Chapter VII: Continuation Of The Preceding Chapters
I believe that it is easier to establish an absolute and despotic
government amongst a people in which the conditions of society are
equal, than amongst any other; and I think that if such a government
were once established amongst such a people, it would not only oppress
men, but would eventually strip each of them of several of the highest
qualities of humanity. Despotism therefore appears to me peculiarly to
be dreaded in democratic ages. I should have loved freedom, I believe,
at all times, but in the time in which we live I am ready to worship
it. On the other hand, I am persuaded that all who shall attempt, in
the ages upon which we are entering, to base freedom upon aristocratic
privilege, will fail—that all who shall attempt to draw and to retain
authority within a single class, will fail. At the present day no ruler
is skilful or strong enough to found a despotism, by re-establishing
permanent distinctions of rank amongst his subjects: no legislator is
wise or powerful enough to preserve free institutions, if he does not
take equality for his first principle and his watchword. All those of
our contemporaries who would establish or secure the independence and
the dignity of their fellow-men, must show themselves the friends of
equality; and the only worthy means of showing themselves as such, is to
be so: upon this depends the success of their holy enterprise. Thus the
question is not how to reconstruct aristocratic society, but how to make
liberty proceed out of that democratic state of society in which God has
placed us.
These two truths appear to me simple, clear, and fertile in
consequences; and they naturally lead me to consider what kind of
free government can be established amongst a people in which social
conditions are equal. It results from the very constitution of
democratic nations and from their necessities, that the power of
government amongst them must be more uniform, more centralized, more
extensive, more searching, and more efficient than in other countries.
Society at large is naturally stronger and more active, individuals more
subordinate and weak; the former does more, the latter less; and this is
inevitably the case. It is not therefore to be expected that the range
of private independence will ever be as extensive in democratic as
in aristocratic countries—nor is this to be desired; for, amongst
aristocratic nations, the mass is often sacrificed to the individual,
and the prosperity of the greater number to the greatness of the few.
It is both necessary and desirable that the government of a democratic
people should be active and powerful: and our object should not be to
render it weak or indolent, but solely to prevent it from abusing its
aptitude and its strength.
The circumstance which most contributed to secure the independence of
private persons in aristocratic ages, was, that the supreme power did
not affect to take upon itself alone the government and administration
of the community; those functions were necessarily partially left to
the members of the aristocracy: so that as the supreme power was always
divided, it never weighed with its whole weight and in the same manner
on each individual. Not only did the government not perform everything
by its immediate agency; but as most of the agents who discharged its
duties derived their power not from the State, but from the circumstance
of their birth, they were not perpetually under its control. The
government could not make or unmake them in an instant, at pleasure,
nor bend them in strict uniformity to its slightest caprice—this was
an additional guarantee of private independence. I readily admit that
recourse cannot be had to the same means at the present time: but I
discover certain democratic expedients which may be substituted for
them. Instead of vesting in the government alone all the administrative
powers of which corporations and nobles have been deprived, a portion of
them may be entrusted to secondary public bodies, temporarily composed
of private citizens: thus the liberty of private persons will be more
secure, and their equality will not be diminished.
The Americans, who care less for words than the French, still designate
by the name of "county" the largest of their administrative districts:
but the duties of the count or lord-lieutenant are in part performed by
a provincial assembly. At a period of equality like our own it would be
unjust and unreasonable to institute hereditary officers; but there is
nothing to prevent us from substituting elective public officers to a
certain extent. Election is a democratic expedient which insures the
independence of the public officer in relation to the government,
as much and even more than hereditary rank can insure it amongst
aristocratic nations. Aristocratic countries abound in wealthy and
influential persons who are competent to provide for themselves, and
who cannot be easily or secretly oppressed: such persons restrain a
government within general habits of moderation and reserve. I am very
well aware that democratic countries contain no such persons naturally;
but something analogous to them may be created by artificial means. I
firmly believe that an aristocracy cannot again be founded in the world;
but I think that private citizens, by combining together, may constitute
bodies of great wealth, influence, and strength, corresponding to the
persons of an aristocracy. By this means many of the greatest political
advantages of aristocracy would be obtained without its injustice or
its dangers. An association for political, commercial, or manufacturing
purposes, or even for those of science and literature, is a powerful
and enlightened member of the community, which cannot be disposed of at
pleasure, or oppressed without remonstrance; and which, by defending its
own rights against the encroachments of the government, saves the common
liberties of the country.
