I originally read The Prince in college, and I recall that my first reading was entirely consumed with the anticipation that I was about to reach some twisted, horrifying chapter wherein Machiavelli earned the fear that his name connoted. (I was a freshman, give me a break.) That moment never came, and I was disappointed that I had been tricked into reading a Renaissance political treatise rather than an encomium in praise of enhanced interrogation.
Perhaps everyone in his first encounter with Machiavelli is shocked at how pragmatic his philosophy appears. The writer is by no means a saint, yet his advice is rarely controversial by today's political standards and is often downright dull. The stuff about injuring one's own citizens hasn't aged well, but overall, The Prince is less a controversial text and more a prerequisite: would you really want a leader who, as M. warns against, is easily swayed by the advice of others?
But the politics and statecraft of The Prince are not what I was after in reading it; maybe one day I'll give political theory a fair shot, but that day is not today. Rather, I was led to reread The Prince after one of my professors made the relatively bold claim that M. represented the bridge between the pre-modern and modern world. Before getting to his reasoning, let's consider other thinkers who have earned such a title. Dante has been said to have stood on the cusp of the modern world, but I quite like Eugenio Montale's assessment that he stood at the closing of the medieval world rather than the opening of the Renaissance. Harold Bloom claimed that Shakespeare, by "inventing" what it means to be human, ushered in the modern world, but Shakespeare is too obvious a suspect. Thomas Kuhn, in The Copernican Revolution, makes a good case for Copernicus; of those 3, I would cast my vote for him as well. Descartes, Francis Bacon, Montaigne--all have been posited. Yet it is so alluring, almost sinful to consider Machiavelli for the role.
My professor at the time supported his claim by saying that Machiavelli was the first to tame fortune. Throughout our reading, be it the Greeks or the medieval Christians, we have seen society after society kowtow to the whims of Fortune. Though the surrender came occasionally after a hard-fought battle, little has been done in general to prepare for misfortune, to fortify the walls against possibility. (The exception would be Asian and Indian philosophy, but we're talking about the West, so shhhh.) By arguing that the taming of fortune was within our power, Machiavelli opened up a new world, a world where man is the "master and proprietor of nature," to quote Descartes. Men no longer live in caves, cowering at lightning in the sky and shadows on the wall; men can use reason to overcome the world's vicissitudes.
Virtue and Virtu
I usually skim the translator's introductions of books when I am not too concerned with how the translation was done, but I found this one, by Russell Price, interesting since Machiavelli uses words very carefully.
First, many of his words have close cognates in English--respetto is respect, sospetto is suspicion, etc.--but his abstract nouns carry a particular flavor, specifically that of fear. Price notes that M.'s usage of these words is closer to "fearful respect" and "fearful suspicion," respectively.
But there is more to his language than fear, as surprising as that may be. Take virtu for example. Its direct translation is, of course, virtue, but there is more to Machiavellian virtue than what one might read in Augustine or Plato. Virtue for Machiavelli is "a willingness to follow the [traditional] virtues when possible and an equal willingness to disregard them when necessary." This is not the same as moral relativism, or even amorality. Machiavelli knows virtue and believes in virtue (I think). What he does not believe in is unthinking fealty to virtue. True virtue lies in discernment, and this subtlety is lacking in everything we've read so far.
Such a stance should not be surprising given how often Machiavelli confronts "theory with practice." In the Prince, there is little philosophical waxing, little hemming and hawing about what is and isn't right. What is and isn't right depends on the circumstances, on fortuna. Theoretical ethics, I would argue, is not absent from Machiavelli; rather, theory is so far removed from Machiavelli's point that it is "dismissed with a shrug." Living in the world requires not only a theoretical understanding of right and wrong, but a practical guide to carrying on when wrong appears right and right is conspicuously absent. "How men live," Machiavelli writes," is so different from how they should live."
