HOMER IN THE PRINCE

In his explicit presentation of political rather than contemplative human beings as models of human excellence, Machiavelli sides with Homer against Plato. Machiavelli emphatically presents, not Socrates, but Achilles as a model of human excellence in the Prince and urges his readers to imitate Achilles as Alexander the Great did (P 14.60).

praises Homer especially - though not exclusively - for teaching, through his account of Achilles in the Iliad, the importance of imitating the harsher qualities of beasts as well as the finer qualities of men. Machiavelli remarks that

it is necessary for a prince to know well how to use the beast and the man. This role was taught covertly to princes by ancient writers who wrote that Achilles, and many other ancient princes, were given to Chiron the centaur to be raised, so that he would look after them with his discipline. To have as teacher a half-beast, half­man means nothing other than that a prince needs to know how to use both natures; and the one without the other is not lasting. (P 18.69)

To be sure, Machiavelli does not name Homer here. What is more, he mentions that more than one writer recounted that Chiron was a teacher of Achilles and also other princes. He seems to refer here to Hesiod and Pindar - according to whom Chiron taught Jason, Asclepius, and Medeus as well as Achilles^[546] - and perhaps above all to Xenophon, the ancient Greek philosopher who figures so prominently in the Discourses and the only one to be mentioned at all in the Prince (P 14.60).

It seems reasonable that, in a number of ways, Machiavelli would regard Homer’s Achilles as a model of excellence worthy of imitation. Homer’s Achilles seems to exhibit a number of the qualities Machiavelli esteems. Like David and Manlius Torquatus, Homer’s Achilles slays the chief warrior of the enemy (P 13.56; D 3.22.1, 3.34.2, 3.36.1, 3.37.1; Iliad 22.131-327). Like Camillus and Scipio, Achilles displays, at differ­ent times, cruelty and humanity toward his enemies (D 2.23.2, 3.20, 3.21; Iliad 21.100-105, 23.175-177, 24.512-672). More generally, Achilles displays the “ferocity,” “greatness of spirit,” and “strength of body” that Machiavelli praises the ancient education for producing (D 2.2). It is Achilles who leads his men and fights in the forefront as they sack 23 cities by sea and by land (Iliad 9.321-329). It is Achilles who makes possible the Achaians' siege of Troy, for, once he withdraws from battle, it is the Trojans who besiege the Achaians (5.787-791, 9.346-354, 13.95-114, 18.249-283). And it is Achilles who fights with singular ferocity and deadly efficiency to vanquish the Trojan army and all but guarantee the Achaian conquest and destruction of Troy (20.22-30, 20.490-503, 21.520-611, 22.395-411).

Machiavelli does not name Homer in the Prince (or the Discourses), but neither does he name Plato in the Prince and he only names Plato in the Discourses as the teacher of two failed conspirators (3.6.16).

Finally, like Homer, and unlike Plato, Machiavelli does not explicitly present the philosopher as a model of human excellence to be directly imitated. Both point their readers to the political life rather than, at least immediately, to the contemplative life. But does Machiavelli, like Homer, portray the active, political life of virtue as one that ultimately leads beyond itself to the contemplative life? Does Machiavelli’s Achilles, like Homer’s Achilles, point to the philosophic life? In order to address this question, let us consider how Homer’s Achilles’ specific conception of, and devotion to, virtue points beyond the life of virtue to the life of the mind.

homer’s portrayal of the tragic life of virtue

As we have seen, Homer’s Achilles points beyond himself most simply because he is a tragic figure, a great but sorrowful, flawed, and question­ing figure, whose sorrows, flaws, and questions point beyond his virtuous life to the contemplative life of the singer Homer.^[550] Notwithstanding Alexander the Great’s imitation of Homer’s Achilles, Homer does not present Achilles either as a successful conqueror - it is Odysseus, not Achilles, who hatches and executes the plot to sack and conquer Troy (Odyssey 8.492-520) - or even as one who simply lives the active life of a virtuous warrior in the Iliad. For almost three-quarters of the poem, up until Book 18, Achilles has deliberately withdrawn from the battlefield at Troy and the assembly of the Achaians. For almost three-quarters of the poem, Achilles is questioning the life of virtue rather than living that life.

Achilles is the best of the Achaians and the most virtuous human being in the Iliad.^[551] Even when criticizing him, his companions bear witness to his virtue. Nestor complains to Achilles' beloved Patroclus: “But Achilles alone will benefit from his virtue” (ιι.762-763). Patroclus himself declares to Achilles: “May this rage, then, not seize me, which you watch over, a dreadful virtue” (16.30-31).

