The Cult of the Minotaur

John Southards

The race has begun. The 2020 election is in sight. As presidential candidates and their campaign managers even now begin to slide to the edge of their seats in anticipation of that glorious day, we citizens must steel ourselves to hear a slew of factoids about every candidate. But since we are about to hear the resumés of these candidates rattled off in well-crafted soundbites, perhaps we ought to evaluate the candidates like an interviewer would evaluate job applicants. In a sense, this is what candidates expect us to do when they list their major accomplishments: they hope that the American people will be captivated by their competence (how many times did we hear John Kasich say he balanced the budget during the 2016 GOP primaries?). As potential employers, voters should want to know that their applicants can perform the job. However, employers want to know more than the qualifications of their applicant, which is why they ask, “Why do you want this job?” If we are to treat political candidates like job applicants, we should pay as much attention to their motivation for ruling as we should to their ability to rule.

In a job interview, we might expect the applicant to declare that he has real enjoyment for the work, or that he is called to work in that field, or sometimes, if the applicant is honest, that he needs the money. Very few politicians ever claim that they are seeking office because they enjoy debating policies or are looking for a way to feed their families. Nor would we expect them to. Does this mean that politicians are always motivated by some noble obligation? It seems unlikely. What is more probable is that there is some natural reward proper to being a pol-

itician that does not belong to most occupations. The reward that is more proper to politics than anything else is power. 1

But if we are to evaluate these alternative motivations of noble obligation and power, we must first consider what they are. Let us begin with the latter. In 1945, the French philosopher Bertrand de Jouvenel undertook the project of understanding the nature of Power. He found that Power tends to expand. For centuries, Jouvenel suggests, the centralization of Power had found its locus in the monarchy. And when the monarchies which dominated the West were overthrown in favor of democratic government, it was thought that the encroaching nature of Power was at last defeated. 2 But it was not. The growth of Power was not destroyed but disguised. “Now, masked in anonymity, it [Power] claims to have no existence of its own, and to be but the impersonal and passionless instrument of the general will.” 3 But the general will, Jouvenel argues, is a façade, a curtain behind which Power lurks. The democratization of Western states, rather than freeing them from the chains of despotism, seemed, but failed, to weaken Power. “But,” Jouvenel warns, “it is of Power’s essence not to be weak. Circumstances arise which make the people themselves want to be led by a powerful will.” 4 In the name of democracy, the people give away all of their Power, thinking themselves the wielders of it, not knowing that they have created a tyrant greater than history has yet seen. 5

Before going further, we need to understand what it is that Jouvenel means by “Power.” A translator of Jouvenel’s work, J.F. Huntington, explains, “the word ‘Power,’ whenever it begins with the capital letter, denotes the central governmental authority in states or communities.” 6 Which is to say, “Power” is simply a term used to convey centralized power within each jurisdiction.

Yet, throughout Jouvenel’s discussion, Power is spoken of less as a governmental authority and more like an independent agent, whose essence and devices are not unlike that of Tolkien’s One Ring. Rather than merely treating Power as

1. Some have objected to this assumption, claiming that a desire for greatness or fame is just as natural a reward of politics as power. I do not deny that these may play a role in motivation, but it is hard to claim that greatness or fame are more natural rewards. Consider the classic motif of a young heir to the throne who is ruled by his guardians. The young heir may be considered king de jure, but his overseers are the ones running the kingdom de facto. Is it not obvious that, though they do not have greatness or fame, the overseers are the rulers and the heir is not? Power naturally proceeds from rulership, greatness and fame do not. 2. By “democratic” and “democracy,” I refer to any form of government that vests the authority of governance in the people. 3. Bertrand de Jouvenel, On Power: The Natural History of Its Growth, trans. J.F. Huntington (London: Hutchinson & Co., 1948), 13. 4. Ibid., 14. 5. Ibid., 15. 6. J.F. Huntington, “Translator’s Note” in On Power, xx.

force employed by the government, Jouvenel gives Power a name: the Minotaur. And because he has named Power, Jouvenel has, though perhaps unwittingly, conferred upon it sort of identity, or being, or even agency. While discussing Hobbes’ Leviathan, Jouvenel expresses, “metaphor is always a dangerous servant; on its first appearance it aims but to give a modest illustration to an argument, but in the end it is the master and dominates it.” 7 Perhaps Jouvenel has been a prophet of his own work, for in reading his discussion of Power while envisioning the Minotaur, we can come to see Power more as a person than a phenomenon.

