To be is to be contingent: nothing of which it can be said that "it is" can be alone and independent. But being is a member of paticca-samuppada as arising which contains ignorance. Being is only invertible by ignorance.

Destruction of ignorance destroys the illusion of being. When ignorance is no more, than consciousness no longer can attribute being (pahoti) at all. But that is not all for when consciousness is predicated of one who has no ignorance than it is no more indicatable (as it was indicated in M Sutta 22)

Nanamoli Thera
Showing posts with label Tocqueville. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tocqueville. Show all posts

Monday, August 12, 2024

The populace is coarser in aristocratic countries than anywhere else, in affluent towns more so than in the countryside

 The social arrangements of these people also differed in several respects from what we saw in the Old World: one might have said that they had multiplied their numbers freely in the heart of their deserts, with no contact with races more civilized than their own. Thus with them one did not encounter those nebulous and incoherent ideas of good and evil, that deepest corruption, which is usually linked with ignorance and crude ways of life in civilized nations which have reverted to barbarity. The Indian owed a debt only to himself: his virtues, vices, and prejudices were his own achievement: he had grown up in the primitive independence of his nature.

The coarseness of the populace in civilized countries results not only from their ignorance and poverty but from the fact that, being coarse, they are in daily contact with enlightened and wealthy men.

The sight of their adversity and weakness, in contrast each day to the happiness and power of some of their compatriots, arouses, at the same time, anger and fear in their hearts; the feeling of their inferiority and dependence frustrates and humiliates them. This inner state of mind finds a parallel in their ways as it does in their language; they are simultaneously rude and vulgar.

The truth of this is easily proved by observation. The populace is coarser in aristocratic countries than anywhere else, in affluent towns more so than in the countryside.

In those places where one encounters very powerful and rich men, the weak and poor feel, as it were, burdened by their lowly status and, since they discover no means of being able to recover equality, they lose any sense of hope in themselves, drifting below any standards of human dignity.

The vexing effect of this contrast of human conditions is not to be found in the lives of the natives: the Indians, while they are all ignorant and poor, are all equal and free.

When the Europeans arrived, the native North Americans had no knowledge of the value of wealth and revealed an indifference toward the comforts which civilized man acquires with his means. However, nothing coarse could be perceived in them; rather there resided in their actions a characteristic reserve and a kind of noble politeness.

Gentle and hospitable in times of peace, pitiless in war, even beyond the known bounds of human ferocity, the Indian ran the risk of dying of hunger so as to help the stranger knocking upon his cabin door in the evening and yet would tear apart the quivering limbs of his prisoner with his own hands. The most notorious republics of ancient times had never admired courage more steadfast, souls more proud or a love of independence more uncompromising than that which was concealed by the wild woods of the New World at that time.12 Europeans made but little impression when they landed upon the North American shores; their presence evoked neither envy nor fear. What hold could such men have over them? The Indian could live without necessities, suffer without complaint, die singing.13 Like all the other members of the human family, these primitive men believed in the existence of a better world and worshipped, under different names, the Creator of the universe. Their ideas of the great intellectual truths were, in general, simple and philosophic. (See Appendix D, p. 826.)

However primitive appears the race whose character we are tracing, it could not be doubted that another, more civilized and more advanced in every way than this one, had preceded it in these same lands.

An obscure tradition, although one widely known to the majority of the Indian tribes of the Atlantic seaboard, informs us that, once upon a time, the settlement of these same races had been situated to the west of the Mississippi. Along the banks of the Ohio and in the central valley, we still find, every day, man-made tumuli. Digging to the very center of these monuments, one scarcely ever fails, so it is said, to come across human bones, strange instruments, weapons, metal utensils of all kinds, even some whose use is unknown to present-day races.

Present-day Indians are able to give no information on the history of this unknown people. Neither have those who lived three hundred years ago, at the time of the discovery of America, said anything from which one can draw even a theory. The traditional stories, these decaying monuments, cast no light. Yet, at that time, thousands of people lived who were similar to us; one cannot possibly doubt that. When did they arrive there, what was their origin, destiny, history? When and how did they perish? No one could say.

