Democracy In America, Volume 2 (of 2)

A >> Alexis de Toqueville >> Democracy In America, Volume 2 (of 2)


That political freedom may compromise in its excesses the tranquillity,
the property, the lives of individuals, is obvious to the narrowest
and most unthinking minds. But, on the contrary, none but attentive and
clear-sighted men perceive the perils with which equality threatens us,
and they commonly avoid pointing them out. They know that the calamities
they apprehend are remote, and flatter themselves that they will only
fall upon future generations, for which the present generation takes
but little thought. The evils which freedom sometimes brings with it are
immediate; they are apparent to all, and all are more or less affected
by them. The evils which extreme equality may produce are slowly
disclosed; they creep gradually into the social frame; they are only
seen at intervals, and at the moment at which they become most violent
habit already causes them to be no longer felt. The advantages which
freedom brings are only shown by length of time; and it is always easy
to mistake the cause in which they originate. The advantages of equality
are instantaneous, and they may constantly be traced from their source.
Political liberty bestows exalted pleasures, from time to time, upon a
certain number of citizens. Equality every day confers a number of small
enjoyments on every man. The charms of equality are every instant felt,
and are within the reach of all; the noblest hearts are not insensible
to them, and the most vulgar souls exult in them. The passion which
equality engenders must therefore be at once strong and general. Men
cannot enjoy political liberty unpurchased by some sacrifices, and they
never obtain it without great exertions. But the pleasures of equality
are self-proffered: each of the petty incidents of life seems to
occasion them, and in order to taste them nothing is required but to
live.

Democratic nations are at all times fond of equality, but there are
certain epochs at which the passion they entertain for it swells to the
height of fury. This occurs at the moment when the old social system,
long menaced, completes its own destruction after a last intestine
struggle, and when the barriers of rank are at length thrown down. At
such times men pounce upon equality as their booty, and they cling to
it as to some precious treasure which they fear to lose. The passion for
equality penetrates on every side into men's hearts, expands there,
and fills them entirely. Tell them not that by this blind surrender of
themselves to an exclusive passion they risk their dearest interests:
they are deaf. Show them not freedom escaping from their grasp, whilst
they are looking another way: they are blind--or rather, they can
discern but one sole object to be desired in the universe.

What I have said is applicable to all democratic nations: what I am
about to say concerns the French alone. Amongst most modern nations, and
especially amongst all those of the Continent of Europe, the taste and
the idea of freedom only began to exist and to extend themselves at
the time when social conditions were tending to equality, and as
a consequence of that very equality. Absolute kings were the most
efficient levellers of ranks amongst their subjects. Amongst these
nations equality preceded freedom: equality was therefore a fact of some
standing when freedom was still a novelty: the one had already created
customs, opinions, and laws belonging to it, when the other, alone and
for the first time, came into actual existence. Thus the latter was
still only an affair of opinion and of taste, whilst the former had
already crept into the habits of the people, possessed itself of their
manners, and given a particular turn to the smallest actions of their
lives. Can it be wondered that the men of our own time prefer the one to
the other?

I think that democratic communities have a natural taste for freedom:
left to themselves, they will seek it, cherish it, and view any
privation of it with regret. But for equality, their passion is ardent,
insatiable, incessant, invincible: they call for equality in freedom;
and if they cannot obtain that, they still call for equality in slavery.
They will endure poverty, servitude, barbarism--but they will not endure
aristocracy. This is true at all times, and especially true in our own.
All men and all powers seeking to cope with this irresistible passion,
will be overthrown and destroyed by it. In our age, freedom cannot be
established without it, and despotism itself cannot reign without its
support.




