Philosophy of the Modern Era

Machiavelli

Although the Renaissance did not produce a significant theoretical philosopher, it did yield one exceptionally outstanding thinker in the realm of political philosophy—Niccolò Machiavelli. His name often evokes horror, and at times, he indeed terrifies. However, many others would share this fate if they were as unvarnished as Machiavelli. His political philosophy is scientific and empirical, grounded in his own practical experience, aiming to delineate the means for achieving specified goals, irrespective of whether these goals are deemed good or evil. When Machiavelli occasionally decides to name the goals he personally considers desirable, they prove to be worthy of universal approbation. Much of the traditional vilification that clings to Machiavelli's name is owed to the indignation of hypocrites who detest a candid acknowledgment of utter evil. Certainly, Machiavelli's teachings contain much that merits condemnation, but in this, he is a reflection of his age. Such intellectual honesty regarding political dishonor would hardly have been possible in any other time or country, except perhaps in Greece, among individuals who owed their theoretical education to the sophists and their practical training to the wars of small states, which in classical Greece (as in Renaissance Italy) formed the political milieu of individual genius.

Machiavelli (1467—1527) was a Florentine; his father, a lawyer, was neither rich nor poor. Machiavelli was around thirty when Savonarola reigned in Florence; his tragic demise evidently left a profound impact on Machiavelli, as he notes that "all armed prophets have succeeded, and the unarmed ones have perished," citing Savonarola as an example of the latter group. He mentions Moses, Cyrus, Theseus, and Romulus as examples of the former. It is telling of the Renaissance that Christ is not mentioned.

Immediately following Savonarola's execution, Machiavelli obtained a minor position in the Florentine government (1498). He remained in the service of the Florentine government, sometimes undertaking significant diplomatic missions, until the restoration of the Medici in 1512. After this, as a staunch opponent of the Medici, he was arrested but acquitted and permitted to live in rural seclusion near Florence. Deprived of other pursuits, Machiavelli became a writer. His most famous work, The Prince, was written in 1513 and dedicated to Lorenzo de’ Medici, as Machiavelli hoped (as it turned out, in vain) to win the favor of the Medici. This practical aim may account for the tone of the book; Machiavelli's larger work, Discourses, written concurrently with The Prince, adopts a noticeably more republican and liberal character. In the opening pages of The Prince, Machiavelli asserts that he will discuss republics in this book, having addressed the topic elsewhere. Readers of The Prince who do not also engage with Discourses risk acquiring a rather one-sided understanding of Machiavelli's views.

The failure of his attempts to reconcile with the Medici compelled Machiavelli to continue writing. He lived in seclusion until his death, which occurred in the same year that Rome was sacked by the troops of Charles V. This year may also be regarded as the date of the demise of the Italian Renaissance.

The purpose of The Prince is to elucidate, based on historical experience and contemporary events, how princely power is acquired, maintained, and lost. Fifteenth-century Italy provided numerous examples, both large and small, for this theme. Rarely could a ruler boast of the legitimacy of his power; even popes often secured their election through dishonorable means. The rules for achieving success were vastly different from those in more tranquil times, as no one was horrified by the cruelties and treachery that would discredit a claim to power in the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. Perhaps our age is better equipped to evaluate Machiavelli anew, for some of the most renowned successes of our time were achieved through methods no less ignoble than those employed in Renaissance Italy. Machiavelli, as a keen connoisseur of statecraft, would likely have applauded such acts of Hitler as the Reichstag fire, the party purge of 1934, and the treachery following Munich.

The hero of The Prince, to whom Machiavelli bestows the highest praises, is Cesare Borgia. He undertook a daunting task: first, by killing his own brother, he sought to reap the fruits of his father's dynastic ambition; second, by the sword, he aimed to conquer, in the name of the pope, territories that, after the death of Alexander VI, were destined to become his own, rather than the property of the papal state; third, he endeavored to maneuver the College of Cardinals so that his friend would become the next pope. With great skill, Cesare pursued this challenging objective; his conduct, Machiavelli asserts, should serve as a instructive example for the new prince. Indeed, Cesare ultimately failed, but only due to "extraordinary and extreme hostility from fate." It so happened that at the moment of his father's death, Cesare himself was gravely ill; by the time he recovered, his enemies had rallied their forces, and his fiercest rival had been elected pope. On the day of this election, Cesare told Machiavelli that he had foreseen everything that could occur, "except for one thing: that when my father was dying, I would find myself on the brink of death as well."

