Brunetto Latini: The Book of the Treasure. Volume III. Paul Barrette and Spurgeon Baldwin translation. New York: Garland Publishing, 1993.
Politics is “the third science which teaches man how to govern the city,” after natural science and ethics. By “city,” Latini means a political community, “one people gathered together to live under one law and one governor.” He is thinking most immediately of his own native city-state, Florence, but his definition also holds for France, his country of exile. He concurs with Cicero’s judgment, “that the most important science relative to governing the city is rhetoric, that is to say, the science of speaking, for if there were no speech, there would be no city, nor would there be any establishment of justice or of human company, and although speech is given to all men, Cato says wisdom is given to few.” Latini has already identified speech and reason as the distinctively human characteristics, so political life follows from human nature; as Aristotle holds, man is a political animal. At the same time, he immediately reminds his readers of the aristocratic claim to rule, that while all human beings have speech, to be well-spoken is to be wise, and wisdom is not the province of ‘the many.’ Florence’s Machiavelli will attack some of these contentions and modify others, redirecting Latini’s valorization of words, his relative downplaying of force. Machiavelli’s reconception of the political community as lo stato will put the axe to the old aristocracy, whose claim to rule centered on its possession of wisdom garnered from Aristotle and Cicero and on Church sanction.
Latini’s treatment of rhetoric in this, his “book of good speaking,” follows that of Cicero in De Interpretatione, which he had translated. That is, Cicero’s book enjoys the same status in Book III as the Nicomachean Ethics enjoyed in Book II. Unlike the Ethics, however, the Interpretatione delves into technical details of its subject, which, unlike ethics, is as much an art as a science. I shall select elements of Latini’s summary that especially illuminate his understanding of politics, recognizing that the details might prove highly instructive to a speaker, who can consult Cicero’s original work to find them.
Latini classifies speakers into four types: those “endowed with great sense and eloquence”; those “devoid of both eloquence and sense”; those “devoid of sense, but they speak too well” (“and this is a very great peril”); and those “full of sense” who nonetheless “remain silent because of the poverty of their speech” (“and so they need help”).
Rhetoric’s purpose “is to say words in such a way that those who hear the words will believe them”; it “comes under the science of governing a city.” Rhetoric’s “material” cause is its subject, “what the speaker speaks about, just as sick people are the material of the doctor.” Rhetorical material divides into three parts: demonstration, counsel, and judgment.
Rhetoric itself has five parts: invention, order, wording, memory, and delivery. Rhetoric can be delivered in two ways, by speech or by writing. Rhetoric is disputatious speech, and political disputes arise from four things: a fact; the name of a fact; the quality of a fact—how it is characterized, e.g., “cruel,” “reasonable,” “legal”; and the relevance of a fact to the issue or case disputed. If Aristotle’s ethics holds up the spoudaios or “serious man” as the good man, Cicero’s rhetoric would have that man speak in a serious tone, with “sense and sententious statements.” If Aristotle understands goodness as a form of beauty, of harmony, Cicero and Latini urge that a speaker’s rhetoric “contain nothing ugly.” With regard to rhetorical invention, then, “Let there be beautiful color within and without. Use the science of rhetoric as a painter uses paint, that is, to put color in verse and prose; but be careful not to color excessively, for sometimes one is colorful by avoiding color.” That painter, Winston Churchill, would surely agree.
Regarding order, there are two types: natural and artful. Natural order “goes straight down the great road and does not stray to either, side, that is, it relates and tells things the way they were from the beginning to the end,” in chronological order. “This way of speaking is without great mastery of the art; for this reason, this book does not concern itself with it at all.” The artful order of speech “does not stay on the great road; rather it goes along paths and shortcuts which take it more quickly to the place it wants to go,” rearranging the order of the events related “not in an inappropriate way, but very wisely, to strengthen its intention,” its persuasive impact. The artful speaker puts “the strongest things” at the beginning and the end, “the weakest in the middle,” where they will be obscured in the memory of the listener or reader.