But first, we must investigate the metaphor itself. What is the Minotaur? What should such a metaphor invoke? First, and most obviously, that Power is a sort of monster. It is not a plough-horse that man may harness for his own use. It is not that with which man can have amicable relations. It is other. It is frightening. Second, Power must be contained. The well-known legend depicts the Minotaur as being imprisoned in a labyrinth to be kept from mankind. Third, Power is the product of unrestrained, brutish passions, a “veneris monimenta nefandae.” 8

Perhaps most concerning of all is what fear of the Minotaur installs in men: worship. Meditating on the might of the Minotaur, men mistake the monster for a god. Jouvenel warns that there “comes a time when whoever has taken hold of Power, whether it be a man or a gang, can make fearless use of its controls. These users quickly demonstrate the crushing enormity of Power. They are thought to have built it, but they did not. They are only its bad tenants.” 9

The Minotaur, I want to suggest, has two different sorts of worshipers: priests and laymen. The priests are those whom Jouvenel describes, those who want to own Power and will take every chance they can to lord it over the fearful. Such men believe that they have created Power themselves, until the Minotaur consumes them. But the laymen do not pursue Power itself. Like most casual worshippers, the laymen are more concerned with the benefits external to their religion than those internal to it. So, Jouvenel quips, “The natural requirements of Power made the fortunes of the common people.” 10 That is, to preserve Power, the priests often placate the people. The laymen prefer to be comfortable men rather than great men. They do not want to own Power, only to be in the good graces of those who do. Together, these classes form what I call the “Cult of the Minotaur.” What binds these two classes together is the approval of those despicable qualities which characterize the Minotaur: monstrous, dangerous to

7. Jouvenel, 60. 8. Virgil, Vergil’s Aeneid Books I-VI: With Introduction, Notes, Vocabulary, and Grammatical Appendix, ed. Clyde Pharr (Boston: D.C. Heath and Company, 1964), VI:26. Pasiphae, the wife of Minos, had intercourse with a beast and gave birth to the Minotaur, a reminder of unspeakable love. 9. Jouvenel, 15. 10. Ibid., 200-201.

mankind, and appetitive.

But, we are tempted to ask, can all men belong to this Cult of the Minotaur? Is there not a remnant? To answer this, we must momentarily shift our gaze away from Power.

The Spanish philosopher, José Ortega y Gasset, writing a little over fifteen years before Jouvenel, claims to have discovered two types of men: the mass, or average, men and the select men. “The mass,” Ortega explains, “is all that which sets no value on itself—good or ill—based on specific grounds, but which feels itself ‘just like everybody,’ and nevertheless is not concerned about it.” 11 Select men, on the other hand, rather than being those who are superior to everybody else, are merely the ones who do not think of themselves as being just like everybody. 12 Though it is tempting to fit these conceptions of men into our understanding of social classes, Ortega not only warns against this but claims that “a characteristic of our times is the predominance, even in groups traditionally selective, of the mass and the vulgar.” 13 Which is to say, the democratization of the West has placed mass men in control of every social and political association.

What does this empowerment of mass men do to society? Ortega is solely concerned with its product in the modern age. As technological and economic discoveries rained down prosperity on society, mass men came to see historically unprecedented blessings as merely a part of the natural world. “What before would have been considered one of fortune’s gifts, inspiring humble gratitude towards destiny, was converted into a right, not to be grateful for, but to be insisted on.” 14 Once mass men dominate both social and political spheres, society is characterized not only by overwhelming ingratitude but by the demand for the satisfaction of its appetites. “These attributes together,” Ortega quips, “make up the well-known psychology of the spoilt child.” 15 And like a spoiled child, mass men have no conception of when to stop. They can only stop when someone or something stronger than themselves forces them. This force must come as a surprise to mass men, for not only do they see themselves as no different than everyone else but, in a democracy, they come to believe that superior men are a myth. 16 So, the society under the rule of mass men becomes appetitive and never considers the possibility of becoming better.

But what of select men? Unlike the mass men, they see that the blessings

11. José Ortega y Gasset, The Revolt of the Masses, trans. anonymous (New York: W.W. Norton & Company Inc., 1993), 14-15. 12. Ibid., 15. 13. Ibid., 16. 14. Ibid., 55. 15. Ibid., 58. 16. Ibid., 59.

of their time are not natural to all men. The select men are not content to live as they are, but instead constantly seek to better themselves in accordance with a standard that exists outside of themselves. “These are the select men, the nobles, the only ones who are active and not merely reactive, for whom life is a perpetual striving, an incessant course of training.” 17 Though they are not characterized as being better than the mass men, the select men are constantly striving to become better.

How does this framework compare to the Cult of the Minotaur? Thus far, it seems that Ortega’s two types of men loosely align with the cult. The laymen and the mass men are both contented with their station as inferiors. Yet, they are contented in so far as they believe that they can obtain the pleasures they seek without working for it. Similarly, those of the priestly class do not seem so different from select men. Both groups desire to rise above the common station and long to be those through which Power is directed. But if this is true, it seems that everyone belongs to the Cult of the Minotaur.

