Natural Law Republicanism: Cicero’s Liberal Legacy
Michael C. Hawley.
Oxford University Press, 2022.
Hardcover, 264 pages, $97.
Reviewed by Samuel Sprunk.
In Natural Law Republicanism: Cicero’s Liberal Legacy, Michael Hawley joins one of the most intellectually accessible discussions in history: the idea of freedom. It is a conversation which has produced unending streams of discourse that filter into Anglo-American literature. Standing at its banks, we torture ourselves with the accursed questions such as choosing between the good or the right. Hawley boldly attempts to bridge these waters. He traces Cicero’s path from the crisis of Rome, to the bifurcation of Ciceronian thought in the 1600s, and finally to its reunification with the American Framers. Natural Law Republicanism attempts to convince us that Cicero is an invaluable resource for an introduction to Western philosophy. He is the true republican symbol that links the common liberty of popular sovereignty to the private liberty of individuals.
In more direct terms, Hawley also reexamines the origins of liberalism. His central thesis is that the handoff from Cicero’s theory of duties to Locke’s development of rights finally reconciles the grave wound inflicted by Machiavelli on the West—the wound of ethical concerns being separated from political necessity. For Hawley, the injury split Ciceronian thought and disconnected popular sovereignty from a fixed transcendent moral law. Stitching these two halves of Cicero back together becomes an underlying objective of the book.
While not completely forgotten, Cicero deserves a reexamination. The Romans are seen as imitators rather than original contributors, a point Hawley rightly emphasizes. They receive credit for their tradition of law which was adapted to become the Catholic Church’s Code of Canon Law. Cicero is swept up into an age after Aristotle that includes influential doctrines from Polybius’s understanding of history to prominent Cynics, Epicureans, and Gnostic Religions. Cicero is often aligned with a particular Roman Stoicism but he is just as often relegated to the second rank behind better recognized moral philosophers like Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. This is unfortunate, given that Hawley impressively and successfully distinguishes Cicero’s thought as a proto-liberal type, a feat that elevates both his historical relevance and modern connections.
In considering Cicero’s core ideas, Hawley addresses diverse topics ranging from universal human fellowship to the importance of private property. One of the highlights for readers in contemporary Western democracies is Hawley’s unpacking the foundation of rights. He makes a particularly convincing argument that the Roman understanding of ius [law] holds a penetrating view of rights. More commonly referred to as civil liberties today, Roman ius guaranteed the freedoms necessary to participate in the res publica [political community]. The active engagement of a politically-minded community, in turn, protects the ius needed to participate—a cycle that is self-fulfilling. Hawley depicts a Cicero who uncovers the significance of this negative liberty. The often-overused Anglo-American language that insists on protecting the essential rights of life, liberty, and property were then echoed first in the Roman forum.
In the history of ideas, this discovered stream flows from the crisis of the late Roman republic to the English Civil War, and to the American founding—waters that are filled with the demands for free institutions, popular government, and public consent. Starting early in the book, Hawley describes the best practical commonwealth (mixed regime of rights) in Cicero. It is difficult not to connect the design of the res publica to a courtroom with emphasis on speech and reason. Highly educated statesmen seem to serve as both prosecutors and defendants who debate political norms, societal values, and customs in order to restore a decaying republic. The entire society constitutes the jury, a critical component and a moral necessity to assent to the conclusions of these statesmen. The debate itself becomes synonymous with reason since natural law, acting as a judge, silently presides over the proceedings. Whether it be a courthouse, forum, or parliament, Hawley’s focus on natural law—especially the Grotian-Pufendorfian conception—is a mutually binding contract that weaves together particular international political systems under the principles of justice. However, Cicero’s brand of ius naturale does not attach natural law to a telos [a purpose for humanity]. Instead, Cicero emphasizes sociality—namely, that we are mutually bound to participate in and protect social structures and order. The goal is not to adhere to an ideal body of politics, but to participate in a consensual and beneficial cooperative effort.
Hawley fights against the current here. He is attempting to displace well-discussed republican literature that traces political liberty from Aristotle, through Machiavelli, to the English Commonwealth. Rejecting this tradition, Hawley highlights a Ciceronian natural law that continues through Grotius/Pufendorf. The key connecting rivulet is consent. Hawley asserts that Locke draws these aforementioned liberal elements out of Cicero, leading to his most controversial claim that Locke considers natural law as important as Christianity and his understanding of rights, and that these are the crux of liberalism. The criticism of his assertion is well-known. A concept of rights can only appear in a society that is already structured by just relationships codified into law. Put bluntly, any understanding of human dignity manifests itself only when we are all Roman senators or eighteenth century English lawyers. The right of property is illustrative as it cannot exist without the idea of acquiring it justly and a shared acknowledgement of the same.