Regarding wording, “you must look at four things”: “if the material is long and obscure, you must shorten it with brief and understandable words”; if brief and obscure, “you must amplify it somewhat and make it clear in a pleasant fashion”; if long and clear, “you must shorten and strengthen it and fortify it with good words”; if brief and easy, “you must lengthen it a bit and decorate it in pleasant fashion.” He goes on to enumerate various means of elaboration, on which I shall not elaborate, along with recommendations on how to structure a narrative in speaking and in writing.
Regarding memory, he emphasizes the importance of the prologue, “the lord and prince of the whole narrative.” In it, you must “say things which will put you into the good graces of the listeners,” as “its purpose is nothing other than to prepare the heart of the person addressed to listen diligently to your words, and believe them, and in the end do what you tell them.” To make a favorable impression on the minds of listeners and readers, the rhetorician must be “well-tailored to the subject matter.” For example, when speaking on an “unpleasant topic,” conceal your intention in the prologue, as Julius Caesar does in his speech favoring leniency for Catiline and his co-conspirators, and indeed as Catiline himself did in his own defense. This will diminish the anger of your audience, soften its hardness of heart, acquire its benevolence—make it receptive and therefore more willing to retain and concur with what you have to say. Your audience will listen only if you “make him wish to listen”; for example, by arousing his curiosity, making “him want to hear what we have to say, or know it.” If the topic is “doubtful,” “adorn your prologue to capture the love and benevolence of the listeners in such a way that it seems to them that the whole matter is honest.”
In teaching rhetoric through Cicero, Latini thus softens his usual attitude of moral rectitude. He becomes more of the fox he had earlier disparaged. In his kind of politics, rhetoric takes the place of war, as much as possible. Whereas the ‘moderns’ often substituted commercial competition and the overall project of the conquest of fortune and of nature as a substitute for warfare, particularly religious warfare, by rechanneling warlike impulses into economic and scientific pursuits, Latini would rechannel princely war-making into wars of words, consistent with the idea that man is a rational animal. Rhetorical tricks such as concealment become the equivalent of battlefield camouflage and feints.
He gives similar advice when he comes to the other parts of the rhetorician’s narratives. The “principal matter” of the narrative, the story itself, should be told clearly, briefly, and above all plausibly, “show[ing] the reason for the matter, that is, why or how” (for example) an accused criminal could have committed the crime, how “he was of such a nature that he was able and knew well how to do it.” However, don’t state a fact when “it causes [you] harm to state the fact,” or when “there is no advantage in stating it.” In dealing with “the partition” of the narrative, by which he means your statement of the point you intend to prove, do as Cato did in his speech against Catiline, exaggerating the alleged intentions of the accused; in the second part of the partition, you can then draw a strictly logical conclusion from your dubious premise. (Like Latini, Cato had a reputation for moral rectitude, which Latini evidently regards as compromisable when rhetorical exigency made compromise useful.)
Latini carefully unpacks the fourth part of narrative, “confirmation” or proof. “No science in the world teaches the source for proving what one says except dialectic and rhetoric”—the latter being a subdivision of the former. Proofs may pertain either to the “body” addressed by the speaker—”that person whose words or deeds give rise to the question”—or to the “thing” addressed by the speaker—that “word or deed from which the question arises.” Proofs pertaining to a person concern those “properties” or characteristics “which the speaker can use to prove that this person is disposed to do or not to do a certain thing.” Although “it is very difficult to describe the essence of nature,” a speaker can bring out the likely nature of a person by identifying the person’s sex, country, city, family, age, and “the good and the evil which one has by nature in one’s body or one’s heart”—whether the person is healthy or sick, big or small, handsome or ugly, quick or slow, inventive or unimaginative, endowed with good memory or bad, mild or harsh, patient or irascible. Along with the person’s nature, the speaker may identify the manner of his “nurture,” “how and with respect to what people and by what man a person was brought up and instructed, that is, who was his teacher, who were his friends and companions, what art he practices, what he occupies himself with, how he governs his things and his household and his friends, and how he conducts his life.” The speaker can also describe the person’s good or bad fortune, his habits (which fulfill “a permanent thing in our hearts and our bodies”), and his “study,” that is, the character of what he has learned, his philosophic leanings. And finally, the speaker can point to the person’s counselors, his habits of speech, and the circumstances surrounding, for example, an alleged crime (e.g., “you must certainly believe that this man killed this other man, because he held a bloody knife in his hand”).