Machiavelli, who was well aware of all the sordid details of Cesare's crimes, concludes thus: "In summing up the affairs of the duke [Cesare], I could not reproach him with anything; on the contrary, I believe that he can, as I have done, be held up as an example to all who have attained power through fortune's favor with the aid of foreign arms."

The chapter "On Ecclesiastical Principalities" is particularly interesting, as Machiavelli, considering what is said on the same topic in Discourses, clearly concealed some of his thoughts. The reason for this reticence is evident: The Prince was written with the intent to please the Medici, and at that very moment, one of the Medici had become pope (Leo X). As for the ecclesiastical principalities, Machiavelli states in The Prince, the only difficulty lies in acquiring them, for once they are acquired, they are protected by ancient institutions upheld by faith that maintain the power of the princes, regardless of their actions. Ecclesiastical princes do not require armies (Machiavelli's exact words), for "they are governed by a higher power, incomprehensible to the human mind." They "are exalted and safeguarded by God, and it would be the act of a presumptuous and audacious man to discuss them." Nevertheless, Machiavelli continues, it is permissible to inquire into the means by which Alexander VI managed to achieve such a significant augmentation of the papacy's temporal power.

The question of papal authority is explored more thoroughly and sincerely in Discourses. Here, Machiavelli begins by ranking renowned figures within an ethical hierarchy. Most illustrious, he asserts, are the founders of religions; next come the founders of monarchies or republics; then scholars. All of these are virtuous individuals, but there are also despicable figures—the destroyers of religions, subverters of republics or kingdoms, and enemies of virtue or knowledge. The founders of tyrannies, including Julius Caesar, are vile; in contrast, Brutus was a virtuous man. (The contrast between this view and Dante's indicates the influence that classical literature had on Machiavelli.) Religion, in Machiavelli's view, ought to play a prominent role in the life of the state not because it is true, but because it serves as a social bond: the Romans were correct to feign belief in prophecies and to punish those who disregarded them. Machiavelli levels two accusations against the churches of his time: that their immoral conduct undermines religious faith, and that the secular power of the popes, with the policies it engenders, acts as an impediment to the unification of Italy. These accusations are articulated in highly forceful terms: "The peoples closest to the Roman church, the head of our religion, turn out to be the least religious... We are on the brink of either ruin or punishment... Thus, we Italians owe our church and our clergy primarily for the loss of our religion and our corruption; but we also owe them something worse—the cause of our ruin. It is indeed the church that has held and continues to hold our country divided."

Such passages inevitably lead one to consider that Machiavelli admired Cesare Borgia not for the aims he pursued but solely for the art with which he pursued them. This admiration for the skill and deeds through which glory is acquired reached immense proportions during the Renaissance. Of course, such sentiments have always existed; many of Napoleon's enemies extolled him as a military strategist. However, in Italy during Machiavelli's time, this pseudo-artistic admiration for cunning reached far greater heights than in previous or subsequent centuries. It would be a mistake to try to reconcile this admiration with the more elevated political objectives that seemed significant to Machiavelli: these two sentiments—the cult of the art of achieving goals and the patriotic yearning for the unity of Italy—coexisted in his mind side by side, without merging with one another. It is precisely for this reason that Machiavelli could praise Cesare Borgia for his cunning and condemn him for the disunity that persisted in Italy because of him. It seems that Machiavelli’s ideal was a man as skillful and unscrupulous (when it comes to means) as Cesare Borgia, yet pursuing entirely different ends. The "Prince" concludes with a passionate call to the Medici to liberate Italy from the hands of the "barbarians" (namely, the French and Spaniards), whose dominance "stinks." Machiavelli was under no illusions that such a task would be undertaken from selfless motives; only the thirst for power and, even more so, for glory could drive one to such a venture.

