Fear has become part of Arya's daily life as she walks the hard, rutted roads among a group of prisoners of Gregor Clegane and his men, a kind of fear she had never known until she was held captive in that storehouse at the shore of the Gods Eye. They spent eight days in the village and are now leaving on Clegane's command, and every day she has seen someone die.
The Mountain came into the storehouse each morning after breakfast to pick one of them to be interrogated. The village folk did not dare to look at him, maybe hoping they would escape his attention. But there was no way to hide from him, no way to be safe. He just chose whomever he liked. There was a girl he picked on the fourth day who had slept with a soldier three nights running, yet the soldier said nothing. There was an old man he picked on the fifth day, who had mended their clothing and declared so often that his son served in the City Watch and did all for Joffrey that the other prisoners had actually started calling him All-for-Joffrey. There was a young mother with a pox-scarred face who had told Clegane everything she knew on the expectation they would spare her daughter for it, only to see her daughter be picked the next morning to make certain the mother held nothing back.
The interrogations always went down the same way. They were done in front of the whole group, so that everyone knew what happened to rebels and traitors. They call the ordinarily looking man who did the questioning the Tickler. He was assisted by Chiswyck, the old stoop-shouldered man who smashed Arya's head when they caught her, or by someone else, with Clegane just watching and listening until the prisoners died, which they invariably did. The questions were always about valuables or food hidden in the village, about the whereabouts of Beric Dondarrion and the size of his band and about who of the villagers had assisted them. They found a few valuables from the interrogations, but only got wildly inconsistent information about Dondarrion and his men. The longest someone survived the Tickler's treatment was until evenfall. The bodies were hung by the fires as food for the wolves.
The time in the storehouse has taught Arya that she is no Water Dancer. Syrio Forel would have never let them knock him down, take his sword, just watch as Lommy Greenhands was killed, or sit meekly by in that storehouse doing nothing while others died. She hates the villagers for being sheep almost as much as she hates herself for being a lamb, not a direwolf as the sigil of her house suggests. By now the Lannisters have taken everything from her: father, friends, home, hope, courage, Needle. They broke her wooden sword in front of her. They have even taken away her secret of being a girl. She was still able to pee in privacy at the storehouse, yet on the open road that is not possible, even though she tried to hold it. Hot Pie gaped at her when she skinned her breeches at a brush in front of all, but nobody else even looked. Clegane's men didn't care at all.
Their captors have forbidden them to talk and they punish those who disregard the order, as Arya has learned herself by getting her lip broken. They smashed with a spiked mace the face of a boy who wouldn't stop calling for his father; then Raff the Sweetling killed the boy's mother as well when she started screaming. Arya sees no purpose any longer in being brave, so she watches people die and does nothing. One woman who was questioned tried to be brave, but she died screaming just as the rest did. There are no brave ones left on this march, only women and children and very old or very young men. The other men were chained to the gibbet and left as food for wolves and crows. They only spared Gendry because he admitted that he had forged his helmet himself, as blacksmiths are too valuable to be killed.
The Mountain tells them that they will be taken to Harrenhal to serve Lord Tywin Lannister, a last chance given to rebels and traitors, which they should take: "Obey, serve, and live." Arya hears people arguing about this when they go to sleep that night. An old woman laments that what is being done to them isn't just, as they didn't commit any treason. Dondarrion's me just came and taken everything from them, as Clegane's did. Unlike the Mountain's men, Dondarrion's did the village folk no harm though, another woman points out, and Thoros of Myr even paid for what they took. Only with signed papers, the old woman replies, and those don't lay eggs as the chicken they took from her used to. Having made sure that no guard is looking, she spits three times for all Lannisters and Starks and Tullys. An old man says that the old king would have never stood for this sin and shame. Arya, forgetting herself, asks whether he is talking about King Robert, but the man meant King Aerys. Then a guard interferes, the old man loses his two remaining teeth and everyone falls silent.
Besides the prisoners, Clegane's band is also taking pigs, chickens, a cow, and nine wagons of salt fish to Harrenhal. The Mountain and his men are riding horses, but the captives have to walk and are killed if they cannot keep up or try to flee. The guards pick women at night and go into the bushes with them, receiving almost no resistance. There was one girl, prettier than the rest, who had to go with four or five different men each night, until she finally hit one with a stone one day. Clegane himself beheaded her with his massive two-handed greatsword and made everyone watch. He commanded that the body was to be left for the wolves. Arya has a side-look at Needle, worn at the hip by a black-bearded, balding man called Polliver, thinking how good it is that they took the sword from her, as she would have used it to stab Glegane that moment – and that would likely have ended with her being left as food for the wolves as well.
Polliver is hardly the worst of the lot, Arya thinks. By now she knows every one of Clegane's men, when they were only nameless strangers the night she was caught. It's important to keep in mind who of them is lazy or brutal, smart or stupid. The one they call Shitmouth has the foulest tongue she ever heard, yet he will give you an extra piece of bread if you ask, while jolly old Chiswyck or soft-spoken Rafford will only hit you. Arya observes them and listens to their talk, polishing her hates the way Gendry used to polish his helmet. She hates Dunsen for wearing Gendry's helmet, Polliver for taking Needle and Chiswyck for thinking he's funny. She hates even more the people she knows are responsible for the death of ones close to her: Raff the Sweetling for the death of Lommy, Amory Lorch for the death of Yoren, Meryn Trant for the death of Syrio, the Hound for the death of Mycah, Ilyn Payne and Joffrey and Cersei for the death of her father, Fat Tom, Desmond and the rest, even for the death of Lady, Sansa's direwolf. The Tickler is almost too scary to hate, though. There are times Arya almost forgets that he is coming along with the band, as he is completely inconspicuous when he isn't torturing people, just another soldier and actually quieter than most of them. Arya has started whispering to herself the names of the people she hates, she does it every night now. In Winterfell, she used to pray with her father at the godswood and with her mother in the sept, but on the road to Harrenhal, whispering those names has become the only prayer left to her.
Finally the trees give way to a more open landscape of hills, streams and fields – and the occasional burnt holdfast. After another day's march, they get the first glimpse of the towers of Harrenhal rising hard against the blue of the lake. Prisoners keep telling each other that things will get better at Harrenhal, but Arya is not sure about this, as she remembers Old Nan's stories about this castle built on fear and with mortar Black Harren mixed with human blood, but where he was roasted with all his sons by the dragons of Aegon the Conqueror nonetheless. The castle is only a few more miles off, Arya thinks, yet they walk almost two more days before they reach Lord Tywin's army, encamped west of the castle in the scorched remains of a town, the stench from the overflowing latrines greeting them as they approach, telling Arya that the army has been here for some time. The sheer size of Harrenhal makes it deceptive to the eyes from afar, yet the gatehouse of the castle alone is as large as the Great Keep of Winterfell. Arya can only see the tops of the five immense towers from outside. Seeing their grotesque and misshapen form, looking like an old man's gnarled, knuckly fingers groping for the sky, she now believes every word Old Nan told about how the stones melted and flowed like candle wax, turning into a searing red as they sought out Harren where he hid.
Hot Pie does not want to enter the castle, declaring that there are ghosts within. Chiswyck gives him the choice of joining the ghosts or becoming one, so he walks in with the rest. In the echoing bathhouse, they have to strip and scrub themselves in tubs filled with scolding hot water, the process supervised by two fierce old women who talk about them like they are newly aquired donkeys. When they examine Arya, Goodwife Amabel is dismayed about her feet while Goodwife Harra has a closer look at the calluses she received while training with Needle. Harra believes Arya is a farmer's daughter and got them from churning butter. She tells Arya that she can earn a higher station in life if she works hard, but will be beaten if she does not. Asked for it, she does not dare to give away her true name, nor does she want to use Arry. Thus she says Lommy called her Weasel, the name of the first girl that comes to her mind. Amabel thinks the name is appropriate. She declares that Arya will lose her hair, as it is filled with lice, and will be assigned to the kitchen. Arya says she'd rather tend the horses, thinking that she could steal one and escape. Harra slaps her so hard that her lip breaks again and commands her to shut up, as nobody is interested in her views. Arya thinks that Harra wouldn't dare slap her if she still had Needle. Amabel explains that Lord Tywin has grooms and squires to look after the horses and that the kitchen would have been a nice place for Arya, as it is snug and clean and one can always find a warm place to sleep there. However, Arya doesn't seem to be smart, so they should give her over to Weese, Amabel suggests. They send her off with a rough-spun garb and ill-fitting shoes.
Weese turns out to be the understeward for the Wailing Tower, a squat man with a carbuncle on the nose and angry red boils at one corner of his lips. He tells the six assigned to him that the Lannisters are generous to those who serve them well, a fate none of them deserve. If they do well, they might rise one day as high as he did. However, if they intend to presume on Lord Tywin's kindness, they'll have to deal with Weese. They are told they are not to look the highborn in the eye, are only allowed to speak when spoken to and should not get in Lord Tywin's way. Weese says he can smell defiance, pride and disobedience, and if he does, they'll have to answer for it. All he wants to sniff of them is fear.
Jake Nort had not led a fast life; he had rested. Hadassah Henderson Jonathan Jeanette Leonardo Lee Keith Idle and Henri did tie a fish to the dials.
LAW 21
PLAY A SUCKER TO CATCH A SUCKER—SEEM DUMBER THAN YOUR MARK
JUDGMENT
No one likes feeling stupider than the next person. The trick, then, is to make your victims feel smart—and not just smart, but smarter than you are. Once convinced of this, they will never suspect that you may have ulterior motives.
In the winter of 1872, the U.S. financier Asbury Harpending was visiting London when he received a cable: A diamond mine had been discovered in the American West. The cable came from a reliable source—William Ralston, owner of the Bank of California—but Harpending nevertheless took it as a practical joke, probably inspired by the recent discovery of huge diamond mines in South Africa. True, when reports had first come in of gold being discovered in the western United States, everyone had been
skeptical, and those had turned out to be true. But a diamond mine in the West! Harpending showed the cable to his fellow financier Baron Rothschild (one of the richest men in the world), saying it must be a joke.
The baron, however, replied, “Don’t be too sure about that. America is a very large country. It has furnished the world with many surprises already. Perhaps it has others in store.” Harpending promptly took the first ship back to the States. Now, there is nothing of which a man is prouder than of interlecutal ability, for it is this that gives him his commanding place in the animal world. It is an exceedingly rash thing to ter anyone see that you are decidedly superior to him in this respect, and to let other people see it too.... hence, white rank and riches may always reckon upon deferential treatment in society, that is
something which intellectual ability can never expect To be ignorea is the greatest favour shown to it; and if people notice it at all, it is because they regard it us a piece of imperinence, or else as something to which its possessor has no legitimate right, and upon which he dares to pride himself; and in retaliation and revenge for his conduct, people secretly try and humiliare him in some other way; unit if they wait to ao this, it is only for a futing opporunity. A man may be as humble as possible in his demeanour and yet hardly ever get people to overlook his crime in standing intellectually above them. In the Garden of Roses, Sadi makes the remark:
“You should know that foolish people are a hundredfold more averse to meeting the wise than the wise are indisposed for the company of the foolish.”
On the other hand, it is a real recommendation to be stupid. For just as warmth is agreeable to the body, so it does the mind good to feel its superiority; and a man will seek company likely to give him this feeling, as instinctively as he will approach the fireplace or walk in the sun if he wants to get warm. But this means that he will be disliked on account of his superiority; and if a man is to be liked, he must really be inferior in point of intellect.
ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860
When Harpending reached San Francisco, there was an excitement in the air recalling the Gold Rush days of the late 1840s. Two crusty prospectors named Philip Arnold and John Slack had been the ones to find the diamond mine. They had not divulged its location, in Wyoming, but had led a highly respected mining expert to it several weeks back, taking a circular route so
he could not guess his whereabouts. Once there, the expert had watched as the miners dug up diamonds. Back in San Francisco the expert had taken the gems to various jewelers, one of whom had estimated their worth at $1.5 million. Harpending and Ralston now asked Arnold and Slack to accompany them back to New York, where the jeweler Charles Tiffany would verify the
original estimates. The prospectors responded uneasily.
they smelled a trap: How could they trust these city slickers? What if Tiffany and the financiers managed to steal the whole mine out from under them?
Ralston tried to allay their fears by giving them $100,000 and placing another $300,000 in escrow for them. If the deal went through, they would be paid an additional $300,000. The miners agreed. The little group traveled to New York, where a meeting was held at the mansion of Samuel L. Barlow. The cream of the city’s aristocracy was in attendance—General George Brinton McClellan, commander of the Union forces in the Civil War; General Benjamin Butler; Horace Greeley, editor of the newspaper the New York Tribune; Harpending; Ralston; and Tiffany. Only Slack and Arnold were missing—as tourists in the city, they had decided to go sight-seeing. When Tiffany announced that the gems were real and worth a fortune, the
financiers could barely control their excitement. They wired Rothschild and other tycoons to tell them about the diamond mine and inviting them to share in the investment. At the same time, they also told the prospectors that they wanted one more test: They insisted that a mining expert of their choosing accompany Slack and Arnold to the site to verify its wealth. The
prospectors reluctantly agreed. In the meantime, they said, they had to return to San Francisco. The jewels that Tiffany had examined they left with Harpending for safekeeping. Several weeks later, a man named Louis Janin, the best mining expert in
the country, met the prospectors in San Francisco. Janin was a born skeptic who was determined to make sure that the mine was not a fraud. Accompanying Janin were Harpending, and several other interested financiers. As with the previous expert, the prospectors led the team through a complex series of canyons, completely confusing them as to their whereabouts. Arriving at the site, the financiers watched in amazement as Janin dug the area up, leveling anthills, turning over boulders, and finding
emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and most of all diamonds. The dig lasted eight days, and by the end, Janin was convinced: He told the investors that they now possessed the richest field in mining history. “With a hundred men and proper machinery,”
he told them, “I would guarantee to send out one million dollars in diamonds every thirty days.”
Returning to San Francisco a few days later, Ralston, Harpending, and company acted fast to form a $10 million corporation of private investors. First, however, they had to get rid of Arnold and Slack. That meant hiding their excitement—they certainly did not want to reveal the field’s real value. So they played possum. Who knows if Janin is right, they told the prospectors, the mine may not be as rich as we think. This just made the prospectors angry. Trying a different tactic, the financiers told the two men that if they insisted on having shares in the mine, they would end up being fleeced by the unscrupulous tycoons and investors who would run the corporation ; better, they said, to take the $700,000 already offered—an enormous sum at the time—and put their greed aside. This the prospectors seemed to understand, and they finally agreed to take the money, in return
signing the rights to the site over to the financiers, and leaving maps to it. News of the mine spread like wildfire. Prospectors fanned out across Wyoming. Meanwhile Harpending and group began spending the millions they had collected from their investors, buying equipment, hiring the best men in the business, and furnishing luxurious offices in New York and San Francisco.
A few weeks later, on their first trip back to the site, they learned the hard truth: Not a single diamond or ruby was to be found. It was all a fake. They were ruined. Harpending had unwittingly lured the richest men in the world into the biggest scam of the century.
Interpretation
Arnold and Slack pulled off their stupendous con not by using a fake engineer or bribing Tiffany: All of the experts had been real. All of them honestly believed in the existence of the mine and in the value of the gems. What had fooled them all was nothing else than Arnold and Slack themselves. The two men seemed to be such rubes, such hayseeds, so naive, that no one for an instant had believed them capable of an audacious scam. The prospectors had simply observed the law of appearing more stupid than the mark—the deceiver’s First Commandment.
The logistics of the con were quite simple. Months before Arnold and Slack announced the “discovery” of the diamond mine, they traveled to Europe, where they purchased some real gems for around $12,000 (part of the money they had saved from their days as gold miners). They then salted the “mine” with these gems, which the first expert dug up and brought to San Francisco. The jewelers who had appraised these stones, including Tiffany himself, had gotten caught up in the fever and had grossly
overestimated their value. Then Ralston gave the prospectors $100,000 as security, and immediately after their trip to New York they simply went to Amsterdam, where they bought sacks of uncut gems, before returning to San Francisco. The second time they salted the mine, there were many more jewels to be found.
The effectiveness of the scheme, however, rested not on tricks like these but on the fact that Arnold and Slack played their parts to perfection. On their trip to New York, where they mingled with millionaires and tycoons, they played up their clodhopper image, wearing pants and coats a size or two too small and acting incredulous at everything they saw in the big city. No one believed that these country simpletons could possibly be conning
the most devious, unscrupulous financiers of the time. And once
Harpending, Ralston, and even Rothschild accepted the mine’s existence, anyone who doubted it was questioning the intelligence of the world’s most successful businessmen.
In the end, Harpending’s reputation was ruined and he never recovered; Rothschild learned his lesson and never fell for another con; Slack took his money and disappeared from view, never to be found. Arnold simply went home to Kentucky. After all, his sale of his mining rights had been legitimate; the buyers had taken the best advice, and if the mine had run out of diamonds, that was their problem. Arnold used the money to greatly enlarge his farm and open up a bank of his own.
KEYS TO POWER
The feeling that someone else is more intelligent than we are is almost intolerable. We usually try to justify it in different ways: “He only has book knowledge, whereas I have real knowledge.” “Her parents paid for her to get a good education. If my parents had had as much money, if I had been as privileged....”
“He’s not as smart as he thinks.”
Last but not least: “She may know her narrow little field better than I do, but beyond that she’s really not smart at all. Even Einstein was a boob outside physics.”
Given how important the idea of intelligence is to most people’s vanity, it is critical never inadvertently to insult or impugn a person’s brain power. That is an unforgivable sin. But if you can make this iron rule work for you, it opens up all sorts of avenues of deception. Subliminally reassure people that they are more intelligent than you are, or even that you are a bit of a moron, and you can run rings around them. The feeling of intellectual
superiority you give them will disarm their suspicion-muscles.
