Self-knowledge in a democratic age requires a study of Tocqueville and Nietzsche. Few other thinkers can better illuminate the promise and perils of modern democratic life. Owing to the precarious position liberal democracy finds itself in, this book is timely—and yet, it is fundamentally untimely, because its author challenges the reigning values of contemporary society. The contrarian nature of this book will prevent it from garnering universal acclaim in the academy. This failure, however, may be what makes it a success in the eyes of a few. Many will be compelled to disagree with parts of Eisenberg's book (myself included), but one cannot help but admire his desire to make a last stand, to “go down with guns blazing and flag flying.” An infamous philosopher once said that such efforts may remind future generations of what mankind has lost and may serve as a beacon of light for those who seek to keep alive “the works of humanity” in dark and dangerous times. We therefore owe a debt of gratitude to Eisenberg for provoking us to think—to think differently—even when such actions may be unpopular and controversial.
The first chapter begins with a genealogical account of the democratization of humanity. It is a somewhat familiar tale of how Machiavelli inaugurated a radical break with ancient thinkers. The novelty of Eisenberg's retelling, however, is his focus is on how modern philosophic ideas effaced genuine human variation and led to democracy. The moderns are blamed for having a “reductive approach” that oversimplifies human nature. They unduly neglect the virtue of aristocratic man and present a “one-sided exaltation of democratic man” (63). Tocqueville and Nietzsche are exceptions—they understood what was lost in the democratic revolution. Eisenberg's account of the democratization of humanity is noticeably different from Tocqueville's more sociological narrative regarding the providential march of democracy, as well as Nietzsche's more anti-Christian genealogy of modern democracy. Eisenberg pays greater attention to philosophic ideas, particularly the seeds sown by modern political philosophers.
After an illuminating account of how the human soul has been reoriented and degraded by modern political philosophy, one arrives at what every Tocqueville and Nietzsche enthusiast was waiting for—a thoughtful comparative study of these thinkers on the question of democracy (63). Eisenberg aptly notes that Tocqueville sought to moderate the democratic spirit and Nietzsche sought radically to overcome it. Tocqueville believed there was no returning to aristocracy, that justice and providence make this impossible and undesirable, while Nietzsche sought to prepare the ground for a new aristocracy (69, 291–93). Rather than reproduce the common, albeit important, condemnation of Nietzsche's irresponsible call for a new aristocracy, Eisenberg calls on us to check our democratic prejudices against aristocracy and to reexamine the human type that has been displaced.
One of the leitmotifs of the book is that liberal democratic multiculturalism celebrates diversity but ironically leads to conformism. Eisenberg provocatively states that while multiculturalism appears to yield “a tremendous amount of diversity,” it in fact produces “a homogeneity rooted in the acceptance that there is no higher or lower” (12, 95). Eisenberg admits that in past societies homogeneity was often brutally enforced, but he maintains that in the aristocratic world “diversity was much more far reaching and genuine” (12). The hierarchical ordering of different aristocratic societies, as well as the contrasting tables of good and bad of each society, produced highly varied communities. The Spartans and Athenians belonged to a similar Greek culture, but they were very different political communities. The spirit animating modern liberal democratic life is that there is no hierarchical ordering of human beings, no fundamentally different set of values (92–95). The obvious advantage of the liberal democratic hegemony is that slavery and other forms of inequality are seen as fundamentally unjust. Nevertheless, Eisenberg is at pains to show that something is lost in our liberal democratic reorientation. Our virtues of toleration and cosmopolitanism surreptitiously lead to a world where everyone is the same. Although there are cultural and culinary differences among countries, at bottom all are simply equal bourgeois consumers. There is no Sparta or Athens—all the world is becoming America. One may vehemently disagree with Eisenberg's narrative, and challenge his claims, but his perspective is worth consideration. If we genuinely care about human plurality, we must think through some of these inconvenient claims.
The Chestertonian quality of this book, its desire to speak truth to power, so to speak, is both a virtue and a vice. It is a virtue because it is a provocative attempt to thoroughly think through important topics facing us today. Eisenberg is willing to play the advocatus diaboli, to argue against the canonization of prevailing ideas. Nevertheless, as La Rochefoucauld reminds us, our virtues can often be disguised vices. Reading Eisenberg reminds one of Beaumont's complaint of Tocqueville—that he always took a gloomy view of things. Although Eisenberg's pessimism is a refreshing alternative to the reigning faith in progress, one wonders if he is too quick to bemoan our modern age. Moreover, Eisenberg criticizes democratic relativism and nonjudgmentalism and yet he himself refrains from providing us with a definitive ranking between Tocqueville and Nietzsche. Eisenberg leaves us with a “seemingly hopeless alternative” between Tocqueville and Nietzsche: “either the apparently futile task of moderating democracy or the ostensibly impossible task of overcoming it.” Eisenberg is right to remind us that “the solution to any problem presupposes an awareness of the problem” (293), but one is left wanting answers: Who is the superior thinker—Tocqueville or Nietzsche? Whose analysis and prescriptions should we follow? Is liberal democracy worth saving? Perhaps the reader's desire for answers is an immoderate democratic demand and Eisenberg's unwillingness to rank Tocqueville and Nietzsche is an aristocratic propriety reminiscent of Montesquieu's wise words: “one must not always so exhaust a subject that one leaves nothing for the reader to do. It is not a question of making him read but of making him think.” Thus, one may forgive Eisenberg's pessimism and balanced nonjudgmentalism because it wakes us from our slumber and provokes us to think.
In sum, Eisenberg's heterodox study is bold, unflinching, arresting, and, most of all, refreshing. His thoughtful and well-written book will serve as a provocative challenge to our democratic faith. As Pierre Manent has reminded us, if we want to love democracy well, we must love it moderately. Eisenberg's book helps us moderate our excessive love of democracy. This book is not simply edifying, however. It deals with philosophy and thus with dangerous ideas. In a time when liberal democracy is vulnerable and the talk of postliberal “regime change” is growing, some may want to discourage—perhaps even ban—the reading of this contrarian book. Libraries, therefore, would do well to add it to the now popular “forbidden books” display.
