I happened upon an old folder of typed letters from decades ago that I had long forgotten. Several were from a friend who had gone off to graduate school in New York (Fordham University) and we had corresponded in an attempt to keep our dialogues and debates going. Oh, how I miss Mr. Little. He was our gadfly, forever challenging the assertions and positions. Forever constructing arguments and rebuttals.
I just had to share:
25 May, 1993
Mr. Lau,
I have received your undated missive, postmarked the 21st. You have erroneously addressed it to the “Center for 17th Century Conservatism,” perhaps in jest, perhaps not.
However, this error deserves some attention. If we are to believe Socrates when he states in The Republic, that the beginning is the most important part of any work, then we must pay close attention to both the aim and the form of our endeavor at the outset, so as to maximize the likelihood of a good and profitable result.
The 17th-century authors addressed in your letter are Hobbes and Locke. As proponents of a bold new experiment in political philosophy, they are dubious candidates for the title of “17th-century conservatives.” Furthermore, I have so far accepted on faith and on the basis of a casual acquaintance with their primary works the Straussian theory that the kernel of thought they share is actually the seed of a 15th-century thinker: Machiavelli.
If you are asking me to accept the role of teacher and to guide your soul as an adherent to the thought of Machiavelli, I should remind you that Strauss also says Machiavelli is a teacher of evil. And as you are my friend, I cannot in good conscience consent to do you harm, even at your own request.
It is my opinion that your proposal was not intended as a study of evil but rather of truth. Perhaps it is not just, at this stage, to assert a distinction; until we have some idea of truth, we cannot pass judgment upon it or claim that it is good. At best, we can say that such knowledge will help us direct our affairs, to live more profitably, leaving to a later stage the determination of whether we are exchanging a miserable condition for a blessed one—or merely for one less miserable.
Accordingly, I have already made known to you my desire that we begin as objectively as possible at the very beginning of political philosophy… or as near it as we can come. We shall start with Plato.
It would perhaps be better to begin with Thucydides; I think he is the true beginning. But we could not properly begin Thucydides without first understanding Homer and Herodotus, because it is in comparison to them that his uniqueness becomes most clear. Thucydides, however, is a much more difficult project. Plato is more direct and easier to tackle.
I have suggested Euthyphro as a starting point for two reasons. First, it is the beginning of the end in the narrative of Socrates’ life as told in Plato’s dialogues. That end, the death of Socrates, is critical, because it brings into focus the place of the philosopher, and of philosophy itself, in the city. It is the fundamental event that informs the dialogues, and it must remain ever present when considering any one of them.
Second, Euthyphro addresses with breathtaking clarity the primary conflict between philosophy and the city: the nature of the gods and how we are to know the good… whether through reason or revelation. This issue is also the subject of Ion, and it recurs in other dialogues. But I think we will do better to study Ion and the rest in light of Euthyphro and those dialogues concerning the death of Socrates, for that is what the author intended.
So I ask you to read Euthyphro carefully, and to write back with answers to the following questions:
- At the end of the dialogue, Euthyphro leaves the court, and we have no evidence that he ever returned to prosecute his father.
- What, if anything, has Socrates taught him?
- Has he changed his mind about the piety of his father’s actions, or of his own?
- If so, why? If not, why is he no longer willing to proceed with his prosecution?
Respecting your inquiries concerning Hobbes and the state of nature: I do not believe we are ready yet to address them fully, but I will give you some general answers.
Hobbes does not use the term “state of nature” in Leviathan, and I am not sure he considered it a proper term. I am also suspicious of Locke’s use of it; I think he is not being open. For Hobbes and Locke, natural law consists of precepts found out by reason, which direct man toward the best course of action. Hobbes is clear on the necessity of government; Locke is more ambiguous. If the state of nature is as Locke describes it, it is not clear that government is necessary. But if the state of nature is a state—a city—governed by the laws of nature, then the real question is: is such a state possible without government?
Is the state of nature truly natural? In other words, are men actually governed by the laws of nature?
As to the particular genius of democracy… that we can seize power from our governors when their interests diverge from our own… we must pay attention to what Hobbes says about sovereignty: that it is absolute and indivisible. If we look at our democracy, we see that such absolute power rests not with elected officials or constitutional offices, but with the national majority, which can alter the former at will to suit its interests. I ask you: does the majority not have absolute power? Is the individual citizen not just as helpless against it as against a king—and perhaps even more so, since the majority is more powerful?
This, I assure you, is my true opinion: that minority rights are the ultimate test of the virtue of democracy.
Please do not delay in this activity. It is of the utmost importance. We have much to do, and the time is drawing nearer when we will not be able to meet and discuss these things in person, which is of course the preferable form, as it is easier to clarify meaning in actual conversation than in writing.
Until I see you again, be assured of the friendship and best wishes of your servant,
Michael A. Little
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