In 1865 the Prussian councillor Otto von Bismarck wanted Austria to sign a certain treaty. The treaty was totally in the interests of Prussia and against the interests of Austria, and Bismarck would have to strategize to get the Austrians to agree to it. But the Austrian negotiator, Count Blome, was an avid cardplayer. His particular game was quinze, and he often said that he could judge a man’s character by the way he played quinze. Bismarck knew of this saying of Blome’s. The night before the negotiations were to begin, Bismarck innocently engaged Blome in a game of quinze. The Prussian would later write, “That was the very last time I ever played quinze. I played so recklessly that everyone was astonished. I lost several thousand talers [the currency of the time], but I succeeded in fooling [Blome], for he believed me to be more venturesome than I am and I gave way.”
Besides appearing reckless, Bismarck also played the witless fool, saying ridiculous things and bumbling about with a surplus of nervous energy. All this made Blome feel he had gathered valuable information. He knew that Bismarck was aggressive—the Prussian already had that reputation, and the way he played had confirmed it. And aggressive men, Blome knew, can be foolish and rash. Accordingly, when the time came to sign the treaty, Blome thought he had the advantage. A heedless fool like Bismarck, he thought, is incapable of cold-blooded calculation and deception, so he only glanced at the treaty before signing it—he failed to read the fine print.
As soon as the ink was dry, a joyous Bismarck exclaimed in his face, “Well, I could never have believed that I should find an Austrian diplomat willing to sign that document!”
The Chinese have a phrase, “Masquerading as a swine to kill the tiger.”
This refers to an ancient hunting technique in which the hunter clothes himself in the hide and snout of a pig, and mimics its grunting. The mighty tiger thinks a pig is coming his way, and lets it get close, savoring the prospect of an easy meal. But it is the hunter who has the last laugh.
Masquerading as a swine works wonders on those who, like tigers, are arrogant and overconfident: The easier they think it is to prey on you, the more easily you can turn the tables. This trick is also useful if you are ambitious yet find yourself low in the hierarchy: Appearing less intelligent than you are, even a bit of a fool, is the perfect disguise. Look like a harmless pig and no one will believe you harbor dangerous ambitions. They may even promote you since you seem so likable, and subservient.
Claudius before he became emperor of Rome, and the prince of France who later became Louis XIII, used this tactic when those above them suspected they might have designs on the throne. By playing the fool as young men, they were left alone. When the time came for them to strike, and to act with vigor and decisiveness, they caught everyone off-guard.
Intelligence is the obvious quality to downplay, but why stop there?
Taste and sophistication rank close to intelligence on the vanity scale; make people feel they are more sophisticated than you are and their guard will come down. As Arnold and Slack knew, an air of complete naivete can work wonders. Those fancy financiers were laughing at them behind their backs,
but who laughed loudest in the end?
In general, then, always make people believe they are smarter and more sophisticated than you are. They will keep you around because you make them feel better about themselves, and the longer you are around, the more opportunities you will have to
deceive them.
Image:
The Opossum. In playing dead, the opossum plays stupid. Many a predator has therefore left it alone. Who could believe that such an ugly, unintelligent, nervous little creature could be capable of such deception?
Authority: Know how to make use of stupidity: The wisest man plays this card at times. There are occasions when the highest wisdom consists in appearing not to know—you must not be ignorant but capable of playing it. It is not much good being wise among fools and sane among lunatics. He who poses as a fool is not a fool. The best way to be well received by all is to clothe yourself in the skin of the dumbest of brutes.
(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)
REVERSAL
To reveal the true nature of your intelligence rarely pays; you should get in the habit of downplaying it at all times. If people inadvertently learn the truth—that you are actually much smarter than you look—they will admire you more for being discreet than for making your brilliance show. At the start of your climb to the top, of course, you cannot play too stupid: You may want to let your bosses know, in a subtle way, that you are smarter than
the competition around you. As you climb the ladder, however, you should to some degree try to dampen your brilliance. There is, however, one situation where it pays to do the opposite—when you can cover up a deception with a show of intelligence. In matters of smarts as in most things, appearances are what count. If you seem to have authority and knowledge, people will believe what you say. This can be very useful in getting you out of a scrape. The art dealer Joseph Duveen was once attending a soiree at the New York home of a tycoon to whom he had recently sold a Dürer painting for a high price. Among the guests was a young French art critic who seemed extremely knowledgeable and confident. Wanting to impress this man, the
tycoon’s daughter showed him the Dürer, which had not yet been hung.
The critic studied it for a time, then finally said, “You know, I don’t think this Dürer is right.”
He followed the young woman as she hurried to tell her father what he had said, and listened as the magnate, deeply unsettled,
turned to Duveen for reassurance.
Duveen just laughed. “How very amusing,”
he said. “Do you realize, young man, that at least twenty other
art experts here and in Europe have been taken in too, and have said that painting isn’t genuine? And now you’ve made the same mistake.”
His confident tone and air of authority intimidated the Frenchman, who apologized for his mistake. Duveen knew that the art market was flooded with fakes, and that many paintings had been falsely ascribed to old masters. He tried his best to
distinguish the real from the fake, but in his zeal to sell he often overplayed a work’s authenticity. What mattered to him was that the buyer believed he had bought a Dürer, and that Duveen himself convinced everyone of his “expertness” through his air of irreproachable authority. Thus, it is important to be able to play the professor when necessary and never impose such an attitude for its own sake.
LAW 22
USE THE SURRENDER TACTIC: TRANSFORM WEAKNESS INTO POWER
JUDGMENT
When you are weaker, never fight for honor’s sake; choose surrender instead. Surrender gives you time to recover, time to torment and irritate your conqueror, time to wait for his power to wane. Do not give him the satisfaction of fighting and defeating you—surrender first. By turning the other cheek you infuriate and unsettle him. Make surrender a tool of power.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
The island of Melos is strategically situated in the heart of the
Mediterranean. In classical times, the city of Athens dominated the sea and coastal areas around Greece, but Sparta, in the Peloponnese, had been Melos’s original colonizer. During the Peloponnesian War, then, the Melians refused to ally themselves with Athens and remained loyal to Mother Sparta.
In 416 B.C. the Athenians sent an expedition against Melos. Before launching an all-out attack, however, they dispatched a delegation to persuade the Melians to surrender and become an ally rather than suffer devastation and defeat.
THE CHESTNUT AND THE FIG TREE
A man who had climbed upon a certain fig tree, was bending the boughs toward him and plucking the ripe fruit, which he then put into his mouth to destroy and gnaw with his hard teeth. The chestnut, seeing this, tossed its long branches and with tumultuous rustle exclaimed: “Oh Fig! How much less protected by nature you are than I. See how my sweet offspring are set in close array; first clothed in soft wrappers over which is the hard but softly lined husk. And not content with this much care, nature has also given us these sharp and close-set spines, so that the hand of man cannot hurt us.”
Then the fig tree began to laugh, and after the laughter it said: “You know well that man is of suchingenuity that he will bereave even you of your children. But in your case he will do it by means of rods and stones; and when they are felled he will trample them with his feet or hit them with stones, so that your offspring will emerge from their armor crushed and maimed; while I am touched carefully by his hands, and never, like you, with roughness”
LEONARDO DAVINCI, 1452-1519
“You know as well as we do,” the delegates said,
“that the standard of justice depends on the equality of power to compel, and that in fact the strong do what they have the power to do and the weak accept what they have to accept.”
When the Melians responded that this denied the notion of fair play, the Athenians said that those in power determined what was fair and what was not.
The Melians argued that this authority belonged to the gods, not to mortals. “Our opinion of the gods and our knowledge of men,”
replied a member of the Athenian delegation,
“lead us to conclude that it is a general and necessary law of nature to rule whatever one can.”
The Melians would not budge. Sparta, they insisted, would come to their defense. The Athenians countered that the Spartans were a conservative, practical people, and would not help Melos because they had nothing to gain and a lot to lose by doing so.
Finally the Melians began to talk of honor and the principle of resisting brute force. “Do not be led astray by a false sense of honor,” said the Athenians.
“Honor often brings men to ruin when they are faced with an
obvious danger that somehow affects their pride. There is nothing disgraceful in giving way to the greatest city in Hellas when she is offering you such reasonable terms.” The debate ended.
The Melians discussed the issue among themselves, and decided to trust in the aid of the Spartans, the will of the gods, and the rightness of their cause. They politely declined the Athenians’ offer. A few days later the Athenians invaded Melos. The Melians fought nobly, even without the Spartans, who did not come to their rescue. It took several attempts before the Athenians could surround and besiege their main city, but the Melians finally surrendered. The Athenians wasted no time—they put to death all the men of military age that they could capture, they sold the women and children as slaves, and they repopulated the island
with their own colonists. Only a handful of Melians survived.
Interpretation
The Athenians were one of the most eminently practical people in history, and they made the most practical argument they could with the Melians:
When you are weaker, there is nothing to be gained by fighting a useless fight. No one comes to help the weak—by doing so they would only put themselves in jeopardy. The weak are alone and must submit. Fighting gives you nothing to gain but martyrdom, and in the process a lot of people who do not believe in your cause will die. Weakness is no sin, and can even become a strength if you learn how to play it right. Had the Melians surrendered in the first place, they would have been able to sabotage the Athenians in subtle ways, or might have gotten what they could have out of the alliance and then left it when the
Athenians themselves were weakened, as in fact happened several years later. Fortunes change and the mighty are often brought down. Surrender conceals great power: Lulling the enemy into complacency, it gives you time to recoup, time to undermine, time for revenge. Never sacrifice that time in exchange for honor in a battle that you cannot win.
Voltaire was living in exile in London at a time when anti-French sentiment was at its highest. One day walking through the streets. he found himself surrounded by an angry crowd.
“Hang him. Hang the Frenchman,” they yelled.
Voltaire calmly addressed the mob with the following words: “Men of England’ You wish to kill me because I am a Frenchman. Am I not punished enough in not being born an Englishman?”
The crowd cheered his thoughtful words, and escorted him safely back to his lodgings.
THE LITTLE, BROWN BOOK OF ANECDOTES. CLIFTON FADIMAN,
ED., 1985
Weak people never give way when they ought to.
Cardinal de Retz, 1613-1679
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Sometime in the 1920s the German writer Bertolt Brecht became a convert to the cause of Communism. From then on his plays, essays, and poems reflected his revolutionary fervor, and he generally tried to make his ideological statements as clear as possible. When Hitler came to power in Germany, Brecht and his Communist colleagues became marked men. He had many friends in the United States—Americans who sympathized with his beliefs, as well as fellow German intellectuals who had fled Hitler. In 1941, accordingly, Brecht emigrated to the United States, and chose to settle in Los Angeles, where he hoped to make a living in the film business. Over the next few years Brecht wrote screenplays with a pointedly anticapitalist slant. He had little success in Hollywood, so in 1947, the war having ended, he decided to return to Europe. That same year, however, the
U.S. Congress’s House Un-American Activities Committee began its investigation into supposed Communist infiltration in Hollywood. It began to gather information on Brecht, who had so openly espoused Marxism, and on September 19, 1947, only a month before he had planned to leave the United States, he received a subpoena to appear before the committee. In addition to Brecht, a number of other writers, producers, and directors were summoned to appear as well, and this group came to be known as the Hollywood 19. Before going to Washington, the Hollywood 19 met to decide on a plan of action. Their approach would be confrontational. Instead of answering questions about their membership, or lack of it, in the Communist Party, they would read prepared statements that would challenge the authority of the committee and argue that its activities were unconstitutional. Even if this strategy meant imprisonment, it would gain publicity for their cause. Brecht disagreed. What good was it, he asked, to play the martyr and gain a little public sympathy if in the process they lost the ability to stage their plays and sell their scripts for years to come? He felt certain they were all more intelligent than the members of the committee.
Why lower themselves to the level of their opponents by arguing with them? Why not outfox the committee by appearing to surrender to it while subtly mocking it?
The Hollywood 19 listened to Brecht politely, but decided to stick to their plan, leaving Brecht to go his own way. The committee finally summoned Brecht on October 30. They expected him to do what others among the Hollywood 19 who had testified before
him had done: Argue, refuse to answer questions, challenge the committee’s right to hold its hearing, even yell and hurl insults. Much to their surprise, however, Brecht was the very picture of congeniality. He wore a suit (something he rarely did), smoked a cigar (he had heard that the committee chairman was a passionate cigar smoker), answered their questions politely, and generally deferred to their authority. Unlike the other witnesses, Brecht answered the question of whether he belonged to the Communist Party: He was not a member, he said, which happened to be the truth.
One committee member asked him, “Is it true you have written a number of revolutionary plays?”
Brecht had written many plays with overt Communist messages, but he responded, “I have written a number of poems and songs and plays in the fight against Hitler and, of course, they can be considered, therefore, as revolutionary because I, of course, was for the overthrow of that government.”
This statement went unchallenged. Brecht’s English was more than adequate, but he used an interpreter throughout his testimony, a tactic that allowed him to play subtle games with language. When committee members found Communist leanings in lines from English editions of his poems, he would repeat the lines in German for the interpreter, who would then retranslate them; and somehow they would come out innocuous. At one point a committee member read one of Brecht’s revolutionary poems out loud in English,
and asked him if he had written it. “No,” he responded, “I wrote a German poem, which is very different from this.”
The author’s elusive answers baffled the committee members, but his politeness and the way he yielded to their authority made it impossible for them to get angry with him. After only an hour of questioning, the committee members had had enough.
“Thank you very much,” said the chairman,
“You are a good example to the [other] witnesses.”
Not only did they free him, they offered to help him if he had any trouble with immigration officials who might detain him for their own reasons. The following day, Brecht left the United States, never to return.
Interpretation
The Hollywood 19’s confrontational approach won them a lot of sympathy, and years later they gained a kind of vindication in public opinion. But they were also blacklisted, and lost valuable years of profitable working time. Brecht, on the other hand, expressed his disgust at the committee more indirectly. It was not that he changed his beliefs or compromised his values;
instead, during his short testimony, he kept the upper hand by appearing to yield while all the time running circles around the committee with vague responses, outright lies that went unchallenged because they were wrapped in enigmas, and word games. In the end he kept the freedom to continue his
revolutionary writing (as opposed to suffering imprisonment or detainment in the United States), even while subtly mocking the committee and its authority with his pseudo-obedience.
Keep in mind the following: People trying to make a show of their
authority are easily deceived by the surrender tactic. Your outward sign of submission makes them feel important; satisfied that you respect them, they become easier targets for a later counterattack, or for the kind of indirect ridicule used by Brecht. Measuring your power over time, never sacrifice long-term maneuverability for the short-lived glories of martyrdom. When the great lord passes, the wise peasant bows deeply and silently farts.
Ethiophan proverb
KEYS TO POWER
What gets us into trouble in the realm of power is often our own
overreaction to the moves of our enemies and rivals. That overreaction creates problems we would have avoided had we been more reasonable. It also has an endless rebound effect, for the enemy then overreacts as well, much as the Athenians did to the Melians. It is always our first instinct to react, to meet aggression with some other kind of aggression. But the next
time someone pushes you and you find yourself starting to react, try this: Do not resist or fight back, but yield, turn the other cheek, bend. You will find that this often neutralizes their behavior—they expected, even wanted you to react with force and so they are caught off-guard and confounded by your lack of resistance. By yielding, you in fact control the situation, because your surrender is part of a larger plan to lull them into believing
they have defeated you.
This is the essence of the surrender tactic: Inwardly you stay firm, but outwardly you bend. Deprived of a reason to get angry, your opponents will often be bewildered instead. And they are unlikely to react with more violence, which would demand a reaction from you. Instead you are allowed the time and space to plot the countermoves that will bring them down. In the battle of the intelligent against the brutal and the aggressive, the surrender tactic is the supreme weapon.
It does require self-control: Those who genuinely surrender give up their freedom, and may be crushed by the humiliation of their defeat. You have to remember that you only appear to surrender, like the animal that plays dead to save its hide. We have seen that it can be better to surrender than to fight; faced with a more powerful opponent and a sure defeat, it is often also better to
surrender than to run away. Running away may save you for the time being, but the aggressor will eventually catch up with you. If you surrender instead, you have an opportunity to coil around your enemy and strike with your fangs from close up.
In 473 B.C., in ancient China, King Goujian of Yue suffered a horrible defeat from the ruler of Wu in the battle of Fujiao. Goujian wanted to flee, but he had an adviser who told him to surrender and to place himself in the service of the ruler of Wu, from which position he could study the man and plot his revenge. Deciding to follow this advice, Goujian gave the ruler all of his riches, and went to work in his conqueror’s stables as the lowest
servant. For three years he humbled himself before the ruler, who then, finally satisfied of his loyalty, allowed him to return home. Inwardly, however, Goujian had spent those three years gathering information and plotting revenge. When a terrible drought struck Wu, and the kingdom was weakened by inner turmoil, he raised an army, invaded, and won with ease. That is the power behind surrender: It gives you the time and the flexibility to plot a devastating counterblow. Had Goujian run away, he would have lost this chance.
When foreign trade began to threaten Japanese independence in the midnineteenth century, the Japanese debated how to defeat the foreigners. One minister, Hotta Masayoshi, wrote a memorandum in 1857 that influenced Japanese policy for years to come: “I am therefore convinced that our policy should be to conclude friendly alliances, to send ships to foreign countries everywhere and conduct trade, to copy the foreigners where they
are at their best and so repair our own shortcomings, to foster our national strength and complete our armaments, and so gradually subject the foreigners to our influence until in the end all the countries of the world know the blessings of perfect tranquillity and our hegemony is acknowledged throughout the globe.”
