Democracy Revisited: The Ancients and
the Moderns
Alain de Benoist
"The defenders of every kind of regime claim that it
is a democracy,” wrote George Orwell.1 This does not seem to be a recent phenomenon.
Guizot remarked in 1849: “So powerful is the sway of the word democracy, that no
government and no party dares to live, or thinks it can, without inscribing this word on
its banner.”2 This is truer today than ever before. Not everybody is a democrat, but
everybody pretends to be one. There is no dictatorship that does not regard itself as a
democracy. The former communist countries of Eastern Europe did not merely represent
themselves as democratic, as attested by their constitutions;3 they vaunted themselves as
the only real democracies, in contrast to the “formal” democracies of the West.
The near unanimity on democracy as a word, albeit not always a fact, gives the notion of
democracy a moral and almost religious content, which, from the very outset, discourages
further discussion. Many authors have recognized this problem. Thus, in 1939, T.S. Eliot
declared: “When a word acquires a universally sacred character . . . , as has today
the word democracy, I begin to wonder, whether, by all it attempts to mean, it still means
anything at all.”4 Bertrand de Jouvenel was even more explicit: “The
discussion on democracy, the arguments in its favor, or against it, point frequently to a
degree of intellectual shallowness, because it is not quite clear what this discussion is
all about.”5 Giovanni Sartori added in 1962: “In a somewhat paradoxical vein,
democracy could be defined as a high-flown name for something which does not exist.”6
Julien Freund also noted, in a somewhat witty tone:
To claim to be a democrat means little, because one can be a democrat in a contradictory
manner—either in the manner of the Americans or the English, or like the East
European communists, Congolese, or Cubans. It is perfectly natural that under such
circumstances I refuse to be a democrat, because my neighbor might be an adherent of
dictatorship while invoking the word democracy.7
Thus we can see that the universal propagation of the term democracy does not contribute
much to clarifying the meaning of democracy. Undoubtedly, we need to go a step
further.
The first idea that needs to be dismissed—an idea still cherished by some—is
that democracy is a specific product of the modern era, and that democracy corresponds to
a “developed stage” in the history of political regimes.8 This does not seem to
be substantiated by the facts. Democracy is neither more “modern” nor more
“evolved” than other forms of governance. Governments with democratic tendencies
have appeared throughout history. We note that the linear perspective used in this type of
analysis can be particularly deceiving. The idea of progress, when applied to a political
regime, appears devoid of meaning. If one subscribes to this type of linear reasoning, it
is easy to advance the argument of the “self-evidence” of democracy, which,
according to liberals, arises “spontaneously” in the realm of political affairs
just as the market “spontaneously” accords with the logic of demand and supply.
Jean Baechler notes:
If we accept the hypothesis that men, as an animal species(sic), aspire spontaneously to a
democratic regime which promises them security, prosperity, and liberty, we must then also
conclude that, the minute these requirements have been met, the democratic experience
automatically emerges, without ever needing the framework of ideas.9
What exactly are these “requirements” that produce democracy, in the same manner
as fire causes heat? They bear closer examination.
In contrast to the Orient, absolute despotism has always been rare in Europe.
Whether in ancient Rome, or in Homer’s Iliad, Vedantic India, or among the Hittites,
one can observe very early the existence of popular assemblies, both military and
civilian. In Indo-European societies kings were usually elected; in fact, all ancient
monarchies were first elective monarchies. Tacitus relates that among the Germans
chieftains were elected on account of their valor, and kings on account of their noble
birth (reges ex nobilitate duces ex virtute sumunt). In France, for instance, the crown
was long both elective and hereditary. It was only with Pippin the Short that the king was
chosen from within the same family, and only after Hugh Capet that the principle of
primogeniture was adopted. In Scandinavia, the king was elected by a provincial assembly;
that election had then to be confirmed by the other national assemblies.
