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Short Story

Affairs of Heart & Affairs of State

Philosophers have a problem with truth; but what about truth-telling? Peter Cave publishes some correspondence, recently re-discovered, concerning a long-forgotten political scandal. For the sake of brevity, incidental material in the letters has been excluded. Now, how do you tell people that you are telling them the truth?

Dear Prime Minister,

This is an extremely difficult letter for me to write...

As well as being one of my closest political friends, you head a government that has radically improved our great nation’s welfare – a government that I hold in the highest regard. Imagine my distress and embarrassment, therefore, at a sordid scandal that is about to hit the headlines. Tomorrow, I shall be branded a skunk – and, let me confess, thus branded rightly so. I have cheated on – lied to – my dear, dear wife, my so adorable mistress and also my lovely ladyfriend and – well, let us just say – also romantically significant others. I have betrayed their trust, when declaring my commitment, affection and loyalty. Naturally you will be desirous of hearing neither the details nor how I loved all three – and more.

This letter, apart from alerting you to the scandal, is written to offer my deepest and most sincere apologies, should the scandal in any way tarnish Her Majesty’s Government; this letter is written to express as firmly as I can my utter loyalty to you and affection for, and commitment to, the government that you proudly – and deservedly – lead. I intend to continue to serve in your government for as long as I receive your confidence.

Yours most regretfully,

Dear M,

Thank you for your letter. The receipt, I regret to say, probably brought me more pain than even your pain in its writing. You have, indeed, always expressed a fine and profound support for my government, a support that has been most uplifting – and, in your ministerial role, you have served the nation well.

I am (need it be said?) most upset by the tragedy that you and your wife, mistress and girlfriend – and, er... others – find yourselves enmeshed within. These must be difficult times.

I should, of course, welcome your continuing loyalty, affection and commitment to my government and myself; yet you have deceived your wife, mistress and – well – etc., to whom you made similar devotional claims. Reluctantly, I am therefore unclear why I should now trust the declarations being made to me.

With kindest regards,

Dear PM,

Your kind words concerning my past loyalty and service to the nation are held within my heart, though your doubts about my current loyalty wound more deeply than you can fathom.

’Tis my fault. In the stress and distress of the scandal, I failed to clarify. Yes, I have cheated in my romantic life, yet romance is but a small corner of what matters to me. In my political life, serving in the British cabinet, I remain as trustworthy as ever – loyal and committed to you and your government. Be assured therefore, Prime Minister, that you can rely on me.

Yours truly,

Dear M,

Thank you for your recent letter of explanation concerning your little local difficulty. I observe that your words are written on lavender-scented paper; it occurs to me that this might well indicate that they flow from that corner of your life which is untrustworthy. Indeed, from what you tell me, that corner would appear rather extensive, needing to accommodate wife and mistress and ladyfriend...and others. I have no reason to believe that such an untrustworthy corner is not representative of the whole of your life. If you are speaking from your deceitful corner, you might well be seeking to deceive me over its extent. Should I retain your ministerial services therefore?

Yours etc,

Dear Prime Minister,

May I first draw your attention to the House of Commons headed paper I am using for this letter – paper that is distinctly scentless. Further, I am writing to you from one of the most important political corners of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, namely the Houses of Parliament.

Prime Minister, I hereby offer you my full and unqualified support for, and commitment to, your government and yourself politically.

With the above clear statement of loyalty, I trust, you can – and do – believe me. I am telling the truth.

Yours most – most – sincerely,

Dear M,

I am in receipt of your letter. I note your comments.

You have been shown to be deceptive in one area of your life – as the press reports, now out, have established. True, you were honest in telling me of that deception; but are you honest in telling me of the extent of the deception? What grounds do I have for believing that certain deceptive practices do not leak into other corners of your life? As you must well know, nothing is gained by your adding “Trust me” or “I am really telling the truth now.” If you were intent on deceiving me in the political realm, you might well say such things.

Paradoxically, now that doubt has been raised – even though spoken of by you – I am at sea concerning what to believe regarding what you say.

Yours etc,

Dear PM,

I understand your hesitation; but things are not as bad as they might seem. Yes, I have been shown to be a liar in affairs of the heart, but not in affairs of the state. Many things can be checked by you regarding the latter – and you will see that I continue to behave with integrity, giving you my full support, in all matters political.