Achilles' suffering is a direct result of his virtue. Achilles' intense dedication to virtue as he understands it brings him face to face with a problem within his understanding of virtue, a conflict between the nobil­ity and the goodness of virtue. It is Achilles' growing awareness of this problem that inspires in him a “wrath” so destructive that, as Homer explains in the opening of the poem, it causes the death of “many” Achaian heroes, including Achilles' beloved Patroclus and, prospectively, Achilles himself (1.1-7, 18.74-116).

For Achilles, virtue consists, at its core, in nobly and even selflessly devoting oneself to the good of others: “As a bird brings morsels to her young who cannot yet fly, wherever she may take them, but for her there is evil, so I have lain for many sleepless nights and passed through bloody days in fighting, struggling with men for the sake of their wives” (9.323-327). For nine long years, Achilles has been at the forefront of fighting, battling the Trojans and their allies, and storming 23 of their cities, not for his own sake but for the sake of King Agamemnon and his family (2.294-295, 9.328-343).

As the poem opens, we learn that the Achaians are suffering from a terrible, deadly plague, sent by the god Apollo, as punishment for King Agamemnon's refusal to give up his captive mistress to her father, who is a priest of Apollo (1.8-52). Agamemnon's outrageous refusal to protect the Achaians from the wrath of Apollo, simply in order to gratify his selfish desire for a mistress, prompts Achilles to act to save his fellows. Like all the Achaians except for Agamemnon, Achilles favors returning Chryseis to her father (ι.22-23). But unlike all the other Achaians, who are apparently willing to let the army perish as a result of the plague sent by Apollo rather than defy their king - or who may also count on the virtuous Achilles to defy their king and save them - Achilles is unwilling to acquiesce in Agamemnon's decision once it is clear that Apollo threatens the Achaians with destruction. Achilles summons the Achaians to an assembly, urges the Achaians to ask a prophet why Apollo is so angry, and promises to protect the prophet Calchas even at the risk of antagonizing a powerful Achaian king (1.88-91). Once Calchas explains that Apollo demands that Agamemnon return Chryseis, Achilles induces Agamemnon to yield and thereby saves the Achaians from the deadly wrath of Apollo (1.116-117). Agamemnon does, however, insist that either the Achaians should find and give him a prize - perhaps a newly captured mistress from some neighboring town that they might sack, as they captured Chryseis from the town of Thebe - or “I myself may take your prize or that of Ajax or that of Odysseus, going myself in person, and he whom I come to will be enraged” (1.137-139). After this some­what general threat against his three principal warriors, Agamemnon proceeds to drop the matter and to instruct one of these same three

Homer and Machiavelli on Education and Human Excellence 213 warriors, or Idomeneus, to undertake the solemn and important mission of returning Chryseis to her father (1.140-147).

Now, Agamemnon’s entire behavior here has been outrageously selfish and even now, after yielding to the entirely reasonable and just demands of Calchas and Achilles, he still demands to be given another mistress and threatens to take one from his leading warriors. Nevertheless, insofar as a virtuous, unselfish devotion to others - in this case, saving the army - is Achilles’ overriding priority, it would seem that he should be fully satis­fied with his success. Agamemnon has agreed to return Chryseis to her father and seems intent on doing so as quickly as possible. Moreover, precisely given the fact that Agamemnon has been outrageously endan­gering the very existence of the entire Achaian army for the sake of keeping a captive mistress, his desire to receive another captive mistress at some future date, a desire that might be accommodated either by another raiding expedition or by one of the leading warriors giving up one of his captive mistresses (Achilles himself evidently has more than one - see 9.663-665), would seem to be a relatively minor outrage.

Yet this is the moment at which the wrath of Achilles explodes. In response to Agamemnon’s vague threat to take away a captive mistress from either Achilles or Ajax or Odysseus, Achilles angrily denounces Agamemnon and suddenly announces that he is returning home and thereby threatening the existence of the army he has just saved from destruction. Why does he respond in such a seemingly extreme and disproportionate manner to Agamemnon here?^[556] Let us consider Achilles’ explanation.

