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Erica Benner
Social Research: An International Quarterly, Volume 81, Number 1,Spring 2014, pp. 61-84 (Article)
P bl h d b Th J hn H p n n v r t PrDOI: 10.1353/sor.2014.0008
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social research Vol. 81 : No. 1 : Spring 2014 61
Erica BennerMachiavelli’s Ironies: The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince
for all their disagreements, most contemporary readers of the prince agree
on one point. Machiavelli’s book, they maintain, argues that politicians
often have no choice but to set aside traditional moral standards. The
basic priority of political leaders is to preserve their polity against inter-
nal and external threats. If their constituents are currently stateless or
downtrodden, they must seek to advance the interests of those people
by building them a state or bolstering their power in an existing one.
Politicians sometimes have to let the priorities of collective self-preser-
vation override moral rules that most people take for granted as founda-
tions of civilized, intelligently ordered life: keep your promises, avoid
violence and cruelty, don’t take from others what is legitimately theirs.
However sound these precepts might be in private transactions, leaders
who insist on always observing them in the high-stakes game of politics
tend to come out losers. Winners know when to ignore conventional
restraints. They understand that their own constituents’ best interests
can sometimes be served only if they violate agreements, launch offen-
sive attacks on neighbors, and use extralegal means to deflect actual or
potential rivals.
Especially since the nineteenth century, these maxims have had
many admirers. Some of them dub what they take to be Machiavellian
wisdom “political realism”—in contrast to the idealism or moralism
of those who think that it is always regrettable, and generally harms
one’s own cause, to break oaths, take advantage of others’ weakness in
62 social research
peacetime, or use unlawful violence. Most self-professed Machiavellian
Realists are nonpoliticians; in our times as in Machiavelli’s, few politi-
cal practitioners dare admit that they subscribe to these precepts. Yet
for those who secretly do, The Prince supplies a handy rationale for
pragmatic hypocrisy. To appear to be in thrall to conventional moral-
ity while occasionally flouting it, we read in chapter 18, is essential
for political success. It is necessary “to be a great pretender and dis-
sembler” like Pope Alexander VI, whose “deceits succeeded at his will,
because he knew well this aspect of the world.” Alexander’s present-
day imitators have a significant advantage over two-faced statesmen in
Machiavelli’s time: now they can claim to be following wise Machiavel-
lian Realist advice, whereas earlier practitioners had no respectable
label for their pragmatic amorality.
The modern realist reading of The Prince assumes that the book
is a straightforward treatise whose various maxims and examples
Machiavelli recommends in dead earnest. If this assumption were
shown to be wrong, then today’s self-proclaimed realists would be
deprived of a key intellectual pillar. On the occasion of The Prince’s
500th anniversary, there are good reasons to re-examine the view that
Machiavelli endorses all the Machiavellian advice he puts forward in
the book.
EarLy DouBTs aBouT The Prince’s rEaLIsMWe can start by asking whether an author with Machiavelli’s political
experience, deep reading of ancient histories, and sharp nose for self-
serving rhetoric could seriously have believed that The Prince’s maxims
of strategic amorality could ever bring solid political success. In striking
contrast to modern readings, few of the book’s early readers claimed
that it offered realistic guidance on how to maintain political power.
On the contrary, both critics and defenders thought it self-evident that
a prince who followed Machiavelli’s more notorious maxims would
shoot himself in both feet. Denouncing The Prince’s recently deceased
author as “an enemy of the human race,” the English Cardinal Reginald
Pole pointed out in 1536 that any ruler imprudent enough to follow its
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 63
amoral precepts would scupper his chances of founding a strong govern-
ment (Pole 1997, 274–85). It seemed obvious to Pole that rulers who regu-
larly break faith with internal and foreign allies, or who attack other
states without good cause, soon find themselves isolated and exposed to
reciprocal attacks. In rare cases where such leaders avoid plots or revo-
lutions in their own lifetimes, their methods create a corrosive legacy
of mistrust that eventually comes back to bite their successors—and
fatally weakens their states.
Astounded by the apparent “blindness and ignorance” of its au-
thor, Pole concluded that The Prince was an ironic work: under color of
helping princes to power, it lured them toward self-inflicted disaster.
Other early readers agreed that Machiavelli did not seriously defend
The Prince’s amoral maxims but detected high-minded aims behind his
apparently ruthless advice. Alberico Gentili, an exiled Italian Protes-
tant who taught at Oxford, argued that “while appearing to instruct
the prince,” Machiavelli was actually “stripping him bare” to reveal
the hypocritical and tyrannical ways of men who seek excessive power
(Gentili 1924, II.9). The Englishmen Francis Bacon, James Harrington,
and Henry Neville agreed that behind its morality-subverting mask,
The Prince sought to defend high moral standards in politics by expos-
ing the hypocrisy of corrupt princes and popes. In 1762, Jean-Jacques
Rousseau claimed that Machiavelli’s “choice of his execrable hero,”
the scandalously violent Cesare Borgia, “suffices to exhibit his secret
intention” to criticize corrupt political standards while seeming to
commend them (Rousseau 1964, III.5–6).
aMBIguITIEs anD InconsIsTEncIEsA close reading yields further reasons to suspect that The Prince may not
always speak in Machiavelli’s own voice. The book is riddled with ambigu-
ities that invite readers to pause and ponder the implications of a chapter,
a passage, or a word. When Machiavelli declares in chapter 7 that Cesare
Borgia “made use of every deed and did all those things that should be
done by a prudent and virtuous man,” does he mean that Borgia was a
prudent and virtuous man—or insinuate that his actions merely simu-
64 social research
lated genuine virtú? When we read in chapter 8 that Agathocles “seized
and held the principality” of Syracuse “without any civil controversy,”
should we conclude that the cause of nonresistance was the violent
usurper’s popularity, or the terror his methods instilled in his subjects?
