Although the fall of Soderini’s government was a personal misfortune for Machiavelli, his enforced retirement seems to have acted as a catalyst for his political imagination. After 1513 he composed not only the brief treatise on which his fame predominantly rests, but all of his major literary, historical, and political works as well, including The Art of War, The Discourses, The History of Florence, The Mandrake Root, Belfagor, The Life of Castruccio Castracani, Clizia, A Dialogue on Language, and The Golden Ass. Moreover, he began to frequent the Oricellari Gardens, where a circle of Florentine intellectuals, including many of the friends to whom some of his later works are dedicated, met to discuss important political and literary matters. The Oricellari Gardens, owned by Cosimo Rucellai, are used by Machiavelli as the background for the discussions recounted in The Art of War, the highly stylized dialogue in that work on warfare must reflect the tone of the friendly sessions there.
After 1513 Machiavelli also became a close friend of Francesco Guicciardini, the greatest of Renaissance historians and a member of an old patrician family in Florence closely associated with both Leo X and Clement VII, the two Medici popes of the period. The exchange of letters between Machiavelli and Guicciardini is one of the most remarkable correspondences of the century. This friendship led Guicciardini to compose his Considerations on the Discourses of Machiavelli, the first coherent critique of Machiavelli’s political theory. When Machiavelli eventually received a commission from the Medici family, it was to complete a history of Florence rather than to occupy a position of power commensurate with his own estimation of his talents and merits. But he lived long enough to see a republic reestablished in Florence in 1527 as an indirect result of the sack of Rome in that year. This momentous event stirred all of European Christendom and has been vividly described in Guicciardini’s History of Italy and Benvenuto Cellini’s Autobiography. This attack upon the Eternal City forced Pope Clement VII to seek safety in the Castel Sant’Angelo, thus granting anti-Medici forces in Florence the opportunity to drive the Medici out once again and to reestablish a republic there.
Machiavelli died in 1527 and was consequently unable to observe the heroic defense of the Florentine republic, in 1530, against a far superior imperial army sent to Florence to return the Medici to power. But Machiavelli’s unwavering faith in the potential power of a united people ruled by a republican form of government and defended by its own citizen-soldiers would have been sustained by the sight.
THE HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF THE PRINCE
Machiavelli’s reputation rests primarily on a single treatise, The Prince. It is a remarkable book, one which fascinated or horrified generations of readers and became, along with Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier, the intellectual property of every well-read European during the sixteenth century. Much of its subsequent fame was due to its unsavory reputation as an immoral or amoral work, a handbook for tyrants advocating the pernicious doctrine that “the ends justify the means” and presenting the infamous Cesare Borgia (murderer, incestuous lover of his own sister, Lucrezia, and tyrant) as a model for the new prince.
Any understanding of the real significance of this book and its author must therefore begin with the complex and always controversial issue of Machiavelli’s intentions. With this treatise Machiavelli addresses a new kind of political figure—the “new” prince whose power lacked a basis in tradition, history, and custom. In the course of his discussion, Machiavelli examines a number of important philosophical and political issues: the nature of man and the question of free will; the importance of individual virtù; the role of fortuna in human affairs; the moral attributes of the new prince; and the proper goal toward which this revolutionary new figure should strive.
Although the impact of this work was immediate and unprecedented, its author seems to have intended The Prince for a specific, historically defined situation, one which would be superseded within a decade after its composition. This occasional nature sets the work apart from The Discourses—a study Machiavelli considered more important, more comprehensive, and closer to his own republican sympathies—which he apparently interrupted to compose The Prince in a matter of months. In 1513 the Medici family was offered a singular opportunity: the son of Lorenzo il Magnifico had just been elected to the throne of St. Peter as Leo X; and in Florence, Giuliano de’ Medici, the Pope’s brother, seemed destined to become its arbiter now that the republic served by Machiavelli and headed by Soderini had been abolished. The Medici family fortunes remained unshaken after the sudden and unexpected death of Giuliano in 1516, for his replacement by Lorenzo de’ Medici, Duke of Urbino, as the heir apparent of Medici interests actually modified very little the circumstances surrounding the composition of The Prince The death did. of course, force Machiavelli to change his opening dedication from Giuliano to Lorenzo. But for a space of a few years, and at a critical moment in Italian history marked by foreign invasions and internal dissension, there coexisted in the peninsula a Medici pope controlling church revenues as well as the important papal states in Central Italy, and a Medici ruler in Florence and Tuscany. The combination of these two spheres of influence might constitute the basis for a strong, central Italian state around which Italian resistance to foreign invasions could coalesce.
To use the terms Machiavelli consistently employs in The Prince, this rare historical opportunity (occasione) was a challenge to the new prince’s ingenuity, ability, or skill (virtù), and was a gift from a benevolent Fortune (fortuna), the classical female goddess who now replaced Christian Providence. Only once in recent memory had the same occasione presented itself to a man of virtù favored by fortuna. This occurred during the papacy of Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI (1492-1503), whose son Cesare seemed destined to conquer much of the Romagna until the untimely death of his father cut short his plans. Most of Machiavelli’s contemporaries were convinced that Alexander and his son intended to establish a Borgia dynasty by combining the son’s conquests with the lands controlled by the Pope. Alexander’s sudden death, however, and the fact that Cesare allowed his father’s bitterest enemy, Giuliano della Rovere, to be elected as Pope Julius II, destroyed any hope of bringing such a scheme to completion.