In periods of aristocracy every man is always bound so closely to many
of his fellow-citizens, that he cannot be assailed without their coming
to his assistance. In ages of equality every man naturally stands alone;
he has no hereditary friends whose co-operation he may demand—no class
upon whose sympathy he may rely: he is easily got rid of, and he is
trampled on with impunity. At the present time, an oppressed member
of the community has therefore only one method of self-defence—he
may appeal to the whole nation; and if the whole nation is deaf to his
complaint, he may appeal to mankind: the only means he has of making
this appeal is by the press. Thus the liberty of the press is infinitely
more valuable amongst democratic nations than amongst all others; it is
the only cure for the evils which equality may produce. Equality sets
men apart and weakens them; but the press places a powerful weapon
within every man's reach, which the weakest and loneliest of them all
may use. Equality deprives a man of the support of his connections; but
the press enables him to summon all his fellow-countrymen and all his
fellow-men to his assistance. Printing has accelerated the progress of
equality, and it is also one of its best correctives.
I think that men living in aristocracies may, strictly speaking, do
without the liberty of the press: but such is not the case with those
who live in democratic countries. To protect their personal independence
I trust not to great political assemblies, to parliamentary privilege,
or to the assertion of popular sovereignty. All these things may, to
a certain extent, be reconciled with personal servitude—but that
servitude cannot be complete if the press is free: the press is the
chiefest democratic instrument of freedom.
Something analogous may be said of the judicial power. It is a part of
the essence of judicial power to attend to private interests, and to fix
itself with predilection on minute objects submitted to its observation;
another essential quality of judicial power is never to volunteer its
assistance to the oppressed, but always to be at the disposal of the
humblest of those who solicit it; their complaint, however feeble they
may themselves be, will force itself upon the ear of justice and claim
redress, for this is inherent in the very constitution of the courts
of justice. A power of this kind is therefore peculiarly adapted to the
wants of freedom, at a time when the eye and finger of the government
are constantly intruding into the minutest details of human actions, and
when private persons are at once too weak to protect themselves, and too
much isolated for them to reckon upon the assistance of their fellows.
The strength of the courts of law has ever been the greatest security
which can be offered to personal independence; but this is more
especially the case in democratic ages: private rights and interests are
in constant danger, if the judicial power does not grow more extensive
and more strong to keep pace with the growing equality of conditions.
Equality awakens in men several propensities extremely dangerous to
freedom, to which the attention of the legislator ought constantly to be
directed. I shall only remind the reader of the most important amongst
them. Men living in democratic ages do not readily comprehend the
utility of forms: they feel an instinctive contempt for them—I have
elsewhere shown for what reasons. Forms excite their contempt and often
their hatred; as they commonly aspire to none but easy and present
gratifications, they rush onwards to the object of their desires, and
the slightest delay exasperates them. This same temper, carried
with them into political life, renders them hostile to forms, which
perpetually retard or arrest them in some of their projects. Yet this
objection which the men of democracies make to forms is the very thing
which renders forms so useful to freedom; for their chief merit is to
serve as a barrier between the strong and the weak, the ruler and the
people, to retard the one, and give the other time to look about him.
Forms become more necessary in proportion as the government becomes
more active and more powerful, whilst private persons are becoming more
indolent and more feeble. Thus democratic nations naturally stand more
in need of forms than other nations, and they naturally respect them
less. This deserves most serious attention. Nothing is more pitiful
than the arrogant disdain of most of our contemporaries for questions
of form; for the smallest questions of form have acquired in our time an
importance which they never had before: many of the greatest interests
of mankind depend upon them. I think that if the statesmen of
aristocratic ages could sometimes contemn forms with impunity, and
frequently rise above them, the statesmen to whom the government of
nations is now confided ought to treat the very least among them
with respect, and not neglect them without imperious necessity. In
aristocracies the observance of forms was superstitious; amongst us they
ought to be kept with a deliberate and enlightened deference.
