also describes an American who, despite great prosperity, remains restless and profoundly disappointed because the two key goals that he is always pursuing inevitably elude him. Full equality can never be attained. Paradoxically, as equality comes closer, the small remaining inequalities become more irritating and frustrating. The passion for equality can never be satisfied.42 Tocqueville even remarks on a pervasive envy and on what he calls the principle of “relative justice,” which means that small inequalities among those most similar to you are harder to endure than the vast inequalities between castes or classes.43 A satisfying material success also eludes the American; he always wants more, and ultimately he runs out of the time needed to acquire all that he desires.44
Despite the sad realization that his desires would never be fully achieved, the American, according to Tocqueville, lives with his eyes fixed on a better tomorrow; he assumes that change is improvement and expects the future to surpass the present.45 This assumption also
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feeds both his discontent with his current situation and his unrelenting drive forward.
Out of this image of the Anglo-American came Tocqueville’s parallel portrait of the “democratic man.” Certain striking differences between his depiction of the American and that of the “democratic man” must be noted, however, especially the latter’s lack of sufficient religious faith to counterbalance materialistic passions and his impulse to withdraw from public life (individualism). These twin tendencies of “democratic man” toward unchecked or unrestrained materialism and toward noninvolvement or nonparticipation in civic affairs were, for Tocqueville, two of the most troubling features of the democratic character.
But Tocqueville’s psychological sketch of “democratic man” (fully presented in 1840) closely mirrored his portrayal of the Anglo-American (already apparent between 1831 and 1835). The democratic psychology was marked by the same envy, anxiety, frustration, discontent, and restlessness that Tocqueville had observed among the Americans.
Another significant question remains. How is the character of “democratic man” related more broadly to the theme of democratic dangers and remedies? Tocqueville’s sketch of the democratic character is deeply critical. The impulses and psychological traits of “democratic man” exacerbate the democratic threats that so worried Tocqueville, especially the dangers of materialism and individualism that have been discussed above.
If, however, the democratic character largely heightened Tocqueville’s worries, he also found among American characteristics some features of democratic mores that served—at least potentially—as possible remedies for democratic dangers. Precisely where the American character differed from that of “democratic man,” Tocqueville found habits, ideas, and attitudes—most notably religious faith, the drive toward participation in public life, and the sense of interest well understood—that could correct some of the worst flaws and weakness of the democratic character.
From one perspective, Tocqueville offered readers two possible democratic scenarios: one, healthy; the other, toxic. As we have seen, his portrayal of the democratic character was largely anticipated by and even modeled on his depiction of the American character. But where the mores of “democratic man” seemed especially toxic, Tocqueville
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looked to what was distinctive about the American example in order to find healthy corrections. For him, the peculiar features of the American character served as important remedies for particular dangers presented by democratic mores. Once again Tocqueville found in the American experience reasons for hope about the democratic future.
This brief discussion of democratic dangers, democratic remedies, and the democratic character serves once again as a powerful demonstration of the unity between the 1835 and the 1840 portions of Democracy. Not only does Tocqueville’s political program—his suggested remedies for democratic dangers—remain constant, but also we have seen several important examples of how chapters in the 1840 text grew out of a few sentences or paragraphs in the 1835 Democracy, including such important concepts as individualism and interest well understood, and such psychological features of democratic man as envy, discontent, restlessness, and anxiety. A careful reading of the Liberty Fund edition, with its rich presentation of materials from the drafts and other working papers of Tocqueville’s masterpiece, reveals the way in which the 1840 volume grew almost organically out of the seeds first put down in 1835 (or earlier). This characteristic of Democracy reflects Tocqueville’s habit of constantly turning and returning ideas in his mind: an inescapable feature of his method of thinking and writing.
We have also repeatedly followed the ideas of Tocqueville, the moralist. If the fundamental threat from democratic dangers is the narrowing of the human heart (due to materialism, excessive privatism, and withdrawal from public life), the most basic benefit of democratic remedies is its feeding and expansion (due to reciprocity, involvement with others, and focus on the larger public good). Tocqueville’s effort to grasp the democratic character was essentially an attempt to understand democratic mores. We have already noted that his primary concern as a political analyst was mores rather than laws, institutions, or circumstances. As a moralist, Tocqueville believed that mores—ideas, beliefs, attitudes, and behaviors—ultimately held the key to liberty and to the future of democratic societies.
Finally, our discussion showed Tocqueville drawing on American lessons to teach his readers how to use the habits of liberty and particular democratic mores to counteract the dangers in modern societies,
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or, if the necessary habits were weak or absent, how to use the art of liberty—the establishment of proper laws and institutions—to address those dangers. Here at its most basic is the new science of politics that Tocqueville urged upon the citizens and legislators of the new democratic world.46
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Tocqueville’s Journey into America
JEREMY JENNINGS
All Tocqueville scholars are familiar with Garry Wills’s charge that Tocqueville did not “get” America.1 “A fact usually omitted in discussions of Tocqueville,” Wills contends, “is the shallow empirical basis of his study.” “It is,” he continues, “as if [Tocqueville] ghosted his way directly into the American spirit, bypassing the body of the nation.” In Tocqueville’s account, Wills further reminds us, there is virtually nothing about American capitalism, manufactures, banking, or technology. During their nine months in America, Tocqueville and his companion Gustave de Beaumont spent around two months “narrowly focused on prison life.” In addition, they devoted time on trips “only remotely connected, or not connected at all, with what went into Democracy.” These included a trip to Lower Canada, where, as Tocqueville wrote to the Abbé Lesueur, “we felt as if we were at home, and everywhere we were received like compatriots,”2 and the now-famous “Two Weeks in the Wilderness,” where he and Beaumont saw only “the still empty cradle of a great nation.”3 Most of the remaining seven months, Wills tells us, were spent in the North, where “almost all of Democracy’s conclusions” were “formed while Tocqueville was fresh in the country and seemed particularly impressionable.” Wills further contends that Tocqueville was also extremely selective—not to say snobbish—about those with
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whom he chose to converse, showing little interest in “ordinary people.”4 Wills is likewise less than charitable in his assessment of the impact of these meetings with the superior minds of the East Coast.