Proofs pertaining to a thing, to the word or deed itself that is in dispute, should be presented with the intention of showing what the person’s intentions were. These reinforce the proofs concerning the person, such as probable cause and circumstances (that bloody knife, again).
Logical arguments that pull these proofs together are either “necessary”—showing that the thing “cannot be otherwise,” as for example, “this argument is giving birth to a child, so she has lain with a man”—or “verisimilar” or probabilistic—as for example, “if this man is a philosopher, then he does not believe in the gods”—an argument deployed against Socrates during his trial. Whether necessary or verisimilar, all arguments come in two types: those “from far away” or “from close up.” By an argument from far away, he means an argument—typically, when interrogating a witness—which operates by analogy, “lead[ing] one’s adversary to agree and acknowledge that thing which the speaker wants to demonstrate.” For example, if you want to prove that a man doesn’t love his wife, or a wife her husband, begin with asking, “if your neighbor had a better horse than you do, which would you prefer, yours or his?” And take it from there. “Socrates used many arguments of this type”; “every time he wanted to prove something, he would put forward reasons such as these which one could not deny, and then he would make his conclusion from what was in his proposition.” To make logically necessary arguments successfully, the speaker must be careful to ensure that his initial proposition or propositions are “certain without any doubt,” that the analogies he draws really are “completely similar to what he wants to prove,” and that “the listener not know what he is leading up to,” for if he did know, “he would either remain silent or deny it or reply by its opposite.”
As for the argument from “close up,” the task is easier. The speaker need only show the verisimilitude of the claim he makes.
Speakers must master not only ‘positive’ proofs such as these but ‘negative’ ones—refutations. “You should know that refutation comes out of the same source as confirmation, for just as a thing can be confirmed by the properties of the body and of the thing it can be refuted in the same way,” by logical argument. There are four ways to refute an argument: by denying the premise; by denying the conclusion; by “say[ing] that his argument is vicious”; by “com[ing] up with another [argument] as strong or stronger than his.” The first three ways are simply matters of logic. The fourth way can be taken if you concede the truth of the adversary’s argument as far as it goes but “give an even stronger reason” for denying the conclusion, or if, when the adversary says “that a certain thing is profitable,” you concede that it is, but not an honest or honorable thing. Latini draws his example of a stronger reason again from the debate between Caesar and Cato on the Catiline conspiracy. Caesar argued for forgiving the conspirators because they were Roman citizens; Cato agreed that indeed they were, but they threatened to destroy Rome, a more cogent point than mere the sentiment of fellow-feeling aroused by shared citizenship.
A speaker’s concluding statement should have three parts: recapitulation, disdain, and/or pity. After summarizing all the arguments you have made, especially the reasons justifying them, you should move to an expression of disdain for the character of the crimes of the one you are accusing or of your adversary in the debate. “What the speaker says through disdain, he must say with as much gravity as possible, in order to move the hearts of the listeners against his adversary; for this is a matter which is very advantageous to his cause, when the listeners are moved to anger against his adversary.” If, however, he defends an accused man, himself or another, he should appeal to pity, more specifically, to mercy. Latini’s Cicero recommends that a speaker not lean too long on his audience’s tender sentiments, however. “The speaker must be very much on his guard so that when he observes that hearts are moved to pity, then he should not tarry any longer in his complaint, but rather proceed forthwith to the end of his presentation before the listeners lose their pity; for Apollonius says: nothing dries up so quickly as tears.”
With that piece of unsentimental counsel, Latini concludes his discussion of political rhetoric and turns to “the government of cities” proper, “the highest science and the most noble office there is on earth”—evidently including Church offices. In this, he follows Aristotle. “Although politics includes generally all the arts necessary to the community of men”—as Aristotle teaches, it is the architectonic art, ruling all the other arts and artisans within the city—Latini will limit himself to the science and art of politics insofar as it “pertain[s] to the lord and his right office.” And he will consider only that kind of lordship prevailing in Florence and in cities with the same kind of regime. While it is necessary that many different kinds of regimes prevail throughout the world, given that peoples, their “dwellings,” their customs and their rights differ widely, and this is why some lords “were rightfully elected and others took power by force,” Latini will only consider “the lordship of those who govern the cities for terms of a year.” Still further, such term-limited lords or monarchs might obtain their offices by purchase, as in France, or by election, as in Italy. Latini concentrates the young gentleman’s attention on the latter type.
