The Managerial Revolution

What happens when we stop pretending politics is about ideals and start admitting it’s about power? James Burnham’s The Machiavellians: Defenders of Freedom invites you to look at political life without illusions. Published in 1943 amid world war and ideological upheaval, Burnham argues that only by stripping away the myths of democracy, liberalism, and moral righteousness can we understand what governments and rulers truly do. If you’ve ever wondered why noble political promises turn into manipulation and corruption, Burnham’s analysis gives you an answer rooted in realism rather than wishful thinking.

Burnham contends that modern societies cannot be understood through the morality of their slogans — peace, equality, freedom — but through their structure of power. Politics, he says, is not driven by ideals but by the struggle among elites for control. To grasp this truth, he turns to a lineage of thinkers beginning with Niccolò Machiavelli, and later continued by Italian political theorists Gaetano Mosca, Vilfredo Pareto, Robert Michels, and French thinker Georges Sorel. From these canonical minds, Burnham develops what he calls the Machiavellian tradition — a scientific, unsentimental, and amoral way of studying political behavior. In this view, freedom requires not faith in democracy but an understanding of how elites manipulate and maintain their power.

Unmasking Political Illusions

Burnham begins by contrasting this realist tradition with political idealism, epitomized by Dante Alighieri’s De Monarchia. Dante imagined a perfect world empire led by virtuous authority — an example of what Burnham calls “politics as wish.” The book’s opening chapters show how such utopian reasoning, whether medieval or modern, divorces political theory from reality. Politicians, whether Dante’s emperor or a twentieth-century president, claim holy motives but act for power. Burnham’s diagnosis is timeless: behind every democratic platform and moral crusade lies a web of ambition, compromise, and coercion. We misunderstand politics when we mistake the words of rulers for their motives.

The Machiavellian Method

Machiavelli, in contrast, approached politics as the science of power. His goal was not moral perfection but effective rule. Burnham draws heavily on The Prince and Discourses on Livy to highlight Machiavelli’s revolutionary departure from moralistic thought. For Machiavelli, rulers must understand human nature — ambitious, fearful, self-serving — and act accordingly. Science, not ethics, should guide political reasoning. This realism, Burnham insists, does not endorse tyranny; rather, it gives humanity a way to recognize deceit and preserve freedom by seeing clearly. “Defenders of freedom,” as his subtitle states, must defend realism over illusion.

Through the Eyes of the Machiavellians

Burnham develops his argument through a series of master studies of key Italian thinkers. Mosca theorizes the inevitability of a ruling minority — the “political class” that governs the passive majority. Michels explores the corruption of democratic organizations through his celebrated “iron law of oligarchy,” showing that any movement led by the people inevitably becomes controlled by leaders. Pareto details the “circulation of elites,” the constant rotation of ruling classes in history. Together, these thinkers outline a universal law: society is always governed by elites, regardless of ideology.

To this foundation Burnham adds Georges Sorel, whose reflections on violence and myth highlight how belief systems shape collective action even when they are false. Combating illusions, as Burnham argues, means learning how these myths work rather than pretending they disappear. Men will always need symbols — freedom, equality, revolution — but their leaders will always use these beliefs to consolidate control. Understanding this pattern arms you against manipulation.

Freedom Through Understanding Power

Strangely, Burnham’s realism is not cynical. He claims that true liberty depends on knowing how power operates. By facing the “Machiavellian” truth that elites rule through force and fraud, the citizen can create balance — opposition, accountability, and political freedom. Deception cannot be eliminated, but awareness can defend against tyranny. Burnham wrote during an age of totalitarian ascendancy, yet his warning applies even now: democracy survives only when its citizens refuse to mistake rhetoric for reality.

Why These Ideas Matter

Burnham’s book is not just a history of political philosophy; it’s a call to maturity. In every era, people cling to comforting myths — believing that their rulers govern out of virtue, that their nation fights for peace, that their parties express the popular will. Burnham invites you to look behind these masks. His Machiavellians teach that studying power scientifically, as you would study gravity or biology, is the first step toward freedom. By telling unsettling truths about elites, propaganda, and the limits of democracy, Burnham does more than expose corruption: he offers a method for survival in a world where belief and truth are tools of rule.

