All the nations
of America have a democratic state of society—Yet democratic institutions only
subsist amongst the Anglo-Americans—The Spaniards of South America, equally
favored by physical causes as the Anglo-Americans, unable to maintain a
democratic republic—Mexico, which has adopted the Constitution of the United
States, in the same predicament—The Anglo-Americans of the West less able to
maintain it than those of the East—Reason of these different results.
I have remarked
that the maintenance of democratic institutions in the United States is
attributable to the circumstances, the laws, and the manners of that country.
*l Most Europeans are only acquainted with the first of these three causes, and
they are apt to give it a preponderating importance which it does not really
possess.
l [ I remind the reader of the general signification
which I give to the word "manners," namely, the moral and
intellectual characteristics of social man taken collectively.]
It is true that
the Anglo-Saxons settled in the New World in a state of social equality; the
low-born and the noble were not to be found amongst them; and professional
prejudices were always as entirely unknown as the prejudices of birth. Thus, as
the condition of society was democratic, the empire of democracy was
established without difficulty. But this circumstance is by no means peculiar
to the United States; almost all the trans-Atlantic colonies were founded by
men equal amongst themselves, or who became so by inhabiting them. In no one
part of the New World have Europeans been able to create an aristocracy.
Nevertheless, democratic institutions prosper nowhere but in the United States.
The American
Union has no enemies to contend with; it stands in the wilds like an island in
the ocean. But the Spaniards of South America were no less isolated by nature;
yet their position has not relieved them from the charge of standing armies.
They make war upon each other when they have no foreign enemies to oppose; and
the Anglo-American democracy is the only one which has hitherto been able to
maintain itself in peace. *m
m [ [A remark which, since the great Civil War of
1861-65, ceases to be applicable.]]
The territory
of the Union presents a boundless field to human activity, and inexhaustible
materials for industry and labor. The passion of wealth takes the place of
ambition, and the warmth of faction is mitigated by a sense of prosperity. But
in what portion of the globe shall we meet with more fertile plains, with
mightier rivers, or with more unexplored and inexhaustible riches than in South
America?
Nevertheless,
South America has been unable to maintain democratic institutions. If the
welfare of nations depended on their being placed in a remote position, with an
unbounded space of habitable territory before them, the Spaniards of South
America would have no reason to complain of their fate. And although they might
enjoy less prosperity than the inhabitants of the United States, their lot
might still be such as to excite the envy of some nations in Europe. There are,
however, no nations upon the face of the earth more miserable than those of
South America.
Thus, not only
are physical causes inadequate to produce results analogous to those which
occur in North America, but they are unable to raise the population of South
America above the level of European States, where they act in a contrary
direction. Physical causes do not, therefore, affect the destiny of nations so
much as has been supposed.
I have met with
men in New England who were on the point of leaving a country, where they might
have remained in easy circumstances, to go to seek their fortune in the wilds.
Not far from that district I found a French population in Canada, which was
closely crowded on a narrow territory, although the same wilds were at hand;
and whilst the emigrant from the United States purchased an extensive estate
with the earnings of a short term of labor, the Canadian paid as much for land
as he would have done in France. Nature offers the solitudes of the New World
to Europeans; but they are not always acquainted with the means of turning her
gifts to account. Other peoples of America have the same physical conditions of
prosperity as the Anglo-Americans, but without their laws and their manners;
and these peoples are wretched. The laws and manners of the Anglo-Americans are
therefore that efficient cause of their greatness which is the object of my
inquiry.
I am far from
supposing that the American laws are preeminently good in themselves; I do not
hold them to be applicable to all democratic peoples; and several of them seem
to be dangerous, even in the United States. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied
that the American legislation, taken collectively, is extremely well adapted to
the genius of the people and the nature of the country which it is intended to
govern. The American laws are therefore good, and to them must be attributed a
large portion of the success which attends the government of democracy in
America: but I do not believe them to be the principal cause of that success;
and if they seem to me to have more influence upon the social happiness of the
Americans than the nature of the country, on the other hand there is reason to
believe that their effect is still inferior to that produced by the manners of
the people.
The Federal
laws undoubtedly constitute the most important part of the legislation of the
United States. Mexico, which is not less fortunately situated than the
Anglo-American Union, has adopted the same laws, but is unable to accustom
itself to the government of democracy. Some other cause is therefore at work,
independently of those physical circumstances and peculiar laws which enable
the democracy to rule in the United States.
