The Protestant Machiavelli

A Brief Reception History

The only people who take Machiavelli seriously today are Straussians (Strauss, Mansfield, Anton). What I don’t find in the Straussians is recognition of the most daring thing that Machiavelli did, viz., open and damning critique of the papacy, blaming it for destroying Italy, to which we will return shortly. Michael Anton’s myriad discussions of his favorite subject are illuminating and fun—I’ll always read them. (This one is essential reading.) But, like all Straussian treatment, they are not Christian. By contrast, Christians, especially Protestants, today are thoroughly disinterested in Niccolo or else despise him. They treat him like Hobbes, and they should treat Hobbes much better, in my opinion. Which is to say, they dismiss him if they think of him at all. His name is a byword, an insult for political, which in contemporary American liberal parlance means bad, whereas democracy is good. (You see Anton himself treated this way in the press, but all it does is make him look cool and powerful. The Press will never learn.)

None of this is supposed to make any sense, of course. Your average Protestant might also know that they are supposed to accuse Machiavelli of atheism, and they assume that means exactly what they take it means today.

More interesting, per usual, is to see how Machiavelli was handled by Protestants in the past. You may expect a few nods to him in my forthcoming book because, at least when it comes to the use of the past, the Florentine and I are of one mind. Whether either of us are consistent with our stated position is for others to judge.

What is the point of the compiled sources below (mostly from early modern Protestants)? I am not sure. Machiavelli is a fascinating figure, his two primary texts, worth reading. And I have come across more references for him than I expected and am not quite sure what else to do with them.

Nota bene: This sketch will only cover the late sixteenth and early-to-mid-seventeenth centuries.

Useful History

Machiavelli’s History of Florence was useful for exposing the corruption of the papacy (see Pierre Viret (1511-1571) The firste parte of Christian instruction… (1565)). John Jewel (1522-1571) invokes Machaivelli to this effect in his Defence and Apologie for the Church of Englande (1567) (“Machiauel saithe, There haue benne fewel warres, or Commotions enflamed these many late yéeres, but by the meane, and whisperinge of these Legates.”), so did John Bale’s (1495-1563) exhaustive yet entertaining Pageant of Popes (1574) (“Nicolas Machiauel Secretarye of Florence and a famous Historiographer did flourishe, who in the first booke of his historye of Florence sayth: that for the most part the mischiefes that happē amonge the Christians, proceede of the ambition of the Popes.”) Machiavelli’s anti-papist history was generally considered accurate and useful by early modern English Protestants and in this narrow respect made him a sort of proto-Protestant, as with Marsilius of Padua and many others who either challenged or spoke frankly about the corruption and usurpations of the papacy. George Carleton (1559-1628) says Machiavelli schooled Hildebrand (i.e., Gregory VII). Pierre Du Moulin (1568-1658) has no problem using him on the subject. (See also Matthew Sutcliffe’s (1550-1629) An answere to certaine libel supplicatorie… (1592)).

As with, for example, Francis Bacon (1561-1626), simple historical observations from Nicholas were unobjectionable, as was generally the case with any source. Though, ultimately, Machiavelli was ingenious but corrupt. By at least the early seventeenth century, “Machiavellian” was already used as an insult (see Andrew Willet (1562-1621) reporting its use against him.)

“That Italian Hellhound”

There was concern, of course, that Machiavellian doctrine was an instigator of rebellion and tyrannicide, contra our contemporary assumptions that the Florentine is a source of tyranny and absolutism (whatever that is). “For the Maiestie of God that is euer one and the same, neuer prospereth [the] vnlauful attempts of Subiects against their Princes, enterprised by priuate authoritie,” warned John Leslie (1527-1596). “Let Machiauel saie what he list, & beleeue him who wil: ye that are his disciples, to your owne perditions you shal find the ende as I tel you.”

You will be unsurprised to learn that Leslie (or Lesly) was a Romanist on the privy council of Mary, Queen of Scots, and afterward her advocate in Elizabeth’s court before ending his tenure in the Tower, then banishment.