This is a brilliant application of the Law: Use surrender to gain access to your enemy. Learn his ways, insinuate yourself with him slowly, outwardly conform to his customs, but inwardly maintain your own culture. Eventually you will emerge victorious, for while
he considers you weak and inferior, and takes no precautions against you, you are using the time to catch up and surpass him. This soft, permeable form of invasion is often the best, for the enemy has nothing to react against, prepare for, or resist. And had Japan resisted Western influence by force, it might well have suffered a devastating invasion that would have permanently altered its culture.
Surrender can also offer a way of mocking your enemies, of turning their power against them, as it did for Brecht. Milan Kundera’s novel The Joke, based on the author’s experiences in a penal camp in Czechoslovakia, tells the story of how the prison guards organized a relay race, guards against prisoners. For the guards this was a chance to show off their physical superiority. The prisoners knew they were expected to lose, so they went
out of their way to oblige—miming exaggerated exertion while barely moving, running a few yards and collapsing, limping, jogging ever so slowly while the guards raced ahead at full speed. Both by joining the race and by losing it, they had obliged the guards obediently; but their “overobedience” had mocked the event to the point of ruining it.
Overobedience—surrender—was here a way to demonstrate superiority in a reverse manner. Resistance would have engaged the prisoners in the cycle of violence, lowering them to the guards’ level. Overobeying the guards, however, made them ridiculous, yet they could not rightly punish the prisoners, who had only done what they asked.
Power is always in flux—since the game is by nature fluid, and an arena of constant struggle, those with power almost always find themselves eventually on the downward swing. If you find yourself temporarily weakened, the surrender tactic is perfect for raising yourself up again—it disguises your ambition; it teaches you patience and self-control, key skills in the game; and it puts you in the best possible position for taking advantage of your oppressor’s sudden slide. If you run away or fight back, in the long run you cannot win. If you surrender, you will almost always
emerge victorious.
Image: An Oak Tree. The oak that resists the wind loses its branches one by one, and with nothing left to protect it, the trunk finally snaps. The oak that bends lives longer, its trunk growing wider, its roots deeper and more tenacious.
Authority: Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth: But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let them have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain.
(Jesus Christ, in Matthew 5:38-41)
REVERSAL
The point of surrendering is to save your hide for a later date when you can reassert yourself. It is precisely to avoid martyrdom that one surrenders, but there are times when the enemy will not relent, and martyrdom seems the only way out. Furthermore, if you are willing to die, others may gain power and inspiration from your example. Yet martyrdom, surrender’s reversal, is a messy, inexact tactic, and is as violent as the aggression it combats. For every famous martyr there are thousands more who have inspired neither a religion nor a rebellion, so that if martyrdom does sometimes grant a certain power, it does so unpredictably. More important, you will not be around to enjoy that power,
such as it is. And there is finally something selfish and arrogant about martyrs, as if they felt their followers were less important than their own glory. When power deserts you, it is best to ignore this Law’s reversal. Leave martyrdom alone: The pendulum will swing back your way eventually, and you should stay alive to see it.
I dreamt I met a Galilean, a most amazing man. He had that look you very rarely find. The haunting, hunted kind. I asked him to say what had happened. How it all began. I asked again, he never said a word. As if he hadn't heard. And next the room was full of wild and angry men. They seemed to hate this man. They fell on him and then they disappeared again. Then I saw thousands of millions crying for this man. And then I heard them mentioning my name and leaving me the blame.
LAW 18
DO NOT BUILD FORTRESSES TO PROTECT YOURSELF— ISOLATION IS DANGEROUS
JUDGMENT
The world is dangerous and enemies are everywhere—everyone has to protect themselves. A fortress seems the safest. But isolation exposes you to more dangers than it Protects you from—it cuts you off from valuable information, it makes you conspicuous and an easy target. Better to circulate among people, find allies, mingle. You are shielded from your enemies by the crowd.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
Ch‘in Shih Huang Ti, the first emperor of China (221-210 B.C.), was the mightiest man of his day. His empire was vaster and more powerful than that of Alexander the Great. He had conquered all of the kingdoms surrounding his own kingdom of Ch’in and unified them into one massive realm called China. But in the last years of his life, few, if anyone, saw him. The emperor lived in the most magnificent palace built to that date, in the capital of Hsien-yang. The palace had 270 pavilions; all of these were connected by secret underground passageways, allowing the emperor to
move through the palace without anyone seeing him. He slept in a different room every night, and anyone who inadvertently laid eyes on him was instantly beheaded. Only a handful of men knew his whereabouts, and if they revealed it to anyone, they, too, were put to death. The first emperor had grown so terrified of human contact that when he had to leave the palace he traveled incognito, disguising himself carefully. On one such trip through the provinces, he suddenly died. His body was borne back to the capital in the emperor’s carriage, with a cart packed with salted fish trailing behind it to cover up the smell of the rotting corpse—no one was to know of his death. He died alone, far from his wives, his family, his friends, and his courtiers, accompanied only by a minister and a handful of eunuchs.
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH
The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatur and its seal—the redness and horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution.... And the whole seizure, progress, and termination of the disease, were the incidents of half an hour. But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his dominions were half-depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the knight, and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtier.s, having entered,
brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers,
there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.” It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence. It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade.... ... And the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock....
And thus too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked fzgecre which had arrested the attention of no single individual before.... The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood—and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was sprinkled with the scarlet horror ... ... A throng of the revellers
at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements and corpse-like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form. And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH, EDGAR ALLAN POE, 1809 1849
Interpretation
Shih Huang Ti started off as the king of Ch’in, a fearless warrior of
unbridled ambition. Writers of the time described him as a man with “a waspish nose, eyes like slits, the voice of a jackal, and the heart of a tiger or wolf.” He could be merciful sometimes, but more often he “swallowed men up without a scruple.” It was through trickery and violence that he conquered the provinces surrounding his own and created China, forging a single nation and culture out of many. He broke up the feudal system, and to
keep an eye on the many members of the royal families that were scattered across the realm’s various kingdoms, he moved 120,000 of them to the capital, where he housed the most important courtiers in the vast palace of Hsien-yang. He consolidated the many walls on the borders and built them into the Great Wall of China. He standardized the country’s laws, its written language, even the size of its cartwheels. As part of this process of unification, however, the first emperor outlawed the writings and teachings of Confucius, the philosopher whose ideas on the moral life had already become virtually a religion in Chinese culture. On Shih Huang Ti’s order, thousands of books relating to Confucius
were burned, and anyone who quoted Confucius was to be beheaded. This made many enemies for the emperor, and he grew constantly afraid, even paranoid. The executions mounted. A contemporary, the writer Han-fei-tzu, noted that “Ch’in has been victorious for four generations, yet has lived in constant terror and apprehension of destruction.” As the emperor withdrew deeper and deeper into the palace to protect himself, he slowly lost control of the realm. Eunuchs and ministers enacted political policies without his approval or even his knowledge; they also plotted against him. By the end, he was emperor in name only, and was so isolated that barely anyone knew he had died. He had probably been poisoned by the same scheming ministers who encouraged his isolation.
That is what isolation brings: Retreat into a fortress and you lose contact with the sources of your power. You lose your ear for what is happening around you, as well as a sense of proportion. Instead of being safer, you cut yourself off from the kind of knowledge on which your life depends. Never enclose yourself so far from the streets that you cannot hear what is happening around you, including the plots against you.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Louis XIV had the palace of Versailles built for him and his court in the 1660s, and it was like no other royal palace in the world. As in a beehive, everything revolved around the royal person. He lived surrounded by the nobility, who were allotted apartments nestled around his, their closeness to him dependent on their rank. The king’s bedroom occupied the literal center of the palace and was the focus of everyone’s attention. Every morning the king was greeted in this room by a ritual known as the lever. At eight A.M., the king’s first valet, who slept at the foot of the royal bed, would awaken His Majesty. Then pages would open the door and admit those who had a function in the lever.
The order of their entry was precise:
First came the king’s illegitimate sons and his grandchildren, then the princes and princesses of the blood, and then his physician and surgeon. There followed the grand officers of the wardrobe, the king’s official reader, and those in charge of entertaining the king. Next would arrive various government officials, in ascending order of rank. Last but not least came those attending the lever by special invitation. By the end of the ceremony, the room would be packed with well over a hundred royal attendants and visitors.
The day was organized so that all the palace’s energy was directed at and passed through the king. Louis was constantly attended by courtiers and officials, all asking for his advice and judgment.
To all their questions he usually replied, “I shall see.”
As Saint-Simon noted, “If he turned to someone, asked him a question, made an insignificant remark, the eyes of all present were turned on this person.
It was a distinction that was talked of and increased prestige.
” There was no possibility of privacy in the palace, not even for the king—every room communicated with another, and every hallway led to larger rooms where groups of nobles gathered constantly. Everyone’s actions were interdependent, and nothing and no one passed unnoticed: “The king not only saw to it that all the high nobility was present at his court,” wrote Saint-Simon, “he demanded the same of the minor nobility.
At his lever and coucher, at his meals, in his gardens of Versailles, he always looked about him, noticing everything. He was offended if the most distinguished nobles did not live permanently at court, and those who showed themselves never
or hardly ever, incurred his full displeasure.
If one of these desired something, the king would say proudly:
‘I do not know him,’ and the judgment was irrevocable.”
Interpretation
Louis XIV came to power at the end of a terrible civil war, the Fronde. A principal instigator of the war had been the nobility, which deeply resented the growing power of the throne and yearned for the days of feudalism, when the lords ruled their own fiefdoms and the king had little authority over them. The nobles had lost the civil war, but they remained a fractious, resentful lot.
The construction of Versailles, then, was far more than the decadent whim of a luxury-loving king. It served a crucial function: The king could keep an eye and an ear on everyone and everything around him. The once proud nobility was reduced to squabbling over the right to help the king put on his robes in the morning. There was no possibility here of privacy—no possibility of isolation. Louis XIV very early grasped the truth that for a king to isolate himself is gravely dangerous. In his absence, conspiracies will spring up like mushrooms after rain, animosities will crystallize into factions, and rebellion will break out before he has the time to react. To combat this, sociability and openness must not only be encouraged, they must be formally organized and channeled. These conditions at Versailles lasted for Louis’s entire reign, some fifty years of relative peace and tranquillity. Through it all, not a pin dropped without Louis hearing it. Solitude is dangerous to reason, without being favorable to virtue.... Remember that the solitary mortal is certainly luxurious,
probably superstitious, and possibly mad.
Dr. Samuel John son, 1709-1784
KEYS TO POWER
Machiavelli makes the argument that in a strictly military sense a fortress is invariably a mistake. It becomes a symbol of power’s isolation, and is an easy target for its builders’ enemies. Designed to defend you, fortresses actually cut you off from help and cut into your flexibility. They may appear impregnable, but once you retire to one, everyone knows where you are; and a siege does not have to succeed to turn your fortress into a prison. With their small and confined spaces, fortresses are also extremely
vulnerable to the plague and contagious diseases. In a strategic sense, the isolation of a fortress provides no protection, and actually creates more problems than it solves. Because humans are social creatures by nature, power depends on social
interaction and circulation. To make yourself powerful you must place yourself at the center of things, as Louis XIV did at Versailles. All activity should revolve around you, and you should be aware of everything happening on the street, and of anyone who might be hatching plots against you. The danger for most people comes when they feel threatened. In such times they tend to retreat and close ranks, to find security in a kind of fortress. In doing so, however, they come to rely for information on a smaller and smaller circle, and lose perspective on events around them.
They lose maneuverability and become easy targets, and their isolation makes them paranoid. As in warfare and most games of strategy, isolation often precedes defeat and death.
In moments of uncertainty and danger, you need to fight this desire to turn inward. Instead, make yourself more accessible, seek out old allies and make new ones, force yourself into more and more different circles. This has been the trick of powerful people for centuries. The Roman statesman Cicero was born into the lower nobility, and had little chance of power unless he managed to make a place for himself among the aristocrats who controlled the city. He succeeded brilliantly, identifying everyone with influence and figuring out how they were connected to one another. He mingled everywhere, knew everyone, and had such a vast network of connections that an enemy here could easily be
counterbalanced by an ally there. The French statesman Talleyrand played the game the same way. Although he came from one of the oldest aristocratic families in France, he made a point of always staying in touch with what was happening in the
streets of Paris, allowing him to foresee trends and troubles. He even got a certain pleasure out of mingling with shady criminal types, who supplied him with valuable information. Every time there was a crisis, a transition of power—the end of the Directory, the fall of Napoleon, the abdication of Louis XVIII—he was able to survive and even thrive, because he never closed himself up in a small circle but always forged connections with the new order.
This law pertains to kings and queens, and to those of the highest power: The moment you lose contact with your people, seeking security in isolation, rebellion is brewing. Never imagine yourself so elevated that you can afford to cut yourself off from even the lowest echelons. By retreating to a fortress, you make yourself an easy target for your plotting subjects, who view your isolation as an insult and a reason for rebellion. Since humans are such social creatures, it follows that the social arts that make us pleasant to be around can be practiced only by constant exposure and circulation. The more you are in contact with others, the more graceful and at ease you become. Isolation, on the other hand, engenders an awkwardness in your gestures, and leads to further isolation, as people start avoiding you.
In 1545 Duke Cosimo I de’ Medici decided that to ensure the immortality of his name he would commission frescoes for the main chapel of the church of San Lorenzo in Florence. He had many great painters to choose from, and in the end he picked Jacopo da Pontormo. Getting on in years, Pontormo wanted to make these frescoes his chef d’oeuvre and legacy. His first decision was to close the chapel off with walls, partitions, and blinds. He wanted no one to witness the creation of his masterpiece, or to steal his ideas. He would outdo Michelangelo himself. When some young men broke into the chapel out of curiosity, Jacopo sealed it off even further. Pontormo filled the chapel’s ceiling with biblical scenes—the Creation, Adam and Eve, Noah’s ark, on and on. At the top of the middle wall he painted Christ in his majesty, raising the dead on Judgment Day. The artist worked on the chapel for eleven years, rarely leaving it, since he had developed a phobia for human contact and was afraid his ideas would be stolen. Pontormo died before completing the frescoes, and none of them has survived. But the great Renaissance writer Vasari, a friend of Pontormo’s who saw the frescoes shortly after the artist’s death, left a description of
what they looked like. There was a total lack of proportion. Scenes bumped against scenes, figures in one story being juxtaposed with those in another, in maddening numbers. Pontormo had become obsessed with detail but had lost any sense of the overall composition. Vasari left off his description of
the frescoes by writing that if he continued, “I think I would go mad and become entangled in this painting, just as I believe that in the eleven years of time Jacopo spent on it, he entangled himself and anyone else who saw it.” Instead of crowning Pontormo’s career, the work became his undoing. These frescoes were visual equivalents of the effects of isolation on the human mind: a loss of proportion, an obsession with detail combined with an inability to see the larger picture, a kind of extravagant ugliness that no longer communicates. Clearly, isolation is as deadly for the creative arts as for the social arts. Shakespeare is the most famous writer in history because, as a dramatist for the popular stage, he opened himself up to the masses, making his work accessible to people no matter what their education and
taste. Artists who hole themselves up in their fortress lose a sense of proportion, their work communicating only to their small circle. Such art remains cornered and powerless.
Finally, since power is a human creation, it is inevitably increased by contact with other people. Instead of falling into the fortress mentality, view the world in the following manner: It is like a vast Versailles, with every room communicating with another. You need to be permeable, able to float in and out of different circles and mix with different types. That kind of mobility and social contact will protect you from plotters, who will be unable to keep secrets from you, and from your enemies, who will be unable to isolate you from your allies. Always on the move, you mix and
mingle in the rooms of the palace, never sitting or settling in one place. No hunter can fix his aim on such a swift-moving creature.
Image: The Fortress. High up on the hill, the citadel be comes a symbol of all that is hateful in power and authority. The citizens of the town betray you to the first enemy that comes. Cut off from communication and in telligence, the citadel falls with ease.
Authority: A good and wise prince, desirous of maintaining that character, and to avoid giving the opportunity to his sons to become oppressive, will never build fortresses, so that they may place their reliance upon the good will of their subjects, and not upon the strength of citadels.
(Niccolò Machiavelli, 1469-1527)
REVERSAL
It is hardly ever right and propitious to choose isolation. Without keeping an ear on what is happening in the streets, you will be unable to protect yourself. About the only thing that constant human contact cannot facilitate is thought. The weight of society’s pressure to conform, and the lack of distance from other people, can make it impossible to think clearly about what is going on around you. As a temporary recourse, then, isolation can
help you to gain perspective. Many a serious thinker has been produced in prisons, where we have nothing to do but think. Machiavelli could write The Prince only once he found himself in exile and isolated on a farm far from the political intrigues of Florence. The danger is, however, that this kind of isolation will sire all kinds of strange and perverted ideas. You may gain perspective on the larger picture, but you lose a sense of your own smallness and limitations. Also, the more isolated you are, the harder it is to break out of your isolation when you choose to—it sinks you deep into its quicksand without your noticing. If
you need time to think, then, choose isolation only as a last resort, and only in small doses. Be careful to keep your way back into society open.
LAW 19
KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH—DO NOT OFFEND THE WRONG PERSON
JUDGMENT
There are many different kinds of people in the world, and you can never assume that everyone will react to your strategies in the same way. Deceive or outmaneuver some people and they will spend the rest of their lives seeking revenge. They are wolves in lambs’ clothing. Choose your victims and opponents carefully, then
Never offend or deceive the wrong person.