In our present desperation to escape from Power’s control, let us reexamine the relationship between the priests of the Minotaur and the select men. Let us remember that the priests believe they have naturally obtained Power while the select men are characterized as those who are aware of the source of their gifts. How can the select men, if they are not as ungrateful as the priests, belong to the Cult of the Minotaur at all? Perhaps select men are more complex than they appear.

For all his excellences in thought and writing, Ortega was perhaps off the mark when he theorized merely two classes of men. The need for a distinction between two sorts of select men arises when we learn of their conflicting attributes. On one hand, Ortega asserts that “it is the man of excellence, and not the common man who lives in essential servitude.” 18 That is, the select men are those who possess the noblesse oblige, that obligation to serve those who are less able than themselves. Here, the select men are depicted as gallant, distinct from those ungrateful mass men who demand that gifts be given to them. But on the other hand, Ortega expounds, “[t]he privileges of nobility are not in their origin concessions or favours; on the contrary they are conquests. And their maintenance supposes, in principle, that the privileged individual is capable of reconquering them, at any moment.” 19 Which is to say, select men hold their position because they have earned it and, if anyone contests that merit, select men will reestablish their rule through force.

This betrays a misunderstanding of gratitude. The select men, we are led to

17. Jouvenel, 66. 18. Ortega, 63. 19. Ibid.

understand, do not possess the ingratitude that mass men do. But how is it that these nobles have become grateful? They must have first reflected on the gifts that have been given them and acknowledged them as gifts. Those who were gifted with a natural ability or station greater than the average man must go one step further—they must acknowledge that such gifts were given either by posterity or by God, and thus, the recipients cannot repay the benefactors. As we learn from the parable of the ungrateful servant, when one has received a gift that cannot be repaid, he ought to imitate his benefactor and likewise give a similar gift to one below his station. 20 This is the gratitude of the man with noblesse oblige. Such a man recognizes that he did not earn his position. And so, it would be a contradiction in terms to define the select man as he who possesses noblesse oblige and who thinks he has earned his position of superiority.

So, we must break Ortega’s select men into two different sorts of men: those whose primary motivation proceeds from their noblesse oblige and recognize that the gift of another has made them distinct, and those whose primary motivation is to distinguish themselves from everybody else by their own actions. The former sort of men I shall call “nobles.” The latter, as they are consumed with what Augustine called libido dominandi—the lust for mastery—and seek to lord it over others using what they believe to be their own might, I shall call “meritocrats.” 21

How does this new element improve our understanding of select men and the Cult of the Minotaur? The meritocrats are ungrateful, in that, thinking they have earned their position of Power, they see themselves as the primary, if not only, source of their Power. So, the meritocrats do in fact belong to the priestly class within the Cult. 22 On the other hand, the nobles do not belong to the cult at all. Only by breaking the select men into these two distinct groups can we reconcile Ortega’s theory with the Cult of the Minotaur.

Tentatively, then, we have our answer: not all men belong to the Cult of the Minotaur. But surely, one may ask, by defining the meritocrats as those who are ungrateful, have I likened them too much to the mass men? And if there is no real distinction between these two types of men, what has been the point of this whole discussion?

Are mass men and meritocrats the same? Yes and no. These types of men are similar in that they both neglect to acknowledge any giver of good gifts. But what separates the priests from the laymen, or the meritocrats from the mass men, is not the presence of gratitude in one group but not the other. Ingratitude,

20. Matthew 18:23-34. 21. Cf. Augustine, City of God, trans. George E. McCracken (London: Harvard University Press, 1957), Bk 1: Preface. 22. As the priestly class is comprised of meritocrats I shall use the terms interchangeably for the remainder of the discussion. This rule can also be applied to laymen and mass men.

instead, is a mark of belonging to the Cult of the Minotaur. What differentiates these two types of men is what they want and why they want it, not how they receive it. Meritocrats possess a great drive to overcome and rule; mass men have no desire to place themselves above others. Meritocrats demand their rights because they have earned them; mass men demand their rights simply because they are human. Meritocrats want Power itself; mass men want the benefits of Power.