Another tendency, which is extremely natural to democratic nations and
extremely dangerous, is that which leads them ta despise and undervalue
the rights of private persons. The attachment which men feel to a right,
and the respect which they display for it, is generally proportioned to
its importance, or to the length of time during which they have enjoyed
it. The rights of private persons amongst democratic nations are
commonly of small importance, of recent growth, and extremely
precarious—the consequence is that they are often sacrificed without
regret, and almost always violated without remorse. But it happens that
at the same period and amongst the same nations in which men conceive
a natural contempt for the rights of private persons, the rights of
society at large are naturally extended and consolidated: in other
words, men become less attached to private rights at the very time at
which it would be most necessary to retain and to defend what little
remains of them. It is therefore most especially in the present
democratic ages, that the true friends of the liberty and the greatness
of man ought constantly to be on the alert to prevent the power of
government from lightly sacrificing the private rights of individuals
to the general execution of its designs. At such times no citizen is so
obscure that it is not very dangerous to allow him to be oppressed—no
private rights are so unimportant that they can be surrendered with
impunity to the caprices of a government. The reason is plain:—if the
private right of an individual is violated at a time when the human mind
is fully impressed with the importance and the sanctity of such rights,
the injury done is confined to the individual whose right is infringed;
but to violate such a right, at the present day, is deeply to corrupt
the manners of the nation and to put the whole community in jeopardy,
because the very notion of this kind of right constantly tends amongst
us to be impaired and lost.
There are certain habits, certain notions, and certain vices which are
peculiar to a state of revolution, and which a protracted revolution
cannot fail to engender and to propagate, whatever be, in other
respects, its character, its purpose, and the scene on which it takes
place. When any nation has, within a short space of time, repeatedly
varied its rulers, its opinions, and its laws, the men of whom it is
composed eventually contract a taste for change, and grow accustomed
to see all changes effected by sudden violence. Thus they naturally
conceive a contempt for forms which daily prove ineffectual; and they do
not support without impatience the dominion of rules which they have so
often seen infringed. As the ordinary notions of equity and morality no
longer suffice to explain and justify all the innovations daily begotten
by a revolution, the principle of public utility is called in, the
doctrine of political necessity is conjured up, and men accustom
themselves to sacrifice private interests without scruple, and
to trample on the rights of individuals in order more speedily to
accomplish any public purpose.
These habits and notions, which I shall call revolutionary, because all
revolutions produce them, occur in aristocracies just as much as amongst
democratic nations; but amongst the former they are often less powerful
and always less lasting, because there they meet with habits, notions,
defects, and impediments, which counteract them: they consequently
disappear as soon as the revolution is terminated, and the nation
reverts to its former political courses. This is not always the case
in democratic countries, in which it is ever to be feared that
revolutionary tendencies, becoming more gentle and more regular, without
entirely disappearing from society, will be gradually transformed into
habits of subjection to the administrative authority of the government.
I know of no countries in which revolutions re more dangerous than
in democratic countries; because, independently of the accidental and
transient evils which must always attend them, they may always create
some evils which are permanent and unending. I believe that there are
such things as justifiable resistance and legitimate rebellion: I do not
therefore assert, as an absolute proposition, that the men of democratic
ages ought never to make revolutions; but I think that they have
especial reason to hesitate before they embark in them, and that it is
far better to endure many grievances in their present condition than to
have recourse to so perilous a remedy.
I shall conclude by one general idea, which comprises not only all the
particular ideas which have been expressed in the present chapter, but
also most of those which it is the object of this book to treat of.
In the ages of aristocracy which preceded our own, there were private
persons of great power, and a social authority of extreme weakness. The
outline of society itself was not easily discernible, and constantly
confounded with the different powers by which the community was ruled.
The principal efforts of the men of those times were required to
strengthen, aggrandize, and secure the supreme power; and on the other
hand, to circumscribe individual independence within narrower limits,
and to subject private interests to the interests of the public. Other
perils and other cares await the men of our age. Amongst the greater
part of modern nations, the government, whatever may be its origin, its
constitution, or its name, has become almost omnipotent, and private
persons are falling, more and more, into the lowest stage of weakness
and dependence. In olden society everything was different; unity and
uniformity were nowhere to be met with. In modern society everything
threatens to become so much alike, that the peculiar characteristics of
each individual will soon be entirely lost in the general aspect of the
world. Our forefathers were ever prone to make an improper use of the
notion, that private rights ought to be respected; and we are naturally
prone on the other hand to exaggerate the idea that the interest of a
private individual ought always to bend to the interest of the many. The
political world is metamorphosed: new remedies must henceforth be sought
for new disorders. To lay down extensive, but distinct and settled
limits, to the action of the government; to confer certain rights on
private persons, and to secure to them the undisputed enjoyment of those
rights; to enable individual man to maintain whatever independence,
strength, and original power he still possesses; to raise him by the
side of society at large, and uphold him in that position—these appear
to me the main objects of legislators in the ages upon which we are now
entering. It would seem as if the rulers of our time sought only to use
men in order to make things great; I wish that they would try a little
more to make great men; that they would set less value on the work, and
more upon the workman; that they would never forget that a nation cannot
long remain strong when every man belonging to it is individually weak,
and that no form or combination of social polity has yet been devised,
to make an energetic people out of a community of pusillanimous and
enfeebled citizens.
