Aesthetics and Politics in Edmund Burke

Author(s): Terry Eagleton

Source: History Workshop, No. 28 (Autumn, 1989), pp. 53-62
Published by: Oxford University Press
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 Edmund Burke. Illustrationfrom Cabinet of Irish Literature

Aesthetics and Politics in Edmund Burke

by Terry Eagleton
INTRODUCTION
Aesthetics was born in the mid-eighteenth century as a discourse of the
body. The crucial distinction which the term signified for its inventor, the
German philosopher Alexander Baumgarten, was not one between life and
art, as is generally perceived, but between thoughts and things, ideas and
perceptions, that which belongs to our somatic, creaturely life as opposed to
that which lurks in the dim recesses of the mind. The 'aesthetic', that strange
new Enlightenment discourse, concerned itself with all that which follows
from our sensuous relation to the world, with the way reality strikes the body
on its sensory surfaces. It was only later in the evolution of German idealism
that the paradigm of all this became 'art'; aesthetics emerged into the world
of modern Europe not in the first place as a language of art, but as a social
phenomenology.
It emerged, to quote Alexander Baumgarten, as the 'sister' of logic.
Aesthetics was born as a woman - as an idiom of the body to supplement and
modify an austere male discourse of the mind. A grievously reified
Enlightenment rationality was in danger of finding the sphere of sensuous
particularity - the somatic, the affective, the historical - impenetrably
opaque; and it is for this reason that it needed to generate another,
supplementary language to eke itself out. It required a kind of concrete logic
which would embrace particularity in the way a universal abstract Reason
could not.
Since history was itself for the German Enlightenment a matter of
54 History Workshop Journal

discrete concrete particulars, the ruling order risked the ludicrous embar-
rassment of finding its own history falling beyond the scope of its governing
rationality. That rationality was in danger of allowing the whole of the
Lebenswelt- the domain of actual lived experience - to slip from beneath its
sway; and the aesthetic was born in part as a response to this troubling
ideological dilemma. Reason, Baumgarten reminds us in his Aesthetica
(1750), must remain supreme; but its dominance must never be allowed to
degenerate into simple tyranny. It must respect the relative autonomy of the
sensuous Nature it subdues, recognising in that realm a certain logic which is
not quite its own. The aesthetic, one might say, thus signalled an historic
shift on the part of enlightened absolutism in terms of the exercise of power:
from coercion to hegemony. Power, it was seen, must no longer remain
imperiously indifferent to the senses, but must infiltrate them from the
inside in order to regulate and control them more effectively. This is the
burden of Friedrich Schiller's 1790s Letters on the Aesthetic Education of
Man, where the aesthetic is represented as a kind of fifth columnist
smuggled by Reason into the realm of sensuous existence, the emissary of a
kindly absolutist power which recognises the ineffectiveness of mere brute
dominion as any adequate mode of social control. The whole concept of the
aesthetic was thus indissociable from an emergent project of bourgeois
political hegemony, redefining the relations between law and freedom,
mind and the senses, individual and the whole.
What this meant, in effect, was that the aesthetic was the way power, or
the Law, would be carried into the minutest crevices of lived experience,
inscribing the very gestures and affections of the body with its decrees. It is
this, essentially, which was realized in the whole eighteenth-century project
of 'manners', whereby the body became the subject of a meticulous
disciplining which eliminated the opposition between the proper and the
pleasurable. To live out the law spontaneously, to introject it as the very
source and essence of one's free identity, is what the work of art, above all,
exemplifies; and this in turn can become the paradigm for a whole new
conception of subjectivity, by which the human subject, in Althusserian
phrase, will come to work 'all by itself', without need of rebarbative
constraint. To live one's necessity as freedom - to give, as Kant says, the law
to oneself, to refuse all external determination for the pure movement of
one's own self-production: all of this came to be summarised and epitomised
by the aesthetic artefact itself. But it was also a new kind of political
requirement, in a world where the dismantling of the centralised structures
of absolutism, and the emergence of marketplace relations, meant that the
human individual had to become his or her own seat of self-government.
The aesthetic, then, marks the way in which structures of power became
gradually transmuted into structures of feeling, ethical doctrine dissolved
into the spontaneous texture of subjective life. Custom, virtue, habit took
over from dictat and naked authority, so that the laws which govern subjects
were to be felt as directly pleasurable, intuitively enjoyable, aesthetically
 Aestheticsand Politicsin Burke 55