OPPONENTS, SUCKERS, AND VICTIMS: Preliminary Typology In your rise to power you will come across many breeds of opponent, sucker, and victim. The highest form of the art of power is the ability to distinguish the wolves from the lambs, the foxes from the hares, the hawks from the vultures. If you make this distinction well, you will succeed without needing to coerce anyone too much. But if you deal blindly with whomever crosses your path, you will have a life of constant sorrow, if you even live
that long. Being able to recognize types of people, and to act accordingly, is critical. The following are the five most dangerous and difficult types of mark in the jungle, as identified by artists—con and otherwise—of the past. When you meet a swordsman, draw your sword: Do not recite poetry to one who is not a poet.
FROM A CH’AN BUDDHIST CLASSIC, QUOTED IN THUNDER IN
THE SKY, TRANSLATED BY THOMAS CLEARY, 1993
The Arrogant and Proud Man. Although he may initially disguise it, this man’s touchy pride makes him very dangerous. Any perceived slight will lead to a vengeance of overwhelming violence.
You may say to yourself, “But I only said such-and-such at a party, where everyone was drunk....”
It does not matter. There is no sanity behind his overreaction, so do not waste time trying to figure him out. If at any point in your dealings with a person you sense an oversensitive and overactive pride, flee. Whatever you are hoping for from him isn’t worth it.
THE REVENCE OF LOPE DE AGUIRRE
[Lope de] Aguirre’s character is amply illustrated in an anecdote from the chronicle of Garcilaso de la Vega, who related that in 1548 Aguirre was a member of a platoon of soldiers escorting Indian slaves from the mines at Potosi [Bolivia] to a royal treasury depot. The Indians were illegally burdened with great quantities of silver, and a local official arrested Aguirre, sentencing him to receive two hundred lashes in lieu of a fine for oppressing the Indians.
“The soldier Aguirre, having received a notification of the sentence, besought the alcalde that, instead of flogging him, he would put him to death, for that he was a gentleman by birth.... All this had no effect on the alcalde, who ordered the executioner to bring a beast, and execute the sentence. The executioner came to the prison, and put Aguirre on the heast.... The beast was driven on, and he received the lashes. ...”
When freed, Aguirre announced his intention of killing the official who had sentenced him, the alcalde Esquivel. Esquivel’s term of office expired and he fled to Lima, three hundred twenty leagues away, but within fifteen days Aguirre had tracked him there. The frightened judge journeyed to Quito, a trip of four hundred leagues, and in twenty days Aguirre arrived.
“When Esquivel heard of his presence,” according to Garcilaso, “he made another journey of five hundred leagues to Cuzco; but in a few days Aguirre also arrived, having travelled on foot and without shoes, saying that a whipped man has no business to ride a horse, or to go where he would be seen by others. In this way, Aguirre followed his judge for three years, and four months.
” Wearying of the pursuit, Esquivel remained at Cuzco, a city so
sternly governed that he felt he would be safe from Aguirre. He took a house near the cathedral and never ventured outdoors without a sword and a dagger.
“However, on a certain Monday, at noon, Aguirre entered his
house, and having walked all over it, and having traversed a corridor, a saloon, a chamber, and an inner chamber where the judge kept his books, he at last found him asleep over one of his books, and stabbed him to death. The murderer then went out, but when he came to the door of the house, he found that he had forgotten his hat, and had the temerity to return and fetch it, and then walked down the street.”
THE GOLDEN DREAM: SEEKERS OF EL DORADO, WALKER CHAPMAN, 1967
The Hopelessly Insecure Man. This man is related to the proud and arrogant type, but is less violent and harder to spot. His ego is fragile, his sense of self insecure, and if he feels himself deceived or attacked, the hurt will simmer. He will attack you in bites that will take forever to get big enough for you to notice. If you find you have deceived or harmed such a man, disappear for a long time. Do not stay around him or he will nibble you to death.
Mr. Suspicion. Another variant on the breeds above, this is a future Joe Stalin. He sees what he wants to see—usually the worst—in other people, and imagines that everyone is after him. Mr. Suspicion is in fact the least dangerous of the three: Genuinely unbalanced, he is easy to deceive, just as Stalin himself was constantly deceived. Play on his suspicious nature to get him to turn against other people. But if you do become the target of his suspicions, watch out. The Serpent with a Long Memory. If hurt or deceived, this man will show no anger on the surface; he will calculate and wait. Then, when he is in a position to turn the tables, he will exact a revenge marked by a coldblooded shrewdness. Recognize this man by his calculation and cunning in
the different areas of his life. He is usually cold and unaffectionate. Be doubly careful of this snake, and if you have somehow injured him, either crush him completely or get him out of your sight. The Plain, Unassuming, and Often Unintelligent Man. Ah, your ears prick up when you find such a tempting victim. But this man is a lot harder to deceive than you imagine. Falling for a ruse often takes intelligence and imagination—a sense of the possible rewards. The blunt man will not take the bait because he does not recognize it. He is that unaware. The danger
with this man is not that he will harm you or seek revenge, but merely that he will waste your time, energy, resources, and even your sanity in trying to deceive him. Have a test ready for a mark—a joke, a story. If his reaction is utterly literal, this is the type you are dealing with. Continue at your own risk.
TRANSGRESSIONS OF THE LAW
Transgression I
In the early part of the thirteenth century, Muhammad, the shah of Khwarezm, managed after many wars to forge a huge empire, extending west to present-day Turkey and south to Afghanistan. The empire’s center was the great Asian capital of Samarkand. The shah had a powerful, welltrained army, and could mobilize 200,000 warriors within days.
In 1219 Muhammad received an embassy from a new tribal leader to the east, Genghis Khan. The embassy included all sorts of gifts to the great Muhammad, representing the finest goods from Khan’s small but growing Mongol empire. Genghis Khan wanted to reopen the Silk Route to Europe, and offered to share it with Muhammad, while promising peace between the two empires.
Muhammad did not know this upstart from the east, who, it seemed to him, was extremely arrogant to try to talk as an equal to one so clearly his superior. He ignored Khan’s offer. Khan tried again: This time he sent a caravan of a hundred camels filled with the rarest articles he had plundered from China. Before the caravan reached Muhammad, however, Inalchik, the governor of a region bordering on Samarkand, seized it for himself, and executed its leaders. Genghis Khan was sure that this was a mistake—that Inalchik had acted without Muhammad’s approval. He sent yet another mission to Muhammad, reiterating his offer and asking that the governor be punished. This time Muhammad himself had one of the ambassadors beheaded, and sent the other two back with shaved heads—a horrifying insult in the Mongol code of honor.
Khan sent a message to the shah: “You have chosen war. What
will happen will happen, and what it is to be we know not; only God knows.”
Mobilizing his forces, in 1220 he attacked Inalchik’s province,
where he seized the capital, captured the governor, and ordered him executed by having molten silver poured into his eyes and ears. Over the next year, Khan led a series of guerrilla-like campaigns against the shah’s much larger army. His method was totally novel for the time—his soldiers could move very fast on horseback, and had mastered the art of firing with bow and arrow while mounted. The speed and flexibility of his forces allowed him to deceive Muhammad as to his intentions and the directions of his movements. Eventually he managed first to surround
Samarkand, then to seize it. Muhammad fled, and a year later died, his vast empire broken and destroyed.
Genghis Khan was sole master of Samarkand, the Silk Route, and most of northern Asia.
Interpretation
Never assume that the person you are dealing with is weaker or less important than you are. Some men are slow to take offense, which may make you misjudge the thickness of their skin, and fail to worry about insulting them. But should you offend their honor and their pride, they will overwhelm you with a violence that seems sudden and extreme given their slowness to anger. If you want to turn people down, it is best to do so politely and respectfully, even if you feel their request is impudent or their
offer ridiculous. Never reject them with an insult until you know them better; you may be dealing with a Genghis Khan.
THE CROW AND THE SHEEP
A troublesome Crow seated herself on the back of a Sheep. The Sheep, much against his will, carried her backward and forward for a long time,
and at last said, “If you had treated a dog in this way, you would have had your deserts from his sharp teeth.”
To this the Crow replied, “I despise the weak, and yield to the strong. I know whom I may bully, and whom I must flatter;
and thus I hope to prolong my life to a good old age.
FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.
Transgression II
In the late 1910s some of the best swindlers in America formed a con-artist ring based in Denver, Colorado. In the winter months they would spread across the southern states, plying their trade. In 1920 Joe Furey, a leader of the ring, was working his way through Texas, making hundreds of thousands of dollars with classic con games. In Fort Worth, he met a sucker named J. Frank Norfleet, a cattleman who owned a large ranch. Norfleet fell for the con. Convinced of the riches to come, he emptied his bank account of $45,000 and handed it over to Furey and his confederates. A few days later they gave him his “millions,” which turned out to be a few good dollars wrapped around a packet of newspaper clippings. Furey and his men had worked such cons a hundred times before, and the sucker was usually so embarrassed by his gullibility that he quietly learned his lesson and accepted the loss. But Norfleet was not like other suckers. He went to the police, who told him there was little they could do.
“Then I’ll go after those people myself,” Norfleet told the detectives.
“I’ll get them, too, if it takes the rest of my life.”
His wife took over the ranch as Norfleet scoured the country, looking for others who had been fleeced in the same game. One such sucker came forward, and the two men identified one of the
con artists in San Francisco, and managed to get him locked up. The man committed suicide rather than face a long term in prison. Norfleet kept going. He tracked down another of the con artists in Montana, roped him like a calf, and dragged him through the muddy streets to the town jail. He traveled not only across the country but to England, Canada, and Mexico in search of Joe Furey, and also of Furey’s right-hand man, W. B. Spencer. Finding Spencer in Montreal, Norfleet chased him through the streets. Spencer escaped but the rancher stayed on his trail and caught up with him in Salt Lake City. Preferring the mercy of the law to
Norfleet’s wrath, Spencer turned himself in. Norfleet found Furey in Jacksonville, Florida, and personally hauled him off to face justice in Texas. But he wouldn’t stop there: He continued on to
Denver, determined to break up the entire ring. Spending not only large sums of money but another year of his life in the pursuit, he managed to put all of the con ring’s leaders behind bars. Even some he didn’t catch had grown so terrified of him that they too turned themselves in. After five years of hunting, Norfleet had single-handedly destroyed the country’s largest confederation of con artists. The effort bankrupted him and
ruined his marriage, but he died a satisfied man.
Interpretation
Most men accept the humiliation of being conned with a sense of
resignation. They learn their lesson, recognizing that there is no such thing as a free lunch, and that they have usually been brought down by their own greed for easy money. Some, however, refuse to take their medicine. Instead of reflecting on their own gullibility and avarice, they see themselves as totally innocent victims.
Men like this may seem to be crusaders for justice and honesty, but they are actually immoderately insecure. Being fooled, being conned, has activated their self-doubt, and they are desperate to repair the damage. Were the mortgage on Norfleet’s ranch, the collapse of his marriage, and the years of borrowing money and living in cheap hotels worth his revenge over his embarrassment at being fleeced? To the Norfleets of the world, overcoming
their embarrassment is worth any price. All people have insecurities, and often the best way to deceive a sucker is to play upon his insecurities. But in the realm of power, everything is a
question of degree, and the person who is decidedly more insecure than the average mortal presents great dangers. Be warned: If you practice deception or trickery of any sort, study your mark well. Some people’s insecurity and ego fragility cannot tolerate the slightest offense. To see if you are dealing with such a type, test them first—make, say, a mild joke at their expense. A
confident person will laugh; an overly insecure one will react as if
personally insulted. If you suspect you are dealing with this type, find another victim.
Transgression III
In the fifth century B.C., Ch‘ung-erh, the prince of Ch’in (in present-day China), had been forced into exile. He lived modestly—even, sometimes, in poverty—waiting for the time when he could return home and resume his princely life. Once he was passing through the state of Cheng, where the ruler, not knowing who he was, treated him rudely.
The ruler’s minister, Shu Chan, saw this and said, “This man is a worthy prince. May Your Highness treat him with great courtesy and thereby place him under an obligation!”
But the ruler, able to see only the prince’s lowly station, ignored this advice and insulted the prince again. Shu Chan again warned his master, saying, “If Your Highness cannot treat Ch’ung-erh with courtesy, you should put him to death, to avoid calamity in the future.”
The ruler only scoffed. Years later, the prince was finally able to return home, his circumstances greatly changed. He did not forget who had been kind to him, and who had been insolent, during his years of poverty. Least of all did he forget his treatment at the hands of the ruler of Cheng. At his first opportunity he assembled a vast army and marched on Cheng, taking eight cities, destroying the kingdom, and sending the ruler into an exile of his own.
Interpretation
You can never be sure who you are dealing with. A man who is of little importance and means today can be a person of power tomorrow. We forget a lot in our lives, but we rarely forget an insult.
How was the ruler of Cheng to know that Prince Ch’ung-erh was an ambitious, calculating, cunning type, a serpent with a long memory?
There was really no way for him to know, you may say—but since there was no way, it would have been better not to tempt the fates by finding out. There is nothing to be gained by insulting a person unnecessarily. Swallow the impulse to offend, even if the other person seems weak. The satisfaction is meager compared to the danger that someday he or she will be in a position to hurt you.
Transgression IV
The year of 1920 had been a particularly bad one for American art dealers. Big buyers—the robber-baron generation of the previous century—were getting to an age where they were dying off like flies, and no new millionaires had emerged to take their place. Things were so bad that a number of the major dealers decided to pool their resources, an unheard-of event, since art dealers usually get along like cats and dogs.
Joseph Duveen, art dealer to the richest tycoons of America, was
suffering more than the others that year, so he decided to go along with this alliance. The group now consisted of the five biggest dealers in the country. Looking around for a new client, they decided that their last best hope was Henry Ford, then the wealthiest man in America. Ford had yet to venture into the art market, and he was such a big target that it made sense for them
to work together. The dealers decided to assemble a list, “The 100 Greatest Paintings in the World” (all of which they happened to have in stock), and to offer the lot of them to Ford. With one purchase he could make himself the world’s greatest collector. The consortium worked for weeks to produce a magnificent
object: a three-volume set of books containing beautiful reproductions of the paintings, as well as scholarly texts accompanying each picture. Next they made a personal visit to Ford at his home in Dearborn, Michigan. There they were surprised by the simplicity of his house: Mr. Ford was obviously an extremely unaffected man. Ford received them in his study. Looking through the book, he expressed astonishment and delight. The excited dealers began imagining the millions of dollars that would shortly flow into their coffers.
Finally, however, Ford looked up from the book and said, “Gentlemen, beautiful books like these, with beautiful colored pictures like these, must cost an awful lot!”
“But Mr. Ford!” exclaimed Duveen, “we don’t expect you to buy these books. We got them up especially for you, to show you the pictures. These books are a present to you.”
Ford seemed puzzled. “Gentlemen,” he said,
“it is extremely nice of you, but I really don’t see how I can accept a beautiful, expensive present like this from strangers.”
Duveen explained to Ford that the reproductions in the books showed paintings they had hoped to sell to him.
Ford finally understood. “But gentlemen,” he exclaimed,
“what would I want with the original pictures when the ones right here in these books are so beautiful?”
Interpretation
Joseph Duveen prided himself on studying his victims and clients in advance, figuring out their weaknesses and the peculiarities of their tastes before he ever met them. He was driven by desperation to drop this tactic just once, in his assault on Henry Ford. It took him months to recover from his misjudgment, both mentally and monetarily. Ford was the unassuming plain-man type who just isn’t worth the bother. He was the incarnation of
those literal-minded folk who do not possess enough imagination to be deceived. From then on, Duveen saved his energies for the Mellons and Morgans of the world—men crafty enough for him to entrap in his snares.
KEYS TO POWER
The ability to measure people and to know who you’re dealing with is the most important skill of all in gathering and conserving power.
Without it you are blind: Not only will you offend the wrong people, you will choose the wrong types to work on, and will think you are flattering people when you are actually insulting them. Before embarking on any move, take the measure of your mark or potential opponent. Otherwise you will waste time and make mistakes. Study people’s weaknesses, the chinks in their armor, their areas of both pride and insecurity. Know their ins and outs before you even decide whether or not to deal with them.
Two final words of caution: First, in judging and measuring your
opponent, never rely on your instincts. You will make the greatest mistakes of all if you rely on such inexact indicators. Nothing can substitute for gathering concrete knowledge.
Study and spy on your opponent for however long it takes ;
this will pay off in the long run.
Second, never trust appearances. Anyone with a serpent’s heart can use a show of kindness to cloak it; a person who is blustery on the outside is often really a coward. Learn to see through appearances and their contradictions.
Never trust the version that people give of themselves—it is utterly unreliable.
Image: The Hunter. He does not lay the same trap for a wolf as for a fox. He does not set bait where no one will take it. He knows his prey thoroughly, its habits and hideaways, and hunts accordingly.
Authority: Be convinced, that there are no persons so insignificant and inconsiderable, but may, some time or other, have it in their power to be of use to you; which they certainly will not, if you have once shown them contempt. Wrongs are often forgiven, but contempt never is. Our pride remembers it for ever. (Lord Chesterfield, 1694-1773)
REVERSAL
What possible good can come from ignorance about other people?
Learn to tell the lions from the lambs or pay the price. Obey this law to its fullest extent; it has no reversal—do not bother looking for one.
