The Discourses

States must treat their people generously in peacetime as well as in war. Giving them benefits merely to get their help during battle will make them think invasion is good for them:

Any state […] that acts otherwise and really believes it can win men back with benefits the instant danger arises deceives itself, because not only will this fail to make the state secure, but it will accelerate its own ruin (91). 

Men often rise to prominence in ways that seem good, and by the time it becomes clear that some such men are bad, it is too late to stop them. Trying to remove them causes more harm than good, as with Caesar, whose enemies realize too late that he is a danger, and whose efforts to stop him destroy the republic. It is better to wait, “because when you put off dealing with them, they either fade away by themselves or at least the evil is postponed for a longer time” (93). 

The office of dictator, “as long as it was bestowed in accord with public laws and not by private authority, always benefited the city” (94). Only when such powers are exercised outside the law does damage accrue, “because it is the creation of magistrates and the granting of power by extraordinary means which harm republics” (94).

A Roman dictator has near-absolute authority for a limited time, and “he could do nothing to curtail the government” (95). Such an office would benefit any republic: “[S]ince time is wasted in coming to an agreement, the remedies for republics are very dangerous when they must find one for a problem that cannot wait” (95). Venice, for example, “has reserved to a small number of citizens the authority to deliberate on matters of urgent need without consulting anyone else, if they are in complete agreement” (95). 

Early in the Republic, the citizens vote to have ten men write up the laws. These ten, the decemvirs, answer to no one; within a year, they become arrogant, and finally are overthrown. A Roman dictator, on the other hand, is watched over: “[S]afeguards were put in place to make them unable to abuse their authority” (97). 

One of the Roman Republic’s assets was its tradition of powerful men who return to lower ranks and “did not deem it dishonorable to obey someone today who on other occasions they had commanded” (99). If, on the other hand, “whoever had been consul on one occasion would never agree to enter the army unless he were consul, countless events inimical to a free way of life would have arisen” (99). These leaders “would have come to be more unrestrained, which would have been entirely to the detriment of the public” (99). 

It is one thing for commoners to hold nobles to account; it is quite another for them to become overly ambitious. Men grasp endlessly; this can lead to fights and the breakdown of civility.

In the Roman Republic, the Agrarian law gives newly conquered lands to the plebeians; it also limits the acreage that the nobles can own. This “law ignited such hatred between the plebeians and the senate that it led to armed conflict and bloodshed beyond every civil usage and practice” (101). In the resulting civil war, at first the nobles come out ahead, but years later Caesar emerges triumphant: “[H]e was the first tyrant of Rome, after which the city was never again free” (101). 

A chief problem with weak cities is that “their weakness never allows them to make decisions where any doubt exists; if that doubt is not erased by some violent act that drives them on, they remain forever in a state of indecision” (105). On multiple occasions, Florence forfeits opportunities to acquire other cities simply because the French king must first conquer them: the Florentines, “as a result of the weakness of their planning, had been forced to place themselves in his hands and who, on the other hand, were unable to trust him” (104). 

People everywhere have similar motives; thus, it is possible “to foresee future events in every republic and to apply the remedies that the ancients employed, or […] to think of new ones based upon the similarity of circumstances” (106).

Florence manages its foreign battles with a council called the Ten of War. The people, tired of the cost, abolish the council and defer to the authority of the Signoria, but this makes things worse, so the people reinstate the Ten of War. Similarly, in the early Roman Republic, the plebeians, distrusting the consuls, push them aside in favor of their own tribunes, but eventually this causes difficulties, so they return to the authority of the consuls. 

Early in the Roman Republic, the people and the senate argue over how much authority ought to be given to the tribunes and consuls. They agree to rewrite the laws—“one hoped to abolish the office of consul and the other to abolish the tribunate” (110)—and to do this they appoint ten men, the decemvirs, for the task.

These ten have all power, and quickly one of them, Appius, becomes popular with the plebeians, and he takes over the decemvirs, who thereafter misuse their power and become despotic: “[W]hen they do not agree to establish a law that favors liberty but, instead, one of the parties rushes to support a single man, it is then that tyranny quickly arises” (110).

Once on top, Appius becomes cruel to the plebeians and friendly to the nobles. However, the nobles are lukewarm: “[T]he tyrant can never win them over completely because of their great ambition and greed, and the tyrant can never possess enough wealth or honors to satisfy them all” (111). Both groups revolt, the decemvirate is overthrown, and Rome goes back to its old system of tribunes, consuls, and senate. 

Appius is clever in winning over the plebeians, as this helps him gain control over the decemvirs. He is foolish, though, in turning too soon against the common people, long before he has fully established his power over them:

[Appius is a] sudden change of nature from being a friend of the plebeians to being their enemy, from being humane to being arrogant, from being easygoing to being difficult, and to do all of this in such a brief period of time and without any excuse whatsoever so that everyone had to recognize the deceptiveness of his intentions (113).

