The Compass Rose: Explorations in Thought

Author: Editor (Page 3 of 3)

Should Statecraft be Soul-Craft?

Plato and Machiavelli: Should Statecraft be Soul-Craft?

By Michael Robert Caditz

Niccolo_Machiavelli_uffizi

Plato and Machiavelli are fundamentally different in their approaches to leading a state. Plato is idealistic and appeals to “the good” and the soul. He believes justice is always the most profitable path for leaders, and justice must be taught to citizens to improve their lives.  On the other hand, Machiavelli’s ideal ruler is strategic, using whatever tactics are required (within limits) to remain in power, secure glory, and benefit society. Machiavelli is interested in satisfying citizens’ (subjective) desires, not preaching goodness. While Platonic idealism may seem utopian or unreachable, to its credit it strives for harmony and morality. However, Machiavelli’s instrumentalism is cruel, dangerous, and self-contradictory.


Read the rest in .pdf, or below ◊


Plato views justice and profitability to be one and the same: “And so, my good Thrasymachus, injustice is never more profitable than justice”(“Republic” 2008 354a). Just as virtuous doctors by definition always act in the best interest of their patients, virtuous leaders will always better the lives of their subjects. In fact, it is not even possible for a just man to be unjust.

Rather than seeking to fulfill subjective desires of the populace, Plato envisions instilling “the good” and “beauty of reason”:

. . . We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity, as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed upon many a baneful herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a festering mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our artists rather be those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful; then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and receive the good in everything; and beauty, the effluence of fair works, shall flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with the beauty of reason. (“Republic” 1892 401c-d)

Indeed, rather than allowing citizens to pursue their desires (whatever they may be) Socrates advocates controlling everyday life in the just city, with rules that govern which musical instruments are allowed, as well as rules forbidding “ugliness” and “vice” (“Republic” 1892 Book III), for example.

In order to teach “the good” in Plato’s ideal city, speech is censored. One example is the campaign to change the traditional definitions of the Greek gods from flawed and imperfect (as are humans) to perfect and the source of the good: “This then is one of the rules and guidelines about the gods within which speakers must speak and poets compose, that the god is not the cause of all things but only of the good” (“Republic” 2008 380c).

Because the integrity of the soul is more important than outcomes, Socrates goes to his death rather than abandon piety. On death row, if his goal were to save his own skin, Socrates might have taken the escape route offered by Crito (“Crito” 44b). But he makes no exception to his just obligation to Athens: “one must obey the commands of one’s city and country, or persuade it as to the nature of justice. It is impious to bring violence to bear against your mother and father, it is much more so to use it against your country” (“Crito” 51c).

For Machiavelli, on the other hand, statecraft is one of strategy and outcome, not of idealism or morality. In contrast with Socrates, Machiavelli seeks to make people content by fulfilling their subjective desires (rather than making them more just and virtuous): “Well-ordered states and wise princes have taken every care . . . to keep the people satisfied and contented; this is one of the most important concerns a prince can have” (366). This is public relations management, not soul-craft.

A ruler, given the choice of being loved or being feared, is better to be feared: “love is preserved by a link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage. Fear, on the other hand, preserves you with a dread of punishment which never fails” (363). This is not an appeal to the soul, to justice, or to virtue; it is a strategy to stay in power.

However, it is also strategically important to not be hated. While Plato might suggest that generosity, as a virtue, is necessarily profitable, Machiavelli views generosity as a mistake: “A prince should guard, above all things, against being despised and hated; and generosity leads you to both” (363). The reason he should not be hated is to preserve his power: “he can endure being feared easily while he is not hated” (363).

For Machiavelli, excessive violence should be avoided not for reasons of the soul, i.e., because violence is unjust or morally wrong, but rather to preserve power: “in seizing a state, the usurper ought to consider carefully which injuries it is necessary for him to inflict, and to do them all at one stroke so as not to have to repeat them daily. By not unduly unsettling men he will be able to reassure them, and win them to himself by offering them benefits” (353).