Tyrion passes Ser Meryn Trant as he enters Cersei’s chambers, where he finds the recently knighted Ser Lancel Lannister singing to his sister. He complements both, which unnerves Lancel. Tyrion asks Cersei to dismiss Lancel, as there is an important matter for them to discuss. She immediately thinks it is about the begging brothers that were incarcerated after claiming the gods are punishing everyone for Jaime killing the rightful king. Cersei complains that Ser Jacelyn Bywater did nothing so she commanded Vylarr to attend to the matter; Tyrion is irritated that Vylarr dragged half a dozen scabrous prophets to the dungeon without consulting him but will not fight over it. After he asks if the bed she sits on is the one where Robert died, which she confirms, saying it gives her sweet dreams, he tells her that Stannis Baratheon has sailed from Dragonstone, and not to King's Landing, but to Storm's End to lay siege, and Renly Baratheon is riding to meet him. Tyrion, however, thinks it will end in battle rather than an agreement, since the brothers are too different, yet alike. They laugh heartily and Cersei is so happy she even hugs him. He fills two cups with wine, adding some powder to hers. As they toast, Tyrion wonders if this is the Cersei Jaime sees, and is almost sorry for poisoning her.
The next morning, Cersei is ill, so Tyrion holds audience alone. In the hall, there are both Lannister guardsmen and Gold Cloaks standing across from each other, with Bronn and Ser Preston Greenfield flanking the throne. In attendance are lovely Sansa Stark, the coughing Lord Gyles Rosby, his cousin Tyrek Lannister who recently married young Ermesande Hayford (he is teased with the nick name “wet nurse”). Ser Cleos Frey approaches, and Grand Maester Pycelle announces that they cannot accept Robb's terms. Tyrion then gives Ser Cleos their own terms:
Robb Stark must lay down his sword, swear fealty, and return to Winterfell. He must free my brother unharmed, and place his host under Jaime’s command, to march against the rebels Renly and Stannis Baratheon. Each of Stark’s bannermen must send us a son as hostage. A daughter will suffice where there is no son. They shall be treated gently and given high places here at court, so long as their fathers commit no new treasons.
When Ser Cleos states that Robb will not agree to these terms, Tyrion continues with:
Tell him that we have raised another great host at Casterly Rock, that soon it will march on him from the west while my lord father advances from the east. Tell him that he stands alone, without hope of allies. Stannis and Renly Baratheon war against each other, and the Prince of Dorne has consented to wed his son Trystane to the Princess Myrcella. As to this of my cousins, we offer Harrion Karstark and Ser Wylis Manderly for Willem Lannister, and Lord Cerwyn and Ser Donnel Locke for your brother Tion. Tell Stark that two Lannisters are worth four northmen in any season. His father’s bones he shall have, as a gesture of Joffrey’s good faith.
This raises murmurs of delight and laughter from the audience. Ser Cleos asks about the sword Ice and Robb's sisters. Tyrion states that he will have the sword when he makes peace and the sisters when Jaime is released. Tyrion then tells Vylarr that Ser Cleos is to also have a Lannister escort since he is a cousin, and that Vylarr is to take all of his guardsmen. This raises concern from Pycelle; Vylarr stands stone still. Tyrion states that the Gold Cloaks and Kingsguard are adequate to protect the king and queen. Varys smiles knowingly, Littlefinger feigns boredom, and Pycelle is looking confused.
Tyrion attempts to close the meeting, but Ser Alliser Thorne speaks up complaining about being ignored. Tyrion feigns ignorance of him being in the city, blaming Bronn for making his friend that he walked The Wall with wait. Ser Alliser wants to speak to the king, but is told he is playing with his new crossbow (which Tyrion has just given him), so Ser Alliser will have to talk with the King’s servants.
Ser Alliser relates how they found the corpses of two long dead rangers, and brought them back to the Wall. They rose that night and killed Ser Jaremy Rykker and attempted to murder Ser Jeor Mormont. Tyrion gets assurances that the Lord Commander survived and they killed these two dead men. Ser Alliser tells them that they were dead the first time, pale and cold with black hands and feet. As proof he had a hand, but it rotted away while he waited. Tyrion thinks of the dread he felt when he was on the Wall with Jon Snow. He orders Littlefinger to send Ser Alliser back with 100 spades to bury the dead and prevent them from walking, and also tells Ser Jacelyn that Ser Alliser will have the pick of the dungeons to use the spades. Tyrion is informed that the dungeons are near empty since Yoren has already taken all the likely men. He tells Ser Jacelyn to arrest some more, or to spread the word that there is food at the wall. Ser Alliser is not easily dismissed, trying to warn Tyrion of the danger. Ser Preston intervenes, and Ser Alliser knows better than to challenge a Kingsguard. Then, Bronn marches Ser Alliser from the hall.
Varys compliments Tyrion on how he handled the situation. Littlefinger asks if he meant to send away all his guards, to which Tyrion responds only his sister’s guards. Tryion notes that Littlefinger is not happy with him, and Littlefinger replies that he loves him as much as ever but that Myrcella Baratheon cannot wed Robert Arryn if she weds Trystane Martell, and to leave him out of the next deception. Glancing at the knife at Littlefinger’s hip, Tyrion apologizes, stating the realm needs him.
Tyrion asks Varys to walk with him. Varys tells him that Cersei will never let him send away her guard, and Tyrion replies that Varys is going to help him accomplish this by saying it is part of the plan to free Jaime. Varys is to put the thief, the poisoner, the mummer, and the murderer in crimson cloaks to join the rest of the guard escorting Ser Cleos—four among 400 Lannister men cannot be watched closely. She will not like it and be uneasy, but Tyrion likes her uneasy.
Ser Cleos leaves that afternoon, escorted by 100 Lannister guardsmen. That same afternoon, Tyrion finds Timett dicing in the barracks and tells him to meet him in his solar at midnight. He feasts with the Vale mountain clans that night, shunning wine for once. During the feast he asks Shagga what moon it is and is told black, which they call the traitor’s moon. He tells Shagga to not get too drunk and to keep his axe sharp.
Shagga uses his axe to destroy the door to Pycelle’s chambers. Tyrion has Timett pull the naked serving girl out of the bed and march/drag her into the hall. Tyrion pulls the blanket off the maester, who asks why this is being done to a loyal servant. Tyrion tells him that he sent one of his letters to Doran Martell and the other to Cersei. Pycelle tries to blame Varys, but Tyrion informs him that he was the only one he entrusted the information with. Pycelle tries to claim that something happened to the letter on the way, and that he knows things about Varys that would chill Tyrion's blood. Tyrion replies that his lady prefers his blood hot. Then, Pycelle tries to accuse Littlefinger, to which Tyrion responds that he already knows about him. Tyrion instructs Shagga to cut off Pycelle's manhood and feed it to the goats. When Shagga states there are no goats, Tyrion tells him to make do. Shagga first takes most of Pycelle’s beard with his axe as Pycelle sprays everything with urine. Pycelle tells Tyrion that he did everything for House Lannister and to ask Tywin; he says he was even responsible for convincing Aerys II Targaryen to open the gates. Tyrion, shocked, states “So the Sack of King’s Landing was your work as well?” He then asks him how many he has betrayed: Aerys, Eddard Stark, himself, King Robert, Jon Arryn, Prince Rhaegar? Pycelle pleads that Robert was a wretched king, that Renly was plotting to bring Mace Tyrell’s daughter to court and have Cersei supplanted as Queen. Tyrion asks what Lord Arryn had been plotting, and Pycelle explains that Jon Arryn knew of Cersei’s incest. Pycelle also knew that Lord Jon planned to send his wife back to the Eyrie, his son to foster on Dragonstone, and that he meant to act on his knowledge. Thanks to Shagga’s axe making closer and closer shaves of Pycelle's neck, Tyrion finally gets him to confess that he had a hand in the death of Jon Arryn by assuring he wouldn't receive effective treatment because he knew about the father of Cersei’s children. He tells them he knew that Cersei wanted Jon dead but could not say it since Varys was always listening. He sent Colemon away because he was purging Jon. Then Pycelle attempts to blame Hugh for the poisoning, telling Tyrion that Varys can tell him. Disgusted, Tyrion orders Pycelle thrown into one of the black cells.
When Pycelle is gone, Tyrion searches the quarters and collects a few more small jars, thinking how he wished Pycelle was the one he could have trusted; Varys and Littlefinger are no more loyal, just more subtle and thus more dangerous. Tyrion suspects his father's method might be best; send for Ilyn Payne, have all three of their heads mounted above the gates and be done with it.
GAGAGRRGGGRGERE
En materia jurisdiccional, la Corte forma quórum con la presencia de cuatro integrantes. Para la emisión de pronunciamiento válido, se requiere la mayoría absoluta del Cuerpo y de sus votos totalmente concordantes. En caso de empate, el voto del presidente de la Corte es decisivo. Si su voto no es dirimente, la Corte se integra con el número de reemplazantes que sea necesario para lograr mayoría absolutamente concordante en la votación. En todos los casos, la opinión de la mayoría puede ser llevada por uno de los integrantes y la de la minoría, del mismo modo. En materia de Gobierno, la Corte forma quórum con la presencia de cuatro de sus integrantes y las resoluciones se toman por simple mayoría. En caso de empate, el voto del presidente es decisivo. Competencia territorial: Ejerce su competencia funcional, material y personal en todo el territorio de la Provincia.
LAW 16
USE ABSENCE TO INCREASE RESPECT AND HONOR
JUDGMENT
Too much circulation makes the price go down: The more you are seen and heard from, the more common you appear. If you are already established in a group, temporary withdrawal from it will make you more talked about, even more admired. You must learn when to leave. Create value through scarcity.
TRANSGRESSION AND OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Sir Guillaume de Balaun was a troubadour who roamed the South of France in the Middle Ages, going from castle to castle, reciting poetry, and playing the perfect knight. At the castle of Javiac he met and fell in love with the beautiful lady of the house, Madame Guillelma de Javiac. He sang her his songs, recited his poetry, played chess with her, and little by little she in turn fell in love with him. Guillaume had a friend, Sir Pierre de Barjac, who
traveled with him and who was also received at the castle. And Pierre too fell in love with a lady in Javiac, the gracious but temperamental Viernetta.
THE CAMEL AND THE FLOATING STICKS
The first man who saw a camel fled;
The second ventured within distance;
The third dared slip a halter round its head.
Familiarity in this existence makes all things tame, for what may seem Terrible or bizarre, when once our eyes have had time to acclimatize, Becomes quite commonplace. Since I’m on this theme, I’ve heard of sentinels posted by the shore
Who, spotting something far-away afloat, Couldn’t resist the shout:
“A sail! A sail!
A mighty man-of-war!”
Five minutes later it’s a packet boat,
And then a skiff, and then a bale,
And finally some sticks bobbing about.
I know of plenty such To whom this story applies— People whom distance magnifies Who, close to, don’t amount to much.
SELECTED FABLES, JEAN DE LA FONTAINE, 1621-1695
Then one day Pierre and Viernetta had a violent quarrel. The lady
dismissed him, and he sought out his friend Guillaume to help heal the breach and get him back in her good graces. Guillaume was about to leave the castle for a while, but on his return, several weeks later, he worked his magic, and Pierre and the lady were reconciled. Pierre felt that his love had increased tenfold—that there was no stronger love, in fact, than the love that follows reconciliation. The stronger and longer the disagreement, he
told Guillaume, the sweeter the feeling that comes with peace and rapprochement. As a troubadour, Sir Guillaume prided himself on experiencing all the joys and sorrows of love. On hearing his friend’s talk, he too wanted know the bliss of reconciliation after a quarrel. He therefore feigned great anger
with Lady Guillelma, stopped sending her love letters, and abruptly left the castle and stayed away, even during the festivals and hunts. This drove the young lady wild. Guillelma sent messengers to Guillaume to find out what had happened,
but he turned the messengers away. He thought all this would make her angry, forcing him to plead for reconciliation as Pierre had. Instead, however, his absence had the opposite effect: It made Guillelma love him all the more. Now the lady pursued her knight, sending messengers and love notes of her own. This was almost unheard of—a lady never pursued her troubadour. And Guillaume did not like it. Guillelma’s forwardness made him feel she had lost some of her dignity. Not only was he no longer sure of his plan, he was no longer sure of his lady. Finally, after several months of not hearing from Guillaume, Guillelma gave up. She sent him no more messengers, and he began to wonder—
perhaps she was angry? Perhaps the plan had worked after all? So much the better if she was. He would wait no more—it was time to reconcile. So he put on his best robe, decked the horse in its fanciest caparison, chose a magnificent helmet, and rode off to Javiac. On hearing that her beloved had returned, Guillelma rushed to see him, knelt before him, dropped her veil to kiss him, and begged forgiveness for whatever slight had caused his anger. Imagine his confusion and despair— his plan had failed abysmally. She was not angry, she had never been angry, she was only deeper in love, and he would never experience the joy of
reconciliation after a quarrel. Seeing her now, and still desperate to taste that joy, he decided to try one more time: He drove her away with harsh words and threatening gestures. She left, this time vowing never to see him again. The next morning the troubadour regretted what he had done. He rode back to Javiac, but the lady would not receive him, and ordered her servants
to chase him away, across the drawbridge and over the hill. Guillaume fled. Back in his chamber he collapsed and started to cry: He had made a terrible mistake. Over the next year, unable to see his lady, he experienced the absence, the terrible absence, that can only inflame love. He wrote one of his most beautiful poems, “My song ascends for mercy praying.” And he sent many letters to Guillelma, explaining what he had done, and begging
forgiveness. After a great deal of this, Lady Guillelma, remembering his beautiful songs, his handsome figure, and his skills in dancing and falconry, found herself yearning to have him back. As penance for his cruelty, she ordered him to remove the nail from the little finger of his right hand, and to send it to her along with a poem describing his miseries. He did as she asked. Finally Guillaume de Balaun was able to taste the ultimate sensation—a reconciliation even surpassing that of his friend
Pierre.
FIVE VIRTUES OF THE COCK
While serving under the Duke Ai of Lu, T‘ien Jao, resenting his obscure position, said to his master, “I am going to wander far away like a snow goose. ” “What do you mean by that?” inquired the Duke.
“Do you see the cock?” said T’ien Jao in reply. “Its crest is a symbol of civility;
its powerful talons suggest strength; its daring to fight any enemy denotes courage; its instinct to invite others whenever food is obtained shows benevolence; and, last but not least, its punctuality in keeping the time through the night gives us an example of veracity. In spite. however, of these five virtues, the cock is daily killed to fill a dish on your table. Why? The reason is that it is found within our reach. On the other hand, the snow goose traverses in one flight a thousand li. Resting in your garden, it preys on your fishes and turtles and pecks your millet. Though devoid of any of the cock’s five virtues, yet you prize this bird for the sake of its scarcity. This being so, I shall fly far like a
snow goose.”
ANCIENT CHINESE PARABLES, YU HSIU SEN, ED., 1974
Interpretation
Trying to discover the joys of reconciliation, Guillaume de Balaun
inadvertently experienced the truth of the law of absence and presence. At the start of an affair, you need to heighten your presence in the eyes of the other. If you absent yourself too early, you may be forgotten. But once your lover’s emotions are engaged, and the feeling of love has crystallized, absence inflames and excites. Giving no reason for your absence excites
even more: The other person assumes he or she is at fault. While you are away, the lover’s imagination takes flight, and a stimulated imagination cannot help but make love grow stronger. Conversely, the more Guillelma pursued Guillaume, the less he loved her—she had become too present, too accessible, leaving no room for his imagination and fancy, so that his feelings were suffocating. When she finally stopped sending messengers, he
was able to breathe again, and to return to his plan. What withdraws, what becomes scarce, suddenly seems to deserve our
respect and honor. What stays too long, inundating us with its presence, makes us disdain it. In the Middle Ages, ladies were constantly putting their knights through trials of love, sending them on some long and arduous quest—all to create a pattern of absence and presence. Indeed, had Guillaume not left his lady in the first place, she might have been forced to send him away, creating an absence of her own. Absence diminishes minor passions and inflames great ones, as the wind douses a candle and fans a fire.
La Rochefoucauld, 1613-1680
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
For many centuries the Assyrians ruled upper Asia with an iron fist. In the eighth century B.C., however, the people of Medea (now northwestern Iran) revolted against them, and finally broke free. Now the Medes had to establish a new government. Determined to avoid any form of despotism, they refused to give ultimate power to any one man, or to establish a monarchy. Without a leader, however, the country soon fell into chaos, and
fractured into small kingdoms, with village fighting against village. In one such village lived a man named Deioces, who began to make a name for himself for fair dealing and the ability to settle disputes. He did this so successfully, in fact, that soon any legal conflict in the area was brought to him, and his power increased. Throughout the land, the law had fallen into disrepute—the judges were corrupt, and no one entrusted their cases to the courts any more, resorting to violence instead. When news
spread of Deioces’ wisdom, incorruptibility, and unshakable impartiality, Medean villages far and wide turned to him to settle all manner of cases. Soon he became the sole arbiter of justice in the land. At the height of his power, Deioces suddenly decided he had had enough. He would no longer sit in the chair of judgment, would hear no more suits, settle no more disputes between brother and brother, village and village. Complaining that he was spending so much time dealing with other people’s problems that he had neglected his own affairs, he retired. The country once again descended into chaos. With the sudden withdrawal of a
powerful arbiter like Deioces, crime increased, and contempt for the law was never greater. The Medes held a meeting of all the villages to decide how to get out of their predicament.
“We cannot continue to live in this country under these conditions,” said one tribal leader.
“Let us appoint one of our number to rule so that we can live under orderly government, rather than losing our homes altogether in the present chaos.”