Alas, you who are covered in shamelessness, with your mind always on profit, how would anyone of the Achaians who has foresight obey your words either to go on a journey or to fight strongly with men in battle? For I myself did not come here on account of Trojan spearmen, since they are not guilty of anything against me. Never have they yet driven off my cattle, nor my horses, never in Phthia, with fertile soil, which feeds men, did they spoil my harvest, since there is much between us, the shadowy mountains and the roaring sea. But for you, great shameless one, we followed, so that you would be gratified, to win honor for Menelaus and for you from the Trojans, you dog-eyed one. But you show no regard at all for these things nor do you have any care for them. And now you yourself threaten to take away my prize, which the sons of the Achaians gave to me, for which I have toiled much. Never is the prize that I have equal to yours, whenever the Achaians sack a well-founded city of the Trojans. But my hands attend to the greater part of the violent war. Indeed, if ever there is a division of

spoils, your prize is far greater, but I myself go back to my ships possessing a small yet dear thing, when I tire of waging war. But now I am going to Phthia, since it is much better to go home with my curved ships, nor do I think I will remain here, dishonored, to pile up riches and wealth for you. (1.149-171)

Achilles explains here that he is responding, not only to Agamemnon’s threat to take his prize away, but also to his unjust rule over the past nine years. In the first place, Achilles suggests, he and all the Achaians have been fighting the Trojans for nine years, not for their own sake, but in a noble spirit of generosity, to gratify Agamemnon and to win honor for him and his brother after Paris (ostensibly) stole away with his sister-in­law Helen.^[557] But, as Achilles stresses twice, Agamemnon has no feelings of shame in the face of such generosity, no reverence for such nobility, and no gratitude for such sacrifice. Instead, Agamemnon simply thinks of his own profit, his own prizes, and his own wealth. Accordingly, even though Achilles sacrifices much more for the war effort than Agamemnon - indeed, even though Agamemnon hardly fights at all (ι.225-227) - Agamemnon always obtains more wealth, more prizes, and more honor. As Achilles remarked earlier, Agamemnon insists on claiming, falsely, that he is the best of the Achaians (1.90-91). By depriv­ing Achilles of the honor he deserves, and by taking more honor for himself than he deserves, Agamemnon acts unjustly. Therefore, since it is “better” for him to leave, Achilles will no longer fight for Agamemnon but will return home.

Even though Achilles focuses his criticism here on Agamemnon, he also implicitly criticizes the Achaians for acquiescing in the foolish and unjust rule of Agamemnon. The Achaians, he suggests, have repeatedly permit­ted their king to take more honor and wealth than he deserves and to deprive others of what they deserve, perhaps because, like Calchas, they fear his anger (1.75-83). They simply acquiesced in Agamemnon’s refusal to return Chryseis to her father, even though his refusal provoked a terrible punishment from Apollo, and now they submit in silence when Agamemnon insists on taking Briseis from Achilles. Accordingly, Achilles

tells Agamemnon, “you rule over those who are of no account” (1.231; see 1.293). Even though Achilles has made sacrifices not only for Agamemnon but also for the Achaians as a whole, even though he has just single-handedly saved them from the terrible plague sent by Apollo, they continue to obey Agamemnon and to side with him against Achilles. Achilles, then, is evidently leaving Troy because, in his view, neither Agamemnon nor the Achaians are worthy of his virtuous efforts.^[558]

This eruption of wrath marks a crisis in Achilles' devotion to virtue. For a certain problematic tension within his understanding of virtue makes itself clearly felt here. On the one hand, Achilles believes the virtuous life to be fundamentally noble and self-denying since, at its core, it entails making sacrifices for others. Accordingly, he stresses that he has been fighting for Agamemnon in a spirit of generosity rather than out of personal need or self-interest (1.152-160). And he also stresses that, unlike Agamemnon, he is not always thinking of his own profit or his own needs, but rather of the well-being of others (1.149, 1.122). The virtuous life, seen in this light, is essentially painful, since it entails nobly sacrificing one's own good for the good of others. As Achilles stresses, he has “toiled much” for the Achaians and he exhausts himself fighting for others (1.162, 1.168). Yet, on the other hand, Achilles believes that the virtuous man who nobly sacrifices for others deserves to live more than a life of suffering, more than a life of pain and sacrifice and exhaustion. He deserves, at the very least, a “prize,” a “dear” token of esteem and admiration (1.163-168). The best of the Achaians deserves to be recognized as such, and honored as such by those who know him and whom he benefits. Achilles, then, believes that the virtuous life is noble and self-denying but also that it ought to be beneficial to the man who leads it. The virtuous life ought to be graced specifically with honor.

