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J O H N T. B O O K M A N
A Reader’s
Companion to
The Prince,
Leviathan, and the
Second Treatise
A Reader’s Companion to The Prince,
Leviathan, and the Second Treatise
John T. Bookman
A Reader’s
Companion to The
Prince, Leviathan, and
the Second Treatise
John T. Bookman
Department of Political Science
University of Northern Colorado
Greeley, CO, USA
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG 2019
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Preface
The Prince, Leviathan, and the Second Treatise mark a significant turning
point in the history of political philosophy. Unlike their ancient and medi-
eval predecessors, Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke are not concerned with
human excellence. They do not make the best way of life a part of their
philosophical enterprise. For them, the preservation of life itself is the
more pressing problem. If life is to be preserved, people need strong, sta-
ble government. And there can be no strong, stable government without
the obedience of those subject to it. Thus, the problem of political obliga-
tion displaced the quest for human excellence.
The problem raises a perennial question or set of questions: Why are we
obligated to obey a government? Are there limits on that obligation? To
whom or what is obedience due? These are questions about which political
philosophers and ordinary citizens have argued ever since the ancient
Greeks. Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke made them the central concern
of political philosophy. Over recent decades, the politics of identity has
acquired prominence in theory and practice. Identity now commands the
attention and elicits the passion reserved for political obligation in the
1960s and 1970s. Heightened recognition of the importance of identity
has inspired the deconstruction of canonical texts like The Prince,
Leviathan, and the Second Treatise. Such deconstruction aims at unmask-
ing philosophers like Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke as apologists for the
domination of society by white, affluent, educated males. They certainly
shared many of the prejudices of their age with regard to gender, race,
class, and status.
vii
viii PREFACE
This book does not ignore difference. Whenever they assume exclusion
or prescribe disabilities based on gender, race, class, or status, I bring that
to the attention of the reader. This book is not, however, a project in
deconstruction. It proceeds from the assumption that Machiavelli,
Hobbes, and Locke may have something to teach us about the problem
with which they were principally concerned and which remains a signifi-
cant problem to the present day—the problem of political obligation.
This companion seeks to bring the reader to a fuller understanding of
The Prince, Leviathan, and the Second Treatise. The reader who under-
takes a serious study of these works will find especially helpful the com-
mentaries which begin where he or she begins—on page one. Every step
of the way arguments are unpacked, concepts analyzed, references identi-
fied, archaic words defined, and questions asked. Those questions encour-
age the reader to do a little political philosophy on her own: Is it necessary
to acquire “dirty hands,” as Machiavelli contends, in order to govern? Is
Hobbes’s state of nature more revelatory of human nature than civil soci-
ety? Do we consent, and in what sense, to the institution of civil society?
The commentaries aim at a systematic, informed, and sensitive explication
of The Prince, Leviathan, and the Second Treatise. The final chapter
engages Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke in a critical way. How successful
are they in solving the problem of political obligation? I suggest an alter-
native solution to that they propose.
Many others have labored in the fields turned over once again in this
book. The bibliographic essays are testimony to the efforts of those earlier
scholars. My debt to them is great indeed. I am indebted as well to my
colleagues at the University of Northern Colorado, Bill Agan and John
Loftis, who helped to clarify my thinking about textual interpretation and
who read with a critical eye one or another chapter; to Michelle Chen, my
editor at Palgrave Macmillan, for her support of the book; and to Denise
Connell for getting the manuscript ready for publication. I thank, too, the
anonymous readers at Palgrave Macmillan for their comments. Any obscu-
rity and error that remain are my responsibility alone.
2 The Prince 19
Machiavelli (1469–1527): A Brief Sketch of His Life 19
The Prince: A Commentary 27
A Bibliographical Essay 45
A Select Bibliography of Works in English 53
3 Leviathan 65
Hobbes (1588–1679): A Brief Sketch of His Life 65
Leviathan: A Commentary 77
A Bibliographical Essay 111
A Select Bibliography of Works in English 125
5 A Critique205
ix
CHAPTER 1
1
Plato, The Republic, Bk. VII: 532a-534e and Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, I. 12:
1102a13-26.
