Literature hews to standards outside of the democratic logic. A canonical work does not attain that status by majority consent. Claims of merit do not require a reader’s consent to be authoritative. And the pursuit of sublimity, literature’s proper object, reveals that men have always been created unequal in their intellectual endowments.

Literary excellence is not inherently political, and its claims need not raise a direct challenge to democracy. Yet in a society that exalts equality and promotes self-expression for its own sake, literature stands uneasily at the margins—tolerated, perhaps ignored.

As part of his seminal survey of America, Alexis de Tocqueville lingers for a few chapters on the reciprocal influences running between democracy and literature. By the time he reaches literature, De Tocqueville has toured through adjacent subjects such as Americans’ pursuit of arts and sciences. He has been critical, but the professed friend of democracy takes pains to convince readers that the “irresistible” democratic revolution does not trail cultural poverty in its wake.

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