Among the Germanic peoples the practice of “shielding”—or raising the new
king on his soldiers' shields—was widespread.10 The Holy Roman Emperor was also
elected, and the importance of the role of the princely electors in the history of Germany
should not be neglected. By and large, it was only with the beginning of the twelfth
century in Europe that elective monarchy gradually gave way to hereditary monarchy.
Until the French Revolution, kings ruled with the aid of parliaments which possessed
considerable executive powers. In almost all European communities it was long the status
of freeman that conferred political rights on the citizen. “Citizens” were
constituent members of free popular communes, which among other things possessed their own
municipal charters, and sovereign rulers were surrounded by councils in the
decision-making process. Moreover, the influence of customary law on juridical practice
was an index of popular “participation” in defining the laws. In short, it
cannot be stated that Europe’s old monarchies were devoid of popular legitimacy.
The oldest parliament in the Western world, the althing, the federal assembly of Iceland,
whose members gathered yearly in the inspired setting of Thingvellir, emerged as early as
930 A.D. Adam von Bremen wrote in 1076: “They have no king, only the
laws.” The thing, or local parliament, designated both a location and the assembly
where freemen with equal political rights convened at a fixed date in order to legislate
and render justice.11 In Iceland the freeman enjoyed two inalienable privileges: he had a
right to bear arms and to a seat in the thing. “The Icelanders,” writes
Frederick Durand
created and experienced what one could call by some uncertain yet suggestive analogy a
kind of Nordic Hellas, i.e., a community of freemen who participated actively in the
affairs of the community. Those communities were surprisingly well cultivated and
intellectually productive, and, in addition, were united by bonds based on esteem and
respect.12
“Scandinavian democracy is very old and one can trace its origins to the Viking
era,” observes Maurice Gravier.13 In all of northern Europe this
“democratic” tradition was anchored in a very strong communitarian sentiment, a
propensity to “live together” (zusammenleben), which constantly fostered the
primacy of the common interest over that of the individual. Such democracy, typically,
included a certain hierarchical structure, which explains why one could describe it as
“aristo-democracy.” This tradition, based also on the concept of mutual
assistance and a sense of common responsibility, remains alive in many countries today,
for instance, in Switzerland.
The belief that the people were originally the possessor of power was common throughout
the Middle Ages. Whereas the clergy limited itself to the proclamation omnis
potestas a Deo, other theorists argued that power could emanate from God only through the
intercession of the people. The belief of the “power of divine right” should
therefore be seen in an indirect form, and not excluding the reality of the people. Thus,
Marsilius of Padua did not hesitate to proclaim the concept of popular sovereignty;
significantly, he did so in order to defend the supremacy of the emperor (at the time,
Ludwig of Bavaria) over the Church. The idea of linking the principle of the people
to its leaders was further emphasized in the formula populus et proceres (the people and
the nobles), which appears frequently in old texts.
Here we should recall the democratic tendencies evident in ancient Rome,14 the
republics of medieval Italy, the French and Flemish communes, the Hanseatic
municipalities, and the free Swiss cantons. Let us further note the ancient boerenvrijheid
(“peasants’ freedom”) that prevailed in medieval Frisian provinces and
whose equivalent could be found along the North Sea, in the Low Lands, in Flanders,
Scandinavia, Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. Finally, it is worth mentioning the
existence of important communal movements based on free corporate structures, the function
of which was to provide mutual help and to pursue economic and political goals. Sometimes
these movements clashed with king and Church, which were supported by the burgeoning
bourgeoisie. At other times, however, communal movements backed the monarchy in its fight
against the feudal lords, thus contributing to the rise of the mercantile bourgeoisie.15
In reality, most political regimes throughout history can be qualified as mixed ones.
“All ancient democracies,” writes François Perroux, “were governed by a de
facto or de jure aristocracy, unless they were governed by a monarchical
principle.”16 According to Aristotle, Solon's constitution was oligarchic in
terms of its Areopagus, aristocratic in terms of its magistrates, and democratic in terms
of the make-up of its tribunals. It combined the advantages of each type of government.