Chapter II: Of Individualism In Democratic Countries

I have shown how it is that in ages of equality every man seeks for his
opinions within himself: I am now about to show how it is that, in
the same ages, all his feelings are turned towards himself alone.
Individualism *a is a novel expression, to which a novel idea has given
birth. Our fathers were only acquainted with egotism. Egotism is a
passionate and exaggerated love of self, which leads a man to connect
everything with his own person, and to prefer himself to everything in
the world. Individualism is a mature and calm feeling, which disposes
each member of the community to sever himself from the mass of his
fellow-creatures; and to draw apart with his family and his friends; so
that, after he has thus formed a little circle of his own, he willingly
leaves society at large to itself. Egotism originates in blind instinct:
individualism proceeds from erroneous judgment more than from depraved
feelings; it originates as much in the deficiencies of the mind as in
the perversity of the heart. Egotism blights the germ of all virtue;
individualism, at first, only saps the virtues of public life; but,
in the long run, it attacks and destroys all others, and is at length
absorbed in downright egotism. Egotism is a vice as old as the world,
which does not belong to one form of society more than to another:
individualism is of democratic origin, and it threatens to spread in the
same ratio as the equality of conditions.

[Footnote a: [I adopt the expression of the original, however strange it
may seem to the English ear, partly because it illustrates the remark
on the introduction of general terms into democratic language which was
made in a preceding chapter, and partly because I know of no English
word exactly equivalent to the expression. The chapter itself defines
the meaning attached to it by the author.--Translator's Note.]]

Amongst aristocratic nations, as families remain for centuries in the
same condition, often on the same spot, all generations become as it
were contemporaneous. A man almost always knows his forefathers, and
respects them: he thinks he already sees his remote descendants, and he
loves them. He willingly imposes duties on himself towards the
former and the latter; and he will frequently sacrifice his personal
gratifications to those who went before and to those who will come after
him. Aristocratic institutions have, moreover, the effect of closely
binding every man to several of his fellow-citizens. As the classes of
an aristocratic people are strongly marked and permanent, each of
them is regarded by its own members as a sort of lesser country,
more tangible and more cherished than the country at large. As in
aristocratic communities all the citizens occupy fixed positions, one
above the other, the result is that each of them always sees a man above
himself whose patronage is necessary to him, and below himself another
man whose co-operation he may claim. Men living in aristocratic ages
are therefore almost always closely attached to something placed out of
their own sphere, and they are often disposed to forget themselves. It
is true that in those ages the notion of human fellowship is faint, and
that men seldom think of sacrificing themselves for mankind; but they
often sacrifice themselves for other men. In democratic ages, on the
contrary, when the duties of each individual to the race are much more
clear, devoted service to any one man becomes more rare; the bond of
human affection is extended, but it is relaxed.

Amongst democratic nations new families are constantly springing up,
others are constantly falling away, and all that remain change their
condition; the woof of time is every instant broken, and the track of
generations effaced. Those who went before are soon forgotten; of those
who will come after no one has any idea: the interest of man is confined
to those in close propinquity to himself. As each class approximates
to other classes, and intermingles with them, its members become
indifferent and as strangers to one another. Aristocracy had made a
chain of all the members of the community, from the peasant to the king:
democracy breaks that chain, and severs every link of it. As social
conditions become more equal, the number of persons increases who,
although they are neither rich enough nor powerful enough to exercise
any great influence over their fellow-creatures, have nevertheless
acquired or retained sufficient education and fortune to satisfy their
own wants. They owe nothing to any man, they expect nothing from any
man; they acquire the habit of always considering themselves as standing
alone, and they are apt to imagine that their whole destiny is in
their own hands. Thus not only does democracy make every man forget
his ancestors, but it hides his descendants, and separates his
contemporaries from him; it throws him back forever upon himself alone,
and threatens in the end to confine him entirely within the solitude of
his own heart.




Chapter III: Individualism Stronger At The Close Of A Democratic
Revolution Than At Other Periods

The period when the construction of democratic society upon the ruins of
an aristocracy has just been completed, is especially that at which this
separation of men from one another, and the egotism resulting from it,
most forcibly strike the observation. Democratic communities not only
contain a large number of independent citizens, but they are constantly
filled with men who, having entered but yesterday upon their independent
condition, are intoxicated with their new power. They entertain a
presumptuous confidence in their strength, and as they do not suppose
that they can henceforward ever have occasion to claim the assistance of
their fellow-creatures, they do not scruple to show that they care for
nobody but themselves.