2
Phaedrus, 246a-254e.
3
Cf. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, III, 12: 1119b3-16 and The Politics, I, 7: 1254b2-16;
and VII, 14:1333a16-23.
The Republic, Bk. 7: 514a-520a; cf. Aristotle, N. E.: X, 9: 1179b1-20 and Politics, III, 7:
5
1279a40-b2.
6
Plato, The Republic, VIII–IX.
INTRODUCTION: HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND TEXTUAL INTERPRETATION 3
have both eternal and temporal ends—the eternal far more important than
the temporal. Human excellence for these Christians has its zenith in salva-
tion and beatitude and is realized in the hereafter.7 The ancient Greeks found
human excellence in a temporal achievement—the well-ordered psyche of
the just man. In the well-ordered psyche, reason rules over spirit and appe-
tite, and it is by reason that humans can discern their ends.
Augustine and Aquinas do not dismiss reason as a faculty for discern-
ing human ends. It is that quality that distinguishes humankind from all
else in God’s creation and marks the presence of the divine. It provides
access to natural law—God’s moral order for all men and women living
on earth. Reason, however, provides no knowledge of man’s eternal end.
Men must have faith. They must believe in God, in the possibility of
redemption, and in the life to come. Only then can reason enlarge under-
standing of the human prospect and of the world in which humans live.
And faith is the consequence of God’s saving, albeit unmerited, grace.
The priority accorded to faith is necessary because humans are fallen and
recalcitrant children of God. Reason unassisted cannot withstand the
temptations of desire. More significantly, reason, the very faculty that
provides access to natural law, also encourages men and women to think
that they are not dependent upon God for their salvation. Their pride,
the mark of their unwillingness to acknowledge God, is the root of igno-
rance, disagreement, and conflict.8
Like their ancient predecessors, Augustine and Aquinas regard everyone
as a member of a complex social web and as subject to authority. Unlike
Plato and Aristotle, they assign a distinctly secondary role to the state in the
realization of human ends. For Augustine, the state is n ecessary only
because man strayed from the divine path. In a state of innocence, men and
women would be social creatures. They need one another to secure the
necessaries of life and to provide companionship. They would live as equals,
as brothers and sisters without power over one another and without private
property. They would not, however, be political. The state, as well as other
institutions like private property and slavery, is a consequence of the fall. It
is the punitive and remedial agency ordained by God to cope with fallen
man. Augustine gives to the state the task of maintaining peace and order.
7
St. Augustine, City of God, XIV, 28; St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, III,
37, 48 and IV, 54.
8
St. Augustine, City of God, XIX, 21–24; St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles,
III, 53, 64, 81 and IV, 54.
4 J. T. BOOKMAN
This enables the faithful to worship unmolested and the church to save
souls. The state restrains the human propensity to sin, to commit injustice,
by the threat of punishment. It does not make men better men.9
Aquinas nods in Aristotle’s direction when he declares that the state is
natural. Even had there been no fall the state would have existed. It is a
manifestation of man’s social nature and a necessary condition for the
realization of man’s temporal ends, practical and intellectual. Aquinas fol-
lows Augustine in denying to the state any significant educative role. By
the exercise of reason, men and women can know natural law. They are
not dependent upon the particular society to which they belong to define,
and thereby circumscribe, human excellence. To be sure, human reason,
owing to the fall, is an impaired faculty and, therefore, only dimly appre-
hends natural law, and humans often fail to obey natural law. The state can
mitigate these problems by giving more specific expression to the prescrip-
tions and prohibitions of natural law, and it can exact obedience to the law.
Nevertheless, by their common possession of reason, humans are mem-
bers of a universal society ruled by eternal law (natural law is part of eter-
nal law) and whose justice is far superior to any human regime. The gulf
between even Aristotle’s best regime and the perfect society is made
broader still in the Christian, and Thomistic, understanding that the entire
natural order is subject to divine law. By God’s grace, men and women
learn that they have an eternal end. The perfect society is the kingdom of
God which unites the good angels, the elect who have departed earthly
life, and those who are still on their pilgrimage through the world. Against
this understanding, Aristotle’s political theory is an expression of unas-
sisted reason that wholly neglects the realization of man’s eternal end.
