Part 3, chapters 23 and 24 of Democracy in America, volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Anna Simon. Democracy in America, volume 2 by Alexis de Tocqueville, translated by Henry Reeve. Part 3, chapter 23. Which is the most warlike and most revolutionary class in democratic armies. It is a part of the essence of a democratic army to be very numerous in proportion to the people to which it belongs, as I shall hereafter show. On the other hand, men living in democratic times seldom choose a military life. Democratic nations are therefore soon led to give up the system of voluntary recruiting for that of compulsory enlistment. The necessity of their social condition compels them to resort to the latter means, and it may easily be foreseen that they will all eventually adopt it. When military service is compulsory, the burden is indiscriminately and equally borne by the whole community. This is another necessary consequence of the social condition of these nations and of their notions. The government may do almost whatever it pleases, provided it appeals to the whole community at once. It is the unequal distribution of the weight, not the weight itself, which commonly occasions resistance. But as military service is common to all the citizens, the evident consequences that each of them remains but for a few years on active duty. Thus it is in the nature of things that the soldier in democracies only passes through the army, whilst among most aristocratic nations the military profession is one which the soldier adopts, or which is imposed upon him, for life. This has important consequences. Amongst the soldiers of a democratic army some acquire a taste for military life, but the majority being enlisted against their will, and ever ready to go back to their homes, do not consider themselves as seriously engaged in the military profession, and are always thinking of quitting it. Such men do not contract the wants, and only half partake in the passions which that mode of life engenders. They adept themselves to their military duties, but their minds are still attached to the interests and the duties which engage them in civil life. They do not therefore imbibe the spirit of the army, or rather they infuse the spirit of the community at large into the army, and retain it there. Amongst democratic nations the private soldiers remain most like civilians. Upon them the habits of the nation have the firmest hold, and public opinion most influence. It is by the instrumentality of the private soldiers especially that it may be possible to infuse into a democratic army the love of freedom and the respect of rights, if these principles have once been successfully inculcated on the people at large. The reverse happens amongst aristocratic nations, where the soldiery have eventually nothing in common with their fellow citizens and where they live amongst them as strangers and often as enemies. In aristocratic armies the officers are the conservative element, because the officers alone have retained a strict connection with civil society and never forego their purpose of resuming their place in it sooner or later. In democratic armies the private soldiers stand in this position and from the same cause. It often happens on the contrary that in these same democratic armies the officers contract tastes and wants wholly distinct from those of the nation, a fact which may be thus accounted for. Amongst democratic nations the man who becomes an officer severs all the ties which bound him to several life. He leaves it forever, he has no interest to resume it. His true country is the army, since he owes all he has to the rank he has attained in it. He therefore follows the fortunes of the army, rises or sinks with it, and hands forward directs all his hopes to that quarter only. As the wants of an officer are distinct from those of the country he may perhaps ardently desire war or labour to bring about a revolution at the very moment when the nation is most desirous of stability and peace. There are, nevertheless, some causes which allay this restless and warlike spirit. Though ambition is universal and continual amongst democratic nations, we have seen that it is seldom great. A man who, being born in the lower classes of the community, has risen from the ranks to be an officer has already taken a prodigious step. He has gained a footing in his sphere above that which he filled in civil life, and he has acquired rights which most democratic nations will ever consider as inalienable. Footnote. The position of officers is indeed much more secure amongst democratic nations than elsewhere. The lower the personal standing of the man, the greater is the comparative importance of his military grade, and the more just and necessary is it that the enjoyment of that rank should be secured by the laws. End footnote. He is willing to pause after so great an effort and to enjoy what he has won. The fear of risking what he has already obtained damns the desire of acquiring what he has not got. Having conquered the first and greatest impediment which opposed his advancement, he resounds himself with less impatience to the slowness of his progress. His ambition will be more and more cooled in proportion as the increasing distinction of his rank teaches him that he is more to put in jeopardy. If I am not mistaken, the least warlike and also the least revolutionary part of a democratic army will always be its chief commanders. But the remarks I have just made on officers and soldiers are not applicable to a numerous class which in all armies fills the intermediate space between them. I mean the class of non-commissioned officers. This class of non-commissioned officers which have never acted apart in history until the present century is henceforth destined, I think, to play one of some importance. Like the officers, non-commissioned officers have broken in their minds all the ties which bound them to civil life. Like the former they devote themselves permanently to the service, and perhaps make it even more exclusively the object of all their desires. But non-commissioned officers are men who have not yet reached a firm and lofty post at which they may pause and breathe more freely, ere they can attain further promotion. By the very nature of his duties, which is invariable, a non-commissioned officer is doomed to lead an obscure, confined, comfortless and precarious existence. As yet he sees nothing of military life but its dangers. He knows nothing but its privations and its discipline. More difficult to support than dangers. He suffers the more from his present miseries, from knowing that the constitution of society and of the army allow him to rise above them. He may indeed at any time obtain his commission, and enter at once upon command, honours, independence, rights and enjoyment. Not only does this object of his hopes appear to him of immense importance, but he is never sure of reaching it till it is actually his own. The grade he fills is by no means irrevocable. He is always entirely abandoned to the arbitrary pleasure of his commanding officer, for this is imperiously required by the necessity of discipline. A slight fold, a whim, may always deprive him in an instant of the fruits of many years of toil and endeavour. Until he has reached the grade to which he aspires, he has accomplished nothing. Not till he reaches that grade does his career seem to begin. A desperate ambition cannot fail to be kindled in a man thus incessantly goaded on by his youth, his wants, his passions, the spirit of his age, his hopes, and his fears. Non-commissioned officers are therefore bent on war, on war always and at any cost, but if war be denied them, then they desire revolutions to suspend the authority of established regulations and to enable them, aided by the general confusion and the political passions of the time, to get rid of their superior officers and to take their places. Nor is it impossible for them to bring about such a crisis, because their common origin and habits give them much influence over the soldiers, however different may be their passions and their desires. It would be an error to suppose that these various characteristics of officers, non-commissioned officers, and men, belong to any particular time or country. They will always occur at all times and amongst all democratic nations. In every democratic army, the non-commissioned officers will be the worst representatives of the Pacific and orderly spirit of the country, and the private soldiers will be the best. The latter will carry with them into military life, the strength or weakness of the manners of the nation. They will display a faithful reflection of the community. If that community is ignorant and weak, they will allow themselves to be drawn by their leaders into disturbances, either unconsciously or against their will. If it is enlightened and energetic, the community will itself keep them within the bounds of order. Causes which render democratic armies weaker than other armies at the outset of a campaign, and more formidable in projected warfare. Any army is in danger of being conquered at the outset of a campaign, after a long peace. Any army which has long been engaged in warfare has strong chances of victory. This truth is peculiarly applicable to democratic armies. In aristocracies, the military profession, being a privileged career, is held in honour even in time of peace. Men of great talents, great attainments, and great ambition embrace it. The army is in all respects on a level with the nation, and frequently, above it. We've seen, on the contrary, that amongst the democratic people, the choice or minds of the nation are gradually drawn away from the military profession, to seek by other parts distinction, power, and especially wealth. After a long peace, and in democratic ages, the periods of peace are long, the army is always inferior to the country itself. In this state, it is called into active service, and until war has altered it, there is danger for the country as well as for the army. I've shown that in democratic armies, and in time of peace, the rule of seniority is the supreme and inflexible law of advancement. This is not only a consequence, as I've before observed, of the constitution of these armies, but of the constitution of the people, and it will always occur. Again, as amongst these nations, the officer derives his position in the country solely from his position in the army, and as he draws all the distinction and the competency he enjoys from the same source, he does not retire from his profession, or is not superannuated, till towards the extreme close of life. The consequence of these two causes is that when a democratic people goes to war after a long interval of peace, all the leading officers of the army are all men. I speak not only of the generals, but of the non-commissioned officers who have most of them been stationary, or have only advanced step by step. It may be remarked with surprise that in a democratic army after a long peace, all the soldiers are mere boys and all the superior officers in declining years, so that the former are wanting and experience the latter in vigor. This is a strong element of defeat, for the first condition of successful generalship is youth. I should not have ventured to say so, if the greatest captain of modern times had not made the observation. These two causes do not act in the same manner upon aristocratic armies. As men are promoted in them by right of birth, much more than by right of seniority, there are in all ranks a certain number of young men who bring to their profession all the early vigor of body and mind. Again, as the men who seek for military honors amongst an aristocratic people enjoy a settled position in civil society, they seldom continue in the army until old age overtakes them. After having devoted the most vigorous years of youth to the career of arms, they voluntarily retire and spend at home the remainder of their mature years. A long peace not only fills democratic armies with elderly officers, but it also gives to all the officers habits both of body and mind which rends them unfit for actual service. The man who has long lived amidst the common lukewarm atmosphere of democratic menace can at first ill-adept himself to the harder toils and stoner duties of warfare. And if he has not absolutely lost the taste for arms, at least he has assumed a mode of life which unfits him for conquest. Amongst aristocratic nations the ease of civil life exercises less influence on the manners of the army, because amongst those nations the aristocracy commands the army, and in an aristocracy however plunged in luxurious pleasures has always many other passions besides that of its own well-being, and to satisfy those passions more thoroughly its well-being will be readily sacrificed. I have shown that in democratic armies in time of peace promotion is extremely slow. The officers at first support this state of things with impatience. They grow excited, restless, exasperated, but in the end most of them make up their minds to it. Those who have the largest share of