An aristocracy seldom yields without a protracted struggle, in the
course of which implacable animosities are kindled between the different
classes of society. These passions survive the victory, and traces of
them may be observed in the midst of the democratic confusion which
ensues. Those members of the community who were at the top of the late
gradations of rank cannot immediately forget their former greatness;
they will long regard themselves as aliens in the midst of the newly
composed society. They look upon all those whom this state of society
has made their equals as oppressors, whose destiny can excite no
sympathy; they have lost sight of their former equals, and feel no
longer bound by a common interest to their fate: each of them, standing
aloof, thinks that he is reduced to care for himself alone. Those, on
the contrary, who were formerly at the foot of the social scale, and who
have been brought up to the common level by a sudden revolution, cannot
enjoy their newly acquired independence without secret uneasiness; and
if they meet with some of their former superiors on the same footing as
themselves, they stand aloof from them with an expression of triumph and
of fear. It is, then, commonly at the outset of democratic society that
citizens are most disposed to live apart. Democracy leads men not to
draw near to their fellow-creatures; but democratic revolutions lead
them to shun each other, and perpetuate in a state of equality the
animosities which the state of inequality engendered. The great
advantage of the Americans is that they have arrived at a state of
democracy without having to endure a democratic revolution; and that
they are born equal, instead of becoming so.




Chapter IV: That The Americans Combat The Effects Of Individualism By
Free Institutions

Despotism, which is of a very timorous nature, is never more secure of
continuance than when it can keep men asunder; and all is influence
is commonly exerted for that purpose. No vice of the human heart is so
acceptable to it as egotism: a despot easily forgives his subjects for
not loving him, provided they do not love each other. He does not ask
them to assist him in governing the State; it is enough that they do not
aspire to govern it themselves. He stigmatizes as turbulent and
unruly spirits those who would combine their exertions to promote the
prosperity of the community, and, perverting the natural meaning of
words, he applauds as good citizens those who have no sympathy for any
but themselves. Thus the vices which despotism engenders are precisely
those which equality fosters. These two things mutually and perniciously
complete and assist each other. Equality places men side by side,
unconnected by any common tie; despotism raises barriers to keep
them asunder; the former predisposes them not to consider their
fellow-creatures, the latter makes general indifference a sort of public
virtue.

Despotism then, which is at all times dangerous, is more particularly to
be feared in democratic ages. It is easy to see that in those same ages
men stand most in need of freedom. When the members of a community are
forced to attend to public affairs, they are necessarily drawn from
the circle of their own interests, and snatched at times from
self-observation. As soon as a man begins to treat of public affairs
in public, he begins to perceive that he is not so independent of his
fellow-men as he had at first imagined, and that, in order to obtain
their support, he must often lend them his co-operation.

When the public is supreme, there is no man who does not feel the value
of public goodwill, or who does not endeavor to court it by drawing to
himself the esteem and affection of those amongst whom he is to live.
Many of the passions which congeal and keep asunder human hearts,
are then obliged to retire and hide below the surface. Pride must be
dissembled; disdain dares not break out; egotism fears its own self.
Under a free government, as most public offices are elective, the men
whose elevated minds or aspiring hopes are too closely circumscribed in
private life, constantly feel that they cannot do without the population
which surrounds them. Men learn at such times to think of their
fellow-men from ambitious motives; and they frequently find it, in a
manner, their interest to forget themselves.

I may here be met by an objection derived from electioneering intrigues,
the meannesses of candidates, and the calumnies of their opponents.
These are opportunities for animosity which occur the oftener the more
frequent elections become. Such evils are doubtless great, but they are
transient; whereas the benefits which attend them remain. The desire
of being elected may lead some men for a time to violent hostility; but
this same desire leads all men in the long run mutually to support
each other; and if it happens that an election accidentally severs two
friends, the electoral system brings a multitude of citizens permanently
together, who would always have remained unknown to each other. Freedom
engenders private animosities, but despotism gives birth to general
indifference.

