ements alien from
his special outlook. He took that liberty not to venerate where he was
unable to comprehend which he denied to his opponents. Nor did he admit
the uses to which his doctrine of prescription was bound to be put in
the hands of selfish and unscrupulous men. No one will object to
privilege for a Chatham; but privilege for the Duke of Grafton is a
different thing, and Burke's doctrine safeguards the innumerable men of
whom Grafton is the type in the hope that by happy accident some Chatham
will one day emerge. He justifies the privileges of the English Church
in the name of religious well-being; but it is difficult to see what men
like Watson or Archbishop Cornwallis have got to do with religion. The
doctrine of prescription might be admirable if all statesmen were so
wise as Burke; but in the hands of lesser men it becomes no more than
the protective armour of vested interests into the ethics of which it
refuses us leave to examine.

That suspicion of thought is integral to Burke's philosophy, and it
deserves more examination than it has received. In part it is a
rejection of the Benthamite position that man is a reasoning animal. It
puts its trust in habit as the chief source of human action; and it
thus is distrustful of thought as leading into channels to which the
nature of man is not adapted. Novelty, which is assumed to be the
outcome of thought, it regards as subversive of the routine upon which
civilization depends. Thought is destructive of peace; and it is argued
that we know too little of political phenomena to make us venture into
the untried places to which thought invites us. Yet the first of many
answers is surely the most obvious fact that if man is so much the
creature of his custom no reason would prevail save where they proved
inadequate. If thought is simply a reserve power in society, its
strength must obviously depend upon common acceptance; and that can only
come when some routine has failed to satisfy the impulses of men. But we
may urge a difficulty that is even more decisive. No system of habits
can ever hope to endure long in a world where the cumulative power of
memory enables change to be so swift; and no system of habits can endure
at all unless its underlying idea represents the satisfaction of a
general desire. It must, that is to say, make rational appeal; and,
indeed, as Aristotle said, it can have virtue only to the point where it
is conscious of itself. The uncritical r