appropriate.The aesthetic signals the birth of a new kind of spontaneous

consensus among social subjects, one whose locus is neither the state
(ultimately a coercive force) nor civil society (a place of atomised,
competitive individuals)but the realm of 'culture' itself. An intimately
interpersonal Gemeinschaft (community) is mapped on to a brutally
appetitiveGesellschaft(society). If bourgeoissociety, by a tragichistorical
irony,tendscontinuallyto underminein its fragmentingsocialandeconomic
activitiesthe very solidarityit requiresfor its own political reproduction,
then a realmbeyond both state and civil society can be discoveredin which
that spontaneousconsensuscan be nurturedand perpetuated.
Within the alarminglyamorphousflux of our subjective lives, certain
objectsstandout in a kindof idealityakinto reason,objectswhichwe can all
judge alike, andthese arethe beautiful.Beautyis a crucialconstituentof our
sociality:it is the way social order is lived out on the body, the way such
delightfulsymmetrystrikesthe eye and stirsthe heart. No vulgarutilitarian
rationaleis neededfor suchan experience,anymorethanone is requiredfor
humanfellowship. The social bonds of bourgeoissociety requireno more
theoretical validation than does our quick feeling for a magnificent
seascape.The moral,socialandaestheticsenses are deeplyintertwined;and
this meansthatsubmittingto authorityis a sourceof delightfor us, is indeed
as natural as following out our own deepest spontaneous impulses and
desires. The aestheticis a name for this hegemonicproject, whichis why it
looms so largein a formof societywhich,as Marxonce commented,actually
has exceedinglylittle time for art.

BURKE
It is not surprising,given what was at stake in these debates, that Edmund
Burkebeganhis workon the sublimeandthe beautifulby seekingto defend
the possibilityof a science of taste. If beauty is merely relative, then the
bonds which leash society together are in dangerof loosening. Beauty for
Burkeis not just a questionof art:

I call beauty a social quality;for when men and women, and not only
they, but when other animals give us a sense of joy and pleasure in
beholding them (and there are many that do so), they inspire us with
sentimentsof tendernessand affectiontowardstheir persons;we like to
have them near us, and we enter willinglyinto a kind of relation with
them, unlesswe shouldhave strongreasonsto the contrary.'

Burke is quite confidentthat such taste is uniformand universal:'I never

rememberthat anythingbeautiful, whether a man, a beast, or bird, or a
plant, was ever shown,thoughit were to a hundredpeople, thatthey did not
all immediately agree that it was beautiful . . .' (p. 70). If aesthetic
judgementis unstable,then so mustbe the social sympathiesfoundedon it,
56 HistoryWorkshopJournal

andwiththemthe whole fabricof politicallife. Uniformityof tastefor Burke

must be dependent on a uniformityof the senses themselves; but he is
realistic enough to recognise that the senses are actually variable and
aesthetic responses accordinglydivergent.These discrepancies,however,
can be laid at the door of individuals,rather than of taste itself, which
remainsidenticalthroughoutits manifoldirregularexpressions:

Whilstwe considertaste merely accordingto its nature and species, we

shall find its principlesentirely uniform;but the degree in which these
principlesprevail,in the severalindividualsof mankind,is altogetheras
differentas the principlesthemselvesare similar.(p. 78)

It is as thoughhumansize is absolutelyunalterable,even thoughindividuals

happento be of differentheights.
What knits society together for Burke, as with Hume, is the aesthetic
phenomenonof mimesis,whichis a mattermore of customthanof law:

It is by imitation,far morethanby precept,thatwe learneverything;and

what we learn thus, we acquire not only more effectually, but more
pleasantly.This forms our manners,our opinions, our lives. It is one of
the strongestlinks of society;it is a species of mutualcompliance,which
all men yield to each otherwithoutconstraintto themselves,andwhichis
extremelyflatteringto all. (p. 101)