ambition and of resources quit the army. Others adapting their tastes and their desires to their scanty fortunes ultimately look upon the military profession in a civil point of view. The quality they value most in it is the competency and security which attended. Their whole notion of the future rests upon the certainty of this little provision, and all they require is peaceably to enjoy it. Thus not only does a long peace fill an army with old man, but it frequently imparts the views of old men to those who are still in the prime of life. I've also shown that amongst democratic nations in time of peace the military profession is held in little honour and indifferently followed. This want of public favour is a heavy discouragement to the army. It weighs down the minds of the troops, and when war breaks out at last they cannot immediately resume their spring and vigour. No similar cause of moral weakness occurs in aristocratic armies. There the officers are never lowered either in their own eyes or in those of their countrymen because independently of their military greatness they are personally great. But even if the influence of peace operated on the two kinds of armies in the same manner the results would still be different. When the officers of an aristocratic army have lost their warlike spirit and the desire of raising themselves by service they still retain a certain respect for the honour of their class, and an old habit of being foremost to set an example. But when the officers of a democratic army have no longer the love of war and the ambition of arms nothing whatever remains to them. I am therefore of opinion that when a democratic people engages in a war after a long peace it incurs much more risk of defeat than any other nation, but it ought not easily to be cast down by its reverses for the chances of success for such an army are increased by the duration of the war. When a war has at length by its long continuance rouse the whole community from their peaceful occupations and ruin their minor undertakings the same passions which made them attach so much importance to the maintenance of peace will be turned to arms. War after it has destroyed all modes of speculation becomes itself the great and sole speculation to which all the ardent and ambitious desires which equality and genders are exclusively directed. Hence it is that the self-same democratic nations which are so reluctant to engage in hostilities sometimes perform prodigious achievements when once they have taken the field. As the war attracts more and more of public attention and is seen to create high reputations and great fortunes in a short space of time the choicest spirits of the nation enter the military profession. All the enterprising, proud and martial minds no longer of their aristocracy solely but of the whole country are drawn in this direction. As the number of competitors for military honours is immense and war drives every man to his proper level great generals are always sure to spring up. A long war produces upon a democratic army the same effects that a revolution produces upon a people. It breaks through regulations and allows extraordinary man to rise above the common level.  In their stead a host of young men are pressing on whose frames are already hardened whose desires are extended and inflamed by active service. They are bent on advancement at all hazards and perpetual advancement. They are followed by others with the same passions and desires and after these are others yet unlimited by ought but the size of the army. The principle of equality opens the door of ambition to all and death provides chances for ambition. Death is constantly thinning the ranks making vacancies closing and opening the career of arms. There is moreover a secret connection between the military character and the character of democracies which war brings to light. The men of democracies are naturally passionately eager to acquire what they covet and to enjoy it on easy conditions. They for the most part worship chance and are much less afraid of death than of difficulty. This is the spirit which they bring to commerce and manufacturers and this same spirit carried with them to the field of battle induces them willingly to expose their lives in order to secure in a moment the rewards of victory. No kind of greatness is more pleasing to the imagination of a democratic people than military greatness. A greatness of vivid and sudden lesser obtained without toil by nothing but the risk of life. Thus whilst the interests and the tastes of the members of a democratic community divert them from war their habits of mind fit them for carrying on war well. They soon make good soldiers when they are aroused from their business and their enjoyments. If peace is peculiarly hurtful to democratic armies war secures to them advantages which no other armies ever possess and these advantages however little felt at first cannot fail in the end to give them the victory. An aristocratic nation which in a contest with the democratic people does not succeed in ruining a letter at the outside of the war always runs a great risk of being conquered by it. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Anna Simon. Democracy in America Volume 2 by Alexis de Tocqueville translated by Henry Reeve part 3 chapter 25 of discipline in democratic armies. It is a very general opinion especially in aristocratic countries that the great social equality which prevails in democracies ultimately renders the private soldier independent of the officer and thus destroys the bond of discipline. This is a mistake for there are two kinds of discipline which it is important not to confound. When the officer is noble and the soldier a serve one rich the other poor the former educated and strong the latter ignorant and weak the strictest bond of obedience may easily be established between the two men. The soldier is broken into military discipline as it were before he enters the army or rather military discipline is nothing but an enhancement of social servitude. In aristocratic armies the soldier will soon become insensible to everything but the orders of his superior officers. He acts without reflection, triumphs without enthusiasm and dies without complaint. In this state he is no longer a man but he is still a most formidable animal trained for war. A democratic people must despair of ever obtaining from soldiers that blind, minute, submissive and invariable obedience which an aristocratic people may impose on them without difficulty. The state of society does not prepare them for it and the nation might be in danger of losing its natural advantages if it sought artificially to acquire advantages of this particular kind. Amongst democratic communities military discipline ought not attempt to annihilate the free spring of the faculties. All that can be done by discipline is to direct it. The obedience thus inculcated is less exact but it is more eager and more intelligent. It has its root in the will of him who obeys. It rests not only on his instinct but on his reason and consequently it will often spontaneously become more strict as danger requires it. The discipline of an aristocratic army is apt to be relaxed in war because that discipline is founded upon habits and war disturbs those habits. The discipline of a democratic army on the contrary is strengthened inside of the enemy because every soldier then clearly perceives that he must be silent and obedient in order to conquer. The nations which have performed the greatest warlike achievements knew no other discipline than that which I speak of. Amongst the ancients none were admitted into the armies but free men and citizens who differed but little from one another and were accustomed to treat each other as equals. In this respect it may be said that the armies of antiquity were democratic although they came out of the bosom of aristocracy. The consequence was that in those armies a sort of fraternal familiarity prevailed between the officers and the men. Plutarch's lives of great commanders furnished convincing instances of effect. The soldiers were in the constant habit of freely addressing their general and the general listened to and answered whatever the soldiers had to say. They were kept in order by language and by example, far more than by constraint or punishment. The general was as much their companion as their chief. I know not whether the soldiers of Greece and Rome ever carried the minutiae of military discipline to the same degree of perfection as the Russians have done, but this did not prevent Alexander from conquering Asia and Rome the world. Chapter 26. Some Considerations on War in Democratic Communities When the principle of equality is in growth, not only amongst a single nation but amongst several neighbouring nations at the same time as is now the case in Europe, the inhabitants of these different countries, notwithstanding the dissimilarity of language, of customs, and of laws, nevertheless resemble each other in their equal dread of war and their common love of peace. Footnote. It is scarcely necessary for me to observe that the dread of war displayed by the nations of Europe is not solely attributable to the progress made by the principle of equality amongst them. Independently of this permanent cause, several other accidental causes of great weight might be pointed out, and I may mention before all the rest the extreme lassitude which the wars of the revolution and the empire have left behind them. Footnote. It is in vain that ambition or anger puts arms in the hands of princes. They are appeased in spite of themselves by a species of general apathy and goodwill, which makes the sword drop from their grasp and wars become more rare. As the spread of equality taking place in several countries at once simultaneously impels their various inhabitants to follow manufacturers and commas. Not only do their tastes grow alike, but their interests are so mixed and entangled with one another that no nation can inflict evils on other nations without those evils falling back upon itself. At all nations ultimately regard war as a calamity, almost as severe to the conqueror as to the conquered. Thus, on the one hand, it is extremely difficult in democratic ages to draw nations into hostilities, but on the other hand it is almost impossible that any two of them should go to war without embroiling the rest. The interests of all are so interlaced, their opinions and their wants so much alike that none can remain quiet when the others stir. Wars therefore become more rare, but when they break out they spread over a larger field. Neighboring democratic nations not only become alike in some respects, but they eventually grow to resemble each other in almost all. Footnote. This is not only because these nations have the same social condition, but it arises from the very nature of that social condition which leads men to imitate and identify themselves with each other. When the members of a community are divided into castes and classes, they not only differ from one another, but they have no taste and no desire to be alike. On the contrary, everyone endeavours, more and more, to keep his own opinions undisturbed, to retain his own peculiar habits and to remain himself. The characteristics of individuals are very strongly marked. When the state of society amongst the people is democratic, that is to say, when there are no longer any castes or classes in the community, and all its members are nearly equal in education and in property, the human mind follows the opposite direction. Men are much alike, and they are annoyed as it were by any deviation from that likeness. Far from seeking to preserve their own distinguishing singularities, they endeavour to shake them off in order to identify themselves with the general mass of the people, which is the sole representative of right and of might to their eyes. The characteristics of individuals are nearly obliterated. In the ages of aristocracy, even those who are naturally alike strive to create imaginary differences between themselves. In the ages of democracy, even those who are not alike seek only to become so and to copy each other. So strongly is the mind of every man always carried away by the general impulse of mankind. Something of the same kind may be observed between nations. Two nations having the same aristocratic social condition might remain thoroughly distinct and extremely different because the spirit of aristocracy is to retain strong individual characteristics, but if two neighbouring nations have the same democratic social condition, they cannot fail to adopt similar opinions and manners because the spirit of democracy tends to assimilate men to each other. And footnote. This similitude of nations has consequences of great importance in relation to war. If I enquire why it is that the confederacy made the greatest and most powerful nations of Europe tremble in the 15th century, whilst at the present day the power of that country is exactly proportion to its population, I perceive that the Swiss are become like all the surrounding communities and those