Through an extended critical engagement with John P. McCormick's Machiavellian Democracy, this paper aims to shed light on Machiavelli's account of relations among the many and the few in the Discourses on Livy. While we agree with McCormick that Machiavelli should not be too quickly subsumed within the republican tradition, as interpreted by the “Cambridge School,” we reject the idea that Machiavelli's central thrust is prodemocratic. By focusing on the structure and logic of Machiavelli's arguments, we show that Machiavelli was critical of the capacities of ordinary citizens to govern themselves. As a result, Machiavelli emphasized and endorsed continuous elite intervention in the political life of the mixed regime, even as he paid due attention to the people's participation in a political regime with appropriate laws and institutions. Machiavelli's political theory, as embodied in the Discourses on Livy, challenges the transparency and equality that contemporary egalitarians and democrats embrace.

This article argues that issues of war and foreign affairs predominate in Machiavelli's Florentine Histories, a work generally taken to be devoted to the internal politics of Florence. The well-known narrative of the rise and fall of Medici rule is in fact driven by a counternarrative of the rise of mercenaries such as Francesco Sforza to the point of becoming the true arbiters of Italian affairs. The Florentine Histories lays out the progressive disarming of Italian powers, details the rise of a corrupt system of foreign affairs dominated by mercenary arms and their attendant papal meddling, and urgently counsels statesmen to arm their cities with arms of their own. Seeking to reframe interpretive approaches in this manner, the article sheds new light on Machiavelli's teaching on the desirability of well-managed domestic discords as they relate to military preparedness.

The protagonist of Aristophanes's Birds rises from nowhere to become a tyrannos of the first order, but scholars disagree when assessing him. Do Peisetairos's impressive political gifts make him an apt example of competent rule, or does his treatment of his subjects mark him as guilty of hubris and perfidy? While documenting the distinguishing features of this remarkable ruler, it is argued that—Arrowsmith's eloquent essay notwithstanding—Aristophanes does not condemn him. Nor, however, does he recommend Peisetairos's rule, as Henderson suggests. Between these extremes is a more complex via media: if a birdlike populace is to have an empire, they must also embrace a Peisetairos. But it would not be unwise to oppose an empire at such a price, even if the Alcibidean leader who would preside over it cannot be condemned for seeking to rule in the way he imagines to be most advantageous for himself.

This paper examines the kind of genealogical project Rousseau undertakes in the Discourse on the Origins of Inequality. It explains what it is for Rousseau to discover the “origins” of inequality and examines the normative implications of such an account, especially the relation his genealogical claims have to his critique of society. After arguing that the Discourse singles out l'amour propre as the psychological source of inequality, the paper reconstructs Rousseau's account of the origin of inequality and its criteria for judging the legitimacy of inequalities. It also highlights similarities among Rousseau's use of genealogy and later genealogical projects, such as Nietzsche's.

The essay clarifies the relationship between Locke's political and his religious thought. To the extent that Locke's political thought is an outgrowth of a particular strand of Christianity, its claims to universality would be significantly diminished. Several plausible interpretations of his political thought rely on his religiosity. Others maintain that this religiosity was a façade. Close attention to Locke's analysis of the Hebrew text of Gen. 1:28 unambiguously points to a critique of the Bible on semantic grounds. Locke subtly argues that the wording of the Bible makes the interpretation of scripture by scripture alone impossible. The fact that Locke goes out of his way to critique the Bible refutes interpretations of Locke's thought that rely on his religiosity and reestablishes the universalist claims of his political thought.

Although Castiglione's The Courtier was one of the most popular products of the Italian Renaissance, it has largely escaped the attention of modern political theorists. Many dismiss The Courtier as an apolitical work characterized by nostalgia and escapism, but it should not be so dismissed: on the contrary, Castiglione's book expresses a definite political program. This essay explores that program as a “politics of the second best”—as a pragmatic response to unfortunately diminished political opportunities. Put simply, given the choice between trying to make one's master a better person, on the one hand, and not having a master at all, on the other, surely one would not opt for the former unless the latter was not available. Reflection on this point informs the debate between proponents of “negative liberty” and those of “republican liberty.”