Laws or precepts are simply derivativesof what is first nurturedthrough

customarypractice,and coercionis thus secondaryto consent. We become
humansubjectsby pleasurablyimitatingpracticalformsof sociallife, andin
the enjoymentof this lies the relationwhichbindsus hegemonicallyto the
whole. To mimeis to submitto a law, but one so gratifyingthatfreedomlies
in such servitude. Such consensualityis less an artificialsocial contract,
laboriouslywroughtand maintained,than a kindof spontaneousmetaphor
or perpetualforging of resemblances.The only problem is where all this
imitatingends: social life for Burkewould appeara kindof infinitechainof
representations,withoutgroundor origin.If we do as othersdo, who do the
same, then all of these copies would seem to lack a transcendentaloriginal,
and society is shatteredinto a wildernessof mirrors.
Thisceaselessmutualmirroringhas aboutit somethingof the stasisof the
Lacanianimaginary,and if taken too literally would spell the death of
differenceand history:

Althoughimitationis one of the greatinstrumentsused by Providencein

bringingour naturetowardsits perfection,yet if men gave themselvesup
to imitationentirely,andeach followedthe other, andso on in an eternal
circle, it is easy to see that there could never be any improvement
amongstthem. (p. 102)
 Aestheticsand Politicsin Burke 57

The very conditionswhich guaranteesocial order also paralyseit: sunk in

thisnarcissisticclosure,men of affairsgroweffete and enervated,sympathy
becomes cloying and incestuous, and beauty sinks to a by-word for
stagnation.Some countervailingenergyis thereforenecessary,whichBurke
discovers in the virile strenuousness of the sublime. 'To prevent this
(complacency), God has planted in man a sense of ambition, and a
satisfactionarisingfrom the contemplationof his excelling his fellows in
somethingdeemed valuableamongstthem' (p. 102). The sublimeis on the
side of enterprise,rivalryand individuation:it is a phallic'swelling'arising
from our confrontation of danger, although a danger we encounter
figuratively, vicariously, in the pleasurable knowledge that we cannot
actually be harmed. In this sense, the sublime is a suitably defused,
aestheticisedversionof the valuesof the ancienregime.It is as thoughthose
traditionalistpatricianvirtues of daring, reverence, free-bootingambition
mustbe at once cancelledand preservedwithinmiddle-classlife. As actual
qualities,they mustbe outlawedby a state devotedto domesticpeace;butto
avoid spiritual emasculationthey must still be fostered within it in the
displaced form of aesthetic experience. The sublime is an imaginary
compensation for all the uproarious old upper-class violence, tragedy
repeated as comedy. It is beauty's point of inner fracture, a negation of
settled order without which any order would grow inert and wither. The
sublimeis the anti-socialconditionof all sociality,the infinitelyunrepresen-
table whichspursus on to yet finer representations,the lawlessmasculine
force which violates yet perpetually renews the feminine enclosure of
beauty. Its social connotationsare interestinglycontradictory:in one sense
the memory trace of an historically surpassed barbarism, it also has
something of the challenge of mercantile enterprise to a too-clubbable
aristocraticindolence. Withinthe figureof the sublime,warringbaronsand
busyspeculatorsmergeto prod society out of its specularsmugness.These,
it maybe noted, are the politicalthoughtsof a manwho as a childattendeda
hedge school in CountyCork.
As a kind of terror, the sublimecrushesus into admiringsubmission;it
thus resembles a coercive rather than a consensualpower, engaging our
respectbut not, as withbeauty,our love: 'we submitto whatwe admire,but
we love whatsubmitsto us; in one case we are forced, in the other flattered,
into compliance'(p. 161). The distinctionbetween the beautiful and the
sublime,then, is that between woManand man;but it is also the difference
betweenwhat Louis Althusserhas called the ideologicaland the repressive
state apparatuses.2For Althusser, the repressive institutions of society
would seem to be purely negative; it is in ideology alone that we are
constructedas subjects. For Burke, a more subtle politicaltheoristin this
respect, this oppositioncan to some extent be deconstructed.The sublime
may terroriseus into cowed submission,but since we are all constitutional
masochistswho delight in being humiliated,this coercivenesscontainsthe
pleasuresof the consensualas well as the pains of constraint.Conversely,
58 HistoryWorkshopJournal

the beauty which wins our free consent, and beguiles us like a woman, is
based nevertheless on a kind of cunningly dissimulated law.
Burke confesses that he can see no way of uniting these two registers,
which clearly poses a political problem. The dilemma is that the authority we
love we do not respect, and the one we respect we do not love:

