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The Large Professor
The Prince Of Students

By Phil Caravaggio
First published at www.johnberardi.com, Dec 6 2002.

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For those of us in the Judeo-Christian parts of the globe, December means holidays. But for students like Phil and I, it also carries another, more sinister meaning -- exams. While we may be enrolled in different classes, we're all students of the iron game, and as such we have to test ourselves. So every once it a while, it is worthwhile to step back and examine just how much we're putting into our studies. In this month's LP, Phil discusses the characteristic that separates the great students from the rest.

Being a student of both political philosophy and Italian language, I have always been drawn toward the greatest intersection of the two: Niccolò Machiavelli. Machiavelli is commonly regarded as the philosophical father of the immoral pursuit of power, and rare indeed is the ambitious executive who hasn't read The Prince. A brilliant work, it is at once a stunning application of the Italian language and a commanding treatment of the morality of leadership. It is also the most famous piece of political philosophy ever written, and rightly so.

While there is a great deal of scholarly disagreement over Machiavelli's philosophy, one thing that cannot be denied is the passion that permeates his work. Machiavelli was the consummate student, a man whose love of his subject, of the history and ancient philosophy about which he wrote, is evident in his every word. For those of us who are looking to master our own subjects, whatever they may be, it will be worthwhile to take a moment to examine one of the greatest students to ever live.

In a letter to his friend Francesco Vettori, written in 1513, he comments on the completion of The Prince, and on how he immersed himself in the works of the greatest teachers:

Come evening, I return home and enter my study. At the door I remove my usual dress, full of mud and mire, and I put on my regal and courtly garments; and decently reclothed, I enter the ancient courts of ancient men, where, lovingly received by them, I feed on the food that alone is mine and that I was born for. There I am not ashamed to speak with them and to ask them the reason for their actions, and they in their humanity reply to me. And for the space of four hours I feel no boredom, I forget every hardship, I do not fear poverty, death does not frighten me. I deliver myself entirely to them. And because Dante says that to have understood without retaining does not make knowledge, I have noted what capital I have made from their conversation and have composed a little work De Principatibus [On Principalities, or what we call The Prince] . . .

I have always loved that metaphor. As I sit here in my own study, preparing for exams, it takes on new meaning. Over the course of my academic career, I will read many of the same texts that Machiavelli read, and as they pile up on my desk, the task seems daunting. Not to Machiavelli. To him, the four hours spent in his study every evening easily eclipsed the other twenty in the day. To him, the books came alive, and his study became an ancient court, in which he could fraternize with the greatest minds in history.

Is that delusional? You bet. Homoerotic fantasy? Perhaps. Brilliant? Absolutely.

Machiavelli describes perfectly the state of complete immersion that only the greatest among us ever enter. While the rest of us poor schlubs read the works of ancient philosophers because the syllabus for Philosophy 101 says we must (and even then, only after asking the requisite question: "Will this be on the test?"), Machiavelli seems motivated by something else entirely. To him, Plato and Aristotle are not historical figures whom the passage of time has anointed and rendered inaccessible. Rather, they are his peers, friends with whom he converses every evening.

In Machiavelli, we see the greatest type of student. Great students do not open books, but doors, the means by which they enter into the world of the greatest teachers. They approach the written word not as a slave approaches a master, but as an honored guest approaches a gracious host. Pulling up a chair at the banquet table of knowledge, they do not content themselves with listening passively to the conversation. Instead, great students direct the conversation, asking questions and demanding responses, all the while feeding on the food they were born to eat.

It is a fascinating analogy, and one of my favorites. While our preferred subjects may differ, we are all students in one way or another. Try as we might to deny it, the fact is that study and observation are integral parts of our humanity. In fact, they are the most magnificent and remarkable parts, for it is in the act of studying and observing that we arrive at the highest achievements.

However, much of what we must learn in life is difficult to grasp at first. As we approach a new subject, it often seems an insurmountable obstacle. But as we all know, what seemed insurmountable at first often turns out to be completely manageable. So what is it that allows us to overcome what once seemed impossible?

In my opinion, it is precisely the passion that Machiavelli illustrates in his letter. When you are truly passionate about something, you have certain expectations. On the one hand, you expect certain things from yourself. For Machiavelli, the la veste cotidiana, the daily or usual clothing, the old standard, is no longer acceptable — only the regal and courtly garments will do. Everything that is unsuitable is cast aside in an instant; everything that aids is embraced.

On the other hand, having raised your own standards, you expect certain things from others and from the world around you. Just like Machiavelli, you expect to find answers for your questions, and that expectation is what drives the search for great things against impossible odds.

In a sense, passion is a lens through which we view the world, and things look remarkably different on the other side. What looked unfamiliar and intimidating now appears extraordinary and inviting. That insurmountable obstacle? Nothing but a series of steps.

Passion is the catalyst for change, that human reaction in which the incapable become capable, and the good become great. It is your most powerful asset, and you can't ace the test without it.

So let me pose a question. What is your field of study? Maybe it's exercise physiology and nutrition, and that's why you've popped by this site. Maybe you've left the hallowed halls of academia, and moved on to other things. It needn't be something clearly defined in the course calendar at Oxford to count. In fact, some of the greatest subjects are the one in which you do not enroll, but instead are thrust upon you naturally over the course of your life.

Whatever the subject may be, embrace it. Engage it. Live it, breathe it. Become the ultimate student. Step into that world, and dress up for the occasion. Sit down at the head table, with all the greatest minds, and act like you've been there before.

Happy Holidays, and we'll see you in January.