Democracy In America, vol 2 | Page 9

mankind is composed, and he discerns
in each man the resemblances which assimilate him to all his fellows,
and the differences which distinguish him from them. God, therefore,
stands in no need of general ideas; that is to say, he is never sensible of
the necessity of collecting a considerable number of analogous objects
under the same form for greater convenience in thinking. Such is,
however, not the case with man. If the human mind were to attempt to
examine and pass a judgment on all the individual cases before it, the

immensity of detail would soon lead it astray and bewilder its
discernment: in this strait, man has recourse to an imperfect but
necessary expedient, which at once assists and demonstrates his
weakness. Having superficially considered a certain number of objects,
and remarked their resemblance, he assigns to them a common name,
sets them apart, and proceeds onwards.
General ideas are no proof of the strength, but rather of the
insufficiency of the human intellect; for there are in nature no beings
exactly alike, no things precisely identical, nor any rules
indiscriminately and alike applicable to several objects at once. The
chief merit of general ideas is, that they enable the human mind to pass
a rapid judgment on a great many objects at once; but, on the other
hand, the notions they convey are never otherwise than incomplete, and
they always cause the mind to lose as much in accuracy as it gains in
comprehensiveness. As social bodies advance in civilization, they
acquire the knowledge of new facts, and they daily lay hold almost
unconsciously of some particular truths. The more truths of this kind a
man apprehends, the more general ideas is he naturally led to conceive.
A multitude of particular facts cannot be seen separately, without at last
discovering the common tie which connects them. Several individuals
lead to the perception of the species; several species to that of the genus.
Hence the habit and the taste for general ideas will always be greatest
amongst a people of ancient cultivation and extensive knowledge.
But there are other reasons which impel men to generalize their ideas,
or which restrain them from it.
The Americans are much more addicted to the use of general ideas than
the English, and entertain a much greater relish for them: this appears
very singular at first sight, when it is remembered that the two nations
have the same origin, that they lived for centuries under the same laws,
and that they still incessantly interchange their opinions and their
manners. This contrast becomes much more striking still, if we fix our
eyes on our own part of the world, and compare together the two most
enlightened nations which inhabit it. It would seem as if the mind of the
English could only tear itself reluctantly and painfully away from the
observation of particular facts, to rise from them to their causes; and
that it only generalizes in spite of itself. Amongst the French, on the
contrary, the taste for general ideas would seem to have grown to so

ardent a passion, that it must be satisfied on every occasion. I am
informed, every morning when I wake, that some general and eternal
law has just been discovered, which I never heard mentioned before.
There is not a mediocre scribbler who does not try his hand at
discovering truths applicable to a great kingdom, and who is very ill
pleased with himself if he does not succeed in compressing the human
race into the compass of an article. So great a dissimilarity between two
very enlightened nations surprises me. If I again turn my attention to
England, and observe the events which have occurred there in the last
half-century, I think I may affirm that a taste for general ideas increases
in that country in proportion as its ancient constitution is weakened.
The state of civilization is therefore insufficient by itself to explain
what suggests to the human mind the love of general ideas, or diverts it
from them. When the conditions of men are very unequal, and
inequality itself is the permanent state of society, individual men
gradually become so dissimilar that each class assumes the aspect of a
distinct race: only one of these classes is ever in view at the same
instant; and losing sight of that general tie which binds them all within
the vast bosom of mankind, the observation invariably rests not on man,
but on certain men. Those who live in this aristocratic state of society
never, therefore, conceive very general ideas respecting themselves,
and that is enough to imbue them with an habitual distrust of such ideas,
and an instinctive aversion of them. He, on the contrary, who inhabits a
democratic country, sees around him, one very hand, men