Killing is viewed strategically: “When it is necessary for him to proceed against the life of someone, he must do it with proper justification and manifest cause” (363). This is not because Machiavelli is morally opposed to killing. Indeed, life seems less important than property, specifically because of the way the two are supposedly perceived by the populace relative to each other: “men more quickly forget the death of their father than the loss of their patrimony” (363).

Rather than forbidding cruelty as a matter of morality, it is actually encouraged for military benefit: “when a prince is with his army, and has a multitude of soldiers under control, then it is quite necessary he not worry about the reputation for cruelty, for without it he would never keep his army united or attentive to its duties” (364).

To be fair, Machiavelli makes a distinction between legitimate and illegitimate violence (and thus can be viewed as rational). Agathocles, the Sicilian, is an example of someone who gained power through cruel violence, but attained no glory: “his barbarous cruelty, his inhumanity, and his many wicked deeds do not allow him to be celebrated among the most excellent men. What he achieved cannot be attributed either to fortune or to virtue” (352).

Machiavelli, however, does explicitly permit “evil”:  “Cruel measures are properly used—if one might speak well of evil—when they are applied a single time” (353). Unlike Plato’s concern for the soul, Machiavelli’s politics is trumped by strategy. Once a ruler seeking glory tastes the supposed benefits of “legitimate” cruelty once, can he draw the line before the second time any more than one can forego the proverbial second potato chip?

If violence is permitted on the path to glory, then this doctrine would seem to include the horrific actions of despots, so long as they were acting in good faith (however misguided). Adolph Hitler would seem to fit this criterion. Hitler sincerely believed his actions would lead to a better world. He also was rational, in the sense that his brutality was systematic rather than arbitrary. One might respond that he achieved no glory in the opinion of the world, and thus his legacy is not protected by Machiavelli’s justification for cruelty. But that is a retrospective assessment. Had he won the war and controlled much of the world, sentiment would be quite different; his tactics would retrospectively be perceived as justified; he would be celebrated. That Hitler’s cruelty failed to achieve glory in the eyes of the world is knowable only in hindsight.

Machiavelli’s apparent assertion that ends justify means has a parallel in the modern American debate over whether defeating “terrorism” justifies utilizing torture such as waterboarding. The arguments in favour include the assertion that preventing terror attacks justifies torture, even if such is forbidden under domestic and international law and flies in the face of the morality espoused by democratic societies. The arguments against waterboarding include the questionability of whether valuable information is actually gleaned, the precedent set (if we do it to them, they are more likely to do it back to us) and importantly, the argument that ends never justify unjust means. It’s difficult to imagine Socrates agreeing that injustice produces justice. However, it seems likely that Machiavelli would be on the side of waterboarding, given his utilization of cruelty if it seems profitable.

Finally, there is a fundamental contradiction in Machiavelli’s subjective acceptance of violence as a strategy. The contradiction is within the following logic:  “The end goal is to make society a better place. What makes society better is if people are living happy lives. Therefore I will kill people to make for a better society.” One might argue that this makes sense insofar as killing some people makes life better for others. But then we must ask, what is the threshold? What percentage of the populace is it justifiable to kill and still assert that life is better for the rest? One percent? Fifty percent? Ninety percent? Such a determination seems arbitrary. It would be consistent and objective, on the other hand, to argue that no amount of premediated killing is justified.

Plato is clear that soul-craft is one and the same as statecraft. Machiavelli’s overriding goal may ultimately be well intentioned. However, his statecraft is less concerned with the soul than with something different: maintaining power and achieving glory. But Machiavelli’s model sets a dangerous precedent which can be—and perhaps has been—seized upon by cruel leaders in pursuit of their subjective versions of a “better world.” In the end, Machiavelli contradicts himself by promoting cruelty and violence as a questionable path to making lives “better.”

Works Cited

Machiavelli, Niccolo. “The Prince.” The Broadview Anthology of Social and Political Thought – Volume 1: From Plato to Nietzsche. Eds. Andrew Bailey et al. Peterborough: Broadview, 2008. Print.

Plato. “Crito.” The Broadview Anthology of Social and Political Thought – Volume 1: From Plato to Nietzsche. Eds. Andrew Bailey et al. Peterborough: Broadview, 2008. Print.

