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jeannereames · 10 months

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weird question but what do you think Alexander would’ve thought of Machiavellian philosophy toward ruling? i feel like he employed some aspects of it throughout his life / career

A Machiavellian Alexander?

Because he didn’t write anything on the topic (that survives), it’s hard to know what Alexander’s theories on kingship/rule were, although I suspect he had theories, having been a student of Aristotle. Yet if some of the anecdotes about his days as a student can be believed, he resisted letting theory eat pragmatics—frustrating his teacher. (Although his teacher was more pragmatic than his teacher, Plato.) He purported to believe in what we might call “situational decision making.” As his time as the buck-stops person increased, he grew even more creative and less wedded to theoretical scaffolding. There was a lot of throwing ideas against a wall to see what stuck.

Although The Prince is Machiavelli’s best-known work, it’s actually atypical of his other writings. Dedicated to Lorenzo de’Medici, it was intended to teach rulers how to maintain power successfully. As such, it’s amoral (rather than immoral). A practical guide that divorced philosophic ethics from political theory. (To what degree he really believed it himself is, I understand, a point of contention.)

The Prince is the opposite of Plato—or Aristotle, for that matter. Rulers had been utilizing many of the ideas Machiavelli suggested, but nobody writing about politics advised them. Philosophers and political theorists had been trying to teach kings, tyrants, emperors, and other rulers to exercise power in moral ways, not amoral ones: Neo-Pythagorean idealized societies or Plato and his “philosopher king.” Stoics later went in one direction, Epicureans in another, and Neoplatonists in yet another, etc. That pattern would continue down into the medieval world. Until Machiavelli. (And even after him.)

To theorists, politics should be bound up with ethical thinking in order to create the best, most just society.

That’s the tradition Alexander was raised in, so I think he’d have been somewhere between offended and impressed by The Prince. He’d recognize the soundness of the advice, while being astonished anybody would set it down AS advice to be followed. I think he’d regard it as “last-ditch policy,” certainly when younger. Age and experience sanded down the idealism, but I don’t think it ever entirely sanded it off.

It’s hard to know just how devoted to philosophy Alexader actually was. This owes to the narrative programs inserted by later writers. For instance, Plutarch wanted to portray him as a “philosopher in armor.” I think most serious Alexander scholars these days dismiss that as a fictional portrait that served Plutarch’s moralizing and elevation of Hellenic culture during the Roman imperial period. But how much did the historical Alexander pursue philosophy? And did he do so for personal reasons (preference), or as a “show” to impress the Greeks (and is that division an artificial one, in itself)?

Some scholars, including Ernst Badian, Ian Worthington, and Peter Green would, I believe argue that he was pragmatic with little patience for philosophy unless it served his purposes: e.g., very The Prince-like. Others, including N.G.L. Hammond and Robin Lane Fox would rather see him in more Plutarchian terms. Yet others, such as Sabine Müller and Yossi Roismann, would regard him as a gifted statesman and diplomat, but not somebody marching around with his head in the clouds. I probably come closer to that latter view.

Yet I do think we need to take more seriously than we sometimes do the fact that he was Aristotle’s student. If he did not adopt some of Aristotle’s specific views on, say, non-Greeks, he would still have been a different sort of (Macedonian) king as a result of his education, probably more inclined to think about what he was doing in terms of political theory. If you wanted to put it in modern terms, we might regard him as a “first-generation college student.” Ha. And an enthusiastic one, not simply someone there to get a degree in pursuit of a higher-paying job. By all accounts, he appears to have been a deep-thinker—as was his father, albeit without the formal training. Philip worked out a lot of things about successful rule on his own…then made sure his son was given the proper educational scaffolding to make him even better at it.

So, while we may not have a good idea of Alexander’s personal political philosophies, and if—as he aged—he appears to have grown more cynical, I think it would be a mistake to see him as intentionally amoral in approach. He wanted to be, and saw himself as, a “good” (i.e., just) king. When he did “bad” (immoral or cruel) things, he would have blamed situational necessity.

