finished_summaries/gradesaver/The Prince/section_2_part_0.txt
The Prince.chapters 8-9
section 3: chapters 8-9
{"name": "Section 3: Chapters VIII-IX", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210417004655/https://www.gradesaver.com/the-prince/study-guide/summary-section-3-chapters-viii-ix", "summary": "\"On Those Who Have Become Princes By Crime,\" is one of the key chapters of The Prince. In it, Machiavelli seems to distinguish between outright cruelty and the kind of clever ruthlessness he describes earlier in the work . He makes use of two examples: the first ancient, and the second modern. Agathocles massacred all the senators and richest citizens of Syracuse, and thereby became prince. Oliverotto da Fermo murdered his uncle and other citizens, and forced Fermo to make him its prince. An interesting side-note: Oliverotto was later killed by Cesare Borgia at Sinigaglia, having fallen victim to another statesman's trickery. How, Machiavelli asks, did these two men \"live long, secure lives in their native cities, defend themselves from foreign enemies, and never be conspired against by their fellow citizens?\" His answer: because their cruelty was put to good use. Cruelty can be considered well-used if carried out in one stab, the wicked deeds executed all at once, and if it can be interpreted as necessary for self-preservation. This distinction leads Machiavelli to the following argument: \"We may add this note that when a prince takes a new state, he should calculate the sum of all the injuries he will have to do, and do them all at once, so as not to have to do new ones every day; simply by not repeating them, he will then be able to reassure people, and win them over to his side with benefits.\" The next chapter, \"On the Civil Principate,\" concerns another kind of prince: one who gains power \"not through crimes or other intolerable violence, but by the choice of his fellow citizens .\" A prince can rise in this fashion in one of two ways: either by the will of the people, or by the will of the nobles. \"In every city,\" Machiavelli goes on to argue, \"there are two different humors, one rising from the people's desire not to be ordered and commanded by the nobles, and the other from the desire of the nobles to command and oppress the people.\" If nobles see they are having trouble with the people, they make one of their own a prince; he becomes their puppet, and therefore they get what they want on a larger scale. If the people feel that the nobles are oppressing them, they will try to make one of their own a prince; he then becomes their shield against the nobles. As nobles are particularly difficult to deal with, a prince of any kind should try to win the favor of the populace and keep it dependent on the state. Machiavelli rejects the notion that \"The man who counts on the people builds his house on mud,\" though he does concede that a prince should not let \"himself think that the people will come to his aid when he is in trouble.\" As with so much else, it is all about balance.", "analysis": "Machiavelli has a reputation, largely based on The Prince, for a cold-hearted worldview, political cynicism, and philosophical ruthlessness. However, this reputation is largely exaggerated. As influential as Machiavelli's ideas may have been on future generations of totalitarians, realpolitik maestros, and Kissinger think-alikes, his own approach is far more complex: it reflects a taste for expediency and an emphasis on ends over means, but is muted by a concern for human needs and a genuine interest in human nature. Consider the following sentence, from Chapter IX: \"In fact the aim of the common people is more honest than that of the nobles, since the nobles want to oppress others, while the people simply want not to be oppressed.\" Machiavelli adopts an altogether bitter tone when describing the nobles - their greed, their power-lust, their selfishness - and seems to argue that a good prince should rise above such petty wants and lowly attributes. If anything, a prince should pay more attention to the people than to the nobles. While such a formulation may seem to be common sense, it reflects an almost democratic view: the will of the many over the will of the few, protection for the powerless against the threats of the powerful. That this chapter follows a chapter exclusively devoted to criminal princes is telling. Machiavelli seems unsure whether to condone what he labels as \"cruelty\" or to condemn it. He seems to take a certain pleasure in recounting the wicked deeds of an Agathocles or an Oliverotto da Fermo; what these men did is indefensible, and yet it worked. Machiavelli, ever the theoretician, proceeds to meditate on why it worked. He nearly traps himself in a philosophical cul-de-sac when, about to explain what he means by well-used cruelty, he writes: \"if it's permissible to say good words about something which is evil in itself.\" Why are the actions of Agathocles and Oliverotto evil, while those of Cesare Borgia are not? We are reminded of Borgia, since it was he who lured Oliverotto to his death. Never would Machiavelli refer to Borgia as a criminal prince, yet he murdered the leaders of rival factions to clear the way for his own ascent, much as did Agathocles and Oliverotto, and he made an example of his lieutenant general after using him to pacify his kingdom, just to save face. To Machiavelli, this is cleverness at its best: actions justified by their very brilliance. It's not hard to see why everyone from Macbeth to the Corleone family to Stalin have been labeled Machiavellian at various junctures. But would Machiavelli approve? It seems that because the deeds of Agathocles and Oliverotto reflected not so much urgent necessity as a kind of deep-seated bloodlust, they are distinguishable from Borgia's moves. Whatever the reasoning, Machiavelli's distinction is notable. Machiavelli has not touched the bottom of this particular well, in later chapters continues to examine the line between justifiable and unjustifiable cruelty. Nonetheless, what emerges at this juncture in The Prince is the simple assertion, fundamental to the book's argument, that some cruelty is good and some is not. This rejection of the categorical in favor of the relative or comparative is an important one: there is a sense in which the contradictions in Machiavelli's theorizing may reflect his own uncertainty as to when cruelty can be excused. It is worth remembering that he was imprisoned and tortured prior to writing The Prince; without lashing out at the Medici family, he does, in his introductory letter, suggest that the cruelty he experienced was unjustified: \"you  will recognize how unjustly I suffer the bitter and sustained malignity of fortune.\" The exile rails against the cruelty carried out against him while defending the cruelty of past princes. At the same time, he refers to historical figures such as Agathocles as wicked men; he writes that people should either be \"caressed or destroyed,\" and then later turns around and argues that the common people are honest  and more noble in their sentiments than the nobles. None of these various positions constitutes a complete about-face vis-a-vis an earlier position, but the shifting of rhetoric and the slipperiness of Machiavelli's tone does suggest that he himself has not finished grappling with what is perhaps the most fundamental question of all: when do the ends no longer justify the means?"}