Yours – as ever – truly,

Dear M,

Regarding your letter, yes, many things can be checked – but on some occasions you presumably told the checkable truth to your wife and mistress and girlfriend – yet you still let them down by deceiving them on other occasions. As you have this disposition to deceive when it suits you in affairs of the heart, you might have a similar disposition in affairs of the state.

Yours etc,

Dear PM,

Let me thank you for allowing me this time to pursue our correspondence and my political survival. You are right, but for one factor – one that can be independently verified – namely there is a natural distinction between public lives and our private lives. Look around us – and we can see familiar instances of upright people swept along by sexual passions into deceit and worse; yet such people are utterly trustworthy in chambers, to fellow members of their club and on the golf course – things that really matter.

With my greatest sincerity,

Dear M,

Yes, people can be swept along into all manner of curiosities by sexual passions; but power is equally a force that can corrode truthtelling dispositions. And whatever your view on the corrupting features of power, why think that truth-telling dispositions divide up so conveniently – along the different roles that we play or different passions that we experience? After all, someone who is disposed to cheat the taxperson might – or might not – be disposed to cheat the village shopkeeper, department store and his colleagues at work. The same evidence might be evidence for taxation cheating alone or evidence for cheating all and only big institutions or evidence for cheating anyone, if financial gain is a prospect – or indeed evidence for cheating whenever possible.

Yours thoughtfully,

Dear PM,

The particular case that confronts us – cheating over affairs of heart but not affairs of state – is an instance of a distinction for which there is considerable evidence and relevant theory. Many of us can grasp how someone’s truthfulness can be rocked and undermined and thwarted by sexual desire and yet not be disturbed by power or financial gain or doing some classroom teaching. There are many instances of deceit resulting from sexual desire, yet with truthfulness remaining in the other areas of the person’s life. This just is a natural distinction – and there is much evidence that my behaviour fits such a pattern. I sincerely hope that this answers your doubts.

With the deepest and most sincere affection,

Dear M,

What you say has the ring of truth about it, but you might be one of those individuals for which the lust for power is sufficiently similar to the lust for sex. If so, then the evidence that we have for how your lust within your loins leads to deceit is also evidence for the belief that deceit might eventually also result from a lust for power lurking within you. Indeed, deploying an idea from a certain Nelson Goodman, even if the evidence is good evidence that you deceive only in affairs of heart, it is also good evidence that you deceive only in affairs of heart until the year 1970, for example, and thereafter only affairs of state. Perhaps I should be particularly wary of you after 1970 – and your romantic attachments should one day be sighing with relief (so to speak). How can we tell?

Yours questioningly,

Dear PM,

You have indulged me considerably already in discussing this matter in such detail – and in introducing the name of Nelson Goodman. How welcome it is to be dealing with the erudition expected of many British prime ministers, if not of US presidents! You will not mind my bringing forth Wittgenstein, by my stressing his emphasis – one that I believe Goodman embraced – on the significance of the natural and the way that we act. It would just be irrational for we humans to carve up the world in such a way that we projected trustworthiness to change, for example, in the year 1970 or 2005 or whenever. It just is natural – and rational – until there is evidence to the contrary to accept that I behave foolishly, when under that wild beast of amour, and that I behave well in other matters.

Yours, with a natural devotion to truth and good government,

Dear M,

I regret to say that this letter manifests the way that I am naturally disposed to act, given the circumstances. The political consequences of your actions are too undermining of the good government of which we are rightly proud. I am sorry, but I must ask for your immediate resignation.

Yours with the deepest regrets,

Postscript

M resigned. M was a considerable political asset – indeed, his romantic shenanigans had even increased his and the government’s popularity. Commentators at the time were mystified by the resignation – and even more mystified why the Prime Minister wrote his last letter on lavender-scented paper. Documents, released some thirty years later, show that until that last letter from the Prime Minister, he had had no intention of sacking M. What led to the sacking was the Prime Minister’s discovery of a letter from M to his – the PM’s – mistress. It was, of course, on lavender-scented paper.

Peter Cave is associate lecturer at the Open University and visiting lecturer at City University in London. Contact: pc@petercave.com.