Thus, a specific historical opportunity links the Medici family to the infamous Borgias, just as the fateful year of 1503, which witnessed the height of Cesare Borgia’s power, seems related to that of 1513, the year of the composition of The Prince. This similarity in the opportunities presented to two influential families does not yet answer the charges of immorality often leveled at Machiavelli because of his admiration for Cesare Borgia and the latter’s appearance in The Prince as a positive model to be imitated. Machiavelli could not have been aware, in 1513, that the unfavorable rumors surrounding the Borgias during their lifetime would later be exploited by a number of anti-Catholic and anti-Italian apologists, mostly Protestant reformers in the North. The gossip about the incestuous relationships of Alexander, Cesare, and Lucrezia Borgia, as well as their legendary homicides with doses of poison treacherously administered, had yet to enjoy wide European circulation when Machiavelli composed his treatise. With the publication, in 1561, of Francesco Guicciardini’s History of Italy, however, these stories, although founded primarily on rumor and flimsy evidence, would spread over the entire continent and would be cited as proof that Italy was a land of atheism, treachery, “Machiavellian” politics, and perversion.
The charge that Machiavelli wrote an immoral guidebook for authoritarian tyrants has often been made. Furthermore, the fact that his two major works (The Prince and The Discourses) focus, respectively, upon a principality and a republic presents the reader with an apparent dilemma: how can the author of The Prince also have written The Discourses? If the same man writes two such books, each of which advocates an entirely different form of government, must he not be confused, guilty of hypocrisy and intellectual dishonesty, or both? This need not bother a reader firmly convinced of Machiavelli’s immorality since an immoral man would not hesitate to writ
e contradictory books. But any reader with an open mind will probably raise this legitimate and baffling question about Machiavelli’s intentions. Thus we are forced again to return to the problem of Machiavelli’s purpose, his views on morality in politics, and the apparent conflict in the content of his two major political works.
POLITICS AND MORALITY IN MACHIAVELLI
No brief treatment of Machiavelli’s views on the relationship of politics and ethics will resolve an issue which has guaranteed Machiavelli avid readers. A variety of conflicting interpretations has been placed upon key sections of his works—particularly chapters VII-VIII and XV-XVIII of The Prince—and a number of influential critics and philosophers have argued that Machiavelli did separate morality and politics and did, at least, discuss the mechanics of evildoing, even if he did not actually advocate the habitual commission of it. In this regard, the reader is best advised to read Machiavelli’s own words with care before he accepts the interpretations of others, but he should beware of the simplistic formula intended to summarize Machiavelli’s political theory, namely, “the ends justify the means.” This statement is actually a gross mistranslation of a key passage from The Prince (XVIII) which, in this popular and vulgarized form, has erected an almost insurmountable barrier to a clear understanding of Machiavelli’s views on the relationship of politics and ethics. The mere mention of the phrase conjures up a vision of power-mad rulers who have justified any political means in a single-minded quest for immoral political ends. But Machiavelli says nothing about justifying political means in this passage; he merely states that “in the actions of all men, and especially of princes, where there is no impartial arbiter, one must consider the final result.” Si guarda al fine—to consider or examine political goals is a far cry from justifying any political action so long as it purports to lead to a desired goal. Moreover, it would be difficult to imagine any political theory that could overlook an attention to the goals proposed by the theorist.
Machiavelli never justified all political means by reference to any political ends, and he never completely separated politics from morality, as so many scholars have claimed. This is evident from an important but infrequently cited remark Machiavelli makes in reference to Agathocles, the tyrant of Syracuse, in The Prince (VIII): “Still, it cannot be called skill [virtù] to kill one’s fellow citizens, to betray friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; by these means one can acquire power but not glory.” Machiavelli analyzes both successful rulers and unsuccessful ones; each group may contain praiseworthy men of virtù, depending upon the nature of the goals toward which they strive. A man such as Agathocles, whose personality seems to conform perfectly to the list of scandalous moral attributes Machiavelli discusses in chapters XV-XVIII of The Prince, is, paradoxically, condemned by Machiavelli. Power does not, therefore, automatically confer glory or virtù, nor is might synonymous with right for Machiavelli. A successful prince may often act outside the boundaries of traditional ethical or religious codes. Machiavelli recognizes this fact and accepts it—although the fact that he does so perturbs many of his more squeamish readers—but he separates the merely powerful rulers from the praiseworthy men of virtù by reference to the ends or goals toward which these rulers strive. Clearly, a careful analysis of The Prince and The Discourses reveals that Machiavelli does not argue that all means are justified in the pursuit of any ends, and does not completely separate moral standards from political actions. Dealing with this issue in The Discourses (I, ix) in an assessment of the murder of Remus by his brother Romulus, the founder of Rome, Machiavelli says: “It is, indeed, fitting that while the action accuses him, the result excuses him; and when this result is good, as it was with Romulus, it will always excuse him; for one should reproach a man who is violent in order to destroy, not one who is violent in order to mend things.” Although Machiavelli accepts the necessity of violence in politics, he is not justifying any end here. On the contrary, he is praising a most specific goal, namely, the establishment of the most durable and powerful republican government in human history by an admittedly violent (but unavoidable) action performed in the public interest rather than for private advantage. In such a narrowly circumscribed situation, where the violence is clearly in the public interest, Machiavelli does accept actions that would be condemned by the traditional ethical and religious standards of his day. He would claim, however, that those who condemn such violent acts openly performed and honestly admitted are themselves often guilty of paying only lip service to such principles.
