Recently, I was listening to a series of lectures based on Democracy in America the classic review of politics and society in the United States during the 1830s. Alexis de Tocqueville (1805 – 1859) was a young Frenchman who visited the United States for nine months in 1831 and 1832. Ostensibly, he was here on behest of the French government to review the prison system. His personal goals were much broader.
He and a friend, Gustav de Beaumont, visited much of the United States. They interviewed citizens, reviewed documents, attended community meetings and observed federal, state, and local governmental activities of all branches: executive, legislative and judicial. They also collected books, newspapers, and documents. They visited cities and rural areas in the north and in the south. They even ventured as far as Wisconsin, then western edge of the American Frontier.
While they did produce a report on American prisons, which were then relatively progressive in the United States compared to the rest of the world, de Tocqueville had in mind all along that he would write a critique of the United States as he saw it. This eventually became a four-volume set published between 1835 and 1856.
I first became familiar with de Tocqueville when I read a much-abridged version of Democracy in America for an Early American History course. I believe it was probably about 250 pages. That is brief compared to the 926-page behemoth that I recently bought online.
I was interested not so much in what I remembered from my previous reading of his works as I was with what I didn’t remember. In particular, in one of his last chapters, de Tocqueville talks about the conditions under which despotism may arise in America.
As I have done previously with the writings of historic people, I’m going to present de Tocqueville’s writings in his own words without comment or analysis by me. Keep in mind that he wrote 180 years ago. It’s not as amazing that he got some things wrong, as it is how much insight he had into the problems that may potentially arise in America.
The excerpts in this post are from Book 4, Chapter 6: What Sort of Despotism Democratic Nations have to Fear.
I had remarked during my stay in the United States, the democratic state of society, similar to that of the Americans, might offer singular facilities for the establishment of despotism; and I perceived, upon my return to Europe, how much use had already been made by most of our rulers, of the notions, the sentiments, and the wants engendered by this same social condition, for the purpose of extending the circle of their power.
But it would seem, that if despotism were to be established among the democratic nations of our days it might assume a different character; It would be more extensive and more mild; It would degrade men without tormenting them.
I think then that the species of oppression by which democratic nations are menaced is unlike anything which ever existed before in the world: our contemporaries will find no prototypes in their memories. I’m trying myself to choose an expression which will accurately convey the whole of the idea I have formed of it, but in vain; the old words “despotism” and “tyranny “ are inappropriate: the thing itself is new; and since I cannot name, it I must attempt to define it.
The first thing that strikes the observation is an innumerable multitude of men all equal and alike incessantly endeavoring to procure the petty and poultry pleasures which they glut their lives. Each of them, living apart, is a stranger to the fate of all the rest – his children and his private friends constitute to him the whole world of mankind; as for the rest of his fellow citizens, he feels them not; exists but in himself and for himself alone; and if his kindred will remain with him, he may be said at any rate to have lost his country.
Above this race of men stands an immense and tutelary power… That power is absolute, minute, regular, provident, and mild. It would be like the authority of a parent, if, like that authority, its object was to prepare men for manhood; but it seeks on the contrary to keep them in perpetual childhood: it is well content that the people should rejoice, provided they think nothing but rejoicing.
… What remains, but to spare them all the cares of thinking and all the troubles of living?
After having thus successfully taken each member of the community into its powerful grasp, and fashioned them at will, the supreme power then extends its arm over the whole community. It covers the surface of society with a network of small, complicated rules, minute and uniform, though which the most original minds and the most energetic characters cannot penetrate, to rise above the crowd. The will of man is not shattered, but softened, bent, and guided: men are seldom forced to act but they’re constantly restrained from acting… It does not tyrannize but it compresses, innervates, extinguishes, and stupefies the people…
Subjugation in minor affairs breaks out every day, and is felt by the whole community indiscriminately. It does not drive men to resistance, but it crosses them at every turn, till they are led to surrender the exercise of their will.
It is in vain to summon the people, which has been rendered so dependent on the central power, to choose from time to time the representative of that power; this rare and brief exercise of their free choice, however important it may be, will not prevent them from gradually losing the facilities of thinking, feeling and acting for themselves and thus gradually falling below the level of humanity. It had that they will soon become incapable of exercising the great and only privilege which remains to them.
The nations of our time cannot prevent the conditions of men from becoming equal; but it depends upon themselves whether the principle of equality is to lead them to servitude or freedom, to knowledge or barbarism, to prosperity or to wretchedness.
The illustration at the beginning of this post is not intended to be a portrait of de Tocqueville, but rather illustrative of the time.