h v ll r n : Th L n f Pr nd Bln Th Pr n

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.

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