Reflections on the enduring importance of The Prince

This article was originally published by Parnassus House on August 1, 2025.

In studying The Prince, we encounter the question of the extent to which Machiavelli’s teaching is still relevant today. Great scholars have noted Machiavelli’s dual reputation, as both a “teacher of evil” and the first modern political scientist. Have we, with our twenty-first century civility and science, not progressed beyond the need to learn from such a man?

Before addressing the question at hand, we must acknowledge that the impulse to place ourselves beyond Machiavelli is provoked, at least in part, by the shocking character of his teaching, and in particular his realism. On the one hand, we might sympathize with the practical criticisms of classical idealism that we find throughout The Prince. On the other hand, we might be distressed by his narrow picture of human motives and his ejection of morality from strategic considerations. There is no doubt that Machiavelli’s teaching is distinctly and sympathetically modern. But, at the same time, he makes us want to believe that we have moved beyond the framework that he introduced. We want to think that our situation has progressed. If we are honest about this reaction, the only way to test its value is to assess whether we still see ourselves in Machiavelli’s teaching, and whether, or to what extent, arguments for progression beyond his realism stand up to scrutiny.

Returning, then, to the question of Machiavelli’s enduring relevance, we must confront the sense that the world he helped to introduce has undergone various kinds of progress. First and foremost, advances in technology have reshaped many of the industries and institutions that underpin political life, including (but not limited to) agriculture, manufacturing, military arms, and communications. Coinciding with this expansion of technological power, the world has undergone revolutionary changes in the spheres of politics, religion, and economics. Modern nation-states, which are generally secular and claim exclusive territorial sovereignty within recognized borders, have largely replaced the prior order, which was characterized by religious influence, dynastic rule, and fluid borders. Furthermore, over the last several decades the United States and its allies have sought to formalize international relations among nation-states into a “rules-based order” that integrates sovereign powers into a global system of trade and governance oriented towards peaceful cooperation, over and against aggressive use of power. It bears mentioning that within the sphere of international relations, a certain brand of Machiavellian realism characterized by “picking the less bad as good” is still recognized as more or less strategically sound (XXI). Yet, given the aforementioned political, military, economic, and religious transformations of the last 500 years—along with the fact that core features of Machiavelli’s teaching pertain to commanding political power, wielding military arms, acquiring worldly goods, and conducting spiritual warfare against the Catholic church—it would seem reasonable to assume that the relevance of his teaching has, in general, declined commensurately.

Even if we grant that the modern world has come to look very different from the world of Machiavelli’s time, close reading and careful consideration of The Prince reveals that the sense he has become outdated is mistaken. Machiavelli’s insights are as relevant today as ever. Furthermore, proper study of The Prince provides a corrective view of politics and humanity, leading us to a vantage point from which we are able to see beyond the contemporary prejudices that diminish the persisting relevance of his teaching. In particular, we may gain a higher perspective for evaluating our own situation, as well as the human situation, as such, by turning to the distinction he draws between maintaining existing states and founding altogether new ones.

In the second sentence of The Prince, Chapter I, Machiavelli writes that “principalities are either hereditary, in which the bloodline of their lord has been their prince for a long time, or they are new” (I). This classification, between old and new regimes, is the very first statement he makes regarding kinds of principalities. With old principalities, or “hereditary states accustomed to the bloodline of their prince,” the modes and orders of governance are inherited from prior generations, such that the people grow attached to their form of rule, and even the familial lineage of their rulers (II). We might say that people become naturalized to a longstanding regime. For the prince seeking to maintain his power, inheriting ancestral orders is an advantage. Over generations his people will have grown to prefer the stability and way of life associated with his family’s rule. As long as he does not exhibit “extraordinary vices,” e.g. by committing egregious crimes against his people, he should enjoy secure rule (II). This means that it requires tremendous force to overthrow a hereditary prince. Furthermore, such a prince, if he is overthrown, will stand a decent chance of reacquiring his principality. His people will retain a fondness for the ancestral rule of which he is the living manifestation. The thrust of Machiavelli’s teaching, here, is that regimes which exist for a long time grow to have a stable, almost inertial quality because they shape the attachments and judgments of the people under their rule.