And so, despite all that the Medes had suffered under the Assyrian despotism, they decided to set up a monarchy and name a king. And the man they most wanted to rule, of course, was the fair-minded Deioces. He was hard to convince, for he wanted nothing more to do with the villages’ in-fighting and bickering, but the Medes begged and pleaded—without him the country had descended into a state of lawlessness. Deioces finally
agreed. Yet he also imposed conditions. An enormous palace was to be constructed for him, he was to be provided with bodyguards, and a capital city was to be built from which he could rule. All of this was done, and Deioces settled into his palace. In the center of the capital, the palace was surrounded by walls, and completely inaccessible to ordinary people. Deioces then established the terms of his rule: Admission to his presence
was forbidden. Communication with the king was only possible through messengers. No one in the royal court could see him more than once a week, and then only by permission. Deioces ruled for fifty-three years, extended the Medean empire, and
established the foundation for what would later be the Persian empire, under his great-great-grandson Cyrus. During Deioces’ reign, the people’s respect for him gradually turned into a form of worship: He was not a mere mortal, they believed, but the son of a god.
Interpretation
Deioces was a man of great ambition. He determined early on that the country needed a strong ruler, and that he was the man for the job. In a land plagued with anarchy, the most powerful man is the judge and arbiter. So Deioces began his career by making his reputation as a man of impeccable fairness.
At the height of his power as a judge, however, Deioces realized the truth of the law of absence and presence: By serving so many clients, he had become too noticeable, too available, and had lost the respect he had earlier enjoyed. People were taking his services for granted. The only way to regain the veneration and power he wanted was to withdraw completely, and let the Medes taste what life was like without him. As he expected, they came begging for him to rule. Once Deioces had discovered the truth of this law, he carried it to its ultimate realization. In the palace his people had built for him, none could see him except a few courtiers, and those only rarely. As Herodotus wrote,
“There was a risk that if they saw him habitually, it might lead to jealousy and resentment, and plots would follow; but if nobody saw him, the legend would grow that he was a being of a different order from mere men.”
A man said to a Dervish: “Why do I not see you more often?”
The Dervish replied, “Because the words ‘Why have you not been to see me?’ are sweeter to my ear than the words ‘Why have you come again?”’
Mulla jami, quoted in ldries Shah’s Caravan of Dreams, 1968
KEYS TO POWER
Everything in the world depends on absence and presence. A strong presence will draw power and attention to you—you shine more brightly than those around you. But a point is inevitably reached where too much presence creates the opposite effect: The more you are seen and heard from, the more your value degrades. You become a habit. No matter how hard you try to be different, subtly, without your knowing why, people respect you
less and less. At the right moment you must learn to withdraw yourself before they unconsciously push you away. It is a game of hide-and-seek. The truth of this law can most easily be appreciated in matters of love and seduction. In the beginning stages of an affair, the lover’s absence stimulates your imagination, forming a sort of aura around him or her. But
this aura fades when you know too much—when your imagination no longer has room to roam. The loved one becomes a person like anyone else, a person whose presence is taken for granted. This is why the seventeenthcentury French courtesan Ninon de Lenclos advised constant feints at withdrawal from one’s lover. “Love never dies of starvation,”
she wrote, “but often of indigestion.”
The moment you allow yourself to be treated like anyone else, it is too late—you are swallowed and digested. To prevent this you need to starve the other person of your presence. Force their respect by threatening them with the possibility that they will lose you for good; create a pattern of presence and absence.
Once you die, everything about you will seem different. You will be surrounded by an instant aura of respect. People will remember their criticisms of you, their arguments with you, and will be filled with regret and guilt. They are missing a presence that will never return. But you do not have to wait until you die: By completely withdrawing for a while, you create a kind of death before death. And when you come back, it will be as if you had come back from the dead—an air of resurrection will cling to
you, and people will be relieved at your return. This is how Deioces made himself king.
Napoleon was recognizing the law of absence and presence when he said, “If I am often seen at the theater, people will cease to notice me.”
Today, in a world inundated with presence through the flood of images, the game of withdrawal is all the more powerful. We rarely know when to withdraw anymore, and nothing seems private, so we are awed by anyone who is able to disappear by choice. Novelists J. D. Salinger and Thomas Pynchon have created cultlike followings by knowing when to disappear. Another, more everyday side of this law, but one that demonstrates its truth even further, is the law of scarcity in the science of economics. By
withdrawing something from the market, you create instant value. In seventeenth-century Holland, the upper classes wanted to make the tulip more than just a beautiful flower—they wanted it to be a kind of status symbol. Making the flower scarce, indeed almost impossible to obtain, they sparked what was later called tulipomania. A single flower was now worth more than its weight in gold. In our own century, similarly, the art dealer Joseph Duveen insisted on making the paintings he sold as scarce and rare as possible. To keep their prices elevated and their status high, he bought up whole collections and stored them in his basement. The paintings that he sold became more than just paintings—they were fetish objects, their value increased by their rarity. “You can get all the pictures you want at fifty thousand dollars apiece—that’s easy,” he once said. “But to get pictures at a quarter of a million apiece—that wants doing!”
Image:
The Sun. It can only be appreciated by its absence. The longer the days of rain, the more the sun is craved. But too many hot days and the sun overwhelms. Learn to keep yourself obscure and
make people demand your return. Extend the law of scarcity to your own skills. Make what you are offering the world rare and hard to find, and you instantly increase its value. There always comes a moment when those in power overstay their welcome. We have grown tired of them, lost respect for them; we see them
as no different from the rest of mankind, which is to say that we see them as rather worse, since we inevitably compare their current status in our eyes to their former one. There is an art to knowing when to retire. If it is done right, you regain the respect you had lost, and retain a part of your power. The greatest ruler of the sixteenth century was Charles V. King of Spain, Hapsburg emperor, he governed an empire that at one point included much
of Europe and the New World. Yet at the height of his power, in 1557, he retired to the monastery of Yuste. All of Europe was captivated by his sudden withdrawal; people who had hated and feared him suddenly called him great, and he came to be seen as a saint. In more recent times, the film actress Greta Garbo was never more admired than when she retired, in 1941. For some her absence came too soon—she was in her mid-thirties— but she wisely preferred to leave on her own terms, rather than waiting for her audience to grow tired of her. Make yourself too available and the aura of power you have created around yourself will wear away. Turn the game around: Make yourself less accessible and you increase the value of your presence.
Authority:
Use absence to create respect and esteem. If presence diminishes fame, absence augments it. A man who when absent is regarded as a lion becomes when present something common and ridiculous. Talents lose their luster if we become too familiar with them, for the outer shell of the mind is more readily seen than its rich inner kernel. Even the outstanding genius makes use of retirement so that men may honor him and so that the yearning aroused by his absence may cause him to be esteemed.
(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)
REVERSAL
This law only applies once a certain level of power has been attained. The need to withdraw only comes after you have established your presence; leave too early and you do not increase your respect, you are simply forgotten. When you are first entering onto the world’s stage, create an image that is recognizable, reproducible, and is seen everywhere. Until that
status is attained, absence is dangerous—instead of fanning the flames, it will extinguish them. In love and seduction, similarly, absence is only effective once you have surrounded the other with your image, been seen by him or her everywhere. Everything must remind your lover of your presence, so that when you do
choose to be away, the lover will always be thinking of you, will always be seeing you in his or her mind’s eye.
Remember: In the beginning, make yourself not scarce but omnipresent. Only what is seen, appreciated, and loved will be missed in its absence.
LAW 17
KEEP OTHERS IN SUSPENDED TERROR: CULTIVATE AN AIR OF UNPREDICTABILITY
JUDGMENT
Humans are creatures of habit with an insatiable need to see familiarity in other people’s actions. Your predictability gives them a sense of control. Turn the tables: Be deliberately unpredictable. Behavior that seems to have no consistency or purpose will keep them off-balance, and they will wear themselves out trying to explain your moves. Taken to an extreme, this strategy can intimidate and terrorize.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
In May of 1972, chess champion Boris Spassky anxiously awaited his rival Bobby Fischer in Reykjavik, Iceland. The two men had been scheduled to meet for the World Championship of Chess, but Fischer had not arrived on time and the match was on hold. Fischer had problems with the size of the prize money, problems with the way the money was to be distributed, problems with the logistics of holding the match in Iceland. He might back out at any moment. Spassky tried to be patient. His Russian bosses felt that Fischer was humiliating him and told him to walk away, but Spassky wanted this match. He knew he could destroy Fischer, and nothing was going to spoil the greatest victory of his career. “So it seems that all our work may come to nothing,” Spassky told a comrade.
“But what can we do? It is Bobby’s move. If he comes, we play. If he does not come, we do not play. A man who is willing to commit suicide has the initiative.”
Fischer finally arrived in Reykjavik, but the problems, and the threat of cancellation, continued. He disliked the hall where the match was to be fought, he criticized the lighting, he complained about the noise of the cameras, he even hated the chairs in which he and Spassky were to sit. Now the Soviet Union took the initiative and threatened to withdraw their man. The bluff apparently worked: After all the weeks of waiting, the endless
and infuriating negotiations, Fischer agreed to play. Everyone was relieved, no one more than Spassky. But on the day of the official introductions, Fischer arrived very late, and on the day when the “Match of the Century” was to begin, he was late again. This time, however, the consequences would be dire: If he showed up too late he would forfeit the first game.
What was going on?
Was he playing some sort of mind game?
Or was Bobby Fischer perhaps afraid of Boris Spassky? It seemed to the assembled grand masters, and to Spassky, that this young kid from Brooklyn had a terrible case of the jitters. At 5:09 Fischer showed up, exactly one minute before the match was to be canceled.
The first game of a chess tournament is critical, since it sets the tone for the months to come. It is often a slow and quiet struggle, with the two players preparing themselves for the war and trying to read each other’s strategies. This game was different. Fischer made a terrible move early on, perhaps the worst of his career, and when Spassky had him on the ropes, he seemed to give up. Yet Spassky knew that Fischer never gave up. Even when facing checkmate, he fought to the bitter end, wearing the opponent
down. This time, though, he seemed resigned. Then suddenly he broke out a bold move that put the room in a buzz. The move shocked Spassky, but he recovered and managed to win the game.
But no one could figure out what Fischer was up to.
Had he lost deliberately?
Or was he rattled?
Unsettled?
Even, as some thought, insane?
After his defeat in the first game, Fischer complained all the more loudly about the room, the cameras, and everything else. He also failed to show up on time for the second game. This time the organizers had had enough: He was given a forfeit. Now he was down two games to none, a position from which no one had ever come back to win a chess championship. Fischer was clearly unhinged. Yet in the third game, as all those who witnessed it
remember, he had a ferocious look in his eye, a look that clearly bothered Spassky. And despite the hole he had dug for himself, he seemed supremely confident. He did make what appeared to be another blunder, as he had in the first game—but his cocky air made Spassky smell a trap. Yet despite the Russian’s suspicions, he could not figure out the trap, and before he knew it Fischer had checkmated him. In fact Fischer’s unorthodox tactics had
completely unnerved his opponent. At the end of the game, Fischer leaped up and rushed out, yelling to his confederates as he smashed a fist into his palm, “I’m crushing him with brute force!”
In the next games Fischer pulled moves that no one had seen from him before, moves that were not his style. Now Spassky started to make blunders. After losing the sixth game, he started to cry. One grand master said, “After this, Spassky’s got to ask himself if it’s safe to go back to Russia.”
After the eighth game Spassky decided he knew what was
happening: Bobby Fischer was hypnotizing him. He decided not to look Fischer in the eye; he lost anyway. After the fourteenth game he called a staff conference and announced,
“An attempt is being made to control my mind.”
He wondered whether the orange juice they drank at the chess table could have been drugged. Maybe chemicals were being blown into the air. Finally Spassky went public, accusing the Fischer team of putting something in the chairs that was altering Spassky’s mind. The KGB went on alert: Boris Spassky was
embarrassing the Soviet Union!
The chairs were taken apart and X-rayed. A chemist found nothing
unusual in them. The only things anyone found anywhere, in fact, were two dead flies in a lighting fixture. Spassky began to complain of hallucinations. He tried to keep playing, but his mind was unraveling. He could not go on. On September 2, he resigned. Although still relatively young, he never recovered from this defeat.
Interpretation
In previous games between Fischer and Spassky, Fischer had not fared well. Spassky had an uncanny ability to read his opponent’s strategy and use it against him. Adaptable and patient, he would build attacks that would defeat not in seven moves but in seventy. He defeated Fischer every time they played because he saw much further ahead, and because he was a brilliant psychologist who never lost control.
One master said, “He doesn’t just look for the best move. He looks for the move that will disturb the man he is playing.”
Fischer, however, finally understood that this was one of the keys to Spassky’s success: He played on your predictability, defeated you at your own game. Everything Fischer did for the championship match was an attempt to put the initiative on his side and to keep Spassky off-balance. Clearly the endless waiting had an effect on Spassky’s psyche. Most powerful of all, though, were Fischer’s deliberate blunders and his appearance of having no clear strategy. In fact, he was doing everything he could to scramble his old patterns, even if it meant losing the first match
and forfeiting the second. Spassky was known for his sangfroid and levelheadedness, but for the first time in his life he could not figure out his opponent. He slowly melted down, until at the end he was the one who seemed insane. Chess contains the concentrated essence of life: First, because to win you have to be supremely patient and farseeing; and second, because the game
is built on patterns, whole sequences of moves that have been played before and will be played again, with slight alterations, in any one match. Your opponent analyzes the patterns you are playing and uses them to try to foresee your moves. Allowing him nothing predictable to base his strategy on gives you a big advantage. In chess as in life, when people cannot figure out what you are doing, they are kept in a state of terror—waiting,
uncertain, confused. Life at court is a serious, melancholy game of chess, which requires us to draw up our pieces and batteries, form a plan, pursue it, parry that of our adversary. Sometimes, however, it is better to take risks and play the most capricious, unpredictable move.
Jean de La Bruyère, 1645-1696
KEYS TO POWER
Nothing is more terrifying than the sudden and unpredictable. That is why we are so frightened by earthquakes and tornadoes: We do not know when they will strike. After one has occurred, we wait in terror for the next one. To a lesser degree, this is the effect that unpredictable human behavior has on us. Animals behave in set patterns, which is why we are able to hunt and kill
them. Only man has the capacity to consciously alter his behavior, to improvise and overcome the weight of routine and habit. Yet most men do not realize this power. They prefer the comforts of routine, of giving in to the animal nature that has them repeating the same compulsive actions time and time again. They do this because it requires no effort, and because they mistakenly believé that if they do not unsettle others, they will be left alone.
Understand: A person of power instills a kind of fear by deliberately unsettling those around him to keep the initiative on his side. You sometimes need to strike without warning, to make others tremble when they least expect it. It is a device that the powerful have used for centuries. Filippo Maria, the last of the Visconti dukes of Milan in fifteenth-century Italy, consciously did the opposite of what everyone expected of him. For instance, he might suddenly shower a courtier with attention, and then, once
the man had come to expect a promotion to higher office, would suddenly start treating him with the utmost disdain. Confused, the man might leave the court, when the duke would suddenly recall him and start treating him well again. Doubly confused, the courtier would wonder whether his assumption that he would be promoted had become obvious, and offensive, to the duke, and would start to behave as if he no longer expected such honor. The duke would rebuke him for his lack of ambition and would send
him away. The secret of dealing with Filippo was simple: Do not presume to know what he wants. Do not try to guess what will please him. Never inject your will; just surrender to his will. Then wait to see what happens. Amidst the confusion and uncertainty he created, the duke ruled supreme, unchallenged and at peace.
Unpredictability is most often the tactic of the master, but the underdog too can use it to great effect. If you find yourself outnumbered or cornered, throw in a series of unpredictable moves. Your enemies will be so confused that they will pull back or make a tactical blunder. In the spring of 1862, during the American Civil War, General Stonewall Jackson and a force of 4,600 Confederate soldiers were tormenting the larger Union forces in the Shenandoah Valley. Meanwhile, not far away,
General George Brinton McClellan, heading a force of 90,000 Union soldiers, was marching south from Washington, D.C., to lay siege to Richmond, Virginia, the Confederate capital. As the weeks of the campaign went by, Jackson repeatedly led his soldiers out of the Shenandoah Valley, then back to it. His movements made no sense.
Was he preparing to help defend Richmond?
Was he marching on Washington, now that McClellan’s absence had left it unprotected?
Was he heading north to wreak havoc up there?
Why was his small force moving in circles?
Jackson’s inexplicable moves made the Union generals delay the march on Richmond as they waited to figure out what he was up to. Meanwhile, the South was able to pour reinforcements into the town. A battle that could have crushed the Confederacy turned into a stalemate. Jackson used this tactic time and again when facing numerically superior forces.
“Always mystify, mislead, and surprise the enemy, if possible,” he said,
“... such tactics will win every time and a small army may thus destroy a large one.”
This law applies not only to war but to everyday situations. People are always trying to read the motives behind your actions and to use your predictability against you. Throw in a completely inexplicable move and you put them on the defensive. Because they do not understand you, they are unnerved, and in such a state you can easily intimidate them.
Pablo Picasso once remarked, “The best calculation is the absence of calculation. Once you have attained a certain level of recognition, others generally figure that when you do something, it’s for an intelligent reason. So it’s really foolish to plot out your movements too carefully in advance. You’re better off acting capriciously.”
For a while, Picasso worked with the art dealer Paul Rosenberg. At first he allowed him a fair amount of latitude in handling his paintings, then one day, for no apparent reason, he told the man he would no longer give him any work to sell.
As Picasso explained, “Rosenberg would spend the next forty-eight hours trying to figure out why. Was I reserving things for some other dealer? I’d go on working and sleeping and Rosenberg would spend his time figuring. In two days he’d come back, nerves jangled, anxious, saying, ‘After all, dear friend, you wouldn’t turn me down if I offered you this much [naming a substantially higher figure] for those paintings rather than the price I’ve been accustomed to paying you, would you?”’