The Prince’s ambiguities loom even larger when we try to pick
out a few general standards for evaluating the book’s maxims and ex-
amples. Machiavelli is widely supposed to have held that the “ends
justify the means.” But what, in The Prince, are the appropriate ends
of prudent action? At times the personal greatness (grandezza), reputa-
tion (riputazione), advantage, and survival of the prince himself are all
that seem to matter for Machiavelli. At other times, he implies that a
prince’s desires for power can only be satisfied if he gives priority to
the stability (stabilità), security (sicurtà), and well-being (bene essere) of
the “generality of people” (universalità) over his private ambitions. In
chapters 3 and 4, Machiavelli describes—and seems to approve of—re-
publican Rome’s ambition to dominate the “free” province of Greece.
Then in chapter 5 he sets out excellent reasons to respect peoples’
desires to live in freedom from foreign occupation and warns princes
that they must face recurrent violent resistance if they assault that
freedom. It is hard to see how Machiavelli, or anyone else, can give
equal weight to both these ends: conquest for the sake of maximiz-
ing power on the one hand, desires for freedom on the other. And it
seems inconsistent that the same book teaches princes and empires
how to seize power over peoples who reasonably and naturally value
self-government.
Machiavelli’s basic standards become still harder to define
when we ask what he considers the most effective means for pursuing
princely ends. There is a deep, recurring tension between two “modes”
of action discussed in The Prince: one associated with steadiness and
trust (fede), the other with changeability and deceptive appearances.
At times Machiavelli insists that a prince’s self-preservation depends
on satisfying his subjects’ desires for nonarbitrary rule, transparency,
firm mutual obligations (obligo), and regular order. At other times the
most effective princely “modes” are said to be nontransparent, variable
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 65
in accordance with “the times,” and indifferent to stable expectations
on the part of subjects or allies. For example, chapter 18 tells princes
to break faith when this gives them an edge over rivals, or helps them
ascend to greatness. Yet in chapter 21 and before, Machiavelli under-
lines the need to make and keep firm commitments to subjects and
allies—even if this sometimes puts the prince on the losing side, and
constrains what he can do to increase his own power. More generally,
chapter 25 begins by advancing a cautious approach to dealing with
fortune’s caprices by patiently building “dykes and dams” long before
troubles strike. This approach is linked to The Prince’s most obvious
practical aim: to teach readers how to construct a well-ordered, well-
defended stato that has fair chances of lasting long after their deaths.
But on the very next page, Machiavelli states that it’s better to handle
fortune with youthful impetuosity than with an older man’s caution,
and to beat her into submission rather than patiently building firm
orders to regulate her moods.
Is PragMaTIc aDaPTaBILITy a MachIavELLIan vIrTuE? The usual solution to these difficulties is to treat The Prince’s various
standards as relative to circumstances. According to this explanation,
Machiavelli thought that some circumstances are friendly to freedom
in republics, while in other conditions principality or even tyranny has
good effects and may be the only way out of corruption. At times one
should work steadily and cautiously to forestall fortune’s downturns,
at other times strike and beat her. If one looks for a general statement
of this circumstance-relative position in The Prince, the best candidate is
the claim made near the end of chapter 18 that a prince “needs to have a
spirit disposed to change as the winds of fortune and variations of things
command him.” This claim is echoed in chapter 25, where we read that
if one “would change his nature with the times and with affairs, his
fortune would not change.” If variability is Machiavelli’s overarching
criterion of political virtú, then many of The Prince’s apparent inconsis-
tencies can be explained away. The only kind of virtú that political agents
always need is pragmatic adaptability; the other qualities Machiavelli
66 social research
associates with virtú—spiritedness, physical boldness, military courage,
foresight, caution, stability, respect for limits, patience, discipline, good
orders, and moral goodness—are more or less praiseworthy according to
circumstances.
But the text gives us many reasons to doubt that the ability
to change one’s “spirit” and even one’s nature is part of virtú at all.
First, Machiavelli commends this ability—or seems to commend it—
very late in the book. Before chapter 18, not a word was said about the
need to change one’s modes, spirit, or nature. Until then, the ability
to stay firmly on one’s own course, ordering and commanding one’s
own forces regardless of fortune’s “variations,” looked like the height
of virtú in The Prince. The book’s main practical proposals call for a
virtú that builds firm orders to “govern,” “manage,” or “regulate” (gov-
ernare, maneggiare, regolare) fortune. This steadying, self-directed kind
of virtú is especially needed to build civilian militias as the founda-
tion of renewed Italian strength. Such orders need to be founded on a
self-imposed logic that makes one as independent of fortune’s whims
as possible. For although no one is immune to their effects, virtuous
works can help one avoid being subject to fortune’s caprices. A prince
who varies with fortune’s moods or gives himself over to her “com-
mand” no longer regulates fortuna, but puts her in the drivers’ seat.
Second, even in chapter 18 and later, Machiavelli does not iden-
tify virtú with the ability to change at fortune’s command: he never
calls this ability virtú. On the contrary, he frequently highlights the
shortcomings of those who let fortuna blow them hither and thither.
Throughout The Prince, the word variazione is a byword for fortune’s
merit-blind and destabilizing oscillations. In chapter 19, variability
(varia) tops Machiavelli’s list of qualities that win contempt, associat-
ing it with pusillanimity, effeminacy, and irresolution, “from which a
prince should guard himself as from a shoal.”