Burnham opens with Dante Alighieri to show how idealistic political thinking works — and fails. Dante’s De Monarchia imagined a divinely inspired empire that would bring eternal peace and human unity under a benevolent ruler. For Dante, politics was a spiritual extension of theology, an attempt to mirror heavenly harmony on earth. Burnham dissects this as the archetype of politics as wish: thinking shaped not by facts but by longing for moral perfection.

Formal vs. Real Meaning

Dante’s treatise, Burnham argues, has two meanings. The formal meaning consists of its stated ideals — peace, divine justice, cosmic unity. Its real meaning lies in political context. Dante, exiled from Florence during vicious factional wars between the Guelphs and Ghibellines, wrote De Monarchia as a plea for revenge and restoration. Behind his heavenly empire lurked the wish for Florence’s ruin and a return of imperial authority that could crush his enemies. Burnham reads this dichotomy as a general pattern in political discourse: publicly noble, privately self-interested.

From Mysticism to Machiavellian Realism

For Burnham, Dante exemplifies how political thought becomes detached from reality through abstraction. Formal ideals — salvation, justice, freedom — obscure real motives. Whether medieval theology or modern campaign speeches, moral rhetoric masks the struggle for power. The cure, Burnham says, lies in the Machiavellian method: stripping language down to its function as a weapon in power conflicts. To understand Dante’s political aim, you must ignore his theology and study his ambition.

Modern Parallels

Burnham draws modern parallels to the 20th century — politicians preaching virtue while maneuvering for votes and control. He quotes the 1932 Democratic Party platform, full of promises of thrift, reform, and balanced budgets, and notes how little those words matched the New Deal’s reality. Just as Dante sought divine sanction for revenge, modern leaders use “freedom” and “justice” to justify expansion, economic manipulation, or war. The idealistic vocabulary may change, but the method remains identical: power dressed in moral robes.

By contrasting Dante’s mysticism with Machiavelli’s realism, Burnham exposes how easily faith and hope replace observation in politics. The lasting lesson: you cannot understand governments by their moral words. To study politics scientifically, detach the words from the deeds — look for the hidden interests behind the sermon.

Machiavelli, Burnham argues, transformed political thought by bringing it down from heaven to history. If Dante imagined divine monarchy, Machiavelli studied human rulers — cynical, cunning, and rational. In The Prince and Discourses on Livy, Machiavelli treated politics as a craft governed by laws of cause and effect. His goal was not peace but national unification of Italy; his method, observation rather than prayer.

Politics as Science

Burnham highlights three conditions that make Machiavelli’s method scientific: description of public facts, correlation into laws, and probabilistic prediction of future events. Machiavelli’s distinction between rulers and ruled, his study of warfare, and his emphasis on virtù — the power, energy, and skill enabling success — meet these criteria. For him, ethics and religion were tools of rule, not sources of truth. The prince should imitate both lion and fox: use strength where possible, deceit where necessary.

The Goal: Unity and Strength

Machiavelli’s practical aim — a unified, independent Italy — illustrates the realist’s humility compared to Dante’s celestial vision. He accepts human weakness and limits, recognizing that progress means relative improvement, not perfection. Where idealists dream of equality, Machiavelli prescribes hierarchy and discipline. Burnham shows that this realism is paradoxically more moral than illusion: it deals with the world as it is, not as we wish it to be. (Political theorist Isaiah Berlin later called this “the beginning of political realism.”)

Ethics in the Real World

Machiavelli’s ethics, Burnham insists, are not immoral but situational. He divorces politics from transcendental ethics, yet offers his own kind of moral realism: loyalty to factual truth over utopian deceit. The ruler’s duty is to preserve the state — because only through the state can citizens enjoy security and freedom. To ignore the conditions of power is not virtuous; it is destructive. Burnham rehabilitates this logic as the scientific foundation of political ethics.

Under this framework, Machiavelli becomes less devil and more scientist. His prescriptions — fear versus love, force versus generosity — are formulas drawn from experiment, not ideology. When modern leaders make emotional appeals rather than evidence-based decisions, they abandon the scientific method of politics. Burnham’s lesson is clear: freedom is safer with realism than with sentiment.

Gaetano Mosca’s theory of the ruling class extends Machiavelli’s realism into modern sociology. Writing at the turn of the twentieth century, Mosca argued that every society, regardless of its ideology or constitution, divides into two groups — a minority that rules and a majority that is ruled. Burnham calls Mosca the first true political scientist of the modern age because he replaced abstract ideals with empirical social laws.