Though the distinction between these two classes of men is subtle, we cannot dismiss its significance. If either class obtains Power, the desires of that class will drive its use of force. This is why Ortega was concerned that the reins of society were being passed from select men to mass men. Though we cannot admire the priests for their motivation for ruling, we should not be too hasty to dismiss them as incompetent rulers. Even if they do not acknowledge that their merits are gifts, that does not disqualify them from having any merits. Jouvenel points out that even the man who rules for the sake of Power has a “need to establish his authority, to maintain it and keep it supplied, [which] binds him to a course of conduct which profits the vast majority of his subjects.” 23

But if the mass men are given Power, what sort of rulers would they be? Recalling that Ortega likened these men to spoiled children, perhaps it would be easier to first imagine what a room full of spoiled children would be like. Some children would express their desires and then infer a demand from it. “I want to play tag. Let’s play tag.” Of course, all the children who have a like desire will quickly agree and those who have an opposing desire, say, to play cards, will quickly protest. In most groups of children, we may imagine that they would vote on the matter or follow the popular kid’s lead. But in either of these situations, the children would have to be willing to submit their will either to the majority or to an individual. Since it is not in the nature of spoiled children to submit their will to anyone or anything beyond themselves, they would split into two different groups according to their preferences. Yet, even while one group plays tag and the other cards, one child will grow bored of his current occupation and demand a third alternative. Either the process will repeat itself as more and more groups are made, or everyone else will be pleased with their activity and leave the child to his own devices. If it is the former, the groups will continue to split apart until only one child per group remains. If it is the latter, the lone child, not knowing how to suppress his appetites, will throw a tantrum, which will have no effect on the other spoiled children. This process will likewise repeat. In either case, the children will break off association with each other because they cannot have their own way. Which is to say, a room full of spoiled children leads to a sort of anarchy. But anarchy, even among children, cannot last for long. A

23. Jouvenel, 118.

leader will arise, and the children must learn to give up their claims. If mass men hold Power, we should expect a similar trajectory.

Jouvenel briefly outlines the stages of arbitrary Power, which bear an undeniable resemblance to the thought experiment. First, the people will be unhappy because they do not believe they are receiving what they are owed. Second, the laws will do nothing to remedy the situation, since the legislation is “nothing better than the hurried botching of short-sighted interests and blind passions.” 24 Third, Power becomes stronger, because it is not being reined in by any limitations. Fourth, a mob demands a despot to order the unrestrained Power. This demand “breeds ambition.” 25

In other words, Jouvenel predicts that the revolt of the masses that Ortega laments is temporary. The meritocrat rises and fills the vacuum created during the unstable rule of mass men. This is precisely what historian Christopher Lasch noticed in the United States in the 1990s. Lasch denies that the U.S. is still operating under a democratic system, that the laymen possess the same authority as the priests. Instead, Lasch sees “a reversal in which age-old inequalities are beginning to reestablish themselves.” 26 He is concerned that the “best and brightest,” the experts and managers, have risen above the average man and claimed rulership for themselves. This meritocracy “has little sense of ancestral gratitude or of an obligation to live up to responsibilities inherited from the past. It thinks of itself as a self-made elite owing its privileges exclusively to its own efforts.” 27

Lasch transformed a discussion of abstract political theory into a very real, current issue. However, Lasch does not suggest that we attempt to escape the Cult of the Minotaur, only that we return to a democratic system where the elites do not hold all the Power. Though Lasch proclaims, “[i]t isn’t simply a question of whether democracy can survive [… but] whether democracy deserves to survive,” he does not immediately answer whether democracy does deserve to survive. 28 But it is certainly Lasch’s aim to paint a picture of what a good democracy looks like. Equality, Lasch argues, was not historically centered around wealth but around an opportunity to learn. In this regard, citizenship created equality. 29 Political equality is not merely a gift that must be received, but one that must be stewarded; it “has to be accompanied not only by formal training in the civic arts but by measures designed to assure the broadest distribution of economic and

24. Jouvenel, 402. 25. Ibid. 26. Christopher Lasch, The Revolt of the Elites and the Betrayal of Democracy (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1995), 30. 27. Ibid., 39. 28. Ibid., 86. 29. Ibid., 59.

political responsibility.” 30 Democracy deserves to survive, Lasch thinks, if we are willing to make it work.

Yet it seems that Lasch has too optimistic a view of people. As we have already seen, as a democracy turns in on itself, it acclimates a people to handing more Power to the state and eventually turns itself into a meritocracy. To have a noble democracy, as Lasch desires, we would first need a vast majority of our mass men to become noble-minded. And with such a caveat, a noble democracy runs into the same objection facing Marxism. It is perhaps not wholly impossible to turn so many minds from their own desires toward the good of the community, but it is highly improbable. We should not dismiss Lasch without a second thought, but neither should we be eager to accept him with open arms.

What is to become of society? The Cult of the Minotaur now reigns in the form of a meritocracy, and if we were to bring those priests level with laymen, we would only grant more Power to a new generation of priests. What hope remains?

