Select Speeches of Kossuth

by Lajos Kossuth

In loving your own selves you love your country, and in loving your country you love your own selves. This community of public and private interest will make you avoid the stumbling-block over which others fell. Prosperity is, of course, a great benefit; it is one of the aims of human society; but when prosperity becomes too material, it does not always guarantee the future. Paradoxical as it may appear, too much prosperity is often dangerous, and some national misfortune is now and then a good preservative of prosperity. For great prosperity makes nations careless of their future; seeing no immediate danger, they believe no danger possible; and then when a danger comes, either by sudden chance or by the slow accumulation of noxious elements, then, frightened by the idea that in meeting the danger their private property might be injured or lost, selfishness often prevails over patriotism, and men become ready to submit to arrogant pretensions, and compromise with exigencies at the price of principles, and republics flatter despots, and freemen covet the friendship and indulgence of tyrants, only that things may go on just as they go, though millions weep and nations groan; but still, things should go on just as they go, because every change may claim a sacrifice, or affect our thriving private interest. Such is often the effect of too great, of too secure prosperity. Therefore, prosperity alone affords yet no security.

You remember the tale of Polycrates. He was the happiest of men; good luck attended every one of his steps; success crowned all he undertook, and a friend thus spoke to him: "Thou art too happy for thy happiness to last. Appease the anger of the Eumenides by a voluntary sacrifice, or deprive thyself of what thou most valuest among all that thou possessest." Polycrates obeyed, and drew from his finger a precious jewel, of immense value, dear to his heart, and threw it into the sea. Soon after a fish was brought to his house, and his cook found the precious ring in the belly of the fish; but the friend who advised him hastened to flee from the house, and shook the dust of its threshold from his shoes, because he feared a great mischief must fall upon that too prosperous house. There is a deep meaning in that tale of Polycrates.

Machiavel says, that it is now and then necessary to recall the constituting essential principles to the memory of nations. And who is charged by Providence with this task? Misfortune! It was the battles of Cannaê and of Thrasymene which recalled the Romans to the love of their fatherland; nations had till now, about such things, no other teacher than misfortune. They should choose to have a less afflicting one. They can have it. To point this out will be the final object of my remarks, but so much is certain, that prosperity alone is yet no security for the future, even of the happiest commonwealth. Those ancient nations have been also prosperous. They were industrious, as your nation is; their land has been covered with cities and villages, well-cultivated fields, blessed with the richest crops, and crowded with countless herds spread over immense territories, furrowed with artificial roads; their flourishing cities swarmed with artists, and merchants, and workmen, and pilots, and sailors, like as New York does. Their busy labourers built gigantic water-works, digged endless canals, and carried distant waters through the sands of the desert; their mighty, energetic spirit built large and secure harbours, dried the marshy lakes, covered the sea with vessels, the land with living beings, and spread a creation of life and movement along the earth. Their commerce was broad as the known world. Tyre exchanged its purple for the silk of Serica; Cashmere's soft shawls, to-day yet a luxury of the wealthiest, the diamonds of Golconda, the gorgeous carpets of Lydia, the gold of Ophir and Saba, the aromatic spices and jewels of Ceylon, and the pearls and perfumes of Arabia, the myrrh, silver, gold dust, and ivory of Africa, as well as the amber of the Baltic and the tin of Thulé, appeared alike in their commerce, raising them in turn to the dominion of the world, and undoing them by too careless prosperity. The manner and the shape of one or the other art, of one or other industry, has changed; the steam-engine has replaced the rowing-bench, and cannon replaced the catapult; but, as a whole, even your country, which you are proud to hear styled "the living wonder of the world"—yes, even your country in the New World, and England in the Old—England, that gigantic workshop of industry, surrounded with a beautiful evergreen garden; yes, all the dominions of the Anglo-Saxon race, can claim no higher praise of its prosperity, than when we say, that you have reproduced the grandeur of those ancient nations, and nearly equal their prosperity. And what has become of them? A sad skeleton. What remains of their riches, of their splendour, and of their vast dominions? An obscure recollection; a vain memory. Thus fall empires; thus vanish nations, which have no better guardians than their prosperity. But "we have," will you say, "we have a better guardian—our freedom, our republican institutions; our confederation uniting so many glorious stars into one mighty galaxy—these are the ramparts of our present, these our future security."

