Chapter 3

Democracy and Liberalism

Democracy is a political form, a system of government. It has no social content, although it is frequently misused in that sense. It is wrong to say, “Mr. Green is very democratic; on his trips he sits down for lunch with his chauffeur.” He is, rather, a friend of simple people, and so is appropriately called demophile, not democratic.

“Democracy” is a Greek word composed of demos (the people) and krátos (power in a strong, almost brutal sense). The milder form would be arché which implies leadership rather than rule. Hence “monarchy” is the fatherlike rule of a man in the interest of the common good, whereas “monocracy” is a one-man tyranny. Aristotle and the early and the late Scholastics divided the forms of government according to the table on page 28.

Here it must be remembered that, later on, aristocracy also came to mean not a form of government but the highest social layer. The term republic came to mean every (external) form of government that is non-monarchical and “public.” Rzeczpospolita was a term used for the Polish State prior to 1795 and after 1918, while American and British scholars speak about the “Polish Commonwealth” for the elective kingdom after 1572. Yet the term republic covers indeed a multitude of forms of government if we think not only of the Polish Kingdom prior to 1795, but also of the highly aristocratic Republic of Venice (the Christanissima Res Publica), the Soviet Republic (USSR), the present (presidential) French Republic, and the presidentless Republic of San Marino with five capitani reggenti. The United States is de facto a republic, but is not called one in the Constitution. Only the states of the Union are required to have a “Republican Form of Government” (Article IV.4).

GOOD FORMS: BAD FORMS:
Monarchy, the rule of one man in the interest of the common good. Tyranny, the rule of one man to his own advantage.
Aristocracy, the rule of a group in the interest of the common good. Oligarchy, the rule of a group for their own benefit.
Republic or Polity, the rule of the better part of the people in the interest of the common good. Democracy, the rule of the worse part of the people for their own benefit.

Given these semantics in an historical perspective, the question arises how to define in modern terms a democracy (once a pejorative label). Democracy’s answer to the question, “Who should rule?” is: “The majority of the politically equal citizens, either in person or through their representatives.” This latter qualification refers to direct and indirect democracy. Still, this formulation raises a number of subsidiary questions.

One school insists that only direct democracy is real democracy, whereas elected delegates form an oligarchy with a time limit. There exists a so-called “oligarchic school” of this interpretation of democracy and its foremost opponents were Vilfredo Pareto, Gaëtano Mosca and Roberto Michels (an Italianized former German Socialist). All three might conceivably be called fascist sympathizers, but it is probably the intellectual and realistic climate of Italy, so hostile to all forms of illusions, which influenced their critical thinking.1 Another school maintains that the election of representatives, bound in conscience to voice the views of their electors, is a democratic performance, while representatives who during their period of legislation let themselves be guided by their own lights, their own knowledge, their own conscience, should be considered the executors of a republican spirit.2 Many ancient commentators presuppose that the republic no less than democracy is ruled by majorities, but that in the case of the republic, the majority is not only the pars maior, but also sanior, whereas in a democracy the majority happens to be the worse part of the nation. It will indeed be the case in every nation that the lower “half” of the social pyramid (if this expression is permitted) is by far the “bigger half,” which means that the people of quality can always be outvoted. We do not say that they inevitably will be. One can imagine that the “natural aristoi” be largely included in the party that wins the elections. They are out of luck, however, if a demagogue (in ancient Greece a “leader of the people” in a democratic state) successfully mobilizes the masses against them.

When we speak of the “politically equal citizens” we must confess that the definition of the “full citizen” (participating in the rule of the country) is always arbitrary. In Switzerland and Haiti, for instance, women are excluded from the suffrage. Yet it is hard to argue that Switzerland, therefore, is not a democracy. It could be done, though. The main Swiss counterargument, and one that is typical of this highly militarized nation, is to the effect that women do not serve in the armed forces. They do not have equal duties and, for this good reason, do not have equal rights. Educational or intellectual reasons for this discrimination are never given, because this would be too plainly “undemocratic.”3

