# Introduction (Harvey C. Mansfield) Introduction A Note on the Translation Chronology Dedicatory Letter I - How Many Are the Kinds of Principalities and in What Modes They Are Acquired II - Of Hereditary Principalities III - Of Mixed Principalities IV - Why the Kingdom of Darius Which Alexander Seized Did Not Rebel from His ... V - How Cities or Principalities Which Lived by Their Own Laws before They Were ... VI - Of New Principalities That Are Acquired through One’s Own Arms and Virtue VII - Of New Principalities That Are Acquired by Others’ Arms and Fortune VIII - Of Those Who Have Attained a Principality through Crimes IX - Of the Civil Principality X - In What Mode the Forces of All Principalities Should Be Measured XI - Of Ecclesiastical Principalities XII - How Many Kinds of Military There Are and Concerning Mercenary Soldiers XIII - Of Auxiliary, Mixed, and One’s Own Soldiers XIV - What a Prince Should Do Regarding the Military XV - Of Those Things for Which Men And Especially Princes Are Praised or Blamed XVI - Of Liberality and Parsimony XVII - Of Cruelty and Mercy, and Whether It Is Better to Be Loved Than Feared, ... XVIII - In What Mode Faith Should Be Kept by Princes XIX - Of Avoiding Contempt and Hatred XX - Whether Fortresses and Many Other Things Which Are Made and Done by ... XXI - What a Prince Should Do to Be Held in Esteem XXII - Of Those Whom Princes Have as Secretaries XXIII - In What Mode Flatterers Are to Be Avoided XXIV - Why the Princes of Italy Have Lost Their States XXV - How Much Fortune Can Do in Human Affairs, and in What Mode It May Be Opposed XXVI - Exhortation to Seize Italy and to Free Her from the Barbarians Appendix Glossary Bibliography Index of Proper Names The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637 The University of Chicago Press, Ltd., London © 19851998 by The University of Chicago All rights reserved. Second Edition 1998 Printed in the United States of America 07 06 05 04 03 02 01 3 4 5 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA Machiavelli, Niccolò, 1469-1527. [Principe. English] The prince / Niccolò Machiavelli : translated with an introduction by Harvey C. Mansfield.—2nd ed. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-226-50043-8 (alk. paper).—ISBN 0-226-50044. -6 (pbk. : alk. paper) I. Political science—Early works to 1800. 2. Political ethics—Early works to 1800. I. Title. JC143.M38 1998 320.1—dc21 98-5772 CIP The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992 Introduction Anyone who picks up Machiavelli’s The Prince holds in his hands the most famous book on politics ever written. Its closest rival might be Plato’s Republic, but that book discusses politics in the context of things above politics, and politics turns out to have a limited and subordinate place. In The Prince Machiavelli also discusses politics in relation to things outside politics, as we shall see, but his conclusion is very different. Politics according to him is not limited by things above it, and things normally taken to be outside politics—the “givens” in any political situation—turn out to be much more under the control of politics than politicians, peoples, and philosophers have hitherto assumed. Machiavelli’s The Prince, then, is the most famous book on politics when politics is thought to be carried on for its own sake, unlimited by anything above it. The renown of The Prince is precisely to have been the first and the best book to argue that politics has and should have its own rules and should not accept rules of any kind or from any source where the object is not to win or prevail over others. The Prince is briefer and pithier than Machiavelli’s other major work, Discourses on Livy, for The Prince is addressed to Lorenzo de’ Medici, a prince like the busy executive of our day who has little time for reading. So The Prince with its political advice to an active politician that politics should not be limited by anything not political, is by far more famous than the Discourses on Livy. We cannot, however, agree that The Prince is the most famous book on politics without immediately correcting this to say that it is the most infamous. It is famous for its infamy, for recommending the kind of politics that ever since has been called Machiavellian. The essence of this politics is that “you can get away with murder”: that no divine sanction, or degradation of soul, or twinge of conscience will come to punish you. If you succeed, you will not even have to face the infamy of murder, because when “men acquire who can acquire, they will be praised or not blamed” (Chapter 3). Those criminals who are infamous have merely been on the losing side. Machiavelli and Machiavellian politics are famous or infamous for their willingness to brave infamy. Yet it must be reported that the prevailing view among scholars of Machiavelli is that he was not an evil man who taught evil doctrines, and that he does not deserve his infamy. With a view to his preference for republics over principalities (more evident in Discourses on Livy than in The Prince, but not absent in the latter), they cannot believe he was an apologist for tyranny; or, impressed by the sudden burst of Italian patriotism in