The Overseer (72 page)

But only for a time. Then they will feel the lure of change, the need to put their private wills onto the stage. So they will destroy all that has been built up for them by men of learning in order that their own aggression may come forth. Such is the calamity of history. Such is the work of men in politics.

This is the central lesson that too many men of politics fail to grasp. It is not enough to sweep away the danger and set in its place a government of one man or many. Again, Messer Niccolò wants us to believe that his prince will build a strong authority from the chaos, and that his bold leader will then yield his power to a republican body that will endure throughout the ages.
*
Granted, at the outset the people will live in awe of so mighty a warrior who arouses within them pride, virtù, and the like. And they will follow him as long as he displays his power. Truly, the prince is a man to be reckoned with. His ability to anticipate his own future, his strength and daring to overcome the vagaries of fortune (that all-powerful goddess), his willingness to play both demon and angel in the practice of politics are all traits to be esteemed and sought. But most men are incapable of such qualities. Yet, once this quasi-deity has served his purpose and set a strong foundation for political authority, he becomes unnecessary (perhaps even dangerous), and it is at this point, we are told, that the people take the reins from him with a wisdom and understanding of statecraft that will ensure long-lasting, stable governance.

But do men’s hearts change? Do their desires wane because they have lived under so formidable a prince? Do they learn how to wield proper authority because power has been granted them? And, most important, do they cease to seek diversion and change? Certainly not. Like children, they need constant distraction, constant entertainment. Too long with any one form of government and they become bored, restless. That is why they do not suffer princes (even those of inestimable quality) for   any lengthy period of time. No matter how strong the initial authority, no matter how firmly a prince sets the foundation, it is no match for men’s aggressive talents.

Unless, of course, men are taught otherwise; that is, unless their leaders make education a vital part of ruling, whereby men’s souls are constantly shaped, altered, and adapted to suit political and commercial expedience. It is not enough for leaders to wield political power. Nor is it sufficient for them to hold sway in matters of trade and commerce. Even together, these two strongholds are not enough. They must be joined by a third, no less vital: Men must choose to follow their leaders along the bold path that makes aggression the core of stability. And the people must follow not only willingly but with enthusiasm. Thus, men must be led, but they must not be aware that the leash pulls them along. Education accomplishes both ends and at the same time breeds enthusiasm for the course chosen. It can turn aggression to fervor, obstinacy to commitment, and volatility to passion. A well-designed education both teaches men to have free choice and at the same time convinces them that they have chosen freely. The latter, of course, should never be the case.

Plato understood this essential quality of education and thus built his model republic around strong schooling. Had he but recognized that lessons change, that ways of thinking reflect circumstances, then perhaps he would have given us a piece of writing for the ages. But Plato could conceive only a singular Truth under which he set the boundaries of all learning. Justice. A sweet word, but little more. And in making Justice his standard, Plato turned a practical idea into an ideal. The astute student of human nature realizes that no such Truth, no overarching Good guides men in their actions or in their understanding of themselves. Or if it does, men are not keen enough to follow its dictates. Thus, such Goods and Truths hold no sway in political and commercial matters.

That is not to say that leaders may not direct a populace through an education that has a clear end in mind. But they may do so only as long as that end enhances overall stability. When education begins to create individuals who look beyond the confines of political and commercial life, the institution becomes obsolete. A given approach might last for centuries, as it did in ancient Sparta, but that had as much to do with brutality as it did expedience. Suffice it to say, those who hope to maintain power must keep a vigilant eye on education so that its lessons always conform to the political and commercial needs of the day. To educate is to contrive by stealth. This must be a central maxim of leadership.

Furthermore, the aggressive wish men have for change will be well monitored through education, speeded during one period, held in check during another. And that wish must always be allowed to flourish. This is an unswerving truth, for if the people ever feel that their aggression has limits, they will begin to tear at the very fabric of government in the same way a wild beast claws at its cage. The people must be permitted their whims, their passions, their arbitrary pursuits within the bounds of social stability. But they must never sense the walls around them. It is the task of government and education to maintain that delicate balance.

Yet we might ask, Is not aggression the very seed of upheaval? How will control of the pupil help to keep the father from rebelliousness? For those who understand revolt, this question is easily dismissed on several counts. First, upheaval is forged through generations; teach the child well and loyalty leaves no room for doubt. Next, upheaval is the product of a hidden resentment that bubbles up so as to destroy peace; allow that hostility considered expression and it ceases to threaten. And third, the cry of the malcontent is against exclusion, mistreatment, or injustice; such harsh expressions take years to develop and can thus be quelled within the young long before such excitements grow to dangerous proportions. And this is all I shall say on the presumed dangers of rebellion.