“All lordships and all high positions are given to us by the Sovereign Father who among the holy establishments of the world wanted the government of the cities to be founded on three pillars, that is justice, reverence, and love.” Justice in a lord means “giv[ing] each person his right,” and for that to happen it must be “firmly established in [his] heart.” If justice is the virtue most characteristic of the true lord, the ruler, reverence for the lord is most characteristic of the true subject, the ruled. “For it is the only thing in the world which seeks out the merit of faith and overcomes all sacrifices; for this reason, the Apostle says: honor, says he, your lords.” Finally, “love must exist in both lord and subject”—in the lord, “with all his heart and with a clear faith,” so that he “be concerned day and night for the common profit of the city and of all men,” and in the subjects, “with a just heart and with a true intention of giving counsel and aid for the maintaining of his office, for because he is one single person among them, he could not do anything without them.”
The election of the city’s lord should proceed not democratically, by lot, but aristocratically, by deliberation and choice. Latini lists twelve qualifications for the office: prudence and experience (“a young man cannot be wise, although he can have a good capacity for knowledge”); a noble heart, honorable habits, and virtuous work, not family connections; love of justice; a good mind, so that he can “pursue the reason of things,” learn the truth of what’s occurring in the city; courage and steadfastness, not vanity and the concomitant susceptibility to flattery (“a wise man prefers being a lord to seeming one”); self-rule, neither loving money nor high office; rhetorical skills (including verbal self-restraint, being “careful not to speak too much” and thereby falling into error and losing honor); neither prodigal nor miserly; not irascible (“ire which dwells too long in a government is like lightning, which does not let the truth be known or a just judgment rendered”); possessing independent wealth and power, thus less easily corruptible; having no political responsibilities elsewhere and therefore capable of attending to the public business undistracted; and, finally, “the right faith in God and in all men.” “These virtues and others must be considered by good citizens before they elect a lord,” although, regrettably, “most people do not consider habits or virtues as much as they do strength or family or inclinations or love for the city in which he is born.” Such people are “mistaken” because “war and hatred have so increased among Italians nowadays”—leading to the exile of a man like Latini, to give an example near to hand—and “throughout the world in many lands, there is division in all the cities and enmity between the two factions of the citizens,” leading “the person who acquires the love of one group” to acquire “automatically the malevolence of the other,” regardless of his virtues. Further, “if the magistrate is not very wise, he falls into the scorn and the bad graces of the very ones who elected him.” Accordingly, the electors should be “the wise men of the city.” To protect both themselves and the prospective lord, they should specify all the duties of the office in writing. The prospective lord should not be a citizen of the city, residing in it only for his one-year term. The electors may ask the Holy Roman Emperor or the pope to send a lord to them, since the emperor and the pope may not be affiliated with any faction or family in the city.
Having made their selection, the electors should then compose a letter offering the lordship to the nominee. Latin helpfully offers a model, which not incidentally offers a compact explanation of the reasons for all government. By nature, human beings “desire the freedom which nature first gave them” and “avoid the yoke of servitude.” But they quickly learn that “the pursuit of evil desires and the opportunity for evil deeds which went unpunished” endanger their lives and destroy “human association.” “Justice took heed of these people and a governor was chosen for the people with several duties, to promote the reputation of the good people and to confound the malice of the bad.” Nature was rightly subjected to justice, freedom made obedient to judgment. This is truer now than ever, since “people’s desires…now are more corrupt” and “perversions” are “increasing these days.” This being the case, we, the electoral college of the city of Rome have “deliberated together about a man who would lead us next year, who would come and watch over the common good, and who would maintain both outsiders and insiders, and who would respect the property and the persons of all people in such a way that justice would not decrease in our city.” We are convinced “that you have the knowledge and the desire to impose judgment in peace, justice, and moderation, and to strike with the sword of righteousness to take vengeance against evildoers.” You will receive a salary for provisions; “bring with you tend judges and twelve good and praiseworthy notaries, and come, stay, and depart with the whole company at our expense and at the risk of yourself and your property.”
