ROBESPIERRE:
The Man Who Divides Us Most
Marcel Gauchet
ISBN 978-0-691-21294-4
“The man of the revolution of the Rights of Man died because
he fundamentally misunderstood what a republic that had any
chance of winning the approval of a majority of the French people
might look like”. This
observation comes close to the end of this fascinating study. As
does this remark of 16th August 1794 from Cassat the
Elder, a virtually unknown journalist: “The fact remains that
Robespierre exercised a very real tyranny and that he himself did
not suspect that he was a tyrant.”
“Robespierre,”
Cassat continued, “did not mistrust himself enough, and that is what
ruined him.” It has ruined many. In most lives it engenders personal
tragedy, in political leaders, collective tragedy, and perhaps
someday, the end of the human adventure.
François Furet may have declared the French Revolution over, but the
debate about Robespierre’s role in history will probably never end.
It is certainly still vital for us because what Robespierre set out
to achieve is unfinished. Our democracies, or more properly our
systems of representative government, haven’t given power to the
people. Corporate interests exert greater influence over governments
than votes. Money is concentrated in few hands and, as has often
been pointed out, democracy is hobbled when money can buy power. The
principle is simple: no one should have power without the consent of
those they have power over; making it a reality is fraught.
Robespierre, Gauchet implies, was an inadvertent radical. He began
in timidity and ended in arrogance. Like many politicians, he
trained as a lawyer (the skill in advocacy seems to impel solicitors
towards parliament, though many have little to offer but advocacy),
with literary ambitions. In April 1791 speaking to the Jacobins he
declared: “Overturn the monarchy! As if I were mad enough to wish to
destroy the government…”. The irony of this is just as great as that
of his early belief in the abolition of the death penalty. He came
to believe in the overthrow of the monarchy, and the beheading of
Louis XVI, because he thought only in this way could the revolution
be defended, and as the revolution expressed the incorruptible will
of the incorruptible people, whatever stood in its way was evil.
Taking power from the feudal aristocracy wasn’t enough. The “most
unbearable” aristocracy of all was that of money and though he
considered material inequality inevitable, he thought its extremes
the result of bad laws and bad government. He would assault them
with the Rights of Man: the universal rights conferred by the deity.
They applied to everyone, except women. Robespierre believed in
universal male suffrage. It’s interesting to wonder how his mind
embraced the contradiction. Of course, women were thought of as
lesser, inferior, and therefore unable to enjoy the liberties which
nature granted to men. Yet wasn’t there a moment when it might have
occurred to him that Rights of Man which exclude half the species
are somewhat lacking? Perhaps this illustrates how easy it is to
imagine yourself a purveyor of absolute justice while harbouring
egregiously unjust views.
“Our constituents are all the French people, and I shall defend all
of them, above all the poorest.” This commitment to the poorest
first, obviously adumbrates socialism, though Gauchet grants
Robespierre no particular influence in this regard. He does point
out that had Robespierre died in 1791, he would be remembered as a
classic liberal. That liberalism allied to priority for the poorest
might have saved a deal of agony. What led Robespierre astray,
principally, was his fantastical belief in the virtue of “the
people”. It’s hard not to see this carrying forward into the equally
fantastical belief in the heroic historical role of the
“proletariat”. In both cases, replacing real, living individuals in
all their contradictions and nuances by an abstraction that could
contain neither, led to the opposite of what was desired. The
high-minded impulse to equality, democracy and justice resulted in
entrenched inequality, dictatorship and thought-control. Nor is this
a matter of mere what-if-ism: we are still in the throes of the
attempt, the world is tilting towards authoritarianism, we still
need to be able to struggle for democracy and equality without
embracing fantastical notions of perfect virtue. As Flaubert says
about Dr Larivière in Madame Bovary, “he practised virtue
without believing in it”. That’s the difficult balance we have to
find.
“Freedom of the press cannot be separated from freedom of speech.