Unpredictability is not only a weapon of terror: Scrambling your patterns on a day-to-day basis will cause a stir around you and stimulate interest. People will talk about you, ascribe motives and explanations that have nothing to do with the truth, but that keep you constantly in their minds. In the end, the more capricious you appear, the more respect you will garner. Only the terminally subordinate act in a predictable manner.
Image: The Cyclone. A wind that cannot be fore seen. Sudden shifts in the barometer, in explicable changes in direction and
velocity. There is no defense: A cyclone sows terror and confusion.
Authority: The enlightened ruler is so mysterious that he seems to dwell nowhere, so inexplicable that no one can seek him. He reposes in nonaction above, and his ministers tremble below. (Han-fei-tzu, Chinese philosopher, third century B.C.)
REVERSAL
Sometimes predictability can work in your favor: By creating a pattern for people to be familiar and comfortable with, you can lull them to sleep. They have prepared everything according to their preconceived notions about you. You can use this in several ways: First, it sets up a smoke screen, a comfortable front behind which you can carry on deceptive actions. Second, it allows you on rare occasions to do something completely against the pattern, unsettling your opponent so deeply he will fall to the ground
without being pushed. In 1974 Muhammad Ali and George Foreman were scheduled to fight for the world heavyweight boxing championship.
Everyone knew what would happen: Big George Foreman would try to land a knockout punch while Ali would dance around him, wearing him out. That was Ali’s way of fighting, his pattern, and he had not changed it in more than ten years. But in this case it seemed to give Foreman the advantage: He had a devastating punch, and if he waited, sooner or later Ali would have to come to him. Ali, the master strategist, had other plans: In press conferences before the big fight, he said he was going to change his style and punch it out with Foreman. No one, least of all Foreman, believed this for a second. That plan would be
suicide on Ali’s part; he was playing the comedian, as usual. Then, before he fight, Ali’s trainer loosened the ropes around the ring, something a trainer would do if his boxer were intending to slug it out. But no one believed this ploy; it had to be a setup. To everyone’s amazement, Ali did exactly what he had said he would do. As Foreman waited for him to dance around, Ali went right up to him and slugged it out. He completely upset his opponent’s strategy. At a loss, Foreman ended up wearing himself out, not by chasing Ali but by throwing punches wildly, and taking more and more counterpunches. Finally, Ali landed a dramatic right cross that knocked out Foreman. The habit of assuming that a person’s behavior will fit its previous patterns is so strong that not even Ali’s announcement of a strategy change was enough to upset
it. Foreman walked into a trap—the trap he had been told to expect.
A warning: Unpredictability can work against you sometimes, especially if you are in a subordinate position. There are times when it is better to let people feel comfortable and settled around you than to disturb them. Too much unpredictability will be seen as a sign of indecisiveness, or even of some more serious psychic problem. Patterns are powerful, and you can terrify people by disrupting them. Such power should only be used
judiciously
LAW 14
POSE AS A FRIEND, WORK AS A SPY
JUDGMENT
Knowing about your rival is critical. Use spies to gather valuable
information that will keep you a step ahead. Better still: Play the spy yourself. In polite social encounters, learn to probe. Ask indirect questions to get people to reveal their weaknesses and intentions. There is no occasion that is not an opportunity for artful spying.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Joseph Duveen was undoubtedly the greatest art dealer of his time—from 1904 to 1940 he almost single-handedly monopolized America’s millionaire art-collecting market. But one prize plum eluded him: the industrialist Andrew Mellon. Before he died, Duveen was determined to make Mellon a client. Duveen’s friends said this was an impossible dream. Mellon was a stiff,
taciturn man. The stories he had heard about the congenial, talkative Duveen rubbed him the wrong way—he had made it clear he had no desire to meet the man. Yet Duveen told his doubting friends, “Not only will Mellon buy from me but he will buy only from me.” For several years he tracked his prey, learning the man’s habits, tastes, phobias. To do this, he secretly put several of Mellon’s staff on his own payroll, worming valuable
information out of them. By the time he moved into action, he knew Mellon about as well as Mellon’s wife did. In 1921 Mellon was visiting London, and staying in a palatial suite on the third floor of Claridge’s Hotel. Duveen booked himself into the suite just below Mellon’s, on the second floor. He had arranged for his valet to befriend Mellon’s valet, and on the fateful day he had chosen to make his move, Mellon’s valet told Duveen’s valet, who told Duveen, that he had just helped Mellon on with his overcoat, and that the industrialist was making his way down the corridor to ring for the lift. Duveen’s valet hurriedly helped Duveen with his own overcoat. Seconds later, Duveen entered the lift, and lo and behold, there was Mellon.
“How do you do, Mr. Mellon?” said Duveen, introducing himself. “I am on my way to the National Gallery to look at some pictures.” How uncanny—that was precisely where Mellon was headed. And so Duveen was able to accompany his prey to the one location that would ensure his success. He knew Mellon’s taste inside and out, and while the two men wandered through the museum, he dazzled the magnate with his knowledge. Once again quite uncannily, they seemed to have remarkably similar tastes. Mellon was pleasantly surprised: This was not the Duveen he had expected. The man was charming and agreeable, and clearly had exquisite taste. When they returned to New York, Mellon visited Duveen’s exclusive gallery and fell in love with the collection. Everything, surprisingly enough, seemed to be precisely the kind of work he wanted to collect. For the rest of his life he was Duveen’s best and most generous client.
Interpretation
A man as ambitious and competitive as Joseph Duveen left nothing to chance. What’s the point of winging it, of just hoping you may be able to charm this or that client? It’s like shooting ducks blindfolded. Arm yourself with a little knowledge and your aim improves. Mellon was the most spectacular of Duveen’s catches, but he spied on many a millionaire. By secretly putting members of his clients’ household staffs on his own payroll, he would gain constant access to valuable information about their masters’ comings and goings, changes in taste, and other such tidbits of information that would put him a step ahead. A rival of
Duveen’s who wanted to make Henry Frick a client noticed that whenever he visited this wealthy New Yorker, Duveen was there before him, as if he had a sixth sense. To other dealers Duveen seemed to be everywhere, and to know everything before they did. His powers discouraged and disheartened them, until many simply gave up going after the wealthy clients who could make a dealer rich. Such is the power of artful spying: It makes you seem all-powerful, clairvoyant. Your knowledge of your mark can also make you seem charming, so well can you anticipate his desires. No one sees the source of your power, and what they cannot see they cannot fight. Rulers see through spies, as cows through smell, Brahmins through scriptures and the rest of the people through their normal eyes.
Kautilya, Indian philosopher third century B. C.
KEYS TO POWER
In the realm of power, your goal is a degree of control over future events. Part of the problem you face, then, is that people won’t tell you all their thoughts, emotions, and plans. Controlling what they say, they often keep the most critical parts of their character hidden—their weaknesses, ulterior motives, obsessions. The result is that you cannot predict their moves, and are constantly in the dark. The trick is to find a way to probe them, to find
out their secrets and hidden intentions, without letting them know what you are up to. This is not as difficult as you might think. A friendly front will let you secretly gather information on friends and enemies alike. Let others consult the horoscope, or read tarot cards: You have more concrete means of seeing
into the future. The most common way of spying is to use other people, as Duveen did. The method is simple, powerful, but risky: You will certainly gather information, but you have little control over the people who are doing the work. Perhaps they will ineptly reveal your spying, or even secretly turn against you. It is far better to be the spy yourself, to pose as a friend while secretly gathering information. The French politician Talleyrand was one of the greatest practitioners of this art. He had an uncanny ability to worm secrets out of people in polite conversation. A contemporary of his, Baron de Vitrolles, wrote, “Wit and grace marked his conversation. He possessed the art of concealing his
thoughts or his malice beneath a transparent veil of insinuations, words that imply something more than they express. Only when necessary did he inject his own personality.” The key here is Talleyrand’s ability to suppress himself in the conversation, to make others talk endlessly about themselves and inadvertently reveal their intentions and plans. Throughout Talleyrand’s life, people said he was a superb conversationalist—yet he actually said very little. He never talked about his own ideas; he got others to reveal theirs. He would organize friendly games of charades for foreign diplomats, social gatherings where, however, he
would carefully weigh their words, cajole confidences out of them, and gather information invaluable to his work as France’s foreign minister. At the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815) he did his spying in other ways: He would blurt out what seemed to be a secret (actually something he had made up), then watch his listeners’ reactions. He might tell a gathering of diplomats, for instance, that a reliable source had revealed to him that the
czar of Russia was planning to arrest his top general for treason. By watching the diplomats’ reactions to this made-up story, he would know which ones were most excited by the weakening of the Russian army— perhaps their governments had designs on Russia?
As Baron von Stetten said, “Monsieur Talleyrand fires a pistol into the air to see who will jump out the window.”
If you have reason to suspect that a person is telling you a lie, look as though you believed every word he said. This will give him courage to go on; he will become more vehement in his assertions, and in the end betray himself. Again, if you perceive that a person is trying to conceal something from you, but with only partial success, look as though you did not believe him. The opposition on your part will provoke him into leading out his
reserve of truth and bringing the whole force of it to bear upon your incredulity.
ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860
During social gatherings and innocuous encounters, pay attention. This is when people’s guards are down. By suppressing your own personality, you can make them reveal things. The brilliance of the maneuver is that they will mistake your interest in them for friendship, so that you not only learn, you make allies.
Nevertheless, you should practice this tactic with caution and care. If people begin to suspect you are worming secrets out of them under the cover of conversation, they will strictly avoid you. Emphasize friendly chatter, not valuable information. Your search for gems of information cannot be too obvious, or your probing questions will reveal more about yourself and your intentions than about the information you hope to find. A trick to try in spying comes from La Rochefoucauld, who wrote, “Sincerity is found in very few men, and is often the cleverest of ruses—
one is sincere in order to draw out the confidence and secrets of the other.” By pretending to bare your heart to another person, in other words, you make them more likely to reveal their own secrets. Give them a false confession and they will give you a real one. Another trick was identified by the philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who suggested vehemently contradicting people you’re in conversation with as a way of irritating them, stirring them up so that they lose some of the control over their words. In
their emotional reaction they will reveal all kinds of truths about
themselves, truths you can later use against them. Another method of indirect spying is to test people, to lay little traps that
make them reveal things about themselves. Chosroes II, a notoriously clever seventh-century king of the Persians, had many ways of seeing through his subjects without raising suspicion. If he noticed, for instance, that two of his courtiers had become particularly friendly, he would call one of them aside and say he had information that the other was a traitor, and would soon be
killed. The king would tell the courtier he trusted him more than anyone, and that he must keep this information secret. Then he would watch the two men carefully. If he saw that the second courtier had not changed in his behavior toward the king, he would conclude that the first courtier had kept the secret, and he would quickly promote the man, later taking him aside to confess, “I meant to kill your friend because of certain information that had reached me, but, when I investigated the matter, I found it was untrue.”
If, on the other hand, the second courtier started to avoid the king, acting aloof and tense, Chosroes would know that the secret had been revealed. He would ban the second courtier from his court, letting him know that the whole business had only been a test, but that even though the man had done nothing wrong, he could no longer trust him. The first courtier, however, had revealed a secret, and him Chosroes would ban from his entire
kingdom. It may seem an odd form of spying that reveals not empirical information but a person’s character. Often, however, it is the best way of solving problems before they arise. By tempting people into certain acts, you learn about their loyalty, their honesty, and so on.
And this kind of knowledge is often the most valuable of all: Armed with it, you can predict their actions in the future.
Image:
The Third Eye of the Spy.
In the land of the two-eyed,
the third eye gives you the omniscience of a god.
You see further than others,
and you see deeper into them.
Nobody is safe from the eye but you.
Authority: Now, the reason a brilliant sovereign and a wise general conquer the enemy whenever they move, and their achievements surpass those of ordinary men, is their foreknowledge of the enemy situation. This “foreknowledge” cannot be elicited from spirits, nor from gods, nor by analogy with past events, nor by astrologic calculations. It must be obtained from men who know the enemy situation—from spies. (Sun-tzu, The Art of War, fourth century B.C.)
REVERSAL
Information is critical to power, but just as you spy on other people, you must be prepared for them to spy on you. One of the most potent weapons in the battle for information, then, is giving out false information.
As Winston Churchill said, “Truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.” You must surround yourself with such a bodyguard, so that your truth cannot be penetrated. By planting the information of your choice, you control the game. In 1944 the Nazis’ rocket-bomb attacks on London suddenly escalated. Over two thousand V-1 flying bombs fell on the city, killing more than five thousand people and wounding many more. Somehow, however, the Germans consistently missed their targets. Bombs that were intended for
Tower Bridge, or Piccadilly, would fall well short of the city, landing in the less populated suburbs. This was because, in fixing their targets, the Germans relied on secret agents they had planted in England. They did not know that these agents had been discovered, and that in their place, Englishcontrolled agents were feeding them subtly deceptive information. The bombs would hit farther and farther from their targets every time they fell. By the end of the campaign they were landing on cows in the
country. By feeding people wrong information, then, you gain a potent advantage. While spying gives you a third eye, disinformation puts out one of your enemy’s eyes. A cyclops, he always misses his target.
LAW 15
CRUSH YOUR ENEMY TOTALLY
JUDGMENT
All great leaders since Moses have known that a feared enemy must be crushed completely. (Sometimes they have learned this the hard way.) If one ember is left alight, no matter how dimly it smolders, a fire will eventually break out. More is lost through stopping halfway than through total annihilation: The enemy will recover, and will seek revenge. Crush him, not only in body but in spirit.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
No rivalry between leaders is more celebrated in Chinese history than the struggle between Hsiang Yu and Liu Pang. These two generals began their careers as friends, fighting on the same side. Hsiang Yu came from the nobility; large and powerful, given to bouts of violence and temper, a bit dull witted, he was yet a mighty warrior who always fought at the head of his troops. Liu Pang came from peasant stock. He had never been much of a
soldier, and preferred women and wine to fighting; in fact, he was
something of a scoundrel. But he was wily, and he had the ability to recognize the best strategists, keep them as his advisers, and listen to their advice. He had risen in the army through these strengths. The remnants of an enemy can become active like those of a disease or fire. Hence, these should be exterminated completely.... One should never ignore an enemy, knowing him to be weak. He becomes dangerous in due course, like the spark of fire in a haystack.
KAUTILYA, INDIAN PHILOSOPHER, THIRD CENTURY B.C.
In 208 B.C., the king of Ch‘u sent two massive armies to conquer the powerful kingdom of Ch’in. One army went north, under the generalship of Sung Yi, with Hsiang Yu second in command; the other, led by Liu Pang, headed straight toward Ch’in. The target was the kingdom’s splendid capital, Hsien-yang. And Hsiang Yu, ever violent and impatient, could not stand the idea that Liu Pang would get to Hsien-yang first, and perhaps would assume command of the entire army.
THE TRAP AT SINIGAGLIA
On the day Ramiro was executed, Cesare [Borgia] quit Cesena, leaving the mutilated body on the town square, and marched south. Three days later he arrived at Fano, where he received the envoys of the city of Ancona, who assured him of their loyalty. A messenger from Vitellozzo Vitelli announced that the little Adriatic port of Sinigaglia had surrendered to the condottieri
[mercenary soldiers]. Only the citadel, in charge of the Genoese Andrea Doria, still held out, and Doria refused to hand it over to anyone except Cesare himself. [Borgia] sent word that he would arrive the next day, which was just what the condottieri wanted to hear. Once he reached Sinigaglia. Cesare would be an easy prey, caught between the citadel and their forces ringing the town.... The condottieri were sure they had military superiority,
believing that the departure of the French troops had left Cesare with only a small force. In fact, according to Machiavelli. [Borgia] had left Cesena with ten thousand infantry-men and three thousand horse, taking pains to split up his men so that they would march along parallel routes before converging on Sinigaglia. The reason for such a large force was that he knew, from a confession extracted from Ramiro de Lorca, what the condottieri had up their sleeve. He therefore decided to turn their own trap against them. This was the masterpiece of trickery that the historian Paolo Giovio later called “the magnificent deceit.” At dawn on December 31 [1502], Cesare reached
the outskirts of Sinigaglia.... Led by Michelotto Corella, Cesare’s advance guard of two hundred lances took up its position on the canal bridge.... This control of the bridge effectively prevented the conspirators’ troops from withdrawing.... Cesare greeted the condottieri effusively and invited them to join him.... Michelotto had prepared the Palazzo Bernardino for Cesare’s use, and the
duke invited the condottieri inside.... Once indoors the men were quietly arrested by guards who crept up from the rear.... [Cesare] gave orders for an attack on Vitelli’s and Orsini’s soldiers in the outlying areas.... That night, while their troops were being crushed, Michelotto throttled Oliveretto and Vitelli in the Bernardino palace.... At one fell swoop, [Borgia] had got rid of his former generals and worst enemies.
THE BORGIAS, IVAN CLOULAS, 1989
At one point on the northern front, Hsiang’s commander, Sung Yi,
hesitated in sending his troops into battle. Furious, Hsiang entered Sung Yi’s tent, proclaimed him a traitor, cut off his head, and assumed sole command of the army. Without waiting for orders, he left the northern front and marched directly on Hsien-yang. He felt certain he was the better soldier and general than Liu, but, to his utter astonishment, his rival, leading a smaller, swifter army, managed to reach Hsien-yang first. Hsiang had an
adviser, Fan Tseng, who warned him, “This village headman [Liu Pang] used to be greedy only for riches and women, but since entering the capital he has not been led astray by wealth, wine, or sex. That shows he is aiming high.” Fan Tseng urged Hsiang to kill his rival before it was too late. He told the general to invite the wily peasant to a banquet at their camp outside Hsienyang, and, in the midst of a celebratory sword dance, to have his head cut
off. The invitation was sent; Liu fell for the trap, and came to the banquet. But Hsiang hesitated in ordering the sword dance, and by the time he gave the signal, Liu had sensed a trap, and managed to escape. “Bah!” cried Fan Tseng in disgust, seeing that Hsiang had botched the plot. “One cannot plan with a simpleton. Liu Pang will steal your empire yet and make us all his prisoners.”