Perhaps the nobles are our last recourse. But before we give ourselves over to this mysterious class of men, we ought to learn more about them. Having grown up in a democratic society (or a meritocratic society that wears the mask of democracy), the idea of noblesse oblige is foreign to us. Not growing up with the language of nobility, we have not learned to speak of nobility in its natural form. 31 Though there is no time to take a course on this language, we may be able to partially see nobility as its native speakers do if we immerse ourselves in their stories. In this case, it is from the literature of the aristocratic English that we may awaken some slumbering memory of nobility. I want to suggest that even a cursory look at the works of Shakespeare, Austen, and Dickens can give us a better grasp of nobility. 32

These classic writers do not speak of a time when all men were noble, but rather of a raging war between nobles and meritocrats. William Shakespeare’s laudable history, Julius Caesar, depicts such a battle at the dawn of the Roman Empire. Cassius, who represents libido dominandi, is the first to reveal his true

30. Lasch, 88. 31. Cf. C.S. Lewis, Meditations on a Toolshed. Lewis offers a brilliant reflection on the difference between looking at something externally and internally. 32. A reader has asked why we should bother dwelling on English literature when we are primarily concerned with American politics. I hope it has been made clear that, when trying to understand nobility as those who are ruled by nobles, we cannot turn to American literature because no American has lived under nobles. There is certainly an alternate view of nobility that may be proffered by Americans, but I have assumed that this is precisely the view we have grown up with. I rely on English literature because it embodies a culture wholly different from ours in matters of nobility but familiar enough that we need not begin with their history to understand it (as we might need to do for German or Russian literature).

colors. Caesar has returned from besting Pompey, and the Romans are enthralled with him. Even as the people offer Caesar a crown, Cassius tells Brutus of Caesar’s weakness. He speaks of a time when Caesar challenged him to race through the Tiber where Caesar, overpowered by the waters, called for help. 33 Cassius, who had mastered the river, quite pompously proclaims, “I, as Æneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar.” 34

Unwilling to bow to such a man with seemingly less merit than himself, Cassius hopes to enlist the aid of Brutus to thwart Caesar’s rise to power. Cassius even reminds Brutus of his namesake, who was renowned in all Rome, suggesting that he too can become kinglike. 35 Yet Brutus, who represents the man with noble intentions, at first refuses. “Brutus had rather be a villager Than to repute himself a son of Rome.” 36 Yet it is not long before Brutus gives in to a conspiring band of senators and agrees to help undertake the assassination of Caesar. But even then, Brutus strains to think in categories of nobility—“Let’s kill him boldly, but not wrathfully; Let’s carve him a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds […] This shall make our purpose necessary and not envious.” 37 But for all his good intentions, the words of Brutus’ wife, Portia, reveal him as a man who has lost his nobility. 38 She accuses him of no longer being gentle and exclaims, “You have some sick offence within your mind.” So, it is no great shock when Brutus commits to the cause, joins rank with Cassius, and kills Caesar.

Shakespeare depicts a tragic scenario where all men are consumed by a longing for Power. We cannot dismiss the warning embedded in Julius Caesar: the enticements of Power may corrupt even the noblest man. As we study the virtue of noblesse oblige, we must not deceive ourselves into thinking that it is a quality or a disposition that is inherent to certain men. Instead, it is a virtue that must be developed and, as the tragedy of Brutus points out, maintained.

While Shakespeare warns against the corruptibility of nobles, Jane Austen suggests that the corrupt can become pure. From the beginning of Austen’s book, Emma, we find the protagonist, a wealthy, young aristocrat in a small town, is best described as a meritocrat: “The real evils indeed of Emma’s situation were the power of having rather too much of her own way, and a disposition to think

33. William Shakespeare, “Julius Caesar,” in The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. George Clark and William Aldis Wright (New York: Grosset & Dunlap Publishers, 1911), Act I, Sc. II: lines 100-111. 34. Ibid., Act I, Sc. II: lines 112-115. 35. Ibid., lines 158-61. 36. Ibid., lines 172-73. 37. Ibid., Act II, Sc. I: lines 172-4, 177-79. 38. Ibid., lines 279, 268.

a little too well of herself.” 39 Emma is not a cruel, power-hungry aristocrat like Cassius, but she does enjoy too much the perks of the upper-class without realizing its responsibilities. Emma’s pleasures come not from organizing the state and accumulating military might, but by ordering others’ lives by matchmaking.

Before the first chapter is complete, the reader learns that Emma’s good friend and former governess, Ms. Taylor, marries a local gentleman. Though sad to see her friend go, Emma consoles herself with the knowledge that she made the match. Such knowledge, Emma avows, “may comfort me for anything.” 40 She proceeds to announce that matchmaking “is the great amusement in the world!” 41 Such an amusement, though its indulgence invokes the sarcastic laughter of Emma’s friend Mr. Knightley, is seemingly harmless.