Now, this tension within Achilles' understanding of virtue raises two questions concerning the reasonableness of virtue. In the first place, inasmuch as the virtuous man devotes himself to the good of others rather than to his own good, even sacrificing his own good for others, he would seem to be incapable of securing his own good for himself. Since, for example, he does not focus on acquiring honor but rather on making himself worthy of receiving it, it would seem that he cannot ensure that he will indeed receive the honor he deserves. Therefore, it would seem that, precisely insofar as the virtuous man is noble, he cannot secure his own fulfillment or happiness. But if the virtuous life is primarily a life of pain and suffering, how can it be reasonable to live such a life?

Furthermore, if the virtuous man truly benefits from his sacrifices, even in the refined sense of receiving a due recognition of his excellence from those who are themselves excellent, in what sense are his sacrifices genu­ine sacrifices? In what sense is virtue self-denying if it offers a noble satisfaction to those who possess it? How can the virtuous life combine, as it apparently must, both self-sacrifice and self-fulfillment?

Achilles' failure to receive the honor he deserves from Agamemnon and the Achaians evidently leads him to wonder whether there is anything truly beneficial about the virtuous life, whether that life is not simply a miserable and pointless life of unappreciated sacrifice, and hence whether it is good for him to continue to lead that painful life at all. By declaring that he will return to Phthia because it is “better” - not for Agamemnon or the Achaians, presumably, but for himself - to do so, Achilles appears to indicate that he is now abandoning his devotion to the good of others and dedicating himself primarily to pursuing his own good, a good that is wholly independent of the Achaians - of their honor - and also of what is good for them (1.1169-171). Accordingly, it would seem, then, that, by leaving Troy, Achilles intends to leave not only the Achaians behind, but also his whole virtuous way of life behind and to pursue some other way of life, one that focuses on his own good, in Phthia.^[559]

But Achilles does not leave. He remains at Troy but apart from the war, waiting for the Achaians - after suffering at the hands of the emboldened Trojans who are now to be aided by Zeus - to repent of their ingratitude, to recognize his virtue, and to bestow on him the honor he deserves (ι.239-244, 1.407-412). However, during this waiting period, these 14 days, Achilles does not simply rage at the Achaians for withholding from him as a reward for his virtue the honor he deserves (2.699-694, 2.768-773); Achilles also reflects on honor, “delighting his mind” and singing of “the glories of men” (9.186-189). During this time, Achilles begins to doubt whether honor is truly a sufficient reward for the life of virtue. He begins to wonder whether honor is truly the highest or greatest good, or whether there is a superior good, a superior source of

Homer and Machiavelli on Education and Human Excellence 217 fulfillment apart from even a virtuous life that is honored (see especially 9.314-322, 9.378-409). Accordingly, when the Achaians are threatened with destruction at the hands of the Trojans, repent of their ingratitude toward Achilles, acknowledge his superlative virtue, and vow to honor him “as a god” (9.297, 9.302-303, 9.603), Achilles now declines their honor and resolves, once again, to leave Troy:

There is an equal portion for the one who stays back and if someone fights hard. The evil one and the noble one are held in single honor. He still goes down to death, the man who has done no deeds, and the one who has done many. Nothing more is laid up for me, once I suffered pains in my spirit, always risking my life [or soul - ψυχην] by fighting. (9.318-322)

For not worth my life [or soul] are all that they say Ilion, that well inhabited city, possessed, in the old days, when there was peace, before the coming of the sons of the Achaians, nor all that the stone threshold of the archer, Phoebus Apollo, encloses, in rocky Pytho. For cattle and fat sheep can be taken by plunder and tripods and the fair heads of horses may be acquired, but for the life [or soul] of a man to come back, this cannot be taken by plunder or seized, once it has crossed the barrier of the teeth. (9.401-409)

Achilles here identifies the noble life as one that is simply painful, and asks whether there is not a fulfillment - a happiness - worthy of his noble soul, a fulfillment beyond riches, honor, and long life.