By the mid-seventeenth century, this assessment had flipped, at least in certain circles. Now Machiavelli, as the advisor of kings (a trader in “pernicious flattery”), was an enemy of the people’s interest, but only insofar as he simplified “policy,” reducing it to the will and action of one man. Henry Parker (1604-1654) the parliamentarian and theorist of popular sovereignty (i.e., not a disinterested party):

“The vast businesse of Government, especially where the Nation is great, or where many Nations are united, is not to be trans-acted by any one man: where one man commands in chiefe, the most sublime office of Government is attributed to him, but the greatest burthen, and most important charge must rest upon the shoulders of thousands, as well in Monarchies as in Democrasies, or else great obstructions will follow.”

Mention of “Machiavel” is more restrained in Anthony Burgess (d. 1664). In 1646, he preached to the House of Commons that all government must spring from affection for the nation and its people. Just as a father is not born of reading books on domestic life, so too a true statesman is not formed by perusal of Aristotle and Machiavelli. Burgess again treating Machiavelli in the company of other political manuals of antiquity:

“For as the Scriptures are a farre surer Rule, even to Civil Governours and Magistrates, then Tacitus, Machiavel , or others, cryed up by humane, worldly wise men, even in their civil administrations: So much more is it a sure Starre for all the spiritual Officers of the Church to manage their affaires by, if they do look for successe.”

Another time, in an offhand remark, Burgess recounts that even Machiavelli thought Savonarola (“a man of great piety”) was a prophet. I suppose this admission is supposed to emphasize Savonarola’s historical status.

The Leveler, Richard Overton (1631-1664), similarly cited Machiavelli along with Seneca dispassionately for the point that mild governance garners obedience better than violence. But someone like Rogers Williams (1603-1683) (The Bloody Tenent (1652)) equated Machiavelli with Jeroboam as did Edward Leigh (1602-1671) (Body of Divinity (1654)).

Then there was the moral concern regarding Nicolo’s advice to rulers, the same general objection maintained today, but for different reasons. (The Huguenot lawyer Innocent Gentillet’s (1535–1588) denunciation of Machiavelli was, as far as I can tell, the most total and extensive of the sixteenth century. I have no knowledge of its circulation and popularity, but it was translated into English by 1602.) William Watson’s (1559-1603) characterization of Machiavellian policy was that it was manipulative and underhanded.

We all know, of course, that Italy was the “very fountaine of Atheists.” That obvious point aside…

John Stockwood (d. 1610) charged Machiavelli (“malaperte and pelting Town-cleark of Florence”) with atheism. Why? Because the author of The Prince told his audience that they “néed make no accounte of godlynesse and true religion, but onely to make an outwarde shewe of it: for that (sayth he) is ynough, albeit in minde they abhorre it.” Further, Machiavelli’s observation that Christianity tended to drive men to humility and submission, but paganism pushed men toward courage and assertiveness was predictably offensive to Stockwood who clearly interpreted the observation as proscriptive. Stockwood lamented that Machiavelli’s treatise had become so dominant amongst courtiers when the examples of David, Hezekiah, Josiah, and Cornelius (his sermon text was Acts 10) were available (“who were all magistrates, and godly and religious magistrates”).

Stockwood wanted a truly godly magistrate who pursued and promoted true religion not out of self-interest but duty of office. (We might say that Machiavelli was insufficiently Christian nationalist for Stockwood.) It is Stockwood’s preference that

“[the] Christian Magistrate (for suche a one was Cornelius) to vse the sword, either or the defence of the godlye, or for the punishment of the wicked, the whiche Paule at large teacheth in the thirtéenth of the Romaines, and I mention in a worde to ouerthrowe the furie of the Anabaptistes, which contrary to the scriptures do teache, that it is vnlawfull for the Magistrate to vse the sworde.”

And,

“The magistrate must not suppose hymselfe to haue done ynough, if priuately, concerning himself, he haue liued religi∣ously and in the feare of God, vnlesse he haue spared no paine nor diligence to bring his subiectes to be godly and religious also.”

In other words, Stockwood would’ve had even less patience with those modern Anabaptists (i.e., evangelicals) who privatize the faith. Whereas these do not enforce religion for instrumental purposes, they pluralize public life, in part, for that reason.