What a strange thing! There are races which have so utterly disappeared from the earth that even the memory of their name has been blotted out; their languages have gone, their reputation has faded away like a sound without an echo; but I know of not a single race which has not at least a grave to remind us of its passing. Thus of all the works of man, the most lasting is still the one which records his annihilation and wretchedness.

Although the vast country we have just described was inhabited by countless native tribes, it is justifiable to assert that, at the time of its discovery, it formed only a desert. The Indians took up residence there but did not possess it. It is through agriculture that man takes ownership over the soil and the first inhabitants of North America lived off the products of hunting. Their unforgiving prejudices, their indomitable passions, their vices and, still more perhaps, their savage virtues, exposed them to inevitable destruction. The ruin of these races began the day the Europeans landed on their shores; it has continued since then; it is reaching its completion at the present time. Providence, in placing them in the midst of the riches of the New World, seemed to have granted them only a short period of enjoyment; they had, in some sense, only a waiting brief. These shores so ready for commerce and industry, these deep rivers, this inexhaustible Mississippi Valley, this entire continent thus appeared like the still empty cradle of a great nation.

There it was that civilized men were to try to build society upon new foundations and that, applying for the first time theories unknown until then or considered inapplicable, they were about to give to the world a sight for which the history of the past had not prepared it.

12. “One has seen among the Iroquois attacked by superior forces,” says President Jefferson (Notes on Virginia, p. 148), “old men disdain to recur to flight or survive the destruction of their country, and brave death like the ancient Romans in the sack of Rome by the Gauls.” Further, on p. 150: “There was never an instance known of an Indian begging his life when in the power of his enemies: on the contrary, he courts death by every possible insult and provocation.”

13. See Histoire de la Louisiane, by Lepage Dupratz; Charlevoix: Histoire de la Nouvelle France; Letters of the Rev. G. Heckewelder, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, vol. 1; Jefferson: Notes on Virginia, pp. 135–90. What is said by Jefferson is of special weight, given the personal merit of the writer, his especial position and the down-to-earth age in which he lived.

D. (p. 35)    In Charlevoix, vol. 1, p. 235, will be found a history of the first war which the French inhabitants of Canada undertook against the Iroquois in 1610. The Indians, although they were armed with bows and arrows, offered desperate resistance to the French and their allies. Charlevoix, who is not a great commentator, is, however, able to show in this extract the contrast between the European manner and that of the Indians as well as the different idea which the two races had of honor.

“The French,” he said, “seized hold of the beaver skins with which the fallen Iroquois were covered. The Hurons, their allies, were scandalized by the sight of this. The latter, for their part, began to exercise their usual cruelties upon the prisoners, devouring one of those who had been killed, which horrified the French. Thus, these barbarous men prided themselves on a detachment which they were surprised at not finding in our nation and did not understand that it is less heinous to strip the bodies of the dead than to feed upon their flesh like wild animals.”

Charlevoix again, in another extract, vol. 1, p. 230, describes thus the first torture which Champlain witnessed and the return of the Hurons to their own village:

After having covered eight leagues our allies halted and, taking one of their captives, reproached him for all the cruelty which the braves from their nation who had fallen into his hands had suffered and told him that he should expect to be treated similarly, adding that if he had any courage he would prove it by singing. He immediately intoned his battle song and all the songs that he knew but in a very mournful way, said Champlain, who had not yet had the time to get to know that all primitive music contains a lugubrious element. His torture, accompanied by all the horrors which will be described later, terrified the French who made every effort to put a stop to it, but in vain. The following night, when a Huron dreamed that they were being followed, the retreat changed to real flight and the Indians did not stop anywhere until they were out of all danger.

    From the moment that they spied the huts of their village, they cut long sticks to which they attached the scalps that they had shared between them and they carried them in triumph. Seeing them, the women ran toward them, flung themselves into the water and, having swum out to the canoes, took the bloody scalps from the hands of their husbands and tied them around their necks.

    The braves offered one of these horrible trophies to Champlain and also made him a present of some bows and arrows, the only spoils which they had been willing to seize from the Iroquois, begging him to show them to the King of France.

Champlain lived alone all one winter surrounded by these barbarous people without either his person or his property being compromised for a single moment.

ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE

Democracy in America

and Two Essays on America

Translated by GERALD E. BEVAN

Saturday, June 8, 2024

Gobineau and Tocqueville

 

Some eighty letters survive from the correspondence between Gobineau and Tocqueville that began in 1843 and ended with the death of the latter in 1853. We present here some brief extracts concerning the racist theses of the Essay. Though Tocqueville, the author of Democracy in America, had many fears about the coming age of mass politics, he strove pragmatically in all his writings to expound social doctrines that would minimize its potential evils. In the following exchanges we observe that Tocqueville, although impressed by Gobineau's genius, is horrified at his assertion of human inequality, at his fatalistic acceptance of present and future degeneration, at his neglect of any regenerative programme, and at the disastrous moral and practical consequences which his doctrines must have for the spirit of contemporaries.

Gobineau's retort is that, as a purely scientific student of society, he is concerned with truth not practicality.

TOCQUEVILLE TO GOBINEAU

October nth, 1853 I have never concealed from you the fact that I am much prejudiced against what seems to be your funda­mental idea —one which, I confess, appears to belong to the family of materialistic theories. It would even seem to be one of its most dangerous members, since it applies fatalism not simply to individuals but to those perennial groupings called races.

Your doctrine is a kind of fatalism, of predestination if you wish ... You talk endlessly of races regenerating or degenerating, gaining or losing by an infusion of different blood certain social capacities not previously their own.

I think that is how you put it. I must say frankly that, for me, such predestination seems closely related to pure materialism. Let me assure you that if the masses, whose reasoning always follows beaten tracks, accept your doc­trine it will be extended immediately from races to indi­viduals and from social capacities to all kinds of potentialities. Besides — whether fatalism be introduced into the material order or whether God willed the existence of various kinds of men so that some might be obliged, according to their race, to lack certain feelings, thoughts, habits and qualities that they might perceive but not possess —all this is scarcely relevant to my own concern with the practical consequences of different philosophical doctrines. Both these theories culminate in a vast limita­tion, even a complete abolition, of human liberty. Thus I confess that having read your book I remain, as before, extremely opposed to these doctrines. I believe that they are probably very false; I know that they are most cer­tainly pernicious ...

... What advantage can there be in persuading base peoples living in barbarism, indolence or slavery that, such being their racial nature, they can do nothing to improve their situation or to change their habits and government?

Do you not see inherent in your doctrine all the evils engendered by permanent inequality — pride, violence, scorn of fellow men, tyranny and abjection in all their forms? How can you speak to me, my dear friend, about the distinctions between qualities which bring moral truths into operation and what you call social aptitude? Are really different? When one has viewed for some time and at close quarters the workings of public affairs do you believe that one can avoid the conviction that the means to achieving success are identical with those in private life; that courage, energy, honesty, perspicacity and com­ mon sense are the real reasons behind the prosperity of empires as well as of families and that, in a phrase, the destiny of men, whether as individuals or as nations, is what they wish to make it?

... Please let us leave our discussion at this point. We are separated by a gulf too wide for this argument to be fruit­ful. There is an entire world of ideas between your beliefs and mine. I would therefore rather come to what I can praise without reservation ... In brief, let me say that this book is by far the most remarkable of your writings; that, in so far as I can judge, it reveals vast learning in the accumulation of so many facts, as well as great talent and rare insight in their marshalling. Those who approve of your fundamental thesis or who wish it to be true (and today, after sixty exhausting years of revolution, there are many in France who would aspire to have some such belief) must read it with real enthusiasm, since your book is well constructed and drives straight to its conclusion with much that is most pleasing to the intelligence. I proved sincere in criticism; please believe equally in the sincerity of my praise. Your work has great and genuine merit and it certainly puts you at the head of all those who have maintained such doctrines.

December 20th, 1833

You have taken up the very argument which has always seemed to me the most dangerous for our age ... The last century had an exaggerated and rather puerile confidence in the power of men and peoples over their own destiny. It was the error of those times; a noble error, after all;
even if it led to many follies, it also produced great things which posterity will see as dwarfing our own achievements.