Nevertheless, since he is uncertain what way of life would be more fulfilling than the noble but painful life of virtue, Achilles does not leave Troy. And when the Achaians are on the very brink of destruction, Achilles sends in his beloved friend, the virtuous Patroclus, so that he may save the Achaians and also win a due recognition for his virtue. As he sends Patroclus in to save the Achaians, Achilles prays to Zeus: “Send forth glory to him” (16.241). By suggesting here that honor would be a sufficient reward for virtue, Achilles seems to step back from his doubts about the life of virtue. Now, Patroclus does save the Achaians from destruction, and wins honor as “the best of the Achaians,” but he also dies at the hands of Hector (17.689). When he loses his friend, Achilles is so overcome with grief that he blames himself for having caused both the death of his friend and great harm to his fellow Achaians by angrily withdrawing from the battlefield:

I would die soon, since I was not to protect my companion as he was killed. He perished far away from the land of his fathers, and he did not have me to be his protector from harm. Now, since I am not going to the beloved land of my fathers, since I was not a light for Patroclus, nor for my other companions, so many of whom were broken by divine Hector, but I sit beside my ships, a useless burden on the land, I who am such as no other of the bronze-tunicked Achaians is in war, though there are others better in assembly. (18.98-106)

In this way, Achilles severely blames himself for having ever harbored doubts about the reasonableness of his virtuous devotion to others.

The final picture we have of Achilles in the Iliad is of a man who, on the one hand, has returned to his virtuous life of fighting for his fellow Achaians, but who, on the other hand, continues to feel painful doubts about that way of life. For in his last appearance in the poem, we see Achilles sympathizing with and sheltering the Trojan king Priam, the enemy of the Achaians, and weeping over his own sorrows (24.526), for the beloved friend - Patroclus - he has lost and the aged father - Peleus - he has left at home. As Achilles remarks to his “friend” Priam, “[n]ow I do not take care of him [Peleus] as he grows old, since very far from the land of my fathers, I sit in Troy, bringing sorrows to you and your children” (24.540-542; see 24.650). Homer’s portrait of Achilles suggests that there is an abiding conflict, a tragic conflict, between the virtuous human being’s noble devotion to virtue and his reasonable desire for happiness. And that conflict raises the question, what alternative to the life of virtue might fulfill Achilles’ yearning for happiness?

As we have seen,^[560] the happiest we ever see Achilles in the Iliad - the happiest we ever see any human being in the poem - is the moment when he is singing, “delighting his mind with his lyre”: “with it he delighted his spirit and sang of the glories of men” (9.186-189). The fact that Homer says that Achilles delighted his mind by singing of the “glories of men” and the fact that he goes on to share with his friends his thoughts about the problematic relation between glory and virtue suggest that Achilles has found a certain pleasure in reflecting on this problem, and hence that he has found a certain happiness in thinking about the problem of the tension between the virtuous devotion to others and the desire for one’s own happiness. It is true that Achilles does not seem to recognize that such thinking, such contemplation, could constitute a way of life that fulfills his soul in a way that the tragic life of virtue cannot. Nevertheless, in his contemplative singing, Achilles points to the example of the contem­plative singer, Homer.

Machiavelli’s portrayal of the happy life of virtue

Now, Machiavelli’s Achilles, in contrast to Homer’s Achilles, does not point beyond himself to the life of contemplation, quite simply because

Homer and Machiavelli on Education and Human Excellence 219 Machiavelli’s Achilles, in contrast to Homer’s Achilles, is not at all a tragic figure who suffers because of his virtue and who is led by his suffering to reflect on the conflict between virtue and happiness. That is not to say that Machiavelli’s Achilles is a flawless character: Machiavelli never explicitly calls Achilles virtuous. Machiavelli does, however, call him one of those “who had been praised and glorified” (P 14.60) and he does identify Alexander the Great, who imitated Achilles, as a virtuous prince in the Discourses (1.20). Moreover, according to Machiavelli, it is through the example of Achilles and the education he received from Chiron that ancient writers teach princes how they may do “great things” and rule “happily,” as, for example, the virtuous Severus did (P 18.69, 19.78). In order to understand why Machiavelli’s Achilles is not tragic, we must first consider Machiavelli's discussion of Achilles in Chapter 18 within the broad context of Machiavelli's discussion of virtue in the Prince as a whole.