Similarly, Polybius argues that Rome was, in view of the power of its consuls, an elective
monarchy; in regard to the powers of the Senate, an aristocracy; and regarding the rights
of the people, a democracy. Cicero, in his De Republica, advances a similar view. Monarchy
need not exclude democracy, as is shown by the example of contemporary constitutional and
parliamentary monarchies today. After all, it was the French monarchy in 1789 that
convoked the Estates-General. “[D]emocracy, taken in the broad sense, admits of
various forms,” observed Pope Pius XII, “and can be realized in monarchies as
well as in republics.”17
Let us add that the experience of modern times demonstrates that neither government nor
institutions need play a decisive role in shaping social life. Comparable types of
government may disguise different types of societies, whereas different governmental forms
may mask identical social realities. (Western societies today have an extremely
homogeneous structure even though their institutions and constitutions sometimes offer
substantial differences.)
So now the task of defining democracy appears even more difficult. The etymological
approach has its limits. According to its original meaning, democracy means
“the power of the people.” Yet this power can be interpreted in different
ways. The most reasonable approach, therefore, seems to be the historical
approach—an approach that explains “genuine” democracy as first of all the
political system of that ancient people that simultaneously invented the word and the
fact.
The notion of democracy did not appear at all in modern political thought until the
eighteenth century. Even then its mention was sporadic, frequently with a pejorative
connotation. Prior to the French Revolution the most “advanced” philosophers had
fantasized about mixed regimes combining the advantages of an “enlightened”
monarchy and popular representation. Montesquieu acknowledged that a people could have the
right to control, but not the right to rule. Not a single revolutionary constitution
claimed to have been inspired by “democratic” principles. Robespierre was,
indeed, a rare person for that epoch, who toward the end of his reign, explicitly
mentioned democracy (which did not however contribute to the strengthening of his
popularity in the years to come), a regime that he defined as a representative form of
government, i.e., “a state in which the sovereign people, guided by laws which are of
their own making, do for themselves all that they can do well, and by their delegates do
all that they cannot do themselves.” 18
It was in the United States that the word democracy first became widespread, notably when
the notion of “republic” was contrasted to the notion of
“democracy.” Its usage became current at the beginning of the nineteenth
century, especially with the advent of Jacksonian democracy and the subsequent
establishment of the Democratic Party. The word, in turn, crossed the Atlantic again and
became firmly implanted in Europe—to the profit of the constitutional debates that
filled the first half of the nineteenth century. Tocqueville's book Democracy in America,
the success of which was considerable, made the term a household word.
Despite numerous citations, inspired by antiquity, that adorned the philosophical and
political discourse of the eighteenth century, the genuine legacy drawn from ancient
democracy was at that time very weak. The philosophers seemed more enthralled with
the example of Sparta than Athens. The debate “Sparta vs. Athens,” frequently
distorted by bias or ignorance, pitted the partisans of authoritarian egalitarianism
against the tenets of moderate liberalism.19 Rousseau, for instance, who abominated
Athens, expressed sentiments that were rigorously pro-Spartiate. In his eyes, Sparta was
first and foremost the city of equals (hómoioi). By contrast, when Camille Desmoulins
thundered against Sparta, it was to denounce its excessive egalitarianism. He attacked the
Girondin Brissot, that pro-Lycurgian, “who has rendered his citizens equal just as a
tornado renders equal all those who are about to drown.” All in all, this type of
discourse remained rather shallow. The cult of antiquity was primarily maintained as a
metaphor for social regeneration, as exemplified by Saint-Just's words hurled at the
Convention: “The world has been empty since the Romans; their memory can replenish it
and it can augur liberty.”20
If we wish now to continue our study of “genuine” democracy, we must once again
turn to Greek democracy rather than to those regimes that the contemporary world
designates by the word.