The Americans have combated by free institutions the tendency of
equality to keep men asunder, and they have subdued it. The legislators
of America did not suppose that a general representation of the whole
nation would suffice to ward off a disorder at once so natural to the
frame of democratic society, and so fatal: they also thought that
it would be well to infuse political life into each portion of the
territory, in order to multiply to an infinite extent opportunities of
acting in concert for all the members of the community, and to make them
constantly feel their mutual dependence on each other. The plan was a
wise one. The general affairs of a country only engage the attention of
leading politicians, who assemble from time to time in the same places;
and as they often lose sight of each other afterwards, no lasting ties
are established between them. But if the object be to have the local
affairs of a district conducted by the men who reside there, the same
persons are always in contact, and they are, in a manner, forced to be
acquainted, and to adapt themselves to one another.

It is difficult to draw a man out of his own circle to interest him in
the destiny of the State, because he does not clearly understand what
influence the destiny of the State can have upon his own lot. But if it
be proposed to make a road cross the end of his estate, he will see at
a glance that there is a connection between this small public affair and
his greatest private affairs; and he will discover, without its being
shown to him, the close tie which unites private to general interest.
Thus, far more may be done by intrusting to the citizens the
administration of minor affairs than by surrendering to them the control
of important ones, towards interesting them in the public welfare, and
convincing them that they constantly stand in need one of the other in
order to provide for it. A brilliant achievement may win for you the
favor of a people at one stroke; but to earn the love and respect of
the population which surrounds you, a long succession of little services
rendered and of obscure good deeds--a constant habit of kindness, and
an established reputation for disinterestedness--will be required.
Local freedom, then, which leads a great number of citizens to value the
affection of their neighbors and of their kindred, perpetually brings
men together, and forces them to help one another, in spite of the
propensities which sever them.

In the United States the more opulent citizens take great care not to
stand aloof from the people; on the contrary, they constantly keep on
easy terms with the lower classes: they listen to them, they speak to
them every day. They know that the rich in democracies always stand in
need of the poor; and that in democratic ages you attach a poor man to
you more by your manner than by benefits conferred. The magnitude of
such benefits, which sets off the difference of conditions, causes a
secret irritation to those who reap advantage from them; but the charm
of simplicity of manners is almost irresistible: their affability
carries men away, and even their want of polish is not always
displeasing. This truth does not take root at once in the minds of the
rich. They generally resist it as long as the democratic revolution
lasts, and they do not acknowledge it immediately after that revolution
is accomplished. They are very ready to do good to the people, but
they still choose to keep them at arm's length; they think that is
sufficient, but they are mistaken. They might spend fortunes thus
without warming the hearts of the population around them;--that
population does not ask them for the sacrifice of their money, but of
their pride.

It would seem as if every imagination in the United States were upon
the stretch to invent means of increasing the wealth and satisfying
the wants of the public. The best-informed inhabitants of each district
constantly use their information to discover new truths which may
augment the general prosperity; and if they have made any such
discoveries, they eagerly surrender them to the mass of the people.

When the vices and weaknesses, frequently exhibited by those who
govern in America, are closely examined, the prosperity of the people
occasions--but improperly occasions--surprise. Elected magistrates do
not make the American democracy flourish; it flourishes because the
magistrates are elective.

It would be unjust to suppose that the patriotism and the zeal which
every American displays for the welfare of his fellow-citizens are
wholly insincere. Although private interest directs the greater part
of human actions in the United States as well as elsewhere, it does
not regulate them all. I must say that I have often seen Americans make
great and real sacrifices to the public welfare; and I have remarked
a hundred instances in which they hardly ever failed to lend faithful
support to each other. The free institutions which the inhabitants of
the United States possess, and the political rights of which they make
so much use, remind every citizen, and in a thousand ways, that he lives
in society. They every instant impress upon his mind the notion that it
is the duty, as well as the interest of men, to make themselves useful
to their fellow-creatures; and as he sees no particular ground of
animosity to them, since he is never either their master or their slave,
his heart readily leans to the side of kindness. Men attend to the
interests of the public, first by necessity, afterwards by choice: what
was intentional becomes an instinct; and by dint of working for the good
of one's fellow citizens, the habit and the taste for serving them is at
length acquired.