Two examples of pragmatic political variation in The Prince
show why this “mode” is ultimately self-destructive. In chapter 16,
Machiavelli discusses politicians who court constant popularity in
matters of political economy—an all-too-familiar phenomenon in our
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 67
own times, as well as his. At first they seek to be “held liberal” through
extravagant spending. When funds dry up, they shift gears and try
to practice frugality. This kind of varying with fortune is disastrous,
Machiavelli tells us. Since the prince’s initially sumptuous ways spoil
his subjects, they grow enraged against him when he changes modes
with the “times.” Machiavelli’s solution is that princes should avoid
playing the popularity game at all—and avoid varying their modes of
spending. Instead a prince should always follow frugal policies, even if
this prudent “mode” makes some people accuse him of vicious “mean-
ness” (misero). They will come around and respect him all the more
“when it is seen that with his parsimony [parsimonia] his income is
enough for him, that he can defend himself from whoever makes war
upon him, and that he can undertake campaigns without burdening
the people.”
The other example occurs in chapter 21, where Machiavelli re-
jects the argument that princes should keep their options open in for-
eign relations or opportunistically switch alliances in the vain desire to
win every war. The only prudent policy, he argues, is to pick clear sides
and accept common defeats as well as victories, since well-founded
trust and firm obligations between allies guarantee one’s own security
more surely than efforts to side with whomever happens to look like
the winner at a given moment. Over time, advantages always accrue
to a prince who “discloses himself boldly in support of one side.” For
if the one he supported wins a particular war, the winner has “an ob-
ligation [obligo] to you and has a contract of love for you; and men are
never so indecent as to crush you with so great an example of ingrati-
tude.” If the one he backed loses, his unwavering commitment still
pays rich dividends, since the losing power will still owe him “refuge”
in exchange for his past support: “he helps you while he can, and you
become the companion of a fortune that can revive.”
Third, right after declaring in chapter 25 that one should change
their modes with the times, Machiavelli suddenly turns around and
says that this kind of versatility is in fact impossible. “No man,” he
writes, “may be found so prudent as to know how to accommodate
68 social research
himself to this.” In a famous 1506 letter he had already canvassed
and rejected the idea that human beings are capable of chameleon-like
adaptability. He starts by observing that “anyone wise enough to adapt
to and understand the times and the pattern of events would always
have good fortune, or would always keep himself from bad fortune.”
Such a man, indeed, would be master of the universe: “and it would
come to be true that the wise man could command the stars and the
Fates.” Unsurprisingly, however, “such wise men cannot be found”
among mere mortals. For “in the first place, men are shortsighted;
in the second place, they are unable to command their own natures”
(Letter to Giovan Battista Soderini, September 13–21, 1506). On Machi-
avelli’s egalitarian anthropology, even the most prudent men are inca-
pable of perfect foresight and improvised self-creation. The variation
argument therefore rests on an unrealistic view of human capabilities.
It reflects a longing for total control of circumstances that cannot be
completely controlled—though they can be “managed” or “governed”
by self-ordering virtú.
sIgns anD usEs of Irony If Machiavelli is not in earnest when he urges princes to vary their modes
or nature with changing fortune, why does he say that they should? In
view of The Prince’s rampant ambiguities, inconsistent general standards,
and questionably realistic advice, we should consider the possibility that
such statements are ironic. Ironic writers use a variety of clues or signals
to communicate judgments that differ from those they, or their narra-
tors or characters, make explicitly. An ironist may openly praise some-
one’s outstanding achievements or character in general terms while
painting his specific actions in problematic colors, thus inviting readers
to question the judgment behind the overt praise. Eloquent silences and
misleading omissions draw readers’ attention to what a writer appears,
or openly claims, to pass over. Hyperbole and exaggeration, especially in
texts that usually adopt a coolly analytical tone, provoke readers to ask
whether an exaggerated claim reflects an author’s own views.
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 69
These methods of dissimulative writing form part of a rich, an-
cient repertoire of ironic techniques well known to educated readers
in Machiavelli’s day. The Roman rhetorician Quintilian had noted that
irony is a particularly useful medium for political criticism in condi-
tions of tyranny or repression, where it is dangerous for writers to
express their views openly:
For we may speak against the tyrants in question as openly
as we please without loss of effect, provided always that
what we say is susceptible of a different interpretation,
since it is only danger to ourselves, and not offense to them,
that we have to avoid. And if the danger can be avoided
by any ambiguity of expression, the speaker’s cunning will
meet with universal approbation (Quintilian 1986, 67–68).
But as Gentili, Bacon, and Neville observed of Machiavelli’s
Prince, ironic writing may have serious educative purposes. Ironic dis-
simulatio could be a valuable means of getting people to rethink their
current beliefs or desires—provoking them to ask how realistic their
ambitions might be, or whether the consequences of pursuing them
might be more troublesome than they’re worth. When in The Prince
Machiavelli urges princes to court fortune’s favor or follow her com-
mands, he produces a jarring tension between these belated, ambiva-
lent recommendations and his more convincingly reasoned advice to
work independently of fortune—establishing one’s own virtuoso ends
and refusing to lower one’s standards for the sake of popularity, a re-
cord of unbroken military success, or personal grandezza. By presenting
inconsistent alternatives and subtly hinting at the problematic char-
acter of one, he invites readers to examine their merits and defects for
themselves. As many ancient and humanist writers recognized, this
type of ironic teaching can be far more persuasive than direct lectures.