I trace amongst our contemporaries two contrary notions which are
equally injurious. One set of men can perceive nothing in the principle
of equality but the anarchical tendencies which it engenders: they
dread their own free agency—they fear themselves. Other thinkers, less
numerous but more enlightened, take a different view: besides that track
which starts from the principle of equality to terminate in anarchy,
they have at last discovered the road which seems to lead men to
inevitable servitude. They shape their souls beforehand to this
necessary condition; and, despairing of remaining free, they already
do obeisance in their hearts to the master who is soon to appear. The
former abandon freedom, because they think it dangerous; the latter,
because they hold it to be impossible. If I had entertained the latter
conviction, I should not have written this book, but I should have
confined myself to deploring in secret the destiny of mankind. I have
sought to point out the dangers to which the principle of equality
exposes the independence of man, because I firmly believe that these
dangers are the most formidable, as well as the least foreseen, of all
those which futurity holds in store: but I do not think that they are
insurmountable. The men who live in the democratic ages upon which we
are entering have naturally a taste for independence: they are naturally
impatient of regulation, and they are wearied by the permanence even of
the condition they themselves prefer. They are fond of power; but they
are prone to despise and hate those who wield it, and they easily elude
its grasp by their own mobility and insignificance. These propensities
will always manifest themselves, because they originate in the
groundwork of society, which will undergo no change: for a long time
they will prevent the establishment of any despotism, and they will
furnish fresh weapons to each succeeding generation which shall struggle
in favor of the liberty of mankind. Let us then look forward to the
future with that salutary fear which makes men keep watch and ward
for freedom, not with that faint and idle terror which depresses and
enervates the heart.
Chapter VIII: General Survey Of The Subject
Before I close forever the theme that has detained me so long, I would
fain take a parting survey of all the various characteristics of modern
society, and appreciate at last the general influence to be exercised by
the principle of equality upon the fate of mankind; but I am stopped
by the difficulty of the task, and in presence of so great an object my
sight is troubled, and my reason fails. The society of the modern world
which I have sought to delineate, and which I seek to judge, has but
just come into existence. Time has not yet shaped it into perfect form:
the great revolution by which it has been created is not yet over: and
amidst the occurrences of our time, it is almost impossible to discern
what will pass away with the revolution itself, and what will survive
its close. The world which is rising into existence is still half
encumbered by the remains of the world which is waning into decay; and
amidst the vast perplexity of human affairs, none can say how much of
ancient institutions and former manners will remain, or how much will
completely disappear. Although the revolution which is taking place in
the social condition, the laws, the opinions, and the feelings of men,
is still very far from being terminated, yet its results already admit
of no comparison with anything that the world has ever before witnessed.
I go back from age to age up to the remotest antiquity; but I find no
parallel to what is occurring before my eyes: as the past has ceased to
throw its light upon the future, the mind of man wanders in obscurity.
Nevertheless, in the midst of a prospect so wide, so novel and so
confused, some of the more prominent characteristics may already be
discerned and pointed out. The good things and the evils of life are
more equally distributed in the world: great wealth tends to disappear,
the number of small fortunes to increase; desires and gratifications
are multiplied, but extraordinary prosperity and irremediable penury are
alike unknown. The sentiment of ambition is universal, but the scope
of ambition is seldom vast. Each individual stands apart in solitary
weakness; but society at large is active, provident, and powerful: the
performances of private persons are insignificant, those of the State
immense. There is little energy of character; but manners are mild, and
laws humane. If there be few instances of exalted heroism or of virtues
of the highest, brightest, and purest temper, men's habits are regular,
violence is rare, and cruelty almost unknown. Human existence becomes
longer, and property more secure: life is not adorned with brilliant
trophies, but it is extremely easy and tranquil. Few pleasures are
either very refined or very coarse; and highly polished manners are as
uncommon as great brutality of tastes. Neither men of great learning,
nor extremely ignorant communities, are to be met with; genius becomes
more rare, information more diffused. The human mind is impelled by the
small efforts of all mankind combined together, not by the strenuous
activity of certain men. There is less perfection, but more abundance,
in all the productions of the arts. The ties of race, of rank, and of
country are relaxed; the great bond of humanity is strengthened. If
I endeavor to find out the most general and the most prominent of all
these different characteristics, I shall have occasion to perceive, that
what is taking place in men's fortunes manifests itself under a thousand
other forms. Almost all extremes are softened or blunted: all that was
most prominent is superseded by some mean term, at once less lofty and
less low, less brilliant and less obscure, than what before existed in
the world.
