I really liked this. A nice point of comparison is Macaulay's essay on Machiavelli [1]:
> The whole man seems to be an enigma, a grotesque assemblage of incongruous qualities, selfishness and generosity, cruelty and benevolence, craft and simplicity, abject villany and romantic heroism. One sentence is such as a veteran diplomatist would scarcely write in cipher for the direction of his most confidential spy; the next seems to be extracted from a theme composed by an ardent schoolboy on the death of Leonidas. An act of dexterous perfidy, and an act of patriotic self-devotion, call forth the same kind and the same degree of respectful admiration. The moral sensibility of the writer seems at once to be morbidly obtuse and morbidly acute. Two characters altogether dissimilar are united in him. They are not merely joined, but interwoven. They are the warp and the woof of his mind; and their combination, like that of the variegated threads in shot silk, gives to the whole texture a glancing and ever-changing appearance....
> The political works of Machiavelli derive a peculiar interest from the mournful earnestness which he manifests whenever he touches on topics connected with the calamities of his native land. It is difficult to conceive any situation more painful than that of a great man, condemned to watch the lingering agony of an exhausted country, to tend it during the alternate fits of stupefaction and raving which precede its dissolution, and to see the symptoms of vitality disappear one by one, till nothing is left but coldness, darkness, and corruption. To this joyless and thankless duty was Machiavelli called.
I'm not sure I agree with the writer here that Machiavelli would have been overjoyed to see Florence on the UNESCO World Heritage List. He cared about the free and mighty city-state of the Renaissance, not the beautiful buildings mostly now owned by foreigners.
The whole "ends justify the means" thing stirred up a lot of controversy, both then and now, but Machiavelli meant it in a very limited and specific context. Namely, that the ethics we apply to individuals do not necessarily apply in the same way to the "princes" who rule principalities. Machiavelli argued that well-being of a principality's people was of greater importance than the honour of its prince.
For example, say you are a prince and your little city state signs a mutual defence pact with a neighbouring city that has been friendly for ages. That neighbour grows and prospers, and starts throwing its weight around. Another one of your neighbours, a small and weak one that has been your city's habitual enemy for ages, attacks your ally and friend. Your ally calls for your aid. What should you, as prince, do?
The honourable prince aids his powerful friend in the coming war. His smaller neighbour is vanquished, his powerful friend becomes even more powerful and, as so often happens, turns it's eye upon his lands and invades. Against this powerful foe the honourable prince doesn't stand a chance.
The devious prince swaps allegiances, allies himself with his smaller neighbour, takes down the big neighbour, and swallows up as much territory as he can in the process. Then he can deal with the smaller neighbour however he wishes, for the smaller neighbour is in no position to resist. This prince knows that you can't trust your friends, so take down anyone big enough to cause you harm when the opportunity presents itself. Do unto others first.
The subjects of the honourable prince are invaded and miserable. The subjects of the devious prince profit. Who has best served the public good?
This all sounds very hypothetical to us today but, for Machiavelli, this wisdom was the fruit of lived experience. Renaissance Italy really was that chaotic.
> The whole man seems to be an enigma, a grotesque assemblage of incongruous qualities, selfishness and generosity, cruelty and benevolence, craft and simplicity, abject villany and romantic heroism. One sentence is such as a veteran diplomatist would scarcely write in cipher for the direction of his most confidential spy; the next seems to be extracted from a theme composed by an ardent schoolboy on the death of Leonidas. An act of dexterous perfidy, and an act of patriotic self-devotion, call forth the same kind and the same degree of respectful admiration. The moral sensibility of the writer seems at once to be morbidly obtuse and morbidly acute. Two characters altogether dissimilar are united in him. They are not merely joined, but interwoven. They are the warp and the woof of his mind; and their combination, like that of the variegated threads in shot silk, gives to the whole texture a glancing and ever-changing appearance....
> The political works of Machiavelli derive a peculiar interest from the mournful earnestness which he manifests whenever he touches on topics connected with the calamities of his native land. It is difficult to conceive any situation more painful than that of a great man, condemned to watch the lingering agony of an exhausted country, to tend it during the alternate fits of stupefaction and raving which precede its dissolution, and to see the symptoms of vitality disappear one by one, till nothing is left but coldness, darkness, and corruption. To this joyless and thankless duty was Machiavelli called.
I'm not sure I agree with the writer here that Machiavelli would have been overjoyed to see Florence on the UNESCO World Heritage List. He cared about the free and mighty city-state of the Renaissance, not the beautiful buildings mostly now owned by foreigners.
[1]: https://oll.libertyfund.org/title/macaulay-critical-and-hist...