A good king curbs internal insurrection in his state, or, at the very least, stomps it out efficiently when it does arise. This protocol is not just for the king’s self-interested stake in maintaining his power, but also for the greater good of preserving stability and security for his subjects. Machiavelli dictates that a king must be willing to do what needs to be done, despite the moral ambiguities, to hold onto his authority and successfully run a flourishing and stable kingdom. Political theorist Michael Walzer elaborates on this Machiavellian concept in The Problem of Dirty Hands. Walzer explains, “sometimes the precepts and principles of an ordinary man, the products of his moral education, come into conflict with injunctions developed at a higher level of moral discourse” (Walzer, 160). This higher level of moral discourse typically consists of questions of the common good over the individual. But, by floundering over tough decisions that protect the kingdom’s security and liberty, a leader “not only fails to do the right thing (in utilitarian terms), he may also fail to measure up to the duties of his office” (Walzer, 161). In other words, a good king sacrifices the luxury of having a clear conscience, as defined by an ordinary man’s moral compass. But, to mimic Machiavelli’s consequentialist logic, as long as all works out, the king can be spiritually uplifted in knowing his cruel means produced peaceful ends for his subjects.

Machiavelli makes it very clear that the king must be learn to be bad to be a good leader, and meticulously outlines how to reap benefits from cruelty. However, he neglects to answer one follow-up question: how is a person supposed to live with such a soiled conscience? “Machiavelli tells political actors they must get their hands dirty, but he does not specify the state of mind appropriate to a man with dirty hands” (Walzer, 176). In Henry IV, Shakespeare fills the lacuna Machiavelli left in his political teachings by giving us a glimpse into the mind of a man who appears to be under Machiavellian tutelage. Through his interpretation of the figure King Henry IV, Shakespeare leaves hints about the internal conflict and psychological damage that may follow the adrenaline rush of being a successfully and ruthlessly realist and Machiavellian.

Henry IV tries to both be a good person and a decisive king in one, but because they are not compatible, he ends up a “double,” a bastardized version of both. “On the day when Henry deposed [and then allegedly murdered] Richard he became a double man, one thing to the world, another to his own conscience” (Goddard, 33). Since that “day,” his failures in curbing “civil butchery” have been a result of indecision caused by oscillations between the two components of his split identity. In Act One, hearing of the rebels’ usurpation intentions, King Henry vows,

I will from henceforth rather be myself,/ mighty and to be feared, than my condition/which hath been…soft…/and therefore lost that title of respect.

(I.III.5-7).

Henry recognizes that being “soft” gets a king no “respect,” yet seems to have trouble actualizing his resolution when an opportunity arises for him to do so. When King Henry meets with Worcester to confront him about the dethroning conspiracy, he does not crush the insurrection with an iron fist, but instead begs for peace: “will you again unknit/ this churlish knot of all-abhorrèd war?…And be no more an exhaled meteor,/ a prodigy of fear?” (V.1.17-21). With this plea to Worcester, he reveals that his regime is threatened by the war the rebels pose. He admits that he “fears” them and the destruction of which they are capable. He asks for peace and stability, rather than unapologetically making it happen by whatever means necessary. Machiavelli would frown upon this show of weakness.

Also, although he bombastically exclaims to his son, “nothing can seem foul to those that win” (V.1.9), King Henry seems to have a foul taste in his mouth about the manner in which he “won” control of England. On many occasions, he appears desperate to justify to others, or perhaps to convince himself, that he is a more rightful ruler than Richard was, and that toppling his predecessor (and perhaps orchestrating his mysterious death) was merited. For instance, the soliloquy in Act Three Scene Two when he goes on for pages lambasting King Richard and arguing that he is a much more suitable king for England than Richard was. He discusses it, rather than proving it through valorous actions and uncontested power. There is something way too emotional and verbose about this speech, as if he practices it in case someone was to question his claim to the throne or the morality behind his political step up the ladder.

These are just a few examples of how King Henry acts out exactly what Walzer predicts: “a particular act of government (in a political party or in the state) may be exactly the right thing to do in utilitarian terms and yet leave the man who does it guilty of a moral wrong” (Walzer, 161). This guilt and split identity ironically render him incapable of making the most out of the position for which he committed the immoral action, and drive him crazy in the process.

Sources:

Harold C. Goddard, “Henry IV,” in Harold Bloom, ed., William Shakespeare: Histories and Poems (1986), p 33.

Shakespeare, William, Jonathan Bate and Eric Rasmussen, Henry IV Part 1. The RSC Shakespeare. New York: Modern Library, 2007. Print.

Walzer, Michael, Political Action: The Problem of Dirty Hands: Philosophy and Public Affairs, (1973), p 160-180.

Image: http://moviespictures.org/biography/Henry,_Michael_(IV)