Anatomy of the ruling class

The ‘ruling class’ is a concept with vague contours. It is certainly not a class in the strict sense, and almost certainly does not rule. It is not a class because the divisions into classes – aristocracy, bourgeoisie, proletariat, with further designations (plebs, ‘roturier’) – were abolished after 1789, even though the declarations of the French Revolution were only fully realised later. Nor does it govern society or the people, but rather represents them, in the sense that will be explained later. The existence of a variety of definitions—ruling class, political class, ‘power elite’, ‘noblesse d’État’—each with different nuances, is further evidence of the imprecise nature of the term and is confirmed by those who have studied the ruling class: Gaetano Mosca, a jurist and historian of political doctrines; Vilfredo Pareto, an economist, as well as Schumpeter; Roberto Michels, a sociologist; and Robert Dahl, a political scientist.

Firstly, Gaetano Mosca wrote in 1884: ‘In all properly constituted societies, in which there is what is called a government, we see not only that the authority of the latter is exercised in the name of the entire people, or of a ruling aristocracy, or of a single sovereign […] we consistently find another fact: that rulers – that is, those who hold and exercise public power – are always a minority, and that, beneath them, there is a numerous class of people who never truly participate in any way in government, but merely endure it; they may be called the governed” (Sulla teorica dei governi e sul governo parlamentare. Studii storici e sociali, Palermo, Tipografia dello Statuto, 1884. This is the first exposition of the theory of the ruling minority. The second, revised edition appeared under the title Teorica dei governi e governo parlamentare, Milan, Società editrice libraria, 1925). The same author wrote in 1896: “[…] in all societies, ranging from those that are only moderately developed and have barely reached the dawn of civilisation, to the most cultured and powerful, there exist two classes of people: that of the rulers and that of the ruled. The former, which is always the smaller group, fulfils all political functions, monopolises power and enjoys the advantages associated with it; whilst the latter, the larger group, is directed and regulated by the former […] and provides it, at least apparently, with the material means of subsistence and those necessary for the vitality of the political organism” (Elementi di scienza politica, Torino, Fratelli Bocca, 1896; seconda edizione con una seconda parte inedita, 1923. This is the central work for the mature formulation of the theory. The two works are brought together in the edition Gaetano Mosca, Scritti politici, edited by Giorgio Sola, Torino, UTET, 1982, 2 vols.). The political class is therefore the minority that exercises the functions of government, holds power and enjoys the benefits associated with its exercise; the majority is governed.

According to Vilfredo Pareto, the ‘elected ruling class’ comprises ‘those who, directly or indirectly, play a significant role in government’ (Vilfredo Pareto, Trattato di sociologia generale, Florence, G. Barbèra, 1916, vol. II, chap. XI, § 2032). For Pareto, therefore, the politically relevant category also includes those who exert significant influence over the government without formally holding office, and must be distinguished from the ruling class in general.

Having explained that the concept is rather vague, I shall first examine who makes up the ruling class and, in particular, who selects its members; secondly, how many people it comprises and, therefore, its size and composition; thirdly, what its characteristics are; and finally, how it might be improved. The most clearly defined part of the ruling class is the so-called political class, and therefore mainly the so-called representatives of the people. These are chosen to establish a link between the real country – society – and the legal country – the State. The method by which they are chosen is election. However, strictly speaking, election does not establish a relationship of representation, as a very well-known English parliamentarian, Edmund Burke, observed as early as 1774. Speaking to his constituents in Bristol on 3 November, he said: ‘Parliament is a deliberative assembly of one nation, with one interest, that of the whole.’ (“Parliament is a deliberative assembly of a single nation, with a single interest, that of the entire nation”); voters elect a Member of Parliament, but, once elected, that Member is a member of Parliament: their role is not limited to representing the local interests of Bristol. “Parliament is not a congress of ambassadors from different and hostile interests; […] but Parliament is a deliberative assembly of one nation” (“Parliament is not a congress of ambassadors representing different and conflicting interests; […] but rather a deliberative assembly of a single nation” (Edmund Burke, Speech to the Electors of Bristol, 3 November 1774, in The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, London, Henry G. Bohn, 1854–1856, vol. I, pp. 446–448).