the last chapter of The Prince, they forgive him for the sardonic observations which are not fully consistent with this generous feeling but are thought to give it a certain piquancy (this is the opinion of an earlier generation of scholars); or, on the basis of Machiavelli’s saying in Chapter 15 that we should take our bearings from “what is done” rather than from “what should be done,” they conclude that he was a forerunner of modern political science, which is not an evil thing because it merely tells us what happens without passing judgment. In sum, the prevailing view of the scholars offers excuses for Machiavelli: he was a republican, a patriot, or a scientist, and therefore, in explicit contradiction to the reaction of most people to Machiavelli as soon as they hear of his doctrines, Machiavelli was not “Machiavellian.” The reader can form his own judgment of these excuses for Machiavelli. I do not recommend them, chiefly because they make Machiavelli less interesting. They transform him into a herald of the future who had the luck to sound the tunes we hear so often today—democracy, nationalism or self-determination, and science. Instead of challenging our favorite beliefs and forcing us to think, Machiavelli is enlisted into a chorus of self-congratulation. There is, of course, evidence for the excuses supplied on behalf of Machiavelli, and that evidence consists of the excuses offered by Machiavelli himself. If someone were to accuse him of being an apologist for tyranny, he can indeed point to a passage in the Discourses on Livy (II 2) where he says (rather carefully) that the common good is not observed unless in republics; but if someone else were to accuse him of supporting republicanism, he could point to the same chapter, where he says that the hardest slavery of all is to be conquered by a republic. And, while he shows his Italian patriotism in Chapter 26 of The Prince by exhorting someone to seize Italy in order to free it from the barbarians, he also shows his fairmindedness by advising a French king in Chapter 3 how he might better invade Italy the next time. Lastly, it is true that he sometimes merely reports the evil that he sees, while (unnecessarily) deploring it; but at other times he urges us to share in that evil and he virtuously condemns half-hearted immoralists. Although he was an exceedingly bold writer who seems to have deliberately courted an evil reputation, he was nonetheless not so bold as to fail to provide excuses, or prudent reservations, for his boldest statements. Since I have spoken at length on this point in another place, and will not hesitate to mention the work of Leo Strauss, it is not necessary to explain it further here. What is at issue in the question of whether Machiavelli was “Machiavellian”? To see that a matter of the highest importance is involved we must not rest satisfied with either scholarly excuses or moral frowns. For the matter at issue is the character of the rules by which we reward human beings with fame or condemn them with infamy, the very status of morality. Machiavelli does not make it clear at first that this grave question is his subject. In the Dedicatory Letter he approaches Lorenzo de’ Medici with hat in one hand and The Prince in the other. Since, he says, one must be a prince to know the nature of peoples and a man of the people to know the nature of princes, he seems to offer Lorenzo the knowledge of princes he does not have but needs. In accordance with this half-serious promise, Machiavelli speaks about the kinds of principalities in the first part of The Prince (Chapters I—II) and, as we learn of the necessity of conquest, about the kinds of armies in the second part (Chapters 12—14). But at the same time (to make a long story short), we learn that the prince must or may lay his foundations on the people (Chapter 9) and that while his only object should be the art of war, he must in time of peace pay attention to moral qualities in such manner as to be able to use them in time of war (Chapter 14, end). Thus are we prepared for Machiavelli’s clarion call in Chapter 15, where he proclaims that he “departs from the orders of others” and says why. For moral qualities are qualities “held good” by the people; so, if the prince must conquer, and wants, like the Medici, to lay his foundation on the people, who are the keepers of morality, then a new morality consistent with the necessity of conquest must be found, and the prince has to be taught anew about the nature of peoples by Machiavelli. In departing from the orders of others, it appears more fitting to Machiavelli “to go directly to the effectual truth of the thing than to the imagination of it.” Many have imagined republics and principalities, but one cannot “let go of what is done for what should be done,” because a man who “makes a profession of good in all regards” comes to ruin among so many who are not good. The prince must learn to be able not to be good, and use this ability or not according to necessity. This concise statement is most efficacious. It contains a fundamental assault on all morality and political science, both Christian and classical, as understood in Machiavelli’s time. Morality had meant