Yet it is not long before Emma’s practice takes on a monstrous form. In the absence of Ms. Taylor, Emma begins a friendship with a pretty girl, Harriet, who has obviously received a lesser education and, being abandoned as a child, does not belong to the same social stratum. When Harriet receives an offer of marriage from the respectable farmer, Mr. Martin, and is uncertain how to respond, Emma eagerly joins in. Hoping that she can force Harriet and the local vicar, Mr. Elton, to fall in love, Emma subtly convinces Harriet to deny Mr. Martin. 42 When Mr. Knightley, who had supported Mr. Martin’s endeavor, learns of Harriet’s refusal, he is flabbergasted. “Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed,” Mr. Knightley exclaims. “What are Harriet Smith’s claims, either of birth, nature or education, to any connection higher than Robert Martin?” 43 Mr. Knightley soon realizes that such a refusal could not have been made by Harriet alone: “You saw her answer! you wrote her answer, too. Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse.” 44

Mr. Knightley, a depiction of a true noble with sensibility, sees clearly what sort of usurper Emma is becoming. In a 2009 TV series adaption of Emma, Mr. Knightley is given a line which, though it does not proceed from Austen’s own pen, clearly captures the spirit of the gentleman’s frustration toward Emma. “Harriet and Martin are not your playthings, your dolls to be told what to do and to marry […] at your bidding. They are flesh and blood!” 45 This language is strikingly similar to Jouvenel’s discussion of Napoleon’s Power, where the “intoxicating pleasure of moving the pieces on the board of a social game breaks out

39. Jane Austen, Emma (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1996), 4. 40. Ibid., 9. 41. Ibid., 10. 42. Ibid., 47-50. 43. Ibid., 55. 44. Ibid. 45. Emma, season 1, episode 1, “Episode 1,” directed by Jim O’Hanlon, written by Sandy Welch, aired Jan. 2010, on BBC.

continually in Napoleon’s correspondence. […W]hen he regulates the vast traffic of men and goods, he fills, as it were, the coursing of an infusion of new blood which supplements his own.” 46 Though on a much smaller scale, Emma is engaging in the same practice and enjoying the same pleasures as Napoleon. She is orchestrating the lives of those over whom she has Power because, in controlling someone else’s life, there is a thrill of exhilaration.

Emma’s rehabilitation begins when Mr. Elton, who she had convinced herself really had fallen in love with Harriet, finally proposes. The proposal, unfortunately, is to Emma. In the following days, Emma gives herself up to introspection where she develops a sort of humility—immature in nature, but humility nonetheless. She recognizes that she was wrong to arrange her friend’s marriage, though she still firmly believes that she was right to dissuade her from marrying Mr. Martin. 47 This agonizingly small first step toward true nobility is significant. It illustrates that becoming a noble cannot be performed like flipping a switch. The virtue of nobility must take root and, even then, it grows slowly.

Emma’s greatest reform, like Mr. Elton’s proposal, comes most unexpectedly. On a social outing, Emma allows her passions to get the better of her and openly mocks a poor, simple woman for her habit of talking too much. In private, Mr. Knightley lays bare the situation. Emma, the most prominent woman of the town, has publicly insulted an inferior and has tacitly encouraged everyone else to join in. The poor woman has been hurt, but, rather than becoming bitter, has quite genuinely lamented that she must be a constant thorn in Emma’s flesh. “I would not quarrel with you for any liberties of manner.” Mr. Knightley admonishes Emma, “Were she your equal in situation—but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor […] Her situation should secure your compassion.” 48 Mr. Knightley not only shows Emma that she indulges in a lust for lording it over her inferiors, he reminds her that she ought to possess the noblesse oblige. Her station does not demand that she ignore those below her but that she have compassion on them and serve them.

That night, as Emma once again dwells on her character, she realizes that she “had been often remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; scornful and ungracious.” 49 This reflection comes, however, not merely from the scolding of Mr. Knightley but from a recognition of the unearned favor her doting father bestows on her. It is not until Emma comes to be grateful that she learns to be gracious. From that point on, Emma resolves to watch herself, to be kinder to those below her, and begins by personally visiting

46. Jouvenel, 135. 47. Austen, 126-27. 48. Ibid., 346. 49. Ibid., 348.

the woman she had wronged. 50

Nor is this change in Emma a mere fancy that she adopts to relieve her guilt, to be dropped as soon as her conscience is clear. By the end of the story, we can see a new humility in Emma. When Mr. Knightley informs her that Harriet and Mr. Martin are engaged to be married, Emma is pleased to hear it. When Mr. Knightley, hardly believing Emma could change her opinion on the match, prods for more information, she merely replies, “at that time, I was a fool.” 51

