Someone called me evil because I quoted from Machiavelli yesterday while I was cleaning the toilet of this family who hired me as a weekly cleaner. Why am I a cleaning lady, you ask? Let us just say that I was discharged from the institution to which I was attached and am presently dispossessed in the country of my birth. If you do not know, the family who hired me does not trust the cleaning lady around their flat, so they watch me while I go about my work. Sometimes, they talk to me and when we do converse, they glare uneasily at me. Yesterday, the daughter of the house (a pre-university student doing her ‘A’ levels) asked me a question to which I answered with a quote from Machiavelli. She blinked hard at my response and told me that I was “dark and evil” for taking the words of a dark and evil man seriously. This incident, of course, brought to mind something that Hans Morgenthau once wrote, viz., “The end of Machiavellianism…is not just around the corner. It is not of this world at all. If it were, salvation from evil itself would be of this world.” Entre nous, the art of Machiavellianism is not that of evil, but a politics of survival. It is a kind of survival that entails our coming to grips with the world as it is – an unadorned festering cesspit and to survive, we jolly well have to muddy our hands. It is not just pure evil because we want to deliberately hurt others – it is a way of living that teaches us how to muddy our hands while keeping our sanity in tact. No where does Machiavelli make it clearer than the dedicatory letter in The Prince.

The letter is addressed to Lorenzo the Magnificent; not the original chap but his grandson (who was not quite so magnificent). Since I am presently out of the job as a student-lecturer, this letter is of great interest to me. Why? Well, it reads like a letter where Machiavelli is appealing for a job. I was taught in pre-university that I must always sound humble in my job application letters. Machiavelli is a smart man; he makes me swoon when I look at his portrait or when I read his words. You must admit, he does not come across as humble in the dedicatory letter. Oh yes, he does kowtow to Lorenzo, but literary scholars or anyone with a keen sense of wit and irony will note (with a faint smirk of approval) that he is verily the master of equivocation and double meaning. There is something very seductive about Machiavelli’s language (I am saying this both as a woman and a student of political philosophy). In the letter, he seemingly places himself on a lower pedestal, (but a pedestal nonetheless) so that he can suck up to the great Lorenzo. He seems to want to be something more. Do not you get that feeling? I mean, he insults Lorenzo with such grace! Look at the last line of the letter, “and if your Magnificence will at some time turn your eyes from the summit of your height to these low places, you will learn, how undeservedly I endure the great and continuous malignity of misfortune.” (emphasis added)

You should note that lowering or humbling oneself in the job application letter was recommended by a chap who predates Machiavelli. Have any of you heard of Han Fei Tzu? In Han Fei Tzu’s writings, there is this chapter on persuasion where he advises that we should put ourselves down to get a job. Machiavelli goes one step further. Not satisfied with ostensibly humbling himself, he calls attention to the great suffering he has undergone calling it, “the great and continuous malignity of misfortune.” So, we think upon reading the dedicatory letter that Machiavelli is trying to seek employment.

 We know that when Machiavelli wrote this dedicatory letter, he was down on his luck and he is actively soliciting for some form of active occupation. This situation closely mirrors my own, so it is something very close to my heart. He really is saying, “Look at me, I can’t get any worse than this.” Or as I keep saying to myself, “Qui jacet in terra, non habet unde cadat.” 

Since things cannot possibly get any worse for him (or so he implies), his letter goes to with a metaphorical courtier’s bow and the time-honoured tradition of giving a present to the noble liege whom one serves. Yes, the letter formally opens with the topic of gifts and gift-giving. We all like receiving gifts, n’est ce pas? Well, Machiavelli informs us that there are two types of gifts:

(1) One type of gift is precious to the giver.

This means that you want to give something the prince that is precious to you, like a family heirloom perhaps, and you are willing to part to with it. 

(2) The other type of gifts is the type that you think the receiver really enjoys.

And Machiavelli says that this is customary.

All that talk of gifts is fascinating. But has the really interesting thing struck you yet? No? Let me ask you then – Are these two types of gifts are all the gifts there are in the world. Can you think of any other types of gifts besides these two? Think about how you buy presents for family members and friends? Do you bear these two types in mind? I personally have this habit of almost ensuring that the gift is both practical and aesthetically pleasing, when that is secure, I try to ensure that the gift cannot be given away by the recipient to someone else should he/she/it dislike it. But that is just an extension of my tyranny. Besides, by ensuring that my gift is practical, I am giving the second kind of gift, viz., one that I think the recipient will enjoy. Some of you will tell me that you give the other person what you think (s)he needs. Ah, but this falls under the category of what the person desires – whether they need it or desire it, it doesn’t make a difference. Some others will suggest you give something that neither you nor the other person will like but will be forced to accept it anyway. If that is the case, then it is not a real gift; it is just a perfunctory one. Think about real gifts and it seems these two types of gifts are almost exhaustive. Notice how I stress ‘seems’.