The authority of a father, so useful to our well-being, and so justly

venerable upon all accounts, hinders us from having that entire love for
him that we have for our mothers, where the parental authority is almost
melted down into the mother's fondness and indulgence. (p. 159)

The political paradox is plain: only love will truly win us to the law, but this
love will erode the law to nothing. A law attractive enough to engage our
intimate affections, and so hegemonically effective, will tend to inspire in us
a benign contempt. On the other hand, a power which rouses our filial fear,
and hence our submissive obedience, is likely to alienate our affections and
so spur us to oedipal resentment. Casting around desperately for a
reconciling image, Burke offers us, of all things, the figure of the
grandfather, whose male authority is enfeebled by age into a 'feminine
partiality'. Mary Wollstonecraft was quick to assail the sexism of Burke's
argument in her Vindication of the Rights of Men. His distinction between
love and respect, she points out, aestheticises women in ways which remove
them from the sphere of morality. 'The affection (women) excite, to be
uniform and perfect, should not be tinctured with the respect which the
moral virtues inspire, lest pain should be blended with pleasure, and
admiration disturb the soft intimacy of love.'3 'This laxity of morals in the
female', Wollstonecraft continues,

is certainly more captivating to a libertine imagination than the cold

arguments of reason, that give no sex to virtue. But should experience
prove that there is a beauty in virtue, a charm in order, which necessarily
implies exertion, a depraved sensual taste may give way to a more manly
one - and melting feelings to rational satisfactions.4

For Wollstonecraft, Burke is a kind of aesthete who divorces beauty

(woman) from moral truth (man); against this, she argues at once that virtue
is sexless and that it involves a manly taste. We shall see, however, that
Burke is not so much an aesthete as an aestheticiser, which makes a
significant difference.
Authority, then, lives in a kind of ceaseless self-undoing, as coercion and
consent reinforce yet undermine one another. An enervate beauty must be
regularly shattered by a sublime whose terrors must in turn be quickly
defused, in a rhythm of erection and detumescence. At the heart of power
lies the contradictory phrase 'free bondage', of which the aesthetic is a vital
symbol. The greater the freedom the deeper the bondage; but the more, by
 Aestheticsand Politicsin Burke 59

