A Chequer-Board of Nights and Days

Let us first get out of the way the fact that Alexis de Tocqueville got some things wrong. He dramatically understated the power of the President vis-à-vis Congress and that of the federal government vis-à-vis the states. Even if one felt that the President was a relatively weak Chief Executive, the vigor and force with with Andrew Jackson conducted the affairs of state (he was President while Tocqueville made his American tour) should have caused Tocqueville to give more credence to the belief that the American Presidency would grown to be an exceedingly powerful political force and office. As for the balance of power between the states and the federal government, Tocqueville should have taken greater note of the centralization of federal power that came with the creation and ratification of the Constitution, the abandonment of the Articles of Confederation and the success enjoyed by Alexander Hamilton as he steered America away from the Jeffersonian view of an agrarian, decentralized society and as he employed the Necessary and Proper Clause of the Constitution to enhance the reach of Congressional scope regarding the issues of the day.

Tocqueville overstated America's capacity for splitting apart and dissolving itself, even if he did correctly identify the nature of the forces that would eventually bring about the Civil War. His view of the tyranny of the majority--while pathbreaking and welcome in the larger effort to combat any incipient form of oppression--still strikes one as rather simplistic. Tocqueville seemed to believe that after a debate on a particular issue, no matter how perfunctory or prolonged that debate may be, once the will of the majority was made clear and announced, the rest of the United States would line up--in the manner of a collective hive mind--behind the will of the majority, thus shutting off debate of any kind. To be sure, this is a dramatic overstatement of the power of the majority; irrespective of the existence of a majority side on a particular issue of the day, America has always been riven by debate and division over great events and arguments of consequence. From the ratification of the Constitution to the wrenching debates--and war--over slavery, to America's stance as either an isolationist force or an internationalist power, debate has been prolonged and passionate notwithstanding the eventual decision of a majority regarding a certain matter. Even when the minority perceives itself as being outnumbered by opposite interlocutors, in America, the minority rarely (if ever) relents in trying to change minds. Equally overstated, perhaps, were Tocqueville's observations on the supposed loneliness of the individual in a democratic society, though, to be sure, the "bowling alone" view of American society is a common one with not inconsiderable support behind it.

All of that having been written, it is important to remember the monumental task that confronted Tocqueville in the writing of Democracy in America. Democracy, as a political project, certainly has a long pedigree, stretching back as it does to ancient Athens. But democracy was still a novel concept in that it had not been tried with any serious degree of frequency throughout human history. The American concept of a democratic republic was newer still. If that was not enough to present Tocqueville with a unique challenge concerning his observational skills, the relatively untried ideals and practices of a democratic republic were being tried in a country that was just about to turn all of 55 years old when Tocqueville first arrived on its shores.

Given this extraordinary set of circumstances, it is less a wonder that Tocqueville got some observations wrong and all the more impressive when we consider the observations that he got right. Even if Tocqueville had too little faith in the staying power of the Union, the degree to which he was able to foresee the coming of the Civil War and give voice to the nature, passion and scope of the struggle for racial equality was nothing short of astounding. Equally impressive was Tocqueville's ability to foresee the international preeminence that would eventually be enjoyed by the United States and Russia and the degree to which that preeminence would cause strife and rivalry between the two future great powers. His views regarding the risk-taking that is part and parcel of American business life and the nature of the American commercial ethos are highly impressive for their ability to hit the mark. Is there anyone who does not read Tocqueville's passage regarding the state and nature of American bookstores and the literary wares those stores display--books seeking primarily to preach and harangue to the masses instead of persuading those of differing opinions to change or abandon their beliefs through reason and rigorous argument--and who does not think of all the times he/she went into a Barnes & Noble or a Borders and was immediately accosted by either Al Franken's or Ann Coulter's latest screed(s)? And is there anyone who contemplates this state of literary and forensic affairs and who does not believe that perhaps, just perhaps, Tocqueville may have had a point when he decried the mediocrity of mores that he feared comes about as a result of democracy? Throughout Democracy in America, one sees that Tocqueville longs for a bygone aristocratic era, believing as he did that "In aristocratic times one generally makes for oneself very vast ideas of the dignity, power, and greatness of man. These opinions influence those who cultivate the sciences as well as all others; they facilitate the natural spark of the mind toward the highest regions of thought and naturally dispose it to conceive a sublime and almost divine love of truth." Perhaps Tocqueville underestimated the high-mindedness of Americans. Indeed, I believe he did--American culture certainly has its vast and impressive riches, the likes of which turn the mind towards ethereal heights. But Tocqueville's observation of the American bookstore reveals a different side to American culture, to be sure, and makes one sympathetic to his longing for the more elevated mores of aristocracy, even if one believes--as I do--that in the end, democracy and democratic society should ultimately be found to be preferable in the end.