When I survey this countless multitude of beings, shaped in each other's
likeness, amidst whom nothing rises and nothing falls, the sight of such
universal uniformity saddens and chills me, and I am tempted to regret
that state of society which has ceased to be. When the world was full of
men of great importance and extreme insignificance, of great wealth and
extreme poverty, of great learning and extreme ignorance, I turned aside
from the latter to fix my observation on the former alone, who gratified
my sympathies. But I admit that this gratification arose from my own
weakness: it is because I am unable to see at once all that is around
me, that I am allowed thus to select and separate the objects of my
predilection from among so many others. Such is not the case with that
almighty and eternal Being whose gaze necessarily includes the whole of
created things, and who surveys distinctly, though at once, mankind and
man. We may naturally believe that it is not the singular prosperity of
the few, but the greater well-being of all, which is most pleasing in
the sight of the Creator and Preserver of men. What appears to me to be
man's decline, is to His eye advancement; what afflicts me is acceptable
to Him. A state of equality is perhaps less elevated, but it is more
just; and its justice constitutes its greatness and its beauty. I would
strive then to raise myself to this point of the divine contemplation,
and thence to view and to judge the concerns of men.
No man, upon the earth, can as yet affirm absolutely and generally,
that the new state of the world is better than its former one; but it
is already easy to perceive that this state is different. Some vices
and some virtues were so inherent in the constitution of an aristocratic
nation, and are so opposite to the character of a modern people, that
they can never be infused into it; some good tendencies and some bad
propensities which were unknown to the former, are natural to the
latter; some ideas suggest themselves spontaneously to the imagination
of the one, which are utterly repugnant to the mind of the other. They
are like two distinct orders of human beings, each of which has its
own merits and defects, its own advantages and its own evils. Care
must therefore be taken not to judge the state of society, which is now
coming into existence, by notions derived from a state of society
which no longer exists; for as these states of society are exceedingly
different in their structure, they cannot be submitted to a just or fair
comparison. It would be scarcely more reasonable to require of our
own contemporaries the peculiar virtues which originated in the social
condition of their forefathers, since that social condition is itself
fallen, and has drawn into one promiscuous ruin the good and evil which
belonged to it.
But as yet these things are imperfectly understood. I find that a great
number of my contemporaries undertake to make a certain selection from
amongst the institutions, the opinions, and the ideas which originated
in the aristocratic constitution of society as it was: a portion of
these elements they would willingly relinquish, but they would keep the
remainder and transplant them into their new world. I apprehend that
such men are wasting their time and their strength in virtuous
but unprofitable efforts. The object is not to retain the peculiar
advantages which the inequality of conditions bestows upon mankind, but
to secure the new benefits which equality may supply. We have not to
seek to make ourselves like our progenitors, but to strive to work out
that species of greatness and happiness which is our own. For myself,
who now look back from this extreme limit of my task, and discover from
afar, but at once, the various objects which have attracted my more
attentive investigation upon my way, I am full of apprehensions and
of hopes. I perceive mighty dangers which it is possible to ward
off—mighty evils which may be avoided or alleviated; and I cling with
a firmer hold to the belief, that for democratic nations to be virtuous
and prosperous they require but to will it. I am aware that many of my
contemporaries maintain that nations are never their own masters
here below, and that they necessarily obey some insurmountable and
unintelligent power, arising from anterior events, from their race, or
from the soil and climate of their country. Such principles are false
and cowardly; such principles can never produce aught but feeble men
and pusillanimous nations. Providence has not created mankind entirely
independent or entirely free. It is true that around every man a fatal
circle is traced, beyond which he cannot pass; but within the wide
verge of that circle he is powerful and free: as it is with man, so with
communities. The nations of our time cannot prevent the conditions of
men from becoming equal; but it depends upon themselves whether the
principle of equality is to lead them to servitude or freedom, to
knowledge or barbarism, to prosperity or to wretchedness.