The comparison between ancient democracies and modern democracies has frequently turned
into an academic exercise.21 It is generally emphasized that the former were direct
democracies, whereas the latter (due to larger areas and populations) are representative
democracies. Moreover, we are frequently reminded that slaves were excluded from the
Athenian democracy; consequently, the idea emerged that Athens was not so democratic,
after all. These two affirmations fall somewhat short of satisfying answers.
Readied by political and social evolution during the sixth century b.c., as well as by
reforms made possible by Solon, Athenian democracy entered its founding stage with the
reforms of Cleisthenes, who returned from exile in 508 b.c. Firmly established from 460
b.c., it continued to thrive for the next one hundred and fifty years. Pericles, who
succeeded Ephialtes in 461 b.c., gave democracy an extraordinary reputation, which did not
at all prevent him from exercising, for more than thirty years, a quasi-royal authority
over the city.22
For the Greeks democracy was primarily defined23 by its relationship to two other systems:
tyranny and aristocracy. Democracy presupposed three conditions: isonomy (equality before
laws); isotimy (equal rights to accede to all public offices); and isegory (liberty of
expression). This was direct democracy, known also as “face to face”
democracy, since all citizens were allowed to take part in the ekklesía, or Assembly.
Deliberations were prepared by the boulé(Council), although in fact it was the popular
assembly that made policy. The popular assembly nominated ambassadors; decided over the
issue of war and peace, preparing military expeditions or bringing an end to hostilities;
investigated the performance of magistrates; issued decrees; ratified laws; bestowed the
rights of citizenship; and deliberated on matters of Athenian security. In short,
writes Jacqueline de Romilly, “the people ruled, instead of being ruled by elected
individuals.” She cites the text of the oath given by the Athenians: “I
will kill whoever by word, deed, vote, or hand attempts to destroy democracy.... And
should somebody else kill him I will hold him in high esteem before the gods and divine
powers, as if he had killed a public enemy.”24
Democracy in Athens meant first and foremost a community of citizens, that is, a community
of people gathered in the ekklesía. Citizens were classified according to their
membership in a deme—a grouping which had a territorial, social, and administrative
significance. The term démos, which is of Doric origin, designates those who live in a
given territory, with the territory constituting a place of origin and determining civic
status.25 To some extent démos and ethnos coincide: democracy could not be conceived in
relationship to the individual, but only in the relationship to the polis, that is to say,
to the city in its capacity as an organized community. Slaves were excluded from voting
not because they were slaves, but because they were not citizens. We seem shocked by
this today, yet, after all, which democracy has ever given voting rights to
non-citizens?26
The notions of citizenship, liberty, or equality of political rights, as well as of
popular sovereignty, were intimately interrelated. The most essential element in the
notion of citizenship was someone's origin and heritage. Pericles was the “son
of Xanthippus from the deme of Cholargus.” Beginning in 451 b.c., one had to be born
of an Athenian mother and father in order to become a citizen. Defined by his heritage,
the citizen (polítes) is opposed to idiótes, the non-citizen—a designation that
quickly took on a pejorative meaning (from the notion of the rootless individual one
arrived at the notion of “idiot”). Citizenship as function derived thus
from the notion of citizenship as status, which was the exclusive prerogative of birth. To
be a citizen meant, in the fullest sense of the word, to have a homeland, that is, to have
both a homeland and a history. One is born an Athenian—one does not become one
(with rare exceptions). Furthermore, the Athenian tradition discouraged mixed marriages.
