Arts, History, Philosophy

(Philosophy): Machiavelli on Religion and Faith

‘THE PRINCE’

Machiavelli, (1469-1527): ‘God is not willing to do everything, and thus take away our free will and that share of glory which belongs to us.’

MACHIAVELLI was an Italian philosopher, politician and historian, who is regarded as the father of political science and of philosophical idealism. Prior to Machiavelli, the prominent form of philosophy had been idealism, but Machiavelli, born during the Italian Renaissance period, adopted a more objective, realist view of mankind, examining how the world was as opposed to ideals of how it should be.

Machiavelli described his political philosophy in The Prince (1513). The term ‘Machiavellian’ is often used to describe political leaders who seize power through cunning opportunism and unscrupulous means and has often been applied to despotic dictators presiding over cruel and callous regimes. However, many critics and scholars have argued that The Prince has been largely misinterpreted as a supposed guidebook of totalitarian tactics. The text’s analysis of how to gain and maintain political power has been overemphasised to the detriment of some of the more politically moderate viewpoints. The Prince is in fact an intricately layered, complex analysis of the human condition, encompassing a critique of religious doctrines and ethics, as much as it is a treatise on the acquisition of power.

Machiavelli was writing during a period of extreme political volatility in his native state of Florence and it is possible that The Prince is a direct result of Machiavelli’s frustration with the constant warmongering and insurrections. The principle theme of The Prince concerns a treatise on what makes an effective ruler (the prince of the title). In contrast to earlier philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle, who both believed political power was a divine right, Machiavelli argued that power was there for any person who had the ability to seize it. Machiavelli’s philosophy focused on the end result, not the means used to attain power, which he believed were irrelevant to the outcome. Machiavelli suggested that there are two forms of morality or virtue: those adopted by the ruler (the prince) and those adhered to by his subjects. The prince’s morality should be governed not by universal virtues or religious doctrines but be judged by his effectiveness as a ruler. In making political decisions the only factor that the prince should consider is which outcome will be most beneficial for the stability of his state and the maintenance of his power.

Although Machiavelli seemed to be advocating a separation of church and state, he nonetheless recognised the important role religion must play in maintaining order. For Machiavelli it was wise for the prince to present himself to his people as religious and virtuous even if, in practice, he was not. Having served and witnessed at first hand the brutal regime of Cesare Borgia, son of Pope Alexander VI, Machiavelli recognised the Catholic Church as a powerful, albeit corrupt tool for controlling the people. Indeed, Machiavelli used Cesare Borgia as an example of a ruler who was cunning and clever in his quest to attain power. Although the Borgias relied upon Papal patronage to maintain their power, Machiavelli refuted the belief that the actions of a ruler simply upheld the will of God on earth, claiming that man can (and does) exercise free will for his own ends, with or without the implicit consent of God or religion.

Although there are some dubious elements presented in The Prince, not least the advocation of cruelty and murder as a legitimate means to gain power, Machiavelli’s work represents a radical shift from idealism to realism and stands as a historically important reflective commentary on the political culture of the time in which it was written.

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Arts, Philosophy

(Philosophy) The Stoic: ‘Anger is bad fuel’

PASSIONS & EMOTIONS

“There is no more stupefying thing than anger, nothing more bent on its own strength. If successful, none more arrogant, if foiled, none more insane – since it’s not driven back by weariness even in defeat, when fortune removes its adversary it turns its teeth on itself.” – Seneca, On Anger, 3.1.5

AS the stoics have said on countless occasions, getting angry almost never solves anything. Usually, it makes things worse. We get upset, then the other person gets upset – now everyone is upset, and the problem is no closer to getting solved.

Many successful people will try to tell you that anger is a powerful fuel in their lives. The desire ‘to prove them all wrong’ or ‘shove it in their faces’ has made many a millionaire. The anger at being called fat or stupid has created fine physical specimens and brilliant minds. The anger at being rejected has motivated many to carve their own path.

But that’s shortsighted. Such stories ignore the pollution produced as a side effect and the wear and tear it puts on the engine. It ignores what happens when that initial anger runs out – and how now more and more must be generated to keep the machine going (until, eventually, the only source left is anger at oneself). ‘Hate is too great a burden to bear,’ Martin Luther King Jr. warned his fellow civil rights leaders in 1967, even though they had every reason to respond to hate with hate.

The same is true for anger – in fact, it’s true for most extreme emotions. They are toxic fuel. There’s plenty of it out in the world, no question, but never worth the costs that come along with it.

