Machiavellian

Politics is a dirty world. Lies and machinations belong to the arsenal of every ambitious statesman who should stop at nothing to gain power. Politicians come and go, but this brutal vision of state affairs painted by Niccolo Machiavelli has remained constant.

For Niccolo Machiavelli (1469-1527), politics was his whole life. Born to a noble Florentine family, Machiavelli began his public service as a diplomat in 1498 only to become a defense minister eight years later. Soon his name opened many doors to Europe's royal courts; among his acquaintances were kings, emperors, and popes. Machiavelli's brilliant career ended abruptly in 1512, when Florence turned from a republic into an authoritarian state. He withdrew to his country estate where he devoted his time to writing treatises that completely changed the way people perceived politics.

His most famous work, The Prince, was published in 1532. In it, Machiavelli advised future statesmen to abandon any moral scruples as they could only block their ascension to power. Instead, a good politician should be ready to employ every strategy – no matter how wicked and vicious – to achieve his goals. No one judges the winners, said Machiavelli. Although to admit to reading Machiavelli is a serious faux pas in the contemporary world of politics, his works continuously remain bestsellers.

The coinage of the adjective “Machiavellian” is dated to the year 1568. The Online Etymology Dictionary states that the word appeared even before The Prince and other major works were translated into English. The explanation is simple: Machiavelli became famous when France and the Catholic Church publicly chastised his philosophy and indexed his books. Defined as “cunning, deceitful, unscrupulous,” the eponym made a career of its own in the English world where there was no better encouragement than France's disapproval.

Just like in the 16th century, also now the eponym has negative connotations. Writing on George H.W. Bush's tenure as a US envoy to China, Michael Abramowitz of the Washington Post reported on the future president's uneasiness about then National Security Adviser Henry “Kissinger's secretive and Machiavellian ways.” The same tones strike novelist James Hawes who in his My Little Armalite complains about “Machiavellian Presidents who called themselves socialists but had collaborated with the Nazis.”

But “Machiavellian” is by no means restricted to politicians. Recent examples show that writers often use it to denounce people who play dirty or like secrecy. The latter appears to be the reason why a New York Times journalist wrote this line about Cardinal Spellman: “His polar personalities shifted from guileless to Machiavellian.” This rather gloomy picture is supported by John Cooney, the cardinal's biographer, who says: “Spellman held his tongue in Rome, where it would be unwise to be indiscreet about the new pope [John XXIII]. But when he returned home, the Cardinal announced his disdain.”

In the words of columnist Irving Kristol, Niccolo Machiavelli was “one of the most wicked men who ever lived.” But whatever his faults, Machiavelli only publicized what everyone knew: that politics is a game with no rules.