In the three centuries since the publication of the Two Treatises, a trail set down by Locke, although scarcely concealed, has gone unremarked—as has its final destination. If we miss this trail, we miss the work's coherence. If we follow this trail, we find a compelling, even shocking, case against Revelation as an independent source of authority. And we find a theory of property so powerful—certainly in Locke's own estimation—it compels the reconstitution of the relation between children and parents, wives and husbands, servants and masters, persons and polities, and ultimately between man and God. Indeed, Locke's story of the right of property is also the story of man's coming into his own, his coming into his own mind, freed from the irrational claims of Revelation. Thus, Locke's theory of property is nothing less than a story of man's Enlightenment.

Recent scholarship has linked the rise of the Progressive movement in America to the creation of an “administrative state”—a form of government where legislative, executive, and judicial powers are delegated into the hands of administrative agencies which compose a “headless fourth branch of government.” This form of government was largely constructed during the New Deal period. The influential legal theorist Roscoe Pound provides the paradoxical example of a Progressive who balked at the New Deal. While many commentators have concluded that Pound's opposition to the New Deal was based on a departure from his earlier Progressive thought, his opposition was in fact based on a consistent Progressive philosophy. Pound therefore provided a vision of an alternative administrative state, which would achieve the ends of the Progressive vision but without the means of the administrative state.

The argument of Rousseau's Essay on the Origin of Languages is intimately connected with that of his Discourse on the Origin and the Foundations of Inequality among Men. The origin of political society is inseparable from the origin of language, which, in turn, is inseparable from the origin of reason. That so much of the Essay is concerned with music leads us to wonder what music has to do with reason, politics, and language. These two books share what is a regular feature of Rousseau's manner of writing—presenting what seem to be logical foundations as temporal origins. In emphasizing the priority of melody to harmony in music, the Essay on the Origin of Languages articulates the necessarily melodic, and hence temporal, character of thinking, which proves to be the key to understanding both why Rousseau must write as he does and what it means for language to be musical.

Locke stresses the power of custom in shaping opinion and behavior, though this aspect of his thought has been underappreciated. Recognizing its importance raises critical issues, particularly the relation between custom and reason and the role of authoritative custom in supporting political and social power. Locke explains in detail the various psychological and sociological mechanisms by which the power of custom is manifested; but he nonetheless consistently and emphatically rejects its authority. Instead, Locke is a champion of the authority of reason. Because custom is powerful, but reason is authoritative, Locke attempts to enlist the power of custom in the service of reason and of reasonable politics, and because custom is powerful and its impact unavoidable, individual intellectual independence cannot mean being without cultural prejudices. At best, it means the ability to gain some critical distance from them. These observations place Locke's relation to the Enlightenment in a new perspective.

Despite common portrayals of Ahab as beyond the pale of common humanity, Melville offers much reason in Moby-Dick to regard Ahab as a reflection of ordinary American political life. Two of Ahab's most definitive characteristics—his isolation and his desire for domination—do not differentiate him from the other characters in the book but rather underscore how much he is like them. Among the Pequod's crew in particular, those traits are the rule rather than the exception, a fact that helps to explain why the crew members are so quick to adopt Ahab's way of thinking: in large measure, it is already their own. Along these lines, looking at Ahab as a representative American man makes it possible to better understand Melville's true anxieties about the prospects for democratic flourishing in the United States.

In the summer of 1835, Alexis de Tocqueville visited Ireland. Within the travelogue that he kept while on his journey, there exists an incomplete manuscript in which Tocqueville uses the literary device of the tableau to attempt a general explanation of Ireland's political and religious problems. The present essay explains why this manuscript, whose uniqueness has not previously been recognized fully, must be separated from the rest of the Irish journals, studied in relation to other Tocquevillian tableaux, and scrutinized carefully for its teaching on religion and politics. The essay then attempts an interpretation of the manuscript, which Tocqueville titled A Catholic Priest and a Protestant Minister in Ireland, especially as it bears on the question of Christianity and politics in Democracy in America. It concludes by considering whether Tocqueville once considered revising A Catholic Priest for possible inclusion in Democracy in America and why Tocqueville eventually abandoned the manuscript.