It must now be noted that the linguistic apparatus of democracy consists of terms to which an excess of meaning is usually attributed. They therefore constitute genuine linguistic and conceptual abuses. Democracy, a form of government formerly known as a republic or representative government (in ‘The Federalist Papers’, No. 39, it is stated that a ‘republic’ is a ‘government which derives all its powers directly or indirectly from the great body of the people’), does not – as the word might suggest – denote a political system in which the people govern, but rather an oligarchic organisation of power, moderated by periodic elections, with numerous other institutions and checks and balances designed to ensure that the exercise of government is measured and reflective (or controlled). True self-government by the people has never existed (in the Athenian ‘demokratia’, only 10 per cent of the people had the right to participate in decision-making) and could not exist, given both the scale of today’s political systems and the number of collective decisions to be taken.

Even representative democracy is not truly representative, because the term suggests that the people act through their representatives, whereas, in fact, in modern legal systems there is no representation in the strict sense: the representative does not act in the name and on behalf of the represented, nor does he attribute the effects of his own actions to them. Indeed, with the secrecy of the vote and the prohibition of binding mandates, any possible link between the represented and the representative is ruled out. Thirdly, according to conventional wisdom, the representative is chosen (elected) by the represented through a specific procedure called an election, that is, a free act of will. But this term, too, is used with a surplus of meanings. In no country can voters indicate a name of their own choosing on the ballot paper: they vote for a list or a name proposed by parties or other political forces. Only in some cases may they choose one or more names from within the list, indicating a preference. In single-member constituencies or systems with closed lists, the voter merely gives their assent. Nevertheless, the procedure erroneously termed ‘election’ has become established and consists of free, repeated, competitive votes, with so-called universal participation. A fourth overused expression is ‘popular sovereignty’. Sovereignty – the highest power, one that recognises no power superior to itself – is attributed to the people, but is not exercised by them except on a wholly sporadic basis. This is a peculiar concept: that of a sovereign who is such only from time to time, rather rarely. In reality, and more realistically, English law and legal culture speak of ‘parliamentary sovereignty’.

These four linguistic abuses would not be of great significance (there are many others in other fields) were it not for the fact that they fuel periodic messianic expectations on the part of distant great-great-grandchildren of Rousseau who wake up, realise that reality does not correspond to names, propose new forms of the agora, and even find people willing to listen to them. As proof of this observation, one need only consider the number of people in Italy who, having been elected as members of a particular party, have abandoned it by doing what is commonly referred to as ‘switching sides’. In the 2013 parliamentary term, 569 MPs moved from one group or party to another; in the 2018 term, 464; and in the early years of the current parliamentary term, between 2022 and 2025, 59. However, the ruling class is not composed solely of politicians. It also includes top civil servants, members of independent administrative bodies, newspaper editors, leading business figures, and those intellectuals who do not confine themselves to teaching in schools or universities but also direct their ideas towards a wider audience. They, too, form part of a country’s ruling class.

The size of the Italian ruling class varies considerably depending on the meaning attributed to the term. Furthermore, the available figures are drawn from research carried out in different years and do not constitute an up-to-date census. A useful representation is that of the concentric circles proposed by Carlo Carboni (La società cinica. Le classi dirigenti italiane nell’epoca dell’antipolitica, Rome–Bari, Laterza, 2008, pp. 7–8). At the centre are around two thousand leaders of the major institutions and organisations; surrounding them, a circle of around six thousand people has access to the organisational and decision-making resources of the institutions. Including regional and sectoral elites, the total reaches 17,000 individuals and may exceed 50,000 if less selective criteria are applied. These are progressively inclusive groups, not quantities to be added together: they describe different levels of concentration and diffusion of power.

Another approach is to use biographical directories. The study edited by Carlo Carboni (Élite e classi dirigenti in Italia, Rome–Bari, Laterza, 2007) examines some 5,550 biographies taken from Who’s Who; the Eurispes survey, carried out in collaboration with Who’s Who in Italy (Classe dirigente: il profilo del potere in Italia, 2012), analyses 5,560 profiles, highlighting an ageing population, a low number of women, insularity, concentration in Rome and Milan, and the exodus of the most capable individuals abroad. James L. Newell draws on the same source (“La Classe Dirigente”, in Erik Jones and Gianfranco Pasquino (eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Italian Politics, Oxford University Press, 2015, pp. 3–15, especially p. 7 and note 13, p. 14). His definition encompasses around eight thousand people, corresponding to the entries in the then-current edition of Who’s Who in Italy.