—. “Republic.” The Broadview Anthology of Social and Political Thought – Volume 1: From Plato to Nietzsche. Eds. Andrew Bailey et al. Peterborough: Broadview, 2008. Print.

—. “Republic.” The Dialogues of Plato Vol. III. Trans. B. Jowett. London: Oxford University, 1892. Print.

Book Review – “In Defense of a Liberal Education”

Zakaria coverIn Defense of a Liberal Education

Fareed Zakaria

204pp. Paperback $15.75

Zakaria is an American author and journalist, a contributing editor of the Atlantic and a columnist for The Washington Post. Zakaria has authored four books including international bestseller The Post-American World. He is best known as the host of CNN’s Fareed Zakaria GPS.

A review by Stacey Harper

Liberal Studies is under attack, and everyone from Obama to my mother-in-law seems to have an opinion on its usefulness. Have you seen that meme “The only thing that can stop this asteroid is your Liberal Arts degree”? No? Let me paraphrase: NASA employs a barista to head a team of astrophysicists attempting to nuke an asteroid hurtling to Earth …. Because they “need someone with four years of broad-but-humanities-focused studies and the ability to reason across multiple areas of study… When you’re lowering a hydrogen bomb into a craggy mass of flying astronomic death with barely any gravity, you’re going to need to draw on all the multidisciplinary analysis you’ve got”.[1] As far from the point as it is deliciously sarcastic, this kind of barbed criticism is part of an entrenched trend in post-secondary to devalue the Liberal Arts. When did literature, philosophy and history become so useless to our lives? Isn’t that what we would be saving the world for?

It was nothing short of heart warming to see best-selling author, intellectual heavyweight, and popular television commentator Fareed Zakaria take on the fight.

Zakaria presents a concise, well-defended argument, traversing the revolutionary (and of course uniquely American), nature of the Liberal Arts. He takes us through the history of how Americans have funded and valued higher education. He speaks eloquently on the polarization of knowledge—the way science and the arts have become somehow mutually exclusive. Zakaria highlights the need to see these two aspects of general education meet again in some common forum—as symbiotic aspects of grooming future minds. Liberal Studies is guilty of failing to teach its students even the basics of scientific principals and Science students need to develop the values, political literacy, and familiarity with the humanities that can give an ethical framework to technological development. And I heartily agree with his proposition of a “common core” for all undergraduates, giving a strong basic framework that students can specialize from within.

Zakaria argues his points well and would make fast work of my friend David who likes to crack jokes about Liberal Studies and “platonic dioramas” at my dinner parties, but I will admit that I found Zakaria’s defence more of a pandering appeal to business than an incisive cutting defense of literature and philosophy. He easily devotes 26 pages to dropping the names and opinions of American CEOs like Jeff Bewkes, Time Warner (69) or Jeff Bezo’s founder of Amazon (74), or Fortune’s Adam Lashinsky, or Norman Augustine CEO of Lougheed Martin (74).  I assume because all things considered, it is Zakaria says, economically useful to “have a well-trained population“ (97).

As a Liberal Studies major with technical training in business I am constantly defending my educational choices: “Why Liberal Studies instead of Commerce, for example, or a Bachelor of Business Administration?” I regularly trot out many of Zakaria’s arguments:  I have learned how to learn. On top of my technical skills, I am skilled in research. I am an excellent writer and communicator able to present, defend ideas, and collaborate with co-workers. “I am a flexible thinker,” I tell those potential employers, “I have not simply learned that A=B and memorized a sequence of transactions—I can think on the ground and work well in ambiguous situations where I must use judgement and weigh possible outcomes.” I also argue that Liberal studies allowed me to develop a strong ethical sense; an increasing concern in business these days – as the Enron scandal and the 2008 financial crisis might highlight.

