Worldly achievement involves not only risks and rewards, but also responsibility, of an inner as well as an outer kind. When we seek positions of power, we are entering a realm which is deeper and more complex than simply winning a prize or enjoying something we have wanted for a long time. Power invariably concerns how we treat others and, at the most profound level, constellates the ideals we espouse and the commitment we make to life. Power, in short, is a form of service. Mythic tales are full of descriptions of the vicissitudes of power and, usually, include the involvement of a god. This tells us that power is also connected with something higher and that, if we wish to handle power with decency, we need to retain humility, wisdom and a sense of honor towards those whom we both rule and serve.
Handling power with integrity
This famous Greek myth illustrates vividly what can happen when promises to the gods are not honored and power is handled irresponsibly. We are told that power corrupts, but what is the nature of that corruption? Here we see its deeper side, when corruption afflicts those in power. The choices Minos makes, and the consequences he invokes, reveal the profound importance of maintaining loyalty towards the higher cause one serves.
eus, king of heaven, saw the beautiful Princess Europa and desired her. But the girl was not easily seduced, so Zeus disguised himself as a pure white bull and carried her across the sea to the island of Crete. There he ravished her; but so great was her attraction that he returned again and again to visit her, which was not usual for this fickle god. In time, Europa bore him three sons – Minos, Rhadamanthys and Sarpedon – all of whom were adopted by the Cretan King Asterios, who fell in love with Europa and married her.
When the boys grew up, there was an inevitable dispute over the succession to the throne after their adoptive father Asterios died. Minos, the eldest, settled the issue by praying to Poseidon, god of the sea, for a divine sign. Poseidon promised that he would send a bull from the sea as a sign to all the world that Minos' claim to the throne was favored by the divine powers. Minos, in turn, agreed to sacrifice this bull directly back to the god, to affirm his loyalty to Poseidon and his recognition that his right to rule derived from the lord of the ocean depths. Thus Minos was to demonstrate to all and sundry that his power was not his alone, and that he must use it responsibly.
Poseidon kept his side of the bargain, and a most magnificent white bull duly rose from the waves. But Minos, once safely crowned, failed to keep his promise. Greed and vanity prodded him with gentle fingers, and he began to think of ways to cheat the god of the promised sacrifice. He thought the bull so wondrous that it was a pity to kill it; he wished to keep it in his herd and breed from such a fabulous beast, rather than wasting it on the sacrificial altar. So he substituted his second-best bull and sacrificed that to the god instead. This proved a very costly error in judgement, for the god was sorely angered. He punished Minos by causing the king's wife, Pasiphaë, to fall madly in love with the bull from the sea.
Pasiphaë managed to satisfy her burning lust with the help of the craftsman Daedalus, who constructed a lifelike wooden cow for her to conceal herself in. The bull was fooled, and the union consummated. The result of this strange mating was the Minotaur – a monster with a man's head and a bull's body, who dined exclusively on virgin human flesh. To hide this shameful creature, Minos commissioned Daedalus to construct an elaborate labyrinth to imprison the Minotaur, so complex that none could find their way out of it. Each year, nine youths and nine maidens were sent from Athens to feed the Minotaur's foul appetites. Year after year the secret canker at the heart of Minos' kingdom ate away at his peace, until the Athenian hero Theseus sailed to Crete. Theseus killed the Minotaur with the help of Minos' daughter Ariadne, thus freeing Crete from its terrible curse. Minos, worn out by sorrow and guilt, died, and Theseus became ruler of both Crete and Athens.
All human actions have consequences, and none are more visible to the world than the actions of those in power. King Minos begins the story as a decent man. He does not seize the throne through violence or treachery, as do so many rulers in Greek myth; he turns to the gods for their judgement and is rewarded for his humility. This is the ancient symbolism of kingship, which has always portrayed the king as a vessel for deity, a kind of ‘good shepherd’ who rules his people through the grace of God and renews his power through the renewal of his vow to serve. Although in modern times we have largely forgotten this ancient and profound dimension of rulership, nevertheless there is some magic about those who rule (whether through inheritance or elected office), and perhaps it is, indeed, through some deeper power or purpose that the ruler who claims his or her throne honestly is given such a role to play in the world.