While the state can help men and women to realize their temporal ends,
another institution, the church, is necessary to minister to man’s eternal
end. And, since the ends that the state promotes are subordinate to ever-
lasting blessedness, the state must defer to the church where the temporal
and spiritual overlap as they do in man’s heart and mind. The state, of
course, does have an interest in the development of citizens who observe
rules of right conduct, who obey the strictures of natural law. In its efforts
to develop such a citizenry, however, the state is confined to the regulation
of conduct. The church assumes the educative role that Plato and Aristotle
assign to the state.10
St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, I, 8, III, 48, 53, IV, 54; Summa Theologiae,
10
11
See Allan Hazlett, A Critical Introduction to Skepticism (London: Bloomsbury Academic,
2014); and John Greco, The Oxford Handbook of Skepticism (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2011).
12
The central essay is An Apology for Raymond Sebond, M. A. Screech, trans. and ed. (New
York: Penguin, 1987). Screech produced a complete edition of The Essays of Michel de
Montaigne for Penguin in 1991.
6 J. T. BOOKMAN
14
Gordon J. Schochet, “Radical Politics and Ashcraft’s Treatise on Locke,” Journal of the
History of Ideas, 50 (July, 1989), 509.
15
John P. Plamenatz, Man and Society: Political and Social Theory: Machiavelli through
Marx, 2 vs. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1963), V. 1: ix–x.
16
He quotes David Lodge with approval in “Motives, Intentions and the Interpretation of
Texts” in James Tully, ed., Meaning and Context: Quentin Skinner and His Critics (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1988), 69.
17
“Some Problems in the Analysis of Political Thought and Action” in Tully, 99.
18
“Meaning and Understanding” in Tully, 61.
INTRODUCTION: HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND TEXTUAL INTERPRETATION 9
does not understand this fact about it.”19 Attending to the historical con-
text might also have discouraged what Skinner calls the “exegetically plau-
sible but historically incredible interpretations” of Hobbes by Warrender,
Hood, Macpherson, and Strauss.20 The relevant context to be considered
in the determination of intention he identifies in two interpretive rules.
First, “focus not just on the text … but on the prevailing [linguistic] con-
ventions governing the treatment of the issues or themes with which the
text is concerned.” Second, “focus on the writer’s mental world, the world
of his empirical beliefs.”21 Those conventions and empirical beliefs can be
discovered by examination of contemporaneous texts. This historical con-
text defines a domain of meaning that should inform our understanding of
a philosopher’s work. That domain includes far more than the contempo-
rary meaning of the words used. It also includes the questions to which he
responded and the assumptions that he made. It limits the very things that
he could think about. Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke all announce their
intentions in writing their works. Whether these statements should be
taken at face value is another matter. Locke, for example, in the preface to
the Two Treatises says that he intends “to establish the throne of our Great
Restorer, Our Present King William; to make good his Title, in the
Consent of the People.” Historical research has established that the pref-
ace was added well after the composition of the body of the work. Locke
wrote the Two Treatises in the circumstances of the Exclusion Crisis of
1679–1681 and its immediate aftermath. It would seem, then, in light of
what he says there, that he intended to justify a revolution in prospect
against Charles II (which never occurred) and not, as so long thought, the
revolution accomplished in 1688 that put William on the throne.
Machiavelli says in Chapter 15 of The Prince that “my intent is to write a
thing that is useful for whoever understands it.” This is sufficiently obscure
to have inspired a wide variety of interpretations of what he is doing.
Perhaps his intention was manifold. The statement of his intention occurs
in the same paragraph of the same chapter as his most shocking observa-
tion, namely, a prince must learn how not to be good—a contention upon
which he elaborates in the next four chapters. If Machiavelli’s analysis of
the conflict between conventional morality and the responsibilities of rule
is not his principal intention, it must be among his main intentions.
19
“Social Meaning and the Explanation of Social Action” in Tully, 95.
20
“Some Problems” in Tully, 99.
21
“Motives, Intentions and Interpretation” in Tully, 77–78.