Even more arbitrary are the age limits which are set in order to get “mature voters.” But one man (or woman) can achieve maturity early, another one at the “voting age,” a third one late and a fourth, never. There is maturity without knowledge, and knowledge without wisdom, but these analyses could lead us too far away from our subject. For those who insist that all human beings are not only animalia socialia, but also zoa politika, the arbitrarily set voting ages are a serious and also insoluble matter: If we accept the reasoning of these theories, then some people are being deprived of their “God-given right” (inherent in their God-given nature). In many a country the voting age was lowered to the age of military service, clearly the result of using the Swiss argument concerning rights and duties. It was this argument also, which led—applied in reverse—to the conscription and to the levée en masse in the First French Republic.

Yet, whatever our marginal remarks, the fact remains that democracy rests on two pillars: majority rule and political equality; and this although certain constitutions make it possible that (with or without gerrymandering) a minority of citizens can vote in a majority of deputies. Proportional representation (P.R.) eliminates this possibility. The many disadvantages of Proportional Representation are frequently pointed out and the idea pilloried,4 but there can be no doubt that P.R. is more “democratic” than the majority system as it exists in the United States and Britain—but not necessarily better.

Freedom, however, has nothing to do with democracy as such—nor has the republic. The repression of 49 percent by 51 percent or of 1 percent by 99 percent is most regrettable, but it is not “undemocratic.” We have to bear in mind that only democracy has made the concepts of majority and minority an absolute political reality:5 naturally the whole people is never the ruler, but a majority (usually) through its representatives. If this majority is lenient towards those it defeated in the last election, it will be motivated not by democratic principles but by tolerance. And if this tolerance is ideologically systemized, we can speak of liberalism in the genuine sense, not in the totally perverted American sense. (See Chapter VIII.)

Thus we see in the democratic order that the phrase “rule of the people” is misleading. The majority rules over the minority, which reminds one of George Orwell’s famous phrase from Animal Farm: “All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.” This notion of one part lording it over another displeases the “democratist,” i.e., the supporter of democrat ism which is democracy erected into an ideology. He will argue that those who have been beaten in an election have actually (by their cooperation in the process) helped the majority to carry out their plan just as the man who bought a lottery ticket that did not win has contributed to the jackpot won by somebody else. The real democrat, so the argument goes, when casting his vote, thereby inwardly accepts and anticipates the fact that the majority is the winner. This, however, will certainly not be the case where only a part of the population believes in democracy as an article of faith. (In the German elections in July and November 1932, a very small part of the electorate genuinely believed in democratic processes.) Yet even if the entire electorate is convinced of the dogmas of democratism, the “yes” of the disappointed voter is a very qualified and sometimes even a most unhappy one. In an existential sense democracy is not self-government at all, and self-government (unless we stand for unanimity in a democratic procedure) is and remains an illusion. Herman Melville expressed this view when he said, “Better to be secure under one king, than exposed to violence from twenty millions of monarchs, though oneself be one of them.”6 Actually the voter never knows precisely what effect his vote will have—whether it will make him a winner or a loser. The morning after the election he will buy a newspaper and, having ascertained whether he won in the lottery or not, how he fared in the horse races, what trends prevailed in the stock exchange, will finally come to page one and see whether he is among the winners or losers. In many a country he will even have to wait because it can happen that none of the parties has an absolute majority and a government will be formed only after lengthy negotiations on which the voter has no influence whatsoever. He can only watch joyfully or angrily how his vote is utilized. As a matter of fact, “existentially” he is always “confronted” by a preestablished situation: He has to choose between candidates he rarely helped to pick (and never picked himself, singlehanded) and thus he is usually choosing the least objectionable among undesirables. In large nations the voter is, needless to say, a microscopic unit. If the electorate of the United States were equal to a thick black line as high as the Empire State Building in New York, graphically a single vote would be about 4mu which is four times the thousandth part of a millimeter (and a millimeter is the 28th part of an inch). The formula “self-government,” under these circumstances, makes hardly any sense.

