Sydney Anglo

Machiavellii

Of course there were evil princes and wicked governments; and the problem inevitably arose as to whether even the best prince might be forced by circumstances into behaviour never condoned in private individuals. Is it reasonable to judge the actions of those engaged in politics by the standards prevailing in private affairs? As early as the end of the twelfth century, the jurist Azo had written that 'many things are lawful by reason of the public utility.' And subsequently even Aquinas, while stressing that the prince must have the moral virtues and be a good man, was forced to postulate that political morality might be different from private morality. 'In the third book of the Polities', he grudgingly concedes, Aristotle shows that 'it is not the same without qualification to be a good man and a good citizen, in any political organization. For there are certain political organizations, not properly organized, in which one could be a good citizen without being a good man; but in the best political organization, one is not a good citizen who is not a good man.' The only trouble with Aquinas's last qualification is that the best polities are very few and far between.

The kind of moral problem touched on here arose from those sections in Aristotle dealing with the extraordinary actions sometimes necessary for political survival. More especially Aristotle describes how in every form of state-oligarchies and democracies as well as the more obviously dire tyrannies-extreme measures, such as ostracism or even judicial murder, were sometimes taken against overmighty subjects. States, he writes, behave thus not only towards individual citizens but also towards whole cities or nations, even breaking treaties for this purpose: 'the problem is a universal one, and equally concerns all forms of government, true as well as false; for, although perverted forms with a view to their own interests may adopt this policy, those which seek the common interest do so like-wise.'

This is the heart of the matter-the universal justification for all kinds of political action. Rulers, says Aristotle, may practise compulsion 'and still live in harmony with their cities, if their government is for the interest of the state'. So we can see that the ethical norm accepted for private citizens may be inapplicable to affairs of state when the common weal is involved, and that those responsible for taking decisions on behalf of the state might have to practise virtues different from those of their subjects. This latter point, like so much else, is implicit rather than explicit in Aristotle's Politico but it was a worry to systematic thinkers and came especially to the fore in the prince literature of the fifteenth-century Italian humanists who may be regarded as the immediate antecedents to Machiavelli. These writers, like all those concerned with good government, compiled long lists of virtues for their princes-and very conventional they seem to be. Yet, closer examination reveals significant cracks in the moral fabric. Often very intimately involved in the exigencies of interstate relations, these humanists could simply not ignore the fact that rulers were frequently faced by circumstances demanding a decision where there was no clear issue between right and wrong-where, in fact, a prince had to choose between evils, and had to decide upon the lesser. And this, in turn, meant that the prince would always have to take into account the results of his decision; for a good result would clearly mitigate actions which might otherwise be deemed immoral. Pontano, writing about 1490, points out that 'it is the act of a wise man, when two ills are put before him, always to choose the smaller one; it has even been permissible to lie for the sake of the state and of the king who is the father of his people.' The prudent man, he adds, 'balances utility and necessity with the true and with the false'.

Thinkers tied themselves in knots trying to make nice distinctions for such eventualities. Everybody, for example, from Aristotle onwards, was mightily exercised by the fact that a ruler, seeking only the good of the State, might have to take measures which would incur the hatred of his subjects. Aristotle is perfectly clear that princes should be neither hated, despised, nor feared. Yet they should be respected withal, and held in reverence: and this combination was excessively difficult to achieve in troublous times when coercive measures might be urgent. Egidio Colonna, one of the most influential Aristotelians of the late thirteenth century, contented himself with merely stating that the prince 'should not show himself too terrible and severe, nor is it fitting to show himself too familiar, but he should appear to sustain his part rather gravely and to be worthy of reverence, something that cannot fittingly be done without virtue.' Diomede Caraffa subscribed to the traditional view that princes should be loved by their subjects. But his advice on how to achieve this affection is singularly negative: when the prince is forced to impose extra taxes he should make it clear that he does so through necessity and against his will; and when he is constrained to impose penalties on his subjects and take away their property, he should make it equally clear that he does so for the sake of justice. In other words Caraffa is merely telling a prince how to avoid being hated when doing unpleasant things. Patrizzi, too, had to face up to this problem of the prince's dignity in difficult times, particularly in the execution of justice, and he concluded that 'severity is very suitable to a king; it presents a certain majesty, and increases his dignity, and renders him, as it were, a divine being among mortals, not merely venerated but even adored by men.' He adds that this quality is 'very useful in carrying on all kinds of activity and especially in giving judgement and in punishing offenders'; and he makes his point quite clear by including a quotation from Menander to the effect that 'salutary severity is superior to the empty appearance
of clemency.'