Although a prince may rise from a private station in two ways, neither
of which can be entirely attributed to fortune or genius, yet it is
manifest to me that I must not be silent on them, although one could be
more copiously treated when I discuss republics. These methods are
when, either by some wicked or nefarious ways, one ascends to the
principality, or when by the favour of his fellow-citizens a private
person becomes the prince of his country. And speaking of the first
method, it will be illustrated by two examples--one ancient, the other
modern--and without entering further into the subject, I consider these
two examples will suffice those who may be compelled to follow them.

Agathocles, the Sicilian,(*) became King of Syracuse not only from
a private but from a low and abject position. This man, the son of a
potter, through all the changes in his fortunes always led an infamous
life. Nevertheless, he accompanied his infamies with so much ability of
mind and body that, having devoted himself to the military profession,
he rose through its ranks to be Praetor of Syracuse. Being established
in that position, and having deliberately resolved to make himself
prince and to seize by violence, without obligation to others, that
which had been conceded to him by assent, he came to an understanding
for this purpose with Amilcar, the Carthaginian, who, with his army, was
fighting in Sicily. One morning he assembled the people and the senate
of Syracuse, as if he had to discuss with them things relating to the
Republic, and at a given signal the soldiers killed all the senators and
the richest of the people; these dead, he seized and held the princedom
of that city without any civil commotion. And although he was twice
routed by the Carthaginians, and ultimately besieged, yet not only was
he able to defend his city, but leaving part of his men for its defence,
with the others he attacked Africa, and in a short time raised the
siege of Syracuse. The Carthaginians, reduced to extreme necessity, were
compelled to come to terms with Agathocles, and, leaving Sicily to him,
had to be content with the possession of Africa.

     (*) Agathocles the Sicilian, born 361 B.C., died 289 B.C.

