ABSTRACT
As a political theorist, Machiavelli is difficult, contradictory, and in many respects unattractive: a misogynist, frequently militaristic and authoritarian, uncomplimentary about human nature. What nevertheless makes him worth taking seriously is that his works contain an understanding of politics, autonomy, and the human condition, which is profoundly right in ways that really matter. That understanding consists of a set of syntheses holding in tension seemingly incompatible truths along several dimensions. It is therefore difficult to articulate and to sustain, and Machiavelli does not always sustain it. But the understanding is there, and even when he loses the syntheses he is a better teacher than many a more consistent theorist, because he refuses to abandon for very long any of the aspects of the truth he sees. Thus he manages to be both political and realistic even while articulating a theoretical vision of human achievement. In this chapter, therefore, I frequently refer to the ideas of a thinker called
“Machiavelli at his best” and offer an account of how and why the historical Machiavelli diverged from those ideas. In the process, this chapter also makes some suggestions about the relevance of those ideas for our time. For all these reasons, this chapter is more speculative and personal, less grounded in evidence, than the rest of this book (Pitkin 1999 [1984]: 285-306). At his best, Machiavelli formulates an understanding of human autonomy that is
activist without megalomania, insisting on our capacity and responsibility for choice and action, while nevertheless recognizing the real limits imposed by our historical situation. He understands the open-ended, risky quality of human interaction, which denies to politics the sort of control available in dealing with inanimate objects. Yet he insists that the risks are worth taking and are indeed the only way of securing what we most value. He also formulates an understanding of autonomy that is highly political. He assumes neither the solidarity postulated by organic theorists nor the atomistic, unrelated individuals postulated by social
contract theorists. Instead, he focuses on the way in which citizens in political interaction continually recreate community out of multiplicity. He formulates an understanding of autonomy, finally, that is neither cynical nor hortatory, but realistic: tough-minded about political necessities and human weaknesses without being reductionist about our goals and potentialities. Justice, civility, and virtue are as real, in that understanding, as greed and envy, or as bread and air (though of course people often say “justice” when they are in fact speaking of mere interest or expediency). Although he rarely cites Aristotle and probably had only contempt for the
Thomistic Aristotelianism he is likely to have encountered, Machiavelli’s best understanding of politics is importantly reminiscent of Aristotle’s teaching that man is a political animal, meaning not that people are always found in a polis, but rather that, first, politics is an activity in which no other species engages, and, second, engaging in it is necessary to the full realization of our potential as humans.1 For Machiavelli as for Aristotle, this means that we are neither beasts nor gods, neither mere products of natural forces nor beings with unlimited power. We are capable of free agency, but always within the bounds of necessity. We are the products but also the makers of culture, law, and history. We develop our humanness only in the company of others, yet our sociability is never automatic but rather requires effort and care. Finally, for Machiavelli as for Aristotle, our political nature is a function of our unique capacity for judgment. The human being is the polis animal because it is the logos animal, capable of speaking, reasoning, distinguishing right from wrong, and thus of freely chosen action. In terms of Machiavelli’s conflicting images of manhood, the right understanding
of human autonomy he offers is closest to the image of the fraternal Citizen. Yet it transcends the misogynist vision and manages to combine the commitment to republican, participatory politics with the fox’s deflation of hypocritical and empty ideals, as well as the appreciation of authority, tradition, and generativity associated with the Founder image. This best, synthetic Machiavelli holds in tension apparently incompatible truths
along at least three interrelated dimensions of what it means to be human, political, and autonomous; dimensions so fundamental to these topics that any political theory must address them, if not expressly, then by implication. Autonomy is problematic for creatures such as ourselves in relation to the past, in relation to our contemporaries, and in relation to nature, both around and within us. It is problematic in relation to the past because we are the creatures of history. Our present situation and our very selves are shaped by the past. What can freedom mean for such a creature? Call that the dimension of action. Our autonomy is problematic in relation to our contemporaries because harmony among us is not automatic, as among the insects. We are distinct individuals with often conflicting needs and desires, yet we are also products and shapers of shared societies. Call that the dimension of membership. Our autonomy is problematic in relation to nature because we are both rooted in the natural and capable of transcending it, because we have bodies that need food and shelter and are mortal, and psyches, minds, or spirits that render us capable of distinguishing and choosing right from wrong,
good from evil, just from unjust. But what is the relationship between natural need or drive and standards of judgment, and what is the basis of those standardsconvention, nature, or some transcendent source? Call this the dimension of judgment. A right understanding of autonomy requires synthesis along all of these dimensions, and that is what Machiavelli at his best has to offer. Yet Machiavelli often loses the synthetic tension along one or another dimension
and falls into that endless circling among incompatible alternatives which Hegel associated with “bad infinity” (Hegel 1969 [1812-1816]: vol. 1, 152-6, esp. 155). And the psychological and familial themes he employs, though they partly support, ultimately tend to undermine, those syntheses. To be sure, those syntheses are problematic and unstable also because each of the dimensions involves fundamental philosophical problems built into the very structure of our conceptual system, perhaps of our human nature. The dimension of action involves the problem philosophers sometimes call the “freedom of the will”; the dimension of membership, that of “universals and particulars”; the dimension of judgment, the problem of “value relativism” or “is” and “ought.” These are surely among the most formidable, difficult problems ever taken up by philosophers. And Machiavelli was no philosopher; he was not interested in resolving such problems nor particularly self-conscious about them. This is both a strength and a weakness. Precisely because he is not a philosopher, Machiavelli never leaves political reality for very long; but by the same token, he is also not fully aware of the conceptual or philosophical difficulties that complicate his theorizing. The syntheses are problematic not only philosophically, however, but also politically.
Machiavelli demanded of himself that his theorizing be relevant to the political realities of his time. Politically, the dimension of action requires that theory guides us about “what is to be done,” and helps us to delineate here and now those things that we must accept as “given” from those that are open to change by our intervention. The dimension of membership requires, politically, that theory speaks to power and plurality, that it not merely articulates abstract truths but makes them relevant to an audience that has-or could generate-the power actually to do what the theory suggests must be done. And the dimension of judgment requires, politically, that justice and right be tied, if not to expedience, then at least to possibility; what is truly impossible cannot be politically right. The political realities of Machiavelli’s situation, as was remarked at the outset, were extraordinarily troubled and intractable. The real difficulties facing Florence, and particularly Florentine republicanism, were just about overwhelming, seeming to defy even the best understanding that political theory might devise. In demanding of himself that his theory address those realities, Machiavelli was sometimes forced into utopian fantasies and enraged distortions-the very kinds of theorizing he rightly condemned in others. But even when allowance has been made for the philosophical difficulties of the
subject matter and the political difficulties of his situation, it nevertheless remains true that Machiavelli’s best synthetic understanding is frequently further undermined by the personal and familial themes he himself invokes. The very metaphors and images he employs to convey his insights repeatedly distort or destroy those
insights. Whether this is because of his own psychic needs and conflicts, or because of his effort to address the psychic vulnerabilities of his audience, must remain ultimately undecided. What matters is to understand the connections between political and psychological considerations in the texts.