A high-spirited young prince’s eyes might glaze over if his adviser tells
him outright to resist the temptation to lower his moral standards
for the sake of ostensibly greater things. Such middle-aged, pedestrian
70 social research
advice is more likely to sink in if it comes from someone who seems
to support the prince’s ambitions—and who at times expresses the
prince’s private thoughts about how he might justify controversial
policies. Alongside arguments that mirror grandiose princely aims and
thoughts, the ironic adviser places countervailing arguments and ex-
amples that challenge impetuous readers to slow down, think harder
about the implications of pursuing their initial aims by problematic
means, and perhaps to revise their less reasonable ends.
On this reading, The Prince is not a treatise setting out the au-
thor’s wisdom to be imbibed secondhand by uncritical readers. It is a
series of provocative, mind-teasing conversations with the young, the
impetuous, and men in power that seeks to improve their powers of
political judgment. Machiavelli refers to the discussions in several of
The Prince’s chapters as “discourses” (discorsi). The word suggests that
they are structured as conversations with readers, not as lectures de-
livered from an authorial pedestal. A discourse differs from a univocal
lecture or treatise in imitating several different voices, or expressing
different points of view canvassed by a participant—here the princely
reader—whose own judgments are still uncertain or poorly founded.
Unlike a dialogue or drama, it does not name specific discussants or
announce shifts from one view to another. In The Prince, the impression
of shifting voices or personae is created by a range of devices: shifting
pronouns (sometimes “he,” sometimes “you” for princes), hesitations
and doubts following sweepingly assured claims, contrasts between
cynical and moderate tones, or between misanthropic and philan-
thropic assertions in the same chapter. Like a dialogue, a discourse
typically offers weakly reasoned but boldly asserted opinions, bring-
ing their flaws to light as discussion progresses. The flawed opinions,
however, are not necessarily renounced. The task of assessing them is
left to readers as part of the education in independent judgment that
is a basic purpose of dialogical or multivocal writing.
What readers take from discourses depends on their own aims
and dispositions. Aspiring princes in a hurry to seize power are likely
to read quickly, skimming the text for nuggets of secondhand wisdom
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 71
that they can apply to their ambitious enterprises. Since their aim is to
achieve greatness and glory, they will pounce on the most impressive-
sounding phrases and examples, not pausing to notice subtle warnings
or advice that they might be better off working through more mod-
estly virtuous “modes.” Similarly, nonprincely readers who scour The
Prince in hopes of finding a quick fix or an unambiguous message may
pick out the boldest statements, not troubling themselves with the
caveats. If they find the book’s amoral advice profound or intriguing,
they will be disinclined to notice the subtle ways in which Machiavelli
subverts it and ignore the quietly prudent advice woven into other
levels of the text.
gEnEraL sTanDarDs: VirTú vs. forTunEOne of The Prince’s main ironic techniques is to introduce tensions
between particular, often shocking statements and examples, on the one
hand, and more moderate general standards on the other. Early in the
book Machiavelli sets out one overarching general standard that may be
used to evaluate all of the book’s diverse precepts and examples: that it
is better to acquire and hold power by means of “one’s own arms and
virtú” than by fortune and others’ arms. When we read in chapter 1
that all dominions are acquired either by virtú or by fortune, this might
sound like a value-neutral standard—either “mode” will do, depending
on what works for particular princes in particular circumstances. But
in chapter 6, Machiavelli makes it clear that fortuna is much the inferior
mode; it is always better to rely on virtú. Though it often “appears,” he
now observes, that either virtú or fortune relieves many of a prince’s
difficulties, “nonetheless, he who has relied less on fortune has main-
tained himself more.”
Throughout The Prince, Machiavelli uses the fortuna-virtú an-
tithesis to signal indirect judgments about the prudence and praise-
worthiness of actions or maxims. When he notes that fortune played
a significant role in a person’s or a city’s achievements, he implies
some deficiency in their quality, even when virtú also played a large
role—and even when he lavishes loud words of praise on the actions
72 social research
in question. At the beginning of chapter 7, Machiavelli outlines the po-
tentially crippling disadvantages of relying on fortune for acquiring as
well as maintaining principalities. First, fortune gives princes a decep-
tively quick and easy ascent to power. Those who become princes with its
help “have no difficulty along the path because they fly there” but face
many difficulties “when they are in place.” Second, in concrete terms,
to rely on fortune means to depend on other, unreliable people. Someone
becomes prince by fortune “when a state is given to someone either
for money or by the grace of whoever gives it.” These princes therefore
“rest simply on the will and fortune of whoever has given a state to
them, which are,” Machiavelli points out, “two very inconstant and
unstable things.” Finally, states gained too quickly [subito] by another’s
“grace” lack roots, “so that the first adverse weather eliminates them.”
Governments and institutions based on fortune, then, are in-
herently unstable. Fortune-reliant people often produce outcomes that
look impressive for a time, but are prone to collapse at any moment. In
The Prince and all his works, Machiavelli associates fortune with varia-
tion, instability, and weak orders. By contrast, actions based on virtú
confer firmness and security on their products. They do so chiefly by
imposing good ordini. Good orders and foundations (fondamenti) are
therefore always the product of virtú; foundations built on fortune
are always flawed. And the main question Machiavelli asks readers to
weigh throughout The Prince is: do the general modes and particular
actions described in each chapter result in strong, lasting foundations?
The question whether they bring grandezza, altezza, and reputation is
also broached. But these things can be lost overnight if a prince lacks
strong fondamenti.