Therefore, he who considers the actions and the genius of this man will
see nothing, or little, which can be attributed to fortune, inasmuch as
he attained pre-eminence, as is shown above, not by the favour of any
one, but step by step in the military profession, which steps were
gained with a thousand troubles and perils, and were afterwards boldly
held by him with many hazardous dangers. Yet it cannot be called talent
to slay fellow-citizens, to deceive friends, to be without faith,
without mercy, without religion; such methods may gain empire, but
not glory. Still, if the courage of Agathocles in entering into and
extricating himself from dangers be considered, together with his
greatness of mind in enduring and overcoming hardships, it cannot be
seen why he should be esteemed less than the most notable captain.
Nevertheless, his barbarous cruelty and inhumanity with infinite
wickedness do not permit him to be celebrated among the most excellent
men. What he achieved cannot be attributed either to fortune or genius.

In our times, during the rule of Alexander the Sixth, Oliverotto da
Fermo, having been left an orphan many years before, was brought up
by his maternal uncle, Giovanni Fogliani, and in the early days of his
youth sent to fight under Pagolo Vitelli, that, being trained under
his discipline, he might attain some high position in the military
profession. After Pagolo died, he fought under his brother Vitellozzo,
and in a very short time, being endowed with wit and a vigorous body
and mind, he became the first man in his profession. But it appearing
a paltry thing to serve under others, he resolved, with the aid of some
citizens of Fermo, to whom the slavery of their country was dearer than
its liberty, and with the help of the Vitelleschi, to seize Fermo. So
he wrote to Giovanni Fogliani that, having been away from home for many
years, he wished to visit him and his city, and in some measure to look
upon his patrimony; and although he had not laboured to acquire anything
except honour, yet, in order that the citizens should see he had not
spent his time in vain, he desired to come honourably, so would be
accompanied by one hundred horsemen, his friends and retainers; and he
entreated Giovanni to arrange that he should be received honourably by
the Fermians, all of which would be not only to his honour, but also to
that of Giovanni himself, who had brought him up.

Giovanni, therefore, did not fail in any attentions due to his nephew,
and he caused him to be honourably received by the Fermians, and he
lodged him in his own house, where, having passed some days, and having
arranged what was necessary for his wicked designs, Oliverotto gave a
solemn banquet to which he invited Giovanni Fogliani and the chiefs of
Fermo. When the viands and all the other entertainments that are usual
in such banquets were finished, Oliverotto artfully began certain grave
discourses, speaking of the greatness of Pope Alexander and his son
Cesare, and of their enterprises, to which discourse Giovanni and others
answered; but he rose at once, saying that such matters ought to be
discussed in a more private place, and he betook himself to a chamber,
whither Giovanni and the rest of the citizens went in after him. No
sooner were they seated than soldiers issued from secret places and
slaughtered Giovanni and the rest. After these murders Oliverotto,
mounted on horseback, rode up and down the town and besieged the chief
magistrate in the palace, so that in fear the people were forced to obey
him, and to form a government, of which he made himself the prince. He
killed all the malcontents who were able to injure him, and strengthened
himself with new civil and military ordinances, in such a way that, in
the year during which he held the principality, not only was he
secure in the city of Fermo, but he had become formidable to all his
neighbours. And his destruction would have been as difficult as that
of Agathocles if he had not allowed himself to be overreached by Cesare
Borgia, who took him with the Orsini and Vitelli at Sinigalia, as was
stated above. Thus one year after he had committed this parricide, he
was strangled, together with Vitellozzo, whom he had made his leader in
valour and wickedness.

Some may wonder how it can happen that Agathocles, and his like, after
infinite treacheries and cruelties, should live for long secure in
his country, and defend himself from external enemies, and never be
conspired against by his own citizens; seeing that many others, by means
of cruelty, have never been able even in peaceful times to hold the
state, still less in the doubtful times of war. I believe that this
follows from severities(*) being badly or properly used. Those may be
called properly used, if of evil it is possible to speak well, that are
applied at one blow and are necessary to one's security, and that are
not persisted in afterwards unless they can be turned to the advantage
of the subjects. The badly employed are those which, notwithstanding
they may be few in the commencement, multiply with time rather than
decrease. Those who practise the first system are able, by aid of God
or man, to mitigate in some degree their rule, as Agathocles did. It is
impossible for those who follow the other to maintain themselves.

     (*) Mr Burd suggests that this word probably comes near the
     modern equivalent of Machiavelli's thought when he speaks of
     "crudelta" than the more obvious "cruelties."