The people who surround and support Appius include some who are otherwise upstanding citizens; however, “consider how the young men whom Appius had chosen to surround him began to be friends of tyranny for the little bit of profit it provided them” (113). It is important, then, for republics to “deprive people of all hope of being able to do evil with impunity” (113). 

“Roman armies were always accustomed to being victorious under the consuls, while under the decemvirs they always lost” (114). This is because the consuls’ armies fought for their own glory, while the decemvirs’ troops are disorganized and fight “for the ambition of others” (114). Mercenaries also are less dedicated, as they “have no other reason to stand firmly behind you than the bit of salary you give them” (114). 

The plebeians rebel against the decemvirs, and the senate’s representatives learn that the plebeians want the decemvirs to be brought to them so that they can be burned alive. The senators advise them to wait until the decemvirs are in their hands before they reveal their intentions, lest the decemvirs refuse: “For it is enough to ask somebody for his weapons without saying, ‘I want to kill you with them,’ because when you have his weapons in hand, you can then satisfy your desire” (115).

The decemvirate overthrown, Appius is asked “to appear before the people to argue his case” (116). When he arrives, he is arrested. He tries to appeal this but is prevented from doing so on the grounds that “he was not worthy of having that same right of appeal that he himself had destroyed” (116). While awaiting trial, Appius kills himself.

Machiavelli states, “I do not believe there is any worse example in a republic than to make a law and then not to observe it” (116). Even worse are situations “when it is not observed by the person who made it” (116). Florentine leader Savonarola wins approval of “a law allowing an appeal to the people from the sentences imposed in crimes against the state” (116). However, five men are condemned to death for such crimes, and their right to appeal is blocked by Savonarola himself: “This incident, revealing the friar’s ambitious and partisan nature, deprived him of his reputation and brought him much blame” (116).

After the decemvirate, accusations fly in Rome and many are arrested, including nobles. Finally, a one-year moratorium on allegations is imposed; this prevents uprisings. Otherwise, “men who begin to suspect they are about to suffer some evil protect themselves in every possible way” (117). 

A major problem with republics is that each side protects its freedoms at the expense of its opponent: “[T]he harm that they drive away from themselves is inflicted upon another, as if it were necessary either to harm or to be harmed” (118). As men rise in power, they often become the very threat they set out to attack. By then it is too late to stop them without great risk: “For this reason, a republic must have among its institutions some means of ensuring that its citizens cannot do evil under the guise of doing good” (118). 

Rome’s plebeians obtain the right to choose the consuls from among their own kind, yet, when the election arrives, they elect instead men of noble birth: “[T]hey recognized their weakness and decided that none of them individually deserved what all of them as a group thought they deserved” (119).

When the Roman city of Capua is “on the point of riot as a result of the hatred that existed between the people and the senate” (120), the supreme magistrate, Pacuvius, devises a plan to save the nobles. He has the senate locked away, then proposes to the plebeians that, when each senator is named and condemned to death, the commoners select one of their own to replace him. The commoners are unable to do so, and Pacuvius suggests that, since the city needs a senate, they should reconcile, “for the fear which the senators have just experienced will have humbled them” (121). The plan works.

Florence in 1494 drives out its rulers; chaos reigns. Many allege the unrest is part of a plot by the powerful to remake the city on their terms. Some of these accusers are elected, but, once in office, discover no such plot: “[T]he quickest way to open the people’s eyes, given that a general matter may deceive them, is to make them get down to its particulars” (122). 

Roman nobles sometimes get elections to go their way either by nominating “the most renowned citizens of Rome” or by proposing “some humbly born and extremely ignoble plebeians” that the commoners cannot bring themselves to support: “The latter method made the plebeians ashamed of giving the office to such men; the former method made them ashamed to refuse it to worthy individuals” (122). 

Rome is founded in liberty but often must revise its laws and institutions to protect that freedom. Cities based on servitude and later freed cannot adapt their laws to protect liberty because of the pernicious effect of deeply ingrained corruption that favors the powerful. By the time it becomes independent, Florence, for example, is continuously unable to overcome its own corruption and instead suffers domination by vested interests. 

If one or two people have too much authority, a city’s affairs can come to a standstill when those authorities are unable or unwilling to act. For this reason, another body, or some other legal method, should have the power to force the authorities to move forward. At one point in its history, Venice is unable to decide on successors to important diplomatic posts: “This caused great disorder, because all at once both the subject territories and the city itself were without their legitimate judges” (126). A law therefore is passed that forbids a magistrate from abandoning his office until a successor has been named. 

