The first general conclusion of the Discourses is thus that cities only ‘grow enormously in a very short time’ and acquire greatness if ‘the people are in control of them’ (316). This does not lead Machiavelli to lose interest in principalities, for he is sometimes (though not consistently) willing to believe that the maintenance of popular control may be compatible with a monarchical form of government (e.g. 427). But it certainly leads him to express a marked preference for republican over princely regimes. He states his reasons most emphatically at the beginning of the second Discourse. It is ‘not individual good but common good’ that ‘makes cities great’, and ‘without doubt this common good is thought important only in republics’. Under a prince ‘the opposite happens’, for ‘what benefits him usually injures the city, and what benefits the city injures him’. This explains why cities under monarchical government seldom ‘go forward’, whereas ‘all cities and provinces that live in freedom anywhere in the world’ always ‘make very great gains’ (329, 332).
If liberty is the key to greatness, how is liberty itself to be acquired and kept safe? Machiavelli begins by admitting that an element of good Fortune is always involved. It is essential that a city should have ‘a free beginning, without depending on anyone’ if it is to have any prospect of achieving civic glory (193, 195). Cities which suffer the misfortune of starting life in a servile condition generally find it ‘not merely difficult but impossible’ to ‘find laws which will keep them free’ and bring them fame (296).
As in The Prince, however, Machiavelli treats it as a cardinal error to suppose that the attainment of greatness is entirely dependent on Fortune’s caprice. Raising the issue at the beginning of his third Discourse, he concedes that according to some ‘very weighty’ writers — including Plutarch and Livy — the rise to glory of the Roman people owed almost everything to Fortune. But he replies that he is ‘not willing to grant this in any way’ (324). He later admits that the Romans enjoyed many blessings of Fortune, as well as benefiting from various afflictions which the goddess sent them ‘in order to make Rome stronger and bring her to the greatness she attained’ (408). But he insists — again echoing The Prince — that the achievement of great things is never the outcome merely of good Fortune; it is always the product of Fortune combined with the indispensable quality of virtú, the quality that enables us to endure our misfortunes with equanimity and at the same time attracts the goddess’s favourable attentions. So he concludes that if we wish to understand what ‘made possible the dominant position’ to which the Roman republic rose, we must recognize that the answer lies in the fact that Rome possessed ‘so much virtú’ and managed to ensure that this crucial quality was ‘kept up in that city for so many centuries’ (192). It was because the Romans ‘mixed with their Fortune the utmost virtú’ that they maintained their original freedom and ultimately rose to dominate the world (326).
When he turns to analyse this pivotal concept of virtú, Machiavelli follows precisely the lines already laid down in The Prince. It is true that he applies the term in such a way as to suggest one important addition to his previous account. In The Prince he had associated the quality exclusively with the greatest political leaders and military commanders; in the Discourses he explicitly insists that, if a city is to attain greatness, it is essential that the quality should be possessed by the citizen body as a whole (498). However, when he comes to define what he means by virtú, he largely reiterates his earlier arguments, coolly taking for granted the startling conclusions he had already reached.
The possession of virtú is accordingly represented as a willingness to do whatever may be necessary for the attainment of civic glory and greatness, whether the actions involved happen to be intrinsically good or evil in character. This is first of all treated as the most important attribute of political leadership. As in The Prince, the point is made by way of an allusion to, and a sarcastic repudiation of, the values of Ciceronian humanism. Cicero had asserted in De Officiis that, when Romulus decided ‘it was more expedient for him to reign alone’ and in consequence murdered his brother, he committed a crime that cannot possibly be condoned, since his defence of his action was ‘neither reasonable nor adequate at all’ (III.10.41). Machiavelli insists on the contrary that no ‘prudent intellect’ will ever ‘censure anyone for any unlawful action used in organising a kingdom or setting up a republic’. Citing the case of Romulus’ fratricide, he contends that ‘though the deed accuses him, the result should excuse him; and when it is good, like that of Romulus, it will always excuse him, because he who is violent to destroy, not he who is violent to restore, ought to be censured’ (218).
The same willingness to place the good of the community above all private interests and ordinary considerations of morality is held to be no less essential in the case of rank-and-file citizens. Again Machiavelli makes the point by way of parodying the values of classical humanism. Cicero had declared in De Officiis that ‘there are some acts either so repulsive or so wicked that a wise man would not commit them even to save his country’ (I.45.159). Machiavelli retorts that ‘when it is absolutely a question of the safety of one’s country’, it becomes the duty of every citizen to recognize that ‘there must be no consideration of just or unjust, of merciful or cruel, of praiseworthy or disgraceful; instead, setting aside every scruple, one must follow to the utmost any plan that will save her life and keep her liberty’ (519).
This, then, is the sign of virtú in rulers and citizens alike: each must be prepared ‘to advance not his own interests but the general good, not his own posterity but the common fatherland’ (218). This is why Machiavelli speaks of the Roman republic as a repository of ‘so much virtú’: patriotism was felt to be ‘more powerful than any other consideration’, as a result of which the populace became ‘for four hundred years an enemy to the name of king, and a lover of the glory and the common good of its native city’ (315, 450).
The contention that the key to preserving liberty lies in keeping up the quality of virtú in the citizen body as a whole obviously raises a further question, the most basic one of alclass="underline" how can we hope to instil this quality widely enough, and maintain it for long enough, to ensure that civic glory is attained? Again Machiavelli concedes that an element of good Fortune is always involved. No city can hope to attain greatness unless it happens to be set on the right road by a great founding father, to whom ‘as a daughter’ it may be said to owe its birth (223). A city which has not ‘chanced upon a prudent founder’ will always tend to find itself ‘in a somewhat unhappy position’ (196). Conversely, a city which can look back to ‘the virtú and the methods’ of a great founder — as Rome looked back to Romulus — has ‘chanced upon most excellent Fortune’ (244).
The reason why a city needs this ‘first Fortune’ is that the act of establishing a republic or principality can never be brought about ‘through the virtú of the masses’, because their ‘diverse opinions’ will always prevent them from being ‘suited to organise a government’ (218, 240). It follows that ‘to set up a republic it is necessary to be alone’ (220). Moreover, once a city has ‘declined by corruption’, it will similarly require ‘the virtú of one man who is then living’, and not ‘the virtú of the masses’ to restore it to greatness (240). So Machiavelli concludes that ‘this we must take as a general rule: seldom or never is any republic or kingdom organised well from the beginning, or totally made over’ at a later date, ‘except when organised by one man’ (218).