Hence it is to be remarked that, in seizing a state, the usurper ought
to examine closely into all those injuries which it is necessary for him
to inflict, and to do them all at one stroke so as not to have to repeat
them daily; and thus by not unsettling men he will be able to reassure
them, and win them to himself by benefits. He who does otherwise, either
from timidity or evil advice, is always compelled to keep the knife
in his hand; neither can he rely on his subjects, nor can they attach
themselves to him, owing to their continued and repeated wrongs. For
injuries ought to be done all at one time, so that, being tasted less,
they offend less; benefits ought to be given little by little, so that
the flavour of them may last longer.

And above all things, a prince ought to live amongst his people in such
a way that no unexpected circumstances, whether of good or evil, shall
make him change; because if the necessity for this comes in troubled
times, you are too late for harsh measures; and mild ones will not help
you, for they will be considered as forced from you, and no one will be
under any obligation to you for them.




But coming to the other point--where a leading citizen becomes the
prince of his country, not by wickedness or any intolerable violence,
but by the favour of his fellow citizens--this may be called a civil
principality: nor is genius or fortune altogether necessary to attain to
it, but rather a happy shrewdness. I say then that such a principality
is obtained either by the favour of the people or by the favour of the
nobles. Because in all cities these two distinct parties are found,
and from this it arises that the people do not wish to be ruled nor
oppressed by the nobles, and the nobles wish to rule and oppress the
people; and from these two opposite desires there arises in cities one
of three results, either a principality, self-government, or anarchy.

A principality is created either by the people or by the nobles,
accordingly as one or other of them has the opportunity; for the nobles,
seeing they cannot withstand the people, begin to cry up the reputation
of one of themselves, and they make him a prince, so that under his
shadow they can give vent to their ambitions. The people, finding
they cannot resist the nobles, also cry up the reputation of one of
themselves, and make him a prince so as to be defended by his authority.
He who obtains sovereignty by the assistance of the nobles maintains
himself with more difficulty than he who comes to it by the aid of
the people, because the former finds himself with many around him who
consider themselves his equals, and because of this he can neither rule
nor manage them to his liking. But he who reaches sovereignty by popular
favour finds himself alone, and has none around him, or few, who are not
prepared to obey him.

Besides this, one cannot by fair dealing, and without injury to others,
satisfy the nobles, but you can satisfy the people, for their object is
more righteous than that of the nobles, the latter wishing to oppress,
while the former only desire not to be oppressed. It is to be added also
that a prince can never secure himself against a hostile people, because
of there being too many, whilst from the nobles he can secure himself,
as they are few in number. The worst that a prince may expect from a
hostile people is to be abandoned by them; but from hostile nobles he
has not only to fear abandonment, but also that they will rise against
him; for they, being in these affairs more far-seeing and astute, always
come forward in time to save themselves, and to obtain favours from him
whom they expect to prevail. Further, the prince is compelled to live
always with the same people, but he can do well without the same nobles,
being able to make and unmake them daily, and to give or take away
authority when it pleases him.

Therefore, to make this point clearer, I say that the nobles ought to
be looked at mainly in two ways: that is to say, they either shape their
course in such a way as binds them entirely to your fortune, or they do
not. Those who so bind themselves, and are not rapacious, ought to be
honoured and loved; those who do not bind themselves may be dealt
with in two ways; they may fail to do this through pusillanimity and a
natural want of courage, in which case you ought to make use of them,
especially of those who are of good counsel; and thus, whilst in
prosperity you honour them, in adversity you do not have to fear them.
But when for their own ambitious ends they shun binding themselves, it
is a token that they are giving more thought to themselves than to you,
and a prince ought to guard against such, and to fear them as if they
were open enemies, because in adversity they always help to ruin him.