10 J. T. BOOKMAN
You will say: What if he neglects the care of his soul? I answer: What if he
neglects the care of his health or of his estate, things which more nearly
concern the government of the magistrate? Shall the magistrate provide an
express law against such a man becoming poor or sick? Laws endeavour, as
far as possible, to protect the goods and health of subjects from violence of
others, or from fraud, not from the negligence or prodigality of the owners
themselves. No man against his will can be forced to be healthy or rich.23
It did not occur to Locke that a government might adopt a program like
the National Health Service (NHS) as the British government did in 1948.
Such a possibility did not fall within his domain of meaning. No state in
his day had the administrative reach, the political authority, and the finan-
cial resources to implement such a program. And, of course, it would be
several centuries before medicine could do much good for very many peo-
ple. For Skinner, such observations count decisively against any interpreta-
tion of Locke that countenances health care as an appropriate subject for
governmental policy.
The textualist, on the other hand, while acknowledging that Locke did
not contemplate the NHS, might point out that the passage from the
Letter does not prohibit the government from providing health care.
Locke asserts that “no man against his will can be forced to be healthy.”
True. One might also agree that no man ought to be forced to be healthy
against his will. The NHS is consistent in most of its provisions with both
these affirmations. Furthermore, does Locke not enjoin us to preserve all
humankind? If, he says, we allow another to die of starvation when it is
within our means to save him, we commit murder.24 It came to be within
the means of the British government to save, or attempt to save, its citi-
zens from terminal disease and trauma. Locke’s principles do not forbid,
may even require, some provision of health care.
23
Epistola de Tolerantia: A Letter on Toleration, Raymond Klibansky and J. W. Gough, eds.
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), 91.
24
First Treatise, §42; “Venditio,” 342; “Essays on the Law of Nature,” 123; and “An Essay
On the Poor Law,” 198 in Mark Goldie, ed., Locke: Political Essays (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1997).
12 J. T. BOOKMAN
The second example is drawn from the Second Treatise and concerns
Locke’s servant—he who digs turfs at §28. That servant figures in the
controversy over Locke’s role in preparing the moral ground for capital-
ism. Contextualists argue that capitalism, neither in word nor concept, was
part of Locke’s domain of meaning. They point out that, unlike Marx’s
proletarian, his servant does not labor alongside many others in the per-
formance of repetitious operations, his days are bounded by the rising and
setting of the sun—not by the stroke of the clock, and he is not free to
move in the search for better opportunities. Furthermore, Locke’s pro-
posed revision of the poor law aims at keeping the unemployed in their
parishes, not at the creation of a mobile workforce. Such a workforce is a
prerequisite for a capitalist labor market. For Skinner, such observations
count decisively against an interpretation of §28 that calls his servant as
witness to Locke’s alleged capitalist sympathies.
The textualist, while he might acknowledge all the above, could argue
that there are some important similarities between Locke’s servant and
Marx’s proletarian. They both work at the direction of another, they are
dependent on another for the opportunity to work, and the product of
their labor belongs to their employers. More tellingly, Locke claims for
everyone a right to dispose of himself and his possessions as he sees fit
within the bounds of the law of nature. A mobile workforce was not part
of Locke’s domain of meaning, but such a force may well be implied by his
political philosophy. The textualist interpretations of Locke set out above
would count among those that Skinner regards as “exegetically plausible
but historically incredible interpretations.”
There are other contextualists who share Skinner’s conviction that it is
necessary to go beyond the text to the historical context of the text if we
are truly to understand it. They seek to find relationships between ideas
and political, social, economic, and psychological circumstances in order
to reveal the real meaning of those ideas, namely, as serving the interests
of one group or another or as providing solace or encouragement to trou-
bled men and women. This is to treat ideas as ideology—an expression of
self-deception or calculated deceit and all the permutations in between.
The presumption is that once the real meaning is revealed, human beings
will be able to think more clearly about their situation and to devise more
satisfactory solutions to human problems, free of the distorting effects of
interest and neurosis. There is nothing illegitimate about such inquiry, but
it does raise hard questions—to be identified shortly.25
25
As J. G. A. Pocock points out in “The Myth of John Locke and the Obsession with
Liberalism” in Pocock and Ashcraft, John Locke.