Chapter 18 is a key chapter within Machiavelli’s overall account of virtue in the Prince, an account that departs dramatically from traditional accounts of virtue. In the Prince, Machiavelli refers to a number of traditional accounts of virtue - for example, biblical and Aristotelian (6.22-24, 8.35, 15.60-61, 16.62-65, 17.65-68) - but in Chapter 18 he refers specifically to Achilles and hence to the specific contrast between the problematic, tragic account of virtue Homer presents through Achilles and Machiavelli's account. Now, a distinctive feature of virtue in Machiavelli's account in the Prince is that virtue, especially great virtue, leads, not to a tragic conflict between virtue and happiness, but directly to happiness.^[561] Of the 15 named individuals in the Prince whom Machiavelli

identifies as virtuous - Moses,⁵⁸ Cyrus,⁵⁹ Romulus,⁶⁰ Theseus,⁶¹ Hiero,⁶² Francesco Sforza,⁶³ Cesare Borgia,⁶⁴ Agathocles,⁶⁵ Liverotto da Fermo,⁶⁶ Pope Leo,⁶⁷ Carmagnola,⁶⁸ Charles VII of France,⁶⁹ Hannibal,⁷⁰ Marcus Aurelius,⁷¹ and Severus⁷² - 12 are depicted as thriving and triumphant. Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, Theseus, and Severus are said to be “happy [felici]” (6.23-25, 19.78). Hiero and Francesco Sforza maintained their rule with “little trouble [poca fatica]” (6.25, 7.26). Agathocles “could live for a long time secure in his fatherland, defend himself against external enemies, and never be conspired against by his citizens” and even could have “some remedy” for his “state with God and men” (8.37, 8.38). Pope Leo, Charles VII, and Hannibal are presented as entirely effective rulers (11.47, 13.56-57, 17.67-68). And Marcus Aurelius did not come “to a bad end” but “lived and died most honorably” (19.77). Virtue, then, in Machiavelli’s account, typically leads, not to a tragic conflict between the devotion to others and the desire for one’s happiness, but rather to power, security, and honor for oneself and, most clearly in the greatest cases, to happiness. In Machiavelli’s second mention of virtue in the book, and first clear statement about virtue in the book, he affirms that the Romans “enjoyed the benefit of their virtue” (3.12-13). In Chapter 6 - the chapter in which he mentions virtue most frequently (14 times, including the title) - Machiavelli emphasizes that the “greatest examples” of “virtue” - Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, and Theseus - were able, thanks to their “excel­lent virtue,” to take full advantage of their opportunities to remain “powerful, secure, honored, and happy” (6.22, 6.23, 6.25). And in Chapter 19, Machiavelli declares that “in Severus was so much virtue” that “he was always able to rule happily because his virtues made him so admirable in the sight of the soldiers and the people” (19.78).

There are, to be sure, three virtuous individuals in the Prince who suffer unhappy ends. But in each case, Machiavelli indicates, these virtu­ous men had it within their power to avoid their ruin without at all compromising their virtue. Cesare Borgia, whose “virtue” Machiavelli celebrates, did suffer, in Machiavelli’s words, “an extraordinary and extreme malignity of fortune” (7.31, 7.27). But Machiavelli goes on to qualify those words by explaining that Borgia’s “ultimate ruin” was not, in truth, due to fortune, but to his own, avoidable error in deceiving himself by trusting that Pope Julius II would forgive and forget his past offenses (7.33). Similarly, Liverotto failed to secure himself, notwith­standing his “virtues,” because he “permitted himself to be deceived by Cesare Borgia” who went on to have him strangled at Sinigaglia (8.37). And the virtuous Carmagnola too was evidently destroyed due to his avoidable error of trusting in the loyalty and prudence of the Venetians (12.51-52). There is nothing tragic, then, in Machiavelli’s account, of the downfalls of these virtuous rulers; their fates do not reflect a conflict between virtue and the desire for happiness because, as Machiavelli indicates most clearly in Chapters 8 and 18, there is no conflict between virtue properly understood and the desire for happiness.^[562]

58

62

⁶7

7²

signed his Letter to Guicciardini, 21 October, 1525, “Niccolo Machiavelli, historico, comic et tragico,” it was “half in jest” (1963, 219). For other scholars who suggest that there is a tragic dimension to Machiavelli’s thought, see Barberi-Squarotti 1966. Consider as well Rebhorn 1988, 38-39, 170-183, 187, but also 247-248. For an overview of this debate, see Sullivan 2000.

6.22, 6.23, 26.102.

6.25. ⁶³ 7.26.

68

11.47. ⁶⁸ 12.51.

19.78 (twice), 19.82.

⁵⁹ 6.22, 6.23.

⁶⁴ 7.31 (twice).

⁶⁹13.56.

60 61

6.22, 6.23.

⁶⁵ 8.34, 8.35 (twice).

⁷⁰ 17.67 (twice), 17.68.

6.22, 6.23 (twice).

⁶⁶ 8.37.

⁷¹ 19.77.

