, sympathy, which so abounded in him that he might have swamped the whole supply paraded by the French revolutionists,—this fervent speaker, who might have beaten all the metaphysicians and all the political discoverers with their own weapons, never ceased his exhortations to legislators and society to abide by facts, and to reason from known particular facts to the ascertainable general facts which we call laws. We cannot regard Burke as the founder of a school, or the discoverer of any new department of politics: but he was a teacher whose wisdom will drop into many minds of each generation for long years, perhaps centuries, to come. No one can travel in America without being struck with the veneration in which Burke’s utterances are held there. The fact is singular, considering the metaphysical quality of American politics, from Burke’s time to the present; but it shows what his sympathy with revolutionary France might have been if he had not been guarded by an early recognition of the true character of political philosophy,—derived, perhaps, in great measure, from Montesquieu. The prevalent character of political speculation in France at this day enhances the delight of the study of Burke, in whom we find all the ideality of the metaphysical school, together with the sound wisdom—the intense common sense—of the higher and humbler students who are thankful to learn from a wide range of events, rather than from a group of notions fetched from out of their own brains.
Those who are old enough to have seen how the House of Commons looked while Sir James Mackintosh was speaking, can bear witness that our legislature has no real and permanent antipathy to political philosophers. Too much of the conduct of our parliament looks like it; and it will be an undying tradition that the House emptied when Burke spoke, while it has never failed to rally to hear the coarsest libeller who will amuse it with personalities, provided he has sufficient smartness. Yet a metaphysician and a man of speculative genius may win homage, in spite of his strongest qualifications, if he can gratify his hearers with some others. They listened eagerly whenever Mackintosh spoke, though he was first known as a political philosopher. He does not, however, belong to my subject, for he was by no means a representative man in political philosophy. Neither can we assign that character to our benefactor, Mr. Hallam, substantial and invaluable as are his services. He has promoted political thought among us by enabling the present generation to understand the constitution under which they live. His statements instruct us; his reasonings enlighten us; and his inferences set us thinking: but his function has been only critical. He may, probably, have helped to make some future political philosopher; but he was not himself one of the supreme sages of the order.
As France has supplied a science of History to the nineteenth century, so she has perhaps supplied the purest example of a political philosopher. De Tocqueville answers more entirely to the description than any other man of our time; and not the less, if his function was rather to illustrate the operation of known laws than to make discoveries of new ones. Born into a position (like that of Machiavelli and of Montesquieu), favourable to observation without passion or prejudice, De Tocqueville looked out upon social life with a fine faculty of insight into its workings, and a kindly heart, sensitive to the present troubles and the future dangers of society. His life was distinguished accordingly by his emphatic warnings of the near relationship of democratic equality to subjugation under a despotism, while his cautions were rendered trustworthy by his hearty appreciation of the blessings of genuine freedom.
His misfortune was his French tendency to a logical treatment of an idealised theme. It was this which obstructed the effect of his “Democracy in America” upon the people of the United States. The Americans have no sort of objection to even an à priori handling of political doctrine (witness their own Declaration of Independence). However it may be with their responsible statesmen, the reading public there is certainly favourable to an idealising and metaphysical treatment of any subject,—and of politics among the rest; but De Tocqueville’s procedure was rather too plain before their eyes. He saw few people, he did not go southwards beyond Washington, and conversed very little; and the remark was that his book might have been written in his own library, without the trouble of the voyage. He himself declared that he had wrought out his exposition from the scantiest supply of facts, just as Cuvier would have elaborated an entire unknown animal from the aspect of a tooth. It is true, there was too