INTRODUCTION: HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND TEXTUAL INTERPRETATION 13
Religion was early on made the subject of such scrutiny.26 Hobbes, for
example, argues that religion, a belief in powers invisible, is an expression
of ignorance for most people. Human beings discern a world of cause and
effect, but only a few pursue the natural science that allows identification
of the true causes of things. Anxious to explain their own fortune or mis-
fortune, most imagine a god or gods onto whom are projected human
qualities—in the case of the Christian God, the best human qualities mag-
nified. Men and women seek to propitiate God by prayer, sacrifice, hum-
ble behavior, gifts, and so on.27 Furthermore, pagan priests, the papacy,
and Presbyterian ministers have exploited the religious beliefs of the cred-
ulous to aggrandize themselves.28 The advance of science and u nderstanding
will produce, in Hobbes’s view, not the demise of religion altogether, but
a conception of God as first mover and the practice of religion as civil
undertaking.
Religion persists, of course, down to the present day as a target of ideo-
logical criticism. It has been joined by others. Marx brought to the fore
connections between economic interests and ideas.29 Several prominent
interpreters of Locke follow his lead. Macpherson argues that Locke in his
theory of property “has done what he set out to do. … He has erased the
moral disability with which unlimited capitalist appropriation had hitherto
been handicapped” and thereby “provides a positive moral basis for capi-
talist society.”30 Macpherson, here, regards the relationship between an
idea, unlimited capitalist appropriation, and historical circumstances, a
nascent capitalist society, as functional, that is, Locke’s principles legiti-
mize capitalism—presumably as Locke intended. Richard Ashcraft main-
tains that “we need to think of political theory in terms of its relationship
to a political movement” and that “the interest—primarily socioeco-
nomic—of the participants structure the kind of theoretical arguments to
be made.” Locke as the ideologue of a political movement defends the
“widely shared and easily recognizable religious, economic, and historical
26
Mark Goldie shows just how central religion has been for ideological analysis in
“Ideology” in Terence Ball, James Farr, and Russell L. Hanson, eds., Political Innovation
and Conceptual Change (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), Ch. 13.
27
Leviathan, see particularly Ch. 12.
28
Ibid., see particularly, Ch. 47.
29
His ideas on the matter are most fully set out in Part I of The German Ideology in Robert
C. Tucker, ed., The Marx-Engels Reader, 2nd. ed. (New York: Norton, 1978), 146–200.
30
C. B. Macpherson, The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism: Hobbes to Locke
(Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962), 221.
14 J. T. BOOKMAN
34
Melissa A. Butler, “Early Liberal Roots of Feminism,” American Political Science Review,
72 (Mar., 1978), 135–150; Lorene M. G. Clark, “Women and John Locke; or Who Owns
the Apples in the Garden of Eden?” Canadian Journal of Philosophy, 7 (Dec., 1977),
699–724; and Nancy J. Hirschmann and Kristie M. McClure, eds., Feminist Interpretations
of John Locke (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2007).
35
Macpherson, Possessive Individualism, Ch. 5; and G. A. Cohen, “Marx and Locke on
Land and Labour,” Proceedings of the British Academy, 71 (1985), 357–388.
16 J. T. BOOKMAN
36
“Meaning and Understanding” in Tully, 65.
INTRODUCTION: HISTORICAL CONTEXT AND TEXTUAL INTERPRETATION 17
a right to private property. One must be clear, then, about what one is
doing. Why does Locke contend that people have a right to private prop-
erty? The contextualist understands the question to ask: How did Locke
come to hold this position? He looks for causes in contemporary historical
circumstances and finds those causes in the Whig political program and the
king’s ambitions. The textualist understands the question to ask: Why
should anyone think that people have a right to private property? He looks
for reasons in the text and finds the reasons that Locke adduced in his labor
theory of value. Textualists and contextualists ask different questions and
the evidence relevant to answer the questions posed is different.