In his discussion of Agathocles in Chapter 8, Machiavelli sharply contrasts the traditional understanding of virtue, one that encompasses Achilles’ understanding - “Yet one cannot call it virtue to kill one’s citizens, betray one’s friends, to be without faith, without mercy, without religion; these modes can enable one to acquire empire but not glory” - with his own understanding, supplied in the very next sentence - “For, if one considers the virtue of Agathocles in entering into and escaping from dangers, and the greatness of his spirit in enduring and overcoming [superare] adversities, one does not see why he has to be judged inferior to any most excellent captain” (8.35). The traditional understanding identifies devotion to others - to citizens and friends, for example - as the essence of virtue. However, as we have seen in the case of Achilles, that understanding puts virtue at odds with the desire for happiness. Machiavelli identifies practical, political success in facing and overcoming challenges, as Agathocles succeeded in rising from being the son of a potter to acquiring mastery over Syracuse and Sicily, as the essence of virtue - even if that requires killing one’s fellow citizens and betraying one’s friends. Through this reform or redefinition of virtue, Machiavelli brings the greatness of spirit that virtue entails into harmony with the natural desire to acquire happiness for oneself (see 3.14-15).

In Chapter 8, however, there appears to be one grave difficulty with Machiavelli’s reform of virtue, insofar as that virtue is exemplified by Agathocles: “his infinite betrayals and cruelties” “enable him to acquire empire but not glory” (P 8.35, 8.37). In other words, in Machiavelli’s account here, virtue as he understands it - namely, a greatness of spirit in enduring and overcoming adversities by whatever means necessary - enables one to acquire and secure one’s power successfully, but it does not enable one to acquire the glory or honor or praise - “ the honor of the world” - that people in ancient times deemed “the highest good” and that the virtuous naturally seek (D 2.2.2; consider P 3.14-15, 25.99). The specific difficulty that Machiavelli identifies in Chapter 8 seems to be that human beings accord praise to those who are virtuous in the traditional sense, to those who are devoted to others rather than to themselves. Only such noble and selfless humans are thought to be worthy of praise. Accordingly, such a ruthlessly self-interested man as Agathocles cannot win glory but Achilles, for example, is, in Machiavelli’s words, one of those who have been “praised and glorified” (14.60). But if the virtuous cannot win glory, how can they attain happiness? How did “the greatest examples” of virtue mentioned in Chapter 6 come to be “powerful, secure, honored, and happy” (6.22, 6.25)?

In Chapter 18, entitled, “In What Mode Faith Should Be Kept by Princes,” Machiavelli reconsiders this apparent contradiction between genuine virtue as he understands it and glory or honor or praise. He begins by noting, “How praiseworthy [laudabile] it is for a prince to keep his faith, and to live with honesty and not by astuteness, everyone under­stands” (18.68-69). To be trustworthy and honest in one’s dealings with others is what makes one virtuous and hence worthy of praise, according to the general understanding of human beings. However, Machiavelli immediately notes: “Nonetheless one sees by experience in our times that the princes who have done great things are those who have taken little account of faith and have known how to get around men’s brains with their astuteness; and in the end they have overcome [superato] those who have founded themselves on loyalty” (18.69). As in Chapter 8, Machiavelli here highlights a contradiction between glory or praise, and virtue or overcoming one’s adversaries by whatever means necessary so as to do “great things.” However, here, in Chapter 18, Machiavelli affirms, not that one cannot acquire glory or praise by acting in accordance with Machiavelli’s understanding of virtue, but rather that one cannot be worthy of praise or glory - as “everyone” understands such worthiness - by acting in accordance with Machiavelli’s understanding of virtue. The question arises, is it possible to acquire praise even if one is not, according to “everyone,” truly worthy of praise? Machiavelli goes on to explain that it is indeed possible, if one knows well how to deceive and “to be a great pretender and dissembler”: “So let a prince win and maintain his state: the means will always be judged honorable, and will be praised by everyone. For the vulgar are taken in by the appearance and the outcome of a thing, and in the world there is no one but the vulgar” (18.70,18.71). In an echo of Glaucon in Plato’s Republic (359b6-362c8), Machiavelli suggests here that through deception, the selfish can acquire a reputation for being selfless. Through deception, those who are genuinely virtuous can acquire the glory thought due to the traditionally virtuous. Through deception, the truly virtuous can acquire both the power and the glory that they crave. Thanks to Machiavelli’s full account of virtue, one that entails the greatness of spirit to overcome all adversities and adversaries through force and deception, it is possible for virtuous humans to put an end to the tragic conflict between virtue and happiness.