The lordship offered is primarily a judgeship; the lord will be the supreme judges among the judges he brings. This explains the emphasis on forensic rhetoric in the previous chapters. If he refuses, he should do so graciously, citing duties in his own country or city. If he accepts, he should reply in the spirit of the invitation letter: “It is true that nature has made all men equal, but, it has happened, not through a defect of nature but through the maliciousness of men, that to restrain iniquity men should have rulers, not because of their nature, but their vices,” and, “because the capability of Jesus Christ alone makes a man capable of these duties, we, through the faith we have only in Him, not through the goodness we might have in us, in the name of the Sovereign Father and through the counsel of all our friends, take and receive the honor and the post of governor according to the descriptions in your letters,” confident that “the wisdom and knowledge of the knights and the people, and the faith and the loyalty of all the citizens, will help us to bear a part of our burden and lighten it through good obedience.” In unmistakable contrast, Machiavelli will emphasize the role of the prince not as judge but as ‘executive.’
Having chosen his retinue, the lord should observe the city and “the nature of the people” as he makes his way to his office. In the city, he should have someone ride between himself and his predecessor, “to remove all suspicion” of collusion between the two of them, “go straight to the principal church,” and “pray to God humbly with all his heart and with all his faith,” not failing to “put some money on the altar in honorable fashion.” His oath of office should restate the principles set down in the letter of invitation and in his reply. Throughout his tenure, he “must be very careful not to incur the hatred or suspicion of his people.”
His inaugural address should include a promise to abide by local customs, reference to the circumstances of the city (specifically, whether it at peace or at war), compliments to his predecessor, the city’s “noble leaders,” and its people, and invocations of Jesus, the pope, the Church, and the Empire. He should assure the citizens that “I have not come out of desire for financial gain, but to win praise and esteem and honor for myself and my people.” The path to praise, esteem, and honor is “the course of law and justice.” If the city is at war, say “I shall say little about it here, for it requires more deeds than words, but if there is anything in this world of ours in which one can display one’s force and power and acquire high esteem for one’s virtue, I say that war surmounts all enterprises, for it makes a man brave with weapons and noble of heart, vigorous and full of virtue, strong in physical difficulties and watchful in traps, clever and enterprising in all things.” Express confidence that the justice of the city’s cause will be rewarded with victory.
Meanwhile, he should admonish his judges and notaries to “watch over and maintain his and the common honor,” and “not become angry at the people or go to taverns or to any man’s house to eat or to drink,” taking care “not to be corrupted by money, or by women, or by anything else,” on pain of punish meted out by himself. He also needs to select and assemble a council of the city to advise him, and then “listen to what they have to say.” When proposing a policy, resolve to “be brief,” for “a large number of things gives rise to obstacles and confusion in the hearts, and weakens the best minds, for the mind which thinks of many things is less effective in each one.” He should be especially attentive to the Council when deliberating on foreign policy, both with respect to requests and demands from foreign ambassadors and to ambassadorial appointments to foreign states.
These preliminaries concluded, he can now settle down to his principal duties as a judge, always “hold[ing] his subjects within the bounds of the law” of the city. “It is a beautiful and honest thing for the lord, when he sits at court, to listen willingly and quietly to all, especially the lawyers and the sponsors of the cases, for they reveal the strength of the complaint and point out the substance of the questions.” That is why Latini esteems lawyers. “Their profession is extremely good and necessary to the life of men, as much as or more than if they fought with sword and knife for their parents or their country.” As always, Latini seeks to lead men away from depending on force alone in their dealings. “For this reason, the lord must use his office to make sure that if some poor person or other is involved in a case before him, and is not able to procure the services of a lawyer, either through his weakness or through the strength of his adversary, a good lawyer will be appointed for his aid, to give him counsel and instruct him concerning his rights.”
Justice isn’t only a matter of words, however. In cases involving “great crimes” when “the matter cannot be known or proven with certainty” but “strong arguments for suspicion” have been adduced, the defendant “can certainly be tortured to make him confess his guilt; otherwise not.” Latini adds, “during the torture the question must not be if John committed the murder, but in a general way he must be asked who did it.” Latini does not address the question of what to do if the accused answers, ‘I don’t know.’ Such readily begged questions may have contributed to the unpopularity of torture in civilized countries, later on. Once guilt has been determined, the lord’s sentence should hit the Aristotelian mean between harshness and pity, as befits “the nature of the matter.” It isn’t clear if torture counts towards measuring the penalty he hands down.