John Udall (1560-1592) was of the same mind as Stockwood. Given that “the glorie of God is the end for which he hath ordained people to be ruled by magistrats, which glorie is no way aduaunced but by the gospel,” therefore, “kings should be foster fathers, & queens nursing mothers vnto the church of God.” This was a matter of duty according to the source of authority (not to mention scriptural command). Those rulers who did not kiss the Son might possess all the cunning in the world but could not expect to fare well if the Son was angry with them on account of their athiestical policy: “they perish in the way it must needs be that that commonwealth which is founded vpon any other ground-work, than onlie true religion.” Bare action was not enough, insisted William Clark (d. 1603), least not when instructing a king. The soul of the king mattered both for himself and for his subjects—piety (or lack thereof) at the top trickled down.

“Let not the maximes of that vnpure Atheist MACHIAVEL, that malaperte and pelting Towne-Clearke of Florence, infecte your soules, who among the reste of his filthinesse, blusheth not200 to spewe out this poyson, that Kings and Princes neede not make any accounte of godlinesse and that it is sufficient to make onely an outward shew of it.”

This was the plea of James Godskall (n.b. I can find no biographical information on Godskall after a brief search) and many others to the princes of Christendom. (William Perkins (1558-1602) called Machiavelli, “Achitophel” because his advice did not further the kingdom.)

True commonwealths are founded for true religion and die without it (see Baxter’s Holy Commonwealth). The Machiavellians, true Machiavellians, were a threat, on account of their “refusal of all religion further then maye serue their turns.” (Notable is that Udall too cites the wide circulation and broad appeal of Machiavelli at the time.) Not only was this posture impious, it was self-defeating. “Whatsoeuer men say, the truth of God saith, thankfulnes to God is to be perfourmed, not in shew, but in truth,” preached Gervase Babington (1550-1610). Mocking God never goes well with a people, and piety cannot be faked. Hypocrisy from the head—treating religion as a mass opiate—might not be apparent to the citizen, but it would be to heaven. Machiavelli forgot the most important political force: Providence itself. Grotius (1583-1645) added that Machiavelli’s chief weakness was that he never considered that “Moses built the Empire of the Jews namely in veracity and justice.”

A purely secular basis for rule—the instrumental use of religion—was the great sin of Machiavelli and the inauguration of modern political life wherein religion has been relegated to private life, serving as neither the basis of political legitimacy nor policy. (That Machiavelli recognized the operations of power, advised its use, and intended the preservation of a ruler’s dominion was hardly the issue.) We miss this central and early contestation of more proximate readers of Machiavelli because we live so deeply in his world.

Intolerance of Tolerance

Interesting for us is that Stockwood accuses Machiavelli of practical (or political) atheism (i.e., behaving as if there is no God). It was his “unchristian grounds of government,” as Richard Harvey (1560-1623) put it, that were the grounds of offense.

No real comment is made regarding the relative belief or unbelief of Machiavelli himself, only that he is handling public religion cynically and flippantly. (His instructions would land a ruler of Christian people in the same place as Stockwood et al would have them, after all.) Nor is the personal piety of the ruler intricate to the political atheist scheme; therein, religion is merely instrumental unto civil ends. It must be said here that expanded toleration in the eighteenth century Anglosphere was developed largely at the behest of merchants and bureaucrats for similar reasons (see James Hutson on this). An instrumental view—a degradation of its centrality, a denial that it was constitutive of society—can cut both ways. Despite Machiavelli’s inappropriate motives, his reduction of the magistral religious duty, he was not for toleration, if only for strategic, which is not to say invalid, reasons.

“Thou knowest that the King is persuaded in the doctrine of Machiauel, howe that he ought not to suffer in his realme any other religion than that, vpon the which his state standeth: and that he hath often learned this, that it is not possible for his kingdome to be quiet, so long as there are two religions at once in the same.

And it is certaine, that hatred is planted in the kings mind being a yong man, and he hath bin often times persuaded by false argumentes, that they of the religion haue gone about to spoile him both of his kingdome, and also of his life. Thou art deceyued, if that thou thinke that the king, or any other such prince as he is, will at any time suffer those subiects which shall by warre rise against him, though vpō neuer so iust a cause to vse and enioy the benefite of his lawes.”