It is in the context of explaining how the virtuous can, through decep­tion, acquire praise or honor or glory as well as power that Machiavelli offers his own account of Achilles and refers to Homer’s account of Achilles. The key to acquiring glory through deception is clarity concern­ing one’s relations to those from whom one seeks glory, that is, as Machiavelli puts it in Chapter 15, from one’s “subjects” and “friends” (15.61). For what prevents an Agathocles from acquiring glory is that, among other things, he kills his fellow citizens and betrays his friends (8.35). Now, Machiavelli has suggested in Chapter 3 that conflict or combat is inevitable among human beings - “war may not be avoided [la guerra non si leva] but is deferred to the advantage of others” (3.12-13) - but there he had evidently been speaking of war with one’s enemies, not one’s subjects and friends. Here, in Chapter 18, after affirming that it is those who take little account of faith and honesty who accomplish great things, Machiavelli abruptly explains that there are “two kinds of combat [due generazioni di combattere]”: one with laws, which is proper to man, and one with force, which is proper to beasts. In this way, he makes the shocking suggestion that even disputes among fellow citizens or friends, governed as they are by common laws, are properly understood as “combat” between hostile parties.

Machiavelli does immediately soften this suggestion at least somewhat by introducing the distinction between the combat proper to man and that proper to beasts. A conflict that is settled according to law would seem to be proper to human beings insofar as human beings are civil and political animals who share such common interests as the rule of law, peace, and companionship and insofar as human beings are rational animals who are capable of recognizing their common interests. Conversely, a conflict that is settled by force would seem to be proper to beasts insofar as beasts are uncivil and apolitical beings who recognize no common interest with or attachment to their fellows and consequently take what they can from them and yield only what they must.^[563] One might think, then, that Machiavelli here suggests that the combat proper to humans is the legal conflict among fellow citizens within one’s own political society, whereas the combat proper to beasts is the lawless, no holds barred conflict of international politics. And Machiavelli does first emphasize that, since combat with laws “is often not enough, it is suitable [or it is fitting - conviene]^[564] to have recourse” to combat with force (18.69). In this way, he seems simply to suggest that there are limits to the common interests and fellowship of members of society and conse­quently that it is “often” appropriate or advisable, again, perhaps espe­cially in foreign affairs, to use force. But then Machiavelli goes on to focus the rest of his discussion on urging princes “to use the beast,” and specifically to imitate the “natures” of the lion and the fox, following the examples of Pope Alexander VI and Severus (18.69-70, 19.77-79). By disregarding here the conflict through laws that is proper to man,^[565] Machiavelli suggests that there is no clear common good among human beings even when they are fellow citizens, that the interests of human beings naturally clash, and hence that even one’s fellow citizens, even one’s subjects and friends, may be treated as ruthlessly as one would treat one’s outright enemies. Therefore, “because men are wicked and do not

Homer and Machiavelli on Education and Human Excellence 225 observe faith with you, you also do not have to observe it with them” (18.69).

Accordingly, the prince who seeks both power and glory must imitate the beasts in their harshness and even cruelty.^[566] Specifically, he must imitate the lion, who fights fiercely and openly without restraint or mercy, and also the fox, who pretends to be at peace and in friendship with others, while secretly and ruthlessly manipulating them.

And, as Machiavelli indicates through the two examples he gives of princes who imitate foxes, they deceive not only their enemies but also and especially their subjects and friends. For “Alexander VI never did anything, nor ever thought of anything, but how to deceive men, and he always found a subject to whom he could do it” (18.70 - emphases added). And Severus, in Machiavelli’s account, deceived “his friends” - the soldiers in his army - as well as his “colleague” Albinus (19.78 - emphasis added). Machiavelli teaches, then, that princes and, indeed, all human beings, are best understood as existing, fundamentally, in a con­dition of conflict with one another. And once one recognizes this conflict with one’s fellows, one recognizes that the best way to acquire glory from them is not by devoting oneself to them but by ruthlessly manipulating and deceiving them. Accordingly, “[a] prince should take great care that... to see him and hear him, he should appear all mercy, all faith, all honesty, all humanity, all religion” (18.70). For “[e]veryone sees how you appear, few touch what you are; and these few dare not oppose the opinion of many, who have the majesty of the state to defend them” (18.71). Keeping in mind, then, the fundamental selfishness and gullibility of human beings, the virtuous can, through force and deception, acquire the power and honor - the happiness - they seek.