Political theory and practice

Olivier Zunz, The Man Who Understood Democracy: The Life of Alexis de Tocqueville (2022). 

GoodReads meta-data is 472 pages, rated 4.08 by 37 litizens.  

Count Tocqueville’s life’s work was the reconciliation of liberty with equality.  It began when he was twenty-five and went on to the end.  Liberty can only exist if it is self-limiting. Democracy with its countervailing institutions might offer a means to that end. This is a counter-intuitive conclusion because for most people liberty means license, that is, no limits, meaning anything goes. Of course, if anything goes, liberty will soon destroy itself, e.g., shouting fire in a darkened theatre.

This self-destructive tension pervades and explains everything he did and wrote.   

John Stuart Mill put it this way: the maximum liberty consistent with a like liberty for all.  We can only be as free as everyone else, and vice versa.  By the way, he and Mill were correspondents, and Karl Marx may well have been in the British Library on the days Tocqueville visited with Mill.  

It all began when as a bored lawyer with little to do, Alexis de Tocqueville (1805-1859) and his friend Gustav de Beaumont (1802-1866) went to the New World in 1831 for nine months, which to them was less a geographic than a political expression. The New World they wanted to see (and to report back to France upon) was Democracy which happened to be located in North America. Making use of their aristocratic connections during the reign of King Louis-Philipe, they got themselves commissioned to study prisons. This writ related to a movement to reform French prisons to rehabilitate inmates rather than only to confine or to punish them.  The commission gave them letters of introduction and entrées to French counsellors but no financial support. The trip was funded by their families. 

They did visit many prisons like Sing-Sing and they did write a report (1833) which few either read or cite. More importantly, Tocqueville wrote the magisterial Democracy in America, and Beaumont wrote novel called Marie (1835) (about the evils of slavery and racism which he had seen).  

The trip itself is worth reading about: they went by ship, steam boat, canoe, barge, horseback, foot, raft, dog sled, mule, and stagecoach from New York City, Boston, Montreal, Quebec, Detroit, Sault St Marie, Green Bay, Pittsburg, Cincinnati, Louisville, Nashville, Memphis, New Orleans, Mobile, Columbia (SC), Fayetteville (NC), Norfolk (VA), Baltimore, Washington (DC), Philadelphia, and many points between from May to March of the next year through swarms of mosquitos, boiling heat, enervating humidity, hail, driving rain, sleet, snow, over black ice, and repeat. See Anne Bentzel, Travelling Tocqueville’s America (1998).  

They met all manner of people from President Andrew Jackson, former president John Quincy Adams, Davy Crockett, Sam Houston, to rising magnates, and French-speaking native Amerindians around the Great Lakes, German immigrants who spoke no English, and more. This trip and these experiences were the formative years of his life and later as he wrote the two volumes, the experience made him the man he became. The book was his teacher as he ordered, culled, refined, discarded, reinterpreted, digested what he had seen, heard, and learned, and it changed his mind about many things. To be sure, the man certainly made the book, but the book also made the man.  

Having seen France go through one cataclysmic disaster after another, each of its own making, Tocqueville hoped to find a new way to live in Democracy and to communicate it to his fellow citizens. This ambition was no abstract exercise for him.  His parents, just married, had been arrested and sentenced for the crime of birth to the guillotine during Robespierre’s Terror. They endured 10-months or so on death-row waiting for their turn at the blade, such was volume of prisoners, as all of his wife’s family from her aged great grandfather to her teenage nieces, nephews, and cousins were beheaded one after another to the audible cheers of the crowd. They were spared, and later Tocqueville was born, only when Robespierre was ousted and there followed a brief respite in the blood-letting. 

The author avoids the pious homilies that others shower on Tocqueville when he points out more than once the obvious that he missed, like the suppression of his Catholic brethren in New York City and Boston, like the emerging political machines in those cities, like the continued theft from Amerindians, like the oppression of French in Canada and the Irish in the States, the early gestation of the abolitionist movement in Boston, and so on.  Nor did he have much of an eye for the wonders of nature. There was so much to take in and almost all of it was new to this ingenue, so that he did not perceive it all. 

What he did have was a thirst for knowledge, and he filled one notebook after another with observations of towns, crossroads, inns, street scenes, hotels, and endless interviews with all and anyone would talk to him.  He spoke a fractured English swotted up during the sea voyage to New York. In addition to the high and mighty he met, he also talked to wagoneers, hunters, inn keepers, travelling salesmen, farm wives where they bunked en route, gamblers, deck hands on river boats, a day labourer at a harbour, and a slave or two.  When they took ship to return to France he had three large steamer trunks filled with the notes and artefacts he had collected from government reports to a bow and arrow and a buffalo rug.  

