The way people in democracies think of the government as

When Lewis Mumford wrote, “The way people in democracies think of the government as something different from themselves is a real handicap. And, of course, sometimes the government confirms their opinion,” he offered a profound meditation on the spiritual disease of modern citizenship — the separation of the governed from the governing. His words carry both sorrow and irony: sorrow for a people who forget their own power, and irony for a system that often behaves as though it were not born from their will. In this short but piercing observation, Mumford uncovers a truth as old as civilization itself — that freedom dies not by conquest, but by neglect.

The origin of this quote comes from Mumford’s lifelong study of civilization’s machinery — not just its cities and technologies, but its moral soul. As a philosopher and social critic of the 20th century, he lived through the great upheavals of democracy and dictatorship, of hope and horror. He saw how modern life, wrapped in bureaucracy and distance, taught citizens to see the state as something alien — a great machine that rules rather than represents. But Mumford knew the ancient principle: that a democracy lives only when its people feel themselves part of its heartbeat. When the people cease to see government as their own reflection, when they think of it as a distant master, they surrender both authority and responsibility — and from that moment, decay begins.

His words strike at the essence of civic duty: that a government is not an external power but a mirror of the people’s soul. When citizens grow cynical, their government becomes corrupt; when they grow lazy, it becomes oppressive; when they forget their voice, tyranny finds its opening. Mumford’s lament is not only political but moral — that modern democracies, while priding themselves on freedom, often breed a quiet slavery of indifference. People complain of their leaders as if they were strangers, forgetting that those leaders are chosen from among them. And when governments, bloated and self-serving, act apart from the people’s will, they only confirm the illusion that they are something separate — deepening the very alienation that sustains their power.

History offers us a living parable of this truth. In the waning years of the Roman Republic, the people, weary of corruption and chaos, withdrew from participation. They began to speak of the Senate and the Consuls as distant, decadent forces — “them,” not “us.” Into this void stepped ambitious men like Julius Caesar, who claimed to act for the people but in truth sought dominion over them. The people, disillusioned yet yearning for stability, surrendered their liberty in exchange for security. What began as democracy ended as empire. And so, the government did not overthrow the people — the people abandoned their own power, mistaking cynicism for wisdom.

Mumford’s warning is not confined to the past. Even in our own time, the same spiritual fatigue can be seen — citizens who speak of “the government” as a faceless monolith, forgetting that it draws its breath from their consent. They curse corruption, yet abstain from participation; they despise inefficiency, yet refuse responsibility. Meanwhile, the state — feeding on apathy — grows ever more distant, more mechanical, more self-justifying. Thus, the prophecy fulfills itself: the government becomes alien because the people no longer claim it. Democracy becomes a hollow shell, filled with the noise of complaint but empty of conviction.

Yet Mumford’s tone is not despairing — it is corrective, like the voice of an elder reminding a nation of its forgotten heritage. His message is that the cure lies not in rebellion, but in reawakening. A democracy is not a machine that runs by itself; it is a living organism, sustained by the energy of its citizens. The people must once again see government as an extension of their collective will — not a distant ruler, but a servant of shared purpose. To think of government as “something different” is to divide the house of liberty against itself. Unity between the governed and the governing is not uniformity, but participation — the steady heartbeat of a people conscious of their own sovereignty.

The lesson is eternal: a free people must never forget that they are the government. If they despise it, they despise themselves; if they abandon it, it will be ruled by those who do not. True democracy demands not comfort but vigilance, not complaint but courage. Each citizen must see his own hand in the fate of the nation — in its failures as well as its triumphs. For when the people reclaim ownership of their government, they reclaim their destiny.

So let this truth be passed to future generations: do not speak of “the government” as if it were a stranger. Its strength, its weakness, its virtue, and its vice all begin within the hearts of the people. When men and women act with wisdom, compassion, and integrity, their government will reflect it. But when they act with fear, apathy, and division, it will mirror that too. As Mumford reminds us — democracy’s greatest handicap is forgetfulness, and its greatest power is remembrance. Remember, then, that the government is not “them.” It is you.