In the first edition of "Democracy in America", published in 1835, Tocqueville addresses the issue of the calibre of the democratic political class. Equality of conditions and the extension of the franchise do not ensure, he notes, that the most capable men are called upon to govern. His observation stems from the contrast between the qualities of American society and those of its leaders: ‘On my arrival in the United States, I was struck to discover how common merit was amongst the governed and how rare it was amongst the governing’. This observation is followed by an assessment of the decline in the stature of public figures: ‘It is evident that the ranks of American statesmen have shrunk remarkably over the past half-century’ (A. de Tocqueville, De la démocratie en Amérique, first published as Democracy, Part II, Chapter V, ‘On the Choices of the People, and the Instincts of American Democracy in its Choices’, Paris, Pagnerre, 1848, Vol. II, p. 44). The problem lies not merely in voters’ difficulty in recognising the qualities necessary for governance. Tocqueville identifies a deeper tension between the passion for equality and the recognition of intellectual and moral superiority. Democracy may be ill-disposed to reward precisely those qualities that distinguish certain individuals from the majority: “It is not always the ability to choose men of merit that democracy lacks, but the desire and the inclination”. Hence the conclusion that draws a clear distinction between the legitimacy of suffrage and the quality of its outcomes: “Those who regard universal suffrage as a guarantee of sound choices are labouring under a complete delusion. Universal suffrage has other advantages, but not this one” (ibid., p. 45 ff.).

This criticism takes on a particularly scathing tone in the description of the House of Representatives. Tocqueville writes that, upon entering its chamber in Washington, one is struck by “the vulgar appearance of this great assembly”, in which “the eye often searches in vain for a famous man” and where “almost all its members are obscure figures”. The gap between the level of education in society and that of its representatives is expressed in a cutting remark, presented, however, as a reported judgement: ‘In a country where education is almost universally widespread, it is said that the people’s representatives do not always know how to write correctly’ (ibid., ‘Des causes qui peuvent corriger en partie ces instincts de la démocratie’, p. 49). The responsibility for this mediocrity does not, however, lie entirely with the electorate. The willingness of the most capable men to pursue a political career also plays a part. In a society that offers ample opportunities for enrichment, the greatest ambitions may turn towards private enterprise, leaving public office to less gifted figures. Tocqueville puts this observation rather bluntly: “Great talents and great passions generally turn away from power to pursue wealth; and it often happens that people take on the task of managing the fortunes of the state only when they feel themselves ill-equipped to manage their own affairs”. The result therefore stems both from the demand of the electorate and the supply of candidates: “It is to these causes, as much as to the poor choices of democracy, that we must attribute the large number of mediocre men who hold public office”. He concludes: “In the United States, I do not know whether the people would choose the superior men who stand for election; but it is certain that such men do not seek their vote” (ibid., “Public Officials under American Democracy”, p. 57). These pages do not, however, constitute an indiscriminate condemnation of democratic representation. Tocqueville contrasts the mediocrity of the House of Representatives with the quality of the Senate. He sees the difference as stemming primarily from the electoral process: whilst representatives are elected directly, senators are chosen at that time by the state legislatures. The involvement of an elected assembly can, in his view, improve the selection process without severing the link with popular sovereignty.

A different perspective, relating to Italy, is that of Francesco Saverio Nitti, who writes, with regard to men of learning and politics, that ‘one of the most widespread clichés is that learned men rarely possess great political aptitude and that, even more rarely, they are true statesmen. In parliaments, where men of genuine learning are often few and far between, whilst mediocre types abound – lawyers, smooth-talkers, organisers of the working classes, representatives of religious movements, etc., categories of people never guilty of too much erudition – this aphorism has often held true. The common people tend to be suspicious of those who know more and are more capable, yet in free governments they almost always end up being influenced by them. And it is men of great ability who, directly or indirectly, assert themselves. The most important quality of a politician is, without doubt, an understanding of people, their feelings and their passions.