The fourth parte of Co[m]mentaries of the ciuill warres in Fraunce (1574), by the French Calvinist historian, and advisor to Henry IV, Jean de Serres (1540-1598), does not decry the “doctrine of Machiavelli,” viz., that religious pluralism was ill-advised. And Machiavelli was not exactly the first to notice this fact. Moreover, those that threatened to supplant the French monarch’s rule weren’t doing themselves any favors. That principle was “naturally ingrauen in the myndes of kings and princes to reuenge that by force of armes, which is done against them by like force. And that a Kyng and Princes will freely breake those couenants, which they haue made eyther for feare, or for necessitie.” In other words, pledges of tolerance were only so good as peace and security would permit. (This is basically the policy of Althusius.)

Some Rage Too Much

Most readers of Machiavelli were discerning adults about it all. Jacques Hurault’s (1480-1546) employment of the Italian hellhound is dispassionate. Advised Matthieu Coignet (1514-1576) (or Martyn Cognet):

“wee ought not to read Machiauel, and such like authors, cleane voide of conscience, foresight, & religion, but with great iudgement and discretion, without trusting too much vnto them; and to confront their writinges, and whatsoeuer else they haue taken of tyrants qualities, with Cannon rules and honestie, trying all things, and keeping that which is good.”

The good of the people was the measure of a king, and the infallible rule of morality was God’s word.

Still, Machiavelli should not be discarded, just carefully handled. Indeed, even self-interest suggested as much, for “the Duke of Valentinois Sonne of Pope Alexander [i.e., Cesare Borgia], and others which Michiauel set before vs to imitate, haue had moste miserable endes, after hauing beene made a laughing stocke vnto their enemyes.”

Now, this comment from Coignet makes a Straussian reading almost too tempting to pass up. As they say online, what did Coignet mean by this?

Machiavelli faulted Cesare for trusting the pope too much (Julius II). Coignet was a lawyer for Catherine de’ Medici in the midst of a precarious situation involving the so-called Catholic League and her own subjects (and sons). The Machiavellian lesson of Cesare is that he trusted the new pope too much.

In any case…

“Some kinde of persons rage too much against Machiauell,” who was “not ignorant of those things that happen in this life.” This was the contention of Justus Lispius (1547-1606). For worldly wisdom, a necessity for political life, Machiavelli was, perhaps, unparalleled in his use, his faults notwithstanding. In the realm of civil doctrine, the Florentine could not be ignored. Perhaps, his insights were not all aspirational, but they were piercingly descriptive.

Edward Stillingfleet (1635-1699), ever the irenic voice, had a different use for Machiavelli. True religion was supposed to improve men, not “debauch or corrupt” them. If Christianity is true, then it should be best at this. When it is used contrarywise it is to our great shame. Stillingfleet chastises those who would answer Machiavelli’s critique by descending into brutish existence, attempting to convert with the sword (or worse).

“Of all Religions in the world, we might have thought the Christian least lyable to be abused to such ill purposes; for it was one of Machiavel's quarrels against Christianity, that by its precepts of meekness and pati∣ence, it rendred men unfit for such great undertakings, which could not be accomplished without something of cruelty and inhumanity, whereas the old Religions by the multitude of Sacrifices did inure men to blood and destruction, and so made them fitter for any enterprise.

And Machiavel was certainly in the right, if Religion were intended only to make men Butchers: or to instruct them in the Use of Swords and Gun-powder. Nay, the Religion of Mahomet is in this respect to be very much preferred before the Christian, for that makes it not only lawful to destroy those of a different Religion, but enrolls them for Martyrs that dye in the Field, and makes the blood of enemies as meritorious, as we do that of the Cross. But that is reserved as the peculiar honour of the Christian Religion, that it commands the subduing all the bruitish and savage inclinations of men to acts of revenge and cruelty; that it restores humane nature to itself by its precepts of meekness, mercy, peaceableness, and universal charity; that it advances it to a divine nature by the imitation of God himself, in shewing kindness to enemies, and overcoming evil with good.”

Postscript

We have arrived at or near the end of the seventeenth century. There are doubtless other—reams—of citations to Niccolo to be found, but not by me (at least not now). The above demonstrates the varied and interesting use of Machiavelli in a time less flippant but more passionate than our own.