Any conception of rights born of just relationships and imitated in law leads us to Machiavelli’s grave wound upon the West. Natural law is a translation of universals to particulars. Machiavelli challenges whether or not practical governance is compatible with the existential limitations of transcendent and universal moral norms. Simply put, can political leaders maintain a fixed morality when they need to get their hands dirty? According to Hawley, Machiavelli’s choice between the former and latter should be rejected as false and is reconciled by Cicero and Locke (in theory) and by the American founding (in practice) with its mixed and limited government.
Returning to the original assertion that the concept of freedom is one of the most accessible and constant discussions in history, Hawley’s methodology is one of the book’s strengths. He engages the giants of republican studies—acknowledging the footprints left behind by J.G.A. Pocock, Quentin Skinner, Judith Shklar, Paul Rahe, and Philip Pettit. Hawley spars with cornerstone Americanists such as Bernard Bailyn and Gordon Wood who separate English republicanism and Lockeanism, and he agrees with Thomas Pangle’s assertion that the American founding ideas were “anti-Machiavellian.” It is not necessary to summarize Hawley’s work here, as connecting Locke to the American Framing is well-established. The twist is that the Framers’ misgivings of factions and democracy created optimal institutions to limit government in support of the incorporation of natural law into America’s politics. Hawley connects James Wilson, James Madison, and Alexander Hamilton’s effort in the US Constitution to John Adams’s ideas set forth in the first state constitutions: unitary executive, bicameral legislature, independent judiciary. The design follows a moral law from which humans attach the basic rights of life, liberty, and property. The best method to constrain mankind to this moral law is the checks and balances of mixed government. Thus, for veterans who have immersed themselves in this literature, Hawley breaks new ground by highlighting several relevant perspectives and weaves together primary authors and subsequent historical reactions to them.
Hawley’s effectiveness in displacing Machiavelli with the true republican, Cicero, is an open question. Even if Cicero rejects Aristotelian/Aquinian telos in favor of sociality (equality of humans/dignity), universality persists. A metaphysical core remains necessary because nothing of value can have its value based on subjective preference. Machiavelli questions if such a morality is inherently inflexible when the going gets rough in politics. Hawley casts Cicero’s response that political necessity may demand the suspension of ordinary considerations, but the phrasing is exactly what Machiavelli intends by separating virtù from virtue, as well as learning to “be bad.” The crux of the argument can be seen in the discussion of glory. Hawley cites Discourses on Livy but chooses to elaborate on Machiavelli’s use of Agathocles in The Prince. While Machiavelli calls Agathocles virtuous in terms of being an excellent captain [eccellentissimo capitano], he is not among the most excellent of men [gli eccellentissimi uomini celebrato] thanks to his killing and betraying countrymen. This separation is crucial, and Hawley ignores it. Or if we utilize Cicero’s understanding, citizens of a just society should understand the difference. Political leaders may choose effectiveness and temporal glory (judged by his/her people) over adhering to an eternal morality (judged by transcendent moral norms).
Without agony, Machiavelli points out that these options represent two incompatible moral paths that remain equally valid. He has little to say to Christians searching for salvation and speaks mostly to pagans, which is why temporal glory among great men is the goal—the one to which Agathocles falls short. It is finally understandable why Hawley, or any natural-law proponent, must reject Machiavelli. Natural law cannot exist if Machiavelli is right that there is no single, intelligible harmony from which natural law must be interpreted. Hawley’s frustration with this pluralism is evident. Machiavelli divides Cicero’s streams of thought between being a statesman and a natural law philosopher. It is a shame. While it undermines Hawley’s objective to displace Machiavelli in Natural Law Republicanism, Machiavelli plays an irreplaceable villain (once again!). His wound on the West lends more depth to both sides of Cicero under examination, which is ultimately stitched back together by Hawley’s important contribution to the field.
Samuel Sprunk is an Assistant Professor of Political Science at Nicholls State University. He focuses on the underlying political philosophy of western liberal democracies. Samuel’s other interests include the history of ideas, the roots of liberalism, and the development of pluralism. He received his Ph.D. from The Catholic University of America.
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