Let me now draw your attention to the first line, “It is customary of those who desire acquire favour from a prince to meet him with either of these types of gifts.” The context of gift giving in the letter is one of exchange for the sake of mutual benefit. You desire to acquire something that only the prince can dispense, that is why you give him the gift. The gift is not a free gift – this is the 3^rd type of gift then:

(3) A gift given freely without perhaps any expectations of return.

Now, this notion of free gifts is popular in the consciousness of what sorts of people? The religious of course. Look, when we pray, we are signalling our belief in free gifts, n’est ce pas? Christianity believes in the notion of prayers, which is a free gift. However, in the opening lines of Machiavelli’s letter, he tells us there is no such thing as free gifts; whatever type of gift you give, it is always in return for some benefit for yourself. Fascinating, isn’t it? There is something very mercenary about the first and second type of gifts in other words.

What about Machiavelli’s gift to the magnificent Lorenzo then? I am glad you asked. His gift matters to him personally because it is the gift of a text – this book entitled The Prince. Machiavelli’s gift is the gift of his knowledge and what is this knowledge predicated on? This knowledge is predicated on the actions of great men. In other words, Machiavelli is saying, “I have the knowledge of great men. This is my gift to you, magnificent Lorenzo.” Don’t you just love his audacity?

Machiavelli continues to explain that his knowledge of the actions of great men has two sources – ancient and modern things. That is, what he knows he gathers from his experience of contemporary events and from his reading of ancient texts. It is like us in a sense – we take the old and new and we fashion something out of it – or some of us at least. He implies that he has looked through history and that he has studied and reflected upon the present and out of this, he has written this store of knowledge. This in turn implies that his knowledge of the actions of great men on politics is comprehensive. He implies that he has covered everything.

In the letter, he clearly implies that in this book, The Prince, he will transmit the knowledge of all that he has learned – everything. So everything that Machiavelli has learned is contained in this book, or so he claims. Yet, in The Discourses he makes the same claim. Oh, Niccolo is such a tease – he leaves me hot and bothered and swooning for more. But I digress. Could it be then that The Prince is just a more condensed version of The Discourses? Is that why I am harping on the importance of this dedicatory letter? I am going on and on about this letter because in this dedicatory letter, he tells us what to expect in the main body of The Prince. Interestingly, it is ONLY in this letter that he says the text contains everything he knows.

So, he claims this book contains everything he has learnt. This is a hint of Niccolo placing himself on the pedestal so to speak and he is very much aware of it. It is tantamount to him saying, “Here Lorenzo, I’ve written this book with all the knowledge of politics in it, and it is good for you. It will be expedient for you to read it.” He is saying that which we students of political philosophy are constantly saying about the leaders in our respective countries, viz., our leaders do not know much about politics. Maybe it is because they have no justice in their souls; maybe it is because they are just pure acquisition without a possessing that which is good, noble, good and pious in them. Now is not the time for such discussions and I will leave it aside for the moment.

As I was saying, Machiavelli is aware of the presupposition he has made, viz., Lorenzo and the princes do not know much politics. That’s why they fucked up. That’s why they need to read the Prince. To justify himself, he introduces the landscape analogy. It is not a terribly smart thing to go up to a prince/leader in your country (who is a political person and we are mere students of political philosophu) and tell it to his/her face that (s)he does not know about politics. It would be offensive to the prince/leader in your country if we so much as dare to imply that (s)he does not know enough about politics. In some places, the repercussions can be dangerous – being dragged out of bed and never seen again and what have you. So what must one do then? Suck up to the fellow, of course.

Ah, but remember, the very nature of this gift poses a threat to the prince because it implies that he does not know enough to be a prince, that he is not fit to be a prince. Machiavelli tries to cover his arse by saying that he does not want it to be presumed that he is a man from a low state who dares to give advice to the prince, so he gives this landscape analogy. Bear with me, as I do not have the Mansfield translation with me (I am at the café in the outskirts of town) and am working from memory, “for just as those who sketch landscape place themselves down in the plain to consider the character of the mountain and of high places and set themselves on the summits to examine the lowlands; similarly, to know well the nature of people, one has to be a prince, and to know well the nature of the prince, one needs to be of the people.”

He implies with this landscape analogy that you need to be down in the valley among the common people looking up in order to understand the prince; and the prince needs to be on the mountain looking down on the people in order to understand the people. This is his justification for daring to present the prince with this book. What is the problem with this analogy? We are just common people you and I, n’est ce pas? Think about the leaders in your countries – those are the people who sit up in the mountain and we are the peasants (masquerading as quack students of pol philo) in the valley. Well, according to this analogy, it necessarily means that we know our leaders better than they know themselves. This is a dangerous thing to say, mind you. Trust me, I know so.

Why is it dangerous? Because it implies that to know the nature of people well, one needs to be a prince; to know well the nature of the prince, one needs to be of the people. So, we in the valley, we see M./Mme X (fill in political leader’s name or head of state’s name) and we say, “Ah, I understand his/her nature.” (S)He understands my nature because (s)he looks down on me but I don’t understand my nature just as (s)he doesn’t understand his nature, but I understand his/her nature.