In that, he’s like most people. By-in-large, when the average person behaves badly, they don’t see themselves as “bad” people, but as people who want to be good stuck between a rock and a hard place. “The devil/[circumstance] made me do it.” Alexander was no different.

#asks #Machiavelli #alexander the great #Aristotle #Plato #Greek theories of kingship #Greek philosophic political theory #Philip II of Macedon #Classics #ancient Macedonia #ancient greece

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zerogate · 1 year

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Plutarch is for us the chief mouthpiece of the theory that all religions are fundamentally one, under different names and with different practices. For him and Maximus of Tyre ‘the gods’ are symbolic representations of the attributes of a Deity who is in his inmost nature unknowable. Maximus and Dion Chrysostom are ‘modernist’ in their views about myth and ritual; Philostratus and Ælian are genuinely superstitious. The Hermetic writings are good examples of the Plutarchian theory. They show, however, that the combination of philosophic monotheism with popular polydaemonism was becoming difficult, though the writers are equally anxious to retain both, as indeed the Neoplatonists were. Syncretism was easier when the gods were regarded as cosmic energies, or when their cults were fused in the popular worship of the sun and stars.

Dionysus and Orpheus were two nearly connected forms of the Sun-god, and the worship of both was influenced by the rites of the Thracian Sabazius. The central act of both mysteries was the rending in pieces of the god or hero, the lament for him, his resurrection, and the communion of his flesh and blood as a ‘medicine of immortality.’ The Egyptian Osiris had also been torn in pieces by his enemies; his resemblance to Dionysus was close enough to tempt many to identify them. In the Egyptian worship the doctrine of human immortality had long been emphasised, and this was now the most welcome article of faith everywhere. It was easy to fuse these national mystery-cults with each other because at bottom they all symbolised the same thing—the hope of mystical death and renewal, the death unto sin and the new birth unto righteousness, based on the analogy of nature's processes of death and rebirth.

While Judaism was purging itself from its Hellenistic element and relapsing into an Oriental religion, the bond of union in a people who were determined to remain aliens in Europe, Christianity was developing rapidly into a syncretistic European religion, which deliberately challenged all the other religions of the empire on their own ground and drove them from the field by offering all the best that they offered, as well as much that they could not give. It was indeed more universal in its appeal than any of its rivals. For Neoplatonism, until it degenerated, was the true heir of the Hellenic tradition, and had no essential elements of Semitic origin. Christianity had its roots in Judaism; but its obligation to Greek thought began with St. Paul, and in the third century ‘philosophic’ Christianity and Platonism were not far apart.

The real quarrel between Neoplatonism and Christianity in the third century lay in their different attitudes towards the old culture. In spite of the Hellenising of Christianity which began with the first Christian missions to Europe, the roots of the religion were planted in Semitic soil, and the Church inherited the prejudices of the Jews against European methods of worship.

Hellenism was vitally connected with polytheism, and with the sacred art which image-worship fostered. These things were an abomination to the Jews, and therefore to the early Christians. We, however, when we remember later developments, must take our choice between condemning matured Catholicism root and branch, and admitting that the uncompromising attitude of the early Church towards Hellenic polydaemonism was narrow-minded.

Porphyry made a very dignified protest against the charge that the Pagans actually worship wood and stone. ‘Images and temples of the gods,’ he says, ‘have been made from all antiquity for the sake of forming reminders to men. Their object is to make those who draw near them think of God thereby, or to enable them, after ceasing from their work, to address their prayers and vows to him. When any person gets an image or picture of a friend, he certainly does not believe that the friend is to be found in the image, or that his members exist inside the different parts of the representation. His idea rather is that the honour which he pays to his friend finds expression in the image. And while the sacrifices offered to the gods do not bring them any honour, they are meant as a testimony to the good-will and gratitude of the worshippers.’ The early Christian horror of idolatry was a legacy from the Jews, who were, on the aesthetic side, too unimaginative to understand a mode of worship which for other nations is natural and innocent.

-- William Ralph Inge, The philosophy of Plotinus

#quotes

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