not only doing the right action, but also doing it for the right reason or for the love of God. Thus, to be good was thought to require “a profession of good” in which the motive for doing good was explained; otherwise, morality would go no deeper than outward conformity to law, or even to superior force, and could not be distinguished from it. But professions of good could not accompany moral actions in isolation from each other; they would have to be elaborated so that moral actions would be consistent with each other and the life of a moral person would form a whole. Such elaboration requires an effort of imagination, since the consistency we see tells us only of the presence of outward conformity, and the elaboration extends over a society, because it is difficult to live a moral life by oneself; hence morality requires the construction of an imagined republic or principality, such as Plato’s Republic or St. Augustine’s City of God. When Machiavelli denies that imagined republics and principalities “exist in truth,” and declares that the truth in these or all matters is the effectual truth, he says that no moral rules exist, not made by men, which men must abide by. The rules or laws that exist are those made by governments or other powers acting under necessity, and they must be obeyed out of the same necessity. Whatever is necessary may be called just and reasonable, but justice is no more reasonable than what a person’s prudence tells him he must acquire for himself, or must submit to, because men cannot afford justice in any sense that transcends their own preservation. Machiavelli did not attempt (as did Hobbes) to formulate a new definition of justice based on self-preservation. Instead, he showed what he meant by not including justice among the eleven pairs of moral qualities that he lists in Chapter 15. He does mention justice in Chapter 21 as a calculation of what a weaker party might expect from a prince whom it has supported in war, but even this little is contradicted by what Machiavelli says about keeping faith in Chapter 18 and about betraying one’s old supporters in Chapter 20. He also brings up justice as something identical with necessity in Chapter 26. But, what is most striking, he never mentions —not in The Prince, or in any of his works—natural justice or natural law, the two conceptions of justice in the classical and medieval tradition that had been handed down to his time and that could be found in the writings on this subject of all his contemporaries. The grave issue raised by the dispute whether Machiavelli was truly “Machiavellian” is this: does justice exist by nature or by God, or is it the convenience of the prince (government)? “So let a prince win and maintain a state: the means will always be judged honorable, and will be praised by everyone” (Chapter 18). Reputation, then, is outward conformity to successful human force and has no reference to moral rules that the government might find inconvenient. If there is no natural justice, perhaps Machiavelli can teach the prince how to rule in its absence—but with a view to the fact that men “profess” it. It does not follow of necessity that because no natural justice exists, princes can rule successfully without it. Governments might be as unsuccessful in making and keeping conquests as in living up to natural justice; indeed, the traditional proponents of natural justice, when less confident of their own cause, had pointed to the uncertainty of gain, to the happy inconstancy of fortune, as an argument against determined wickedness. But Machiavelli thinks it possible to “learn” to be able not to be good. For each of the difficulties of gaining and keeping, even and especially for the fickleness of fortune, he has a “remedy,” to use his frequent expression. Since nature or God does not support human justice, men are in need of a remedy; and the remedy is the prince, especially the new prince. Why must the new prince be preferred? In the heading to the first chapter of The Prince we see that the kinds of principalities are to be discussed together with the ways in which they are acquired, and then in the chapter itself we find more than this, that principalities are classified into kinds by the ways in which they are acquired. “Acquisition,” an economic term, is Machiavelli’s word for “conquest”; and acquisition determines the classifications of governments, not their ends or structures, as Plato and Aristotle had thought. How is acquisition related to the problem of justice? Justice requires a modest complement of external goods, the equipment of virtue in Aristotle’s phrase, to keep the wolf from the door and to provide for moral persons a certain decent distance from necessities in the face of which morality might falter or even fail. For how can one distribute justly without something to distribute? But, then, where is one to get this modest complement? The easy way is by inheritance. In Chapter 2, Machiavelli considers hereditary principalities, in which a person falls heir to everything he needs, especially the political power to protect what he has. The hereditary prince, the man who has everything, is called the “natural prince,” as if to suggest