Review of Taming the Prince, by Harvey Mansfield

Taming the Prince, by Harvey Mansfield, is a startling book. Most Americans, if they can muddle through Mansfield’s dense and often obscure arguments, will be unsettled by his conclusions. Tying it to Machiavelli, he portrays the American presidency as an office that is only good as far as necessary to salve public opinion, and whose powers extend far beyond those allotted to him by Article Two of the Constitution. His project is to examine the development of this ambivalence. While this portrait is in large part true, Mansfield is perhaps not as thoroughly Machiavellian as he might seem, for he finally leaves open the possibility that the Machiavellian executive has been turned on its head and bent to the service of virtue.

The central problem in politics which any regime must address is the common disposition Mansfield dubs human recalcitrance. This term refers to man’s natural resistance to being ruled by law. Men understand the need for law to apply generally to all men, but resist its particular application to themselves. Law, since it must be universal to be acceptable, cannot be reasonable enough to be exact and govern all individual cases. Upholding the law necessitates someone to execute the law and apply it to particular circumstances.

Aristotle presents one solution to this problem, one that doesn’t include an executive in any modern sense of the word. Aristotle understands that the goal of politics is virtue, the perfection of the good life. To this end, his ideal constitution is the kingship over all of the most virtuous man. This king is able to transcend the law and apply it as needed, without destroying it. Knowing that kingship of the most virtuous man is impracticable, his solution is a mixed regime in which the deliberative function is foremost, and the “offices” carry out or execute the decisions of the deliberative body which is sovereign.

The Aristotelian primacy of virtue in politics becomes a problem with the advent of Christianity. The pope and the Church claim a monopoly on virtue by way of divine mandate, and thence extend a claim to all political power. Their authority is unchallengeable since it is (they claim) directly backed up by God, and the result is “pious cruelty” that goes farther than necessary. Pope and emperor fight one another for political power.

Machiavelli responds to this problem by discounting virtue as the standard of politics, and he sets up a new political telos: necessity. In the service of necessity, Machiavelli’s prince uses any means available to him, however cruel. By getting men to fear him, he coerces men beyond their recalcitrance into obedience. Necessity is the only standard, and the only check, for the prince’s actions. The prince and his tyranny exist wholly outside the law, so that he may execute the law.

This doctrine of the executive, Mansfield says, has gone through a process of evolution that has formalized and legalized it. Hobbes abstracted Machiavelli’s executing prince into a concept of executive power which could be wielded by the sovereign state. Locke takes this executive power and weaves it into the constitution, legalizing it so that the necessity of tyranny is constitutionalized. Montesquieu further moderates the executive by separating the judiciary function from the executive. Finally, the American Constitution republicanizes the executive by making him elected by the people to a limited term of office.

So we have the modern American president, and we come to a frightening realization: His power is more than it seems. Formally, he is subordinate to the legislature, tasked with carrying out Congress’s will. Informally, however, his “executive power” is bounded only by necessity and has a character of its own. He has tremendous influence through the status of his office, and many presidents have exploited this to great effect. In this ambivalence he resembles the Machiavellian prince who tyrannized through the force of necessity while convincing the people he executes on their behalf.

All is not lost, however. America is not really ruled by a masked despot. To be sure, his informal and personal powers are considerable, probably more extensive than most Americans realize. However, one must remember that the executive has come a long way since Machiavelli discovered it, and the process Mansfield outlines has tamed the prince considerably.

The genius of the Founders, it seems, is that they took Machiavelli’s domesticated executive and turned him to the service of both necessity and virtue. By making him part of a constitution of separated and mutually checked powers which combines elements of democracy, aristocracy, and monarchy, they evoked Aristotle’s mixed regime and returned to virtue as the telos of politics. For Mansfield, the formalities and responsibilities of the Constitution point toward virtue, as they moderate tyranny on one hand and the soul-destroying excesses of democratic individualism on the other. The constitutional checks on the executive prevent him becoming cruel and tyrannical in executing the law, enabling him to be good while remaining strong and capable of dealing with crises of necessity.

The fact that the executive still has teeth in his informal powers means that there is always a danger of returning to tyranny. When the people cease to understand and value virtue in the leaders they elect, instead valuing “charisma,” they open themselves to being tyrannized by the soft words and hard hand of the demagogue. This is America’s present state.

Mansfield believes, and argues elsewhere, that virtue is possible if we will celebrate and cherish the Constitution and everything that goes with it—including the ambivalent, secretly powerful executive. If the American people are to value virtue once again, what will be necessary? Two possibilities come to mind. First, concern for virtue may be inculcated through education, as Aristotle argues toward the end of the Nicomachean Ethics. Alternatively, the people may come to value virtue when they themselves become virtuous, when they are regenerated through the work of the Gospel and truly understand the telos of the good life.

Civil Religion vs. Biblical Christianity

Several centuries ago, Saint Augustine wrote a monumental work on the difference between what he called the City of God and the City of Man. Augustine makes the case that though Christians on earth live in a saeculum senescens, a passing world of men, societies, and empires that will not last. Though we live in the city of man, we are aliens in the land, and our true citizenship is in the City of God.

Many modern evangelicals have forgotten this distinction, as one of my friends Will Inboden points out in the latest issue of Modern Reformation. Since the founding of the American republic, Christians in the US, especially evangelical Protestants, have subscribed to a politico-theological faith that Will calls "civil religion." In this civil religion, there is a tendency to see America as having a special role in redemptive history, and Americans as God's chosen people in the world today. Much is made of America's "Christian heritage," and is reestablishment is the aim of their cultural and especially political energy--paradoxically so, as this aim is often at odds with their eschatology. Faithfulness to Christ is often--sometimes explicitly, more often implicitly--equated with supporting a particular political agenda, like abolishing abortion, preventing gay marriage, or even a specific tax policy.

Christians need to think more biblically on the distinction between faith and politics, between the City of God and the City of Man, between the sacred and the secular. We are God's chosen people as followers of Christ and citizens of the heavenly kingdom, not as Americans. God's people are called out of every tribe, tongue, race, and people of the earth, and the visible, institutional expression of his dealing with men is the Church, not any particular nation-state.

This understanding will have a significan impact on our politics. Once Christians understand that God is not a Republican (or a Democrat), that political leaders are not also spiritual leaders, and that political ends of any kind are tangential to the Christian life, their politics and their lives will be transformed. Political positions can then be based on prudent, wise understanding of social and governmental realities. They can then have a politics informed by and shaped by Scripture, not the dictates of civil religion and poorly grounded religious philosophy. Most importantly, by abandoning civil religion, today's Christians will gain a new appreciation for the role of the Church in the Christian life and direct their energies to its ministry, worship, ordinances, discipline, and doctrine.