the same token, spontaneity can get out of hand. The more the human
subject works 'all by itself', the better - and the worse - for authority. If
freedom transgresses the submission which is its very condition, the
repressiveness of the sublime can be invoked; but this ultimate efficacy of
power is also its potential downfall, breeding as well as subduing rebellion.
Power is thus a kind of riddle, of which the mystery of the aesthetic, with its
impossibly lawless lawfulness, is an apt sign.
The aesthetic experience of the sublime is confined to the cultivated few;
and there would thus seem the need for a kind of poor person's version of it.
Religion is of course one obvious such candidate; but Burke also proposes
another, which is, surprisingly enough, the lowly activity of labour. Like the
sublime, labour is a masochistic affair, since we find work at once painful in
its exertion yet pleasurable in its arousal of energy. 'As common labour,
which is a mode of pain, is the exercise of the grosser, a model of terror is the
exercise of the finer parts of the system' (p. 181). The sublime, with its
'delightful horror', is the rich man's labour, invigorating an otherwise
dangerously complacent ruling class. If that class cannot know the uncertain
pleasures of loading a ship, it can gaze instead at one tossed on the turbulent
ocean. Providence has so arranged matters that a state of rest becomes soon
obnoxious, breeding melancholy and despair; we are thus naturally driven
to work, reaping enjoyment from its surmounting of difficulties. Labour
involves a gratifying coerciveness, and is thus an aesthetic experience all in
itself, at least for those who theorise about it. Both material production and
political life, base and superstructure, display a unity of force and fulfilment.
Hegemony is not only a matter of the political state, but is installed within
the labour process itself. Our agreeable wrestling with Nature's recalci-
trance is itself a kind of socialised sublime; and this agreeableness of labour
is even more gratifying to those who profit from it.
What the aesthetic in Burke sets its face most firmly against is the notion
of natural rights. It is precisely that dryly theoretic discourse, a revolution-
ary one in his day, that the appeal to the intimate habits of the body is out to
worst. The essay on the beautiful and the sublime is a subtle phenomenology
of the senses, a mapping of the body's delicacies and disgusts: Burke is
fascinated by what happens when we hear low vibrations or stroke smooth
surfaces, by the dilation of the eye's pupil in darkness or the feel of a slight
tap on the shoulder. He is much preoccupied with sweet smells and violent
startings from sleep, with the vibratory power of salt and the question of
whether proportion is the source of beauty in vegetables. All of this strange
homespun psycho-physiology is a kind of politics, willing to credit no
theoretical notion which cannot somehow be traced to the muscular
structure of the eye or the texture of the fingerpads. If there are indeed
metaphysical rights, then they enter this dense somatic space as dispersed
and non-identical. Like 'rays of light which pierce into a dense medium',
Burke argues in Reflections on the French Revolution, such rights are 'by the
laws of nature, refracted from their straight line', enduring 'such a variety of
60 HistoryWorkshopJournal

refractions and reflections, that it becomes absurd to talk of them as if they

continued in the simplicity of their original direction'. What is natural about
such rights is their deviance or aberrancy; their self-disseminatory power is
part of their very essence. When Burke adds that 'the nature of man is
intricate; the objects of society are of the greatest possible complexity', he
speaks, in the original sense of the term, as an aesthetician. And this is
equivalent, in this political context, to saying that he speaks also as a
reactionary.
It is not that Burke rejects all concept of the rights of man. He is not
arguing that such rights do not exist - more that they are incapable of
definition. 'The rights of man are in a sort of middle, incapable of definition,
but not impossible to be discerned'.6 They are, in short, just like the laws of
the artefact, indubitably present yet impossible to abstract from their
particular incarnations. Tradition, for Burke, is equally a kind of lawfulness
without law. The true danger of the revolutionaries is that as fanatical
anti-aestheticians they offer to reduce hegemony to naked power. They are
Protestant extremists who would believe insanely that men and women
could look on this terrible law in all its nakedness and still live, who would
strip from it every decent mediation and consoling illusion, break every icon
and extirpate every pious practice, thus leaving the wretched citizen helpless
and vulnerable before the full sadistic blast of authority. Angered by this
iconoclasm, Burke speaks up instead for what Gramsci will later term
'hegemony':

But now all is to be changed. All the pleasing illusions, which made power
gentle and obedience liberal, which harmonised the different shades of
life, and which, by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the
sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved
by this new conquering empire of light and reason. All the decent drapery
of life is to be rudely torn off. All the superadded ideas, furnished from
the wardrobe of a moral imagination, which the heart owns, and the
understanding ratifies, as necessary to cover the defect of our naked,
shivering nature, and to raise it to dignity in our own estimation, are to be
exploded as a ridiculous, absurd, and antiquated fashion.7

With the executed Marie Antoinette in mind, Burke goes on to denounce

revolutionary discourtesy to women: 'All homage paid to the sex in general
as such, and without distinct views, is to be regarded as romance and folly'.
The law is male, but hegemony is a woman; this transvestite law, which
decks itself out in female drapery, is in danger of having its phallus exposed.
Power is ceasing to be aestheticised: what grapples individuals to it on this
radical view is less their affections than the gallows. The whole crucial
middle region of social life between state and economy, the rich tapestry of
customs which transmute laws to feelings, is being disastrously abandoned:
 Aestheticsand Politicsin Burke 61