that our grandest and most comprehensive inheritance is what we get from nature. But when the hereditary prince looks upon his inheritance—and when we, generalizing from his case, add up everything we inherit—is it adequate? The difficulty with hereditary principalities is indicated at the end of Chapter 2, where Machiavelli admits that hereditary princes will have to change but claims that change will not be disruptive because it can be gradual and continuous. He compares each prince’s own construction to building a house that is added on to a row of houses: you may not inherit all you need, but you inherit a firm support and an easy start in what you must acquire. But clearly a row of houses so built over generations presupposes that the first house was built without existing support and without an easy start. Inheritance presupposes an original acquisition made without a previous inheritance. And in the original acquisition, full attention to the niceties of justice may unfortunately not be possible. One may congratulate an American citizen for all the advantages to which he is born; but what of the nasty necessities that prepared this inheritance—the British expelled, Indians defrauded, blacks enslaved? Machiavelli informs us in the third chapter, accordingly, that “truly it is a very natural and ordinary thing to desire to acquire.” In the space of a few pages, “natural” has shifted in meaning from hereditary to acquisitive. Or can we be consoled by reference to Machiavelli’s republicanism, not so prominent in The Prince, with the thought that acquisitiveness may be natural to princes but is not natural to republics? But in Chapter 3 Machiavelli praises the successful acquisitiveness of the “Romans,” that is, the Roman republic, by comparison to the imprudence of the king of France. At the time Machiavelli is referring to, the Romans were not weak and vulnerable as they were at their inception ; they had grown powerful and were still expanding. Even when they had enough empire to provide an inheritance for their citizens, they went on acquiring. Was this reasonable? It was, because the haves of this world cannot quietly inherit what is coming to them; lest they be treated now as they once treated others, they must keep an eye on the have-nots. To keep a step ahead of the have-nots the haves must think and behave like have-nots. They certainly cannot afford justice to the have-nots, nor can they waste time or money on sympathy. In the Dedicatory Letter Machiavelli presents himself to Lorenzo as a have-not, “from a low and mean state”; and one thing he lacks besides honorable employment, we learn, is a unified fatherland. Italy is weak and divided. Then should we say that acquisitiveness is justified for Italians of Machiavelli’s time, including him? As we have noted, Machiavelli does not seem to accept this justification because, still in Chapter 3, he advises a French king how to correct the errors he had made in his invasion of Italy. Besides, was Machiavelli’s fatherland Italy or was it Florence ? In Chapter 15 he refers to “our language,” meaning Tuscan, and in Chapter 20 to “our ancients,” meaning Florentines. But does it matter whether Machiavelli was essentially an Italian or a Florentine patriot? Anyone’s fatherland is defined by an original acquisition, a conquest, and hence is always subject to redefinition of the same kind. To be devoted to one’s native country at the expense of foreigners is no more justified than to be devoted to one’s city at the expense of fellow countrymen, or to one’s family at the expense of fellow city-dwellers, or, to adapt a Machiavellian remark in Chapter 17, to one’s patrimony at the expense of one’s father. So to “unify” one’s fatherland means to treat it as a conquered territory—conquered by a king or republic from within; and Machiavelli’s advice to the French king on how to hold his conquests in Italy was also advice to Lorenzo on how to unify Italy. It appears that, in acquiring, the new prince acquires for himself. What are the qualities of the new prince? What must he do? First, as we have seen, he should rise from private or unprivileged status; he should not have an inheritance, or if he has, he should not rely on it. He should owe nothing to anyone or anything, for having debts of gratitude would make him dependent on others, in the widest sense dependent on fortune. It might seem that the new prince depends at least on the character of the country he conquers, and Machiavelli says at the end of Chapter 4 that Alexander had no trouble in holding Asia because it had been accustomed to the government of one lord. But then in Chapter 5 he shows how this limitation can be overcome. A prince who conquers a city used to living in freedom need not respect its inherited liberties; he can and should destroy such cities or else rule them personally. Fortune supplies the prince with nothing more than opportunity, as when Moses found the people of Israel enslaved by the Egyptians, Romulus found himself exposed at birth, Cyrus found the Persians discontented with the empire of the Medes, and Theseus found the Athenians dispersed (Chapter 6). These famous founders had the virtue to recognize the