Political equality, established by law, flowed from common origins that sanctioned it as
well. Only birth conferred individual politeía.27
Democracy was rooted in the concept of autochthonous citizenship, which intimately linked
its exercise to the origins of those who exercised it. The Athenians in the fifth
century celebrated themselves as “the autochthonous people of great Athens,” and
it was within that founding myth that they placed the pivot of their democracy.28
In Greek, as well as in Latin, liberty proceeds from someone's origin. Free
man *(e)leudheros (Greek eleútheros), is primarily he who belongs to a certain
“stock” (cf. in Latin the word liberi, “children”). “To be
born of a good stock is to be free,” writes Emile Benveniste, “this is one and
the same."29 Similarly, in the German language, the kinship between the words frei,
“free,” and Freund, “friend,” indicates that in the beginning, liberty
sanctioned mutual relationship. The Indo-European root *leudh-, from which derive
simultaneously the Latin liber and the Greek eleútheros, also served to designate
“people” in the sense of a national group (cf. Old Slavonic ljudú,
“people”; German Leute, “people,” both of which derive from the
root evoking the idea of “growth and development”).
The original meaning of the word “liberty” does not suggest at all
“liberation”—in a sense of emancipation from collectivity. Instead, it
implies inheritance—which alone confers liberty. Thus when the Greeks spoke of
liberty, they did not have in mind the right to break away from the tutelage of the city
or the right to rid themselves of the constraints to which each citizen was bound. Rather,
what they had in mind was the right, but also the political capability, guaranteed by law,
to participate in the life of the city, to vote in the assembly, to elect magistrates,
etc. Liberty did not legitimize secession; instead, it sanctioned its very opposite: the
bond which tied the person to his city. This was not liberty-autonomy, but a
liberty-participation; it was not meant to reach beyond the community, but was practised
solely in the framework of the polis. Liberty meant adherence. The
“liberty” of an individual without heritage, i.e. of a deracinated individual,
was completely devoid of any meaning.
If we therefore assume that liberty was directly linked to the notion of democracy, then
it must be added that liberty meant first and foremost the liberty of the people, from
which subsequently the liberty of citizens proceeds. In other words, only the liberty of
the people (or of the city) can lay the foundations for the equality of political and
individual rights, i.e., rights enjoyed by individuals in the capacity of citizens.
Liberty presupposes independence as its first condition. Man lives in society, and
therefore individual liberty cannot exist without collective liberty. Among the Greeks,
individuals were free because (and in so far as) their city was free.
When Aristotle defines man as a “political animal,” as a social being, when he
asserts that the city precedes the individual and that only within society can the
individual achieve his potential (Politics, 1253a 19–20), he also suggests that man
should not be detached from his role of citizen, a person living in the framework of
an organized community, of a polis, or a civitas. Aristotle's views stand in contrast to
the concept of modern liberalism, which posits that the individual precedes society, and
that man, in the capacity of a self-sufficient individual, is at once something more than
just a citizen.30
Hence, in a “community of freemen,” individual interests must never prevail over
common interests. “All constitutions whose objectives are common interest,”
writes Aristotle, “are in accordance with absolute justice. By contrast, those
whose objective is the personal interest of the governors tend to be defective.”
(Politics, 1279a 17sq). In contrast to what one can see, for instance, in Euripides'
works, the city in Aeschylus' tragedies is regularly described as a communal entity.
“This sense of community,” writes Moses I. Finley, “fortified by the state
religion, the myths and traditions, was the essential source of success in Athenian
democracy.”31
In Greece, adds Finley, “liberty meant the rule of law and participation in the
decision- making process—and not necessarily the enjoyment of inalienable
rights.”32 The law is identified with the genius of the city. “To obey the
law meant to be devoted with zeal to the will of the community," observes Paul
Veyne.33 As Cicero wrote, only liberty can pave the way for legality:
“Legum…servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus“ (“We are the servants of
the law in order that we can be free,” Oratio pro Cluentio, 53.)
