[D66] Why democracies fail | NYT

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https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/05/opinion/why-democracies-fail.html

Democracy Is for the Gods
By
Costica Bradatan
nytimes.com
7 min
View Original

It should be no surprise that humans cannot sustain it.

Mr. Bradatan is a professor and author.

“Why do democracies fail?”

We’ve heard that question a lot in the past few years, in books, on
opinion pages and cable news shows, and in an increasingly anxious
public debate. But I almost always find myself answering the question
with another question: Why shouldn’t they?

History — the only true guide we have on this matter — has shown us that
democracy is rare and fleeting. It flares up almost mysteriously in some
fortunate place or another, and then fades out, it seems, just as
mysteriously. Genuine democracy is difficult to achieve and once
achieved, fragile. In the grand scheme of human events, it is the
exception, not the rule.

Despite democracy’s elusive nature, its core idea is disarmingly simple:
As members of a community, we should have an equal say in how we conduct
our life together. “In democracy as it ought to be,” writes Paul
Woodruff in his 2006 book “First Democracy: The Challenge of an Ancient
Idea,” “all adults are free to chime in, to join the conversation on how
they should arrange their life together. And no one is left free to
enjoy the unchecked power that leads to arrogance and abuse.” Have you
ever heard of anything more reasonable? But who says we are reasonable?

Fundamentally, humans are not predisposed to living democratically. One
can even make the point that democracy is “unnatural” because it goes
against our vital instincts and impulses. What’s most natural to us,
just as to any living creature, is to seek to survive and reproduce. And
for that purpose, we assert ourselves — relentlessly, unwittingly,
savagely — against others: We push them aside, overstep them, overthrow
them, even crush them if necessary. Behind the smiling facade of human
civilization, there is at work the same blind drive toward
self-assertion that we find in the animal realm.

Just scratch the surface of the human community and soon you will find
the horde. It is the “unreasoning and unreasonable human nature,” writes
the zoologist Konrad Lorenz in his book “On Aggression,” that pushes
“two political parties or religions with amazingly similar programs of
salvation to fight each other bitterly,” just as it compels “an
Alexander or a Napoleon to sacrifice millions of lives in his attempt to
unite the world under his scepter.” World history, for the most part, is
the story of excessively self-assertive individuals in search of various
scepters.

It doesn’t help matters that, once such an individual has been
enthroned, others are only too eager to submit to him. It is as though,
in his illustrious presence, they realize they have too much freedom on
their hands, which they find suddenly oppressive. In Dostoevsky’s “The
Brothers Karamazov,” the Grand Inquisitor says: “There is no more
ceaseless or tormenting care for man, as long as he remains free, than
to find someone to bow down to as soon as possible.” And what a sweet
surrender! Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler and
Mussolini were all smooth talkers, charmers of crowds and great
political seducers.

Their relationship with the crowd was particularly intimate. For in
regimes of this kind, whenever power is used and displayed, the effect
is profoundly erotic. What we see, for instance, in “The Triumph of the
Will” (thanks, in good measure, to Leni Riefenstahl’s perverse genius),
is people experiencing a sort of collective ecstasy. The seducer’s
pronouncements may be empty, even nonsensical, but that matters little;
each one brings the aroused crowd to new heights of pleasure. He can do
whatever he likes with the enraptured followers now. They will submit to
any of their master’s fancies.

This is, roughly, the human context against which the democratic idea
emerges. No wonder that it is a losing battle. Genuine democracy doesn’t
make grand promises, does not seduce or charm, but only aspires to a
certain measure of human dignity. It is not erotic. Compared to what
happens in populist regimes, it is a frigid affair. Who in his right
mind would choose the dull responsibilities of democracy over the
instant gratification a demagogue will provide? Frigidity over boundless
ecstasy? And yet, despite all this, the democratic idea has come close
to embodiment a few times in history — moments of grace when humanity
almost managed to surprise itself.

One element that is needed for democracy to emerge is a sense of
humility. A humility at once collective and internalized, penetrating,
even visionary, yet true. The kind of humility that is comfortable in
its own skin, one that, because it knows its worth and its limits, can
even laugh at itself. A humility that, having seen many a crazy thing
and learned to tolerate them, has become wise and patient. To be a true
democrat, in other words, is to understand that when it comes to the
business of living together, you are no better than the others, and to
act accordingly. To live democratically is, mainly, to deal in failure
and imperfection, and to entertain few illusions about human society.
The institutions of democracy, its norms and mechanisms, should embody a
vision of human beings as deficient, flawed and imperfect.


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