The two are sacred, like nature; they are both necessary, like
society itself.” Robespierre, in the first years after 1789,
believed freedom of the press must be total. By 1794 he was sending
people to the guillotine for what, seen from today’s perspective,
look like relatively minor disagreements. He illustrates, more
poignantly than any radical of the modern era, the enormous
difficulty of turning principle into policy. Principle in opposition
is easy. Once you have to get things done, some measure of
compromise is inevitable. Had Robespierre been able to strike a deal
with Danton, they might have secured universal male suffrage and
headed off Napoleon’s military dictatorship; but Robespierre was
unable to distinguish between the pure motivation which drove him
and the need for something less ultra-refined as a way of
entrenching a few crucial gains. Once again, it’s hard not to see
this foreshadowing the nineteenth and twentieth centuries with their
fine rhetoric laying the path to the gas chamber and the gulag.
Gauchet is clear about Robespierre’s disinterestedness, which
distinguishes him from subsequent dictators. Living modestly in
rented rooms in a carpenter’s house, Robespierre entertained no
dreams of great wealth; he had no interest, it seems, in sexual
relations; he didn’t even want power for himself. He wasn’t a
kleptocrat like Putin, a power-hungry Stalin or Castro: he became a
dictator while living very modestly. He was seeking nothing for
himself, everything for his beloved people. The difficulty was that
the people of his imagination didn’t exist. He murdered in their
name genuinely believing he was a mere conduit. Yet it is precisely
that capacity to annul himself, to depersonalise himself that gave
rise to the Terror. The students of 1968 scrawled on Parisian walls
the slogan: “A revolution which demands you sacrifice yourself for
it, is dad’s revolution.” The rebellious young of 1968 had grasped
that change needs to assist personal fulfilment. Gauchet is wise to
point out that trying to understand Robespierre’s psychology is a
fool’s errand. Yet it might be worth saying that something in his
make-up permitted him to be unusually and perhaps pathologically
self-denying. He was willing to die for his revolution. The students
were right: change has to be life-enhancing.
However, before events drove him into a corner, he showed himself
remarkably tolerant and balanced:
“..one must allow people’s minds time to mature, so that insensibly
they are raised up above prejudices.”
This comment on religious tolerance has tragic overtones:
Robespierre ran out of time. Events moved fast and overtook him.
There was no relaxation in which the people’s minds could mature.
Within a few years, he had moved from granting them the leeway to
let their minds change almost effortlessly to cutting off their
heads for minor disagreements.
Robespierre was an enemy of war. He understood that it takes away
the possibility of criticizing the executive, or as it was later
succinctly expressed by Randolphe Bourne: “War is the health of the
State.” Time and again, in Robespierre’s speeches before his mistake
of instituting the Terror, he is a wise philosopher. His fate
perhaps tells us that philosophers are well advised to remain in
their studies. Most of his early ideas were sound, but they, in and
of themselves, couldn’t withstand the machinations of politics in
which people pursue their interests at any cost. There were only two
possibilities for Robespierre: drop out or join in. By doing the
latter he destroyed the enlightened philosopher of 1789 and elevated
the bitter tyrant of 1794.
Opposed to war he was, logically, inimical to colonialism: “No one
welcomes armed missionaries.” He also expressed serious doubts about
insurrection seeing it as a “rare remedy, uncertain, extreme”. The
people, he knew, had come late to the revolution. It began with the
nobles, the clergy, the rich. The people joined in when their
interests coincided. At this stage, Robespierre was no advocate of
sans-culotte subversion. He saw revolution as a form of gradualism.
In all this can be discerned his conviction that events would stay
within the bounds of his ideas, that the revolution would be
conducted according to his principles. Cassat was right: he needed a
little self-mistrust, to ask himself whether in the flux of
revolutionary upheaval, with contesting factions fighting for
advantage, events might not demolish the strict psychic boundaries
on which his way of
life depended.
“I know of nothing so frightening as the idea of an unlimited power,
handed over to a numerous assembly that is above the law..”
The political interest expressed here is healthy, like so much of
the content of his early speeches, yet it didn’t prevent him taking
more or less unlimited power to himself. Exercising the power of
life and death over his fellow countrymen became virtuous. The
distance from tolerant liberalism to vicious tyranny is impossibly
small. It was traversed easily and quickly because of Robespierre’s
romanticisation of the people:
“The people ask only to be left undisturbed, ask only for justice,
for the right to live. Powerful men, the wealthy, crave
distinctions, riches, sensual pleasure. The interest, the desire of
the people is that of nature, of humanity; it is the general
interest.”
