Status appears to be that stage of civilisation whence advancing communities emerge into the era of individual liberty. In its most perfect development it takes the form of caste, and the presumption is the movement toward caste begins upon the abandonment of a wandering life, and varies in intensity with the environment and temperament of each race, the feebler sinking into a state of equilibrium, when change by spontaneous growth ceases to be perceptible. So long as the brain remains too feeble for sustained original thought, and man therefore lacks the energy to rebel against routine, this condition of existence must continue, and its inevitable tendency is toward rigid distinctions of rank, and as a necessary consequence toward the limitation of the range of ambition, by the conventional lines dividing the occupations of the classes. Such at least in a general way was the progression of the Jews, and in a less marked degree of the barbarians who overran the Roman Empire. Yet even these, when they acquired permanent abodes, gravitated strongly enough toward caste to produce a social system based on monopoly and privilege which lasted through many centuries. On the other hand, the democratic formula of “equality before the law” best defines the modern conception of human relations, and this maxim indicates a tone of thought directly the converse of that which begot status; for whereas the one strove to raise impassable barriers against free competition in the struggle for existence, the ideal of the other is to offer the fullest scope for the expansion of the faculties.
As in Western Europe church and state alike rested upon the customs of the Middle Ages, a change so fundamental must have wrought the overthrow, not only of the vastest vested interests, but of the profoundest religious prejudices, consequently, it could not have been accomplished peaceably; and in point of fact the conservatives were routed in two terrific outbreaks, whereof the second was the sequence of the first, though following it after a considerable interval of time. By the wars of the Reformation freedom of thought was gained; by the revolutions of the eighteenth century, which swept away the incubus of feudalism, liberty of action was won; and as Massachusetts had been colonized by the radicals of the first insurrection, it was not unnatural that their children should have led the second. So much may be readily conceded, and yet the inherited tendency toward liberalism alone would have been insufficient to have inspired the peculiar unanimity of sentiment which animated her people in their resistance to Great Britain, and which perhaps was stronger among her clergy, whose instincts regarding domestic affairs were intensely conservative, than among any other portion of her population. The reasons for this phenomenon are worthy of investigation, for they are not only interesting in themselves, but they furnish an admirable illustration of the irresistible action of antecedent and external causes on the human mind.
Under the Puritan Commonwealth the church gave distinction and power, and therefore monopolized the ability which sought professional life; but under the provincial government new careers were opened, and intellectual activity began to flow in broader channels. John Adams illustrates the effect produced by the changed environment; when only twenty he made this suggestive entry in his Diary: “The following questions may be answered some time or other, namely,—Where do we find a precept in the Gospel requiring Ecclesiastical Synods? Convocations? Councils? Decrees? Creeds? Confessions? Oaths? Subscriptions? and whole cart-loads of other trumpery that we find religion encumbered with in these days?” [Footnote: Works of J. Adams, ii. 5.]
Such men became lawyers, doctors, or merchants; theology ceased to occupy their minds; and gradually the secular thought of New England grew to be coincident with that of the other colonies.
Throughout America the institutions favored individuality. No privileged class existed among the whites. Under the careless rule of Great Britain habits of personal liberty had taken root, which showed themselves in the tenacity wherewith the people clung to their customs of self-government; and so long as these usages were respected, under which they had always lived, and which they believed to be as well established as Magna Charta, there were not in all the king’s broad dominions more loyal subjects than men like Washington, Jefferson, and Jay.
The generation now living can read the history of the Revolution dispassionately, and to them it is growing clear that our ancestors were technically in the wrong. For centuries Parliament has been theoretically absolute; therefore it might constitutionally tax the colonies, or do whatsoever else with them it pleased. Practically, however, it is self-evident that the most perfect despotism must be limited by the extent to which subjects will obey, and this is a matter of habit; rebellions, therefore, are usually caused by the conservative instinct, represented by the will of the sovereign, attempting to enforce obedience to customs which a people have outgrown.
In 1776, though the Middle Ages had passed, their traditions still prevailed in Europe, and probably the antagonism between this survival of a dead civilization and the modern democracy of America was too deep for any arbitrament save trial by battle. Identically the same dispute had arisen in England the century before, when the commons rebelled against the prerogatives of the crown, and Cromwell fought like Washington, in the cause of individual emancipation; but the movement in Great Britain was too radical for the age, and was followed by a reaction whose force was not spent when George III. came to the throne.
Precedent is only inflexible among stationary races, and advancing nations glory in their capacity for change; hence it is precisely those who have led revolt successfully who have won the brightest fame. If, therefore, it be admitted that they should rank among mankind’s noblest benefactors, who have risked their lives to win the freedom we enjoy, and which seems destined to endure, there are few to whom posterity owes a deeper debt than to our early statesmen; nor, judging their handiwork by the test of time, have many lived who in genius have surpassed them. In the fourth article of their Declaration of Rights, the Continental Congress resolved that the colonists “are entitled to a free and exclusive power of legislation in their several provincial legislatures, ... in all cases of taxation and internal polity, subject only to the negative of their sovereign, in such manner as has been heretofore used and accustomed. But, ... we cheerfully consent to the operation of such acts of Parliament as are, bona fide, restrained to the regulation of our external commerce.”
In 1778 a statute was passed, of which an English jurist wrote in 1885: “One act, indeed, of the British Parliament might, looked at in the light of history, claim a peculiar sanctity. It is certainly an enactment of which the terms, we may safely predict, will never be repealed and the spirit never be violated.... It provides that Parliament’ will not impose any duty, tax or assessment whatever, payable in any of his majesty’s colonies ... except only such duties as it may be expedient to impose for the regulation of commerce.’” [Footnote: The Law of the Constitution, Dicey, p. 62.]
Thus is the memory of their grievance held sacred by the descendants of their adversaries after the lapse of a century, and the local self-government for which they pleaded has become the immutable policy of the empire. The principles they laid down have been equally enduring, for they proclaimed the equality of men before the law, the corner-stone of modern civilization, and the Constitution they wrote still remains the fundamental charter of the liberties of the republic of the United States.