Well, it would ill become me to investigate if there be nothing "rotten in the state of Denmark," and certainly I am not the man who could feel inclined to undervalue the divine power of liberty; to underrate the value of your democratic institutions, and the vitality of your glorious Union. It is to them I look in the solitary hours of meditation, and when, overwhelmed with the cares of the patriot, my soul is groaning under nameless woes, it is your freedom's sunny light which dispels the gloomy darkness of despondency; here is the source whence the inspiration of hope is flowing to the mourning world, that down-trodden millions at the bottom of their desolation still retain a melancholy smile upon their lips, and still retain a voice in their bleeding chest, to thank the Almighty God that the golden thread of freedom is not yet lost on earth. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, all this I feel, and all this I know, reflecting upon your freedom, your institutions, and your Union; but casting back my look into the mirror of the past, there I see upon mouldering ground, written with warning letters, the dreadful truth, that all this has nothing new; all this has been; and all this has never yet been proved sufficient security. Freedom is the fairest gift of Heaven; but it is not the security of itself. Democracy is the embodiment of freedom, which in itself is but a principle. But what is the security of democracy? And if you answer, "The Union is;" then I ask, "And where is the security of the Union?" Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Freedom is no new word. It is as old as the world. Despotism is new, but Freedom not. And yet it has never yet proved a charter to the security of nations. Republic is no new word. It is as old as the word "Society." Before Rome itself, republics absorbed the world. There were in all Europe, Africa and Asia Minor, but republics to be found, and many among them democratic. Men had to wander to far Persia if they would have desired to know what sort of thing a monarch is. And all they have perished; the small ones by foreign power, the large ones by domestic vice. And union, and confederacy, the association of societies—a confederate republic of republics, is also no new invention. Greece has known it and flourished by it, for a while. Rome has known it; by such associations she attacked the world. The world has known them; with them it defended itself against Rome. The so-called Barbarians of Europe, beyond the Danube and the Rhine, have known it; it was by a confederacy of union that they resisted the ambitious mistress of the world. Your own country, America, has known it; the traditionary history of the Romans of the West, of those six Indian Nations, bears the records of it, out of an older time than your ancestors settled in this land; the wise man of the Onondaga Nation has exercised it long before your country's legislators built upon that basis your independent home. And still it proved in itself alone no security to all those nations who have known it before you. Your own fathers have seen the last of the Mohawks burying his bloody tomahawk in the namesake flood, and have listened to the majestic words of Logan, spoken with the dignity of an Aemilius, that there exists no living being on earth in the veins of whom one drop of the blood of his race did flow. Well, had history nothing else to teach us, than that all what the wisdom of man did conceive, and all that his energy has executed through the innumerable days of the past, and all that we take to be glorious in nations and happy to men, cannot so much do as to ensure a future even to such a flourishing commonwealth as yours; then weaker hearts may well ask, What good is it to warn us of a fatality which we cannot escape; what good is it to hold up the mournful monuments of a national mortality to sadden our heart, if all that is human must share that common doom? Let us do as we can, and so far as we can, and let the future bring what it may. But that would be the speech of one having no faith in the all-watching Eye, and regarding the eternal laws of the universe not as an emanation of a bountiful Providence, but of a blind fatality, which plays at hazard with the destinies of men. I never will share such blasphemy. Misfortune came over me, and came over my house, and came over my guiltless nation; still I never have lost my trust in the Father of all. I have lived the days when the people of my oppressed country went along weeping over the immense misfortune that they cannot pray, seeing the downfall of the most just cause and the outrageous triumph of the most criminal of all crimes on earth; and they went along not able to pray, and weeping that they are not able to pray. I shuddered at the terrible tidings in the desolation of my exile; but I could pray, and sent the consolation home, that I do not despair; that I believe in God, and trust to His bountiful providence, and ask them who of them dares despair when I do not? I was in exile, as I am now, but arrogant despots were debating about my blood, my infant children in prison, my wife, the faithful companion of my sorrows and my cares, hunted like a noble deer, and my sisters in the tyrant's fangs, red with the blood of my nation, and the heart of my aged mother breaking, about the shattered fortunes of her house, and all of them at last homeless wanderers, cast to the winds, like the yellow leaves of a fallen tree; and my fatherland, my dear, beloved fatherland, half murdered, half in chains, and humanity nearly all oppressed, and those who are not yet oppressed looking with compassion at our sad fate, but taking it for wise policy not to help, and the sky of freedom dark on our horizon, and darkening fast over all, and nowhere a ray of hope; a lustre of consolation nowhere; and still I did not despair; and my faith to God, my trust to Providence has spread over my down-trodden land.

