And Democratic Armies Of War
The same interests, the same fears, the same passions which deter
democratic nations from revolutions, deter them also from war; the
spirit of military glory and the spirit of revolution are weakened at
the same time and by the same causes. The ever-increasing numbers of men
of property--lovers of peace, the growth of personal wealth which war
so rapidly consumes, the mildness of manners, the gentleness of heart,
those tendencies to pity which are engendered by the equality
of conditions, that coolness of understanding which renders men
comparatively insensible to the violent and poetical excitement of
arms--all these causes concur to quench the military spirit. I think it
may be admitted as a general and constant rule, that, amongst civilized
nations, the warlike passions will become more rare and less intense in
proportion as social conditions shall be more equal. War is nevertheless
an occurrence to which all nations are subject, democratic nations as
well as others. Whatever taste they may have for peace, they must hold
themselves in readiness to repel aggression, or in other words they must
have an army.
Fortune, which has conferred so many peculiar benefits upon the
inhabitants of the United States, has placed them in the midst of a
wilderness, where they have, so to speak, no neighbors: a few thousand
soldiers are sufficient for their wants; but this is peculiar to
America, not to democracy. The equality of conditions, and the
manners as well as the institutions resulting from it, do not exempt
a democratic people from the necessity of standing armies, and their
armies always exercise a powerful influence over their fate. It is
therefore of singular importance to inquire what are the natural
propensities of the men of whom these armies are composed.
Amongst aristocratic nations, especially amongst those in which birth
is the only source of rank, the same inequality exists in the army as
in the nation; the officer is noble, the soldier is a serf; the one is
naturally called upon to command, the other to obey. In aristocratic
armies, the private soldier's ambition is therefore circumscribed within
very narrow limits. Nor has the ambition of the officer an unlimited
range. An aristocratic body not only forms a part of the scale of ranks
in the nation, but it contains a scale of ranks within itself: the
members of whom it is composed are placed one above another, in a
particular and unvarying manner. Thus one man is born to the command of
a regiment, another to that of a company; when once they have reached
the utmost object of their hopes, they stop of their own accord, and
remain contented with their lot. There is, besides, a strong cause,
which, in aristocracies, weakens the officer's desire of promotion.
Amongst aristocratic nations, an officer, independently of his rank
in the army, also occupies an elevated rank in society; the former is
almost always in his eyes only an appendage to the latter. A nobleman
who embraces the profession of arms follows it less from motives of
ambition than from a sense of the duties imposed on him by his birth.
He enters the army in order to find an honorable employment for the idle
years of his youth, and to be able to bring back to his home and his
peers some honorable recollections of military life; but his principal
object is not to obtain by that profession either property, distinction,
or power, for he possesses these advantages in his own right, and enjoys
them without leaving his home.
In democratic armies all the soldiers may become officers, which makes
the desire of promotion general, and immeasurably extends the bounds
of military ambition. The officer, on his part, sees nothing which
naturally and necessarily stops him at one grade more than at another;
and each grade has immense importance in his eyes, because his rank
in society almost always depends on his rank in the army. Amongst
democratic nations it often happens that an officer has no property but
his pay, and no distinction but that of military honors: consequently as
often as his duties change, his fortune changes, and he becomes, as
it were, a new man. What was only an appendage to his position in
aristocratic armies, has thus become the main point, the basis of his
whole condition. Under the old French monarchy officers were always
called by their titles of nobility; they are now always called by
the title of their military rank. This little change in the forms of
language suffices to show that a great revolution has taken place in the
constitution of society and in that of the army. In democratic armies
the desire of advancement is almost universal: it is ardent,
tenacious, perpetual; it is strengthened by all other desires, and only
extinguished with life itself. But it is easy to see, that of all armies
in the world, those in which advancement must be slowest in time
of peace are the armies of democratic countries. As the number of
commissions is naturally limited, whilst the number of competitors is
almost unlimited, and as the strict law of equality is over all alike,
none can make rapid progress--many can make no progress at all. Thus the
desire of advancement is greater, and the opportunities of advancement
fewer, there than elsewhere. All the ambitious spirits of a democratic
army are consequently ardently desirous of war, because war makes
vacancies, and warrants the violation of that law of seniority which is
the sole privilege natural to democracy.