At this point, I am tempted to sigh at the myopia of political leaders who are offended by this valley and hills analogy. Yes, it is a dangerous thing to say (just as dangerous as saying to their faces that they do not know politics). But these political leaders – being of course what they are – do not engage in this thing called self-reflection. Now, you and I like to think. So we look at this hills and valley analogy and we will smell a rotten fish. Does the analogy make sense? NO! It is a rubbish analogy. It is NONSENSICAL. Why? Because if it were true, it would mean that you know who M./Mme X (fill in political leader’s name or head of state’s name) really is, and that means you know M./Mme X better than you know yourself. And this is not true! It is a specious argument if I ever saw one.

If that is the case, what is the value of that analogy? Almost zero, n’est ce pas? ALMOST zero, unless of course, you keep in mind the original analogy of the landscape artist. I am now donning my artist’s beret so forgive me if I am rubbishing. I used to teach watercolouring and nude figure drawing – so indulge me – even if a lady in a toga with a French beret is a damnably ludicrous sight. The landscape artist is different from the prince and the people because she is like the philosopher. She is mobile. She CAN MOVE. She can move up and down. She can move down the valley. She can go up the mountain. She is very mobile. Therefore, according to the analogy Niccolo draws for us, it means the philosopher and the artist knows the people because she can climb up the mountain and when she wants to know the prince, she can come down to the valley. That is the landscape artist for you – she has knowledge of both the prince and the people. In this dedicatory letter, Machiavelli is the landscape artist.

In short, the analogy draws attention to himself – he is saying that neither princes nor people know themselves, but he, Niccolo Machiavelli knows them both. There is something very Socratic about Niccolo when he makes that declaration that added to his smirk (seen his portrait) that makes me swoon. But I digress. This is the first glean we have of what he means when he indicates the extent of his knowledge – he is in all places – he can move up the mountain and move down to the valley – he is everywhere, he has covered all his bases, he has seen everything, he understands every single thing about princes and the people. And that is what he is trying to put across. This is what HE thinks the book is about – it contains a comprehensive understanding of politics because he knows how the leaders think and he knows how the plebs think. Oh la la – he reminds me so much of Socrates…

Which brings me to Machiavelli’s style – have you noticed that he is rhetorical and deceptive. He makes himself appear as a fellow just looking for a job, as someone who is down and out and needs a job. It turns out that he is not quite like that. Now, a trick like that does not always work. I got in grad school with such a letter, but when I was found out, I ended up back in the country of my birth as a cleaning lady – enough said.

But back to the letter. What is the purpose of the letter? Why is it so important? It prepares the reader by informing her what to expect. Machiavelli is announcing, “I have the comprehensive knowledge of politics and it’s my intention through this book to give you the capacity to be able to understand.” It is a very weird trick, one that is not at all easy to understand. Indeed, I do not quite understand it myself. Well, what does it mean? He is NOT saying, “Here’s this book, if you read it, you will be able to understand.” He DOES NOT quite say that. Instead, he says that this book will give you the capacity to be able understand. Interesting, n’est ce pas? Only the capacity to understand, not enabling us to understand. He never says, “Read this and you will understand” or “You will be able to understand”. It is about the capacity to understand. Keep that in mind.

What does that mean then? Ah, the implication is that this book teaches us to think politically. That’s what he means when he says he will give you the capacity to understand. In other words, this book IS NOT a manual; it is something else. Indeed, later in chapter 15, he makes it very clear that this book is written “to whoever understands”. So when you consider this whole letter, it is clear that he thinks of Lorenzo as a fool and the intention of the letter is to convey to those who understand that they will even understand more politically; they will have the capacity to understand more as a result of reading and thinking through this text.

This letter is possibly one the sexiest things Machiavelli has written because it says things that are not mentioned in the text. It prepares you for what is to come in the text. Machiavelli is sly and seductive, not evil and dark. He really is very much like Socrates – don’t you see. Socrates says he knows nothing, then he says all these lovely things that changes us. Machiavelli says he is going to give this gift to the prince, when he has the happy disposition to be everyman – just like Socrates – in that he understands the leaders and the hoi polloi.

I think the landscape analogy is particularly fascinating. On the surface, it seems to be like a closed parasol, but when you open the parasol, you see that there are holes in it. You may think that this means that the parasol is useless because it has holes in it. But do not EVER do that. You may think the landscape analogy on the hills and valleys to be utter rubbish, and that Machiavelli has made a very careless mistake and that he is spouting rubbish, so you should dismiss what he says. DON’T EVER DO THAT. Always remember that Machiavelli is like Socrates – much smarter than us. Machiavelli knows that there are problems in the analogy. For crying out loud, he put them there! Think about it, we are not as smart as he is and we see the problem. Why couldn’t he have seen it himself if he is smarter than us? So we must entertain the possibility that some of the apparent mistakes he makes are DELIBERATE. That is the very beauty of Niccolo – that he is Socratic.

Well, I have to return to work. I have a translation project (French into British English) so I shall leave you for the moment. Stay tuned to my next instalment where I will delve into the Prince proper.