In the "Prince," Machiavelli candidly rejects conventional morality when it comes to the behavior of rulers. A ruler will perish if he is always merciful; he must be cunning like a fox and ferocious like a lion. One of the chapters (XVIII) is titled "How Princes Should Keep Their Word." Here we learn that they should keep their word only when it is advantageous. If necessary, a prince must be treacherous.

"However, one must skillfully conceal this fox-like nature and be a great pretender and hypocrite: for people are so simple and so subject to the necessity of the moment that whoever deceives will always find someone to be outwitted. I do not wish to remain silent about a recent example. Alexander VI never did anything but deceive people; he never thought of anything else and always found someone with whom he could carry this out. There has never been a man who convinced more powerfully, asserted something with greater oaths, and observed it less; however, he always succeeded in his deceptions because he knew the world well from this perspective. Therefore, it is unnecessary for a prince to possess all the virtues described above, but he must certainly appear to be endowed with them."

Most importantly for a prince, Machiavelli continues, is the appearance of being religious.

The "Discourses," however, are written in an entirely different tone, presenting themselves as a commentary on Livy. There are entire chapters that seem to have been penned by none other than Montesquieu; much of the book could be signed by an 18th-century liberal. The theory of checks and balances is clearly articulated. A constitution should provide a share in governance to princes, nobility, and the people: "Then these three forces will mutually control one another." The best constitution is that which was established by Lycurgus in Sparta, as it embodied the most perfect balance; Solon's constitution was too democratic and thus led to the tyranny of Peisistratus. The republican constitution of Rome was also good, as it pitted the Senate against the people.

Machiavelli frequently employs the term "freedom" as denoting something precious, although what precisely it denotes is not entirely clear. It is, of course, inherited from antiquity and later adopted by the 18th and 19th centuries. Tuscany owes the preservation of its freedoms to the absence of castle owners or nobles. ("Nobles" is, of course, a misrepresentation, albeit a flattering one.) Apparently, Machiavelli believed that political freedom presupposes a certain kind of personal virtue among citizens. The only country, he says, where honesty and religiosity still thrive among the populace is Germany, and therefore there exist many republics there. Generally speaking, the people are wiser and more steadfast than rulers, contrary to the opinions of Livy and most other authors. It is not without reason that it is said: "The voice of the people is the voice of God."

Machiavelli serves as an intriguing illustration of how the political thought of the Greeks and Romans (during the republican period) regained efficacy in the 15th century, which it had lost in Greece since the time of Alexander and in Rome since the time of Augustus. Neoplatonists, Arabs, and Scholastics were fervent admirers of the metaphysics of Plato and Aristotle but showed little interest in their political writings, as the political systems of the city-states had vanished without a trace. In Italy, the rise of city-states coincided with the revival of knowledge, making it possible for humanists to employ the political theories of the Greeks and Romans from the republican period. The love of "freedom" and the theory of checks and balances were borrowed by the Renaissance from antiquity, and the Modern Age largely inherited them from the Renaissance, albeit partially and directly from antiquity. This aspect of Machiavelli's views is no less important than the famous "immoral" doctrines of the "Prince."

It is noteworthy that Machiavelli never grounds his political arguments in Christian or biblical reasoning. Medieval authors adhered to the concept of "legitimate authority," which they understood to refer to the power of the pope and emperor or authority deriving from them. Authors from northern countries, even as late as Locke, argued by referencing events in the Garden of Eden, believing that this could demonstrate the "legitimacy" of certain forms of power. In Machiavelli, there is no trace of such concepts. Power should belong to those who manage to seize it in free competition. The preference Machiavelli shows for popular government is derived not from some idea of "rights" but from the observation that popular governments are less cruel, unscrupulous, and fickle than tyrannies.

Let us attempt to consolidate (which Machiavelli himself did not do) the "moral" and "immoral" parts of his doctrine. What follows is not my own thoughts, but ideas that are directly or indirectly attributable to Machiavelli.

In the world, there exists a range of political goods, of which three are especially important: national independence, security, and a well-ordered constitution. The best constitution is one that distributes legal rights among the prince, nobility, and people in proportion to their real power, for under such a constitution it is difficult to effect successful revolutions, and thus a stable order is possible; were it not for considerations of stable order, it would be prudent to grant more power to the people. Up to this point, we have spoken of ends.

