Bhumics 13: The Pauper, Part 6

As we continue our journey through Machiavelli's infamous manual of statecraft, we arrive at a particularly revealing section where his pragmatic worldview fully emerges. Having previously examined how rulers acquire and maintain power through military means, political maneuvering, and the management of reputation, Machiavelli now turns to something even more fundamental: the nature of virtue itself. In our polyconflict world of receding moral authority, where international relations increasingly resemble criminal networks competing for resources and advantage, these chapters offer particularly striking insights.

What makes this section so provocative is Machiavelli's willingness to dissect popular virtues—generosity, mercy, and trustworthiness—and subject them to the cold logic of political survival. We might expect a traditional ethics text to praise these qualities as moral imperatives, but Machiavelli evaluates them solely through the lens of effectiveness. His analysis reveals the profound gap between moral idealism and political reality, a gap that seems to have only widened in our contemporary securitarian globe. Let's examine how these Renaissance insights apply to our world of climate competition, authoritarian resurgence, and eroding institutional trust.

The Prince: 16 - 18

In this week's readings, Machiavelli takes his aim at the virtues rulers are supposed to be known for and finds them wanting. Generosity, Mercy and Fidelity are good things, right? Not so soon, says M.

To begin, then, with the first of the above-mentioned qualities, I maintain that it would be desirable to be considered generous; nevertheless, if generositya is practised in such a way that you will be considered generous, it will harm you. If it is practised virtuously, and as it should be, it will not be known about, and you will not avoid acquiring a bad reputation for the opposite vice.

If you're a sovereign, you are spending money acquired via taxes or other forms of revenue. We don't want our rulers to live ostentatiously on our dime, even if that ostentation in the service of the public. Grand projects that don't lead to increased revenue are a major liability: it makes sense for a politician to been seen cutting ribbons, but happens when the ribbon cutting doesn't lead to general prosperity? In contrast, investment in human development infrastructure is unsexy, but creates a wealthier society for everyone.

Therefore, since a ruler cannot both practise this virtue of generosity and be known to do so without harming himself, he would do well, ifhe is prudent, not to worry about being called miserly. For eventually he will come to be considered more generous,a when it is realised that, because of his parsimony, his revenues are sufficient to defend himself against any enemies that attack him, and to undertake campaigns without imposing special taxes on the people.

This is all the more important in steady-state economies without economic growth or the technology that makes growth possible. Fiscal discipline remains important today, but in societies where growth is a realistic possibility, deficit financing can be a good thing - as long as the growth of revenue offsets the current investment in public goods. The other option is to go invade other countries and bring their loot to your subjects - a tactic pursued by imperialists everywhere. Machiavelli has this to say about revenue via conquest:

a ruler spends either what belongs to him or his subjects,a or what belongs to others. In the former case, he should be parsimonious; in the latter, he should be as open-handed as possible. A ruler who accompanies his army, supporting it by looting, sacking and extortions, disposes of what belongs to others; he must be open-handed, for if he is not, his soldiers will desert. You can be much more generous with what does not belong to you or to your subjects, as Cyrus, Caesar and Alexander were.

What about Mercy? Here's what M has to say about M:

I maintain that every ruler should want to be thought merciful, not cruel; nevertheless, one should take care not to be merciful in an inappropriate way. Cesare Borgia was considered cruel, yet his harsh measures restored order to the Romagna, unifying it and rendering it peaceful and loyal.

Therefore, if a ruler can keep his subjects united and loyal, he should not worry about incurring a reputation for cruelty;a for by punishing a very few he will really be more merciful than those who overindulgently permit disorders to develop, with resultant killings and plunderings.

Be harsh in order to get your population to submit to your rule and then rule with fairness. In fact, while we now associate the word 'justice' with generosity and kindness, there's an also a tradition of harsh justice, of even-handed discipline. Foucault may say that today's rulers need not be cruel in order to create a population that submits to the regime's diktat: we have disciplining institutions such as the school that form our identity as rule-following people. The Classroom is mightier than the Sword.

Soon after, M writes one of his more shocking statements:

A controversy has arisen about this: whether it is better to be loved than feared, or vice versa. My view is that it is desirable to be both loved and feared; but it is difficult to achieve both and, if one ofthem has to be lacking, it is much safer to be feared than loved.