These arguments suggest not only that it is better to rely on
virtú than fortune; it is also better not to rely on both at once. Some
princes might think that the ideal is to have as much fortune and virtú
as possible—that it cannot hurt to get as much help from fortune as
you can. Machiavelli disagrees. An agent may have a measure of good
fortune in acquiring a state, as chapter 6’s “most excellent” found-
ers Moses, Romulus, Cyrus, and Theseus had in the “opportunity” fur-
nished by weak or nonexistent political orders among the people they
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 73
came to rule. But the more you rely on the fortune of finding other
people weak or divided, and take advantage of their weakness to main-
tain your own power, the less solidly you rely on your own virtú. Those
who at first succeed with fortune and others’ arms may come to expect
their continued help, and work less hard than they would otherwise
have to at building durable “arms” of their own. Even if you happen to
have good fortune as well as virtú, then, you do better to rely as much
as possible on virtú alone.
Every example, precept, and policy recommended or rejected
in The Prince can be evaluated by this general, antithetical standard,
whether or not Machiavelli applies it explicitly. To take the case dis-
cussed earlier: after repeatedly advancing the general—and strongly
reasoned—argument that it is better to build stable orders by your
own virtú than to win with fortune’s aid, Machiavelli seems to con-
tradict this argument in chapters 18 and 25, now asserting—though
with doubts and caveats—that one should change according to for-
tune’s command. Perhaps he regards truly virtuoso princes as quasi-
superhuman beings who, unlike most of us, have the ability to switch
their “spirit” or even “nature” according to circumstances. Or perhaps
he is using the paradox to tease readers, challenging them to choose
between two ultimately incompatible and unequally useful “modes.”
As for the claim in chapter 25 that fortuna favors impetuous young
men who beat her: even if she does, The Prince’s guiding standard im-
plies that prudent readers should not waste their manly energies in
getting fortune on their side, since “she never keeps her promises” (Di
fortuna, lines 29–30). They do better to rely entirely on their own virtu-
ous resources: especially foresight, industry, and intelligent ordering
powers, tempered by an awareness of the limits of human powers to
master any situation. Some kinds of virtú are more conducive to stabil-
ity and safety than others. For what Machiavelli calls “virtú of spirit”
(di animo) is especially effective for acquiring power, winning battles,
or making conquests. But his exemplars of exceedingly bold and spir-
ited virtú—Cesare Borgia, Agathocles, Severus—tend to be less skilled
at maintaining political power, or at founding a secure legacy for fu-
ture generations.
74 social research
The entire Prince may be read as a series of confrontations be-
tween two kinds of prince, or two “modes” of princely action. One
depends on virtú and his “own arms.” His “modes” are steady and
transparent, and he knows the value of trust for stable success. The
other relies largely or in considerable part on fortune and “the arms
of others.” His modes are variable and impetuous, and he constantly
changes his policies, promises, and allegiances to gain temporary ad-
vantage or win fair-weather friends. As I argue in Machiavelli’s Prince:
A New Reading (Benner 2013), the great genius of Machiavelli’s “little
work” is that it manages to sustain both possibilities throughout—
leaving it up to readers to decide which mode is more efficacious, and
to judge whether they can combine them without fatally weakening
their position.
“coDED” LanguagEThe Prince’s fortuna-virtú antithesis forms the basis for a systematic,
normatively coded language that signals Machiavelli’s ref lective judg-
ments throughout The Prince. Some words and phrases always have a
positive sense associated with virtú, while others are always associated
with fortuna and its destabilizing, virtú-eroding effects. The virtú-linked
words convey praise, even when they sound low-key or inconspicu-
ous. The fortune-linked words convey criticism, even when they sound
misleadingly enthusiastic or impressive. For example, statements that
something makes men “happy” (felice) sound positive, but often contain
a veiled warning: that thing might be acquired with fortune’s help, but
will be hard to hold by one’s own arms, and in time brings more woes
than happiness. Power acquired “suddenly” or “quickly” (subito, presto)
or “easily” (facilmente) is infirm and unreliable, and thus too dependent
on fortune. To insist on the “greatness” (grandezza) or great “height”
(altezza) of men or actions or the high “reputation” (reputazione) they
confer is to warn that what appears great and confers reputation may be
deceptive—or lacks secure foundations.
Here is a partial list of normatively “coded” words used in the
Prince:
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 75
vIrTú forTuna
Antitheses
free, freely (libera, liberamente) prince (principe)
people(s) (populo, populi) prince
one’s own (suo/sua, proprie) others’ (d’altri)
ordinary, order (ordinario, ordine) extraordinary (estraordinario)
stability, stable (stabilità, stabile) variation (variazione)
caution/respect (rispetto) impetuosity (impetuosità)
Near synonyms
citizens (cittadini) subjects (sudditi)
prudence (prudenzia) astuteness (astuzia)
effort, pains (fatica, affani) difficulty (difficultà)
friendly (amico) favor (favore)
parsimony (parsimonia) miserliness (misero)
Warning words happy (felice)
[acquiring] quickly, suddenly
(subito, presto)
easy, easily (facile, facilmente)
great/ness (grande, grandezza)
high, height (alto, altezza)
rare (raro)
spirited (animoso)
idleness, idle (odio, ozioso)
enterprise (imprese)
Understated praise
ordered (ordinate)
natural (naturale)
reasonable (ragionevole)
firm (fermo)
discipline (disciplina)
knowledge, to know (cognizione, conoscere)
76 social research
In Machiavelli’s antitheses, both terms seem merely descriptive,
or of equal value. In fact the virtú-related term is positive and conveys
praise, while the fortune-linked term is negative or ambiguous. Near
synonyms seem almost interchangeable, although Machiavelli always
links one to virtú and the other to fortune. They mimic the misleading
resemblance between virtues and vices found in political life, the cen-
tral theme of chapters 15–17. Warning words seem to express approval,
enthusiasm, or high praise, but in fact signal problematic reliance on
fortune behind good words or appearances. Understated praise words
seem merely descriptive or moderately positive, but in fact indicate
praiseworthy virtú behind unassuming or neutral appearances.
