In the previous section, I attempted to explain John Locke’s revolutionary teachings regarding politics and what it means to be human. I tried to show that Locke understands man as an isolated individual, bent on acquisition, and that this understanding of man undermines the significance of honor in human life. My task now is to show how Locke’s philosophy has affected the modern world using America as an example. As I mentioned previously, the American founding was particularly swayed by Lockean thought, and so it stands to reason that we would see his influence in this country. Though the American Founders undeniably alluded to Locke in America’s founding documents, his philosophy goes beyond structural matters. Locke’s influence penetrates to the depths of the American mind.

Few have commented so thoroughly on the American people as did Alexis de Tocqueville in the 19th century. And, while he does not mention Locke by name, Tocqueville certainly perceives the Lockean notions of individualism, materialism, and equality in the American people. I am indebted to Sharon Krause, who dedicates a chapter to this subject in Liberalism with Honor, for directing my studies towards Tocqueville and his view of honor.1 In her book, she goes into greater detail on these issues than I will be able to do at present.

In congruence with Locke’s teaching on the autonomy of man and the primacy of his desire to preserve himself, Tocqueville finds an American “individualism,” that “calm and considered feeling which disposes each citizen to isolate himself from the mass of his fellow citizens and withdraw into the circle of family and friends.”2 Quite unlike the aristocratic peoples of Europe, Americans tend to see themselves as only loosely connected to one another. They do not see their good as inextricably linked to the common good, as earlier peoples did, and so they have a tendency to turn their thoughts inward. Krause explains that the “democratization of the social structure ... liberates individuals from earlier relations of corporate attachment, family lineage, and dependence on superiors.”3 The democratic man is considerably more autonomous than his feudal society predecessor, who was dependent on his family and others. Tocqueville contends that people in aristocratic ages had a feeling of shared dependence, which kept their focus forever outward, such that they were “inclined to forget about themselves.”4 Seeing their good in the community’s good, they held a broader notion of what was their own. Indeed, Tocqueville notes that aristocracy “links everybody, from peasant to king, in one long chain” but that democracy “breaks the chain and frees each link.”5 Tocqueville suggests this distinct structure has facilitated the isolation of the American individual and his unparalleled self-interest.

In a passage near the end of his work, Tocqueville predicts what the democratic individual may become: “He exists in and for himself, and though he still may have a family, one can at least say that he has not got a fatherland.”6 This rather sad prophecy speaks directly to the problem that individualism poses to honor. As I have previously argued, the love of honor proceeds from the defense of what is one’s own. By turning man’s thoughts inward, individualism reduces the scope of what he is willing to protect. He loses sight of the connection between his own good and the good of the community. The very word “fatherland” evokes an organic relationship between the community and the citizen. It implies that the community has a claim on the citizen’s affections, not unlike a father’s claim on the affections of his child. This kin-like bond is so strong that the citizen is willing to give his life for his community. Relying on a contractual understanding of government, the Lockean individual denies having an organic relationship to the city. Focused on his own person, he does not connect his honor with the protection of his neighbors or his country. The individual does not consider his honor linked to a sense of solidarity. After all, the Lockean right to self-preservation is not accompanied by any substantive duty to preserve others.

Individualism changes the nature of reputation, also affecting the love of honor. In my introductory remarks, I suggested that honor has to do with making a name for oneself and that Achilles serves as the quintessential example of that pursuit. By freeing the individual from his communal bonds, individualism promotes language’s namelessness. Paradoxically, individualism at once isolates the individual and absorbs him into the great mass of society. Without a local community, the individual is allowed to float in anonymity. He is unconcerned with his reputation because he has none, and he sees no opportunity to gain one. Tocqueville explains that, in aristocratic societies, “No man’s social standing is so low … that he has a stage of his own, and no man can, by his own obscurity, avoid praise or blame.”7 The love of honor depends on the strong sense of community common to aristocratic societies, and thus it diffuses in democracies.

