Machiavellian [ma-kē-ə-ˈve-lē-ən]: marked by cunning, duplicity, or bad faith (Merriam-Webster Dictionary). It is not everyday that one finds his way to the timeless vernacular of different cultures. Granted, Niccolò Machiavelli (1469-1527) got the short end of the stick and became associated to a less than reputable conduct. This is not entirely surprising once we read the political treatise Machiavelli wrote in the early sixteenth century, The Prince (Il Principe, in the original).

Machiavelli was born in Florence and took on a succession of political and diplomatic posts until falling from grace over charges of conspiracy. Retired from public life, he comes to devote his efforts to history, philosophy and literature. The Prince blends these different interests into what is considered one of the founding works of modern political science. In an attempt to regain public favor, Machiavelli dedicates his book to Lorenzo di Medici and structures it as a set of advices on how to administrate state affairs. Each point is illustrated with historical examples, indifferently drawn from the old Roman and Greek empires, as well as from coeval records. 

The Prince must be read and understood in light of a very specific historical context. Italy was a divided and weakened nation through the late middle ages and early Renaissance. The southern Kingdom of Naples, the central Papal States, controlled by the Pope but ruled by several minor princes, and the northern city states, like Genoa and Venice, were the focus of repeated power struggles and no less frequent wars. French, Swiss and Spanish forces added to the party and sowed further political confusion. In view of this turmoil, Machiavelli sums up his book with an exhortation for Lorenzo di Medici to heed all his recommendations and take on the role of a unifying prince. Alas, it was not meant to be and two and a half centuries would still go by before Italy found its wholeness... 

The range of topics covered by Machiavelli is diverse and sometimes disconnected. Concerning those who have obtained a principality by wickedness, concerning liberality and meanness, concerning cruelty and clemency, concerning the way in which princes should keep faith, how flatterers should be avoided... Well, the list goes on for twenty six chapters. The overall message The Prince conveys is that ends justify the means. Promises take on a circumstantial value, subject to the capricious winds of political chance. And if pressed for a choice, it is better to be feared than loved, so tells us Machiavelli. Appropriate role models are to be found in Pope Alexander VI and his son Cesare Borgia, which says plenty about the kind of advice you may expect to receive here: 

" (...) it is unnecessary for a prince to have all the good qualities I have enumerated, but it is very necessary to appear to have them. (...) to appear merciful, faithful, humane, religious, upright, and to be so, but with a mind so framed that should you require not to be so, you may be able and know how to change to the opposite." (p. 85)

The Prince was written at a time when the institutional foundations of the national state, in the contemporary sense of the word, were still largely absent. It deals as much with concentration of power as with sheer political survival. Sometimes it takes on a farcical semblance, a product of decrepit customs in the eyes of a modern reader, until you realize how pervasive the corruption of political morals still remains at this day and age. In The Prince, you will find a despot's manual, perennial on its subordination of ethics and justice to the unqualified values of control and dominance. It is a short read and one I would recommend to the curious mind for its historical value and cautionary message.

   

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