Most of Machiavelli’s normatively “coded” words are drawn from
a long tradition of ancient writing passed down from early Greek writers
to Romans and humanists. Classically educated readers steeped in the
tradition would have picked up on this method of ironic writing more
quickly than readers less familiar with ancient texts. This helps to ex-
plain why it seemed clear to them that Machiavelli was dissimulating—
or as Gentili (1924, III.9) put it, “making all his secrets clear” and “re-
vealing his secret counsels” by ironic indirection—while modern readers
unversed in a wide range of ancient writings fail to see the pattern.
ExTraorDInary grEaTnEss: KIng fErDInanD The Prince’s treatment of Spain’s King Ferdinand offers a prime example
of suspiciously hyperbolic praise. Machiavelli first names Ferdinand
in chapter 21, although he mentions him at the end of chapter 18 as
“a certain prince of present times” who “never preaches anything but
peace and faith, and is very hostile to both.” Nearby passages praise Pope
Alexander VI’s great “efficacy” in deceiving, and note that “the vulgar”
are so easily “taken in by the appearance and outcome of a thing” that
skilled deceivers often gain great reputations. Ferdinand, as we discover
in chapter 21, was supremely talented at winning “esteem.” “Nothing,”
Machiavelli observes, “makes a prince so much esteemed as to carry on
great enterprises and to give rare [raro] examples of himself.” Our author
piles on the superlatives to praise the Spanish king’s exploits to the skies:
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 77
If you consider his actions, you will find them all very great
and some of them extraordinary [grandissima e qualcuna estraor-
dinaria]. . . . Besides this, in order to undertake greater enter-
prises [imprese], always in the service of [servendosi] religion,
he turned to an act of pious cruelty [una pietoso crudeltà], ex-
pelling the Marranos from his kingdom and despoiling it
[spogliando] of them; nor could there be an example more
wretched and rare [miserabile/raro] than this. . . . And so he
has always done and ordered great things [cose grande], which
have always kept the minds of his subjects in suspense and
admiration and occupied with the outcome (emphasis added).
If we judge by first appearances, we might well conclude that
Ferdinand is the very paragon of a prince who undertook bold schemes
of conquest and unification unrestrained by moral scruples and got
away with it. He did so because of his talents for preaching one thing
while doing another, and for distracting restive subjects and foreign
powers with his constant wars. Or do appearances deceive? Throughout
The Prince, the main touchstone of princely prudence is the long-term
results of a prince’s actions, not short-term success or present appear-
ances of greatness. Machiavelli refrains from making direct judgments
of this kind about Ferdinand’s policies in The Prince. In a series of con-
temporary letters, however, he offered a scathingly critical analysis
of the king’s “extraordinary” movements. Writing to Machiavelli, his
friend Francesco Vettori wondered whether Ferdinand’s bafflingly hy-
peractive maneuvers might conceal some well-thought-out strategy.
Machiavelli replies by setting out a few basic criteria for judging the
prudence of a policy before its results are fully known.
Prudent actions should aim, first of all, to establish lasting or-
ders, not win immediate victories. But for all the “suspense and admi-
ration” they aroused, Ferdinand’s actions had no such aims. Where
others suspected a cleverly hidden long-range plan, Machiavelli saw
hot air and dust kicked up to no substantial purpose. Second, prudent
agents avoid taking unnecessary risks. Machiavelli argues, however,
78 social research
that Ferdinand’s aimless “enterprises” “unnecessarily endangered all
his states—always a reckless course of action for any man.” Prudent
agents, finally, base their actions on foresight—not the short-term
kind that only sees advantages around the next corner, but an abil-
ity to assess how others will react to one’s policies in the long run.
Ferdinand, Machiavelli argues, failed to consider the quite predictable
future reactions to his present breaches of faith and unnecessary ag-
gression. However confusing his tactics might have been at first, by
now “his snares are well-known and . . . have begun generating hatred
and loathing in the minds of his friends as well as his enemies.”
In sum, Machiavelli sees no “security for Spain” resulting from
Ferdinand’s hectic maneuvers. He concludes unambiguously that the
king “may have understood matters badly and brought them to a
worse conclusion.” Ferdinand’s present triumphs were likely to go the
way of all victories won by fortune and not by virtú: if they do not come
back to bite Ferdinand in his lifetime, they will harm his country over
time. If one examines his actions, he concludes in what would become
The Prince’s critical code, “you will realize that the king of Spain is a
man of astuteness [astuzia] and good fortune rather than of wisdom and
prudence” (Machiavelli to Vettori, April 29, 1513; emphasis added). Ma-
chiavelli’s “astuteness” is extremely ambiguous. At first blush it might
sound like a synonym for shrewd judgment or prudence. But in all his
works, Machiavelli uses it for a kind of cunning tactical opportunism
that tends to cause disorder under cover of decent causes. Thus in
chapter 9 we read that “there is more foresight and more astuteness in
the great” than in the people. This might seem to praise the former—
until it transpires that the grandi aim only to “save themselves” while
seeking to oppress the people through their astuteness, a policy sure
to foment civil disorders and harm their city.