Therefore, one who becomes a prince through the favour of the people
ought to keep them friendly, and this he can easily do seeing they
only ask not to be oppressed by him. But one who, in opposition to
the people, becomes a prince by the favour of the nobles, ought, above
everything, to seek to win the people over to himself, and this he may
easily do if he takes them under his protection. Because men, when they
receive good from him of whom they were expecting evil, are bound more
closely to their benefactor; thus the people quickly become more devoted
to him than if he had been raised to the principality by their favours;
and the prince can win their affections in many ways, but as these vary
according to the circumstances one cannot give fixed rules, so I omit
them; but, I repeat, it is necessary for a prince to have the people
friendly, otherwise he has no security in adversity.

Nabis,(*) Prince of the Spartans, sustained the attack of all Greece,
and of a victorious Roman army, and against them he defended his country
and his government; and for the overcoming of this peril it was only
necessary for him to make himself secure against a few, but this would
not have been sufficient had the people been hostile. And do not let any
one impugn this statement with the trite proverb that "He who builds on
the people, builds on the mud," for this is true when a private citizen
makes a foundation there, and persuades himself that the people will
free him when he is oppressed by his enemies or by the magistrates;
wherein he would find himself very often deceived, as happened to the
Gracchi in Rome and to Messer Giorgio Scali(+) in Florence. But granted
a prince who has established himself as above, who can command, and is
a man of courage, undismayed in adversity, who does not fail in other
qualifications, and who, by his resolution and energy, keeps the whole
people encouraged--such a one will never find himself deceived in them,
and it will be shown that he has laid his foundations well.

     (*) Nabis, tyrant of Sparta, conquered by the Romans under
     Flamininus in 195 B.C.; killed 192 B.C.

     (+) Messer Giorgio Scali. This event is to be found in
     Machiavelli's "Florentine History," Book III.

These principalities are liable to danger when they are passing from the
civil to the absolute order of government, for such princes either rule
personally or through magistrates. In the latter case their government
is weaker and more insecure, because it rests entirely on the goodwill
of those citizens who are raised to the magistracy, and who, especially
in troubled times, can destroy the government with great ease, either
by intrigue or open defiance; and the prince has not the chance amid
tumults to exercise absolute authority, because the citizens and
subjects, accustomed to receive orders from magistrates, are not of
a mind to obey him amid these confusions, and there will always be in
doubtful times a scarcity of men whom he can trust. For such a prince
cannot rely upon what he observes in quiet times, when citizens have
need of the state, because then every one agrees with him; they all
promise, and when death is far distant they all wish to die for him;
but in troubled times, when the state has need of its citizens, then
he finds but few. And so much the more is this experiment dangerous,
inasmuch as it can only be tried once. Therefore a wise prince ought to
adopt such a course that his citizens will always in every sort and
kind of circumstance have need of the state and of him, and then he will
always find them faithful.




