One of the deep conundrums of the modern human soul emerges around the notion of equality: it feels shameful, even a touch insane, not to be an egalitarian and yet this vision seems to imply its own varieties of madness: truth is to be determined by public opinion; expert views have no special legitimacy; the merit of a book, a work of art or an idea is defined by its popularity — and to suggest otherwise is to be labeled the worst of all things: an 'elitist'. Are we not allowed to lament at all the loss of dignity, grace, elegance, refinement and even good manners that the equality of all seems to bring with it? If we suffer from these quiet but serious worries, Alexis de Tocqueville is our great friend and helper. Born, in 1805, into an old family of the Normandy nobility, he was a political philosopher and, in his later years, briefly, French Foreign Minister. He was an ardent democrat and — at the same time — terrified of certain tendencies in democracy. These fears came into focus when, in his twenties, he spent nine months in the US — officially on a mission to study America’s prison system, but really to study its people. In the 1830s, the US was by far the most egalitarian society in the developed world. There was no deference to social standing: a street sweeper would call a senator by their first name. Personally, de Tocqueville, found it refreshing that no-one gave him special consideration just because he was a French count, and very well dressed. But de Tocqueville soon noticed that equality also meant that no-one would give him any credit for this education. People who knew nothing would happily, and dogmatically, assert their opinions. He observed that, to them, it was inconceivable that a book that didn’t make money, or an artist who wasn't rich, could have any merits. Money and the marketplace had become the absolute arbiters of worth. Consequently it was mystifying to many of his new American friends that he could be socially exalted in France without being at all well off. The core of his dilemma is this: it is, in a way, wonderful that everyone should feel they are the equal of everyone else; de Tocqueville entirely agrees that government is legitimate to the extent it is elected by the people. And yet when it comes to many of the things that make life thoughtful, serious or meaningful democracy has no place. There are many things that shouldn’t be settled by a vote. America showed him not only political, but also cultural, democracy in action. He loved the first and reviled the second. But are they separable? If we embrace political equality are we necessarily at the same time embracing cultural equality? De Tocqueville had no final answer. His importance is that he understands our unease. He's saying, in effect, that we are right to worry. It’s not a sign of being politically anti-democratic: it’s a sign of our sensitivity to the fact that not everything outside the voting booth should be decided by a head-count.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a normal person in search of a holiday will enjoy skiing; they will delight in bracing mountain air, thrill at going down mogul dotted slopes and feel pleasantly exhausted after a day of parallel turns. This assumption about pleasure joins a host of others proposed by the modern world. Normal people will equally enjoy white wine, the Amalfi coast, the novels of Margaret Atwood, dogs, high heels, small children, Miami beach, oral sex, Banksy, marriage, Netflix and vegetarianism. We may legitimately delight in all of these elements; the issue lies in the immense pressure we are under to do so. The truth about ourselves may, in reality, be a great deal more mysterious than the official narrative allows. Whatever our commitments to decorum and good order, we may in our depths be far more distinctive than we’re supposed to be. We may — once we become sensitive to our faint tremors of authentic delight and boredom — hate the idea of jogging, the the...

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