There is, of course, a common political sense. It’s true enough that
by and large the common folk want to be left to get on with their
lives and not to be abused; but Robespierre is attributing to them a
high-minded disinterestedness, which was his but isn’t widespread.
Danton was nearer the mark. On his way to the guillotine he is
reputed to have said words to the effect of “Alas, I am dying before
my time. I should have left my legs to that cripple Couthon and my
balls to that eunuch Robespierre.” He liked life. He liked people.
He enjoyed sensual pleasure. Yet he was in favour of the end of the
feudal aristocracy and establishment
of democracy. Robespierre made the mistake of thinking anything but
absolute self-sacrifice was evil and anti-democratic. Once again,
with due recognition given to their silly excesses, the
counter-cultural young of the sixties were right in seeing that a
campaign for justice and equality had to permit people to enjoy
themselves. Gauchet says Robespierre was no protosocialist or
Marxist avant la lettre, but 1789 and its aftermath certainly
influenced the young Marx. Just as the disturbances of the 14th
July had no need of Robespierre, so the events of 1848 had no need
of Marx. He observed them from Parisian cafes, recognised something
was on the move, combined it with his upside-down Hegelianism(much
of which was nonsense) and by so doing elaborated a theory intended
to make him at one and the same time a great philosopher and the
instigator of world revolution. Ça serait trop beau. The parallels
shouldn’t be forced, but there is at least a little in common
between Robespierre, the philosopher turned activist, and Marx the
philosopher revolutionary. Their legacy may be unfortunate. Perhaps
they have put into the world that lack of
the self-mistrust which is necessary to hold us back from our
worst mistakes.
“Be aware that I am in no way a defender of the people; never have I
pretended to this pompous title; I am of the people; I have always
been that; I wish only to be that; I despise anyone who claims to be
something more than that.”
False humility, as Gauchet writes, but also simply false.
Robespierre didn’t come from “the people”, in the sense in which
that term is used to mean the common folk, the majority who perform
relatively low-level work and earn modestly; and his political
position made him part of an elite. In this unwillingness to
recognise social realities which sat uncomfortably with his abstract
principles, we can see how he deluded himself. The result was an
inability to discern how the application of the principle of power
in the hands of “the people” might work in practice: if rights were
universal they would apply to those who weren’t of “the people” and
once granted rights, who could predict how millions of individuals
would choose to use them? The over-confidence in a desired outcome
led swiftly to the oppression necessary to keep the illusions in
place.
The revolution was supernatural. Robespierre denied that faith in the Supreme Being could lead people into superstition. Further, he identified himself fully with the supernatural character of the revolution and the Supreme Being:
“Alone but for my soul, how could I have borne labours that are
beyond human strength, had I not raised up my soul.”
Once again, it’s interesting to reflect on how this plays forward:
Marx dismissed a deity but replaced it by History. As Robespierre
saw himself as the agent of the Supreme Being, so Marx conceived of
himself as that of the abstract force of History. Moving backwards,
we find that Adam Smith cast his theory of the wealth of nations in
the framework laid down in The Theory of Moral Sentiments:
because the world was ruled over by a beneficent deity there could
be only “partial evil”; greed was sure to be limited by the moral
context established by god. This need for an over-arching force
seems to get in the way of practical responses. Certainly, in
Robespierre’s case it drove him into a corner of his own making from
which the only escape was martyrdom.
Rousseau was Robespierre’s mentor. He admired not only his
philosophy but also his personal example. This damaging hero-worship
helped seal Robespierre’s and France’s tragedy. Rousseau was a
deeply flawed man with a cruel side to his nature. The famous
dispute with Hume showed him at his worst: paranoid, vindictive,
malicious, conniving. He was a skilled writer and, in some ways, a
good thinker; but he was also probably the victim of chronic mental
health problems. That Robespierre adulated him and found not even
any minor grounds for criticism perhaps reveals more than naivety.