At first, Romans volunteer to fight for their city at their own expense. Soon it becomes clear that they should be paid, and the city must raise taxes to do it. The senate presents the pay as a gesture of generosity; this is widely popular among the plebeians. Although commoners must pay much of the taxes that support their military pay, the nobles also must contribute, and much more heavily, which gladdens the commoners. Thus, in all respects, the city fathers “did this in such a way that they seemed to do as a favour what necessity forced them to do” (127). 

To stop a bad man from gaining power, first take note of the ways in which he is becoming popular, and then do those same things before he does. This takes the wind out of his sails.

The wrong move, on the other hand, is to oppose him directly, as did the Roman senate after Caesar is killed, naming Mark Antony an enemy and sending Octavian’s forces after him. Instead, Octavian allies himself with Antony, and they overcome the senate’s power and rule Rome together. 

When people become enthusiastic about some adventure that appears profitable but will instead cause them ruin, the city must find wiser heads to warn the commoners away from their plan. If no wise men can be found, or if the people no longer trust the government, then ruin cannot be prevented.

When Hannibal’s forces attack Roman territory, the plebeians want to go to war immediately, but the consul Fabius warns them that this will be foolish, and that a slow war of attrition will work better. Heedless, the Romans ignore his advice and set out to meet Hannibal head on, which results in the disastrous defeat at Cannae.

Countless other examples can be found, and “there is no easier way to ruin a republic where the people have power than to involve them in bold enterprises” (132). The people will blame the one who makes promises of victory:

[O]nce the people have taken victory for granted, when defeat arrives, neither fortune nor the incompetence of the commander is blamed but, rather, his wickedness and ignorance, and the people usually either kill or imprison or banish him (132). 

The best way to stop a riot is to have a man of great authority, “serious and highly respected” (133), appear before the throng, dressed in his best regalia of rank, and speak calmly to them. They will listen and likely will give up their frenzy. 

Good citizens, even if they are dismayed by some act of their government, will do what they can to conduct themselves within the law. However, “where this goodness does not exist, nothing good can be hoped for, just as nothing can be hoped for in those provinces which in our own times are seen to be corrupt” (134).

Good republics, though few, are noted for the honesty of their citizens. They have relatively little commerce with outsiders and thus are not much tempted by outside corruption. Also, they “do not tolerate any of their citizens acting or living like noblemen” (135) in luxurious idleness. In countries filled with these kinds of men, “no republic or any body politic has ever arisen” (136).

Thus, “anyone wishing to establish a republic where there are many noblemen cannot do so unless he first does away with them all” (137), and anyone who would instead establish a principality must first create a noble class and surround himself with it. Venice is a republic with noblemen, but they are noble largely in name, their fortunes dependent on commerce. 

Portents often appear before major events in cities. As the Gauls approach Rome, a commoner hears a night voice saying that they will soon attack. When Lorenzo de Medici dies, the Duomo is struck by lightning, and when Soderini is exiled from Florence, “the palace itself was struck by lightning” (139). It may be that “the air is filled with intelligences, who by means of natural abilities foresee future events and, having compassion for men, warn them” (139). 

A crowd can be loud and threatening, but without leaders the throng soon breaks up: “[A]ll together the people are bold, but when each one then begins to think of the danger he faces, he becomes cowardly and weak” (140). 

Both the public and the prince can, in a fit of anger, demand the death of one of their heroes, then later regret it. Neither prince nor public behave badly, however, when laws constrain them, for “each person who is not regulated by the laws will commit the very same errors as an uncontrolled crowd of people” (141), and “all err in equal measure when they err without fear of punishment” (142). However, “a prince freed from the restraint of the laws will be even more ungrateful, variable, and imprudent than a people” (142) due to “his own passions, which are more numerous than those of a people” (143).

Romans exercise restraint, “for in so many hundreds of years and in so many elections of consuls and tribunes, they did not make four choices which they were forced to regret” (143). A republic can achieve “enormous conquests” greater than those of a prince, since “governments by peoples are better than governments by princes” (144).

Princes may be superior in “enacting laws, forming civil societies, establishing statues and new institutions,” but “the people are so much superior in maintaining the things established” (144). But “a good man can speak to an intractable and unruly people and can easily lead them back down the right path; nobody can speak to an evil prince, nor is there any other remedy for him than the sword” (144). 

Both republics and princes make alliances, but when either discovers they thereby risk great loss, either will break the treaty. However, “it is possible to cite examples where the smallest advantage has caused a prince to break his word, but where even an enormous advantage has not caused a republic to break its word” (146). 

After a time, the Roman Republic makes the consulship available to commoners, and the people often choose their leaders without respect to age but instead because of their high qualities: “[W]hen the multitude elects a young man to a position which needs the prudence of an older man, some illustrious action on his part should be the cause for elevating him to that rank” (148). In this way, they choose great leaders like Scipio and Pompey, “and of many others who triumphed while still very young” (148).