Another still
more striking proof may be adduced. Almost all the inhabitants of the territory
of the Union are the descendants of a common stock; they speak the same
language, they worship God in the same manner, they are affected by the same
physical causes, and they obey the same laws. Whence, then, do their
characteristic differences arise? Why, in the Eastern States of the Union, does
the republican government display vigor and regularity, and proceed with mature
deliberation? Whence does it derive the wisdom and the durability which mark
its acts, whilst in the Western States, on the contrary, society seems to be
ruled by the powers of chance? There, public business is conducted with an
irregularity and a passionate and feverish excitement, which does not announce
a long or sure duration.
I am no longer
comparing the Anglo-American States to foreign nations; but I am contrasting
them with each other, and endeavoring to discover why they are so unlike. The
arguments which are derived from the nature of the country and the difference
of legislation are here all set aside. Recourse must be had to some other
cause; and what other cause can there be except the manners of the people?
It is in the
Eastern States that the Anglo-Americans have been longest accustomed to the
government of democracy, and that they have adopted the habits and conceived
the notions most favorable to its maintenance. Democracy has gradually
penetrated into their customs, their opinions, and the forms of social
intercourse; it is to be found in all the details of daily life equally as in
the laws. In the Eastern States the instruction and practical education of the
people have been most perfected, and religion has been most thoroughly
amalgamated with liberty. Now these habits, opinions, customs, and convictions
are precisely the constituent elements of that which I have denominated
manners.
In the Western
States, on the contrary, a portion of the same advantages is still wanting.
Many of the Americans of the West were born in the woods, and they mix the
ideas and the customs of savage life with the civilization of their parents.
Their passions are more intense; their religious morality less authoritative;
and their convictions less secure. The inhabitants exercise no sort of control
over their fellow-citizens, for they are scarcely acquainted with each other.
The nations of the West display, to a certain extent, the inexperience and the
rude habits of a people in its infancy; for although they are composed of old
elements, their assemblage is of recent date.
The manners of
the Americans of the United States are, then, the real cause which renders that
people the only one of the American nations that is able to support a
democratic government; and it is the influence of manners which produces the
different degrees of order and of prosperity that may be distinguished in the
several Anglo-American democracies. Thus the effect which the geographical
position of a country may have upon the duration of democratic institutions is
exaggerated in Europe. Too much importance is attributed to legislation, too
little to manners. These three great causes serve, no doubt, to regulate and
direct the American democracy; but if they were to be classed in their proper
order, I should say that the physical circumstances are less efficient than the
laws, and the laws very subordinate to the manners of the people. I am
convinced that the most advantageous situation and the best possible laws
cannot maintain a constitution in spite of the manners of a country; whilst the
latter may turn the most unfavorable positions and the worst laws to some
advantage. The importance of manners is a common truth to which study and
experience incessantly direct our attention. It may be regarded as a central
point in the range of human observation, and the common termination of all
inquiry. So seriously do I insist upon this head, that if I have hitherto
failed in making the reader feel the important influence which I attribute to
the practical experience, the habits, the opinions, in short, to the manners of
the Americans, upon the maintenance of their institutions, I have failed in the
principal object of my work.
Whether Laws
And Manners Are Sufficient To Maintain Democratic Institutions In Other
Countries Besides America
The
Anglo-Americans, if transported into Europe, would be obliged to modify their
laws—Distinction to be made between democratic institutions and American
institutions—Democratic laws may be conceived better than, or at least
different from, those which the American democracy has adopted—The example of
America only proves that it is possible to regulate democracy by the assistance
of manners and legislation.
I have asserted
that the success of democratic institutions in the United States is more
intimately connected with the laws themselves, and the manners of the people,
than with the nature of the country. But does it follow that the same causes
would of themselves produce the same results, if they were put into operation
elsewhere; and if the country is no adequate substitute for laws and manners,
can laws and manners in their turn prove a substitute for the country? It will
readily be understood that the necessary elements of a reply to this question
are wanting: other peoples are to be found in the New World besides the
Anglo-Americans, and as these people are affected by the same physical
circumstances as the latter, they may fairly be compared together. But there
are no nations out of America which have adopted the same laws and manners,
being destitute of the physical advantages peculiar to the Anglo-Americans. No
standard of comparison therefore exists, and we can only hazard an opinion upon
this subject.