Hume was taken in by Rousseau, for a while. Robespierre know him
only through his writings and they can be deceptive. A man of high
intellect like Rousseau can easily disguise his failings in rigorous
prose.
Gauchet argues that the speech made by Robespierre on 28th October 1792 adumbrated all the revolutionary rhetoric of the next two centuries. We truly are Robespierre’s heirs and we need to distance ourselves from his terrible mistakes. He was, however, capable of useful insight. He remarked that in order to form the political institutions he believed in, the minds such institutions would create would be necessary. Here he is close to recognising his dilemma: the virtue he believed the people embodied would in fact be a reality only under radically changed circumstances, and even then, how could it be complete given millions of individual motivations?
“Virtue is always in the minority”, said Robespierre in a speech of
28th December 1792. Gauchet points out the phrase was
intended to gain tactical advantage in preventing the question of
what should be done with the king being put to the people, yet
acknowledges its wider significance. Unfortunately, politicians will
say almost anything to steal a march, but did Robespierre recognise,
at least partially and for a time, that his virtuous people couldn’t
be a reality if it was also true that virtue didn’t predominate?
Revolutions move quickly, which is their charm and their tragedy.
Democracy is slower, frustratingly so, but has the advantage of
avoiding the guillotine and the firing squad. “The true means of
moving quickly are to lay down principles from which it remains only
to draw the consequences.” Simple. Unfortunately, Robespierre’s
short life as a revolutionary illustrates that drawing the
consequences from principles may be easy for an individual, but to
make it work socially is extraordinarily hard.
Robespierre was elected to the Committee of Public Safety on 27th
July 1793. On 5th September of that year, speaking at the
Jacobin Club he said, “let us make terror the order of the day.” On
26th November Danton declared “…the people wish…that
terror be made the order of the day, but they wish that terror be
referred to its true end.” At that point, Robespierre supported him,
but the divergence was to prove fatal, for both. Robespierre
believed in “the despotism of liberty against tyranny.” The
formulation prefigures Orwell. It’s a beautiful illustration of how
people can justify to themselves the most despicable cruelty because
they are convinced of their impeccable virtue. They don’t mistrust
themselves enough. No doubt the rulers of the People’s Republic of
China, Putin and Donald Trump, among many others, are convinced of
their virtue. The point about liberty, however, is that if people
have it they will use it in unpredictable ways. It’s impossible to
believe in both freedom and control. The more controlled a society
or institution, the less freedom people enjoy. A choice has to be
made.
In relation to Danton, Robespierre felt that the propensity to pleasure was a greater danger than that to over-confidence. How strange: a revolution whose aim is to diminish pleasure. What kind of virtue isn’t pleasurable? There were sackcloth and ashes somewhere in Robespierre’s mind. Yet Danton’s love of pleasure didn’t prevent him supporting the Terror, even if he didn’t push it as far as Robespierre. The mistake is fundamental: believing the end justifies the means: killing people in the name of setting them free.
Gauchet argues that Robespierre’s vision was incompatible with the
nineteenth century. How could he have known what was to come?
Wanting to predict or control the future is a fool’s game.
Robespierre believed the virtue of the people was bound to prevail,
but he never defined what that virtue was nor what a society founded
on it might look like. He is arguably the most important figure in
modern politics because his delusions and contradictions remain
ours. He started out to make France democratic and egalitarian, but
democracy proved to embrace possibilities he hadn’t bargained for
and egalitarianism would have denied him the power to implement the
rule of virtue.
At the heart of Robespierre’s tragedy lies something which Gauchet
doesn’t explore: the sole agency available to him in his effort to
establish a society of virtue was the State; but the State didn’t
arise to encourage virtue or freedom but to ensure power for
dominant economic interests. Robespierre might as well have used a
flamethrower to put out a fire. Compromise could have brought
significant gains, but virtue has to be total or not at all. He
didn’t recognise that not all goods are compatible: it may be good
to have a tightly governed populace, but the good of liberty is
reduced. It might be good to have liberty, but that puts the good of
tight government in question. Robespierre thought he could square
circles. Out politics is playd out in his shadow, which makes
Gauchet’s study a vital book.
|