The Greater Trumps: (06) The Emperor
He is austere, majestic, and sits on a throne carved from the stony roots of the world. His rod is of a gravely luminous metal, his orb of kingship symbolizes the world. Rams' horns speak of his ability to lead, to call forth, and to engage. Behind him is the oak, above him is the eagle (sometimes looking both east and west), and the only symbol left unseen is the thunderbolt behind his eyes - or hidden in the roiling clouds above.
The Emperor is the archetype of leadership, of the will to power given form and shape. The Austrians wrote AEIOU, meaning Austriae est imperare orbi universo, and that was but one modern incarnation of that drive. Where the Empress was the Great Mother, the Emperor is the High Father, whose patronage ensures no excuse for failure - and the expectation of success.
We see Power as his face, true; but to see behind the mask of his face and find Authority - that is the difficult essence of rulership. Not everyone who wields power can summon the imperative aura, and it is Authority that is the source of Power. Yet the Emperor is also a creative force enchained and not necessarily happy to be so - the strategist and logistician made to sit upon a throne that is an onerous burden to him.
The Greeks used kratos, dünamis and bia to describe three kinds of Power. The first is that which comes from force of authority, the second is that which comes from the ability to move through force of personality, and the third is that which comes from the ability to coerce through force of violence. The Emperor is of the first kind.
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I have never wanted to be an Emperor, or to be a power behind Power. When I was young, I took to heart the sinister lesson found in Sailing To Byzantium by W B Yeats. I shall just quote the last verse of that poem, leaving the rest (as they say) as an exercise for the student:
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
The Emperor drowses, tired from being the centre of Power, and yet being powerless to abdicate. He is cozened by courtiers, flattered by lackeys, and has turned the faithful away to be looked after by priests in the outer city. It is a sad fate, and one I strive to avoid.
The Emperor is the archetype of leadership, of the will to power given form and shape. The Austrians wrote AEIOU, meaning Austriae est imperare orbi universo, and that was but one modern incarnation of that drive. Where the Empress was the Great Mother, the Emperor is the High Father, whose patronage ensures no excuse for failure - and the expectation of success.
We see Power as his face, true; but to see behind the mask of his face and find Authority - that is the difficult essence of rulership. Not everyone who wields power can summon the imperative aura, and it is Authority that is the source of Power. Yet the Emperor is also a creative force enchained and not necessarily happy to be so - the strategist and logistician made to sit upon a throne that is an onerous burden to him.
The Greeks used kratos, dünamis and bia to describe three kinds of Power. The first is that which comes from force of authority, the second is that which comes from the ability to move through force of personality, and the third is that which comes from the ability to coerce through force of violence. The Emperor is of the first kind.
=====
I have never wanted to be an Emperor, or to be a power behind Power. When I was young, I took to heart the sinister lesson found in Sailing To Byzantium by W B Yeats. I shall just quote the last verse of that poem, leaving the rest (as they say) as an exercise for the student:
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
The Emperor drowses, tired from being the centre of Power, and yet being powerless to abdicate. He is cozened by courtiers, flattered by lackeys, and has turned the faithful away to be looked after by priests in the outer city. It is a sad fate, and one I strive to avoid.
Labels: Greater Trumps, Symbolism
etched with acid at 5:56:00 am
3 Comments:
and what might I ask, would be the fate of corrupt absolute monarchies?
personally, I found Shelley's "Ozymandias" to be a more sobering view.
Yes, wildyak and anon.noises. The fate of the corrupt Imperative is to become... well, less imperative and more whiny until it diminishes into the silence and does not return. But then again, I haven't reached the Chariot and the Lightning-Struck Tower yet.
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