It appears to
me, in the first place, that a careful distinction must be made between the
institutions of the United States and democratic institutions in general. When I
reflect upon the state of Europe, its mighty nations, its populous cities, its
formidable armies, and the complex nature of its politics, I cannot suppose
that even the Anglo-Americans, if they were transported to our hemisphere, with
their ideas, their religion, and their manners, could exist without
considerably altering their laws. But a democratic nation may be imagined,
organized differently from the American people. It is not impossible to
conceive a government really established upon the will of the majority; but in
which the majority, repressing its natural propensity to equality, should
consent, with a view to the order and the stability of the State, to invest a
family or an individual with all the prerogatives of the executive. A
democratic society might exist, in which the forces of the nation would be more
centralized than they are in the United States; the people would exercise a
less direct and less irresistible influence upon public affairs, and yet every
citizen invested with certain rights would participate, within his sphere, in
the conduct of the government. The observations I made amongst the
Anglo-Americans induce me to believe that democratic institutions of this kind,
prudently introduced into society, so as gradually to mix with the habits and
to be interfused with the opinions of the people, might subsist in other
countries besides America. If the laws of the United States were the only
imaginable democratic laws, or the most perfect which it is possible to
conceive, I should admit that the success of those institutions affords no
proof of the success of democratic institutions in general, in a country less
favored by natural circumstances. But as the laws of America appear to me to be
defective in several respects, and as I can readily imagine others of the same
general nature, the peculiar advantages of that country do not prove that
democratic institutions cannot succeed in a nation less favored by
circumstances, if ruled by better laws.
If human nature
were different in America from what it is elsewhere; or if the social condition
of the Americans engendered habits and opinions amongst them different from
those which originate in the same social condition in the Old World, the
American democracies would afford no means of predicting what may occur in
other democracies. If the Americans displayed the same propensities as all
other democratic nations, and if their legislators had relied upon the nature
of the country and the favor of circumstances to restrain those propensities
within due limits, the prosperity of the United States would be exclusively
attributable to physical causes, and it would afford no encouragement to a
people inclined to imitate their example, without sharing their natural
advantages. But neither of these suppositions is borne out by facts.
In America the
same passions are to be met with as in Europe; some originating in human
nature, others in the democratic condition of society. Thus in the United
States I found that restlessness of heart which is natural to men, when all
ranks are nearly equal and the chances of elevation are the same to all. I
found the democratic feeling of envy expressed under a thousand different
forms. I remarked that the people frequently displayed, in the conduct of
affairs, a consummate mixture of ignorance and presumption; and I inferred that
in America, men are liable to the same failings and the same absurdities as
amongst ourselves. But upon examining the state of society more attentively, I
speedily discovered that the Americans had made great and successful efforts to
counteract these imperfections of human nature, and to correct the natural
defects of democracy. Their divers municipal laws appeared to me to be a means
of restraining the ambition of the citizens within a narrow sphere, and of
turning those same passions which might have worked havoc in the State, to the
good of the township or the parish. The American legislators have succeeded to
a certain extent in opposing the notion of rights to the feelings of envy; the
permanence of the religious world to the continual shifting of politics; the
experience of the people to its theoretical ignorance; and its practical
knowledge of business to the impatience of its desires.
The Americans,
then, have not relied upon the nature of their country to counterpoise those
dangers which originate in their Constitution and in their political laws. To
evils which are common to all democratic peoples they have applied remedies
which none but themselves had ever thought of before; and although they were
the first to make the experiment, they have succeeded in it.
The manners and
laws of the Americans are not the only ones which may suit a democratic people;
but the Americans have shown that it would be wrong to despair of regulating
democracy by the aid of manners and of laws. If other nations should borrow
this general and pregnant idea from the Americans, without however intending to
imitate them in the peculiar application which they have made of it; if they
should attempt to fit themselves for that social condition, which it seems to
be the will of Providence to impose upon the generations of this age, and so to
escape from the despotism or the anarchy which threatens them; what reason is
there to suppose that their efforts would not be crowned with success? The
organization and the establishment of democracy in Christendom is the great
political problem of the time. The Americans, unquestionably, have not resolved
this problem, but they furnish useful data to those who undertake the task.