In his attempt to show that liberty is the fundamental principle of democracy (Politics,
VII, 1), Aristotle succeeds in de-emphasizing the factor of equality. For the Greeks
equality was only one means to democracy, though it could be an important one. Political
equality, however, had to emanate from citizenship, i.e., from belonging to a given
people. From this it follows that members of the same people (of the same city),
irrespective of their differences, shared the desire to be citizens in the same and equal
manner. This equality of rights by no means reflects a belief in natural
equality. The equal right of all citizens to participate in the assembly does not
mean that men are by nature equal (nor that it would be preferable that they were), but
rather that they derive from their common heritage a common capacity to exercise the right
of suffrage, which is the privilege of citizens. As the appropriate means to this téchne,
equality remains exterior to man. This process, as much as it represents the logical
consequence of common heritage, is also the condition for common participation. In the
eyes of the ancient Greeks it was considered natural that all citizens be associated with
political life not by virtue of universal and imprescriptible rights of humans as such,
but from the fact of common citizenship. In the last analysis, the crucial notion was not
equality but citizenship. Greek democracy was that form of government in which each
citizen saw his liberty as firmly founded on an equality that conferred on him the right
to civic and political liberties.
The study of ancient democracy has elicited divergent views from contemporary authors. For
some, Athenian democracy is an admirable example of civic responsibility (Francesco
Nitti); for others it evokes the realm of “activist” political parties (Paul
Veyne); for yet others, ancient democracy is essentially totalitarian (Giovanni Sartori).
34 In general, everybody seems to concur that the difference between ancient democracy and
modern democracy is considerable. Curiously, it is modern democracy that is used as a
criterion for the democratic consistency of the former. This type of reasoning
sounds rather odd. As we have observed, it was only belatedly that those modern national
governments today styled “democracies” came to identify themselves with this
word. Consequently, after observers began inquiring into ancient democracy, and
realized that it was different from modern democracy, they drew the conclusion that
ancient democracy was “less democratic” than modern democracy. But, in reality,
should we not proceed from the inverse type of reasoning? It must be reiterated that
democracy was born in Athens in the fifth century b.c. Therefore, it is Athenian democracy
(regardless of one’s judgments for or against it) that should be used as an example
of a “genuine” type of democracy. Granted that contemporary democratic regimes
differ from Athenian democracy, we must then assume that they differ from democracy of any
kind. We can see again where this irks most of our contemporaries. Since nowadays everyone
boasts of being a perfect democrat, and given the fact that Greek democracy resembles not
at all those before our eyes, it is naturally the Greeks who must bear the brunt of being
“less democratic”! We thus arrive at the paradox that Greek democracy, in
which the people participated daily in the exercise of power, is disqualified on the
grounds that it does not fit into the concept of modern democracy, in which the people, at
best, participate only indirectly in political life.
There should be no doubt that ancient democracies and modern democracies are systems
entirely distinct from each other. Even the parallels that have been sought between
them are fallacious. They have only the name in common, since both have resulted from
completely different historical processes.
Wherein does this difference lie? It would be wrong to assume that it is related to
either the “direct” or “indirect” nature of the decision-making
process. Each of them has a different concept of man and a different concept of the world,
as well as a different vision of social bonds. The democracy of antiquity was
communitarian and “holist”; modern democracy is primarily individualist. Ancient
democracy defined citizenship by a man's origins, and provided him with the opportunity to
participate in the life of the city. Modern democracy organizes atomized individuals into
citizens viewed through the prism of abstract egalitarianism. Ancient democracy was based
on the idea of organic community; modern democracy, heir to Christianity and the
philosophy of the Enlightenment, on the individual. In both cases the meaning of the words
“city,” “people,” “nation,” and “liberty” are
totally changed.
To argue, therefore, within this context, that Greek democracy was a direct democracy only
because it encompassed a small number of citizens falls short of a satisfying answer.
Direct democracy need not be associated with a limited number of citizens. It is primarily
associated with the notion of a relatively homogeneous people that is conscious of what
makes it a people. The effective functioning of both Greek and Icelandic democracy was the
result of cultural cohesion and a clear sense of shared heritage. The closer the
members of a community are to each other, the more likely they are to have common
sentiments, identical values, and the same way of looking at the world, and the easier it
is for them to make collective decisions without needing the help of mediators.