[…] But for men who possess political aptitude and the intelligence and character required to govern the state, nothing is more valuable than learning and erudition. […]; even in our own time, the greatest statesmen have been men of learning. In Italy and Germany, the men who, in the second half of the last century, made the greatest contribution and exerted the most significant influence were Bismarck and Cavour. By studying their actions and their work, one can easily see what principles they held and how it was solely their thorough understanding of the major problems they had to resolve that facilitated their actions. Cavour, above all, was a man of encyclopaedic and profound knowledge. In England, where Parliament has for the longest time been home to distinguished men, the two great figures who for many years led the Liberal and Conservative parties in our time were Gladstone and Salisbury, both men of learning and highly erudite writers. […] In Italy, too, the most distinguished statesmen and the greatest politicians have always been men of learning and scholarship. Cavour, who was the politician most responsible for the unification of Italy, was an economist and a scholar of history and political science. He had spent his entire youth abroad and possessed an admirable knowledge of English and French literature. His studies, his writings and his speeches bear witness to his vast knowledge. The greatest statesmen who lived in Italy and carried out their work there, particularly during the first twenty years of national unity, were almost all men of great learning: Minghetti, an elegant writer, man of letters, jurist and a most refined orator; Sella, a mineralogist, geologist and man of letters as well as a great industrialist; alongside them were great economists such as Francesco Ferrara and scholars, erudite men and jurists such as Silvio Spaventa, Ruggiero Bonghi, Francesco De Sanctis, Massari, de Meis, and so on. Undoubtedly, victorious Piedmont also imposed upon Italy patriots of limited education but of unquestionable integrity, such as Lanza, or of great experience, such as Depretis; yet they always took care to surround themselves, as best they could, with learned and competent men, even if parliamentary demands did not always allow them the best choices. Following those who had been great patriots, though not always great intellects, Giolitti—a practical man with a clear mind, yet unburdened by erudition—toned things down. Yet he was a man of experience and, as Luzzatti said of him, he attained ‘the sublime heights of mediocrity’. In general, the men who enjoyed the highest standing before the rise of Fascism were men of learning, and it was only after Giolitti’s final term in office that the situation degenerated into illiteracy, epitomised by Facta, whose utter ignorance was certainly no guarantee of intelligence and who was even more stupid than he was illiterate. During the long and most dismal period of Fascist rule, very few politicians displayed any measure of intelligence whilst possessing only a modest level of education. The entire nation was plunged into a ridiculous frenzy of blind enthusiasm, which was destined to humiliate and debase it, and ultimately to ruin it. It is to be feared that following the long period of Fascist rule, which has certainly lowered the standard of Italian culture, no less than its dignity, there will for a long time be a prevalence of mediocre men, and indeed of those with little education” (Francesco Saverio Nitti, Scritti Politici. Diario di prigionia. Meditations from Exile, edited by Giuseppe De Cesare, vol. V, Bari, Editori Laterza, 1967).

During the republican period, from 1948 to 2022, there was undoubtedly a decline in the average level of education amongst members of parliament. During the first parliamentary term, which began in 1948, 90–91 per cent were university graduates. In 1996, during the 13th parliamentary term, this figure fell to 68–70 per cent and has remained at that level in recent years. Three caveats should be borne in mind, however. First: these figures relate exclusively to the political class (so-called parliamentary representatives), for whom the Constitution generally stipulates only two requirements: citizenship and a minimum age. Secondly: the crisis facing political parties, which were once veritable schools for selecting and training the political ruling class, thereby partly compensating for the lack of formal education. Thirdly: the fact that these figures relate exclusively to the political class and not to that part of the ruling class which is not involved in party politics, such as businesspeople, journalists and academics.

Linked to this issue is the low level of trust Italians have in the state. LaPolis Uniurb (in collaboration with Demos and Avviso pubblico), in its 28th ‘Citizens and the State’ Observatory report, published in December 2025, found that 6 out of 10 Italians believe democracy has been weakened, that there has been a decline in participation – with the exception of voluntary initiatives – that the rift between society and the state has widened, and that the highest level of trust is reserved solely for the police, whilst political parties enjoy the lowest level of trust, with a gap of 57 points.

“The reality of a people’s free life lies truly in the influence exerted upon them by public opinion and in the quality of the political class that guides them,” observed Benedetto Croce in *Storia d’Europa nel secolo decimonono* (1932) (Rome – Bari, Laterza, 1965, 11th edition, p. 247). Throughout the history of the extension of the franchise, the two aspects of the issue – the competence of voters and the extension of the franchise itself – have long gone hand in hand. First in France, in the first half of the 19th century, and then in Italy, in the second half of that century, it was long believed that a prerequisite for the right to vote and to stand for election was perhaps that of education (qualification-based suffrage), and it was held that, by progressively ensuring compulsory schooling, one could achieve, on the one hand, a better selection of so-called representatives and, on the other, a better-educated society.