opportunity that fortune offered to them—opportunity for them, harsh necessity to their peoples. Instead of dispersing the inhabitants of a free city (Chapter 5), the prince is lucky enough to find them dispersed (Chapter 6). This suggests that the prince could go so far as to make his own opportunity by creating a situation of necessity in which no one’s inherited goods remain to him and everything is owed to you, the new prince. When a new prince comes to power, should he be grateful to those who helped him get power and rely on them? Indeed not. A new prince has “lukewarm defenders” in his friends and allies, because they expect benefits from him; as we have seen, it is much better to conciliate his former enemies who feared losing everything (compare Chapters 6 and 20). Thus, the new prince has virtue that enables him to overcome his dependence on inheritance in the widest sense, including custom, nature, and fortune, and that shows him how to arrange it that others depend on him and his virtue (Chapters 9, 24). But if virtue is to do all this, it must have a new meaning. Instead of cooperating with nature or God, as in the various classical and Christian conceptions, virtue must be taught to be acquisitive on its own. Machiavelli teaches the new meaning of virtue by showing us both the new and the old meanings. In a famous passage on the successful criminal Agathocles in Chapter 8, he says “one cannot call it virtue to kill one’s citizens, betray one’s friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion.” Yet in the very next sentence Machiavelli proceeds to speak of “the virtue of Agathocles.” The prince, we have seen in Chapter 15, must “learn to be able not to be good, and to use this and not use it according to necessity.” Machiavelli supplies this knowledge in Chapters 16 to 18. First, with superb calm, he delivers home-truths concerning the moral virtue of liberality. It is no use being liberal (or generous) unless it is noticed, so that you are “held liberal” or get a name for liberality. But a prince cannot be held liberal by being liberal, because he would have to be liberal to a few by burdening the many with taxes; the many would be offended, the prince would have to retrench, and he would soon get a name for stinginess. The right way to get a reputation for liberality is to begin by not caring about having a reputation for stinginess. When the people see that the prince gets the job done without burdening them, they will in time consider him liberal to them and stingy only to the few to whom he gives nothing. In the event, “liberality” comes to mean taking little rather than giving much. As regards cruelty and mercy, in Chapter 8 Machiavelli made a distinction between cruelties well used and badly used; well-used cruelties are done once, for self-defense, and not continued but turned to the benefit of one’s subjects, and badly used ones continue and increase. In Chapter 17, however, he does not mention this distinction but rather speaks only of using mercy badly. Mercy is badly used when, like the Florentine people in a certain instance, one seeks to avoid a reputation for cruelty and thus allows disorders to continue which might be stopped with a very few examples of cruelty. Disorders harm everybody; executions harm only the few or the one who is executed. As the prince may gain a name for liberality by taking little, so he may be held merciful by not being cruel too often. Machiavelli’s new prince arranges the obligation of his subjects to himself in a manner rather like that of the Christian God, in the eye of whom all are guilty by original sin; hence God’s mercy appears less as the granting of benefits than as the remission of punishment. With this thought in mind, the reader will not be surprised that Machiavelli goes on to discuss whether it is better for the prince to be loved or feared. It would be best to be both loved and feared, but, when necessity forces a choice, it is better to be feared, because men love at their convenience but they fear at the convenience of the prince. Friends may fail you, but the dread of punishment will never forsake you. If the prince avoids making himself hated, which he can do by abstaining from the property of others, “because men forget the death of a father more quickly than the loss of a patrimony,” he will again have subjects obligated to him for what he does not do to them rather than for benefits he provides. It is laudable for a prince to keep faith, Machiavelli says in Chapter 18, but princes who have done great things have done them by deceit and betrayal. The prince must learn how to use the beast in man, or rather the beasts; for man is an animal who can be many animals, and he must know how to be a fox as well as a lion. Men will not keep faith with you; how can you keep it with them? Politics, Machiavelli seems to say, as much as consists in breaking promises, for circumstances change and new necessities arise that make it impossible to hold to one’s word. The only question is, can one get away with breaking one’s promises? Machiavelli’s answer is a confident yes. He broadens the discussion, speaking of five moral qualities, especially religion; he says that men