In contrast, having ceased to be places of collectively lived meaning, modern societies
require a multitude of intermediaries. The aspirations that surface in this type of
democracy spring from contradictory value systems that are no longer reconcilable with
unified decisions. Ever since Benjamin Constant (De la liberté des anciens comparée
à celle des modernes, 1819), we have been able to measure to what degree, under the
impact of individualist and egalitarian ideologies, the notion of liberty has
changed. Therefore, to return to a Greek concept of democracy does not mean
nurturing a shallow hope of “face to face” social transparency. Rather, it means
reappropriating, as well as adapting to the modern world, the concept of the people and
community—concepts that have been eclipsed by two thousand years of egalitarianism,
rationalism, and the exaltation of the rootless individual.
Alain de Benoist is a leading French theoretician of the European New Right, the editor of
Nouvelle École, and a principal founder of the Group for the Research and Study of
European Civilization (GRECE). In 1978 he was awarded the Grand prix de l’essai de
l’Académie francaise.
Translated by Tomislav Sunic from the author’s book Démocratie: Le problème (Paris:
Le Labyrinthe, 1985)
End Notes
1. George Orwell, Selected Essays (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1957), p.
149.
2. François Guizot, De la démocratie en France (Paris: Masson, 1849), p. 9.
3. Georges Burdeau observes that judging by appearances, in terms of their federal
organization, the institutions of the Soviet Union are similar to those of the United
States, and in terms of its governmental system the Soviet Union is similar to England. La
démocratie (Paris : Seuil, 1966), p. 141.
4. T.S. Eliot, The Idea of a Christian Society (London: Faber & Faber, 1939).
5. Bertrand de Jouvenel, Du pouvoir (Geneva : Cheval ailé‚ 1945), p. 411.
6. Giovanni Sartori, Democratic Theory (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1962), p. 3.
7. “Les démocrates ombrageux,” Contrepoint (December 1976), p. 111.
8. Other authors have held exactly the opposite opinion. For Schleiermacher,
democracy is a "primitive" political form in contrast to monarchy, which is
thought to correspond to the demands of the modern state.
9. “Le pouvoir des idées en démocratie,”Pouvoir (May 1983), p. 145.
10. Significantly, it was with the beginning of the inquiry into the origins of the French
monarchy that the nobility, under Louis XIV, began to challenge the principles of
monarchy.
11. The word "thing," which designated the parliament, derives from the Germanic
word that connoted originally "everything that is gathered together." The
same word gave birth to the English "thing" (German Ding: same meaning). It
seems that this word designated the assembly in which public matters, then affairs of a
general nature, and finally "things" were discussed.
12. “Les fondements de l'État libre d'Icelande: trois siècles de démocratie
médiévale,” in Nouvelle Ecole 25-26 (Winter 1974–75), pp. 68–73.
13. Les Scandinaves (Paris: Lidis [Brepols], 1984), p. 613.
14. Cf. P.M. Martin, L'idée de royauté‚ ... Rome. De la Rome royale au consensus
républicain (Clermont-Ferrand: Adosa, 1983).
15. Here "democracy," as in the case of peasants’ freedoms as well, already
included social demands, although not "class struggle"—a concept ignored by
ancient democracy. In the Middle Ages the purpose of such demands was to give voice to
those who were excluded from power. But it often happened that "democracy"
could be used against the people. In medieval Florence, social strife between the
"popolo grosso" and the "popolo minuto" was particularly brisk.
On this Francesco Nitti writes: "The reason the working classes of Florence
proved lukewarm in defense of their liberty and sympathized instead with the Medicis was
because they remained opposed to democracy, which they viewed as a concept of the rich
bourgeoisie." Francesco Nitti, La démocratie, vol. 1 (Paris: Felix Alcan, 1933), p.
57.)
16. This opinion is shared by the majority of students of ancient democracies. Thus,
Victor Ehrenberg sees in Greek democracy a "form of enlarged aristocracy."