But Minos' greed and vanity get the better of him. So, too, may any modern individual begin to abuse power, through the desire to get more than his or her fair share. Arrogance can play a part as well; for it is easy to forget, once one has power, the initial ideals which inspired one to seek such a position, and one may begin to believe one is superior to those over whom one exercises control. History is full of examples of the sad fates of those who forgot to whom or what they owed their power; and every day we may observe this pattern in any company or business establishment, as well as in the political world. Poseidon, lord of the sea, had been willing to help Minos get his crown, provided Minos publicly honored the god. But Minos, like so many of us, was not content once he had got what he wanted; he thought he would go for a bit more and made the fatal mistake of treating the god like a fool. Naturally, the god was enraged. Although, in this sophisticated modern world, we may no longer believe in divine justice, life has a strange way, sooner or later, of presenting us with the consequences of our actions.
The Minotaur is a savage image of something blind, bestial and ruthless which lies at the heart of Minos' kingdom and therefore at the heart of the king himself. This monster is a powerful portrayal of the process of corruption and the transformation of a human soul into something less than human. In small ways, we too may lose some of our humanness through greed and arrogance, trampling ruthlessly over those who are weaker than ourselves. The Minotaur eats the flesh of the young, and, when our integrity is eroded by the intoxication of power, we tend to behave destructively towards all that is vulnerable, in others as well as in ourselves. We may treat our children with insensitivity or even brutality, because they are dependent on us and cannot fight back; we may lord it over those who owe us something, secretly enjoying the power to humiliate. We hear over and over again of business people who are doing well, yet risk everything in order to double their money – only to lose everything. And there are those who are tempted into doing something disreputable, dishonorable or injurious to others for the glittering reward at the end; but sooner or later, privately or publicly, they must face the humiliation of defeat. We may not always read about the consequences of such actions in the daily newspapers. The outcome may be secret and lie at the heart of one's personal life. But there is an old saying that the mills of God grind slowly but grind exceedingly small.
The story of Minos teaches us that handling power with integrity is not simply something we do publicly to impress others. It is an inner commitment to whatever we choose to call God, whether we use religious terminology or the more objective language of humanitarian concerns. If the commitment is sincere, and we keep loyal to the dictates of our hearts, then we renew our inner power and authenticity. If we are hypocrites who promise many things solely to win votes, we may fool some; but we cannot fool our own souls, and we will be left discomfited, unhappy and plagued by our consciences.
After the goal is reached, what then?
This little tale from the Arthurian legends – although it contains mainly a dialogue between King Arthur and his queen, and offers us little action – provides a profound commentary on human nature. In particular, it reveals very succinctly what so often happens when we have finally got where we want to be, and discover that it is struggle, not satiation, which hones and sharpens our characters and our hearts.
fter many long and turbulent years, King Arthur had achieved peace. Through nobility, good fortune and force of arms, he had destroyed or made peace with all his enemies – both inside his realm and beyond – and had established, throughout Britain, his right to rule. To achieve this goal, Arthur had gathered around him the best knights and the toughest fighters in the world. All had lived up to their high reputations and fought bravely and brilliantly for their king.
Having successfully made peace through war, King Arthur now faced the dilemma of what to do with his soldiers in times of peace. He could not entirely disband his army in a world where violence may have abated for a time, but still slept uneasily, ready to be awakened. But, on the other hand, he found it difficult, if not impossible, to keep the strength and temper of his men at a peak without fighting; for nothing rusts so quickly as an unused sword or an idle soldier.
Arthur was having to learn, as all leaders must, that peace, not war, is the destroyer of men; security rather than danger is the mother of cowardice; and plenty, rather than need, brings fear and unease. And he learned, with sorrow, that the peace all Britain had long wished for – peace, so painfully fought for – created more bitterness than ever did the bloody struggle of achieving it. King Arthur watched with growing apprehension and unhappiness as his brave young knights, who would otherwise have filled the fighting ranks to battle with a worthy enemy, now became bored, idle and aggressive, dissipating their strength in a mire of complaints and petty quarrels.
Even Lancelot, his greatest knight, grew despondent, for he could find no opposing sword to keep his own sword sharp. He was like a tiger without prey, and even this noble and courageous fighter grew restless and irritable, and then angry. He suffered pains in his body and exhibited flaws in his disposition which were not there before.
Queen Guinevere, who loved Lancelot and understood men, was saddened to see him destroying himself little by little. She talked to Arthur about it and heard of his concern about the young knights.
‘I wish I could understand it,’ Arthur said. ‘They eat well, sleep in comfort, make love when and to whom they wish. They feed appetites already half satiated and no longer have to suffer all the pain and hunger, weariness and discipline of the past. Yet still they are not content. They complain that the times are against them.’
