CONNECTIONS: Touring an America Tocqueville Could Fathom

Peter Foley/European Pressphoto Agency
Bernard-Henri Lévy at the New York Public Library on Wednesday.

"This entire book was written in the grip of a kind of religious terror," Alexis de Tocqueville wrote in his introduction to "Democracy in America." It is difficult to believe. Religious terror? Tocqueville, an aristocratic French lawyer, wrote his classic text after a nine-month visit to the United States in 1831. And far from being saturated with terror, it is a refined, detached series of reflections on the effects of American democracy on character, commerce, culture and belief: why the arts in America are more concerned with utility than beauty, why Americans tend to be restless, why democracy encourages a passionate spirituality.

But what occasioned the terror, Tocqueville informs us, was his conviction that American democracy grew out of an "irresistible revolution" that had been unfolding for centuries, leaving behind ruins of the old world while erecting a strange new one in which equality is the guiding principle. That revolution had touched and terrorized France; in varying degrees it was coursing through Europe. But it was in America that it had taken on its purest form. Tocqueville sensed the inevitability of its influence and the trauma of its coming transformations: in democracy much is lost even as much is gained.

Yet despite the passage of more than 170 years, and the triumph of democratic ideals throughout the West, sentiments of religious terror in the face of democratic revolution are still in the air, though often felt with far less sympathy than Tocqueville expressed. That "irresistible revolution" has now even become an explicit aspect of American policy, inspiring accusations - not least in France - of both utopianism and imperialism. And while some of the energy behind contemporary anti-Americanism is spurred by objections to particular policies, its passion is also driven by the same terror that Tocqueville felt as he watched early democratic institutions displace older orders.

Given that passion, it was a stroke of genius for The Atlantic Monthly to renew the Tocquevillian project by commissioning the distinguished French philosopher, journalist and gadfly Bernard-Henri Lévy to repeat Tocqueville's journey through America and chronicle his observations over the next several months in the magazine before they appear in book form early next year.

The first installment of his account, in the May issue of The Atlantic, highlights some of the threads that will be woven through the travelogue. It seems that Mr. Lévy, like Tocqueville, is often uneasy about America but always entranced by it. And at least so far, he can claim, like Tocqueville, that his account "is not precisely tailored to anyone's point of view."

While Tocqueville deduces American character from abstract principles, Mr. Lévy wants to discover the abstract principles through observation of the American character. So the elegant logic that Tocqueville uses to outline democracy's effects is replaced in Mr. Lévy's first installment by the accumulation of anecdote and carefully observed description.

Visiting the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., Mr. Lévy ponders the willful deceptions of an invented American past. In the stubborn autonomy of the Amish, he sees something of American exceptionalism. He watches with ironic dismay as Tom Daschle, then a senator, and his family dance with a Lakota Indian tribe in South Dakota, and sees a sad masquerade.

And stopping by the side of Interstate 94 in Michigan to relieve himself in a field, he is accosted by a policeman who insists that he "keep moving," an American commandment, Mr. Lévy notes. But when Mr. Lévy tells him that he is a Frenchman following the path of Tocqueville, the discussion with the officer turns affable - an encounter, Mr. Lévy says, that poses a "magnificent challenge" to those who inflate American Francophobia, which he never once encountered in his travels.

What is almost wholly missing in his account, in fact, are the kinds of condescending references to American kitsch and materialism that can become reflexive in such travelogues. There are times, in this first installment, when there is a reliance on received sentiment or when Mr. Lévy seems to misread an event: a car race in Knoxville hardly seems a prime example of the bloodthirsty "hellish side of American society." There is much, too, that is less than flattering: the grim edginess of the prison at Rikers Island, the anti-Semitic outbursts of an American Indian activist. And as he is taken over the Grand Canyon by a young guide in a helicopter, he is dismayed to be told that there are two scientific theories about its origins: it was created either by erosion over millions of years or by the effects of the biblical flood, 6,000 ago.