This, the way men live, is another area where M. doesn't so much challenge long-held ideas as much as write down for the first time how men have behaved. If all men were perfectly virtuous, there would be no need for ethics since it would just be how people are. Rather, M. is recommending a practical, nuanced approach. "Yet one should not be troubled about becoming notorious for those vices without which it is difficult to preserve one's power, because if one considers everything carefully, doing some things that seem virtuous may result in one's ruin, whereas doing other things that seem vicious may strengthen one's position."
One more thing to say about all this. M.'s subtlety is quite incredible. Normally, people discuss M. by saying that he invented the idea of "the ends justifying the means". This may be true, as before him we seem to have spoken exclusively of the ends. But he is not all about the means. Rather, he sees great value in the ends, and his advice is often focused on them: "If generosity is practiced in such a way that you will be considered generous, it will harm you. If it is practiced virtuously, and as it should be, it will not be known about, and you will not avoid acquiring a bad reputation for the opposite vice." M. says that true virtue must be hidden, and therefore those who are truly virtuous will not be known for virtue. He does not see a way out of this, and so he argues "Therefore, since a ruler cannot bring himself to practice this virtue of generosity and be known to do so without harming himself, he would do well not to worry about being called miserly." If you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all. This is very reminiscent of the gospels, wherein Jesus rebukes those who pray in the open, so everyone can see them: "When you pray, you are not to be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that they may be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." (Matt 6:5) The reward for being openly generous is being known for it; the reward for being truly generous is to be thought miserly.
Fortune and Fortuna
What keeps theory from trumping practice? Why is following the Good not enough for people? Because fortune stands in their way. M. knows a thing or two about fortune. He wrote the Prince while imprisoned for treason. As he says in the dedicatory letter, "You will see how much I am unjustly oppressed by great and cruel misfortune."
In the beginning of his discourse on fortune, he writes, "I am not unaware that many have thought, and many still think, that the affairs of the world are so ruled by fortune and by God that the ability of men cannot control them." As we pointed out earlier, this may be the most important observation in the Prince, the distinction between fate and free will, what is predestined and what is in our hands.
It is not necessarily that people in previous generations held that their actions were utterly meaningless; if that were so, I can't imagine that existentialism would have been kept at bay until the 19th century. Rather, there was a certain futility to actions. One must do what one must do, but ultimately all actions are under the power of God. By M.'s time, this had changed slightly, if only because Calvin had declared that we're all predestined and have no free will, i.e., we're all fucked. But at the same time that that great theologian was writing, M. was telling the world (princes, technically) that people have much more power than they realize. From the man himself:
"I compare fortune to one of those dangerous rivers that when they become enraged, flood the plains, destroy trees and buildings, move earth from one place and deposit it in another. Everyone flees before it, everyone gives way to its thrust, without being able to halt it in any way. but this does not mean that, when the river is not in flood, mean are unable to take precautions, by means of dykes and dams, so that when it rises next time, it will either not overflow its banks or, if it does, its force will not be so uncontrolled or damaging."
When people live from moment to moment, action to action, cowering in fear, all may seem lost; and perhaps there will be great storms that catch us unaware and destroy and maim and kill, but that is not to say that we are powerless in their aftermath. M.'s is not a doctrine of superhuman ability. He does not say that we can predict or take control of nature. He is not so bold. Rather he says that we can plan, we can prepare. In essence, we can use our abilities and our reason to correct our course. Once we have seen a river flood, we can keep it from happening again. Notice also the nature imagery. He does not compare fortune to a homicidal king or a deadly plague, but to nature, calling to mind how often God declares Himself present in the world.
And there is more to fortune than just hindsight. Fortune can destroy, but it can also sweep away, and our success is based not on how strong our armor is or how good of swimmers we are, but on how well we can go with the flow. (I'm so sorry.)
"Moreover, I believe that we are successful when our ways are suited to the times and circumstances, and unsuccessful when they are not. for one sees that, in the things that lead to...glory and riches, men proceed in different ways: one man cautiously, another impetuously... and each of these different ways of acting can be effective... Therefore, if it is necessary for a cautious man to act expeditiously, he does not know how to do it; this leads to failure. But if it were possible to change one's character to suit the times and circumstances, one would always be successful."