‘And so the times are,’ replied the queen.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Arthur.
‘They are idle, my lord. They have achieved a long-cherished dream and now have nothing further to give their hearts to. There is an emptiness that always follows a dream fulfilled. The times make no demand on them now. The fiercest hound, the fastest horse, the best of women, the bravest knight – none can resist the corrosive acid of idleness. Even Sir Lancelot grumbles like a spoiled child in sedentary discontent.’
‘What can I do?’ cried the king. ‘I fear that the noblest fellowship in the world is crumbling. In the dark days, I prayed and worked and fought for peace. Now I have it, and we are not at peace within. Sometimes I find myself wishing for war to solve my difficulties.’
‘You are not the first ruler to think thus, nor will you be the last,’ said Queen Guinevere. ‘We have general peace, it is true; but, as a healthy man has small pains to plague him just a little, so is peace a tapestry of small wars. There are tiny wars occurring all around us. A man batters his neighbour's head in over a lost cow, and a woman poisons her neighbour because she has a fairer face. Then a family feud begins and continues for generations. These tiny wars are everywhere, always too small for an army, yet always too big for any one person to set right. What the knights need is a quest.’
‘But the young knights laugh at old-fashioned questing, and the old knights have seen real war.’
‘It is one thing to strive for greatness, but quite another to try to be not small. I think that all people want to be larger than themselves, but they can only be this if they are part of something immeasurably larger than themselves. The best knight in the world, if unchallenged, finds himself shrinking. We must seek a way to declare a great war on little things. We must discover those banners under which small evils enlist to feed a great invisible wrong – the small evils which break out in every community. Against this we could raise a fighting army, although the battles might be small and subtle and scarcely noticeable. We could call it the King's Justice; and every knight would be the personal agent and keeper of this Justice. Each man would be responsible for it. Then every knight would be an instrument of something larger than himself.’
‘I wonder how I could declare this war,’ mused King Arthur.
‘Start with the best knight in the world: Sir Lancelot. And let him take the worst knight as his companion. His nephew Sir Lyonel is a likely candidate, as he is the laziest and the most worthless. Then the worst will have to aspire to the best.’
‘The worst and the best,’ smiled Arthur. ‘It is a powerful combination. Such an alliance would be unbeatable.’
‘It is only through such alliances that wars can be fought at all, my lord,’ replied the queen.
And so it was done. The knights now had a new goal towards which to aspire and a new vision to inspire them. But this new war was one which was never-ending, because there was no single enemy with whom to do battle, only the petty meannesses of the undeveloped human heart.
The aftermath of great achievement is often a profound depression; and we are at greatest risk of inner corruption when we are idle, rather than when we are struggling. This is the deep but unwelcome truth which Arthur discovers and which Guinevere, already cauterized by her forbidden love for Lancelot, has the insight to foresee. When we have longed to reach a goal for many years and finally get there after many battles and hardships, we expect to feel content, fulfilled and at peace. Yet, all too often, the opposite happens, and we cannot understand why, having climbed to the top of the mountain, the vista seems only grey, bleak and without hope. Whether it is a position of worldly responsibility or the acquisition of material objects, so many of us are driven – or so we believe – by the need to have something, to win something, to gain something. Yet this tale reveals a secret about the human heart: it is not the prize, but the struggle, which makes us feel most alive and to which we offer our greatest love and commitment. And, although we are reluctant to admit it, it is struggle which brings out the best in us.
We may see this pattern in many highly successful people who have battled for many years to gain recognition or wealth and, having achieved it, begin to slide into emotional misery, physical illness and what can best be described as a darkness of the soul. Arthur's fighting knights are, in a sense, symbolic of the motivated side of Arthur himself, full of courage and aspiration, willing to suffer all kinds of hardships to win the great fight. What does one do with this powerful, impetuous, noble spirit when there is nothing to fight for? In worldly terms, an army in peacetime can be a serious problem, for the aggression and martial spirit which make men and women good soldiers turns sour if there is nothing to do battle with. But we do not have to be soldiers to experience this problem. All highly motivated people run the risk of the inner defeat which comes when the prize has been won and there is no longer any meaning to one's life.