This paper explores the contrast between two conceptions of the general will to be found in Rousseau's work, especially in the Social Contract. The first of these identifies the general will with the decisions of the sovereign people as they legislate together; the second conceives of the general will as a transcendent fact about the society which may or may not be reflected in actual legislative decisions. Though these conceptions may be capable of reconciliation in Rousseau's own work, the tension remains and is reflected both in Rousseau's own ambivalence towards democracy and in the different ways his thought has been received and adapted in philosophy and politics.

Simone Weil had an ambivalent attitude toward Marx. While she thought that the young Marx's celebration of labor had “lyrical accents,” she ultimately believed that Marx had neglected his own insights, embracing a blind worship of mechanization and a theory of history and revolution that was insufficiently attentive to the material conditions of workers. Marx, in her view, was insufficiently materialist and excessively wedded to a hierarchical model of science that maintained the domination of management. Weil and Marx's attitudes toward the dignity of labor and the necessary conditions for socialism are analyzed. The most significant cleavage between them is ultimately due to the differing manner in which they conceive of the relationship between thought and action. Through this comparison, the philosophical underpinnings of the two radically different conceptions of labor and its dignity as a human activity are explained.

In his recent book on Strauss, Steven B. Smith has called attention to “a curiously neglected passage from the very center of Natural Right and History,” a passage in which Strauss “acknowledges the way political decisions grow out of concrete situations and cannot be deduced from a priori rules.” The passage reads:

The four books reviewed here illustrate the pervasive influence of Leo Strauss on contemporary studies of Plato. However, although the authors all acknowledge their debt to Strauss, they produce remarkably different views of Plato. Reading these books in conjunction with one another cannot help but make one wonder whether there is any longer, if there ever was, a “Straussian” sect or school.

Political theorists seeking to respond to public concerns about citizen behavior in democratic politics might turn to the literature on public reason. Within that literature, idealized citizens are expected to abide by what we call the “public-reason-giving requirement” when engaging in political acts. Here we examine what the doctrine of public reason has to say to political actors in nonideal democratic circumstances. We find that the recommendations for actual behavior in this literature rely heavily upon a forward- and backward-looking “Janus-faced” justification, focused on the way in which non-reason-giving political actions have or could serve the long-term interests of public reason itself. Through a critical evaluation of this idea we suggest that public reason has nothing meaningful to say to contemporary political actors. This, we maintain, is a serious flaw in a putative standard for political behavior and thus the liberal commitment to “public reason” under nonideal circumstances is misplaced.

Tocqueville can easily be seen as the symbol of the French liberal thought whereas Schmitt is considered as the brightest opponent of the liberal doctrine. Trying to reconcile their theories might thus seem counterintuitive. However, delving into Schmitt's work reveals that the German thinker admired his French counterpart. As the question of their potential intellectual proximity becomes relevant, this article offers a first glance into what appears as a somehow connected interpretation of the democratic phenomenon in relation to their fear of possible depoliticizations. While they elaborate on distinct and almost contradictory questions which develop along diverging architectonics, the historian and the jurist show a deep problématique convergence. Furthermore, their reservations concerning the enlargement of national borders, individualism, and popular sovereignty reinforce this intuition with one notable exception: Schmitt keeps on ousting the variable “liberty” from Tocqueville's democratic equation.

In his Plan for a Constitution for Corsica, Rousseau recommends a series of institutional arrangements and psychological incentives designed to generate certain salutary opinions and behaviors on the part of the citizens. However, he also indicates in several ways that it is not only impossible to control such outcomes absolutely or permanently, but also undesirable insofar as a static people tends to be a languorous people. This essay argues that the model of citizenship that emerges in Corsica is more dynamic and less thoroughly choreographed than is often recognized. Rousseau suggests that what it takes to attach citizens to the collective good over the long term requires not only a specific form of socialization, but also that the people are capable, to some degree, of transcending their socialization. The goal of Rousseau's legislative art is not to form a people that can remain on “autopilot,” but rather to cultivate a form of reflection and judgment that is rooted in and animated by healthy attachments and proper conditioning of the passions. The puzzle becomes the relationship between these two sides of the legislative art.