Yet “self-government” is an understandable dream. Convinced that government (The State) would not exist without Original Sin,7 we have to see in democratism a “Paradisiacal” movement—and several other items which promise us an Edenlike utopia, more often than not depicted as a return to a lost Golden Age. (This Golden Age, in secular vistas, was not lost owing to the rebellious sin of our ancestors but as a result of a wicked conspiracy of evil minorities.) The notion of self-government implies that we will not be ruled by somebody else: We’ll do it ourselves and thereby we’ll be “free.” Thus rule, force, and subservience will come to an end. Nudism wants to solve the sexual problem by disposing with clothes. Yet the result is only that people get used to nudity while their real sexual problems remain (as in the case of Japan). There is just no return to Paradise by the back door or by political legerdemain. The hardship of being ruled by somebody else remains, and this hardship can be alleviated only if we love those who rule us. Servitude can only be dissolved in love,8 but how can there be love for those who rule us when we hire and fire them like obnoxious menials? Have not the words politics and politician assumed pejorative meanings in democracies? Do they not express contempt, suspicion, sarcasm, and irony?

When we spoke about tolerance as the essence of liberalism which might or might not enter the democratic scene, we meant thereby the readiness to “carry” (tolerare), to “put up with” the presence, the propagation, the presentation of views, ideas, and notions we reject or oppose. We suppress our explosive indignation, we marshal our charity, we give our fellowmen the opportunity for open dissent although our feelings are contrary. There is a real virtue in tolerance because it entails self-control and an “ascetic” attitude.

At the same time we have to admit that there are certain limits to tolerance. One cannot tolerate all behaviors, all political ideologies at all times: The United States, for instance, severely restricted the immigration of anarchists, and prospective immigrants had to swear that they were neither anarchists nor bigamists. Anarchists believed in the “Propaganda of Deeds” which meant assassination, destruction, and open revolution. Nor could one be tolerant towards all faiths. There are religions encouraging murder, as, for instance, the East Indian Thugs who assassinated travelers for the greater glory of Kali. (Whether religious polygamy should be outlawed is a moot question. When I was born about half a million of my fellow citizens were Muslims; and Mormon fundamentalism is certainly an authentic American religion. And almost all American states permit polygamy on the instalment plan.9) Western Germany, for instance, for better or worse, outlawed for years the Communist party. Yet it is legal in Austria where the brown-clad supporters of the gas chamber cannot have a political party, whereas the red executioners, who practice the shot through the nape of the neck, can. In these matters, again, a certain arbitrariness prevails.

Those who have no principles, no grounded convictions, no dogmas, cannot be tolerant—they can only be indifferent, which is quite another matter. From an agnostic one expects indifference, not tolerance, because he has no good reason to suffer from another person’s opinions. To him truth is either nonexistent or humanly unattainable. A strict agnostic makes no value judgments and thus there is for him neither “good” nor “bad,” while “right” and “wrong” have only practical, circumstantial meanings. To to a person like Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., man was no better than a baboon or a grain of sand. He also wrote, “Man at present is a predatory animal. I think that the sacredness of human life is a purely municipal idea of no validity outside the jurisdiction.”10 An agnostic, a philosophic relativist can only say to his adversary, “I think that I am right in my own way, and although you differ from me, you may be right in your own way. So let’s make it fifty-fifty.” All of which reminds one of that delightful conversation between Franklin D. Roosevelt and Stalin at the Teheran Conference when Stalin wanted to execute 50,000 “Junkers and Militarists” and Roosevelt first proposed 49,000 and then offered as a compromise 49,500. The conversation was facetious and, in a way, not so facetious. It disgusted even such an immoralist as Winston Churchill.11

Yet, whether out of tolerance or indifference, the readiness to yield and to compromise is the quintessence of parliamentary life in a democracy. It does not belong per se to democracy. (No stump orator will promise to be a compromiser par excellence once he is elected, but rather the contrary!) Yet it is the lubricant and the conditio sine qua non of democracy. Let us also agree at this point that the majority of people inspired by liberal principles in the Western World when talking about democracy usually refer to a liberal democracy. Thus such errors arise as when the confiscation of a newspaper is called “undemocratic.” If the majority of the people approve of it, such an act is highly democratic, but surely it is not liberal.

