This article traces Machiavelli's indebtedness to Sallust in his discussion of Agathocles the Sicilian in chapter 9 of The Prince. In distinguishing between virtù and glory, Machiavelli was influenced by Sallust's discussion of Catiline and Caesar, and of true and false glory, in the Bellum Catilinae. Writing to Caesar at the height of his power, Sallust needed to negotiate a delicate political situation that was in some ways analogous to Machiavelli's own difficult position vis-à-vis the Medici. Just as, in addressing Caesar, Sallust points up the difference between Caesar as he was and as he might have been, so in the example of Agathocles Machiavelli presents the Medici with a choice between mere virtù and the glory achieved by the really excellent men. It was the prospect of this glory that Machiavelli held out to the Medici in the concluding chapter of The Prince.

Although I welcome the opportunity to discuss Alex Zakaras's fine essay, I fear that my response will disappoint him (and perhaps others as well). I find his arguments cogent and plausible, if not altogether persuasive, but many of them are directed against claims that I do not think I made. Two examples will suffice.

The article examines the recent debate on a genuinely realist perspective in political philosophy and argues that the core idea of realism is a certain type of ethical theory. In spite of the notorious polemic against “moralism” in politics that is characteristic of realist thinkers since Machiavelli, political realism as put forth in the current debate is not to be understood as a strictly fact-oriented perspective on politics, but rather as a perspective that itself is founded on a theory of political ethics. This peculiarly realist theory of political ethics can be characterized by its focus on the theoretical importance of political application problems, by a genuine priority principle underlying its understanding of political ethics, by its distinctive understanding of the concept of legitimacy and, finally, by its claim that any form of ethics, as far as it is concerned with political questions, is necessarily ambivalent in character.

It is a great pleasure to have the opportunity to respond to Alex Zakaras's thoughtful and stimulating article. Although Zakaras takes my work (together with that of William Galston) as a critical target, much of what he says is common ground between us. That includes his basic understanding of value pluralism, his evident support for that idea, and his broadly liberal approach to politics. Moreover, I think that he makes a significant contribution by drawing attention to the relation between pluralism and fallibility, and by focusing on Isaiah Berlin's treatment of Mill in that connection. Zakaras is right that Berlin's essay on Mill has not until now been carefully examined as a resource for the debate about the way pluralism relates to liberalism, and his suggestions about what the essay may tell us in that regard are valuable.

Jeff Broadwater, a Barton college history professor and the author of one of the three biographies reviewed in this essay, recently began a public lecture on James Madison's presidency with the following story. A decade ago, Garry Wills, Broadwater notes, wrote the biography of Madison for an American presidency series, edited by the late Arthur Schlesinger Jr. and published by Times Books. The Madison volume in this series contains only two illustrations: a portrait of Madison on the dust jacket and another adjacent to the title page. The portrait pictured next to the title page in the initial run of this book is of, well, James Monroe.

This article examines the roles of belief and opinion in Machiavelli's Prince. Political success and failure are effected not only by force and arms but by religious belief in particular, and more generally by the beliefs and opinions of peoples. Princes can also be the beneficiaries or the victims of their own beliefs and opinions. Machiavelli occasionally explicitly states a view as his own belief or opinion such as his belief in cruelty well used or his opinions that a prince should found himself on the people and avoid their hatred. His beliefs and opinions both contrast with common beliefs and opinions and are modified in response to them.

Machiavelli's argument in chapter 25 of The Prince for resisting Fortune is no longer persuasive. The reason is that it is based on the outmoded Ptolemaic cosmology. With that cosmology long discarded, it is time to discard the political philosophy based on it. But discarding the political philosophy does not mean discarding the chapter. On the contrary, we should study the chapter with renewed diligence as part of the history of Machiavelli's political philosophy. The distinction between his political philosophy and the history of his political philosophy is critical here.

I am grateful to both William Galston and George Crowder for their thoughtful responses. In writing the original essay, I had two goals in mind. First, I wanted to give an accurate reading of Isaiah Berlin's philosophy and to challenge certain misconceptions about it. Second, I hoped to use some of Berlin's insights to contribute to the contemporary discussion of value pluralism and its relationship to liberalism. Neither Galston nor Crowder disputes my reading of Berlin. Galston writes that he “never set out to write as an interpreter of Berlin”; Crowder, too, simply brackets the question of interpretation (see his footnote 1). So I will focus these comments strictly on the problem of value pluralism's relationship to political liberalism.

Machiavelli often seems to advocate a conception of religion as an instrument of political rule. But in the concluding chapter of The Prince Machiavelli adopts a messianic rhetoric in which politics becomes an instrument of divine providence. Since the political project at stake in The Prince, especially in this last chapter runs against both the interests and the ideology of the Catholic Church in Italy, some commentators have argued that Machiavelli appeals to providence merely in order to fool the Church and the Medici. This article argues that it is not necessary to appeal to such exoteric readings of the 26th chapter of The Prince if one envisages the possibility that Machiavelli may have drawn upon an alternative, non-Christian conception of divine providence coming from medieval Arabic and Jewish sources that is more compatible with his desire to return to Roman republican principles than is the Christian conception of divine providence.

Machiavelli's Prince circulated widely in manuscript form in Italy way before its publication in 1532. Its reception was mixed from the start: some readers found in it a frank, sometimes ironic, description for the benefit of the people of the evil means used by bad rulers; others read in it evil recommendations to tyrants to help them maintain their power. The history of the reception of the Prince in Italy discloses a book with many facets: the impious and amoral Machiavelli of the Jesuits; the republican champion of the people, who unveiled the evil practices of tyrants, of the Enlightenment and Romantic readers; the citizen and patriot who fought for the liberation of Italy of the “Risorgimento”; the nationalist author who realized the limits of popular sovereignty and the necessity of force during the Fascist era; and many more Machiavellis and Princes present in Italy in the past five hundred years.