I therefore, who do not despair of my own country's future, though it be overwhelmed with misfortunes, I certainly have an unwavering faith in the destinies of Humanity; and though the mournful example of so many fallen nations instructs us, that neither the diffusion of knowledge, nor the progress of industry, neither prosperity, nor power, nay, not even freedom itself, can secure a future to nations, still I say there is one thing which can secure it; there is one law, the obedience to which would prove a rock upon which the freedom and happiness of nations may rest sure to the end of their days. And that law, ladies and gentlemen, is the law proclaimed by our Saviour; that rock is the unperverted religion of Christ. But while the consolation of this sublime truth falls meekly upon my soul like as the moonlight falls upon the smooth sea, I humbly claim your forbearance, ladies and gentlemen; I claim it in the name of the Almighty Lord, to hear from my lips a mournful truth. It may displease you; it may offend; but still truth is truth. Offended vanity may blame me; power may frown at me, and pride may call my boldness arrogant, but still truth is truth, and I, bold in my unpretending humility, will proclaim that truth; I will proclaim it from land to land and from sea to sea; I will proclaim it with the faith of the martyrs of old, till the seed of my word falls upon the consciences of men. Let come what come may, I say with Luther: God help me, I cannot otherwise. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the law of our Saviour, the religion of Christ, can secure a happy future to nations. But, alas! there is yet no Christian people on earth—not a single one among all. I have spoken the word. It is harsh, but true. Nearly two thousand years have passed since Christ has proclaimed the eternal decree of God, to which the happiness of mankind is bound, and has sanctified it with His own blood, and still there is not one single nation on earth which would have enacted into its law-book that eternal decree. Men believe in the mysteries of religion, according to the creed of their church; they go to church, and they pray and give alms to the poor, and drop the balm of consolation into the wounds of the afflicted, and believe they do all that the Lord commanded to do, and believe they are Christians. No! Some few may be, but their nation is not—their country is not; the era of Christianity has yet to come, and when it comes, then, only then, will be the future of nations sure. Far be it from me to misapprehend the immense benefit which Christian religion, such as it already is, has operated in mankind's history. It has influenced the private character of men, and the social condition of millions; it was the nurse of a new civilization, and softening the manners and morals of men, its influence has been felt even in the worst quarter of history—in war. The continual massacres of the Greek and Roman kings and chiefs, and the extermination of nations by them—the all-devastating warfare of the Timurs and Gengis Khans—are in general not more to be met with; only my own dear fatherland was doomed to experience once more the cruelties of the Timurs and Gengis Khans out of the sacrilegious hands of the dynasty of Austria, which calumniates Christianity by calling itself Christian. But though that beneficial influence of Christianity we have cheerfully to acknowledge, yet it is still not to be disputed that the law of Christ does yet nowhere rule the Christian world.

Montesquieu himself, whom nobody could charge to be partial for republics, avows that despotism is incompatible with the Christian religion, because the Christian religion commands meekness, and despotism claims arbitrary power to the whims and passions of a frail mortal; and still it is more than 1,500 years since the Christian religion became dominant, and through that long period despotism has been pre-eminently dominant; you can scarcely show one single truly democratic republic of any power which had subsisted but for a hundred years, exercising any influence upon the condition of the world. Constantine, raising the Christian religion to Rome's imperial throne, did not restore the Romans to their primitive virtues. Constantinople became the sewer of vice; Christian worship did not change the despotic habits of Kings. The Tituses, the Trajans, the Antonines, appeared seldom on Christian thrones; on the contrary, mankind has seen, in the name of religion, lighted the piles of persecution, and the blazing torches of intolerance; the earth overspread with corpses of the million victims of fanaticism; the fields watered with blood; the cities wrapped in flames, and empires ravaged with unrelenting rage. Why? Is it Christian religion which caused these deplorable facts, branding the brow of partly degraded, partly outraged Humanity? No. It was precisely the contrary; the fact that the religion of Christ never yet was practically taken for an all-overruling law, the obedience to which, outweighing every other consideration, would have directed the policy of nations—that fact is the source of evil, whence the oppression of millions has overflowed the earth, and which makes the future of the proudest, of the freest nation, to be like a house built upon sand.

Every religion has two parts. One is the dogmatical, the part of worship; the other is the moral part.