Tocqueville scholars have expressed their displeasure with efforts to peg Tocqueville as writing on behalf of any particular contemporary political movement. These concerns are well-taken, and yet, it is impossible for someone like me to fail to note the fact that Tocqueville does indeed celebrate and advocate on behalf of small government. Consider the following passage:

What does it matter to me, after all, that there should be an authority always on its feet, keeping watch that my pleasures are tranquil, flying ahead of my steps to turn away every danger without my even needing to think about it, if this authority, at the same time that it removes the least thorns in my path, is the absolute master of my freedom and my life, if it monopolizes movement and existence to such a point that everything around it must languish when it languishes, that everything must sleep when it sleeps, that everything must perish if it dies?

And this one:

. . . an immense tutelary power us elevated, which alone takes charge of assuring [the] enjoyments [of the people] and watching over their fate. It is absolute, detailed, regular, far-seeing, and mild. It would resemble paternal power if, like that, it had for its object to prepare men for manhood; but on the contrary, it seeks only to keep them fixed irrevocably in childhood; it likes  citizens to enjoy themselves provided that they think only of enjoying themselves. It willingly works for their happiness; but it wants to be the unique agent and sole arbiter of that; it provides for their security, foresees and secures their needs, facilitates their pleasures, conducts their principal affairs, directs their industry, regulates their estates, divides their inheritances; can it not take away from them entirely the trouble of thinking and the pain of living?

Again, one hesitates to cast this commentary exclusive in partisan terms. But it is impossible for me to deny that it has a contemporary partisan edge to them (albeit an unintentional one). To put matters frankly, a Republican candidate could speak to Tocqueville's concerns, quote his commentary regarding the need for small government and the dangers of the overweening state and find not only heads nodding in agreement at campaign rallies but also attendant commentary speculating--with justification, one might add--that Republicans had rediscovered their small government roots.

Would that matters turn out so neatly. From my pixels to . . . well . . . you know the rest.

Reviewing Hugh Brogan's biography of Tocqueville--which I am currently reading--Mark Lilla (subscription to his piece is required, alas) made sure to praise the ambiguity with which Tocqueville wrote. I maintain my arguments above; that Tocqueville should have been more specific at certain turns regarding his arguments and that he did indeed miss some key and salient trends in American sociopolitical life. But Lilla's apologia regarding this issue does merit attention and respect and for the sake of bringing to the light his alternative view, I quote him below:

The introduction to Democracy in America is something of an embarrassment to the legions of academic appropriators who have measured Tocqueville by the standards of their narrow guilds. The historians complain that he missed some important documents about the early settlers, the sociologists complain that he ignored the class divisions already present in nineteenth-century America, the political theorists complain that his concept of democracy was vague. Yet vagueness is an important prophetic tool, and Tocqueville knew how to use it. To describe democracy as a new spirit moving over the face of the deep, at once an idea, a passion, a new kind of society, a system of government: that is the kind of fruitful ambiguity that sharpens vision and stimulates reflection. Anyone who reads Tocqueville without appreciating the virtues of the augur will be in a poor position to appreciate his achievement.

One might still take this defense to task, pointing out that the generalizations in Tocqueville's writings allowed him to claim to have foreseen a great many developments that arrived on the American scene--developments that he may not, in fact, have been found to have anticipated if he had taken the time to write more specifically and exactly about them. Fair enough. But Tocqueville is certainly specific enough in a great many instances--some of which I have documented in this post--that one can sign on to Lilla's argument that Tocqueville was indeed prophetic concerning the development of democracy, here in the United States and abroad as well.

The translation of Democracy in America is expertly and brilliantly handled by Harvey C. Mansfield and Delba Winthrop (see this link). They effectively capture the grace and power of Tocqueville's language and thought and make his arguments readily available to the reader. In addition to their translating skills, Mansfield and Winthrop put together a highly impressive introduction to Tocqueville that is a must-read for any serious Tocqueville scholar.

Democracy in America is a ponderous book, but one that is filled with penetrating insights. It is a tome with which the reader with fight and struggle but it is indispensable to understanding the American character. Again, it cannot be emphasized enough that Tocqueville--for whatever mistakes in analysis he may have made--took a young country with novel thoughts concerning government and explained its personality and prospects brilliantly for generations of readers.

That is no mean feat. No mean feat at all.