We thus arrive at this singular consequence, that of all armies those
most ardently desirous of war are democratic armies, and of all nations
those most fond of peace are democratic nations: and, what makes these
facts still more extraordinary, is that these contrary effects are
produced at the same time by the principle of equality.
All the members of the community, being alike, constantly harbor the
wish, and discover the possibility, of changing their condition and
improving their welfare: this makes them fond of peace, which is
favorable to industry, and allows every man to pursue his own little
undertakings to their completion. On the other hand, this same equality
makes soldiers dream of fields of battle, by increasing the value of
military honors in the eyes of those who follow the profession of arms,
and by rendering those honors accessible to all. In either case
the inquietude of the heart is the same, the taste for enjoyment as
insatiable, the ambition of success as great--the means of gratifying it
are alone different.
These opposite tendencies of the nation and the army expose democratic
communities to great dangers. When a military spirit forsakes a people,
the profession of arms immediately ceases to be held in honor, and
military men fall to the lowest rank of the public servants: they are
little esteemed, and no longer understood. The reverse of what takes
place in aristocratic ages then occurs; the men who enter the army
are no longer those of the highest, but of the lowest rank. Military
ambition is only indulged in when no other is possible. Hence arises a
circle of cause and consequence from which it is difficult to escape:
the best part of the nation shuns the military profession because that
profession is not honored, and the profession is not honored because the
best part of the nation has ceased to follow it. It is then no matter
of surprise that democratic armies are often restless, ill-tempered,
and dissatisfied with their lot, although their physical condition is
commonly far better, and their discipline less strict than in other
countries. The soldier feels that he occupies an inferior position,
and his wounded pride either stimulates his taste for hostilities
which would render his services necessary, or gives him a turn for
revolutions, during which he may hope to win by force of arms the
political influence and personal importance now denied him. The
composition of democratic armies makes this last-mentioned danger
much to be feared. In democratic communities almost every man has some
property to preserve; but democratic armies are generally led by men
without property, most of whom have little to lose in civil broils. The
bulk of the nation is naturally much more afraid of revolutions than in
the ages of aristocracy, but the leaders of the army much less so.
Moreover, as amongst democratic nations (to repeat what I have just
remarked) the wealthiest, the best educated, and the most able men
seldom adopt the military profession, the army, taken collectively,
eventually forms a small nation by itself, where the mind is less
enlarged, and habits are more rude than in the nation at large. Now,
this small uncivilized nation has arms in its possession, and alone
knows how to use them: for, indeed, the pacific temper of the community
increases the danger to which a democratic people is exposed from the
military and turbulent spirit of the army. Nothing is so dangerous as
an army amidst an unwarlike nation; the excessive love of the whole
community for quiet continually puts its constitution at the mercy of
the soldiery. It may therefore be asserted, generally speaking, that if
democratic nations are naturally prone to peace from their interests and
their propensities, they are constantly drawn to war and revolutions
by their armies. Military revolutions, which are scarcely ever to
be apprehended in aristocracies, are always to be dreaded amongst
democratic nations. These perils must be reckoned amongst the most
formidable which beset their future fate, and the attention of statesmen
should be sedulously applied to find a remedy for the evil.
When a nation perceives that it is inwardly affected by the restless
ambition of its army, the first thought which occurs is to give this
inconvenient ambition an object by going to war. I speak no ill of
war: war almost always enlarges the mind of a people, and raises their
character. In some cases it is the only check to the excessive growth
of certain propensities which naturally spring out of the equality
of conditions, and it must be considered as a necessary corrective to
certain inveterate diseases to which democratic communities are liable.