As he travelled through North America he hatched the idea of a book on democracy, but upon return he and Beaumont decided they had to write the prison report immediately to complete that obligation. They did so post haste: On the Penitentiary System in the United States and Its Application to France, which runs to 300+ pages, nearly half of which being appendices of notes and documents. What they found was no system at all but variations between and within states. A great deal of hindsight has been applied to this report by scholars in search of a topic.   

Tocqueville is so judicious, careful, and hesitant in Democracy in America that he gives lengthy accounts of opposing points of view, subsequently providing ammunition for others to quote for and against every proposition he considers. He can be quoted for and against democracy itself, since he recognised and catalogued its flaws and failings.  Moreover, he did not suppose the American example could be transplanted to France, so he did not recommend that, but rather sought, and continued to seek, the underlying mechanisms that could be developed in France.  Hence, his later research into the origins of the French Revolution, where he elaborated what a hundred and fifty years later would be called the J-curve explanation of revolution. (Look it up, Mortimer.)         

Every US President, except for the illiterate one, has had occasion to quote, cite, or refer to Tocqueville, yet one suspects that they have seldom turned a page of Democracy in America (1835 and 1840), making it a classic that fits Mark Twain’s definition perfectly.  It is widely cited and equally unread.  I have to plead guilty to that charge.  I bought the abridged student edition of the two voluminous volumes when I was an undergraduate and read whatever was assigned at the time and no more.  Since then I have picked over other sections when investigating this topic or that.  I tried and failed to read the long chapter ‘The Three Races.’  It is a safe bet that few, very few, of those who quote from Democracy in America have read even as much as that, and sure thing to bet that they have not read more.  

By the way, while topics like the tyranny of the majority command many citations, one of the best parts of the book concerns the development of public opinion in the spiral of silence.  

See also, as reviewed elsewhere on this blog, Leopold Damrosch, Tocqueville’s Discovery of America (2010).  

By the there is a phd to be had in a comparative study of theorists in parliament, Tocqueville, Mill, and Max Weber had a term in office.  Who else?  

We Scholars: Changing the Culture of the University (1995) by David Damrosch

GoodReads meta-data is 242 pages rated 3.83 by 6 litizens.

The central line of argument in this monograph is the long term deleterious effects of specialisation which combines with a central tendency of colleges and universities to converge on a single model, as seen in Australia where within a decade colleges of advanced education and institutes of technology assumed the name and morēs of universities, abandoning their own distinctive histories and achievements near instantly. In my small world I had an experience similar to one the author describes.  Writing a letter of assessment for a candidate for promotion in one of those re-named institutions, I meant to praise and support the individual.  In it I emphasised the clever means by which she had integrated current research into undergraduate courses and presented it in ways that would arrest the attention of young students, adding that I had seen her classroom interaction with students and admired it. I also said that chapters of her dissertation could be published in the fullness of time for their groundbreaking insights.  Pushing back from the keyboard, I thought that this testimonial would help. Not so. In fact, quite the reverse.  

I had tried to calculate the letter to match the circumstances of what was in all but name a teaching-only institution and so stressed teaching and put that comment on publication as a ‘might be.’  Both tactics were mistakes. My assessment had been sought, said an icy reply from the dean at that institution, because I was a leader in the field (no one else before or since has ever crowned me thus, so I savoured that) at the leading research University (our marketing department always said that but this was the first and only time someone outside feigned to take it seriously) in the country so that I would measure the candidate against the standard that prevailed in my milieu.  Oh.  By concentrating on teaching I had condemned the applicant.

While he mourns the loss of some of the fruits of a core curriculum in a common reference point, in shared experience, and in the intrinsic value of much of it (like William Shakespeare or Emily Dickinson) as compared to watching a comic book-based film, he makes a hash of the defences of the core by the likes of Allan Bloom by showing just how selective that core always was, namely that despite the loud and persistent howls of its defenders it never did include anything of the stories from the Bible, yet what could be more core to the Western tradition than that.  He also shows just how narrow the focus is of one the most widely used undergraduate literary anthologies (which I had myself in those salad days), the Norton Anthology of World Literature. His aim is not to amend the core with the Bible, but to demonstrate how tenuous the justifications for the core have been.  