“Extraordinary” is one of the most alarm-ringing words in Ma-
chiavelli’s vocabulary. Estraordinario is always part of an antithetical
pair, opposed to ordinario: ordinary modes cause order, while extraor-
dinary ones run against or destroy it. In The Prince, chapter 2, estraordi-
nario is associated with vices, excess, and being hated. In later chapters
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 79
Machiavelli uses the word to describe excessive and arbitrary taxes
on the people, which make it hard for princes to maintain their state
(chapter 16); Roman emperors who depended on soldiers bought by
money and special favors, always unstable foundations of government
(chapter 19); and ill-founded hopes inspired by “extraordinary” mir-
acles (chapter 26). Extraordinary actions leap from the page, as they
make a strong impression in life. Yet they are very bad at maintaining
whatever one acquires. Ferdinand’s “extraordinarily” busy modes of
action in pursuit of grandezza might make some observers marvel. But
as with the words extraordinary, great, and astute that Machiavelli
uses to describe them, first impressions may deceive.
a LEssEr ExaMPLE of grEaT VirTú: hIEro of syracusEInitial impressions are equally deceptive when Machiavelli discusses
more modest political virtues. At the beginning of chapter 6, The Prince
explicitly associates virtú with grandezza and other, far more than ordi-
nary qualities. “No one should marvel,” Machiavelli declares there, “if,
in speaking as I will do of principalities that are altogether new both in
prince and in state, I cite the greatest examples.” He then links prudence
to a kind of greatness that lies beyond the reach of the ordinary run of
princes. A “prudent man,” he proclaims, should set his sights aloft and
seek to imitate the virtú of the most excellent men of all times “so that
if his own virtú does not reach that far, it at least has the odor of it.” This
admits that many new princes, perhaps most, are likely to fall short of
their models’ qualities and achievements. Yet by imitating their gran-
dezza, they can at least try to approach the highest standards of princely
excellence. They “should do as prudent archers do when the place they
plan to hit appears too distant, and knowing how far the virtú of their
bow carries, they set their aim much higher than the place intended” —
not expecting “to reach such height [altezza] with their arrow, but to be
able with the aid of so high an aim to achieve their plan.”
Read straight, all these superlatives—grandissimi esempli, uo-
mini grandi, eccellentissimi, altezza—might well lead us to think that
80 social research
Machiavelli is hugely impressed by “greatness” in princely deeds and
ambitions, and thinks that all new princes should aspire to it. Yet the
grandiose tones ring false in a work that usually avoids sweeping ideal-
ization in favor of concrete descriptions of princely actions. In its first
five chapters, moreover, The Prince said little about princely greatness
and a great deal about the “infinite” difficulties and rebellions that
confront every new prince—even that greatest prince of cities, Rome.
In abruptly shifting focus from these harsh, down-to-earth realities
of power to the exhortation to shoot far higher than you can possibly
reach, Machiavelli evokes a disconcerting gulf between ordinary hu-
man limits and extraordinary princely aspirations.
And as with his extreme praise for Ferdinand, the sheer den-
sity of incongruously elevated words in chapter 6 raises suspicions of
irony. The word for “height,” altezza, is particularly problematic in
Machiavelli’s and other famous Italian writings, where it is often as-
sociated with self-defeating arrogance (Latin superbia, Greek hubris), or
with excessively soaring flight that precedes a fall:
If your eyes light on what is beyond, in one panel Caesar
[Cesare] and Alexander you will see among those who were
happy [felici] while alive. . . .
Yet nevertheless the coveted harbor one of the two failed to
reach, and the other, covered with wounds, in his enemy’s
shadow was slain.
After this appear countless men who, that they might fall to
earth with a heavier crash, with this goddess have climbed
to the highest heights [costei altissimo].
Among these, captive, dead, and mangled, lie Cyrus and
Pompey, though Fortune carried both of them up to the
heavens. . . .
So Fortune not that a man may remain on high [in alto] carries
him up, but that as he plunges down she may delight, and as
he falls may weep (Di Fortuna, lines 160–183; emphasis added).
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 81
Further suspicions are aroused by Machiavelli’s examples of
men who “have become princes by their own virtú and not by for-
tune.” The most excellent of these, he says, are Moses, Cyrus, Romu-
lus, Theseus “and the like.” The lives of all these men were shrouded
in legend and therefore hard to imitate. Moses, at least, was merely
an instrument of God, and thus had advantages that no trustworthy
prince in other times could reasonably claim. Ancient accounts of the
other three, further, stress their extremely ambivalent legacies, not
just their praiseworthy achievements: their bellicose ways planted
the seeds of later, self-destructive expansionism in Persia, Athens, and
Rome, while their insatiable appetites for rule alone set their states on
a path to tyranny (Benner 2013, chap. 6).
If princes need examples to imitate, then, they might do better
to look for some whose qualities of virtú are more proportionate to
their ordinary human limits. Fortunately, chapter 6’s last paragraph
offers an example of this kind of virtú. “To such high [alti] examples”
as the four just discussed, Machiavelli now adds “a lesser [minore] ex-
ample,” that of Hiero of Syracuse. Machiavelli’s references to the four
eccelentissimi men bristled with superlatives, but remained frustrat-
ingly sketchy on detail. Now at last, rather than altezza, grandezza, and
happiness, we get a straightforward description of a leader’s concrete
deeds and their results.
[Hiero] knew [conobbe] nothing from fortune except the op-
portunity: for when the Syracusans were oppressed, they
chose [elessono] him for their captain, and from there he
proved worthy [merito] to be made their prince. . . . He elimi-
nated the old military, ordered [ordinò] a new one . . . and
when he had friendships and soldiers that were his own
[sua], he could build any building on top of such a founda-
tion. So he went through a great deal of effort to acquire
and little to maintain (emphasis added).