However, politics also entails a question of means. It is futile to examine a political end through methods that are patently doomed to failure; if the end is acknowledged to be good, then we must choose means that ensure its achievement. The question of means can be considered in purely scientific terms, irrespective of whether the ends are good or bad. "Success" signifies achieving the goal you have set, whatever it may be. If there exists a science of success, it can be studied through the successes of wicked people no less than through the successes of virtuous individuals—indeed, better, as the examples of successful sinners are more numerous than those of successful saints. However, such a science, once established, will benefit the saint just as much as the sinner, for the saint, if he enters the political arena, must, just like the sinner, thirst for success.

The question ultimately distills down to the matter of power. To achieve a political objective, some form of power is invariably required. This evident truth is often obscured by slogans such as “justice will prevail” or “the triumph of evil is fleeting.” When the side you deem righteous prevails, it does so because it possesses the greater strength. Admittedly, strength often relies on public opinion, which in turn is shaped by propaganda; it is also true that in propaganda, it is advantageous to appear more virtuous than one's opponent, and one method of seeming virtuous is to genuinely embody virtue. This is why it may occasionally happen that victory aligns with the faction that embodies a larger share of what the masses regard as virtue. We must concede with Machiavelli that this was a significant element in the rise of the Church’s power during the 11th, 12th, and 13th centuries, as well as in the success of the Reformation in the 16th century. However, such assertions demand considerable qualifications.

Firstly, those who seize power can, by controlling propaganda, present their faction as the epitome of virtue; for instance, no one would dare whisper about the crimes of Alexander VI in a New York or Boston public school. Secondly, there are periods of chaos when success often accompanies the most egregious villains; such was the era in which Machiavelli lived. Such times are characterized by a rapid growth of cynicism, prompting people to forgive almost anything if it proves beneficial. Yet even in such times, as Machiavelli himself asserts, it is preferable to don the guise of virtue before an ignorant populace.

The question may be posed in broader terms. According to Machiavelli, civilized individuals are almost certainly unprincipled egoists. Were one to attempt today to establish a republic, Machiavelli argues, one would find it easier to succeed among mountaineers than among the inhabitants of great cities, for the latter are already corrupted. But if individuals are unprincipled egoists, then the proper course of action is contingent upon the population with which one must engage. The Church of the Renaissance garnered widespread hatred, but only to the north of the Alps did this hatred reach sufficient proportions to instigate the Reformation. At the time when Luther raised the banner of his revolt, the revenues of the papacy were likely greater than they would have been had Alexander VI and Julius II behaved more virtuously; if this is true, then it is the cynicism of Renaissance Italy that bears responsibility. Thus, it follows that politicians will achieve greater success when they depend on a virtuous populace than when they rely on an indifferent populace; they will also fare better in societies where their crimes (should they commit any) can be publicly scrutinized than in societies governed by strict censorship controlled by themselves. Of course, notable results can always be obtained through hypocrisy, but the quantity of such results may be significantly diminished by appropriate institutions.

In one respect, Machiavelli’s political thought, akin to that of the ancients, is somewhat superficial. He draws his examples from the endeavors of great legislators such as Lycurgus and Solon, attributing to them the creation of a unified society; what preceded this nearly vanishes from Machiavelli’s purview. The notion that society is the result of natural growth and that statesmen can influence it only within certain confines belongs, in general, to the modern era, finding powerful support in evolutionary theory. Machiavelli, however, was entirely oblivious to such an idea, and in this regard, he has made no advancement over Plato.

Yet it can be argued that the evolutionary perspective on society, while it may have held true in the past, is now more inapplicable and should be supplanted in the modern age and the future by a more mechanistic view. In Russia and Germany, new societies have been created, and this was accomplished in precisely the same manner as the mythical Lycurgus is said to have established the Spartan state. The ancient legislator was a benevolent myth; the daunting reality is the contemporary legislator. The world has become more akin to Machiavelli’s realm than it genuinely was in his time, and the modern individual who hopes to refute his philosophy must reflect more profoundly than seemed necessary in the 19th century.