In my years I heard the ‘curriculum’ discussed repeatedly, even annually, but in none of those discussions did I ever hear anyone talk about what a students needed to learn and how they would learn it by graduation. The discussion was always about boxes of content that might allow us to teach our research to undergraduates.  In other words, the interests served were those of the teachers not the students.  This order of priorities was announced early in my experience by one colleague thus: ‘It matters not what the subject is, as long as it is offered with enthusiasm.’  I put it somewhat more delicately than he did, but clearly it was all about being the centre of attention and having a captive audience to do what he liked to do.  Yet these discussions of curriculum could be teleological, reasoning backward from the knowledge and experience a citizen might benefit from in later life, a civil servant, a lawyer, a social worker, a journalist, a parent, a researcher, a data analyst, a trade unionist, a community organiser, and a graduate student. Once three or four of these generic types were identified the content and the experiences were put under them, or not.  By experience I mean, essay-writing, small group seminars, group work, community research by interview, statistical literacy, front of the room presentations, analysis of data, comparative assessments, revisions, seminars and other kinds of discussions, long or short essays, and so on.  This approach never worked.

He also indicts the nationalism of departments to which I plead guilty, nor do I like the changes he has outlined. Dissolving departments in financial acid, which is certainly happening, will create a mass society in which individuals relate singularly and poorly to the whole. That way lies hegemony coupled with anomie and alienation, requiring a new book to address that situation with another title drawn from Nietzsche. 

He is dead right about the hypocritical individualism of the humanities and social science professoriate.  On the keyboard we pound out clarion calls for community engagement, civil society harmony, fraternity, and camaraderie, but themselves refuse to go to committee meetings, or worse, once there, feigning duress, fail to take the proceeding seriously during and afterwards, or concentrate on their grievances (that start with parking). Of course many committee meetings become idle talking shops but that is because of the participants, not intrinsic to such associations. 

I savoured his description of academic conferences as the opportunity for delegates to patronise inferiors, pander to superiors, and sample the local cuisine.  His explication of the mechanics of conferences that lead to those ends is interesting and it is juxtaposed to a residential, invited seminar of dozen specialist which was productive.  Hmm, I took part in a couple of such gatherings that included Olympian professors, ambassadors, senior civil servants, and an international celebrity and found them useless.  Everyone talked when it was their turn, but it was never anyone’s turn to listen, it seemed.  People talked past each other in seriatim though everyone was effusive at the end about how wonderful it was. They liked the local wines, sights, and cuisines.    

Though Damrosch deplores the denigration of undergraduate teaching in favour of graduate supervision, he does the same himself in that the longest chapter of the book, with one of the most developed alternatives, concerning graduate education.  While its importance is undeniable, say I as one of the its products, it is not the heart of higher education for it touches so few. Of courses, there are the indirect and long term effects but they are even harder to estimate.

It is an insightful, well written, and fully researched book.  Yet since its publication in 1995 the major changes in higher education have not been such as he commended, but rather, changing attitudes of students to inflate grades, and in Australia the availability of material first through the cheaper air cargo of print books and now digital technology, and ever more resources like Wikipedia or ChatGPT. 

Echoland (2013) by Joe Joyce

GoodReads meta-data is 352 pages, rated 3.72 by 458 litizens.

Genre: Krimi

DNA: Ireland.

Verdict: More, please.

Tagline: High heels on cobble stones?

A krimi set it in Dublin during May and June 1940, sprinkled with Gaelic and the manners and morēs of rural Erin.  A desperate Britain might be driven to occupy the Free State to preempt a German advance.  That would start with seizing the western ports and airfields as enclaves for the Battle of the Atlantic, and once ensconced, expansion to the hinterlands would follow all the way to Dublin. Or the Germans, already using Ireland as a base for spies, might target the western ports for its U-Boats.  That seems dangerous enough but there is also the irreconcilable IRA within looking for German allies to unite the island on the principle that my enemy’s enemy is my friend.  Meanwhile, the parliamentary government with a thin majority and thinner legitimacy sticks to neutrality in word and deed, while preparing for both eventualities.

Into this minefield steps a junior army officer who reads some German and because of that is transferred to Army intelligence and set to work spying on the spies both German and British and later American.  There are some nice twists and turns and the characters are several and varied.  There is much of the time and place, the bicycle as transportation, the ubiquitous cigarettes, the invisible hand of Catholicism in hospitals and schools, the furnishings and dress, the smells and sounds of the city, but the descriptions of these backdrops are spare and do not deflect or delay the narrative.  By and large the author’s touch is light but firm and clear.  

The officer is a country boy new to the ways of the big city, and stumbles around.  But he is good at finding threads in the files of reports, and questions the obvious that others have looked through. Moreover, his knowledge of German is better than that of many others in the office, and they turn to him for help in translation, which enlightens him further about the bigger picture.  

There is no explanation of the title that I noticed, and note well that the title used by three or four other authors.  Nor is there an explanation of why and how he learned German.  

I liked it enough to go onto the second in the series, and the third.  

Above, I said that the characters are varied, and when I started another similar book, I was reminded of the importance of that variation.  In this other, unnamed book, every character in the Kindle sample uses the same words, idioms, and register, like one of those plays where one actor does all the parts, changing costume but nothing else.