surrounding communities like the Swiss, such that as numerical strength now forms the only difference between them, victory necessarily attends the largest army. Thus one of the consequences of the democratic revolution which is going on in Europe is to make numerical strength preponderate on all fields of battle and to constrain all small nations to incorporate themselves with large states or at least adopt the policy of the latter. As numbers are the determining cause of victory, each people ought of course to strive by all the means in its power to bring the greatest possible number of men into the field, when it was possible to enlist a kind of troops superior to all others, such as the Swiss infantry or the French horse of the 16th century, it was not thought necessary to raise very large armies, but the case is altered when one soldier is as efficient as another. The same cause which begets this new want also supplies means of satisfying it, for as I have already observed, when men are all alike, they are all weak, and the supreme power of the state is naturally much stronger amongst democratic nations than elsewhere. Hence, whilst these nations are desirous of enrolling the whole male population in the ranks of the army, they have the power of effecting this object. The consequence is that in democratic ages armies seem to grow larger in proportion as the love of war declines. In the same ages too, the manner of carrying on war is likewise altered by the same causes. Machiavelli observes in the prince, quote, that it is much more difficult to subdue a people which has a prince and his parents for its leaders than a nation which is commanded by a prince and his slaves, end quote. To avoid offence, let us read public functionaries for slaves, and this important truth will be strictly applicable to our own times. A great aristocratic people cannot either conquer its neighbors or be conquered by them without great difficulty. It cannot conquer them because all its forces can never be collected and held together for a considerable period. It cannot be conquered because an enemy meets at every step small centers of resistance by which invasion is arrested. War against an aristocracy may be compared to war in a mountainous country. The defeated party has constant opportunities of rallying its forces to make a stand in a new position. Exactly the reverse occurs amongst democratic nations. They easily bring their whole disposable force into the field, and when the nation is wealthy and populace, it soon becomes victorious. But if ever it is conquered and its territory invaded, it has few resources at command, and if the enemy takes the capital, the nation is lost. This may very well be explained, as each member of the community is individually isolated and extremely powerless. No one of the whole body can either defend himself or present a rallying point to others. Nothing is strong in a democratic country except the state, as the military strength of the state is destroyed by the destruction of the army and its civil power paralyzed by the capture of the chief city. All that remains is only a multitude without strength or government, unable to resist the organized power by which it is assailed. I am aware that this danger may be lessened by the creation of provincial liberties, and consequently of provincial powers, but this remedy will always be insufficient. For after such a catastrophe not only is the population unable to carry on hostilities, but it may be apprehended that they will not be inclined to attempt it. In accordance with the law of nations adopted in civilized countries, the object of wars is not to seize the property of private individuals, but simply to get possession of political power. The destruction of private property is only occasionally resorted to for the purpose of attaining a latter object. When an aristocratic country is invaded after the defeat of its army, their nobles, although they are at the same time the wealthiest members of the community, will continue to defend themselves individually rather than submit. For, if the conqueror remained master of the country, he would deprive them of their political power, to which they cling even more closely than to their property. They therefore prefer fighting to subjection, which is to them the greatest of all misfortunes, and they readily carry the people along with them, because the people has long been used to follow and obey them, and besides as but little to risk in the war. Amongst a nation in which equality of conditions prevails, each citizen, on the contrary, has but slender share of political power, and often has no share at all. On the other hand, all are independent and all have something to lose, so that they are much less afraid of being conquered, and much more afraid of war than an aristocratic people. It will always be extremely difficult to decide a democratic population to take up arms when hostilities have reached its own territory. Hence, the necessity of giving to such a people the rights and the political character which may impart to every citizen some of those interests that cause the nobles to act for the public welfare in aristocratic countries. It should never be forgotten by the princes and other leaders of democratic nations that nothing but the passion and the habit of freedom can maintain an advantageous contest with the passion and the habit of physical well-being. I can conceive nothing better prepared for subjection in case of defeat than a democratic people without free institutions. Formerly it was customary to take the field with a small body of troops to fight in small engagements and to make long, regular sieges. Modern tactics consist in fighting decisive battles and, as soon as a line of march is opened before the army, in rushing upon the capital city in order to terminate the war at a single blow. Napoleon, it had said, was the inventor of this new system. But the invention of such a system did not depend on any individual man, whoever he might be. The mode in which Napoleon carried on war was suggested to him by the state of society in his time. That mode was successful because it was eminently adapted to that state of society, and because he was the first to employ it. Napoleon was the first commander who marched at the head of an army from capital to capital, but the road was opened for him by the ruin of feudal society. It may fairly be believed that if that extraordinary man had been born three hundred years ago, he would not have derived the same results from his method of warfare, or rather that he would have had a different method. I shall add but a few words on civil wars, for fear of exhausting the patience of the reader. Most of the remarks which I have made respecting foreign wars are applicable, a fortiori, to civil wars. Man living in democracies are not naturally prone to the military character. They sometimes assume it when they have been dragged by compulsion to the field, but to rise in a body and voluntarily to expose themselves to the horrors of war, and especially of civil war, is a course which the men of democracies are not apt to adopt. None but the most adventurous members of the community consent to run into such risks. The bulk of the population remains motionless. But even if the population were inclined to act, considerable obstacles would stand in their way, for they can resort to no old and well-established influence which they are willing to obey, no well-known leaders to rally the discontented, as well as the discipline and to lead them, no political powers subordinate to the supreme power of the nation, which afford an effectual support to the resistance directed against the government. In democratic countries, the moral power of the majority is immense, and the physical resources which it has at its command are out of all proportion to the physical resources which may be combined against it. Therefore the party which occupies the seat of the majority, which speaks in its name and wields its power, triumphs instantaneously and irresistibly over all private resistance. It does not even give such opposition time to exist, but nips it in the bird. Those who in such nations seek to effect a revolution by force of arms have no other resource than suddenly to seize upon the whole engine of government as it stands, which can better be done by a single blow than by a war. For as soon as there is a regular war, the party which represents the state is always certain to conquer. The only case in which a civil war could arise is if the army should divide itself into two factions, the one raising the standard of rebellion, the other remaining true to its allegiance. An army constitutes small community, very closely united together, endowed with great powers of vitality and able to supply its own once for some time. Such a war might be bloody, but it could not be long, for either the rebellious army would gain over the government by the sole display of its resources, or by its first victory, and then the war would be over. Or the struggle would take place, and then that portion of the army which should not be supported by the organised powers of the state would speedily either disband itself or be destroyed. It may therefore be admitted as a general truth that in ages of equality civil wars will become much less frequent and less protected. Footnote. It should be borne in mind that I speak here of sovereign and independent democratic nations, not of Confederate democracies. In confederacies, as the preponderating power always resides in spite of all political fictions in the state governments and not in the federal government, civil wars are in fact nothing but foreign wars in disguise. End footnote. End of Part 3, Chapter 26. Part 4, Chapters 1 and 2 of Democracy in America, Volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Democracy in America, Volume 2 by Alexis de Tocqueville, translated by Henry Reeve. Part 4. Influence of Democratic Opinions on Political Society. Chapter 1. That equality naturally gives men a taste for free institutions. I should imperfectly fulfil the purpose of this book, if, after having shown what opinions and sentiments are suggested by the principle of equality, I did not point out, ere I conclude, the general influence which these same opinions and sentiments may exercise upon the government of human societies. To succeed in this object I so frequently have to retrace my steps, but I trust the reader will not refuse to follow me through paths already known to him, which may lead to some new truth. The principle of equality, which makes men independent of each other, gives them a habit and a taste for following in their private actions, no other guide but their own will. This complete independence, which they constantly enjoy towards their equals and in the intercourse of private life, tends to make them look upon all authority with a jealous eye, and speedily suggest to them the notion and the love of political freedom. Men living at such times have a natural bias to free institutions. Take any one of them at a venture, and search if you can his most deep-seated instincts. You will find that of all governments he will soonest conceive and most highly value that government, whose head he has himself elected, and whose administration he may control. Of all the political effects produced by the equality of conditions, this love of independence is the first to strike the observing and to alarm the timid. Nor can it be said that their alarm is wholly misplaced, for anarchy has a more formidable aspect in democratic countries than elsewhere. As the citizens have no direct influence on each other, as soon as the supreme power of the nation fails, which kept them all their several stations, it would seem that disorder must instantly reach its utmost pitch, and that every man drawing aside in different direction the fabric of society must at once crumble away. I am, however, persuaded that anarchy is not the principal evil which democratic ages have to fear, but the least. For the principle of equality begets two tendencies. The one leads men straight to independence, and may suddenly drive them into anarchy. The other conducts them by a longer, more secret, but more certain road to servitude. Nations readily discern the former tendency and are prepared to resist it. They are led away by the latter without perceiving its drift. Hence it is peculiarly important to point it out. For myself I am so far from urging, as a reproach, to the principle of quality, that it renders men untractable, that this very circumstance principally calls forth my approbation. I admire to see how it deposits in the mind and heart of man the dim conception and instinctive love of political independence, thus preparing the remedy for the evil which it engenders. It is on this very account that I am attached to it. That the notions of democratic nations on government are naturally favorable to the concentration of power. The notion of secondary powers placed between the sovereign and his subjects occurred naturally to the imagination of aristocratic nations, because