Section 3: Chapters VIII-IX
"On Those Who Have Become Princes By Crime," is one of the key chapters of The Prince. In it, Machiavelli seems to distinguish between outright cruelty and the kind of clever ruthlessness he describes earlier in the work . He makes use of two examples: the first ancient, and the second modern. Agathocles massacred all the senators and richest citizens of Syracuse, and thereby became prince. Oliverotto da Fermo murdered his uncle and other citizens, and forced Fermo to make him its prince. An interesting side-note: Oliverotto was later killed by Cesare Borgia at Sinigaglia, having fallen victim to another statesman's trickery. How, Machiavelli asks, did these two men "live long, secure lives in their native cities, defend themselves from foreign enemies, and never be conspired against by their fellow citizens?" His answer: because their cruelty was put to good use. Cruelty can be considered well-used if carried out in one stab, the wicked deeds executed all at once, and if it can be interpreted as necessary for self-preservation. This distinction leads Machiavelli to the following argument: "We may add this note that when a prince takes a new state, he should calculate the sum of all the injuries he will have to do, and do them all at once, so as not to have to do new ones every day; simply by not repeating them, he will then be able to reassure people, and win them over to his side with benefits." The next chapter, "On the Civil Principate," concerns another kind of prince: one who gains power "not through crimes or other intolerable violence, but by the choice of his fellow citizens ." A prince can rise in this fashion in one of two ways: either by the will of the people, or by the will of the nobles. "In every city," Machiavelli goes on to argue, "there are two different humors, one rising from the people's desire not to be ordered and commanded by the nobles, and the other from the desire of the nobles to command and oppress the people." If nobles see they are having trouble with the people, they make one of their own a prince; he becomes their puppet, and therefore they get what they want on a larger scale. If the people feel that the nobles are oppressing them, they will try to make one of their own a prince; he then becomes their shield against the nobles. As nobles are particularly difficult to deal with, a prince of any kind should try to win the favor of the populace and keep it dependent on the state. Machiavelli rejects the notion that "The man who counts on the people builds his house on mud," though he does concede that a prince should not let "himself think that the people will come to his aid when he is in trouble." As with so much else, it is all about balance.
Machiavelli has a reputation, largely based on The Prince, for a cold-hearted worldview, political cynicism, and philosophical ruthlessness. However, this reputation is largely exaggerated. As influential as Machiavelli's ideas may have been on future generations of totalitarians, realpolitik maestros, and Kissinger think-alikes, his own approach is far more complex: it reflects a taste for expediency and an emphasis on ends over means, but is muted by a concern for human needs and a genuine interest in human nature. Consider the following sentence, from Chapter IX: "In fact the aim of the common people is more honest than that of the nobles, since the nobles want to oppress others, while the people simply want not to be oppressed." Machiavelli adopts an altogether bitter tone when describing the nobles - their greed, their power-lust, their selfishness - and seems to argue that a good prince should rise above such petty wants and lowly attributes. If anything, a prince should pay more attention to the people than to the nobles. While such a formulation may seem to be common sense, it reflects an almost democratic view: the will of the many over the will of the few, protection for the powerless against the threats of the powerful. That this chapter follows a chapter exclusively devoted to criminal princes is telling. Machiavelli seems unsure whether to condone what he labels as "cruelty" or to condemn it. He seems to take a certain pleasure in recounting the wicked deeds of an Agathocles or an Oliverotto da Fermo; what these men did is indefensible, and yet it worked. Machiavelli, ever the theoretician, proceeds to meditate on why it worked. He nearly traps himself in a philosophical cul-de-sac when, about to explain what he means by well-used cruelty, he writes: "if it's permissible to say good words about something which is evil in itself." Why are the actions of Agathocles and Oliverotto evil, while those of Cesare Borgia are not? We are reminded of Borgia, since it was he who lured Oliverotto to his death. Never would Machiavelli refer to Borgia as a criminal prince, yet he murdered the leaders of rival factions to clear the way for his own ascent, much as did Agathocles and Oliverotto, and he made an example of his lieutenant general after using him to pacify his kingdom, just to save face. To Machiavelli, this is cleverness at its best: actions justified by their very brilliance. It's not hard to see why everyone from Macbeth to the Corleone family to Stalin have been labeled Machiavellian at various junctures. But would Machiavelli approve? It seems that because the deeds of Agathocles and Oliverotto reflected not so much urgent necessity as a kind of deep-seated bloodlust, they are distinguishable from Borgia's moves. Whatever the reasoning, Machiavelli's distinction is notable. Machiavelli has not touched the bottom of this particular well, in later chapters continues to examine the line between justifiable and unjustifiable cruelty. Nonetheless, what emerges at this juncture in The Prince is the simple assertion, fundamental to the book's argument, that some cruelty is good and some is not. This rejection of the categorical in favor of the relative or comparative is an important one: there is a sense in which the contradictions in Machiavelli's theorizing may reflect his own uncertainty as to when cruelty can be excused. It is worth remembering that he was imprisoned and tortured prior to writing The Prince; without lashing out at the Medici family, he does, in his introductory letter, suggest that the cruelty he experienced was unjustified: "you  will recognize how unjustly I suffer the bitter and sustained malignity of fortune." The exile rails against the cruelty carried out against him while defending the cruelty of past princes. At the same time, he refers to historical figures such as Agathocles as wicked men; he writes that people should either be "caressed or destroyed," and then later turns around and argues that the common people are honest  and more noble in their sentiments than the nobles. None of these various positions constitutes a complete about-face vis-a-vis an earlier position, but the shifting of rhetoric and the slipperiness of Machiavelli's tone does suggest that he himself has not finished grappling with what is perhaps the most fundamental question of all: when do the ends no longer justify the means?