Importance Of
What Precedes With Respect To The State Of Europe
It may readily
be discovered with what intention I undertook the foregoing inquiries. The
question here discussed is interesting not only to the United States, but to
the whole world; it concerns, not a nation, but all mankind. If those nations
whose social condition is democratic could only remain free as long as they are
inhabitants of the wilds, we could not but despair of the future destiny of the
human race; for democracy is rapidly acquiring a more extended sway, and the
wilds are gradually peopled with men. If it were true that laws and manners are
insufficient to maintain democratic institutions, what refuge would remain open
to the nations, except the despotism of a single individual? I am aware that
there are many worthy persons at the present time who are not alarmed at this
latter alternative, and who are so tired of liberty as to be glad of repose,
far from those storms by which it is attended. But these individuals are ill
acquainted with the haven towards which they are bound. They are so deluded by
their recollections, as to judge the tendency of absolute power by what it was
formerly, and not by what it might become at the present time.
If absolute
power were re-established amongst the democratic nations of Europe, I am
persuaded that it would assume a new form, and appear under features unknown to
our forefathers. There was a time in Europe when the laws and the consent of
the people had invested princes with almost unlimited authority; but they
scarcely ever availed themselves of it. I do not speak of the prerogatives of
the nobility, of the authority of supreme courts of justice, of corporations
and their chartered rights, or of provincial privileges, which served to break
the blows of the sovereign authority, and to maintain a spirit of resistance in
the nation. Independently of these political institutions—which, however
opposed they might be to personal liberty, served to keep alive the love of
freedom in the mind of the public, and which may be esteemed to have been
useful in this respect—the manners and opinions of the nation confined the
royal authority within barriers which were not less powerful, although they
were less conspicuous. Religion, the affections of the people, the benevolence
of the prince, the sense of honor, family pride, provincial prejudices, custom,
and public opinion limited the power of kings, and restrained their authority
within an invisible circle. The constitution of nations was despotic at that
time, but their manners were free. Princes had the right, but they had neither
the means nor the desire, of doing whatever they pleased.
But what now
remains of those barriers which formerly arrested the aggressions of tyranny?
Since religion has lost its empire over the souls of men, the most prominent
boundary which divided good from evil is overthrown; the very elements of the
moral world are indeterminate; the princes and the peoples of the earth are
guided by chance, and none can define the natural limits of despotism and the
bounds of license. Long revolutions have forever destroyed the respect which
surrounded the rulers of the State; and since they have been relieved from the
burden of public esteem, princes may henceforward surrender themselves without
fear to the seductions of arbitrary power.
When kings find
that the hearts of their subjects are turned towards them, they are clement,
because they are conscious of their strength, and they are chary of the affection
of their people, because the affection of their people is the bulwark of the
throne. A mutual interchange of good-will then takes place between the prince
and the people, which resembles the gracious intercourse of domestic society.
The subjects may murmur at the sovereign's decree, but they are grieved to
displease him; and the sovereign chastises his subjects with the light hand of
parental affection.
But when once
the spell of royalty is broken in the tumult of revolution; when successive
monarchs have crossed the throne, so as alternately to display to the people
the weakness of their right and the harshness of their power, the sovereign is
no longer regarded by any as the Father of the State, and he is feared by all
as its master. If he be weak, he is despised; if he be strong, he is detested.
He himself is full of animosity and alarm; he finds that he is as a stranger in
his own country, and he treats his subjects like conquered enemies.
When the
provinces and the towns formed so many different nations in the midst of their
common country, each of them had a will of its own, which was opposed to the
general spirit of subjection; but now that all the parts of the same empire,
after having lost their immunities, their customs, their prejudices, their
traditions, and their names, are subjected and accustomed to the same laws, it
is not more difficult to oppress them collectively than it was formerly to
oppress them singly.
Whilst the
nobles enjoyed their power, and indeed long after that power was lost, the
honor of aristocracy conferred an extraordinary degree of force upon their
personal opposition. They afford instances of men who, notwithstanding their
weakness, still entertained a high opinion of their personal value, and dared
to cope single-handed with the efforts of the public authority. But at the
present day, when all ranks are more and more confounded, when the individual
disappears in the throng, and is easily lost in the midst of a common
obscurity, when the honor of monarchy has almost lost its empire without being
succeeded by public virtue, and when nothing can enable man to rise above
himself, who shall say at what point the exigencies of power and the servility
of weakness will stop?