War has great advantages, but we must not flatter ourselves that it
can diminish the danger I have just pointed out. That peril is only
suspended by it, to return more fiercely when the war is over; for
armies are much more impatient of peace after having tasted military
exploits. War could only be a remedy for a people which should always be
athirst for military glory. I foresee that all the military rulers who
may rise up in great democratic nations, will find it easier to conquer
with their armies, than to make their armies live at peace after
conquest. There are two things which a democratic people will always
find very difficult--to begin a war, and to end it.
Again, if war has some peculiar advantages for democratic nations, on
the other hand it exposes them to certain dangers which aristocracies
have no cause to dread to an equal extent. I shall only point out two
of these. Although war gratifies the army, it embarrasses and often
exasperates that countless multitude of men whose minor passions every
day require peace in order to be satisfied. Thus there is some risk
of its causing, under another form, the disturbance it is intended
to prevent. No protracted war can fail to endanger the freedom of a
democratic country. Not indeed that after every victory it is to be
apprehended that the victorious generals will possess themselves by
force of the supreme power, after the manner of Sylla and Caesar: the
danger is of another kind. War does not always give over democratic
communities to military government, but it must invariably and
immeasurably increase the powers of civil government; it must almost
compulsorily concentrate the direction of all men and the management
of all things in the hands of the administration. If it lead not to
despotism by sudden violence, it prepares men for it more gently
by their habits. All those who seek to destroy the liberties of a
democratic nation ought to know that war is the surest and the shortest
means to accomplish it. This is the first axiom of the science.
One remedy, which appears to be obvious when the ambition of soldiers
and officers becomes the subject of alarm, is to augment the number
of commissions to be distributed by increasing the army. This affords
temporary relief, but it plunges the country into deeper difficulties at
some future period. To increase the army may produce a lasting effect in
an aristocratic community, because military ambition is there confined
to one class of men, and the ambition of each individual stops, as it
were, at a certain limit; so that it may be possible to satisfy all who
feel its influence. But nothing is gained by increasing the army amongst
a democratic people, because the number of aspirants always rises in
exactly the same ratio as the army itself. Those whose claims have been
satisfied by the creation of new commissions are instantly succeeded by
a fresh multitude beyond all power of satisfaction; and even those who
were but now satisfied soon begin to crave more advancement; for the
same excitement prevails in the ranks of the army as in the civil
classes of democratic society, and what men want is not to reach a
certain grade, but to have constant promotion. Though these wants may
not be very vast, they are perpetually recurring. Thus a democratic
nation, by augmenting its army, only allays for a time the ambition
of the military profession, which soon becomes even more formidable,
because the number of those who feel it is increased. I am of opinion
that a restless and turbulent spirit is an evil inherent in the
very constitution of democratic armies, and beyond hope of cure. The
legislators of democracies must not expect to devise any military
organization capable by its influence of calming and restraining the
military profession: their efforts would exhaust their powers, before
the object is attained.
The remedy for the vices of the army is not to be found in the army
itself, but in the country. Democratic nations are naturally afraid
of disturbance and of despotism; the object is to turn these natural
instincts into well-digested, deliberate, and lasting tastes. When men
have at last learned to make a peaceful and profitable use of freedom,
and have felt its blessings--when they have conceived a manly love of
order, and have freely submitted themselves to discipline--these same
men, if they follow the profession of arms, bring into it, unconsciously
and almost against their will, these same habits and manners. The
general spirit of the nation being infused into the spirit peculiar to
the army, tempers the opinions and desires engendered by military life,
or represses them by the mighty force of public opinion. Teach but the
citizens to be educated, orderly, firm, and free, the soldiers will be
disciplined and obedient. Any law which, in repressing the turbulent
spirit of the army, should tend to diminish the spirit of freedom in the
nation, and to overshadow the notion of law and right, would defeat
its object: it would do much more to favor, than to defeat, the
establishment of military tyranny.
After all, and in spite of all precautions, a large army amidst a
democratic people will always be a source of great danger; the most
effectual means of diminishing that danger would be to reduce the army,
but this is a remedy which all nations have it not in their power to
use.