In describing the historical context in which Machiavelli, Hobbes, and
Locke wrote, I have assumed that contemporary political, social, and eco-
nomic circumstances, as well as their psychological make-up, had great
influence in the development of their ideas. I leave to others, however, the
task of sorting out how and in what ways those circumstances were related
to their ideas. In reading The Prince, Leviathan, and the Second Treatise,
we will adopt the textualist approach. The commentaries on the texts and
the bibliographical essays that follow will focus on the ideas themselves
and not on the question of how Machiavelli, Hobbes, or Locke came to
hold them. I have also taken notice of their intellectual predecessors. They
were not the first philosophers to consider questions about, say, govern-
ment authority or political obligation. Machiavelli, Hobbes, and Locke
often comment on the positions taken by earlier philosophers, sometimes
named, often not. Such allusions and references can help us better under-
stand similarities and differences.
CHAPTER 2
The Prince
3
Atkinson and Sices, Machiavelli and His Friends, 222 (Letter 206).
4
Ibid., 262–265 (Letter 224); see also (Letter 236).
THE PRINCE 21
until his death. His best known work, The Prince, he dedicated initially to
Giuliano de’ Medici and then to Lorenzo de’ Medici (nephew of Giuliano
and Pope Leo X) after Giuliano’s death in 1516. Machiavelli wrote to his
friend Francesco Vettori, Florentine envoy to the court of the Medici pope:
“And through this study of mine, were it to be read, it would be evident
that during the fifteen years I have been studying the art of the state I have
neither slept nor fooled around, and anybody ought to be happy to utilize
someone who has had so much experience at the expense of others.”5 Alas,
it was not to be. Machiavelli’s gift of a copy of The Prince went unacknowl-
edged because Lorenzo was more interested in a gift of two hunting dogs
that he received the same day.6 So Machiavelli got no job. For him a great
personal setback, but, he believed, also a loss for the cause of Italy.
Machiavelli hoped for an Italy under stable and secure governments free
from foreign domination, and he thought, however unrealistically, that the
Medici had a rare opportunity to create out of Rome and Florence a center
of resistance to invasion. And who better to advise them in this task than
Machiavelli, who had learned well the lessons taught by the Romans and by
such contemporaries as Cesare Borgia?
Machiavelli had learned those lessons, he says, “through long experi-
ence of modern things and constant reading about ancient things.”7 The
study of antiquity began early on. The modest circumstances of the family
left little beyond necessities. What little was left papa Bernardo spent on
books and tutors for his two sons, Niccolò and Totto. Machiavelli learned
Latin, but probably not Greek, and read the histories, among them Livy,
that his father collected.8 There was much to be learned, too, in the p iazzas
and caffes—largely about the darker side of politics. In the course of the
fifteenth century, Florence had undergone pronounced corruption of
political and social life. At the connivance of the Medici, power had been
progressively confined to fewer and fewer hands, even though many of the
old republican forms were preserved. Coincident with this development
5
Ibid., 265 (Letter 224).
6
Ricardo Riccardi, “Machiavelli’s Presentation of The Prince to Lorenzo de’ Medici” in
William J. Connell, trans. and ed., The Prince by Niccolo Machiavelli with Related Documents
(Boston: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2005), 142.
7
Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince, Dedication.
8
Much of what is known, and that is not very much, about Machiavelli’s life before 1498
must be gleaned from the diary of his father. See Catherine Atkinson, Debts, Dowries, Donkeys:
The Diary of Niccolo Machiavelli’s Father, Messer Bernardo, in Quattrocento Florence (New
York: Peter Lang, 2002).
22 J. T. BOOKMAN
was the loss of civic-mindedness by the Florentines. Each looked out for
himself and his family in the cultivation of a life of ease and easy virtue.
The Florentines grew cynical about government and about any behavior
that was not self-serving. In the background lurked the danger from
abroad.
