Chris Brooke thinks that Hobbes is really funny. Short of injecting your own jokes about there not being any JCBs in the State of Nature, or describing Old Thomas as nasty British and short, I’ve never really seen it myself. On the other hand, Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America really is funny:
“Men have lost the common law of manners and they have not yet resolved to do without it; but each strives to form a certain arbitrary and changing rule with the debris of former usages, so that manners have neither the regularity nor the grandeur that they often display among aristocratic peoples, nor the simple and free turn that one sometimes remarks in them in democracy; they are all at once constrained and without constraint”
So here we have Alexis de Tocqueville explaining why democratic peoples will inevitably end up being rude. But then again, the Americans had it down to a find art even in his time…
“Americans, in their relations with foreigners, appear impatient at the least censure, and insatiable for praise. The slimmest eulogy is agreeable to them and the greatest is rarely enough to satisfy them; and if you resist their entreaties, they praise themselves. One would say that, doubting their own merit, they want to have a picture of it before their eyes each instant. Their vanity is not only greedy, it is restive and envious. It grants nothing while demanding constantly. It is entreating and quarrelsome at the same time”.
Both quotes are taken from near the end of Democracy in America, where one really starts to sense that Tocqueville is fed up with Americans, and with democracy in general. I speculate that by Volume II Part 4 Tocqueville wasn’t merely considering the possibility of democracy turning to absolute despotism, he was absolutely dreading it because he fully expected it. And not least because for him there just was no escape (equality of conditions is, after all, ordained by providence itself).
But that is part of what makes Tocqueville so interesting for me. He arrives at so many similar conclusions to Mill, but he gets there by such different means. I know that Mill read Tocqueville, and that ultimately they have some outstanding differences, roughly: Mill thinks that individualism is great because it encourages experiments in living, the collision of ideas and opinions, and ultimately self-consciously achieved maximum human flourishing. Tocqueville thinks it leads to isolationism, petty-mindedness, concern only with small selfish projects, and ultimately an end to grand passions and the end of the ages of great virtues and great heroes. He tolerates it on a sort of utilitarian calculation: this way fewer people lead utterly horrible lives even though far fewer people will lead truly glorious lives (here there is an interesting similarity with Nietzsche, although not an enduring one for obvious reasons). Mill thinks individualism is in itself something fantastic.
So although old John Stuart is still my Number One Historical Liberal Political Thinker, Alexis isn’t far off, because part of me – the Nietzschean part – is really attracted to his dark, pessimistic take on human beings. I’ve got to say that if you asked me who would come runner-up to Mill out of Locke and Tocqueville, I’d be really hard-pressed to pick. The trouble is that both Democracy in America, and, say, The Second Treatise on Government are not only fantastic pieces of political philosophy, they are also fantastically well-written pieces of literature. And that is something I think is often forgotten or under-appreciated about these two works in particular, although the same tends to be true of classic political works generally (excluding, perhaps, Aristotle’s Politics, and possibly Weber’s writings because while they are fantastic they are deliberately as dry and analytic as possible, which of course has its own separate and impressive virtues).
Incidentally this is why I suspect that Rawls’ A Theory of Justice might not stand the test of time. For on the one hand, what the bloody hell do you do after you’ve read it? It simply leaves you with absolutely no guidance as to how to conduct your own political life knowing that the Original Position and its theoretical outcomes won’t ever be entered into, let alone be taken seriously by any actual real-world political actors. And that seems to be true for you either as citizen or legislator. Whatismore, i don’t think that A Theory of Justice qualifies in any sense as great literature. It’s certainly great political and moral philosophy even for all its well-known flaws. But great literature it certainly is not.