Though Austen does suggest that a meritocrat can be transformed into a noble, we must not take from Emma the idea that anyone can simply become noble on their own. Throughout the work, we can see two primary elements that led to Emma’s reformation. First, Emma does not grow until she reflects on her character in light of the consequences of her actions. Nobles are, by their essence, reflective beings. They are not only reflective by virtue of their introspection; they literally reflect the goodness given to them onto others. Second, Emma must be driven to reflection by the stern words of Mr. Knightley. This suggests that to develop the noblesse oblige, one must be guided. Just as it is unlikely that Emma would have ever become a noble on her own, it is unlikely that any man in Power will, of his own accord, turn his mind from the thoughts of a meritocrat and embrace the disposition of a noble.

The idea that one must be led to proper reflection is perhaps most forcefully illustrated in Charles Dickens’ novella A Christmas Carol. Scarcely has the story begun when Ebenezer Scrooge, a wealthy but stingy businessman, is asked to give money to the poor. Scrooge maintains that since he supports the prison and Union workhouses (likely through taxes), he has no reason to give to the poor. It would be better for the poor to die and “decrease the surplus population.” 52 Though Scrooge’s refusal to give to the poor was intended to be held in contempt of the viewers, the action itself no longer seems quite out of place. The gentleman taking donations is shocked, but how surprised would we be to hear that a wealthy man decided not to give some of his money to the poor? As Lasch noted, modern meritocrats “cannot be said to subscribe to a theory of noblesse oblige, which would imply a willingness to make a direct and personal contribution to the public good.” 53 The modern, democratic man is more likely to see the horror of Scrooge’s action because he has unconsciously joined in a tradition of hating Scrooge than because he believes Scrooge is shirking the duty inherent to a man of means. Before we can appreciate much of what Dickens has to say, we must view Scrooge not merely as stingy but as someone who failed to be a noble in a

50. Austen, 348. 51. Ibid., 438. 52. Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol (New York: Dover Publications, 1991), 6. 53. Lasch, 45.

community where he is expected to be one. 54

Much like Emma, Scrooge must be guided in reflection, though unlike Emma, he is literally guided through his past, present, and possible future. With the help of the Ghost of Christmas Past, Scrooge is shown much that he had forgotten. It is not until Scrooge sees himself as a schoolboy that he wishes he had listened to a carol sung by a young lad outside his door and had paid him for it. 55 He recalls the kindness of his old employer and remembers how the woman he loved broke off their engagement because of his love for money. 56 The man of business is forced to reflect on who he was, who he became, what he lost, and what he gained. Scrooge begins to see that he has not made a profit, after all.

The Ghost of Christmas Present is no kinder and shows Scrooge those whom he has an obligation to help. Scrooge sees the merry but dilapidated home of his employee, a poor miner family, and his nephew’s Christmas party, where they are laughing about the wretched Scrooge. 57 Finally, Scrooge is shown hideous children, who represent all the neglect men of means show children of want. Horrified, Scrooge asks if they have any means of provision. “‘Are there no prisons?’ said the Spirit, turning on him for the last time with his own words. ‘Are there no workhouses?’” 58 Scrooge sees that he has not merely made foolish decisions in the past: he is daily making himself a monster.

At last, the ominous Ghost of Christmas Future shows a time when the poor become a little merrier because a rich man has died, leaving his goods unaccounted for and freeing his debtors. 59 Scrooge begs to know whose death it is that has so changed people’s lives. 60 The Ghost of Christmas Future somberly points Scrooge to his own grave. Scrooge, thinking he is to die in earnest, awakens in his bed, and finds himself a changed man. Dickens concludes by telling his readers, “He became as good a friend, as a good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew.” 61

To be transformed from a meritocrat to a noble, Dickens suggests, a man must be forced to reflect on who is he is, which is constituted by who he has been since childhood. He must contemplate the gifts he has been given and look

54. The careful reader should not overlook Scrooge’s often forgotten first name. Ebenezer is the name the prophet Samuel gave to a monument recognizing the aid of God (1 Sam 7:12). The name should suggest to readers that, by his very nature, Scrooge is supposed to be a testament to the grace of God. 55. Dickens, 22. 56. Ibid., 24, 27-28. 57. Ibid., 37-42, 43, 45-48. 58. Ibid., 49-50. 59. Ibid., 55-58. 60. Ibid., 62. 61. Ibid., 68.

around him and see whether others benefit from his gifts. Finally, he must come face-to-face with his own mortality. The noble recognizes that his life will end and his gifts, material and immaterial, will pass away. Because the noble expands his temporal horizons beyond the present, he sees himself as part of his community, rather than seeing his community as one of his belongings.