The Inevitability of Elites

Mosca’s central claim is blunt: no mass has ever ruled itself. Whether monarchy, democracy, or dictatorship, all forms of government depend on an organized minority imposing its will on a disorganized majority. In any group, the few organize first, act in concert, and dominate the many. This “political formula” is dressed in myths — divine right, popular will, equality — to legitimize rule. Burnham notes that Mosca’s insight reveals why social revolutions never end hierarchy; they only replace one elite with another.

Composition and Character

Mosca distinguishes between high leaders and secondary administrators, arguing that a society’s strength depends on the quality of its rulers. When the ruling minority is competent and morally disciplined, the nation flourishes; when corrupt or incompetent, it collapses. He rejects both aristocratic heredity and democratic populism as illusions. Rule always rests on organized superiority, not virtue or numbers. Burnham calls this “the anti-formal principle”: truth in politics lies in structure, not slogans.

Liberty and Balance

Surprisingly, Mosca defines freedom not as equality but as a balance among social forces. Liberty survives only when no single force — military, religious, capitalist, bureaucratic — dominates all others. This equilibrium, Burnham explains, is what prevents tyranny and allows criticism. Mosca’s realism thus becomes a defense of pluralism: he sees freedom as the byproduct of power rivalry. In this sense, the Machiavellians are defenders of liberty precisely because they strip away moral illusions.

By accepting that elites are inevitable, Mosca replaces the dream of social perfection with the study of social mechanics. Like checks and balances in a machine, liberty depends on resistance — the friction between groups keeps freedom alive. That insight, Burnham shows, is the cornerstone of modern realism.

Georges Sorel adds a fascinating paradox to Burnham’s Machiavellian framework: though politics must be scientific, myth remains indispensable. In Reflections on Violence, Sorel argued that revolutionary movements are driven not by rational programs but by myths — emotionally charged visions of struggle that mobilize masses toward action.

Myth vs. Ideology

Unlike abstract utopias, myths are not judged by truth but by power. The syndicalist “general strike,” Sorel’s prime example, was never meant to be literally achieved; it was a psychological image that inspired workers to courage and sacrifice. Myth fuses belief and action. Burnham embraces Sorel’s insight because it explains why ideas matter even when false. Humans cannot sustain political engagement on logic alone — they need stories that make meaning of conflict.

Violence as Renewal

For Sorel, myth and violence are inseparable: the myth gives violence moral purpose, and violence renews society by purging decadence. This shocking claim does not glorify cruelty; it declares that conflict is necessary to prevent moral rot. Burnham applies the lesson broadly — revolutions, reform movements, and wars are all forms of collective myths shaping the struggle of classes and nations. Without them, societies decay under the weight of comfort and corruption.

Between Reason and Passion

By integrating Sorel, Burnham constructs a complete model of political behavior: reason identifies power structures, and myth supplies the emotional energy to change them. When governments lose their myths or manipulate them cynically, they crumble. The totalitarian regimes of the twentieth century mastered this lesson exquisitely, crafting myths of racial destiny or proletarian purity to motivate obedience. Sorel’s theory explains both revolutionary heroism and demagogic tyranny — myth is ambidextrous.

Burnham appreciates Sorel’s realism about faith: even false myths can serve freedom if they inspire resistance. The key is awareness. You need not worship myths — you must understand them. The Machiavellian thinker respects myth as energy but refuses to mistake it for truth.

Robert Michels, another Italian realist, exposes democracy’s fatal flaw. His famous “iron law of oligarchy” states that all organizations — even those built for equality — evolve into rule by a few. Burnham uses Michels to prove that democracy is not government by the people, but government THROUGH elites claiming to represent the people.

The Illusion of Self-Government

Michels studied socialist parties and trade unions, expecting democracy in action. Instead, he found leaders consolidating power, manipulating procedures, and turning revolutionary ideals into bureaucratic control. As groups grow, technical necessity demands specialization; leaders become indispensable, and followers passive. Soon, “representatives” govern independently of those they serve.

The Autocracy of Leadership

Michels details how leaders secure loyalty — through charisma, bureaucracy, and control of information. Elections become rituals preserving authority rather than genuine tools of choice. Even appeals to the “will of the people” justify dictatorship, producing what Michels calls Bonapartism: autocracy under democratic slogans. Burnham finds this pattern everywhere, from revolutionary France to modern presidents claiming divine popular mandate.