Guinevere knows that there is only one possible answer. In order for us to renew our commitment to life and rediscover the sense of a future full of potentials, we must find a new goal; but this new goal must be bigger than our personal aspirations if it is to prove as effective a motivator as the goal we have just achieved. What is portrayed here is the need for all human beings to first fulfill their individual ambitions and then to recognize that they belong to a larger community and need to make some contribution to that greater whole in order to allow life to flow within once again. Arthur's peace comes when the king has arrived at middle age; and this involvement in the life of the larger world is perhaps a task which is best approached when we too have managed to win at least some of our personal battles and have already discovered our natures, resources and limitations through individual achievement. With power comes responsibility, and with achievement comes the need to turn within and discover what the achievement has really been for, and whom and what it really serves.
Responsibility requires wisdom
The Biblical tale of the Judgement of King Solomon is a shining example of the importance of humility and wisdom when we are fortunate enough to receive the reins of power. Solomon rules not just with his mind, but also with his heart; and his wisdom is a gift from God because he is devoid of arrogance and greed. In this respect, he is a rare figure among rulers, ancient or modern.
hen his father King David died, Solomon became king over all Israel. And the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream and said, ‘Ask what I shall give you.’
And King Solomon said, ‘You have showed your servant, my father David, great mercy. Now you have made me king; and I am but a little child; I know not how to go out or come in. Give me, therefore, an understanding heart to judge my people, that I may discern between good and bad.’
And this speech pleased the Lord, who said, ‘Because you have asked this thing, and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the lives of your enemies, I have done according to your words. I have given you a wise and understanding heart.’
And Solomon awoke from his dream.
Then there came to him two women who were harlots and stood before him. And the first woman said, ‘O Lord, I and this woman dwell in one house; and I was delivered of a child in the house. And it came to pass that on the third day after I was delivered, this woman was delivered also. We were together and there was no stranger with us in the house. And this woman's child died in the night. And she arose at midnight and took my son from beside me, while I slept, and laid her dead child on my bosom. And when I rose in the morning to nurse my child, behold, it was dead; but when I considered it, I knew it was not my son.’
And the second woman said, ‘No, the living child is my son, and the dead one is your son.’
And the first woman said, ‘No, the dead one is your son, and the living one is my son.’ And thus they argued before the king.
Then Solomon said, ‘One of you says, “This is my son that lives,” and the other says, “No, it is my son that lives.” Bring me a sword!’ And they brought a sword before the king. And Solomon said, ‘Divide the living child in two, and give half to one, and half to the other.’
Then spoke the first woman, ‘O Lord, give her the living child and in no wise slay it! I would rather it lived and was not mine, than that it was harmed.’
But the second woman said, ‘No, let it be neither mine nor yours, but divide it!’
Then the king said, ‘Give this first woman the living child, and do not slay it; for she is its mother.’
And all Israel heard of the judgement which the king had made, and they feared him, for they saw that the wisdom of God was in him.
Power – whether political, financial, social or emotional – carries great responsibility, as the biblical story of Solomon tells us. This king is mindful before anything else that a king is nothing without those he rules; it is his people who matter, rather than his own glory; and so when God asks what gift he desires, he requests clear judgement so that he can rule his people wisely and well. Sadly, the humility which Solomon shows the moment he inherits the kingship is lacking in so many individuals in positions of power, both in myth and in the real world. We might well ask what kind of world we might be living in if those whom we answer to had even a little of Solomon's wisdom.
The basis of Solomon's famous judgement is not about whether to declare war, whether to raise or lower interest rates, or whether to increase taxes. It circles around the unhappiness of two very ordinary women, one of whom has lost a child. This is the real business of ruling, for if we cannot be bothered with the emotional concerns of our fellow humans, perhaps we have no right to claim a position of power. It is often characteristic of high worldly positions that we are gradually cut off from the life flowing on around us, and can no longer understand the things which make other humans weep or laugh. Many an individual who has achieved important worldly goals has, somewhere along the line, forgotten what it is like to worry about a child, to feel sad at the loss of a pet, or to smile at a beautiful sunset. Solomon's famous wisdom is based not on military might or monetary shrewdness, but on his understanding of love; for he can see clearly that the mother of the living child is the one who would rather give up the child than see it suffer.
The world is not a perfect place, nor are human beings perfect. The wisdom of Solomon is not something we can expect to achieve, except perhaps in momentary glimpses when making a decision. We must try to remember what and whom we really serve when we claim the title of manager, director, member of parliament, chairperson, president or prime minister. Because of the deeper implications of Solomon's judgement, he wins the respect of all his people and is allowed to rule without rebellion or revolution. This stands as a clear message to those who have worked in positions of power and then feel threatened because they are afraid they will lose what they have gained. Unless power is tempered, and perhaps even motivated, by a spirit of humility and a genuine desire to serve, it may not last very long.