As long as
family feeling was kept alive, the antagonist of oppression was never alone; he
looked about him, and found his clients, his hereditary friends, and his
kinsfolk. If this support was wanting, he was sustained by his ancestors and
animated by his posterity. But when patrimonial estates are divided, and when a
few years suffice to confound the distinctions of a race, where can family
feeling be found? What force can there be in the customs of a country which has
changed and is still perpetually changing, its aspect; in which every act of
tyranny has a precedent, and every crime an example; in which there is nothing
so old that its antiquity can save it from destruction, and nothing so
unparalleled that its novelty can prevent it from being done? What resistance
can be offered by manners of so pliant a make that they have already often
yielded? What strength can even public opinion have retained, when no twenty
persons are connected by a common tie; when not a man, nor a family, nor
chartered corporation, nor class, nor free institution, has the power of
representing or exerting that opinion; and when every citizen—being equally
weak, equally poor, and equally dependent—has only his personal impotence to
oppose to the organized force of the government?
The annals of
France furnish nothing analogous to the condition in which that country might
then be thrown. But it may more aptly be assimilated to the times of old, and
to those hideous eras of Roman oppression, when the manners of the people were
corrupted, their traditions obliterated, their habits destroyed, their opinions
shaken, and freedom, expelled from the laws, could find no refuge in the land;
when nothing protected the citizens, and the citizens no longer protected
themselves; when human nature was the sport of man, and princes wearied out the
clemency of Heaven before they exhausted the patience of their subjects. Those
who hope to revive the monarchy of Henry IV or of Louis XIV, appear to me to be
afflicted with mental blindness; and when I consider the present condition of
several European nations—a condition to which all the others tend—I am led to
believe that they will soon be left with no other alternative than democratic
liberty, or the tyranny of the Caesars. *n
n [ [This prediction of the return of France to imperial
despotism, and of the true character of that despotic power, was written in
1832, and realized to the letter in 1852.]]
And indeed it
is deserving of consideration, whether men are to be entirely emancipated or
entirely enslaved; whether their rights are to be made equal, or wholly taken
away from them. If the rulers of society were reduced either gradually to raise
the crowd to their own level, or to sink the citizens below that of humanity,
would not the doubts of many be resolved, the consciences of many be healed, and
the community prepared to make great sacrifices with little difficulty? In that
case, the gradual growth of democratic manners and institutions should be
regarded, not as the best, but as the only means of preserving freedom; and
without liking the government of democracy, it might be adopted as the most
applicable and the fairest remedy for the present ills of society.
It is difficult
to associate a people in the work of government; but it is still more difficult
to supply it with experience, and to inspire it with the feelings which it
requires in order to govern well. I grant that the caprices of democracy are
perpetual; its instruments are rude; its laws imperfect. But if it were true
that soon no just medium would exist between the empire of democracy and the
dominion of a single arm, should we not rather incline towards the former than
submit voluntarily to the latter? And if complete equality be our fate, is it
not better to be levelled by free institutions than by despotic power?
Those who,
after having read this book, should imagine that my intention in writing it has
been to propose the laws and manners of the Anglo-Americans for the imitation
of all democratic peoples, would commit a very great mistake; they must have
paid more attention to the form than to the substance of my ideas. My aim has
been to show, by the example of America, that laws, and especially manners, may
exist which will allow a democratic people to remain free. But I am very far
from thinking that we ought to follow the example of the American democracy,
and copy the means which it has employed to attain its ends; for I am well
aware of the influence which the nature of a country and its political
precedents exercise upon a constitution; and I should regard it as a great misfortune
for mankind if liberty were to exist all over the world under the same forms.
But I am of
opinion that if we do not succeed in gradually introducing democratic
institutions into France, and if we despair of imparting to the citizens those
ideas and sentiments which first prepare them for freedom, and afterwards allow
them to enjoy it, there will be no independence at all, either for the middling
classes or the nobility, for the poor or for the rich, but an equal tyranny
over all; and I foresee that if the peaceable empire of the majority be not
founded amongst us in time, we shall sooner or later arrive at the unlimited
authority of a single despot.
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