This applies too to his most famous doctrine, that it is better to be feared than to be loved:
“A controversy has arisen about this: whether it is better to be loved than feared, or vice versa. My view is that it is desirable to be both loved and feared; but it is difficult to achieve both and, if one of them has to be lacking, it is much safer to be feared than loved. For this may be said of men generally: they are ungrateful, fickle, feigners and dissemblers, avoiders of danger, eager for gain. [Why, hello there, Hobbes] While you benefit them they are all devoted to you: they would shed their blood for you; they offer their possessions, their lives, and their sons, as I said before, when the need to do so if far off. But when you are hard pressed, they turn away. A ruler who has relied completely on their promises, and as neglected to prepare other defences, will be ruined, because friendships that are acquired with money, and not through greatness and nobility of character, are paid for but not secured, and prove unreliable just when they are needed.”
Seeming and Being
I want to close this post with one of my favorite topics, that of man's nature. Recall in Othello, which we will be getting to soon, that Iago manipulates those around him because they have a solid, unimpeachable view of themselves, and his own nature is so malleable ("I am not what I am"). The former characteristic, which Othello himself possesses, may be termed "heroic absolutism," the disposition that favors sureness and sturdiness rather than changeableness. What does M. have to say about this? "What makes princes appear contemptible... is seeming changeable, pusillanimous and irresolute."
He agrees. Men seem contemptible when they are irresolute. Hence Othello's heroic absolutism. Hence M.'s advice: "A ruler, then, should never lack advice, but should have it when he wants it, not when others want to give it; rather he should discourage anyone from giving advice uninvited."
But wait. Didn't he just say that men should be open to changes in fortune? Didn't he advise that we adjust ourselves to the winds of circumstance? Indeed, and we should heed that advice. But that advice is about you, yourself, in your soul. Iago was changeable in his soul, but he was hard as a rock on the surface; how else would he earn the nickname "Honest Iago"? It is most important to act a certain way, because that is all men notice, save a select few. "Everyone can see what you appear to be," writes M.," whereas few have direct experience of what you really are... With regard to all human actions, and especially those of rulers... men pay attention to the outcome." This is not just the temporal outcome such as the outcome of a battle; it is also the outcome in the most literal sense, that which comes out of you from the inside. Inside you can be whatever you want, and should; outside, you must be only one way.
Stray Observations
I usually skim the translator's introductions of books when I am not too concerned with how the translation was done, but I found this one, by Russell Price, interesting since Machiavelli uses words very carefully.
First, many of his words have close cognates in English--respetto is respect, sospetto is suspicion, etc.--but his abstract nouns carry a particular flavor, specifically that of fear. Price notes that M.'s usage of these words is closer to "fearful respect" and "fearful suspicion," respectively.
But there is more to his language than fear, as surprising as that may be. Take virtu for example. Its direct translation is, of course, virtue, but there is more to Machiavellian virtue than what one might read in Augustine or Plato. Virtue for Machiavelli is "a willingness to follow the [traditional] virtues when possible and an equal willingness to disregard them when necessary." This is not the same as moral relativism, or even amorality. Machiavelli knows virtue and believes in virtue (I think). What he does not believe in is unthinking fealty to virtue. True virtue lies in discernment, and this subtlety is lacking in everything we've read so far.
Such a stance should not be surprising given how often Machiavelli confronts "theory with practice." In the Prince, there is little philosophical waxing, little hemming and hawing about what is and isn't right. What is and isn't right depends on the circumstances, on fortuna. Theoretical ethics, I would argue, is not absent from Machiavelli; rather, theory is so far removed from Machiavelli's point that it is "dismissed with a shrug." Living in the world requires not only a theoretical understanding of right and wrong, but a practical guide to carrying on when wrong appears right and right is conspicuously absent. "How men live," Machiavelli writes," is so different from how they should live."