The French and Spanish monarchies were busy and successful in con-
solidating their realms at this time, while the Italians remained hopelessly
divided. The Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I (r.1485–1519) collected
armies and asserted territorial aims in Italy. Beginning with the invasion by
the French king Charles VIII (r.1483–1498) in 1494 and culminating in
the sack of Rome in 1527, foreign powers, often at the invitation of an
Italian state that wished to gain at the expense of another, much affected
politics in Italy. The invasion by Charles VIII induced Piero de’ Medici to
turn over Pisa and to promise a large tribute to the French. Outraged by
this treachery and inspired by the fiery sermons of the Dominican friar
Girolamo Savonarola, the Florentines forced Piero de’ Medici into exile
and restored the republic. Savonarola as prior of San Marco had under-
taken a moral crusade against corruption in places public and private,
within and without the church, and a campaign on behalf of republican
government, including the writing of a Treatise on the Organization and
Government of Florence. The friar’s exhortations on behalf of a simple,
morally upright life culminated in February 1497 in the Bonfire of the
Vanities, in which many manuscripts, paintings, and sculpture went up in
flames. Soon thereafter Savonarola’s fortunes declined rapidly. His attacks
on the papacy for its worldliness and venality brought excommunication.
His attacks on the citizenry for its corruption led to a fall from popular
favor. With the support of Pope Alexander VI (r.1492–1502), and in the
face of his threats to seize the city’s goods and merchants in the Papal
States if the friar were not dealt with, the Florentines put Savonarola to
death. They did keep the republic however and the enlarged popular
assembly instituted by Savonarola. Machiavelli’s opportunity to get
involved came shortly after Savonarola’s death and the defeat of his sup-
porters in the elections of June 1498. New officers were needed for the
executive agencies of the republic.
These, then, were the conditions of Machiavelli’s youth and of his
selection as Chancellor of the Second Chancery. He came to the post at
the age of 29. Why he was chosen is a matter of speculation. While we
know little of him before 1498, his family had lived in Florence for genera-
tions and been members of its guilds and religious groups. He was known
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spirit in the Temple of the Virtuous and Good, and I ordain
that the care of his grave shall be a charge on the public
funds. Thus I manifest my sincere regard for my worthy
kinsman and deep sorrow at the loss of my trusted
Councillor.”
Another Decree proved even more plainly that the Emperor was
completely under Tzŭ Hsi’s orders; it directed that all officials above
the second rank should thenceforward return thanks to Her Majesty
in person upon receiving appointments. This was a new departure,
for, since the war with Japan, she had ceased to hold daily
audiences, receiving officials only on her birthday and other State
occasions. Another Decree of the same day transferred Jung Lu to
Tientsin as Viceroy of Chihli. He and K’ang Yu-wei were received in
audience next morning. To Jung Lu the Emperor gave orders to
reorganise the forces in Chihli, adding that he looked to him for loyal
co-operation in the reform movement. The audience to K’ang Yu-wei,
first of many similar interviews (but the only one recorded in the
official Gazette), lasted several hours. K’ang deeply disliked and
feared Tzŭ Hsi, and from the outset he did his best to prejudice the
Emperor against her. He reiterated his opinion that her sympathy for
reform was merely a feint, and he roundly denounced her wanton
extravagance and dissipated life at the Summer Palace. He
described the unpopularity of the Manchu rule in the south as chiefly
due to the people’s contempt for Her Majesty, and compared her
private life to that of the notorious Empress Wu of the T’ang Dynasty.
He advised Kuang-Hsü to relegate her permanently to retirement,
she being the chief obstacle to reform. The Emperor fell speedily and
completely under K’ang’s influence, and none of his subsequent
Edicts was issued without K’ang’s assistance. In the light of later
knowledge, and of almost universal Chinese opinion on this subject,
it is difficult to acquit K’ang Yu-wei of personal and interested
motives, of a desire to wield power in the State as the result of his
influence over the Emperor, whose emotional pliability he made to
serve his own ends. Looked at in this light, his denunciations of the
Empress Dowager and Jung Lu were evidently less the outcome of
patriotic indignation than of his recognition of the fact that, so long as
Tzŭ Hsi remained in power, his ambitions could never be achieved,
nor his own position secured.
XIII
THE HUNDRED DAYS OF REFORM
But the sands had run out. Tzŭ Hsi now emerged from “the
profound seclusion of her Palace” and Kuang-Hsü’s little hour was
over.
XIV
THE COUP D’ÉTAT OF 1898