Dependent as he is upon the good conduct of his subordinates, “the wise magistrate must often and carefully, especially on feast days and at night and in the wintertime, gather them together in his chamber or elsewhere, and speak to them about things which pertain to their duties, and learn what they are doing and what disputes have come before them, and inquire concerning the nature of their complaints, and take counsel about the things they must do. “He must love and honor all the members of his household, and laugh and have fun with them sometimes.”
Latini recurs to Cicero’s theme of “the discord between those who want to be feared and those who want to be loved,” taken up by his fellow Florentine, Machiavelli, several generations later. Latini repeats his argument from Part II: It is better to be loved than feared because the one who is feared without being loved provokes hatred, and “the person who is hated by all the people will perish, for no wealth can stand up to the hatred of many.” Therefore, “long fear is a poor guardian; cruelty is the enemy of nature,” consisting of “nothing more than pride in great punishments.” Machiavelli, too, will caution against inducing popular hatred, but will advise the prince to use religion, by which he means the show, but only the show, of piety. Latini follows Cicero’s preventative for cruelty and the hatred toward the one whose cruelty makes him feared but not loved. “Be careful not to do anything for which you cannot give a reason.” “What is the difference between a king and a tyrant?” ‘None,’ Machiavelli and Hobbes will answer, tyrants being but monarchs misliked. Latini disagrees, in advance: “They are similar in good fortune and in power, but the tyrant performs works of cruelty gladly, a king only by necessity,” out of “love of one’s citizens,” a love that “gives you the most beautiful thing in the world, which is that each person wants you to live.” The king understands that “it is just as cruel to forgive all as it is not to forgive anybody, but it is a work of the greatest clemency to confound evil deeds by forgiving them.” “Behave in such a way that you seem terrible to evil people and pleasant to good ones.”
To achieve this, follow the law, God, and the saints, honor the priests, protect widows and orphans, observe justice, and maintain the city’s infrastructure. Additionally, “let him avoid entertainers who praise him to his face.” He should exercise caution when considering any alliances, acting only in consultation with the Council and “the common assent of the people,” and only “if it is necessary” to find foreign allies. Internally, “let him avoid levying during his term a tax, or making a bill of sale or debt, or any binding commitment for the commune unless it is for the manifest profit of the city and by the common consent of the council.”
If, having enjoyed the success likely after following Latini’s advice, the citizens “want to keep you as lord for the following year, I suggest that you not accept it, for the second term can be brought to a successful close only with difficulty”—a precept the truth of which American presidents have had occasion to illustrate. At the end of your term, review your conduct in office before you leave it, making any corrections before removing yourself from the city. Answer any complaints against your conduct. “Then, if it please God, you will be honorably absolved, and you will take leave of the council and of the commune of the city, and you will go home in glory and in honor”—your aim in taking the office in the first place.
To read Latini’s Book of the Treasure is to see with unmatched clarity the abrupt departure Machiavelli, Bacon, and the rest of the ‘moderns’ made from the philosophy and the religion of their predecessors. The natural philosophy of Book I will be dismissed not only in its content but in its approach to philosophizing, as the new natural philosophers undertake the task of torturing Nature (now reconceived as non-teleological) to compel her to reveal her secrets. The moral philosophy of Book II, combining Aristotelian ethics with Christian precepts, an ethics emphasizing the ‘middle way’ of moderation and, more the understanding of all virtues as ‘middles’ between extremes, will give way to calls for attending to, and amending, physical necessities, and to calls for moral ‘extremism,’ the choice between ‘realism’ and ‘idealism.’ The political philosophy of Book III, which understands the mode of politics to be speech primarily, and the role of the statesman to be that of a judge, and the best regime to be aristocratic, will give way to a mode of politics in which force takes the prominent role, the prince takes the place of the judge, and the aristocratic regime question reduces to the question of principality versus republic. ‘Moderns’ who want the center still to hold—Locke, Montesquieu—must now recalibrate what ‘the center’ is, and what it will take to hold it.
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