In the World of the Dead: Plato, Machiavelli, and Augustine Discuss the Republic

Somewhere in the world of the dead, an ancient wooden table brings together three men. One has the serene gaze of someone who contemplates eternal forms; another, a face marked by years of struggle between the flesh and the spirit; the third, a knowing smile from someone who has seen every game of power. They ask for wine. The conversation begins.

— So, my dear sirs, what is a republic for each of you? — I ask, serving as hostess.

— Plato (setting down his cup without drinking, with a slight smile): For me, the politeia, which you translate as republic, is the just city, the soul enlarged. I do not speak of a cluster of houses and walls. I speak of the order that mirrors the Good. In the well-governed city, each person fulfills the function proper to them, according to the nature of their soul. The artisans produce, the guardians protect, and the philosophers… ah, the philosophers govern. Because only those who have contemplated the Ideas can legislate without losing themselves in the shadows.

— Machiavelli (leaning forward, elbows on the table): What a beautiful picture, Plato. A republic of bronze angels. But tell me: have you ever governed Syracuse? Have you ever walked the corridors of the Signoria? The “just city” you draw is as far from how men actually live as the clouds are from the earth. For me, the republic, and here I speak of the Roman one, which truly existed, is a mixed body, a tension between the people and the great, where conflict is not a disease, but a sign of vitality. It survives not because it is just in the abstract, but because it has good arms, good laws, and men who know how to use fortune with virtù.

— Augustine (making the sign of the cross over the bread before answering, in a grave voice): Both of you speak as though the republic could be man's ultimate home. Niccolò, you are right to see that man is not pure reason; Plato, you sense that there is a higher order. But no earthly city can be truly just without rendering unto God what belongs to God. I distinguish the City of God, which sojourns in this world, from the city of men, founded on self-love even to the contempt of God. Every human republic, even Rome with all its civic virtues, is nothing more than a well-organized band of robbers if it lacks the justice that comes from above. Without Christ, justice is vanity.

— Machiavelli (laughing softly): “A band of robbers”! And yet, bishop, it was those robbers who kept the peace for centuries. What Rome did, even as a pagan state, was create greatness. You will say it was only greed in disguise. But I ask you: what peace did your City of God bring to the fields of Italy while the armies of the Pope and the Emperor fought each other? If a prince or a republic wishes to endure, it must learn not to be good according to the morality of monasteries. It must enter into evil, if necessary. For the common people are swayed by appearances and results. A republic sometimes requires both the lion and the fox.

— Plato (frowning): That is dangerous, Florentine. If we abandon the measure of justice, the republic turns into timocracy, oligarchy, unrestrained democracy, and finally, the worst of tyrannies. I saw demagoguery devour my master Socrates. The city that dispenses with reason is doomed to be governed by the appetites of the multitude, a beast with many heads. That is why I insist: the ruler must be the one who does not love power. Only the philosopher, who knows true happiness, remains uncorrupted. Otherwise, politics becomes spectacle and plunder.

— Augustine (nodding in partial agreement): In that, Plato, you and I touch, though by different paths. Power without justice is indeed plunder on a grand scale. But the root of the problem goes deeper: the human will is sick. The libido dominandi, the desire to dominate, corrupts even the philosopher. No king, however wise, escapes the stain of Adam. Therefore, even the best-ordered republic is only a temporary remedy against the anarchy of sin. Let us accept civil authority, pay taxes, fight evil with the magistrate's sword, but never confuse the heavenly homeland with any earthly homeland. The ultimate end lies beyond the marble of the Senate.

— Machiavelli (filling his cup again): Beautiful, beautiful. But while we wait for the Heavenly City, we have to govern the Florence of flesh and bone. And in Florence, or in a Roman republic, what matters is liberty. Not the freedom to contemplate ideas, but the freedom not to be oppressed. For that, the laws must be armed. A well-founded state needs a strong beginning, sometimes a monstrous one: look at Romulus killing Remus. But the genius of a republic is to channel the ferocity of the great and the people's desire not to be dominated into a balance that produces greatness. Roman virtù did not come from philosopher-kings; it came from education, arms, and religion used as a civic instrument. Yes, Augustine, I speak of the religion you preach, excellent for keeping the people orderly and God-fearing, provided it does not weaken their spirits.

— Augustine (with sadness): There is your heresy, Niccolò. To use the name of God as an instrument of earthly power is to build the city of the Devil with bricks from the temple. Religion is not a useful restraint; it is the truth that sets us free, even if politically it seems to “weaken” us. The martyr who forgives his executioner is stronger before God than all the victorious consuls. The justice of your republic, without charity, is pride dressed in purple.

— Plato (thoughtfully): Despite the abyss between you two, I see a thread. Augustine, you say that the earthly city will always be imperfect and that true justice dwells on another plane. That is not so different from my observation that the ideal city may never exist, but is inscribed in the heavens as a model for whoever wishes to found the city within themselves. And Machiavelli, you look at the effective truth of things, as though you descended back into the cave and described the shadow games the prisoners wage among themselves. What frightens me is that you are content to win that game without lighting the lamp.

— Machiavelli (serious, for the first time): The light I kindle, Plato, is that of earthly glory shared by a free people. Do not despise it. A well-ordered republic, which arms its citizens and makes them love their homeland above their own souls, can endure for centuries and elevate the human stature. Perhaps your light is too sublime to warm the bodies of those who suffer today under a tyrant. Between the philosopher who takes refuge in the garden of Ideas and the bishop who looks toward eternity, I choose to keep my hands in the dirty work of the present, building a dike to hold back the river of fortune. Do not ask me to be pure; ask me to save the republic.

"And so, on the stage of my mind, these three eternal characters always represent the same drama. The curtains close, but the show never ends."

By Ketty Williams. 06/08/26.