The Feudal Spirit

There is a certain glory in defending the indefensible. Anyone can stoutly, yet blandly, assert that the earth is round. Yet it takes a truly independent and romantic soul to defend the theory of a flat earth. It is easy to dismiss the legends of sea-monsters as figments of drunken sailors’ imaginations. Only the adventurous will maintain the legends’ veracity and make the pilgrimage to Loch Ness in search of a modern Leviathan.

In the same way, aristocracy is a very lost cause. It is allegedly the epitome of pre-modern foolishness. Granted, many moderns still have a certain respect for the skeleton of nobility that remains in some European nations. However, the coronet of European aristocracy holds no authority. Nobility is toothless, a museum piece. It has ever been the bane of liberal-minded philosophers and politicians. And it is what I intend to defend.

Any good democrat (n.b. the small “d”) has been brought up to detest any form of social hierarchy. After all, aristocracy – with its lords and dukes, footmen and serfs – is just one great injustice that happened to be socially accepted and promoted in the Dark Ages, right? Didn’t all men with titles sit on lush couches all day while their poor mistreated servants waited upon them hand and foot? Naturally, it is accepted that some aristocrats behaved very shamefully. The effects of the curse can be found anywhere. And during certain periods when the aristocracy was full of wanton, ignoble pagans, it was something rather ugly to look at. This was especially the case in 18th century France. It’s an established fact that aristocracy began its death-throes when the Bastille was stormed. Until the cry of “Liberte, Fraternite, Egalite” was raised, the feudal system was a generally accepted social structure in Christendom, with the exception of Yankeedom. And even over here in the USA, many states south of the Mason-Dixon line did have a practical aristocracy, if not in name.

Prior to 1789, therefore, men generally understood that each is called to a different calling. The idea of vocation implied that not only are men called to varying occupations, but also to different positions in the social hierarchy. Yet, just because one was classed in the nobility did not mean that one was “noble.” The biblical idea of vocation means that while we are placed in different situations, each of us has the duty to live and work in that vocation to the glory of God. A duke may rule his duchy terribly; a peasant may farm his land well. The latter is the truly noble one, yet he was not called to the nobility. If someone from our modern era were in the peasant’s place – with our selfish, individualistic spirit – we would think we had a right to take over the duchy because the duke ill-performed his duties. But do we have that right? Of course not. If a minister delivers a poor sermon one Sunday at your church, do you automatically have the right to demand to preach the following week? Though someone else may fail in his calling, it does not necessarily follow that you have the right to depose him.

The modern may object that the nobility inherit a title they have not earned. Therefore they are not truly “called,” since birth does not dictate vocation. The nobility is supposedly given an unfair advantage over the working-class. Yet even in our democratic age, we cannot fully escape the fact that some are born richer than others, and therefore have more social advantages. Unless the government forcefully redistributes wealth so that all are economically equal (which may happen sooner rather than later), we will always have the Bushes, Kennedys, and Rockefellers. Is that really such a terrible prospect? The objections to such families’ prosperity are always founded on greed. My family’s economic position (located unstably somewhere between the proletariat and the bourgeois) may preclude me from immediate acceptance into a Harvard fraternity, but what right have I to object?

To answer the original objection, birth can and does imply vocation. And in many ways this leads to a more closely-knit society and family. There is something romantic in being sure of your place in society. A man born a merchant would always be a merchant, as would his son and his grandson. The generations would work together and the young would learn the trade from their ancestors. A man in such a society would know his neighbors, and the following generations would continue the same vocations and friendships. A deep attachment would be formed between families who had lived and worked with each other for centuries, and – if the local baron or lord were truly noble – would develop a loyalty to their benefactor.

Of course, in any social structure sin can corrupt. And this happened in aristocracies as it does in our modern democracies. However, the social peace and constancy that exists in well-governed aristocracies make this system superior to even the most pristine democracies. For example, how often do sons carry-on the vocations of their fathers? In most cases – especially when involving corporate jobs – it is almost impossible to do so. A young man will go to university not knowing what he will do once he has graduated. In order to get the right job, he may move hundreds of miles away from his family and the neighborhood in which he grew up. He will probably change jobs and move at least half a dozen times during his career and then settle down in a nursing home far away from his own children and grandchildren who are too busy to look after him.

In addition to providing security, an aristocracy also excels democracy in defending liberty. Due to post-1789 indoctrination, moderns generally believe that aristocracy fostered a tyrannical top-heavy government. This is probably due to the fact that we view Jesuitical France as the archetype of an aristocratic hierarchy. This is very unfortunate, especially since prior to the counter-reformation, France was a very different nation.

Consider, however, as a counter-example what has happened in countries that have turned democratic. The US was once a republic, but as the democratic instinct took hold in the 20th century, tyranny also increased. France’s infamous democratic revolutions only led to Robespierre and now its current socialistic state. Yet when aristocracy was the order of previous ages, we see very little tendency toward absolute tyranny. The reason for this was that the nobles acted as a sort of buffer between the monarch and the people. While the regent could tax his subjects and compel his nobility to serve in his wars, he was unable to have the same degree of control because the people owed their immediate allegiance to their lord, and not to their monarch.

In the same way, it was in the noble’s best interests to protect his subjects from the tyranny of the monarch. After all, the land that the peasants were farming was his land, and if all his serfs were sent off to a foreign war, or if the king wanted to impose a heavy tax on the farm produce, the noble’s finances would suffer. Due to the hierarchy, aristocracy fostered a much more localized – and therefore, limited – government.

Perhaps a modern might argue that I am too much of a Miniver Cheevy or Don Quixote, yet I see great value in returning to the ways of a previous age. Once upon a time, men stayed true to their calling; some took up the mantle of leadership, and some served nobly without a greedy desire for power. If for nothing else, moderns would benefit from a return to aristocracy so that we would learn to be content in that estate to which we were called (1 Corinthians 7:24).

The odds of a restoration of aristocracy in the near future are nil. The current cry of “Vox populi, vox Dei” will continue to echo for a long time. Yet democracy is only the cloak of tyranny. Only when men are noble, when men are content in their vocations, will we have cause to hope once more.