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Arts, Films

Film Review: Stan & Ollie (PG)

REVIEW

Intro: This bittersweet story of love, loss and friendship gets right to the heart of the real Laurel and Hardy

ACCORDING to the script writers and publicity material for Stan & Ollie, they claim that by watching it we should be able to laugh away the January blues.

Misleading, to say the least. This is undoubtedly a film of enormous charm, with matchingly superb performances from Steve Coogan (as Stan Laurel) and John C. Reilly (as Oliver Hardy). It isn’t, though – anywhere near it – the rib-tickling celebration of the silver screen’s greatest comedy double-act.

A critic will have noted that there are far more than a few chuckles in Stan & Ollie, but on the whole, it is rather maudlin, even melancholic of the original pair’s 1953 UK tour, the last time they worked together.

Their 1920s and 30s heyday are long behind them, and it has to be said they weren’t exactly warmly embraced by a country in the grip of post-war austerity. As they trudge from one barely half-full provincial theatre to the next, they are taunted everywhere – at least, as Jeff Pope’s screenplay tells us – by rhapsodies for the new kid on the block, Norman Wisdom.

The film begins, however, with a flashback to 1937, with the pair in their Hollywood pomp. Stan has just divorced for the second time and insists he won’t get married again. He’ll just find a woman he doesn’t like and buy her a house.

That’s an old gag, and a good one. But it might make you think for a second that maybe the drama would be compromised by a procession of faintly contrived one-liners.

You needn’t worry. With the experienced Pope as writer, and Jon S. Baird’s exceptional gifts as director, both audience and resurrection of characters are in safe hands.

By 1953, the double-act has foundered. This was primarily to do with Laurel’s Hollywood bust-up with powerful producer Hal Roach (Danny Huston). But almost at once comes the offer of a tour in Ulverston-born Stan’s native land. The somewhat more seductive suggestion was then made of a new British-funded movie project, based on the legend of Robin Hood.

The duo must learn to work together again. That was never going to be easy. Ollie’s failing health and the underlying tensions caused by the work he has done without Stan, their mutual respect and deep affection is subject to constant strain.

It also becomes clear, to Stan at least, that the Robin Hood picture dangled as an inducement for riches, probably isn’t going to happen. A prominent poster for Abbott And Costello Go To Mars offers another sinister reminder that times and tastes have changed.

This story of a brace of great-promising careers gently fizzling out is in danger of becoming just a little too forlorn, when, everyone – the audience as well as Laurel and Hardy – gets a boost like a surge of electricity with the arrival from America of their wives.

Happily, they have both found connubial bliss, and even more delightful, the casting of Mrs Laurel, a formidable Russian ex-dancer called Ida, and Mrs Hardy, the devoted Lucille, is as perfect a match as that of Coogan and Reilly.

The former is played, with glorious aplomb, by Nina Arianda. It does help that she gets some of the drama’s funniest lines, and a jolly running joke in her distaste for the oily impresario running the tour (Bernard Delfont, amusingly played by Rufus Jones). Nevertheless, underpinning both her character and Lucille’s (an equally fine performance by Shirley Henderson) is adoration and concern for their menfolk.

Indeed, on more than one level, Stan & Ollie is a love story. It’s about the love between husbands and wives, and about the love Laurel and Hardy engendered in their audiences, but mostly it’s about the love they had for each other. It’s made all the more poignant for being stretched to almost snapping point. Stan would never have made it without Ollie. He knows that he was one half of a whole.

As for the other half, many people would no doubt have loved to have seen Reilly winning a Golden Globe last week for his loveable, vulnerable turn as Ollie. Yet, in a way that would have been unfair on Coogan, who should also have been nominated and gives the best straight-acting performance of his career. But he has been duly included on last week’s BAFTAs shortlist announcement. That’s the least he deserves.

 

HE mimics well, of course, and captures almost perfectly Stan’s slightly nasal, mid-Atlantic vowels. The contrast between the performer and the man is impressively precise.

If there is a slight weakness it is within the stage routines – notably one involving a hard-boiled egg – which don’t adequately convey the pair’s comic genius. For those readers who grew up in the era watching Laurel and Hardy on Saturday morning television will hardly need telling why the duo were so joyously funny.

It is quite likely, then, that this heart-warming film is more likely to be cherished by those born in the mid-1960s, who will consider it a treat to watch.

Verdict: Charmingly tender

★★★★★

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