These public sentiments, combined with manners, are requiredsome-

times as supplements,sometimes as correctives,always as aids to law.
The precept given by a wise man, as well as a great critic, for the
constructionof poems, is equally true as to states: Non satis est pulchra
esse poemata, dulcia sunto. It is not enough that the poem should be
beautiful.Thereoughtto be a systemof mannersin everynation,whicha
well-formedmind would be disposed to relish. To make us love our
country,our countryought to be lovely.8

Woman, the aesthetic, and political hegemony are now in effect synony-
mous.
We can returnin the lightof this to the quarrelbetween Burkeand Mary
Wollstonecraft.It is not quite true, as Wollstonecraftsuggests,thatBurkeis
an aesthete concerned to divorce beauty from moral truth, thus reducing
women to decorative amoralists. On the contrary, Burke wishes to
aestheticisemoraltruth, in order to renderit safely hegemonic.Woman,or
beauty, thus becomes a kind of mediationof man;but what Wollstonecraft
rightlysees is that this process does not work in reverse. Beauty must be
includedwithin the sublimityof the masculinelaw, in order to soften its
rigours, but moral sublimity is not to be included within the beautiful.
Women are indeed in this sense excluded from the domain of truth and
morality.Burkedeconstructsthe oppositionbetween beautyand truth,but
only partiallyand unilaterally.Beauty is necessaryfor power, but does not
containit; authorityhas need of the veryfemaleit placesbeyondits bounds.
The politicalvictoryof the aesthetic in Burke is more than a local one.
Indeed one might claim that from Burke and the later Coleridge, and
onwardthroughoutthe nineteenthcentury,the aestheticas a categoryis in
effect capturedby the political right. By the mid-nineteenthcentury, the
'poetic' will have been so defined as to renderthe phrase'politicalpoetry'
effectively self-contradictory.But there is a less gloomy alternativenar-
rativeto be told. FromSchillerandearlyMarxto Marcuseandthe Frankfurt
School, the aesthetic also comes to signifya traditionof social thoughtfor
whichthe free realisationof humancreativecapacitiesis at once an end in
itself and the very dynamicand imperativeof historicalchange. There is no
more reasonfor humanbeings to fulfil their creativecapacitiesin this way
thenthereis reasonfor a workof art;whereartis mostprofoundlypoliticalis
thus, ironically, where it most radically has its end in itself - is self-
generative. In the free self-determinationof the aesthetic can be found a
form of politics which, from the time of Burke onwards, challenges and
interrogatesthatother mode of aestheticthoughtwhichseeks to subduethe
bodyto the Law, ratherthanallowit to rebel againstit. The aesthetic,then,
is not a categoryto be cavalierlyabandonedto the politicalright,any more
than it is one to be uncriticallycelebratedas emancipatoryby the political
left. One terminus,in our own time, of the conservativeaestheticisationof
62 HistoryWorkshopJournal

politicsis fascism,for whichimage, senses, blood and intuitionare all. But

whenWalterBenjamininstructedus that since the fascistshad aestheticised
politics,we mustpoliticiseaesthetics,he did not, presumably,meanthatwe
mustreplace the aestheticwith the political. Instead, we mustfind our own
ways to reinterpretthe classicaltraditionof the aesthetic, which as I have
tried to show begins life as a kind of primitiveproto-materialism.We must
see, in short, what a politics of the body might mean in our own day, and
realise that in pursuingthat project we are being faithful, paradoxically
enough, to the most profoundimpulseof the classicalaesthetictradition.

NOTES

1 Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and
the Beautiful, in The Works of Edmund Burke (London, 1906), vol. 1, p. 95. All subsequent
references to this work are given parenthetically after quotations in the text.
2 Louis Althusser, 'On ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses', in Lenin and
Philosophy (London, 1971).
3 Mary Wollstonecraft, Vindication of the Rights of Man (Gainesville, Florida, 1960),
p. 114.
4 ibid., p. 116.
5 Reflections on the French Revolution (London, 1955), p. 59.
6 ibid., p. 59.
7 ibid., p. 74.
8 ibid., p. 75.