Freedom as Opposition

Paradoxically, Michels remains a “defender of freedom.” Since oligarchy is inevitable, liberty survives only through active opposition. Burnham interprets this to mean that freedom is not self-rule but the continual friction between ruling elites and rival forces. Democracy, then, is a system that limits power through conflict, not consensus. By recognizing this truth, citizens can act intelligently rather than naively.

In sum, Michels shows why the road to despotism is paved with democratic slogans. Burnham concludes that to preserve freedom, one must first reject the myth of universal equality — and cultivate awareness of how leadership and bureaucracy always turn revolution into hierarchy.

Vilfredo Pareto, the economist-sociologist, refines the Machiavellian understanding of power into a theory of perpetual transformation. Burnham calls Pareto the final and most scientific of the Machiavellians. His key insight: societies do not progress toward justice or equality — they rotate through cycles of elite circulation. One ruling group replaces another, each justified by new myths but driven by the same instincts.

Logical and Non-Logical Conduct

Pareto distinguishes logical actions, guided by reason and factual cause, from non-logical actions, guided by emotion, tradition, and myth. Most social behavior, including politics, is non-logical. Beneath the rhetoric of ideology lies human impulse. People act from feeling, then justify their moves with rationalizations — what Pareto calls “derivations.” Beneath every derivation lies a stable instinct or “residue,” such as the desire for dominance or group loyalty.

The Residues of Power

Drive, ambition, and cunning — these residues define political elites. Pareto divides rulers into two archetypes: the lions, who rule by force, and the foxes, who rule by fraud. When lions dominate, societies are disciplined but rigid; when foxes dominate, societies are clever but corrupt. History alternates between the two. As elites decay, new energetic groups from below rise to replace them, bringing renewal and, eventually, repetition.

Cycles, Not Progress

Pareto’s “circulation of the elites” demolishes the modern myth of inevitable progress. There is change, but no moral improvement. Revolutions merely shuffle elites; the masses stay ruled. For Burnham, this realism explains the 20th century’s metamorphoses — aristocrats supplanted by capitalists, capitalists replaced by “managers” and bureaucrats. Each class ascends, governs, decays, and gives way to the next.

By accepting this cycle, Burnham restores objectivity to political study. Freedom depends not on abolishing elites but on keeping circulation alive — ensuring openness so new talent can rise before corruption conquers. In a closed system, decay is destiny; in an open system, liberty can breathe.

Burnham closes his book by turning Machiavellian realism into a defense of freedom. If elites are inevitable, how can liberty survive? His final section, “Politics and Truth,” answers: freedom depends not on equality or illusion, but on understanding how power works.

The Machiavellian Principles

Burnham summarizes thirteen principles shared by Machiavelli, Mosca, Pareto, Michels, and Sorel — a political canon rooted in fact. Among them: all societies divide into rulers and ruled; all elites justify power through myths; and real politics is the study of these elites. He argues that freedom arises when no single group monopolizes social power — when army, church, business, and labor counterbalance one another. Liberty is not a moral gift but an equilibrium of rival forces.

The Meaning of Democracy

Democracy, Burnham concludes, is not self-government. The masses never rule; they can barely organize. True democracy is the system where opposition is possible. Where criticism survives, freedom breathes. In the “Bonapartist” era of popular dictatorships, leaders claim to embody the people while centralizing control. Burnham foresees governmental convergence toward centralized managerial elites — prophetic of postwar technocracy — and warns that democracy’s survival depends on maintaining autonomous institutions strong enough to resist absorption.

Politics as Knowledge

Finally, Burnham asks if politics can be scientific. His answer: yes, if we limit our ambitions to truth rather than salvation. A scientific politics observes, predicts, and corrects without moralizing. It teaches that freedom is won by clarity, not faith. When citizens understand that rulers serve their own interests — and design institutions of conflict accordingly — they defend liberty better than any utopian promise.

By embracing Machiavellian realism, you gain not despair but maturity. In Burnham’s world, truth itself becomes an act of freedom: knowing how power operates lets you resist it. His Machiavellians remind us that liberty lives not in innocence but in awareness — the courage to see politics as it is.