As Tocqueville points out, individualism contributes beyond horizontal namelessness. It also cuts off the individual from his ancestors and descendants, creating a situation of vertical anonymity. Of democratic societies, Tocqueville writes, “Those who have gone before are easily forgotten, and no one gives a thought to those who will follow. All a man’s interests are limited to those near himself.” In aristocratic societies, by contrast, “A man almost always knows about his ancestors and respects them; his imagination extends to his great-grandchildren, and he loves them.”8 Aristocratic peoples feel connected not only to their communities but also to their ancestors and descendents. They revere the names of those who have gone before and seek to do great things so that they too might be remembered. The poet Thomas Macaulay describes this way of thinking by using the legendary Roman, Horatius: the hero asks, “And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods?”9 Horatius is able to think this way because he feels a close connection to his fathers, and he presumably believes that his descendents will feel a similar connection.

Democratic peoples, by contrast, are tempted to think that they will not be remembered, and so they are less concerned with making or preserving a name that will survive them. While ambitious men are traditionally concerned with such things, Tocqueville finds democracies’ ambitious men are not concerned with “the interests and judgment of posterity.” Instead, “They are much more in love with success than with glory.”10 Cut off from the past and future, Americans have a proclivity to think only of the present. Tocqueville concludes his prophetic remarks by saying,

Isolated and anonymous, the democratic man of the future is not only unwilling but also incapable of making a name for himself. He is precluded from the primary component of the love of honor.

Tocqueville finds parallels to American materialism in Locke’s teaching on the primacy of man’s desire to preserve himself and to acquire property. Krause indicates this materialism conflicts with honor, calling our attention to several of Tocqueville’s comments on the strength of the American desire for wealth.12 For instance, Tocqueville writes of Americans that a “breathless cupidity perpetually distracts the mind of man from the pleasures of the imagination and the labors of the intellect and urges it on to nothing but the pursuit of wealth.”13 On this description, the American corresponds to Locke’s injunction that industry (the pursuit of wealth) and not fancy (the imagination) should be preferred by the rational individual.14 In contrast to Hamilton’s “noblest minds,” Tocqueville tells us that Americans’ chief motivation for action is commerce.15 Moreover, this motivation is encouraged, as the “American will describe as noble and estimable ambition that which our medieval ancestors would have called base cupidity.”16 Again, Tocqueville’s American sounds remarkably similar to the Lockean individual, who has been convinced that greed is not a vice but a virtue.17

Tocqueville explains that this motivation also affects Americans’ conception of honor. He tells us that instead of the traditional notion of honor, they tend to have what may be called “commercial honor.” While Americans may have less martial courage, they do have commercial courage. They are willing to take great risks for the sake of profit, and on losing a vast sum of money, they have the resilience to recover it quickly.18 As Krause notes, the idea of “commercial honor” would have been a contradiction in terms to Tocqueville’s predecessors.19 On traditional accounts, like the one given by Shakespeare’s King Henry, the desire for honor is associated with disregard or even scorn for material things. Indeed, the love of honor may even cause one “to scorn life itself.”20 Time and again, Tocqueville admonishes Americans for their concern with “petty and banal pleasures.”21 He seems to see Americans as inexorably practical, concerned first with their own self-preservation and with their property.

Tocqueville famously tempers his critique of the American preoccupation with self-interest by arguing that it is enlightened in the American form, which he calls “self-interest rightly understood.” He argues that Americans see it as in their interest “to sacrifice voluntarily for the good of the State a part of their time and their wealth.”22 While this may persuade otherwise self-interested Americans to make sacrifices for the common good in a number of situations, Krause points out that it is insufficient to persuade a soldier to give his life for his country or for a citizen to stand up to tyranny.23 To illustrate her point, Krause quotes Pierre Manent, who says, “The doctrine of self-interest rightly understood is suitable for men where no deadly peril, domestic or foreign, threatens it. It could not inspire the Gettysburg Address.”24 Manent calls our attention back to the problem of the soldier in combat. If material things are the highest human goods, we cannot count on a rational soldier to give his life for his country. If honor is in part concerned with living for something beyond oneself, then materialism must be considered its antithesis. Though Tocqueville identifies this as an American vice, Manent reminds us that many Americans have avoided it.