Being seen as weak is mortally dangerous in a polyconflict world. No wonder authoritarians are on the rise everywhere today - each authoritarian makes other authoritarians more likely, because they raise the threat temperature of the world. Trump, Putin, Erdogan and Modi are likely to nod their heads when M says:

Men are less hesitant about offending or harming a ruler who makes himself loved than one who inspires fear. For love is sustained by a bond of gratitude which, because men are excessively selfinterested,a is broken whenever they see a chance to benefitthemselves. But fear is sustained by a dread of punishment that is always effective.

OK, better to be feared than loved, but what about keeping one's promises? Wait a minute says the counselor:

Everyone knows how praiseworthy it is for a ruler to keep his promises, and live uprightly and not by trickery. Nevertheless, experience shows that in our times the rulers who have done great things have held the keeping of their word of little account, and have known how, by their cunning, to muddle the brains ofmen, and in the end have got the better of those who have based themselves on sincerity.

There's a sensory and cognitive aspects to this dissimulation: show yourself in public to be devout, upstanding and generous and break all those virtues in private:

to those who see and hear him, he should seem to be exceptionally merciful, trustworthy, upright, humane and devout. And it is most necessary of all to seem devout. In these matters, most men judge more by their eyes than by their hands. For everyone is capable of seeing you, but few can touch you.

Doublecrosser is thy name. But will they be merciful to you when your time comes, as it inevitably does?

Contemporary Reflections

Machiavelli's stark pragmatism about virtue finds disturbing parallels in our polyconflict world, where international relations increasingly resemble the operations of sophisticated criminal networks. Modern authoritarian leaders—whether Trump, Putin, Erdogan, or Modi—follow Machiavelli's playbook with remarkable fidelity: prioritizing fear over love, manipulating appearances while pursuing advantage, and treating promises as tactical rather than ethical commitments.

The international arena, never particularly democratic, has become a theater where moral authority continues to recede. Powerful states and corporations exploit governance gaps, create dependencies, and operate through complex, opaque networks that obscure accountability—methods strikingly similar to how drug cartels and mafias function. Climate change exemplifies this dynamic, where despite existential stakes, nations approach the crisis primarily as an arena for resource competition and strategic positioning, as illustrated by the new "Great Game" unfolding in the Arctic.

The securitarian globe operates through what might be called "practical virtue"—maintaining the appearance of ethical behavior while systematically violating its substance. Western democracies condemn human rights violations while maintaining strategic partnerships with authoritarian regimes. Tech companies promise connection and community while harvesting data and manipulating engagement. This gap between proclaimed values and operational reality mirrors Machiavelli's advice about appearing "exceptionally merciful, trustworthy, upright" while acting otherwise when necessary.

What's particularly unsettling is how this system normalizes exploitation. Just as cartels transform violence into business logic, our global system makes the pursuit of national advantage appear rational and necessary, even when it undermines collective survival. Climate competition, migration crackdowns, and resource hoarding become "pragmatic" responses rather than moral failures. In this environment, Machiavelli's counsel about generosity, mercy, and fidelity isn't just historic curiosity—it's a manual for those holding power today.

The Pauper's Perspective

If the prince benefits from appearing virtuous while practicing vice, what of the pauper? For us, the lessons are inverted but equally pragmatic. In a world where powerful actors follow Machiavelli's playbook—maintaining appearances while pursuing advantage—our survival depends on seeing through the performance.

First, we must recognize virtue-signaling for what it is. When tech companies speak of "community" while monetizing division, or when politicians promise security while dismantling protections, they're practicing Machiavellian dissimulation. The gap between appearance and reality isn't incidental—it's strategic. This recognition isn't cynicism; it's clarity.

Second, while princes cultivate fear, paupers must build trust. Machiavelli advises rulers that "fear is sustained by a dread of punishment that is always effective," but the pauper's strength comes not from intimidation but from genuine solidarity. Horizontal networks of mutual aid—where people keep promises not from fear but from reciprocal need—create resilience against authoritarian control. This explains why every would-be prince immediately targets civil society institutions.

Third, where Machiavelli praises parsimony in rulers with their own resources but generosity with plunder, we must invert this logic. The pauper's approach demands generosity with our own resources but skepticism toward the prince's gifts, which always come with hidden costs—whether surveillance, dependency, or co-option.

Finally, while princes must maintain appearances of virtue, paupers benefit from practicing actual virtue—not from moral superiority but as practical resistance. In Machiavelli's world, the prince's power comes from strategic manipulation; the pauper's comes from creating spaces where that manipulation fails. When we build communities based on actual trustworthiness rather than its appearance, we create domains where Machiavellian tactics lose their effectiveness.