judge by appearances and that when one judges by appearances, “one looks to the end.” The end is the outcome or the effect, and if a prince wins and maintains a state, the means will always be judged honorable. Since Machiavelli has just emphasized the prince’s need to appear religious, we may compare the people’s attitude toward a successful prince with their belief in divine providence. As people assume that the outcome of events in the world is determined by God’s providence, so they conclude that the means chosen by God cannot have been unworthy. Machiavelli’s thought here is both a subtle attack on the notion of divine providence and a subtle appreciation of it, insofar as the prince can appropriate it to his own use. It is not easy to state exactly what virtue is, according to Machiavelli. Clearly he does not leave virtue as it was in the classical or Christian tradition, nor does he imitate any other writer of his time. Virtue in his new meaning seems to be a prudent or well-taught combination of vice and virtue in the old meaning. Virtue for him is not a mean between two extremes of vice, as is moral virtue for Aristotle. As we have seen, in Chapter 15 eleven virtues (the same number as Aristotle’s, though not all of them the same virtues) are paired with eleven vices. From this we might conclude that virtue does not shine of itself, as when it is done for its own sake. Rather, virtue is as it takes effect, its truth is its effectual truth; and it is effectual only when it is seen in contrast to its opposite. Liberality, mercy, and love are impressive only when one expects stinginess (or rapacity), cruelty, and fear. This contrast makes virtue apparent and enables the prince to gain a reputation for virtue. If this is so, then the new meaning Machiavelli gives to virtue, a meaning which makes use of vice, must not entirely replace but somehow continue to coexist with the old meaning, according to which virtue is shocked by vice. A third quality of the new prince is that he must make his own foundations. Although to be acquisitive means to be acquisitive for oneself, the prince cannot do everything with his own hands: he needs help from others. But in seeking help he must take account of the “two diverse humors” to be found in every city—the people, who desire not to be commanded or oppressed by the great, and the great, who desire to command and oppress the people (Chapter 9). Of these two humors, the prince should choose the people. The people are easier to satisfy, too inert to move against him, and too numerous to kill, whereas the great regard themselves as his equals, are ready and able to conspire against him, and are replaceable. The prince, then, should ally with the people against the aristocracy; but how should he get their support? Machiavelli gives an example in the conduct of Cesare Borgia, whom he praises for the foundations he laid (Chapter 7). When Cesare had conquered the province of Romagna, he installed “Remirro de Orco” (actually a Spaniard, Don Remiro de Lorqua) to carry out a purge of the unruly lords there. Then, because Cesare thought Remirro’s authority might be excessive, and his exercise of it might become hateful—in short, because Remirro had served his purpose—he purged the purger and one day had Remirro displayed in the piazza at Cesena in two pieces. This spectacle left the people “at once satisfied and stupefied”; and Cesare set up a more constitutional government in Romagna. The lesson: constitutional government is possible but only after an unconstitutional beginning. In Chapter 9 Machiavelli discusses the “civil principality,” which is gained through the favor of the people, and gives as example Nabis, “prince” of the Spartans, whom he calls a tyrant in the Discourses on Livy because of the crimes Nabis committed against his rivals. In Chapter 8 Machiavelli considers the principality that is attained through crimes, and cites Agathocles and Oliverotto, both of whom were very popular despite their crimes. As one ponders these two chapters, it becomes more and more difficult to find a difference between gaining a principality through crimes and through the favor of the people. Surely Cesare Borgia, Agathocles, and Nabis seemed to have followed the same policy of pleasing the people by cutting up the great. Finally, in Chapter 19, Machiavelli reveals that the prince need not have the support of the people after all. Even if he is hated by the people (since in fact he cannot fail to be hated by someone), he can, like the Roman emperor Severus, make his foundation with his soldiers (see also Chapter 20). Severus had such virtue, Machiavelli says, with an unobtrusive comparison to Cesare Borgia in Chapter 7, that he “stupefied” the people and “satisfied” the soldiers. Fourth, the new prince has his own arms, and does not rely on mercenary or auxiliary armies. Machiavelli omits a discussion of the laws a prince should establish, in contrast to the tradition of political science, because, he says, “there cannot be good laws where there are not good arms, and where there are good arms there must be good laws” (Chapter 12). He speaks of the prince’s arms in Chapters 12 to 14, and in Chapter 14 he proclaims