those communities contained individuals or families raised above the common level, and apparently destined to command by their birth their education and their wealth. This same notion is naturally wanting in the minds of men in democratic ages, for converse reasons. It can only be introduced artificially, it can only be kept there with difficulty, whereas they conceive, as it were, without thinking upon the subject, the notion of a soul and central power which governs the whole community by its direct influence. Moreover, in politics, as well as in philosophy and in religion, the intellect of democratic nations is peculiarly open to simple and general notions. Complicated systems are repugnant to it, and its favorable conception is that of a great nation composed of citizens, all resembling the same pattern and all governed by a single power. The very next notion to that of a soul and central power which presents itself to the minds of men in the ages of equality is the notion of uniformity of legislation. As every man sees that he differs but little from those about him, he cannot understand why a rule which is applicable to one man should not be equally applicable to all others. Hence the slightest privileges are repugnant to his reason, the faintest dissimilarities in the political institutions of the same people offend him, and uniformity of legislation appears to him to be the first condition of good government. I find on the contrary that this same notion of a uniform rule, equally binding on all the members of the community, was almost unknown to the human mind in aristocratic ages. It was either never entertained or it was rejected. These contrary tendencies of opinion ultimately turn on either side to such blind instincts and such ungovernable habits that they still direct the actions of men, in spite of particular exceptions. Notwithstanding the immense variety of conditions in the middle ages, a certain number of persons existed at that period in precisely similar circumstances, but this did not prevent the laws then enforced from assigning to each of them distinct duties and different rights. On the contrary, at the present time all the powers of government are exerted to impose the same customs and the same laws on populations which have, as yet, but few points of resemblance. As the conditions of men become equal amongst a people, individuals seem of less importance, and society of greater dimensions, or rather every citizen being assimilated to all the rest is lost in the crowd, and nothing stands conspicuous but the great and imposing image of the people at large. This naturally gives the men of democratic periods a lofty opinion of the privileges of society and a very humble notion of the rights of individuals. They are ready to admit that the interests of the former are everything, and those of the latter nothing. They are willing to acknowledge that the power which represents the community has far more information and wisdom than any of the members of that community, and that it is the duty as well as the right of that power to guide as well as govern each private citizen. If we closely scrutinize our contemporaries and penetrate to the root of their political opinions, we shall detect some of the notions which I have just pointed out, and we shall perhaps be surprised to find so much accordance between men who are so often at variance. The Americans hold that in every state the supreme power ought to emanate from the people, but when once that power is constituted they can conceive, as it were, no limits to it, and they are ready to admit that it has the right to do whatever it pleases. They have not the slightest notion of peculiar privileges granted to cities, families, or persons. Their minds appear never to have foreseen that it might be possible not to apply, with strict uniformity, the same laws to every part, and to all the inhabitants. These same opinions are more and more diffused in Europe. They even insinuate themselves amongst those nations which most vehemently reject the principle of the sovereignty of the people. Such nations assign a different origin to the supreme power, but they ascribe to that power the same characteristics. Amongst them all the idea of intermediate powers is weakened and obliterated. The idea of rights inherent in certain individuals is rapidly disappearing from the minds of men. The idea of the omnipotence and sole authority of society at large rises to fill its place. These ideas take root and spread in proportion as social conditions become more equal, and men more alike. They are engendered by equality and in turn they hasten the progress of equality. In France, where the revolution of which I am speaking has gone further than in any other European country, these opinions have got complete hold of the public mind. If we listen attentively to the language of the various parties in France, we shall find that there is not one which has not adopted them. Most of these parties censure the conduct of the government, but they all hold that the government ought perpetually to act and interfere in everything that is done. Even those which are most at variance are nevertheless agreed upon this head. The unity, the ubiquity, the omnipotence of the supreme power, and the uniformity of its rules constitute the principal characteristics of all the political systems which have been put forward in our age. They recur even in the wildest visions of political regeneration. The human mind pursues them in its dreams. If these notions spontaneously arise in the minds of private individuals, they suggest themselves still more forcibly to the minds of princes. Whilst the ancient fabric of European society is altered and dissolved, sovereigns acquire new conceptions of their opportunities and their duties. They learn for the first time that the central power which they represent may and ought to administer by its own agency and on a uniform plan all the concerns of the whole community. This opinion, which I will venture to say was never conceived before our time by the monarchs of Europe, now sinks deeply into the minds of kings and divides there amidst all the agitation of more unsettled thoughts. Our contemporaries are therefore much less divided than is commonly supposed. They are constantly disputing as to the hands in which supremacy is to be vested, but they readily agree upon the duties and the rights of that supremacy. The notion they all form of government is that of a soul, simple, providential, and creative power. All secondary opinions and politics are unsettled. This one remains fixed, invariable, and consistent. It is adopted by statesmen and political philosophers. It is eagerly laid hold of by the multitude. Those who govern and those who are governed agree to pursue it with equal ardor. It is the foremost notion of their minds. It seems inborn. It originates, therefore, in no caprice of the human intellect, but it is a necessary condition of the present state of mankind. II. That the sentiments of democratic nations accord with their opinions in leading them to concentrate on political power. If it be true that, in ages of equality, men readily adopt the notion of a great central power, it cannot be doubted, on the other hand, that their habits and sentiments predispose them to recognize such a power and to give it their support. This may be demonstrated in a few words as the greater part of the reasons to which the fact may be attributed have been previously stated. As the men who inhabit democratic countries have no superiors, no inferiors, and no habitual or necessary partners in their undertakings, they readily fall back upon themselves and consider themselves as beings apart. I had occasion to point this out at considerable length in treating of individualism. Hence such men can never, without an effort, tear themselves from their private affairs to engage in public business. Their natural bias leads them to abandon the latter to the sole visible and permanent representative of the interests of the community. That is to say, to the state. Not only are they naturally wanting in taste for public business, but they have frequently no time to attend to it. Private life is so busy in democratic periods, so excited, so full of wishes and of work, that hardly any energy or leisure remains to each individual for public life. I am the last man to contend that these propensities are unconquerable, since my chief object in writing this book has been to combat them. I only maintain that at the present day a secret power is fostering them in the human heart, and that if they are not checked they will wholly overgrow it. I have also had occasion to show how the increasing love of well-being and the fluctuating character of property cause democratic nations to dread all violent disturbance. The love of public tranquility is frequently the only passion which these nations retain, and it becomes more active and powerful amongst them in proportion as all other passions droop and die. This naturally disposes the members of the community constantly to give or to surrender additional rights to the central power, which alone seems to be interested in defending them by the same means that it uses to defend itself. As in ages of equality no man is compelled to lend his assistance to his fellow man, and none has any right to expect much support from them. Everyone is at once independent and powerless. These two conditions, which must never be either separately considered or confounded together, inspire the citizen of a democratic country with very contrary propensities. His independence fills him with self-reliance and pride amongst his equals. His debility makes him feel from time to time the want of some outward assistance, which he cannot expect from any of them because they are all impotent and unsympathizing. In this predicament he naturally turns his eyes to that imposing power which alone rises above the level of universal depression. Of that power his wants and especially his desires continually remind him until he ultimately views it as the sole and necessary support of his own weakness. This may more completely explain what frequently takes place in democratic countries, where the very few men who are so impatient of superiors patiently submit to a master, exhibiting at once their pride and their civility. The hatred which men bear to privilege increases in proportion as privileges become more scarce and less considerable, so that democratic passions would seem to burn most fiercely at the very time when they have least fuel. I have already given the reason of this phenomenon. When all conditions are unequal, no inequality is so great as to offend the eye, whereas the slightest dissimilarity is odious in the midst of general uniformity. The more complete is this uniformity, the more unsupportable does the side of such a difference become. Hence it is natural that the love of equality should constantly increase together with equality itself, and that it should grow by what it feeds upon. This never-dying, ever kindling hatred which sets a democratic people against the smallest privileges is peculiarly favorable to the gradual concentration of all political rights in the hands of the representative of the state alone. The sovereign, being necessarily and incontestably above all the citizens, excites not their envy, and each of them thinks that he strips his equals of the prerogative which he concedes to the crown. The man of a democratic age is extremely reluctant to obey his neighbor who is his equal. He refuses to acknowledge in such a person ability superior to his own. He mistrusts his justice and is jealous of his power. He fears and he condemns him, and he loves continually to remind him of the common dependence in which both of them stand to the same master. Every central power which follows its natural tendencies courts and encourages the principle of equality, for equality singularly facilitates, extends, and secures the influence of a central power. In like manner it may be said that every central government worships uniformity. Uniformity relieves it from inquiry into an infinite number of small details which must be attended to if rules were to be adapted to men instead of indiscriminately subjecting men to rules. Thus the government likes what the citizens like and naturally hates what they hate. These common sentiments which in democratic nations constantly unite the sovereign and every member of the community in one and the same conviction establish a secret and lasting sympathy between them. The faults of the government are pardoned for the sake of its tastes. Public confidence is only reluctantly withdrawn in the midst even of its excesses and its errors and it is restored at the first call. Democratic nations often hate those in whose hands the central power is vested, but they always love that power itself. Thus by two separate paths I have reached the same conclusion. I have shown that the principle of equality suggests to men the notion of a sole uniform and strong government. I have now shown that the principle of equality imparts