Victor Ehrenberg, L’état grec (Paris: Maspéro, 1976), p. 94.
17. Pius XII, 1944 Christmas Message: http://www.ewtn.com/library/PAPALDOC/P12XMAS.HTM
18. M. Robespierre, “On Political Morality,” speech to the Convention, February
5, 1794: http://chnm.gmu.edu/revolution/d/413/
19. On this debate, see the essay by Luciano Guerci, “Liberta degli antichi e liberta
dei moderni,” in Sparta, Atene e i `philosophes' nella Francia del Setecento (Naples:
Guido, 1979).
20. Camille Desmoulins, speech to the Convention, March 31, 1794. It is significant that
contemporary democrats appear to be more inclined to favor Athens. Sparta, in
contrast, is denounced for its "war-like spirit." This change in discourse
deserves a profound analysis.
21. Cf., for example, the essay by Moses Finley, Démocratie antique et démocratie
moderne (Paris: Payot, 1976), which is both an erudite study and a pamphlet of great
contemporary relevance. The study is prefaced by Pierre Vidal-Naquet, who, among
other errors, attributes to Julien Freund (see n. 7, above) positions which are exactly
the very opposite of those stated in the preface.
22. To cite Thucydides: "Thanks to his untainted character, the depth of his vision,
and boundless disinterestedness, Pericles exerted on Athens an incontestable
influence.… Since he owed his prestige only to honest means, he did not have to
truckle to popular passions.… In a word, democracy supplied the name; but in reality,
it was the government of the first citizen." (Peloponnesian War II, 65)
23. One of the best works on this topic is Jacqueline de Romilly's essay Problèmes de la
démocratie grecque (Paris: Hermann, 1975).
24. Romilly, Problèmes de la démocratie grecque.
25. The word “démos” is opposed to the word “laós,” a term employed
in Greece to designate the people, but with the express meaning of "the community of
warriors."
26. In France, the right to vote was implemented only in stages. In 1791 the
distinction was still made between "active citizens" and "passive
citizens." Subsequently, the electorate was expanded to include all qualified
citizens able to pay a specified minimum of taxes. Although universal suffrage was
proclaimed in 1848, it was limited to males until 1945.
27. On the evolution of that notion, see Jacqueline Bordes, ‘Politeia’ dans la
pensée grecque jusqu’à Aristote (Paris : Belles Lettres, 1982).
28. Nicole Loraux interprets the Athenian notion of citizenship as a result of the
"imaginary belonging to an autochthonous people" (Les enfants d'Athéna. Idées
athéniennes sur la citoyenneté et la divison des sexes [Paris: Maspéro, 1981]).
The myth of Erichthonios (or Erechtheus) explains in fact the autochthonous character and
the origins of the masculine democracy, at the same time as it grafts the Athenian
ideology of citizenship onto immemorial foundations.
29. Emile Benveniste, Le vocabulaire des institutions indo-européennes, vol. 1
(Paris : Minuit, 1969), p. 321.
30. On the work of Aristotle and his relationship with the Athenian constitution, see
James Day and Mortimer Chambers, Aristotle, History of Athenian Democracy (Berkeley, CA:
University of California Press, 1962).
31. Finley, Démocratie antique et démocratie moderne, p. 80.
32. Finley, Démocratie antique et démocratie moderne, p. 141.
33. Veyne adds: "Bourgeois liberalism organizes cruising ships in which each
passenger must take care of himself as best as he can, the crew being there only to
provide for the common goods and services. By contrast, the Greek city was a ship where
the passengers made up the crew." Paul Veyne, "Les Grecs ont-ils connu la
démocratie?” Diogène October-December 1983, p. 9.
34. For the liberal critique of Greek democracy, see Paul Veyne, "Les Grecs ont-ils
connu la démocratie?" and Giovanni Sartori, Democratic Theory (see n. 6 above).