When then is liberalism correctly understood? Liberalism is not an exclusively political term. It can be applied to a prison reform, to an economic order, to a theology. Within the political framework, however, it does not answer the question (as democracy does), “Who should rule?” but “How should rule be exercised?” The reply is, “Regardless of who rules, a monarch, an elite, or a majority, government should be exercised in such a way that each citizen enjoys the greatest possible amount of personal liberty.” The limit of liberty is obviously the common good. At the same time it must be admitted that the common good (material as well as immaterial) is not easily defined, that it rests on value judgments, and that its definition never escapes a certain arbitrariness. Speed limits curtail freedom in the interest of the common good. Yet there is arbitrariness in setting these limits. Can one make a watertight rational case for 40, 45, or 50 miles per hour? Certainly not. Nevertheless, it is obvious that liberty is only relative, that the true liberal merely wants to push it to its feasible limits and that it cannot be identical at all times, in all places, under all circumstances, for the same persons. (One might, for instance, permit an 18-year-old to drive a car but not a 13-year-old, and so forth). Not man, only God is absolutely and perfectly free. But freedom does pertain to man (Wust’s animal insecurum)12 because man is created in the image of God. Liberty belongs neither to the animal world nor to the sphere of inanimate matter.

Freedom, as we see, is the only postulate of liberalism—of all the four phases of genuine liberalism. If, therefore, democracy is liberal, the life, the whims, the interests of the minority will be just as much respected as those of the majority. Yet it is obvious that not only a democracy but even a monarchy (absolute or otherwise) or an aristocratic (elitarian) regime can be liberal. As a matter of fact, the affinity between democracy and liberalism is not at all greater than between, let us say, monarchy and liberalism or a mixed government and liberalism. (People under the Greek monarchy, which was an effective and not only symbolic mixed government, were not less free than in Costa Rica, to name only one example.)

Viewed in the light of the terminology we are using in accordance with the leading political scientists,13 it seems that—to quote a few instances—monarchs such as Louis XIV, Frederick II, or George II are genuine liberals by modern standards. None of the aforementioned could have issued a decree whereby he drafted all male subjects into his army, a decree regulating the diet of his citizens, or one demanding a general confession of all his economic activities from the head of each household in the form of an income tax declaration. We had to wait for the democratic age to see conscription, prohibition, and modern taxation made into laws by the people’s representatives who have much greater power than even the absolute monarchs of old dreamed of. (It must be noted further that in Western and Central Europe the “absolute” monarchs—thanks to the corps intermédiates—never were really absolute: the local parlements in France and the regional Landtage and Stände in the Germanies never failed to convene.) Modern parliaments can be more peremptory in all their demands because they operate with the magic democratic formula. “We are the people, and the people—that’s us.”

The monarchs, in a way, always stood on thin ice. They desperately tried to bequeath their countries to their heirs. If they failed utterly, they sometimes had their heads chopped off. They could not conveniently retire to a quiet law office like deputies or presidents failing to get reelected. There are certain totalitarian and monolithic tendencies inherent in democracy that are not even present in the “absolute” monarchy, and even less so in mixed government which, without exaggeration, can be called the great Western political tradition.

From the foregoing we can see that democracy and totalitarianism are not mutually exclusive terms. Professor J. L. Talmon has rightly entitled one of his books (on the French Revolution) The Origins of Totalitarian Democracy,14 and it is no accident that the isms which menaced liberty from the eighteenth century to our days called themselves “democratic.” It was always claimed that the majority, nay, the vast majority of the people supported this “wave of the future.” At times this claim has had a solid statistical foundation. Genuine liberal ism, on the other hand, rarely became a real mass movement—conservatism never. The marriage between democracy and liberalism (again we add: in the etymological sense of the term) came late in history and had the seeds of divorce in it. De Tocqueville saw only too clearly that while democracy could founder into chaos, the greater danger was its gradual evolution into oppressive totalitarianism, a type of tyranny the world had never seen before and for which it was partly conditioned by modern administrative methods and technological inventions.15