that the prince should have no other object or thought but the art of war. He must be armed, since it is quite unreasonable for one who is armed to obey one who is unarmed. With this short remark Machiavelli seems to dismiss the fundamental principle of classical political science, the rule of the wise, not to mention the Christian promise that the meek shall inherit the earth. Machiavelli does not mean that those with the most bodily force always win, for he broadens the art of war to include the acquisition as well as the use of arms. A prince who has no army but has the art of war will prevail over one with an army but without the art. Thus, to be armed means to know the art of war, to exercise it in time of peace, and to have read histories about great captains of the past. In this regard Machiavelli mentions Xenophon’s “Life of Cyrus,” as he calls it (actually “The Education of Cyrus”), the first and best work in the literature of “mirrors of princes” to which The Prince belongs. But he calls it a history, not a mirror of princes, and says that it inspired the Roman general Scipio, whom he criticizes in Chapter 17 for excessive mercy. Not books of imaginary republics and principalities, or treatises on law, but histories of war, are recommended reading for the prince. Last, the new prince with his own arms is his own master. The deeper meaning of Machiavelli’s slogan, “one’s own arms,” is religious, or rather, antireligious. If man is obligated to God as his creature, then man’s own necessities are subordinate or even irrelevant to his most pressing duties. It would not matter if he could not afford justice: God commands it! Thus Machiavelli must look at the new prince who is also a prophet, above all at Moses. Moses was a “mere executor of things that had been ordered for him by God” (Chapter 6); hence he should be admired for the grace that made him worthy of speaking with God. Or should it be said, as Machiavelli says in Chapter 26, that Moses had “virtue,” the virtue that makes a prince dependent on no one but himself? In Chapter 13 Machiavelli retells the biblical story of David and Goliath to illustrate the necessity of one’s own arms. When Saul offered his arms to David, David refused them, saying, according to Machiavelli, that with them he could not give a good account of himself, and according to the Bible, that the Lord “will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine.” Machiavelli also gives David a knife to go with his sling, the knife which according to the Bible he took from the fallen Goliath and used to cut off his head. Must the new prince—the truly new prince—then be his own prophet and make a new religion so as to be his own master? The great power of religion can be seen in what Moses and David founded, and in what Savonarola nearly accomplished in Machiavelli’s own time and city. The unarmed prince whom he disparages in Chapter 6 actually disposes of formidable weapons necessary to the art of war. The unarmed prophet becomes armed if he uses religion for his own purposes rather than God’s; and because the prince cannot acquire glory for himself without bringing order to his principality, using religion for himself is using it to answer human necessities generally. The last three chapters of The Prince take up the question of how far man can make his own world. What are the limits set on Machiavelli’s political science (or the “art of war”) by fortune? At the end of Chapter 24 he blames “these princes of ours” who accuse fortune for their troubles and not their own indolence. In quiet times they do not take account of the storm to come, but they should—they can. They believe that the people will be disgusted by the arrogance of the foreign conquerors and will call them back. But “one should never fall in the belief you can find someone to pick you up.” Whether successful or not, such a defense is base, because it does not depend on you and your virtue. With this high promise of human capability, Machiavelli introduces his famous Chapter 25 on fortune. He begins it by asking how much of the world is governed by fortune and God, and how much by man. He then supposes that half is governed by fortune (forgetting God) and half by man, and he compares fortune to a violent river that can be contained with dikes and dams. Turning to particular men, he shows that the difficulty in containing fortune lies in the inability of one who is impetuous to succeed in quiet times or of one who is cautious to succeed in stormy times. Men, with their fixed natures and habits, do not vary as the times vary, and so they fall under the control of the times, of fortune. Men’s fixed natures are the special problem, Machiavelli indicates; so the problem of overcoming the influence of fortune reduces to the problem of overcoming the fixity of different human natures. Having a fixed nature is what makes one liable to changes of fortune. Pope Julius II succeeded because the times were in accord with his impetuous nature; if he had lived longer, he would have come to grief. Machiavelli blames him for his inflexibility, and so implies that neither he nor the rest of us need respect the natures or natural inclinations we have been