The fatigue of revolutions, the weakening of passions, the miscarriage of so many generous ideas and great hopes have now driven us to the opposite extreme. Once we thought that all could be transformed; now we believe ourselves incapable of any reformation. Once our pride was excessive; now we have fallen into a humility no less exaggerated. Once we believed we could do everything; today we think we can do nothing, regarding struggle and effort as henceforth useless and our blood, muscles and nerves as always stronger than our will and capabilities. This is truly the great sickness of our time. It is quite the reverse of that of our ancestors. In your book, however its arguments are organized, that sickness is encouraged not cured. Despite yourself, the work weakens still further the already lax spirit of your contemporaries.

GOBINEAU TO TOCQUEVILLE October 15th, 1854

It is quite true that we no longer live in a very intel­lectual age and I well understand the disgust and annoy­ance which this realization inspires in you. But, as you say, my work is scarcely affected by this ... Since my methods of proof are exclusively scientific, I have come to discount any thought of popularity in a field which is so obviously outside the competence of most. Further, since I am so convinced that the present enfeeblement of mind is not only universal but also incurable, I have but one of two courses to follow: either to jump in a lake or else to carry on without the slightest concern for what is called public opinion. Having decided upon the latter I care only for the few hundred minds still alive in the midst of the general atrophy.

March 20th, 1856

I am tormented by your constant reproach that I encourage the somnolence of those who are already only too drowsy. If I do so, then it is not through lullabies. If I corrupt, it is through acids not perfumes. Believe me, such is not the purpose of my book. I am not telling people ‘You are acquitted’ or ‘You are condemned’. I am saying, ‘You are dying. Far be it from me to pretend that you cannot conquer or be moved and agitated into spasmodic activity.

Far be it from me either to encourage or to restrain. That does not concern me at all. But I am saying that you have passed the age of youth and have begun to reach that of decay. Your autumn is undoubtedly more vigorous than the decrepitude of the rest of the world, but it is autumn none the less. Winter is coming and descendants have you none.

Establish kingdoms, great dynasties, republics, whatever you wish. To this I have no objection; all of it is possible. Go and torment the Chinese in their homeland, finish off Turkey, bring Persia within your sphere; all that is possible, even perhaps inevitable. I shall not contradict you, but, in the final account the causes of your enerva­tion are accumulating and will accumulate by these very actions and there is no longer anyone in the world to replace you when your degeneration is completed. The thirst for material enjoyment now tormenting you is a clear symptom —one as sure as the roseate cheeks of those who suffer from chest ailments. All civilizations in decay before you had it and, like you, they rejoiced in it.

Having been sickened by the journalistic comments on this topic I never read them now. Well, is there anything that I can do? By telling you what is happening and what will happen have I subtracted anything at all from your lifespan? I am no more a murderer than the doctor who announces that the end is at hand. If I am wrong, then of my four volumes nothing will remain. If I am right, then the facts will elude any desire to see them otherwise than as determined by the laws of nature.’

TOCQUEVILLE TO GOBINEAU July 30th, 1836

You know that I can in no way reconcile myself to your doctrine. My view is so obsessive on this point that the very reasons you give in substantiation of your case in­ creasingly confirm me in an opposition which only remains concealed because of my affection for you. You compare yourself to a doctor who announces to his patient that he is mortally ill and you ask what is immoral in that. My retort is that this act, if it is not immoral in itself, can only have consequences both immoral and pernicious. If one morning my doctor came and said, ‘My dear sir, I am honoured to announce that you are mortally ill and, because this affects the most vital organs, I may also add that there is absolutely no chance of any kind of recovery’, I should be tempted first to hit him. Next, I would see nothing else for it other than to put my head beneath the covers and await the predicted outcome — unless of course I had the temper which animated Boccaccio during the Florentine plague and thus, burning the candle at both ends, would abandon myself effortlessly to all my pleasures whilst awaiting the inevitable conclusion. Again, I could take advantage of the death sentence to prepare myself for eternal life. But for societies there is no everlasting life. Thus your doctor will not count me among his patients. I would add that doctors, like philosophers, are frequently wrong in their prognostications. More than once I have seen such condemned men subsequently recovering and reproaching their doctors with having needlessly frightened and discouraged them. You will see, my dear friend, that while greatly disposed to admit your talents as an author I cannot accept the validity of your ideas.

From GOBINEAU SELECTED POLITICAL WRITINGS