to them a taste for it. To governments of this kind the nations of our age are therefore tending. They are drawn thither by the natural inclination of mind and heart, and in order to reach that result it is enough that they do not check themselves in their course. I am of opinion that in the democratic ages which are opening upon us individual independence and local liberties will ever be the produce of artificial contrivance, that centralization will be the natural form of government. Chapter 4 Of certain peculiar and accidental causes which either lead a people to complete centralization of government or which divert them from it. If all democratic nations are instinctively led to the centralization of government they tend to this result in an unequal manner. This depends on the particular circumstances which may promote or prevent the natural consequences of that state of society, circumstances which are exceedingly numerous but I shall only advert to a few of them. Amongst men who have lived free long before they became equal, the tendencies derived from free institutions combat, to a certain extent, the propensities super-induced by the principle of equality, and although the central power may increase its privileges amongst such a people, the private members of such a community will never entirely forfeit their independence. But when the equality of conditions grows up amongst a people which has never known, or has long ceased to know what freedom is, and such is the case upon the continent of Europe, as the former habits of the nation are suddenly combined by some sort of natural attraction with the novel habits and principles engendered by the state of society, all powers seem spontaneously to rush to the center. These powers accumulate there with astonishing rapidity, and the state instantly attains the utmost limits of its strength, whilst private persons allow themselves to sink as suddenly to the lowest degree of weakness. The English who emigrated three hundred years ago to found a democratic commonwealth on the shores of the new world had all learned to take apart in public affairs in their mother country. They were conversant with trial by jury, they were accustomed to liberty of speech and of the press, to personal freedom, to the notion of rights and the practice of asserting them. They carried with them to America these free institutions and manly customs, and these institutions preserved them against the encroachments of the state. Thus amongst the Americans it is freedom which is old, equality is of comparatively modern date. The reverse is occurring in Europe where equality introduced by absolute power and under the rule of kings was already infused into the habits of nations long before freedom had entered into their conceptions. I have said that amongst democratic nations the notion of government naturally presents itself to the mind under the form of a soul and central power, and that the notion of intermediate powers is not familiar to them. This is peculiarly applicable to the democratic nations which have witnessed the triumph of the principle of equality by means of a violent revolution. As the classes which managed local affairs have been suddenly swept away by the storm, and as the confused mass which remains has as yet neither the organization nor the habits which fit it to assume the administration of these same affairs, the state alone seems capable of taking upon itself all the details of government and centralization becomes as it were the unavoidable state of the country. Napoleon deserves neither praise nor censure for having centered in his own hands almost all the administrative power of France. For after the abrupt disappearance of the nobility and the higher rank of the middle classes these powers devolved on him of course. It would have been almost as difficult for him to reject as to assume them. But no necessity of this kind has ever been felt by the Americans who having passed through no revolution and having governed themselves from the first never had to call upon the state to act for a time as their guardian. Thus the progress of centralization amongst a democratic people depends not only on the progress of equality but on the manner in which this equality has been established. At the commencement of a great democratic revolution when hostilities have but just broken out between the different classes of society the people endeavors to centralize the public administration in the hands of the government in order to rest the management of local affairs from the aristocracy. Towards the close of such a revolution on the contrary it is usually the conquered aristocracy that endeavors to make over the management of all affairs to the state because such an aristocracy dreads a tyranny of a people which has become its equal and not infrequently its master. Thus it is not always the same class of the community which strives to increase the prerogative of the government. But as long as the democratic revolution lasts there is always one class in the nation powerful in numbers or in wealth which is induced by peculiar passions or interests to centralize the public administration independently of that hatred of being governed by one's neighbor which is a general and permanent feeling amongst democratic nations. It may be remarked that at the present day the lower orders in England are striving with all their might to destroy local independence and to transfer the administration from all points of the circumference to the center whereas the higher classes are endeavoring to retain this administration within its ancient boundaries. I venture to predict that a time will come when the very reverse will happen. These observations explain why the supreme power is always stronger and private individuals weaker amongst a democratic people which has passed through a long and arduous struggle to reach a state of equality then amongst a democratic community in which the citizens have been equal from the first. The example of the Americans completely demonstrates the fact. The inhabitants of the United States were never divided by any privileges. They have never known the mutual relation of master and inferior and as they neither dread nor hate each other they have never known the necessity of calling in the supreme power to manage their affairs. The lot of the Americans is singular. They have derived from the aristocracy of England the notion of private rights and the taste for local freedom and they have been able to retain both the one and the other because they've had no aristocracy to combat. If at all times education enables men to defend their independence this is most especially true in democratic ages. When all men are like it is easy to found a soul and all powerful government by the aid of mere instinct. But men require much intelligence knowledge and art to organize and to maintain secondary powers under similar circumstances and to create amidst the independence and individual weakness of the citizens such free associations as may be in a condition to struggle against tyranny without destroying public order. Hence the concentration of power and the subjection of individuals will increase amongst democratic nations not only in the same proportion as their equality but in the same proportion as their ignorance. It is true that in ages of imperfect civilization the government is frequently as wanting in the knowledge required to impose a despotism upon the people as the people are wanting in the knowledge required to shake it off. But the effect is not the same on both sides. However rude a democratic people may be the central power which rules it is never completely devoid of cultivation because it readily draws to its own uses what little cultivation is to be found in the country and if necessary may seek assistance elsewhere. Hence amongst a nation which is ignorant as well as democratic an amazing difference cannot fail speedily to arise between the intellectual capacity of the ruler and that of each of his subjects. This completes the easy concentration of all power in his hands. The administrative function of the state is perpetually extended because the state alone is competent to administer the affairs of the country. Aristocratic nations however unenlightened they may be never afford the same spectacle because in them instruction is nearly equally diffused between the monarch and the leading members of the community. The Pasha who now rules in Egypt found the population of that country composed of men exceedingly ignorant and equal and he has borrowed the science and ability of Europe to govern that people. As the personal attainments of the sovereign are thus combined with the ignorance and democratic weakness of his subjects the utmost centralization has been established without impediment and the Pasha has made the country his manufacturing and the inhabitants his workmen. I think that extreme centralization of government ultimately innervates society and thus after a length of time weakens the government itself but I do not deny that a centralized social power may be able to execute great undertakings with facility in a given time and on a particular point. This is more especially true of war in which success depends much more on the means of transferring all the resources of a nation to one single point than on the extent of those resources. Hence it is chiefly in war that nations desire and frequently require to increase the powers of the central government. All men of military genius are fond of centralization which increases their strength and all men of centralizing genius are fond of war which compels nations to combine all their powers in the hands of the government. Thus the democratic tendency which leads men unceasingly to multiply the privileges of the state and to circumscribe the rights of private persons is much more rapid and constant amongst those democratic nations which are exposed by their position to great and frequent wars than amongst all others. I have shown how the dread of disturbance and the love of well-being insensibly lead democratic nations to increase the functions of central government as the only power which appears to be intrinsically sufficiently strong, enlightened, and secure to protect them from anarchy. I would now add that all the particular circumstances which tend to make the state of a democratic community agitated and precarious enhance this general propensity and lead private persons more and more to sacrifice their rights to their tranquility. A people is therefore never so disposed to increase the functions of central government as at the close of a long and bloody revolution which, after having rested property from the hands of its former possessors, has shaken all belief and filled the nation with fierce hatreds, conflicting interests, and contending factions. The love of public tranquility becomes at such times an indiscriminating passion, and the members of the community are apt to conceive a most inordinate devotion to order. I have already examined several of the incidents which may concur to promote the centralization of power, but the principal cause still remains to be noticed. The foremost of the incidental causes which may draw the management of all affairs into the hands of the ruler in a democratic country is the origin of that ruler himself and his own propensities. Men who live in the ages of equality are naturally fond of central power and are willing to extend its privileges, but if it happens that this same power faithfully represents their own interests and exactly copies their own inclinations, the confidence they place in it knows no bounds, and they think that whatever they bestow upon it is bestowed upon themselves. The attraction of administrative powers to the center will always be less easy and less rapid under the reign of kings, who are still in some ways connected with the old aristocratic order, then under new princes, the children of their own achievements, whose birth, prejudices, propensities, and habits appear to bind them indissolubly to the cause of equality. I do not mean that princes of aristocratic origin who live in democratic ages do not attempt to centralize. I believe they apply themselves to that object as diligently as any others. For them the sole advantage of equality lies in that direction, but their opportunities are less great because the community, instead of volunteering compliance with their desires, frequently obeys them with reluctance. In democratic communities the rule is that centralization must increase in proportion as the sovereign is less aristocratic. When an ancient race of kings stands at the head of an aristocracy, as the natural prejudices of the sovereign perfectly accord with the natural prejudices of the nobility, the vice's inherent in aristocratic communities have a free course, and meet with no corrective. The reverse is the case when the scion of a feudal stock is placed at the head of a democratic people. The sovereign is constantly led by his education, his habits, and his associations to adopt sentiments suggested by the inequality of conditions, and the people tend as constantly by their social condition to those manners which are engendered by equality. At such times it often happens that the citizens seek to control the central power far less as a tyrannical than as an aristocratic power, and they persist in the firm defense of their independence, not only because they would remain free, but especially because they are determined to remain equal. A revolution which overthrows an ancient regal family in order to place men of more recent growth at the head of a democratic people may temporarily weaken the central power, but however anarchical such a revolution may appear at first, we need not hesitate to predict that its final and certain consequence will be to extend and to secure the prerogatives of that power. The foremost, or indeed the sole condition which is required in order to succeed in centralizing the supreme power in a democratic community, is to love equality or to get men to believe you love it. Thus the science of despotism, which was once so complex, is simplified and reduced, as it were, to a single principle. End of part four, chapters three and four. Part four, chapters five and six of Democracy in America, volume two. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville. Translated by Henry Reed. Part four. Influence of democratic opinions on political society. Chapter five. That amongst the European nations of our time the power of governments is increasing, although the persons who govern are less stable. On reflecting upon what has already been said, the reader will be startled and alarmed to find that in Europe everything seems to conduce to the indefinite extension of the prerogatives of government, and to render all that enjoyed the rights of private independence more weak, more subordinate, and more precarious. The democratic nations of Europe have all the general and permanent tendencies which urge the Americans to the centralization of government, and they are, moreover, exposed to a number of secondary and incidental causes with which the Americans are unacquainted. It would seem as if every step they make towards equality brings them nearer to despotism. And indeed, if we do but cast our looks around, we shall be convinced that such is the fact. During the aristocratic ages which preceded the present time, the sovereigns of Europe had been deprived of, or had relinquished, many of the rights inherent in their power. Not a hundred years ago, amongst the greater part of European nations, numerous private persons and corporations were sufficiently independent to administer justice, to raise and maintain troops, to levy taxes, and frequently even to make or interpret the law. The state has everywhere resumed to itself alone these natural attributes of sovereign power. In all matters of government the state tolerates no intermediate agent between itself and the people, and in general business it directs the people by its own immediate influence. I am far from blaming this concentration of power, I simply point it out. At the same period a great number of secondary powers existed in Europe, which represent local interests and administer local affairs. Most of these local authorities have already disappeared. All are speedily tending to disappear or to fall into the most complete dependence. From one end of Europe to the other the privileges of the nobility, the liberty of cities, and the powers of provincial bodies are either destroyed or upon the verge of destruction. Europe has endured in the course of the last half century many revolutions and counter revolutions which have agitated it in opposite directions, but all these perturbations resemble each other in one respect. They have all shaken or destroyed the secondary powers of government. The local privileges which the French did not establish in the countries they conquered have finally succumbed to the policy of the princes who conquered the French. These princes rejected all the innovations of the French Revolution except centralization. That is the only principle they consented to receive from such a source. My object is to remark that all these various rights, which have been successively rested in our time from classes, corporations, and individuals, have not served to raise new secondary powers on a more democratic basis, but have uniformly been concentrated in the hands of the sovereign. Everywhere the state acquires more and more direct control over the humblest members of the community, and a more exclusive power of governing each of them is in his smallest concerns. Almost all the charitable establishments of Europe were formerly in the hands of private persons or corporations. They are now almost all dependent on the supreme government, and in many countries are actually administered by that power. The state almost exclusively undertakes to supply bread to the hungry, assistance and shelter to the sick, work to the idle, and act as the sole reliever of all kinds of misery. Education as well as charity is becoming most countries at the present day a national concern. The state receives and often takes the child from the arms of the mother to hand it over to official agents. The state undertakes to train the hearts and to instruct the mind of each generation. Uniformity prevails in the courses of public instruction as in everything else. Diversity, as well as freedom, is disappearing day by day. Nor do I hesitate to affirm that amongst almost all the Christian nations of our days, Catholic as well as Protestant, religion is in danger of falling into the hands of the government. Not that rulers are over-jealous of the right of settling points of doctrine, but they get more and more whole upon the will of those by whom doctrines are expounded. They deprive the clergy of their property and pay them by salaries. They divert to their own use the influence of the priesthood. They make them their own ministers, often their own servants, and by this alliance with religion they reach the inner depths of the soul of man. But this is, as yet, only one side of the picture. The authority of government has not only spread, as we have just seen, throughout the sphere of all existing powers, till that sphere can no longer contain it, but it goes further and invades the domain here to fore-reserve to private independence. A multitude of actions, which were formerly entirely beyond the control of the public administration, have been subjected to that control in our time, and the number of them is constantly increasing. Amongst these nations the government often seemed to forget that there is a point at which the faults and the sufferings of private persons involve the general prosperity, and that to prevent the ruin of a private individual must sometimes be a matter of public importance. The democratic nations of our time lean to the opposite extreme. It is evident that most of our rulers will not content themselves with governing the people collectively. It would seem as if they thought themselves responsible for the actions and private condition of their subject, as if they had undertaken to guide and to instruct each of them in the various incidents of life and to secure their happiness quite independently of their own consent. On the other hand, private individuals grow more and more apt to look upon the supreme power in the same light. They invoke its assistance in all their necessities, and they fix their eyes upon the administration as their mentor or guide. I assert that there is no country in Europe in which the public administration has not become not only more centralized, but more inquisitive and more minute. It everywhere interferes in private concerns more than it did. It regulates more undertakings and undertakings of a lesser kind, and it gains a firmer footing every day about, above, and around all private persons to assist, advise, and to coerce them. Formerly a sovereign lived upon the income of his lands or the revenue of his taxes. This is no longer the case now that his wants have increased as well as his power. Under the same circumstances which formerly compelled a prince to put on a new tax, he now has recourse to a loan. Thus the state gradually becomes the debtor of most of the wealthier members of the community and centralizes the largest amounts of capital in its own hands. Small capital is drawn into its keeping by other method. As men are intermingled and conditions become more equal, the poor have more resources, more education, and more desires. They conceive the notion of bettering their condition, and this teaches them to save. These savings are daily producing an infinite number of small capitals, the slow and gradual produce of labor, which are always increasing. But the greater part of this money would be unproductive if it remained scattered in the hands of its owners. This circumstance has given rise to a philanthropic institution which will soon become, if I am not mistaken, one of our most important political institutions. Some charitable persons conceived the notion of collecting the savings of the poor and placing them out at interest. In some countries these benevolent associations are still completely distinct from the state, but in almost all they manifestly tend to identify themselves with the government, and in some of them the government has superseded them, taking upon itself the enormous task of centralizing in one place and putting out at interest on its own responsibility the daily savings of many millions of the working classes. Thus the state draws to itself the wealth of the rich by loans and has the poor man's might at its disposal in the savings banks. The wealth of the country is perpetually flowing around the government and passing through its hands. The accumulation increases in the same proportion as the equality of conditions. For, in a democratic country, the state alone inspires private individuals with confidence, because the state alone appears to be endowed with strength and durability. Thus the sovereign does not confine himself to the management of the public treasury. He interferes in private money matters. He is the superior, and often the master, of all the members of the community, and in addition to this he assumes the part of their steward and paymaster. The central power not only fulfills of itself the whole of the duties formerly discharged by various authorities, extending those duties and surpassing those authorities, but it performs them with more alertness, strength, and independence than it displayed before. All the governments of Europe have, in our time, singularly improved the science of administration. They do more things, and they do everything with more order, more celerity, and at less expense. They seem to be constantly enriched by all the experience of which they have stripped private persons. From day to day the princes of Europe hold their subordinate officers under stricter control, and they invent new methods for guiding them more closely, and inspecting them with less trouble. Not content with managing everything by their agents, they undertake to manage the conduct of their agents in everything, so that the public administration not only depends upon one and the same power, but it is more and more confined to one spot and concentrated in the same hands. The government centralizes its agency whilst it increases its prerogative, hence a twofold increase of strength. In examining the ancient constitution of the judicial power amongst most European nations, two things strike the mind, the independence of that power and the extent of its functions. Not only did the courts of justice decide almost all differences between private persons, but in very many cases they acted as arbiters between private persons and the state. I do not here allude to the political and administrative offices which courts of judicature had in some countries usurped, but the judicial office common to them all. In most of the countries of Europe there were and there still are many private rights connected for the most part with the general right of property which stood under the protection of the courts of justice and which the state could not violate without their sanction. It was this semi-political power which mainly distinguished the European courts of judicature from all others. For all nations have had judges, but not all have invested their judges with the same privileges. Upon examining what is now occurring amongst the democratic nations of Europe which are called free, as well as amongst the others, it will be observed that new and more dependent courts are everywhere springing up by the side of the old ones. For the express purpose of deciding, by an extraordinary jurisdiction, such litigated matters as may arise between the government and private persons. The elder judicial power retains its independence but its jurisdiction is narrowed and there is a growing tendency to reduce it to be exclusively the arbiter between private interests. The number of these special courts of justice is continually increasing and their functions increase likewise. Thus the government is more