More recently, the idea has gained ground that democracy must be accompanied by a certain degree of epistocracy. This viewpoint has been extensively expounded in a book by Jason Brennan, translated into Italian under the title "Contro la democrazia" (Rome, Luiss University Press, 2018). The theme of intellectuals and political experts dates back to the 18th century, when intellectuals such as Condorcet (1743–1794) were engaged in the public sphere. Their involvement subsequently increased: one example is that of Émile Zola in 1898 during the so-called ‘Dreyfus Affair’. Subsequently, the role of experts and scientists, and their involvement as a ruling class, expanded: terms such as ‘public intellectuals’, ‘gurus’ and ‘maître à penser’ came into use, and many scholars have reflected on them (Karl Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, Bologna, il Mulino, 1957, p. 155 ff.; Richard Posner, Public Intellectuals: A Study of Decline, Harvard University Press, 2001, for his critique of abstractness, arrogance and a tendency towards extreme positions). On the other hand, there has been the withdrawal of intellectuals into the ‘ivory tower’ (an expression used by Charles Augustin Sainte-Beuve to explain the contrasting positions of the committed intellectual, Victor Hugo, and the reclusive intellectual, Alfred de Vigny). Finally, there was the specialisation of scientific and disciplinary fields, already criticised by Max Weber with his famous phrase ‘I am no donkey; I have no field’.

Finally, there is the meritocratic model, of Chinese origin, dating back to the Han dynasty, which gave rise to the development of the principle of merit by the French Enlightenment thinkers, soon followed by English culture, to ensure both equal access to public office and its efficiency. However, meritocracy too has been the subject of criticism, which features prominently in the contemporary debate on inequalities and the crisis of democracy. Its main focus is the transformation of economic, academic and professional success into a judgement on people’s worth: those who attain a high position are considered deserving of their advantages, whilst those who lag behind are led to interpret their situation as a personal failure. From this perspective, the meritocratic promise can help to legitimise social hierarchies, obscuring the significance of one’s starting point.

A precedent is Michael Young’s “The Rise of Meritocracy”, published in 1958. Through a satirical narrative, Young describes a society in which selection based on intelligence and performance generates even more rigid inequalities. The belief that everyone occupies a position commensurate with their abilities makes the hierarchy particularly difficult to challenge: privilege can appear to be the result of a fair selection process (Michael Young, The Rise of Meritocracy, Milan, Edizioni di Comunità, 2014). Michael Sandel has revisited this issue, highlighting its moral and political consequences. In The Tyranny of Merit, the winners’ belief that they owe their success solely to themselves fuels a sense of superiority, whilst defeat takes on the meaning of humiliation for others. The rhetoric of individual advancement thus undermines solidarity and recognition of the contribution made by those in less well-paid or socially prestigious jobs. Resentment towards the elites becomes, in his interpretation, one of the components of the populist reaction (Michael J. Sandel, The Tyranny of Merit: Why We Live in a Society of Winners and Losers, Milan, Feltrinelli, 2021).

Daniel Markovits, on the other hand, has focused on the mechanisms through which meritocracy reproduces privilege. The substantial investments made by the wealthiest families in their children’s education enable them to convert family advantage into academic and professional qualifications. Selection may therefore appear to be based on individual abilities, whilst in fact incorporating profound inequalities in the opportunities to develop them. This system penalises the middle class and subjects even the winners to relentless competition to maintain their position (Daniel Markovits, The Meritocracy Trap, Penguin Press, 2019). In the Italian debate, Mauro Boarelli similarly examines how the language of merit, competition and assessment can obscure the social conditions that determine individuals’ opportunities, with particular attention to education (Mauro Boarelli, Contro l’ideologia del merito, Laterza, 2019). Luca Ricolfi takes a different stance. In La rivoluzione del merito, he defends the recognition of talent and commitment as tools for emancipation, particularly for young people from working-class backgrounds. His argument emphasises the distinction between merit and meritocracy and the risk that criticism of the latter may end up undermining the former. For him, supporting the capable and deserving who lack resources is a prerequisite for social mobility and the fight against hereditary privilege (Luca Ricolfi, La rivoluzione del merito, Rizzoli, 2023). Linked to this discussion are Daron Acemoglu’s recent comments in an interview with Maurizio Ferrera for La Lettura. Acemoglu identifies a shift in social and political balances in the growing centrality of cognitive skills and higher education: “For me, the growth in the social power of the educated classes has played a crucial role in triggering the crisis.” His observation concerns the relationship between the concentration of knowledge, the power of elites and the weakening of the social foundations of democracy. Industrial transformation, globalisation and digital technologies have also made the link between business success and rising wages less direct, hindering the spread of prosperity (Daron Acemoglu, ‘Will democracy prevail?’, interview with Maurizio Ferrera, ‘La Lettura’, Corriere della Sera, 6 September 2026, no. 771).

Finally, a better-educated country is capable of having a more capable ruling class, but this requires not only measures within the education system but also more far-reaching changes across society as a whole to enhance, first and foremost, the prevailing organisational culture.