Citizen Failures: the King and the Ogre

When the prince begins his quest, things look pretty hopeless. The kingdom is devastated, the government paralyzed. The ogre burns and pillages at will; his magical power, cruelty, and greed represent an alternative to the “legitimate” order. Like the king, the ogre has a castle, treasure, and lands; he’s set up on his own, and he’s making a go of it. He may be horrible, but he has a certain charisma; the king seems bland and faceless by comparison. Their conflict amounts to a civil war, in which the people on both sides come out losers. The whole situation, we might say, represents a failure of the adult world—the world of citizenship—to fulfill its responsibilities for protecting and nurturing the community.

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The Downcast King (by Randall Smith)

Look first at the king. He’s not getting good advice. His NSA can’t figure out the ogre or his magic. His Defense Department can’t protect the realm. Not only that, but he’s desperate enough to put his daughter up for sale. What kind of a father does that? No wonder he’s depressed. Still, he does try to rule and it’s to his credit that he has a daughter in the first place. He may be an ineffectual king, but he does have a trace of humanity.

Basically, the king fails to understand the relation between power and authority. He has come by his office through inheritance, which may make him legitimate but cannot deliver obedience or order in the realm. Believing that right makes might, he has failed to learn the lessons of King Lear and Machiavelli (unlike the Prince, he does not seem to have taken World Civ). The king believes that authority confers power, whereas in fact power is something that is granted by the people he governs; it represents a gift from the general will. That’s why newly minted second lieutenants or deans so often run into trouble with their constituents. “Pulling rank” only reveals their desperation and lack of leadership. To gain power and exert leadership, you have to convince the people that you have their best interests at heart and possess the skills necessary to protect and deliver. Administration is all about dealing with people.

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The Ogre (by QuakeOne)

Now consider the ogre. In many respects he seems the opposite of the king. He has no family; he’s greedy and cruel, a real bully. Moreover, he’s gained his power by separating his soul from his body. The motif of the external soul occurs frequently in heroic tales across cultures; it makes one invincible, but at the price of one’s humanity. Modern-day versions include the pact Faust makes with the Devil in Goethe’s drama or Mann’s novel, Sauron’s Ring of Power in Tolkien’s epic fantasy, or the horcruxes of Voldemort, the evil wizard in the Harry Potter books, who tries to escape mortality by splitting his soul and encasing the pieces in various objects. Each of these antagonists gain demonic, single-minded power but have to give up the ability to change, grow, love, or learn. These desperate individuals all embrace the “fixed mind” of Milton’s Satan. Like him they care more about their career than anything else, and they always choose power over love.

Like the king, the ogre is a failed citizen, because he cares more about himself than anyone else. He can’t govern; he can only terrorize. He can’t run a kingdom, he can only destroy one. Believing that might makes right, he focuses entirely on strengthening his own position: taking prisoners, amassing wealth, defending his fortress, and pursuing his goal with demonic single-mindedness. But if you split off your soul from your self and encase it in some object of desire, such as a talisman or a career, then you can’t adapt to changing circumstances, you lose your nimbleness and flexibility, and above all you cut yourself off from other people and the information or wisdom they might provide. When the Wheel of Fortune begins to turn, no one will come to your aid. But of course the ogre has had so much initial success that he has forgotten all about Fortune. He believes that he’s invincible, that the usual rules no longer apply. And so, like the Dark Lord Sauron, he fails to imagine that someone small and inconspicuous could penetrate his defenses and seize hold of his precious soul.

Of course, neither the king nor the ogre even notices the old woman or dreams that she might hold the key.

Warriors, Citizens, and Elders: A Fairy Tale

The relations between these three major career phases are captured succinctly in a fairy tale that occurs in many versions across cultures.  The hero is a young prince who has been forced into exile, living hand to mouth and taking menial jobs in kitchens and stables.  Eventually he wanders into a neighboring country that has been ravaged by a cruel and powerful ogre.  The king has dispatched his best fighters, but all have come back dead or maimed.  The ogre seems to have magic powers that give him both strength and invulnerability.  In despair the king proclaims that whoever can defeat the ogre will receive half the kingdom and his daughter’s hand in marriage.

Well, the prince figures he has nothing to lose.  After all, he’s been working in kitchens and stables; his career is in free fall.  And the daughter, naturally, is both rich and beautiful; he’s already fallen in love with her.  So he sets out for the ogre’s castle.  After crossing the devastated countryside,  he enters a forest, where he wanders for days, increasingly depressed.  He may be a prince, but he has only a common sword and no magic powers at all.  What good is his Ivy League degree?  How will he ever defeat the ogre?

Then he hears someone moaning and groaning in the woods and turns aside from his path. He comes upon an old person in need of  help—in some versions it’s a dwarf whose long beard has gotten stuck in a cleft log, in others it’s an old woman with a hurt leg, hungry and tired, bowed under a heavy bundle.  The prince shares his bread, lends a hand, and when the job is done the grateful old woman asks why someone so young and handsome would look so sad.

The Prince Aids the Old Woman (by Howard Pyle)
The Prince Aids the Old Woman (by Howard Pyle)

He tells her his tale of woe: career in ruins, hopelessly in love, facing an impossible task.  The old woman laughs.  Is that all, she asks?  Well, that sword you’re carrying will never defeat the ogre, because he’s invulnerable.  And I’ll tell you why: it’s because his soul is not in his body.  To kill him you have to get your hands on his soul.

Oh great!  says the prince.  Capture his soul; just like that!  It must be very well defended.  The old woman nods.  The ogre keeps it hidden deep in his castle, she says.  To find it you have to wait until he goes out on one of his rampages.  Then you have to break into the castle after crossing the moat of fire and pacifying the lions guarding the gate. She recites a long list of perils and obstacles but gives him directions for meeting each one.  Finally, in the very center of the castle is a well; down in the well is a duck; inside the duck is an egg; and inside the egg is the ogre’s soul. Get your hands on that egg, she says, and you can make him do anything.

The prince thanks her and hurries off.  He finds the castle and waits in the shrubbery until the ogre goes out.  Then he crosses the fiery moat, tosses a  steak to the lions, and heads inside.  After surmounting all perils he arrives at the center, dives into the well, grabs the duck, and squeezes it until the egg drops into his hand.  At this moment the ogre returns, bellowing that he smells a thief.  After raging all through the castle he finds the prince leaning nonchalantly against the well.  He grins horribly, flashing a set of really  bad teeth, and raises a huge hairy arm to bash in the prince’s head.

The Prince and the Ogre (by Arthur Rackham)
The Prince and the Ogre (by Arthur Rackham)

But the prince just reaches into his pocket and holds up the egg.  He cocks an eyebrow; the ogre freezes, then deflates, groveling at the prince’s feet.  The prince makes him open his dungeons and treasury, free all his prisoners, restore all the gold that he’s stolen, and clean up the farms and villages he’s destroyed.  When it’s all done, the ogre wipes the stinking sweat from his brow and falls on his knees, begging forgiveness.  And what does the prince do?  He breaks the egg.  Because, after all, he’s read Machiavelli (in Western Civ), and besides, you can’t trust an ogre.

Back at court the king and the princess are waiting anxiously for news.  The prince returns bearing the ogre’s head.  Amid general rejoicing, the king grants him half the kingdom with an option on the other half as soon as he marries the princess.  Everyone celebrates and lives happy ever after.

What does this tale have to do with academic life?  You can see right away that its characters embody three career stages that we have been discussing: warrior, citizen, and elder.  Stay tuned for subsequent posts as we unpack this tale and explore its implications.