I have managed to become gainfully employed despite my degree’s lowly coinage … but when did this become the point of higher education—managing to trade your labour for the necessities of life? The increasing commodification of education, the transformation of Universities into trade schools, is a disturbing trend. I flicked through the pages of Zakaria’s defence desperate to find some dazzling logic and cutting social commentary that I could flay Dave with when he next comes over. But it just didn’t arrive. I was downright puzzled by Zakaria’s discussion of MOOC’s (Massive Open On-line Courses) as a viable alternative to well-funded and valued public education system.  I see MOOCS as the fodder of canned program types—for the study of accounting, let’s say, or software programs, typing, and basic economics. Liberal Arts entails the exchange of ideas, reading and arguing in groups, honing one’s writing, and a certain amount of personal transformation—the development of a community of thinkers—not just acquiring basic skills and jumping through credential hoops. Zakaria paints himself as a man of a new age of technology. He argues that we can embrace MOOCs as a way of levelling the playing field and engaging new audiences with the technology youth are so addicted to. However, I can’t help but feel we would lose the skills of readership, debate, and community. And wouldn’t we end up with the monotone and prescribed opinions of the few celebrity ‘greats’ chosen to present?

Zakaria’s take on what constitutes a Liberal Education, and the failings of teaching from a ‘Canon’ of texts, run contrary to my own view. Zakaria tells us “those [courses] I took out of genuine curiosity or because I was inspired by a great teacher have left a more lasting and powerful impression. After all, one can always read a book to get basic information about a particular topic, or simply use Google” (61). Seriously? Uncovering and rediscovering the greats works of our cultural, philosophical, and literary history seem to me to be key to the Liberal Studies project. I disagree with the suggestion that a “Great Books” education clutters young minds with “antique furniture” and a patriarchal imposition of “moral authority” (59). Even when I felt this was the case I was driven to pull the text apart. I thought of a John Stuart Mill quote when reading these passages: “it is only by the collision of adverse opinions that the remainder of the truth has any chance of being supplied.”[2] Smashing into texts like Plato’s Republic, unearthing and exposing new interpretations, or uncovering weaknesses and discarding old ideas is a hallmark of the Liberal Arts. I would also argue that these are “Great Books” because they have stood the test of time. They are the thoughts and writings that have built the world around us; they contain the history of our political, social, and ethical development. Sure, a canon of texts should always be added to, critiqued, and edited. I think the process of having students pick them apart and challenge them, fight about them in seminar, has had great intellectual usefulness … and the process has created a more inclusive and broad range of core texts. I also feel that there is something in the reading of “Great Books” that creates a common language—it moves up the starting point for many difficult conversations by becoming reference points and summations of incredibly complex ideas. Moreover, I depended on my professors to guide me through a series of texts that built upon ideas and understandings. I needed to be shown the pitfalls of relativistic thinking, and the shades of grey in ethical positions I once thought absolute. I learned to vigorously defend my position, which is best done when fully understanding another’s. The kind of “free exploration” Zakaria describes as an alternative strikes me as vastly inferior.

The economic precedence placed on utility versus quality in education is an important debate. Yet, Zakaria’s defence of Liberal Studies occasionally feels like a hollow appeal to commercial viability rather than that of becoming a well-read and thoughtful citizen. However, he does have his moments of real clarity. In a discussion about virtue Zakaria raises a concern that we have become morally inarticulate. He finally points to the true heart of the matter: Doesn’t an educated and thoughtful population have intrinsic value? Good and healthful citizens seek to live together in a just, safe, inclusive, and mutually profitable ways. I think we lose something very valuable in instrumentalizing our youth as factors of production.  Are our societies tools to benefit business and economic value? Or the other way around? Zakaria relies too much on arguments based around global economic positioning and employment forecasting and far too little on the true meaning of the Liberal Arts, which ultimately seeks to answer the question of “Where are we going?” and “How should we live”? When the asteroid hits—is the iPhone 7 the most valuable thing we are going to lose? Is the production of technology what will describe the apex of human potential?

All in all Zakaria’s book was worth the read, and it is excellent prep for Liberal Studies students come job search time—but don’t expect salvation.

[1] http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/the-only-thing-that-can-stop-this-asteroid-is-your-liberal-arts-degree

[2] On Liberty

Newer posts »

© 2024

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