This, the way men live, is another area where M. doesn't so much challenge long-held ideas as much as write down for the first time how men have behaved. If all men were perfectly virtuous, there would be no need for ethics since it would just be how people are. Rather, M. is recommending a practical, nuanced approach. "Yet one should not be troubled about becoming notorious for those vices without which it is difficult to preserve one's power, because if one considers everything carefully, doing some things that seem virtuous may result in one's ruin, whereas doing other things that seem vicious may strengthen one's position."
One more thing to say about all this. M.'s subtlety is quite incredible. Normally, people discuss M. by saying that he invented the idea of "the ends justifying the means". This may be true, as before him we seem to have spoken exclusively of the ends. But he is not all about the means. Rather, he sees great value in the ends, and his advice is often focused on them: "If generosity is practiced in such a way that you will be considered generous, it will harm you. If it is practiced virtuously, and as it should be, it will not be known about, and you will not avoid acquiring a bad reputation for the opposite vice." M. says that true virtue must be hidden, and therefore those who are truly virtuous will not be known for virtue. He does not see a way out of this, and so he argues "Therefore, since a ruler cannot bring himself to practice this virtue of generosity and be known to do so without harming himself, he would do well not to worry about being called miserly." If you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all. This is very reminiscent of the gospels, wherein Jesus rebukes those who pray in the open, so everyone can see them: "When you pray, you are not to be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that they may be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full." (Matt 6:5) The reward for being openly generous is being known for it; the reward for being truly generous is to be thought miserly.
Fortune and Fortuna
What keeps theory from trumping practice? Why is following the Good not enough for people? Because fortune stands in their way. M. knows a thing or two about fortune. He wrote the Prince while imprisoned for treason. As he says in the dedicatory letter, "You will see how much I am unjustly oppressed by great and cruel misfortune."
In the beginning of his discourse on fortune, he writes, "I am not unaware that many have thought, and many still think, that the affairs of the world are so ruled by fortune and by God that the ability of men cannot control them." As we pointed out earlier, this may be the most important observation in the Prince, the distinction between fate and free will, what is predestined and what is in our hands.
It is not necessarily that people in previous generations held that their actions were utterly meaningless; if that were so, I can't imagine that existentialism would have been kept at bay until the 19th century. Rather, there was a certain futility to actions. One must do what one must do, but ultimately all actions are under the power of God. By M.'s time, this had changed slightly, if only because Calvin had declared that we're all predestined and have no free will, i.e., we're all fucked. But at the same time that that great theologian was writing, M. was telling the world (princes, technically) that people have much more power than they realize. From the man himself:
"I compare fortune to one of those dangerous rivers that when they become enraged, flood the plains, destroy trees and buildings, move earth from one place and deposit it in another. Everyone flees before it, everyone gives way to its thrust, without being able to halt it in any way. but this does not mean that, when the river is not in flood, mean are unable to take precautions, by means of dykes and dams, so that when it rises next time, it will either not overflow its banks or, if it does, its force will not be so uncontrolled or damaging."
When people live from moment to moment, action to action, cowering in fear, all may seem lost; and perhaps there will be great storms that catch us unaware and destroy and maim and kill, but that is not to say that we are powerless in their aftermath. M.'s is not a doctrine of superhuman ability. He does not say that we can predict or take control of nature. He is not so bold. Rather he says that we can plan, we can prepare. In essence, we can use our abilities and our reason to correct our course. Once we have seen a river flood, we can keep it from happening again. Notice also the nature imagery. He does not compare fortune to a homicidal king or a deadly plague, but to nature, calling to mind how often God declares Himself present in the world.
And there is more to fortune than just hindsight. Fortune can destroy, but it can also sweep away, and our success is based not on how strong our armor is or how good of swimmers we are, but on how well we can go with the flow. (I'm so sorry.)
