The Pleasures of Reading in an Age of Distraction

by Alan Jacobs

This is aspirational reading indeed. Machiavelli enters into the presence of the major writers of the past as though entering the court of a great prince: thus his “regal and courtly garments.” He clearly thinks that he must show himself worthy to enjoy their company; he must be on his best behavior and must demonstrate appropriate respect. (It’s not likely that Machiavelli would have had much sympathy with Auden’s claim that “there is something frivolous about the notion of spending every day” with a masterpiece.) And yet these masters condescend—I use the word in its old sense, in which the high and the mighty show their virtue by coming down among the rest of us—these masters condescend to welcome a disgraced government official into their company. When Machiavelli enters his study he need not be anxious about the reception he will receive, or worry that his enemies have staged a coup and overthrown his friends. He will be greeted warmly as always, because there is nothing these masters like better than the attentive company of respectful guests. For Machiavelli makes it clear that in the deepest sense he is the guest, even though in a superficial sense it is his own study he enters. The wisdom and grace to be found in that room belong more to the writers—those whom in the Middle Ages would have been called auctors, both authors and authorities—than to him.