Perhaps Shakespeare, Austen, and Dickens do paint a clearer picture of nobility, but, one may object, is there really any greater hope that the Cult of the Minotaur will be replaced by nobles than by Lasch’s democracy? And if so, how would we transition from our present meritocracy?

The hope is greater, though it is still slim. Lasch’s democracy demands that the majority of men become selfless. A government of nobles at least only asks that a minority possess the noblesse oblige.

Yet, a project of establishing a formal nobility cannot succeed in one generation (if ever). We must keep in mind that possessing the noblesse oblige is not the sole criterion for being a good ruler. This entire discussion has been predicated on the notion that we must look for a quality in our leaders that complements, not replaces, competency. It is entirely possible that a priest in the Cult of the Minotaur could possess better tools for ruling than a noble. There are more virtues proper to a statesman than nobility (e.g. prudence), and the noble ought to take care to develop them. Perhaps the greatest barrier to ever securing noble rulers would be for an incompetent man with the noblesse oblige to rise to some great formal position of power and, with good intentions, do violence to his community.

But just as an employer wants to choose an applicant that is both capable and properly motivated to perform his job, voters should want to choose an applicant who is both competent and possesses the noblesse oblige. This desire will never be fully satisfied. No ruler will be perfectly qualified. But voters nonetheless have a duty to look for the most qualified candidate, and the presence of nobility is simply another quality that they should search for.

Shakespeare’s warning should not be far from our minds, either. The influence of the Cult of the Minotaur is strong, and even if we elected men with noble motivations, they can be corrupted. If we want to increase our chances of having rulers firmly rooted in nobility, we must refrain from placing our hope in making the next president noble. Instead, we must begin to develop a long-term strategy.

Many may object to the notion of establishing any sort of nobility in a nation as democratic as America. They may refuse to be satisfied until I have clarified exactly how this may happen. Such objectors shall be forever consigned to dissatisfaction on this regard, for I can do no such thing. The idea of nobility must be planted and watered in our society before it can be expected to bear any weight. If this project has any hope of success, that hope lies in training men, women, and children to think in terms of gratitude and grace, to feel an obliga-

tion to help those who cannot help themselves, and to reflect on their placement on this earth. This project must include teasing out what it would mean for an elected official to be a noble. I have not any definitive idea of what such a noble would look like, save for the felt need to help others out of gratitude. This idea is merely a seed that I am trying to plant, not a thick oak on which I rely for strength and comfort. But we can hope that, with care, the seed will become a sapling and will grow strong and beautiful in a way that we have not seen before. What I ask for is not faith that I am right in every regard concerning nobility. All I ask is that citizens genuinely investigate nobility and, if they see the good I have seen, that they might seek to understand it and to pass that understanding on to their children. If everyone who is a part of this discussion simply agreed with every jot and tittle I have proposed, I would consider this project a failure. My goal is that this inspires some to understand nobility more than I ever will.

How, my reader may ask, are we to begin the task of training others to be nobles? Who is to undertake such a project? I submit that you, my reader, now have the tools to begin training yourself. I have only given a cursory glance at Shakespeare, Austen, and Dickens, and countless other authors have discussed nobility. Use these wise authors as guides. Reflect. Ask yourself, even now, what it is that you have been given? Whom is it in your life that, owing to his lack of gifts, you ought to help? And if you find this either convincing or convicting, discuss it with others. If Jouvenel is correct, the strength of the Minotaur grows every day. His reach can only be beaten back when we learn to ignore his temptations to Power and instead seek to help those less fortunate than ourselves simply because it is good.

Austen, Jane. Emma. New York: Barnes & Noble, 1996

Augustine. City of God. Translated by George E. McCracken. London: Harvard University Press, 1957.

Dickens, Charles. A Christmas Carol. New York: Dover Publications, 1991.

de Jouvenel, Bertrand. On Power: The Natural History of Its Growth. Translated by J.F. Huntington. London: Hutchinson & Co., 1948.

Emma. Season 1, episode 1, “Episode 1.” Directed by Jim O’Hanlon. Written by Sandy Welch. Aired January 2010 on BBC.

Lasch, Christopher. The Revolt of the Elites and the Betrayal of Democracy. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1995.

Virgil. Vergil’s Aeneid Books I-VI: With Introduction, Notes, Vocabulary, and Grammatical Appendix. Edited by Clyde Pharr. Boston: D.C. Heath and Company, 1964.

Ortega y Gasset, José. The Revolt of the Masses. Translation anonymous. New York: W.W. Norton & Company Inc., 1993.

Shakespeare, William. “Julius Caesar.” In The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, edited by George Clark and William Aldis Wright. New York: Grosset & Dunlap Publishers, 1911.