 

Likewise, leaders must pay close attention to the subtle changes in attitude that hint at discontent. And it is for that reason that governments must be willing to play different roles as time dictates. As the restlessness of a people begins to show itself, so the government must have the skill to change its very face both to appease and to distract the volatile crowd. The change may be only superficial (and more often than not is best served through deception), but its effect can be momentous. Would that there were examples from the past to illustrate this policy. But none with opportunity have yet dared to implement it.

One reason that governments have been unwilling or unable to master this technique is because they have believed falsely that all peoples seek liberty at all times, and that a mob is most content either under a republic or a democracy. But why should men choose to live under one constant form of sovereignty when they themselves exhibit no such consistency within their souls? If all men were infused with the republican spirit at all times, then truly a republic would be the government of choice. But men are not such creatures. Nor should they strive to be. It is no secret that there are moments when men covet even tyranny, openly or not. He who claims otherwise is either a liar or a fool. Why has the world seen so many tyrants if not for the very reason that every man has a secret longing to be one? That is, to wield ultimate control; to assert his will over all others. And just as men seek such power for themselves, so they esteem it in others. To live under an empire-building tyranny, to witness its power over self and others, can sate the private tyrannical need in all men.

As I have said, men are children. And it is not uncommon for children to seek out the strong hand of authority from a ruling parent. As with all passions, however, the child grows tired of this one in time. But it is a wise parent, like a wise government, who knows when to play the bully, when the coddler. Power reflects the desires of the people; and the people are most content when catering to the whims of power. Tyranny, which is often little more than monarchy disliked, does, at times, satisfy a human passion.

Here, then, is where the nature of men and the nature of power join hands. Power does not suffer well the shackles of quietude; neither do men. Power follows caprice; so, too, do men. Power sates its thirst through far-reaching, if not limitless, conquest; so, too, do men find distraction and entertainment in political expansion. Thus do the ways of power and the needs of men suit one another to perfection.

 

Thus far, I have spoken in general terms. I have explained that men must be left free to act upon their aggressive desires (within certain limits of which they are unaware); that power is a driving, capricious force that extends far beyond the confines of the sort imposed by democracies, oligarchies, and the like; and that, where governance is concerned, men and power seek the same end. It remains for us to ask the central question: How is that end met?

From here, I will confine my observations to those who wield authority. I have said enough about the people. They remain a concern, but only in so far as they follow the few who lead. To understand the aggressive desires of the general crowd is a necessary step in leadership. To contrive by stealth a change in their desires so that a state may thrive is the more difficult task.

Success in that endeavor requires a keen understanding of the nature of the state. It is no longer wise to describe the state as a single realm, as an inseparable entity. I do not mean to make the obvious point that sovereignty is divisible. The Roman Republic is proof enough, what with its Senate and Consuls and Tribunes, that such division is not only possible but perhaps even advantageous to stability. No. I mean to assert that states are made up of three separate realms, each of which plays a distinct role in the relations of leaders and people. These realms are the politic, the economic, and the social.
*
  The first is the most easily defined, the most tangible of the three because so much ink has been used in its exploration. The second is, if modesty allows, a
designation
of my own meant to define those activities of trade and commerce within and without the state. For centuries, the term has designated the maintenance of households. Thus Aristotle’s numerous references to “oeconomia” throughout his
Politics
and
Nichomachean Ethics.
But is not the state a household writ large? It is, therefore, only logical that we treat the maintenance of states as we treat the upkeep of households and thus develop a more expansive notion of economy. As to the third, it is the most abstract of the three. For now, I will simply remind the reader that education is at the heart of the social realm, and I will leave more detailed discussion for later.

Heretofore, writers of theories, both practical and impractical, have thrown these three realms together, more often than not taking the political as the central governing force. Economy and society have appeared as little more than echoes of political power. This approach, though oft of use, fails to reveal the truly complex nature of the state. Those who take this path are like the simple diner who, upon tasting the stew, remarks that the beef is of good quality, and that consequently the entire dish is satisfactory. But it is the epicurean who notices the subtle flavor of the potatoes, the leeks, the carrots, and the broth who truly appreciates the dish, and who knows how to maintain its delicate balance. Should the stew fail to please the simple diner the next time round, he will look only to the beef as cause for his displeasure. The epicurean has subtler tastes, a more discreet sense for the ingredients, and he knows where to investigate when the stew no longer satisfies. So, too, in states, leaders must recognize the different ingredients of the politic, economic, and social, and balance them well so as to maintain stability.

And as there are different cooks for different dishes, so, too, there must be separate Prefects for the separate realms within the state: one man who understands political relations, another who rules the economic realm, and another who decides social policy. And because each must remain solely in his own realm, he must take no heed of the designs set down by those of equal authority within the other realms. The demands of each realm are so severe that, for those who lead, there is no time to attend to anything but their own tasks.