In contrast to many other examples discussed in The Prince, Hie-
ro was a collaborative worker who gained power through established
82 social research
political procedures: he first acquired authority by election rather
than force or subterfuge when the Syracusans “chose” him as their
captain. Afterward he did not forcibly “put himself at the head of in-
troducing new orders,” as Machiavelli says Romulus and the others
did, but from successful captaincy “proved worthy of being made their
prince” (emphasis added). Perhaps because others twice elected him
on his merits, first as their military then their political leader, Hiero
had fewer difficulties later on than men who put themselves at the
head of new ordering—since as Machiavelli said earlier in the chapter,
nothing is more difficult, doubtful, or dangerous than “making one-
self” sole “introducer.”
Hiero’s ends also differed from those of the chapter’s “greater”
exemplars of virtú. Instead of seeking to found a great empire or impe-
rial city, he concentrated on building realistic, durable, defensive alli-
ances for his country’s safety. Polybius (I.8) writes that unlike inferior
rulers who try to keep their options open by frequently changing sides
and breaking faith with allies, Hiero early on made a firm alliance with
the Romans and “for a long time reigned securely in Syracuse, win-
ning the friendly acclaim and good opinion of the Greeks.” As we saw
earlier, The Prince in chapter 21 also underlines the great importance
of stable alliances and the imprudence of opportunistically “varying”
one’s foreign commitments. Whereas Cyrus, Romulus, and Theseus
had limitless appetites for territorial acquisition, Hiero focused his
efforts close to home. He gave priority to the urgent task of build-
ing bridges with other Greeks instead of trying to turn Syracuse into
an aggressively expansionist city. The others’ empires seem great be-
cause they were vast and overbearing. Hiero’s stato was neither. But it
brought stability and unforced unity to Syracusans and other Greeks.
And unlike the others, his actions won the unqualified praise of his
chroniclers—and thus the highest glory of posterity.
The more closely we compare Machiavelli’s greater and lesser
models, the more Hiero’s modest, human-sized virtú looks like the bet-
ter model for ordinary human princes. Hiero “went through a great
deal of effort [fatica] to acquire,” Machiavelli tells us, but needed “little
The Language of Praise and Blame in The Prince 83
to maintain.” The word fatica, meaning arduous effort, relates to an
agent’s own activity, and thus suggests virtú. The word Machiavelli used
for the other princes’ hardships was difficultà, which suggests external
obstacles to such activity. The more difficulties princes face over time,
the less virtuous their “modes” must be. Cyrus, Romulus, and the oth-
ers faced greater difficulties after they acquired power because people
opposed their “new orders and modes.” Neither Machiavelli nor ancient
historians mention comparable opposition to Hiero, who took the hard-
er road at first by showing that he deserved to be elected leader.
The chapter’s movement from the extraordinary virtú of Cyrus
and Romulus to the ordinary virtú of Hiero’s fatica draws princely read-
ers from their initial, too lofty ambitions toward a mature knowledge
of what it takes to build good foundations. Hiero’s example presents
virtú and greatness on a more appropriately human scale, with legiti-
mate modes used to pursue more limited ends. His virtú and grandezza
are less attention grabbing than the others. Hiero isn’t the most fa-
mous of heroes; he did not found a sprawling new empire, impose
whatever he pleased on yielding matter, or get elevated to the rank
of demigod or prophet. He merely helped rid Syracusans of a deca-
dent tyranny, replaced useless mercenary forces with a strong civilian
army, forged new alliances that made for stable peace, and improved
relations with other Greeks. All these achievements fall far short of
the loftiest princely ambitions. But they are easier to imitate than any-
thing Moses, Cyrus, and the others did, or are said to have done—and
undoubtedly a more realistic model for corrupt, downtrodden Italians
in Machiavelli’s own time. Machiavelli’s calling Hiero “lesser” masks
a judgment that shines through in what he says about him and the
“greater” others: namely, that when it comes to human virtú, firm
orders are worth infinitely more than grandezza.
concLusIons If this reading is right, today’s academic and political proponents
of Machiavellian Realism have a problem: their spokesman did not
expound that doctrine in earnest, but ironically exposed its fallacies.
84 social research
Machiavelli’s Prince mirrors, but does not recommend, the conduct of
many apparently successful leaders—their overblown ambitions, self-
excusing rhetoric, and indifference to the legal and moral restraints that
underpin any stable human order. Readers who imitate the greatest,
highest, most extraordinary images in the mirror might ride high on
fortune’s back for a while, but eventually bring trouble to themselves
and their countrymen.
This is the deeper, arguably more realistic message behind the
book’s ironic mask. As many early interpreters proposed, Machiavelli’s
mirror of princes warns political leaders about the pitfalls that lie ahead
if they fail to check their ambitions to dominate others, at home or
abroad. And it contains lessons for ordinary citizens, exercising their
ability to see through the sophistries and seductive special pleading
that fuel harmful policies. Few teachings could be more useful today,
or at any other time.
rEfErEncEs
Benner, Erica. 2013. Machiavelli’s Prince: A New Reading. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Gentili, Alberico. (1594) 1924. De legationibus libri tres, vols. 1–2. Translated
by Gordon Liang, edited by John Brown Scott. New York: Oxford
University Press.
Pole, Reginald. (1536) 1997. “Apology.” Selections in Cambridge Translations,
vol. 2, edited by Jill Kraye, 274–86. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Polybius, 2001–3. The Histories vols. 1–6. Translated by W.R. Paton.
Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, Harvard University Press.
Quintilian. 1986. Institutio Oratoria. Edited by H. E. Butler. Cambridge:
Harvard University Press.
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. (1762) 1964. “Du contrat social” in Oeuvres
complètes, vol. 3, 348–470. Paris: Gallimard.