The first, the dogmatic part, belonging to those mysterious regions which the arm of human understanding cannot reach, because they belong to the dominion of belief, and that begins where the dominion of knowledge ends—that part of religion, therefore, the dogmatic one, should be left to every man to settle between God and his own conscience. It is a sacred field, whereon worldly power never should dare to trespass, because there it has no power to enforce its will. Force can murder; it can make liars and hypocrites, but no violence on earth can force a man to believe what he does not believe. Yet the other part of religion, the moral part, is quite different. That teaches duties toward ourselves and toward our fellow-men. It can be, therefore, not indifferent to the human family: it can be not indifferent to whatever community, if those duties be fulfilled or not, and no nation can, with full right, claim the title of a Christian nation, no government the title of a Christian government, which is not founded upon the basis of Christian morality, and which takes it not for an all-overruling law to fulfil the moral duties ordered by the religion of Christ toward men and nations, who are but the community of men, and toward mankind, which is the community of nations. Now, look to those dread pages of history, stained with the blood of millions, spilt under the blasphemous pretext of religion; was it the intent to vindicate the rights, and enforce the duties of Christian morality, which raised the hand of nation against nation, of government against government? No: it was the fanaticism of creed, and the fury of dogmatism. Nations and governments rose to propagate their manner to worship God, and their own mode to believe the inscrutable mysteries of eternity; but nobody has yet raised a finger to punish the sacrilegious violation of the moral laws of Christ, nobody ever stirred to claim the fulfilment of the duties of Christian morality toward nations. There is much speaking about the separation of Church and State, and yet, on close examination, we shall see that there was, and there is, scarcely one single government entirely free from the direct or indirect influence of one or other religious denominations; scarcely one which would not at least bear a predilection, if not countenance with favour, one or another creed—but creed, and always creed. The mysteries of dogmatism, and the manner of worship, enter into these considerations; they enter even into the politics, and turn the scales of hatred and affection; but certainly there is not one single nation, not one single government, the policy of which would ever have been regulated by that law of morality which our Saviour has promulgated as the eternal law of God, which shall be obeyed in all the relations of men to men. But you say, of the direct or indirect amalgamation of Church and State, proved to be dangerous to nations in Christian and for Christian times, because it affected the individual rights of men, and among them, the dearest of all, the liberty of conscience and the freedom of thought. Well, of this danger, at least, the future of your country is free; because here, at least, in this, your happy land, religious liberty exists. Your institutions left no power to your government to interfere with the religion of your citizens. Here every man is free to worship God as he chooses to do.

And that is true, and it is a great glory of your country that it is true. It is a fact which entitles to the hope that your nation will revive the law of Christ, even on earth. However, the guarantee which your Constitution affords to religious liberty is but a negative part of a Christian government. There are, besides that, positive duties to be fulfilled. He who does no violence to the conscience of man, has but the negative merit of a man doing no wrong; but as he who does not murder, does not steal, and does not covet what his neighbour's is, but by not stealing, not murdering, not coveting what our neighbour's is, we did yet no positive good; a man who does not murder has not yet occasion to the title of virtuous man. And here is precisely the infinite merit of the Christian religion. While Moses, in the name of the Almighty God, ordered but negative degrees toward fellow-men, the Christian religion commands positive virtue. Its divine injunctions are not performed by not doing wrong; it desires us to do good. The doctrine of Jesus Christ is sublime in its majestic simplicity. "Thou shalt love God above all, and love thy neighbour as thou lovest thyself."

This sublime doctrine is the religion of love. It is the religion of charity. "Though I speak with the tongues of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. Though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." Thus speaks the Lord, and thus speaking He gives the law, "Do unto others as thou desirest others to do unto thee." Now, in the name of Him who gave this law to humanity, to build up the eternal bliss and temporal happiness of mankind, in the name of that Eternal Legislator, I ask, is in that charity, in that fundamental law of Christianity, any limit of distinction drawn in man in his personal, and man in his national capacity? Is it but a law for a man where he is alone, and can do but little good? Is it no law more where two are together, and can do more good? No law more when millions are together? Am I in my personal adversities; is my aged mother in her helpless desolation; are my homeless sisters whom you feed to-day, that they may work to-morrow; are we your neighbours, unto whom you do as you would others in a similar position do unto yourself? And is every one of my down-trodden people a neighbour to every one of you? but all my people collectively, is it not a neighbour to you? And is my nation not a neighbour to your nation? Is my down-trodden land not a neighbour to your down-trodden land? Oh! my God, men speak of the Christian religion and style themselves Christians, and yet make a distinction between virtue in private life and virtue in public life; as if the divine law of Charity would have been given only for certain small relations, and not for all the relations between men and men.