and more absolved from the necessity of subjecting its policy and its rights to the sanction of another power. As judges cannot be dispensed with at least the state is to select them and always to hold them under its control so that between the government and private individuals they place the effigy of justice rather than justice itself. The state is not satisfied withdrawing all concerns to itself but it acquires an ever-increasing power of deciding on them all without restriction and without appeal. There exists amongst the modern nations of Europe one great cause independent of all those which have already been pointed out which perpetually contributes to extend the agency or to strengthen the prerogative of the supreme power though it has not been sufficiently attended to. I mean the growth of manufacturers which is fostered by the progress of social equality. Manufacturers generally collect a multitude of men of the same spot amongst whom new and complex relations spring up. These men are exposed by their calling to great and sudden alternations of plenty and want during which public tranquility is endangered. It may also happen that these employments sacrifice the health and even the life of those who gain by them or of those who live by them. Thus the manufacturing classes require more regulation, superintendents and restraint than the other classes of society and it is natural that the powers of government should increase in the same proportion as those classes. This is a truth of general application. What follows more especially concerns the nations of Europe. In the centuries which preceded that in which we live the aristocracy was in possession of the soil and was competent to defend it. Landed property was therefore surrounded by ample securities and its possessors enjoyed great independence. This gave rise to laws and customs which have been perpetuated notwithstanding the subdivision of lands and the ruin of the nobility and at the present time landowners and agriculturists are still those amongst the community who must easily escape from the control of the supreme power. In these same aristocratic ages in which all the sources of our history are to be traced personal property was of small importance and those who possessed it were despised in weak. The manufacturing class formed an exception in the midst of those aristocratic communities as it had no certain patronage it was not outwardly protected and was often unable to protect itself. Hence a habit sprung up of considering manufacturing property is something of a peculiar nature not entitled to the same deference and not worthy of the same securities as property in general and manufacturers were looked upon as a small class in the bulk of the people whose independence was of small importance and who might with propriety be abandoned to the disciplinary passions of princes. On glancing over the codes of the middle ages one is surprised to see in those periods of personal independence with what incessant royal regulations manufacturers were hampered even in their smallest details. On this point centralization was as active and as minute as it can ever be. Since that time a great revolution has taken place in the world manufacturing property which was then only in the germ has spread till it covers Europe the manufacturing class has been multiplied and enriched by the remnants of all other ranks it has grown and is still perpetually growing in number in importance in wealth. Almost all those who do not belong to it are connected with it on at least some one point after having been an exception in society it threatens to become the chief if not the only class nevertheless the notions and political precedents engendered by it of old still cling about it. These notions and these precedents remained unchanged because they are old and also because they happen to be in perfect accordance with the new notions and general habits of our contemporaries. Manufacturing property then does not extend its rights in the same ratio as its importance. The manufacturing classes do not become less dependent whilst they become more numerous but on the contrary it would seem as if despotism lurked within them and naturally grew with their growth. As a nation becomes more engaged in manufacturers the want of roads canals harbors and other works of a semi-public nature which facilitate the acquisition of wealth is more strongly felt and as a nation becomes more democratic private individuals are less able and the state more able to execute works of such magnitude. I do not hesitate to assert that the manifest tendency of all governments at the present time is to take upon themselves alone the execution of these undertakings by which means they daily hold in closer dependence the population which they govern. On the other hand in proportion as the power of a state increases and its necessities are augmented the state consumption of manufactured produce is always growing larger and these commodities are generally made in the arsenals or establishments of the government. Thus in every kingdom the ruler becomes the principal manufacturer. He collects and retains in his service a vast number of engineers architects mechanics and handicraftsmen. Not only is he the principal manufacturer but he tends more and more to become the chief or rather the master of all other manufacturers. As private persons become more powerless by becoming more equal they can affect nothing in manufacturers without combination but the government naturally seeks to place these combinations under its own control. It must be admitted that these collective beings which are called combinations are stronger and more formidable than a private individual can ever be and that they have less of the responsibility of their own actions once it seems reasonable that they should not be allowed to retain so great an independence of the supreme government as might be conceded to a private individual. Rulers are the more apt to follow this line of policy as their own inclinations invite them to it. Amongst democratic nations it is only by association that the resistance of the people to the government can ever display itself. Hence the latter always looks with ill favor on those associations which are not in its own power and it is well worthy of remark that amongst democratic nations the people themselves often entertain a secret feeling of fear and jealousy against these very associations which prevents the citizens from defending the institutions of which they stand so much in need. The power and the duration of these small private bodies in the midst of the weakness and instability of the whole community astonish and alarm the people and the free use which each association makes of its natural powers is almost regarded as a dangerous privilege. All the associations which spring up in our age are, moreover, new corporate powers whose rights have not been sanctioned by time. They come into existence at a time when the notion of private rights is weak and when the power of government is unbounded. Hence it is not surprising that they lose their freedom at birth. Amongst all European nations there are some kinds of associations which cannot be formed until the state has examined their bylaws and authorized their existence. In several others attempts are made to extend this rule to all associations. The consequences of such a policy, if it were successful, may easily be foreseen. If once the sovereign had a general right of authorizing associations of all kinds upon certain conditions he would not be long without claiming the right of superintending and managing them in order to prevent them from departing from the rules laid down by himself. In this manner the state, after having reduced all who are desirous of forming associations into dependents, would proceed to reduce into the same condition all who belong to the associations already formed. That is to say almost all the men who are now in existence. Governments thus appropriate to themselves and convert to their own purposes the greater part of this new power which manufacturing interests have in our time brought into the world. Manufacturers govern us. They govern manufacturers. I attach so much importance to all that I have just been saying that I am tormented by the fear of having impaired my meaning in seeking to render it more clear. If the reader thinks that the examples I have adduced to support my observations are insufficient or ill-chosen, if he imagines that I have anywhere exaggerated the encroachments of the supreme power, and on the other hand that I have underrated the extent of the sphere which still remains open to the exertions of individual independence, I entreat him to lay down the book for a moment and to turn to his mind to reflect for himself upon the subjects I have attempted to explain. Let him attentively examine what is taking place in France and in other countries. Let him inquire of those about him. Let him search himself, and I am much mistaken if he does not arrive without my guidance and by other paths at the point to which I have sought to lead him. He will perceive that for the last half-century centralization has everywhere been growing up in a thousand different ways. Wars, revolutions, conquests have served to promote it. All men have labored to increase it. In the course of the same period during which men have succeeded each other with singular rapidity at the head of affairs, their notions, interests, and passions have been infinitely diversified, but all have by some means or other sought to centralize. This instinctive centralization has been the only subtle point amidst the extreme mutability of their lives and of their thoughts. If the reader, after having investigated these details of human affairs, will seek to survey the wide prospect as a whole, he will be struck by the result. On the one hand the most subtle dynasties shaken or overthrown, the people everywhere escaping by violence from the sway of their laws, abolishing or limiting the authority of their rulers or their princes, the nations which are not in open revolution, restless at least and excited, all of them animated by the same spirit of revolt, and on the other hand at this very period of anarchy and amongst these untractable nations the incessant increase of the prerogative of the supreme government, becoming more centralized, more adventurous, more absolute, more extensive, the people perpetually falling under the control of the public administration, led insensibly to surrender to it some further portion of their individual independence, till the very men who from time to time upset a throne and trample on a race of kings bend more and more obsequiously to the slightest dictate of a clerk. Thus two contrary revolutions appear in our days to be going on, the one continually weakening the supreme power, the other as continually strengthening it, and no other period in our history has it appeared so weak or so strong. But upon a more attentive examination of the state of the world it appears that these two revolutions are intimately connected together, that they originate in the same source, and that after having followed a separate course they lead men at last to the same result. I may venture once more to repeat what I have already said or implied in several parts of this book. Great care must be taken not to confound the principle of equality itself with the revolution which finally establishes that principle in the social condition and the laws of a nation. Here lies the reason of almost all the phenomena which occasion our astonishment. All the old political powers of Europe, the greatest as well as the least, were founded in ageist aristocracy, and they more or less represented or defended the principles of inequality and of privilege. To make the novel wants and interests which the growing principle of equality introduced, preponderant in government, our contemporaries had to overturn or to coerce the established powers. This led them to make revolutions and breathed into many of them that fierce love of disturbance and independence, which all revolutions, whatever be their object, always indender. I do not believe that there is a single country in Europe in which the progress of equality has not been preceded or followed by some violent changes in the state of property and persons, and almost all these changes have been attended with much anarchy and license, because they have been made by the least civilized portion of the nation against that which is most civilized. Hence proceeded the twofold contrary tendencies, which I have just pointed out. As long as the democratic revolution was glowing with heat, the men who were bent upon the destruction of old aristocratic powers hostile to that revolution, displayed a strong spirit of independence. But as the victory or the principle of equality became more complete, they gradually surrendered themselves to the propensities natural to that condition of equality, and they strengthened and centralized their governments. They had sought to be free in order to make themselves equal, but