With altogether new regimes, on the other hand, there is no inherited memory of modes and orders upon which the prince can rely, and in which the people can believe. The founder must introduce “new orders and modes,” requiring extraordinary virtue, and must bring his people to believe in them, whether by persuasion or else by coercion (VI). That is, because the people belonging to a new state are not habituated to the order of the founder’s new regime, and people in such a position are “variable”—both easily persuaded and easily lost—Machiavelli teaches that “things must be ordered in such a mode that when they no longer believe, one can make them believe by force” (VI). Machiavelli’s emphasis on the use of force discloses that what he means by virtue (or rather virtú) departs from the classical meaning of the word. Whereas the classical meaning refers to human excellence, broadly understood, Machiavelli narrows the meaning to refer to manly spiritedness that makes one capable of raising armies, conquering lands, and willfully gathering power, by force when necessary. Virtue, in this sense, is epitomized by “the greatest examples” of founders: Moses, Cyrus, Romulus, and Theseus. According to Machiavelli, these men began with essentially nothing, except for the opportunity to exhibit their virtue, and forged not just new states, but new and distinct peoples—often by violent means. (Consider, for example, Moses’s command to the Levites in Exodus 32.) Rather than trying to be simply virtuous, in the classical sense, Machiavelli suggests the founder must, by necessity, use both virtue and vice according to what is most prudent. In summary, for Machiavelli, the great founder must be able to see and act beyond the horizon set by preexisting modes, and beyond the constraints and rules of ordinary morality.

By dividing regimes into old and new, and teaching that the old is characterized by a loyal adherence to inherited modes, while the new is characterized by the prudent and virtuous establishment of new modes, Machiavelli provides a crucial insight into the contrasting psychology of the people and the founder. Generally, people inhabit a view from within an inherited regime which takes for granted the existence of the regime, its modes and orders, and the way of life it supports. As people grow attached to the ways of their regime, they become accustomed to seeing things as they appear from within the regime’s horizon of opinion (XVIII). In contrast, the perspective of the greatest founders can take nothing for granted. It must strive to see the world as it really is, not as it appears based on conventional opinions. Only then can such a founder successfully exercise prudence, exhibit virtue, and lay a firm foundation for his enterprise, by whichever means necessary. Furthermore, if it is true that all regimes were once new enterprises, then Machiavelli gives his careful readers cause to reevaluate their own opinions and perspectives. That is, he encourages us to ask:  how are our own attachments, perceptions and judgments shaped by the modes and orders that we have inherited?

Now we can return to reevaluate the question of Machiavelli’s enduring relevance, in light of his insight into the questionable quality of the perspectives of people deeply influenced by their own political environment. Earlier we said that the view that Machiavelli is a relic of the past is grounded on a particular perspective—namely, that of the inhabitant of the modern nation-state, in the late modern rules-based order. From that perspective, the apparent advances in technology, science and civility of the reigning modes and orders (i.e. the nation-state and rule-based order) seem to rebuke certain unsavory elements of Machiavelli’s teaching. But does not Machiavelli, himself, give us good reason to step back and examine that perspective? Could our sense of our own situation—including the “progress” we seem to have achieved—arise not from an accurate account of the world, but rather from influences of our political environment? In other words, if the judgment that Machiavelli is antiquated arises from the perspective of an inhabitant of the modern nation-state and the rules-based order; and if founding these very political structures required acts of prudential realism, extraordinary virtue, and overwhelming force; then Machiavelli’s teaching on the foundations of political life explains, and thus is vindicated by, the very perspective of his would-be critics. Those who would seek to diminish Machiavelli have not so much escaped his unsettling teaching by progressing beyond it, as they have insulated themselves from feeling its sting—and for reasons Machiavelli, himself, understood all too well. We find, then, that by making our way back through a careful reading of Machiavelli, we can return to the present with a deepened understanding of our own situation, which establishes the argument in favor of Machiavelli’s enduring relevance.

There remains, however, one more question to address. Why does any of this analysis matter to us? What is it that motivates us to recover an adequate understanding of Machiavelli’s teaching? For one thing, we live in a world that he and his most influential readers helped to shape, i.e., the modern world. Machiavelli’s break with ancient and medieval thought in many ways precipitated the development of our contemporary mode of politics. And, given the fact that we are creatures which rely on politics for our very survival, we should welcome any understanding that helps us to navigate the problems of political life—especially in this age of awesome and terrifying technologies. Furthermore, we should try to understand Machiavelli because we are creatures that tend towards idealism and self-delusion, which can lead to disastrous outcomes if left uncorrected. As he writes in XV, “many have imagined republics and principalities that have never been seen or known to exist in truth; for it is so far from how one lives to how one should live that he who lets go of what is done for what should be done learns his ruin rather than his preservation.” Precisely when we want to imagine that our time is better—that we can successfully employ new and better ideologies toward the perfection of man—we can turn to Machiavelli for a corrective view that, although it sounds harsh, may prove to be less cruel than the ruin that attends the uncorrected path.

The best way to gain a perspective that corrects for modern prejudices is to read the greatest works with care, and preferably with the guidance of capable teachers. We can only understand where we are, and where we are heading, in the winding river of history by first making the difficult journey upstream. The mission of Parnassus House is to make just such a journey, and in doing so, to educate ourselves so that we may become better teachers, better students, and better leaders. We invite you to join us.