"Moreover, I believe that we are successful when our ways are suited to the times and circumstances, and unsuccessful when they are not. for one sees that, in the things that lead to...glory and riches, men proceed in different ways: one man cautiously, another impetuously... and each of these different ways of acting can be effective... Therefore, if it is necessary for a cautious man to act expeditiously, he does not know how to do it; this leads to failure. But if it were possible to change one's character to suit the times and circumstances, one would always be successful."
This applies too to his most famous doctrine, that it is better to be feared than to be loved:
“A controversy has arisen about this: whether it is better to be loved than feared, or vice versa. My view is that it is desirable to be both loved and feared; but it is difficult to achieve both and, if one of them has to be lacking, it is much safer to be feared than loved. For this may be said of men generally: they are ungrateful, fickle, feigners and dissemblers, avoiders of danger, eager for gain. [Why, hello there, Hobbes] While you benefit them they are all devoted to you: they would shed their blood for you; they offer their possessions, their lives, and their sons, as I said before, when the need to do so if far off. But when you are hard pressed, they turn away. A ruler who has relied completely on their promises, and as neglected to prepare other defences, will be ruined, because friendships that are acquired with money, and not through greatness and nobility of character, are paid for but not secured, and prove unreliable just when they are needed.”
Seeming and Being
I want to close this post with one of my favorite topics, that of man's nature. Recall in Othello, which we will be getting to soon, that Iago manipulates those around him because they have a solid, unimpeachable view of themselves, and his own nature is so malleable ("I am not what I am"). The former characteristic, which Othello himself possesses, may be termed "heroic absolutism," the disposition that favors sureness and sturdiness rather than changeableness. What does M. have to say about this? "What makes princes appear contemptible... is seeming changeable, pusillanimous and irresolute."
He agrees. Men seem contemptible when they are irresolute. Hence Othello's heroic absolutism. Hence M.'s advice: "A ruler, then, should never lack advice, but should have it when he wants it, not when others want to give it; rather he should discourage anyone from giving advice uninvited."
But wait. Didn't he just say that men should be open to changes in fortune? Didn't he advise that we adjust ourselves to the winds of circumstance? Indeed, and we should heed that advice. But that advice is about you, yourself, in your soul. Iago was changeable in his soul, but he was hard as a rock on the surface; how else would he earn the nickname "Honest Iago"? It is most important to act a certain way, because that is all men notice, save a select few. "Everyone can see what you appear to be," writes M.," whereas few have direct experience of what you really are... With regard to all human actions, and especially those of rulers... men pay attention to the outcome." This is not just the temporal outcome such as the outcome of a battle; it is also the outcome in the most literal sense, that which comes out of you from the inside. Inside you can be whatever you want, and should; outside, you must be only one way.
Stray Observations
- Wouldn't be a classic text without some good old fashioned sexism: "Because fortune is a woman, and if you want to control her, it is necessary to treat her roughly." Thanks, bro.
- "Therefore, those of our rulers who have lost their principalities, after having ruled them for many years, should not lament their back luck but should blame their own indolence." Cf., Kafka: There are two major sins: impatience and indolence.
- So we've got Hume, Kafka, Shakespeare so far all being prefigured. Anyone else? "But, above all, he must not touch the property of others, because men forget sooner the killing of a father than the loss of their patrimony." Oh, hey Freud, nice to see you here, too. Again: "A change of regime will not bring relatives back to life, but it could well result in one's property being restored."
- I quite like some of his metaphors: “Since it is not always possible to follow in the footsteps of others, or to equal the ability of those whom you imitate, a shrewd man will always follow the methods of remarkable men, and imitate those who have been outstanding, so that, even if he does not succeed in matching their ability, at least he will get within sniffing distance of it. He should act as skilful archers do, when their target seems too distant: knowing well the power of their bow, they aim at a much higher point, not to hit it with the arrow, but by aiming there to be able to strike their target.”
- And again: “For those who draw maps place themselves on low ground, in order to understand the character of the mountains and other high points, and climb higher in order to understand the character of the plains. Likewise, one needs to be a ruler to understand properly the character of the people, and to be a man of the people to understand properly the character of rulers.”
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