in proportion as equality was more established by the aid of freedom, freedom itself was thereby rendered of more difficult attainment. These two states of a nation have sometimes been contemporaneous. The last generation in France showed how a people might organize a stupendous tyranny in the community at the very time when they were baffling the authority of the nobility and braving the power of all kings, at once teaching the world the way to win freedom and the way to lose it. In our days men see that constituted powers are dilapidated on every side. They see all ancient authority gasping away, all ancient barriers tottering to their fall, and the judgment of the wisest is troubled at the sight. They attend only to the amazing revolution which is taking place before their eyes, and they imagine that mankind is about to fall into perpetual anarchy. If they looked to the final consequences of this revolution their fears would perhaps assume a different shape. For myself I confess that I can put no trust in the spirit of freedom which appears to animate my contemporaries. I see well enough that the nations of this age are turbulent, but I do not clearly perceive that they are liberal, and I fear lest at the close of these perturbations which rock the base of thrones the domination of sovereigns may prove more powerful than it ever was before. CHAPTER VI What sort of despotism democratic nations have to fear? I had remarked during my stay in the United States that a 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. This led me to think that the nations of Christendom would perhaps eventually undergo some sort of oppression, like that which hung over several of the nations of the ancient world. A more accurate examination of the subject and five years of further meditations have not diminished my apprehensions, but they have changed the object of them. No sovereign ever lived in former ages so absolute or so powerful as to undertake to administer by his own agency and without the assistance of intermediate powers all the parts of a great empire. None ever attempted to subject all his subjects indiscriminately to strict uniformity of regulation and personally to tutor and direct every member of the community. The notion of such an undertaking never occurred to the human mind, and if any man had conceived it, the want of information, the imperfection of the administrative system, and above all the natural obstacles caused by the inequality of conditions would speedily have checked the execution of so vast a design. When the Roman emperors were at the height of their power, the different nations of the empire still preserved manners and customs of great diversity, although they were subject to the same monarch, most of the provinces were separately administered. They abounded in powerful and active municipalities, and although the whole government of the empire was centered in the hands of the emperor alone, and he always remained, upon occasions, the supreme arbiter in all manners, yet the detail of social life and private occupations lay for the most part beyond his control. The emperors possessed it is true an immense and unchecked power which allowed them to gratify all their whimsical tastes and to employ for that purpose the whole strength of the state. They frequently abused that power arbitrarily to deprive their subjects of property or of life. Their tyranny was extremely onerous to the few, but it did not reach the greater number. It was fixed to some few main objects and neglected the rest. It was violent, but its range was limited. But it would seem that if despotism were to be established amongst 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 do not question that in an age of instruction and equality, like our own, sovereigns might easily succeed in collecting all political power into their own hands, and might interfere more habitually and decidedly within the circle of private interests than any sovereign of antiquity could ever do. But this same principle of equality which facilitates despotism tempers its rigor. We have seen how the manners of society become more humane and gentle in proportion as men become more alike and equal. When no member of the community has much power or much wealth, tyranny is, as it were, without opportunities and a field of action. As all fortunes are scanty, the passions of men are naturally circumscribed, their imagination limited, their pleasures simple. This universal moderation moderates the sovereign himself and checks within certain limits the inordinate extent of his desires. Independently of these reasons, drawn from the nature of the state of society itself, I might add many others arising from causes beyond my subject, but I shall keep within the limits I have laid down to myself. Democratic governments may become violent and even cruel at certain periods of extreme effervescence or of great danger, but these crises will be rare and brief. When I consider the petty passions of our contemporaries, the mildness of their manners, the extent of their education, the purity of their religion, the gentleness of their morality, their regular and industrious habits, and the restraint which they almost all observe in their vices no less than in their virtues, I have no fear that they will meet with tyrants in their rulers but rather guardians. I think that the species of oppression by which democratic nations are menaced is unlike anything which ever before existed in the world. Our contemporaries will find no prototype of it in their memories. I am 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. I seek to trace the novel features under which despotism may appear in the world. The first thing that strikes the observation is an innumerable multitude of men all equal and alike, incessantly endeavouring to procure the petty and paltry pleasures with which they glut their lives. Each of them living apart is as a stranger to the fate of all the rest. His children and his private friends constitute to him the whole of mankind. As for the rest of his fellow-citizens he is close to them, but he sees them not. He touches them but fills them not. He exists but in himself and for himself alone, and if his kindred still remain to him he may be set at any rate to have lost his country. Above this race of men stands an immense and tutelary powder which takes upon itself alone to secure their gratifications and to watch over their fate. 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, providing they think of nothing but rejoicing. For their happiness such a government willingly labours, but it chooses to be the sole agent and the only arbiter of that happiness.  What remains, but to spare them all the care of thinking and all the trouble of living. Thus it every day renders the exercise of the free agency of man less useful and less frequent. It circumscribes the will within a narrower range and gradually robs a man of all the uses of himself. The principle of equality has prepared men for these things. It has predisposed men to endure them and oftentimes to look on them as benefits. After having thus successively taken each member of the community in 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 through 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 by it to act but they are constantly restrained from acting. Such a power does not destroy but it prevents existence. It does not tyrannize but it compresses, innervates, extinguishes and stupefies a people till each nation is reduced to be nothing better than a flock of timid and industrious animals of which the government is the shepherd. I have always thought that servitude of the regular, quiet and gentle kind which I have just described might be combined more easily than is commonly believed with some of the outward forms of freedom and that it might even establish itself under the wing of the sovereignty of the people. Our contemporaries are constantly excited by two conflicting passions. They want to be led and they wish to remain free. As they cannot destroy either one or the other of these contrary propensities they strive to satisfy them both at once. They devise a soul, tutelary and all powerful form of government but elected by the people. They combine the principle of centralization and that of popular sovereignty. This gives them a respite. They console themselves for being in tutelage by the reflection that they have chosen their own guardians. Every man allows himself to be put in leading strings because he sees that it is not a person or a class of persons but the people at large that holds the end of his chain. By this system the people shake off their state of dependence just long enough to select their master and then relapse into it again. A great many persons at the present day are quite contented with this sort of compromise between administrative despotism and the sovereignty of the people and they think they have done enough for the protection of individual freedom when they have surrendered it to the power of the nation at large. This does not satisfy me. The nature of him I am to obey signifies less to me than the fact of extorted obedience. I do not however deny that a constitution of this kind appears to me to be infinitely preferable to one which, after having concentrated all powers of the government should vest them in the hands of an irresponsible person or body of persons. Of all the forms which democratic despotism could assume the latter would assuredly be the worst. When the sovereign is elected or narrowly watched by a legislature which is really elective and independent the oppression which he exercises over individuals is sometimes greater but it is always less degrading because every man when he is oppressed and disarmed may still imagine that whilst he yields obedience it is to himself he yields it and that it is to one of his own inclinations that all the rest give way. In like manner I can understand that when the sovereign represents the nation and is dependent upon the people the rights and the power of which every citizen is deprived not only serve the head of the state but the state itself and that private persons derive some return from the sacrifice of their independence which they have made to the public. To create a representation of the people in every centralized country is therefore to diminish the evil which extreme centralization may produce but not to get rid of it. I admit that by this means room is left for the intervention of individuals in the more important affairs but it is not the less suppressed in the smaller and more private ones. It must not be forgotten that it is especially dangerous to enslave men in the minor details of life. For my own part I should be inclined to think freedom is less necessary in great things than in little ones if it were possible to be secure of the one without possessing the other. Subjection 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. Thus their spirit is gradually broken and their character innervated whereas that obedience which is exacted on a few important but rare occasions only exhibits servitude at certain intervals and throws the burden of it upon a small number of men. It is in vain to summon a people which has been rendered so dependent on the central power to choose from time to time the representatives 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 faculties of thinking feeling and acting for themselves and thus gradually falling below the level of humanity. I add that they will soon become incapable of exercising the great and only privilege which remains to them. The democratic nations which have introduced freedom into their political constitution at the very time when they were augmenting the despotism of their administrative constitution have been led into strange paradoxes. To manage those minor affairs in which good sense is all that is wanted the people are held to be unequal to the task but when the government of the country is at stake the people are invested with immense powers they are alternately made the playthings of their ruler and his masters more than kings and less than men. After having exhausted all the different modes of election without finding one to suit their purpose they are still amazed and still bent on seeking further as if the evil they remarked did not originate in the constitution of the country far more than in that of the electoral body. It is indeed difficult to conceive how men who have entirely given up the habit of self-government should succeed in making a proper choice of those by whom they are to be governed and no one will ever believe that a liberal wise and energetic government can spring from the suffrages of a subservient people. A constitution which should be republican in its head and ultra monarchical in all its other parts has ever appeared to me to be a short-lived monster. The vices of rulers and the ineptitude of the people would speedily bring about its ruin and the nation weary of its representatives and of itself would create freer institutions or soon return to stretch itself at the feet of a single master.