Thus, in 1513 the Medici family had a unique opportunity: fortuna made it possible for them to free Italy from her barbarian invaders and to establish a strong government around which other Italians could rally. Note that Machiavelli concentrates his attention upon virtù, a human quality without which there is no hope of success. This individualistic perspective marks his thought as reflective of the preconceptions of the age. Unlike such later Reformation thinkers as Calvin or Luther, Machiavelli accepts the optimistic premises of such Italian humanists as Pico della Mirandola and Leon Battista Alberti and argues for at least limited free will—man controls roughly half of his actions while fortuna rules the other half. Human virtù must contend with fortuna, the personification of all the contingent forces in the world. The fortuitous conjunction of a man of virtù and a favorable fortuna—who, like a woman, is always more likely to smile upon an energetic and courageous young man—may allow a new prince, like the two Medici, to take advantage of any historical opportunity or occasione. Success in this sublunary world, however, is never completely guaranteed, as the case of Cesare Borgia demonstrates.
Given a serious emergency, such as Italy’s invasion by foreign powers, and a unique opportunity to resolve this crisis by creating a strong, central principality from the combination of Florentine resources and those of the papacy, Machiavelli, the republican secretary, may accept a single ruler or prince, even one whose actions (like those of Romulus) are not in agreement with traditional Christian moral principles. His reliance upon a single heroic individual whose actions will establish a body politic is not limited to The Prince or its specific historical context, for Machiavelli also believes that great actions by single individuals are required to found republics, create religions, and reform corrupt military, political, or religious institutions. This individualism is one of the strongest connections between The Prince and The Discourses, and Machiavelli’s emphasis in the first work upon a single individual, a “new” prince—whether he be Cesare Borgia, a Medici figure, Moses, Romulus, Theseus, or Cyrus—is, therefore, no valid evidence that he advocated an authoritarian form of government. For Machiavelli, the state’s internal stability and external independence are of primary concern. He will always prefer a republican form of self-government, but a principality with stability and freedom to act in foreign affairs is always preferable to a weak republic torn apart by internal conflict and endangered by foreign armies. In this sense, there is no real ideological separation between The Prince and The Discourses (or the other political works). The first treatise was written in a few feverish months for a specific crisis at a time when a particular solution was feasible; the second commentary was the product of calmer, more deliberate study and reflected the author’s republican bias and the fact that the proposed solution in The Prince was dictated by a specific historical opportunity that would soon pass. To consider Machiavelli’s political theory with reference only to The Prince would reduce this complex and original thinker’s significance and virtually ignore many of his important statements on the nature of politics, social conflict, human nature, civic corruption, the didactic value of history, and the relationship of civilian and military life—many of which are better expressed or more fully treated in sections of The Discourses, The Art of War, The Life of Castruccio Castracani, or The History of Florence. Each of these works is represented in this volume, preceded by a brief editorial comment on the text.
MACHIAVELLI AND HUMAN NATURE
/> Machiavelli’s political theory operates within a clear definition of human nature. Although Machiavelli discusses the role of historical opportunities (occasione) and the influence of fortuna, as a practical man he devotes much attention to outlining his views on human nature, since he emphasizes the political protagonist in his works rather than broader social or economic forces of a more abstract nature. In many ways, his opinions on this subject are traditional ones and can be found in earlier Christian writers or later Reformation theologians. The conclusions he draws, however, are strikingly different from earlier or subsequent ones.
Machiavelli defines man as a selfish animal ruled by the insatiable desire for material gain and driven by the principle of self-interest. A man is not to be trusted (unless his trust is based upon fear rather than love), and he is easily fooled and deceived by appearances. As he notes in The Prince (XVII): “One can generally say this about men: that they are ungrateful, fickle, simulators and deceivers, avoiders of danger, greedy for gain ... men are less hesitant about harming someone who makes himself loved than one who makes himself feared because love is held together by a chain of obligation which, since men are a sorry lot, is broken on every occasion in which their own self-interest is concerned; but fear is held together by a dread of punishment which will never abandon you.” Furthermore, man’s nature is such that it never changes or evolves with the passage of time but always remains constant and immutable. But this extremely pessimistic and negative assessment of human nature leads, paradoxically, to a positive and optimistic evaluation of human possibilities through the study of history. For if the actions of men are grounded upon their evil nature, these actions are as unchanging and as repetitious as the nature they reflect; and as they recur in time, they are capable of being organized, collected, studied, and used as the basis for future prediction and present understanding.
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