Many people in France consider equality of conditions as one evil, and
political freedom as a second. When they are obliged to yield to the
former, they strive at least to escape from the latter. But I contend
that in order to combat the evils which equality may produce, there is
only one effectual remedy--namely, political freedom.




Chapter V: Of The Use Which The Americans Make Of Public Associations In
Civil Life

I do not propose to speak of those political associations--by the aid of
which men endeavor to defend themselves against the despotic influence
of a majority--or against the aggressions of regal power. That subject I
have already treated. If each citizen did not learn, in proportion as
he individually becomes more feeble, and consequently more incapable
of preserving his freedom single-handed, to combine with his
fellow-citizens for the purpose of defending it, it is clear that
tyranny would unavoidably increase together with equality.

Those associations only which are formed in civil life, without
reference to political objects, are here adverted to. The political
associations which exist in the United States are only a single feature
in the midst of the immense assemblage of associations in that country.
Americans of all ages, all conditions, and all dispositions, constantly
form associations. They have not only commercial and manufacturing
companies, in which all take part, but associations of a thousand other
kinds--religious, moral, serious, futile, extensive, or restricted,
enormous or diminutive. The Americans make associations to give
entertainments, to found establishments for education, to build inns,
to construct churches, to diffuse books, to send missionaries to
the antipodes; and in this manner they found hospitals, prisons, and
schools. If it be proposed to advance some truth, or to foster some
feeling by the encouragement of a great example, they form a society.
Wherever, at the head of some new undertaking, you see the government
in France, or a man of rank in England, in the United States you will be
sure to find an association. I met with several kinds of associations in
America, of which I confess I had no previous notion; and I have often
admired the extreme skill with which the inhabitants of the United
States succeed in proposing a common object to the exertions of a great
many men, and in getting them voluntarily to pursue it. I have since
travelled over England, whence the Americans have taken some of their
laws and many of their customs; and it seemed to me that the principle
of association was by no means so constantly or so adroitly used in
that country. The English often perform great things singly; whereas the
Americans form associations for the smallest undertakings. It is evident
that the former people consider association as a powerful means of
action, but the latter seem to regard it as the only means they have of
acting.

Thus the most democratic country on the face of the earth is that in
which men have in our time carried to the highest perfection the art of
pursuing in common the object of their common desires, and have applied
this new science to the greatest number of purposes. Is this the result
of accident? or is there in reality any necessary connection between the
principle of association and that of equality? Aristocratic communities
always contain, amongst a multitude of persons who by themselves are
powerless, a small number of powerful and wealthy citizens, each of whom
can achieve great undertakings single-handed. In aristocratic societies
men do not need to combine in order to act, because they are strongly
held together. Every wealthy and powerful citizen constitutes the head
of a permanent and compulsory association, composed of all those who are
dependent upon him, or whom he makes subservient to the execution of his
designs. Amongst democratic nations, on the contrary, all the citizens
are independent and feeble; they can do hardly anything by themselves,
and none of them can oblige his fellow-men to lend him their assistance.
They all, therefore, fall into a state of incapacity, if they do not
learn voluntarily to help each other. If men living in democratic
countries had no right and no inclination to associate for political
purposes, their independence would be in great jeopardy; but they might
long preserve their wealth and their cultivation: whereas if they
never acquired the habit of forming associations in ordinary life,
civilization itself would be endangered. A people amongst which
individuals should lose the power of achieving great things
single-handed, without acquiring the means of producing them by united
exertions, would soon relapse into barbarism.