There is much, too, in which his own surprise is as revealing as what he sees. The prevalence of American flags is a shock; France, Mr. Lévy says, almost shuns its tricolor flag. When visiting members of the Arab community in Dearborn, Mich., he is impressed with how the American "we" has taken root: "on the topic of immigration, Europe should take lessons from America," he said in a talk at the New York Public Library on Wednesday night.

And in the deserted factories and office buildings of Cleveland and Detroit and Lackawanna, N.Y., he sees an enigma about America, something missing that is taken for granted in Europe: "a love of cities." He worries, too, about what he sees as a growing taste for rivalrous political ideologies; he has seen the dangers of such sweeping convictions in his own country's past.

The strands are still too miscellaneous and varied to discern all the themes that will emerge. But Mr. Lévy expects his observations to be far more controversial in France than they will be here: few of the standard villains, he suggests, will appear.

As for the religious terror that Tocqueville felt, and others now feel, in the face of democratic change, alleviating that may be beyond any writer's powers.

Connections, a critic's perspective on arts and ideas, appears every other Monday.

The French still think we care about what they think, I think...

The one constant from the Euros is the intolerance to religion and faith. Other than faith in socialism, that is.

And stopping by the side of Interstate 94 in Michigan to relieve himself in a field, he is accosted by a policeman who insists that he "keep moving," an American commandment, Mr. Lévy notes.

I doubt if you can stop for a non-emergency on the French autoroutes, either. According to their website the speed limit is 80 mph. Only NYTimes readers would fall for this kind of stuff.

I enjoyed "Democracy in America" and didn't find terror of any kind in it. I do agree that the French are afraid of us though. After being mistreated and ignored by a hotel staff in Bologne sur Mer in 1995, attitudes magically changed when we came down to breakfast garbed in CNN News and Sports polos and caps (picked up at the Turner Store before we left Atlanta, for just such an occasion) and the hotel believed we were going to expose them on TV.

Listening to a Frenchman talking about how we just don't understand the Europeans is like listening to a guy in a bar tell you that his first three wives didn't understand him. Of course they did. That is why they are his ex-wives.

When visiting members of the Arab community in Dearborn, Mich., he is impressed with how the American "we" has taken root: "on the topic of immigration, Europe should take lessons from America," he said in a talk at the New York Public Library on Wednesday night.

Muslim immigration ping

We're all just a bunch of country bumpkins here, doncha know...it is truly amazing that idiots like us, our fathers and our grandfathers managed to save France's butt twice in the 20th.

Yeah, I find it a little dismaying too that intelligent people actually buy into the "millions of years" hooey.

Yep. It's patently obvious that any being with Godly powers would be unable to resist fooling His creations by faking overwhelming evidence of an old earth.
</sarc>

I like fresh air...open space...friendly people...down home cookin'...personal freedom...low taxes...give me the country anytime!

I'm with you on that!

"Ilike fresh air...open space...down home cookin...personal freedom...give me the country anytime!"

Yeah, you can tell he wrote it in 1831.

"He worries, too, about what he sees as a growing taste for rivalrous political ideologies; he has seen the dangers of such sweeping convictions in his own country's past. "

Thanks, NY Slimes, yes we all know it is only your opinion that should matter. I'm sure the guy didn't say this it is just the slimes trying to take the high ground.

Thanks for the ping. I found this quite an amusing article. I'm not sure where to begin.

The prevalence of American flags is a shock; France, Mr. Lévy says, almost shuns its tricolor flag.

Tricolored?

I thought the French flag was white!

As long as we all think like Euro Socialist Weenies it's ok--we don't want any dissenting opinions around heah!

I thought the French flag was white!

LOL!

When I took French in high school, the teacher made us create propaganda posters to encourage other students to take foreign language. My poster was "the history of the French flag"...

She didn't like all the white flags in there, in between things like the Nazi flag, the Vichy flag, etc. Cheese-eatin' Surrender-Monkey Grin

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