given. What is the new meaning of virtue that Machiavelli has developed but flexibility according to the times or situation? Yet, though one should learn to be both impetuous and cautious (these stand for all the other contrary qualities), on the whole one should be impetuous. Fortune is a woman who “lets herself be won more by the impetuous than by those who proceed coldly”; hence she is a friend of the young. He makes the politics of the new prince appear in the image of rape; impetuous himself, Machiavelli forces us to see the question he has raised about the status of morality. Whether he says what he appears to say about the status of women may be doubted, however. The young men who master Lady Fortune come with audacity and leave exhausted, but she remains ageless, waiting for the next ones. One might go so far as to wonder who is raping whom, cautiously as it were, and whether Machiavelli, who has personified fortune, can impersonate her in the world of modern politics he attempted to create. HARVEY C. MANSFIELD A Note on the Translation In this translation I have sought to be as literal and exact as is consistent with readable English. Since I am convinced that Machiavelli was one of the greatest and subtlest minds to whom we have access, I take very seriously the translator’s obligation to present a writer’s thought in his own words, insofar as possible. It did not seem to me my duty, therefore, to find a rough equivalent to Machiavelli’s words in up-to-date, colloquial prose, and to avoid cognates at all costs. For example, I am not embarrassed to translate provincia “province” and patria “fatherland” because these English words are perfectly intelligible even though they are not the expressions we would use today. It is worthwhile trying to retain the connotations of those words as Machiavelli used them, as well as trying to avoid the connotations of their modern equivalents, such as “nation.” With this intent in translation, I have tried to retain some flavor of Machiavelli’s style by preserving his favorite expressions and some of his crowded sentences and difficult grammar. If the result seems a little old-fashioned, so it should. Machiavelli’s text will live without our help, and it will die if we suffocate it with the sort of hospitality that allows it to live with us only on our terms. As to exactness, I would have liked never to vary the translation of such important words as impresa, modo, and respetto, but I found it impossible to produce a readable version with such a rule. I have kept virtù as “virtue,” so that readers of this translation can follow and join the dispute over the meaning Machiavelli attaches to the word. If his use of it sounds strange, as it did when he wrote and still does today, then let the reader wonder at finding something strange. It is not the translator’s business to make everything familiar. For some of my departures from consistency, I have noted the literal meaning in the notes. I have surely not varied the translation merely for the sake of elegance. We should not be so certain that we know what Machiavelli’s key terms or concepts are. Frequently he will use a word or phrase several times in close proximity, and such density of usage can alert us to the importance of that word in that context. His pronouns are often ambiguous in their reference, and I have sometimes had to make a choice that he leaves open. I have indicated in the notes the occasions on which Machiavelli departs from his usual familiar “you” and addresses a formal or plural “you,” a “you” who is asked to see, consider, or think something. In the spirit of accuracy, I have not provided long historical notes to explain Machiavelli’s examples. The Prince is not a history book. It was written, we believe, in 1513, and it was dedicated, we know, to Lorenzo de’ Medici. But it was written for the future and addressed above all others, including Lorenzo, to “whoever understands it” (Chapter 15). This does not mean that readers who want to understand The Prince can ignore Machiavelli’s examples and merely make a list of his sensational assertions. On the contrary, those assertions are always modified, sometimes even contradicted, by the examples. But the examples will not serve as examples if the reader does not look carefully at the information Machiavelli gives him. He may miss the point if he allows this information to be superseded by the superior historical knowledge of our day. The text of The Prince has many variations arising from the facts that no original manuscript in Machiavelli’s hand exists and that the work was not published in his lifetime under his supervision. Those who want to examine the philological scholarship seeking to establish an authoritative text should begin with the article of Quaglio listed in the bibliography. I have followed the text of Casella for the most part, adopting some variants where they seemed appropriate. Such are the principles of this translation. I have profited from other translations, especially from that of Leo Paul S. de Alvarez. If the reader thinks my translation a bad one, let him try his own; if he thinks it good, let him learn Italian. Chronology Italy in Machiavelli’s Time