Bureaucracy and Liberty

 I spent my last term as a college undergraduate in the spring of 1969.   For many of my classmates, that was above all the time of the occupation of University Hall, a student strike, the end, for decades, of ROTC programs on the Harvard campus, and the creation of a black studies department.  I watched all t hose events as an observer, because I had just handed in my senior these on George Orwell--which anyone can read here--and the SDS reminded me much too much of the communists he had encountered in Spain and in the British intellectual community to persuade of much of anything.  And at the same time, I was taking the second half of Stanley Hoffmann's course on modern France.  I wrote another big paper for that one, on the split between Jean-Paul Sartre and Albert Camus.  Then, during that great Harvard institution Reading Period--eliminated by Larry Summers to put Harvard's fall exams before Christmas, as they were at its major competitors--I read The Old Regime and the French Revolution, by Alexis de Tocqueville, for that course.  My concentration  has never been sharper, partly perhaps because I was in denial over my coming separation from Harvard, and it had a tremendous effect on me.  Now I realize that Tocqueville, in that book--which was more perceptive than Democracy in America, which I discussed here many years ago--had identified the critical problem of the modern age.

Tocqueville wrote that book in the early 1850s, after the French Revolution's democratic experiment had given way successively to the Napoleonic Empire and two different monarchies.  The 1848 revolution had established a new Republic, in which he served as foreign minister, but it in turn had given way to the revived empire of Napoleon III in 1851.  After extensive research in the pre-revolutionary archives, Tocqueville had concluded that these changes reflected a much longer-term trend.  Centralized bureaucratic control had begun to replace traditional authority in France more than a century earlier, in the reign of Louis XIV.  Napoleon had completed this process after the brief revolutionary interlude, and his successors had kept the bureaucratic structure that he created, centered on the departmental prefects who administered the country, much like Louis XIV's provincial intendants. This had prevented the French from governing themselves in the manner of the New Englanders Tocqueville had analyzed at length in his earlier work.

Tocqueville's particular genius lay in a contradiction.  On the one hand, he saw the shape of the coming new world that was replacing the traditional society and government of the Middle Ages--but on the other hand, he was himself an aristocrat and preferred in many ways the dying society to the new one.  Tocqueville also had an English wife, and he saw 18th- and 19th century British society as the counterpoint to what was happening in France.  There the aristocracy paid most of the taxes the government collected, cooperated with the gentry to govern the country in parliament, and played leading roles in local government as well.  No national bureaucracy had developed, as in France.  Tocqueville evidently believed that medieval France had functioned in much the same way, and claimed that the meetings of the Estates General during that period showed lots of cooperation between the nobility and the common third estate.  He even found village democracy in medieval France that reminded him of the New England town meetings he had observed first hand.

I realized at once while reading the book that his whole argument contradicted most of what I had been taught for fifteen years or so.  Bureaucracy had replaced town meetings in most of the United States by the 1960s, and thanks to FDR and LBJ, we now had a centralized bureaucracy that regulated many areas of American life.  I had grown up regarding all this as a good thing--yet I also knew that a vocal minority of Americans, the Goldwater supporters who were still gaining ground within the Republican Party, violently disagreed.  The last half century have taught me a lot more about bureaucracy and its discontents.

Bureaucracy represents impersonal authority based upon written rules, enforced, in theory, for the common good.  The human mind can impartially determine what would be best for everyone, and the human spirit can respond emotionally to achieving it.  These are powerful antidotes to another key element of human nature, pure self-interest.  A respect for rules and for the common good are also essential, in my opinion, for large institutions to function effectively.  Yet any attempt to sustain a bureaucracy based upon these principles runs into big obstacles also inherent in human nature.  Bureaucrats can be powerfully affected by their own self-interest or by their obligations to their families.  The Ottoman Empire created an exceptionally effective and long-lived bureaucracy by kidnapping Christian male babies and raising and training them to run both its civil bureaucracy and its military.  The initially had no other loyalty.  Bureaucracies in Prussia and eventually in Britain developed remarkable esprit de corps, as did some United States bureaucracies.  Eventually however that esprit de corps can become based upon institutional and personal self-interest, not on the values that initially defined the institution.

And meanwhile, bureaucracy arouses the opposition of powerful groups outside it.  In early modern France those were the clergy and the aristocracy--the groups Tocqueville thought had initially kept the monarchy in check but lost power under Louis XIV and then finally under Napoleon and his successors. Tocqueville did not live to see the rise of great industrialists, who fought bureaucratic restraints upon their activities and accumulated enough wealth to exercise enormous influence over elected governments.  Now great industrialists have given way to all-powerful financial institutions, and to the tech aristocracy, which seems about to take over much of the economic activity of the United States.  For the last half century such institutions have been winning their war on the American regulatory bureaucracy that FDR created, while essentially taking over both political parties with campaign contributions.  And the United States now has a president who believes that the entire role of the federal government is to reward himself and his friends while punishing his enemies. 

The growth of bureaucracy was intimately connected to the spread of education, particularly higher education.  Here another paradox has emerged.  Education makes effective bureaucrats, but it can also make more effective pursuit of self-interest.  The elite American higher educational system, of which I was a product (see above), began by training clergymen, and then trained professionals.  As late as the 1960s it seems to have turned out more doctors and lawyers than anything else.  It also turned out more academics to staff our vastly expanded university system.  Now, more than half the class of graduating seniors at Harvard goes into tech or finance, the newly dominant sectors of our (and the world) economy.  They are not using their highly developed intellects for the common good.

I remain in some respects an idealist, and I really believe human beings are much happier when they live within institutions that serve a clearly beneficial purpose, and whose rules insure that we can rely upon them for what we need.  My reverence for certain earlier eras, noted last week by google AI, stems largely from that.  Yet I know now that movement in that direction eventually provokes an at least equal and opposite reaction--particularly in relatively prosperous times when resources are plentiful.  We must not try, I think, to tie our own personal happiness to the broader human political and social struggle between community and self-interest.  Even if we could live forever--and we cannot--that struggle will never end, and ground gained in one era will be lost in the next.  Yet the human endeavor--looked at a s a whole--remains inspirational.