Here ends the text of Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville
Notes
/3-1/
See Appendix W.
/3-2/
In democratic communities nothing but the central power has
any stability in its position or any permanence in its undertakings. All
the members of society are in ceaseless stir and transformation. Now it
is in the nature of all governments to seek constantly to enlarge their
sphere of action; hence it is almost impossible that such a government
should not ultimately succeed, because it acts with a fixed principle
and a constant will, upon men, whose position, whose notions, and whose
desires are in continual vacillation. It frequently happens that the
members of the community promote the influence of the central power
without intending it. Democratic ages are periods of experiment,
innovation, and adventure. At such times there are always a multitude of
men engaged in difficult or novel undertakings, which they follow alone,
without caring for their fellowmen. Such persons may be ready to admit,
as a general principle, that the public authority ought not to interfere
in private concerns; but, by an exception to that rule, each of them
craves for its assistance in the particular concern on which he is
engaged, and seeks to draw upon the influence of the government for his
own benefit, though he would restrict it on all other occasions. If a
large number of men apply this particular exception to a great
variety of different purposes, the sphere of the central power extends
insensibly in all directions, although each of them wishes it to be
circumscribed. Thus a democratic government increases its power simply
by the fact of its permanence. Time is on its side; every incident
befriends it; the passions of individuals unconsciously promote it; and
it may be asserted, that the older a democratic community is, the more
centralized will its government become.
/3-3/
See Appendix X.
/5-1/
This gradual weakening of individuals in relation to
society at large may be traced in a thousand ways. I shall select
from amongst these examples one derived from the law of wills. In
aristocracies it is common to profess the greatest reverence for the
last testamentary dispositions of a man; this feeling sometimes even
became superstitious amongst the older nations of Europe: the power of
the State, far from interfering with the caprices of a dying man, gave
full force to the very least of them, and insured to him a perpetual
power. When all living men are enfeebled, the will of the dead is less
respected: it is circumscribed within a narrow range, beyond which it
is annulled or checked by the supreme power of the laws. In the Middle
Ages, testamentary power had, so to speak, no limits: amongst the French
at the present day, a man cannot distribute his fortune amongst his
children without the interference of the State; after having domineered
over a whole life, the law insists upon regulating the very last act of it.
/5-2/
In proportion as the duties of the central power are
augmented, the number of public officers by whom that power is
represented must increase also. They form a nation in each nation; and
as they share the stability of the government, they more and more fill
up the place of an aristocracy.
In almost every part of Europe the government rules in two ways; it
rules one portion of the community by the fear which they entertain of
its agents, and the other by the hope they have of becoming its agents.
/5-3/
On the one hand the taste for worldly welfare is
perpetually increasing, and on the other the government gets more and
more complete possession of the sources of that welfare. Thus men are
following two separate roads to servitude: the taste for their own
welfare withholds them from taking a part in the government, and their
love of that welfare places them in closer dependence upon those who govern.
/5-4/
A strange sophism has been made on this head in France.
When a suit arises between the government and a private person, it is
not to be tried before an ordinary judge—in order, they say, not to
mix the administrative and the judicial powers; as if it were not to
mix those powers, and to mix them in the most dangerous and oppressive
manner, to invest the government with the office of judging and
administering at the same time.
/5-5/
I shall quote a few facts in corroboration of this remark.
Mines are the natural sources of manufacturing wealth: as manufactures
have grown up in Europe, as the produce of mines has become of more
general importance, and good mining more difficult from the subdivision
of property which is a consequence of the equality of conditions, most
governments have asserted a right of owning the soil in which the mines
lie, and of inspecting the works; which has never been the case with any
other kind of property. Thus mines, which were private property, liable
to the same obligations and sheltered by the same guarantees as all
other landed property, have fallen under the control of the State.
The State either works them or farms them; the owners of them are mere
tenants, deriving their rights from the State; and, moreover, the State
almost everywhere claims the power of directing their operations: it
lays down rules, enforces the adoption of particular methods, subjects
the mining adventurers to constant superintendence, and, if refractory,
they are ousted by a government court of justice, and the government
transfers their contract to other hands; so that the government not
only possesses the mines, but has all the adventurers in its power.
Nevertheless, as manufactures increase, the working of old mines
increases also; new ones are opened, the mining population extends and
grows up; day by day governments augment their subterranean dominions,
and people them with their agents.
/6-1/
See Appendix Y.
/6-2/
See Appendix Z.