A final congruity between Locke’s teaching and Tocqueville’s America is the concern with equality. Though equality has been overlooked thus far, it is still an important aspect of honor’s decline. Locke, Jefferson, and Lincoln famously prize equality. In fact, it is somewhere said that equality is the God of the American political universe. Of the Americans’ attitude toward equality, Tocqueville writes, “Their passion for equality is ardent, insatiable, eternal, and invincible. They want equality in freedom, and if they cannot have that, they still want equality in slavery. They will put up with poverty, servitude, and barbarism, but they will not endure aristocracy.”25

Jefferson meant only equality with respect to certain inalienable rights, and the notion has degenerated significantly since his time. As Tocqueville indicates, Americans have come to demand the absolute equality of persons such that men are almost afraid of making a name for themselves. The American passion for equality has made it socially unacceptable to assert one’s natural superiority. For instance, political candidates today often stress their similarity with their constituents rather than the attributes that distinguish them as capable leaders. And likewise, the public prefers the candidate with whom they could comfortably share a beer. This populist trend in American politics values anti-intellectualism and deeply distrusts so-called “elites.” Thus political candidates go to great lengths to distance themselves from all pretenses of elitism. This contradicts the Founders’ hope that representative democracy would allow rule by a natural aristocracy. They hoped that representative democracy would allow for an aristocracy based on merit. Though Americans initially only opposed class-based aristocracy, they have come to resist even natural aristocracy.

Consequently, an insidious form of humility has crept into the American population. Americans have come to indulge themselves with only the basest of passions in order to avoid any pretense of claiming superiority. Tocqueville writes, “[F]ar from thinking that we should council humility to our contemporaries, I wish men would try to give them a higher idea of themselves and of humanity; humility is far from healthy for them; what they most lack, in my view, is pride.”26 The notion of pride will be taken up later in greater detail, but even here it can be seen as a component of honor. The concept of honor depends on both human equality and inequality. Jefferson is right to tell us of the importance of our equality, as this reminds us that men are not apes. By recognizing our humanness, we come to understand our importance as humans. However, we should be able to move from this fundamental equality to acknowledge human inequalities. Some people are better equipped to rule, and this should be acknowledged. To make a name for oneself is by definition to assert one’s superiority, though it is not to deny the fundamental equality of humans. Aristocratic societies are naturally hierarchical, and so they are more conducive to the love of honor. Democratic societies tend to demand so much equality that honor becomes a meaningless or even dangerous pursuit. Americans would do well to recognize the vices that tempt them.

In spite of Tocqueville’s critical observations, Americans have proven themselves time and again free from Locke’s world. Not long after Tocqueville left America, Union soldiers marched off to war singing, “As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.” This could not have been the song of one who lives in Lockeland. As Pierre Manent commented, the doctrine of self-interest properly understood cannot explain the “Gettysburg Address.” Though Americans may exhibit individualism, materialism, and egalitarianism, it is important to note that they have never given themselves wholly to those vices. Despite such inclinations, Americans have consistently shown their concern for higher things, honor being among them. They have given their lives in America’s wars and their resources in the form of foreign aid, defying simple self-interest.

I would like to offer two reasons for this. First, Americans have never given themselves entirely to Lockean or modern thinking. Even the more enlightened Jefferson famously listed Aristotle, Cicero, Locke, and Sidney as the authorities who he considered in writing the Declaration, which was meant to be an expression of the American mind.27 By listing two Ancients and two Moderns, Jefferson, I think, reveals some tension. Despite Locke’s influence, Americans have persisted in thinking like Ancients. As Peter Lawler has persuasively argued, Christianity in general and Evangelicalism in particular have played important roles in keeping “Lockean modes of thought” in a “Locke box.”28 Krause echoes Lawler when she writes of religion contributing to honor’s persistence, since it “elevates human ambitions beyond the level of material desire.”29 Religion prevents us from entering Lockeland and thus allows us to appreciate the importance of honor.30 Secondly, to the extent that Locke has escaped his box, American displays of the love of honor illustrate that honor is part of what it means to be human. And, while it can be suppressed, it cannot be conquered. Humans, to the extent that they are human, will continue to desire honor, however much it has been stifled.§