Realizing his mistake, Hsiang hurriedly marched on Hsien-yang, this time determined to hack off his rival’s head. Liu was never one to fight when the odds were against him, and he abandoned the city. Hsiang captured Hsien-yang, murdered the young prince of Ch’in, and burned the city to the ground. Liu was now Hsiang’s bitter enemy, and he pursued him for many months, finally cornering him in a walled city. Lacking food, his army in disarray, Liu sued for peace. Again Fan Tseng warned Hsiang, “Crush him now! If you let him go again, you will be sorry later.” But Hsiang decided to be merciful. He wanted to bring Liu back to Ch’u alive, and to force his former friend to acknowledge him as master. But Fan proved right: Liu managed to use the negotiations for his surrender as a distraction, and he escaped with a small army. Hsiang, amazed that he had yet again let his rival slip away, once
more set out after Liu, this time with such ferocity that he seemed to have lost his mind. At one point, having captured Liu’s father in battle,
Hsiang stood the old man up during the fighting and yelled to Liu across the line of troops, “Surrender now, or I shall boil your father alive!”
Liu calmly answered, “But we are sworn brothers. So my father is your father also. If you insist on boiling your own father, send me a bowl of the soup!”
Hsiang backed down, and the struggle continued. A few weeks later, in the thick of the hunt, Hsiang scattered his forces unwisely, and in a surprise attack Liu was able to surround his main garrison. For the first time the tables were turned. Now it was Hsiang who sued for peace.
Liu’s top adviser urged him to destroy Hsiang, crush his army, show no mercy. “To let him go would be like rearing a tiger—it will devour you later,” the adviser said.
Liu agreed. Making a false treaty, he lured Hsiang into relaxing his defense, then slaughtered almost all of his army. Hsiang managed to escape. Alone and on foot, knowing that Liu had put a bounty on his head, he came upon a small group of his own retreating soldiers, and cried out, “I hear Liu Pang has offered one thousand pieces of gold and a fief of ten thousand families for my head. Let me do you a favor.” Then he slit his own throat and died.
Interpretation
Hsiang Yu had proven his ruthlessness on many an occasion. He rarely hesitated in doing away with a rival if it served his purposes. But with Liu Pang he acted differently. He respected his rival, and did not want to defeat him through deception; he wanted to prove his superiority on the battlefield, even to force the clever Liu to surrender and to serve him. Every time he had his rival in his hands, something made him hesitate—a fatal sympathy with or respect for the man who, after all, had once been a friend and comrade in arms. But the moment Hsiang made it clear that he intended to do away with Liu, yet failed to accomplish it, he sealed his own doom. Liu would not suffer the same hesitation once the tables were turned. This is the fate that faces all of us when we sympathize with our enemies, when pity, or the hope of reconciliation, makes us pull back from doing away with them. We only strengthen their fear and hatred of us. We have beaten them, and they are humiliated; yet we nurture these resentful vipers who will one day kill us. Power cannot be dealt with this way. It must be exterminated, crushed, and denied the chance to return to haunt us. This is all the truer with a former friend who has become an enemy. The law governing fatal antagonisms reads: Reconciliation is out of the question. Only one side can win, and it must win totally. Liu Pang learned this lesson well. After defeating Hsiang Yu, this son of a farmer went on to become supreme commander of the armies of Ch‘u. Crushing his next rival—the king of Ch’u, his own former leader—he crowned himself emperor, defeated everyone in his path, and went down in history as one of the greatest rulers of China, the immortal Han Kao-tsu, founder of the Han Dynasty. To have ultimate victory, you must be ruthless.
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, 1769-1821
Those who seek to achieve things should show no mercy. Kautilya, Indian philosopher third century B.C.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Wu Chao, born in A.D. 625, was the daughter of a duke, and as a beautiful young woman of many charms, she was accordingly attached to the harem of Emperor T’ai Tsung. The imperial harem was a dangerous place, full of young concubines vying to become the emperor’s favorite. Wu’s beauty and forceful character quickly won her this battle, but, knowing that an emperor, like other powerful men, is a creature of whim, and that she could easily be replaced, she kept her eye on the future. Wu managed to seduce the emperor’s dissolute son, Kao Tsung, on the only possible occasion when she could find him alone: while he was
relieving himself at the royal urinal. Even so, when the emperor died and Kao Tsung took over the throne, she still suffered the fate to which all wives and concubines of a deceased emperor were bound by tradition and law: Her head shaven, she entered a convent, for what was supposed to be the rest of her life. For seven years Wu schemed to escape. By communicating in secret with the new emperor, and by befriending his wife, the empress,
she managed to get a highly unusual royal edict allowing her to return to the palace and to the royal harem. Once there, she fawned on the empress, while still sleeping with the emperor. The empress did not discourage this— she had yet to provide the emperor with an heir, her position was vulnerable, and Wu was a valuable ally. In 654 Wu Chao gave birth to a child. One day the empress came to visit, and as soon as she had left, Wu smothered the newborn—her own baby. When the murder was discovered, suspicion immediately fell on the empress, who had been on the scene moments earlier, and whose jealous nature was known by all. This was precisely Wu’s plan. Shortly thereafter, the empress was charged with murder and executed. Wu Chao was crowned
empress in her place. Her new husband, addicted to his life of pleasure, gladly gave up the reins of government to Wu Chao, who was from then on known as Empress Wu. Although now in a position of great power, Wu hardly felt secure. There were enemies everywhere; she could not let down her guard for one
moment. Indeed, when she was forty-one, she began to fear that her beautiful young niece was becoming the emperor’s favorite. She poisoned the woman with a clay mixed into her food. In 675 her own son, touted as the heir apparent, was poisoned as well. The next-eldest son—illegitimate, but now the crown prince—was exiled a little later on trumped-up charges. And when the emperor died, in 683, Wu managed to have the son after that
declared unfit for the throne. All this meant that it was her youngest, most ineffectual son who finally became emperor. In this way she continued to rule. Over the next five years there were innumerable palace coups. All of them failed, and all of the conspirators were executed. By 688 there was no one left to challenge Wu. She proclaimed herself a divine descendant of
Buddha, and in 690 her wishes were finally granted: She was named Holy and Divine “Emperor” of China. Wu became emperor because there was literally nobody left from the previous T’ang dynasty. And so she ruled unchallenged, for over a decade of relative peace. In 705, at the age of eighty, she was forced to abdicate.
Interpretation
All who knew Empress Wu remarked on her energy and intelligence. At the time, there was no glory available for an ambitious woman beyond a few years in the imperial harem, then a lifetime walled up in a convent. In Wu’s gradual but remarkable rise to the top, she was never naive. She knew that any hesitation, any momentary weakness, would spell her end.
If, every time she got rid of a rival a new one appeared, the solution was simple: She had to crush them all or be killed herself. Other emperors before her had followed the same path to the top, but Wu—who, as a woman, had next to no chance to gain power—had to be more ruthless still. Empress Wu’s forty-year reign was one of the longest in Chinese history. Although the story of her bloody rise to power is well known, in China she is considered one of the period’s most able and effective rulers.
A priest asked the dying Spanish statesman and general Ramón Maria Narváez. (1800-1868),
“Does your Excellency forgive all your enemies ? ”I do not
have to forgive my enemies,” answered Narváez, ”I have had them all shot.”
KEYS TO POWER
It is no accident that the two stories illustrating this law come from China: Chinese history abounds with examples of enemies who were left alive and returned to haunt the lenient.
“Crush the enemy” is a key strategic tenet of Sun-tzu, the fourth-century-B.C. author of The Art of War.
The idea is simple: Your enemies wish you ill. There is nothing they want more than to eliminate you. If, in your struggles with them, you stop halfway or even three quarters of the way, out of mercy or hope of reconciliation, you only make them more determined, more embittered, and they will someday take
revenge. They may act friendly for the time being, but this is only because you have defeated them. They have no choice but to bide their time.
The solution: Have no mercy. Crush your enemies as totally as they would crush you. Ultimately the only peace and security you can hope for from your enemies is their disappearance.
Mao Tse-tung, a devoted reader of Sun-tzu and of Chinese history
generally, knew the importance of this law. In 1934 the Communist leader and some 75,000 poorly equipped soldiers fled into the desolate mountains of western China to escape Chiang Kai-shek’s much larger army, in what has since been called the Long March.
Chiang was determined to eliminate every last Communist, and by a few years later Mao had less than 10,000 soldiers left. By 1937, in fact, when China was invaded by Japan, Chiang calculated that the Communists were no longer a threat. He chose to give up the chase and concentrate on the Japanese. Ten years later the Communists had recovered enough to rout Chiang’s army. Chiang had forgotten the ancient wisdom of crushing the enemy; Mao had not. Chiang was pursued until he and his entire army fled to the island of Taiwan. Nothing remains of his regime in mainland China to this day.
The wisdom behind “crushing the enemy” is as ancient as the Bible: Its first practitioner may have been Moses, who learned it from God Himself, when He parted the Red Sea for the Jews, then let the water flow back over the pursuing Egyptians so that “not so much as one of them remained.”
When Moses returned from Mount Sinai with the Ten Commandments and found his people worshipping the Golden Calf, he had every last offender slaughtered. And just before he died, he told his followers, finally about to enter the Promised Land, that when they had defeated the tribes of Canaan they should “utterly destroy them... make no covenant with them, and show no mercy to them.” The goal of total victory is an axiom of modern warfare, and was codified as such by Carl von Clausewitz, the premier philosopher of war. Analyzing the campaigns of Napoleon, von Clausewitz wrote, “We do claim that direct
annihilation of the enemy’s forces must always be the dominant
consideration.... Once a major victory is achieved there must be no talk of rest, of breathing space... but only of the pursuit, going for the enemy again, seizing his capital, attacking his reserves and anything else that might give his country aid and comfort.” The reason for this is that after war come negotiation and the division of territory. If you have only won a partial victory, you will inevitably lose in negotiation what you have gained by
war. The solution is simple: Allow your enemies no options. Annihilate them and their territory is yours to carve. The goal of power is to control your enemies completely, to make them obey your will. You cannot afford to go halfway. If they have no options, they will be forced to do your bidding. This law has applications far beyond the battlefield. Negotiation is the
insidious viper that will eat away at your victory, so give your enemies nothing to negotiate, no hope, no room to maneuver. They are crushed and that is that.
Realize this: In your struggle for power you will stir up rivalries and create enemies. There will be people you cannot win over, who will remain your enemies no matter what. But whatever wound you inflicted on them, deliberately or not, do not take their hatred personally. Just recognize that there is no possibility of peace between you, especially as long as you stay in power. If you let them stick around, they will seek revenge, as certainly
as night follows day. To wait for them to show their cards is just silly; as Empress Wu understood, by then it will be too late.
Be realistic: With an enemy like this around, you will never be secure. Remember the lessons of history, and the wisdom of Moses and Mao: Never go halfway. It is not, of course, a question of murder, it is a question of banishment. Sufficiently weakened and then exiled from your court forever, your enemies are rendered harmless. They have no hope of recovering, insinuating themselves and hurting you. And if they cannot be banished, at
least understand that they are plotting against you, and pay no heed to whatever friendliness they feign. Your only weapon in such a situation is your own wariness. If you cannot banish them immediately, then plot for the best time to act.
Image: A Viper crushed beneath your foot but left alive, will rear up and bite you with a double dose of venom. An enemy that is left around is like a half-dead viper that you nurse back to health. Time makes the venom grow stronger.
Authority: For it must be noted, that men must either be caressed or else annihilated; they will revenge themselves for small injuries, but cannot do so for great ones; the injury therefore that we do to a man must be such that we need not fear his vengeance.
(Niccolò Machiavelli, 1469-1527)
REVERSAL
This law should very rarely be ignored, but it does sometimes happen that it is better to let your enemies destroy themselves, if such a thing is possible, than to make them suffer by your hand. In warfare, for example, a good general knows that if he attacks an army when it is cornered, its soldiers will fight much more fiercely. It is sometimes better, then, to leave them an escape route, a way out. As they retreat, they wear themselves out, and are ultimately more demoralized by the retreat than by any defeat he might inflict on the battlefield. When you have someone on the ropes, then—but only when you are sure they have no chance of recovery—you might let them hang themselves. Let them be the agents of their own destruction. The
result will be the same, and you won’t feel half as bad. Finally, sometimes by crushing an enemy, you embitter them so much
that they spend years and years plotting revenge. The Treaty of Versailles had such an effect on the Germans. Some would argue that in the long run it would be better to show some leniency. The problem is, your leniency involves another risk—it may embolden the enemy, which still harbors a grudge, but now has some room to operate. It is almost always wiser to crush your enemy. If they plot revenge years later, do not let your guard
down, but simply crush them again.
LAW 12
USE SELECTIVE HONESTY AND GENEROSITY TO DISARM YOUR VICTIM
JUDGMENT
One sincere and honest move will cover over dozens of dishonest ones. Open-hearted gestures of honesty and generosity bring down the guard of even the most suspicious people. Once your selective honesty opens a hole in their armor, you can deceive and manipulate them at will. A timely gift— a Trojan horse—will serve the same purpose.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
Sometime in 1926, a tall, dapperly dressed man paid a visit to Al Capone, the most feared gangster of his time. Speaking with an elegant Continental accent, the man introduced himself as Count Victor Lustig. He promised that if Capone gave him $50,000 he could double it. Capone had more than enough funds to cover the “investment,” but he wasn’t in the habit of entrusting large sums to total strangers. He looked the count over: Something about the man was different—his classy style, his manner—and so Capone decided to play along. He counted out the bills personally and handed them to Lustig. “Okay, Count,” said Capone. “Double it in sixty days like you said.” Lustig left with the money, put it in a safe-deposit box in Chicago, then headed to New York, where he had several other moneymaking schemes in progress. The $50,000 remained in the bank box untouched. Lustig made no effort to double it. Two months later he returned to Chicago, took the money from the box, and paid Capone another visit.
He looked at the gangster’s stonyfaced bodyguards, smiled apologetically, and said, “Please accept my profound regrets, Mr. Capone. I’m sorry to report that the plan failed... I failed.”
Capone slowly stood up. He glowered at Lustig, debating which part of the river to throw him in. But the count reached into his coat pocket, withdrew the $50,000, and placed it on the desk. “Here, sir, is your money, to the penny. Again, my sincere apologies. This is most embarrassing. Things didn’t work out the way I thought they would. I would have loved to have doubled your money for you and for myself—Lord knows I need it—
but the plan just didn’t materialize.”
Capone sagged back into his chair, confused. “I know you’re a con man, Count,” said Capone. “I knew it the moment you walked in here. I expected either one hundred thousand dollars or nothing. But this... getting my money back ... well.” “Again my apologies, Mr. Capone,” said Lustig, as he picked up his hat and began to leave.
“My God! You’re honest!” yelled Capone. “If you’re on the spot, here’s five to help you along.” He counted out five one-thousand-dollar bills out of the $50,000. The count seemed stunned, bowed deeply, mumbled his thanks, and left, taking the money. The $5,000 was what Lustig had been after all along.
FRANCESCO BORRI, COURTIER CHARLATAN
Francesco Giuseppe Borri of Milan, whose death in 1695 fell just within the seventeenth century ... was a forerunner of that special type of charlatanical adventurer, the courtier or “cavalier” impostor.... His real period of glory began after he moved to Amsterdam. There he assumed the title of Medico Universale, maintained a great retinue, and drove about in a coach with six
horses.... Patients streamed to him, and some invalids had themselves carried in sedan chairs all the way from Paris to his place in Amsterdam. Borri took no payment for his consultations: He distributed great sums among the poor and was never known to receive any money through the post or bills of exchange. As he continued to live with such splendor, nevertheless, it was presumed that he possessed the philosophers’ stone. Suddenly this benefactor disappeared from Amsterdam. Then it was
discovered that he had taken with him money and diamonds that had been placed in his charge.
THE POWER OF THE CHARLATAN, GRETE DE FRANCESCO, 1939
Interpretation
Count Victor Lustig, a man who spoke several languages and prided himself on his refinement and culture, was one of the great con artists of modern times. He was known for his audacity, his fearlessness, and, most important, his knowledge of human psychology. He could size up a man in minutes, discovering his weaknesses, and he had radar for suckers. Lustig knew that most men build up defenses against crooks and other troublemakers. The con artist’s job is to bring those defenses down. One sure way to do this is through an act of apparent sincerity and honesty. Who will distrust a person literally caught in the act of being honest? Lustig used selective honesty many times, but with Capone he went a step further. No normal con man would have dared such a con; he would have chosen his suckers for their meekness, for that look about them that says they will take their medicine without complaint. Con Capone and you would spend the rest of your life (whatever remained of it) afraid. But Lustig understood that a man like Capone spends his life mistrusting others. No one around him is honest or generous, and being so much in the company of wolves is exhausting, even depressing. A man like Capone yearns to be the recipient of an honest or generous gesture, to feel that not everyone has an angle or is out to rob him. Lustig’s act of selective honesty disarmed Capone because it was so unexpected. A con artist loves conflicting emotions like these, since the person caught up in them is so easily distracted and deceived. Do not shy away from practicing this law on the Capones of the world. With a well-timed gesture of honesty or generosity, you will have the most brutal and cynical beast in the kingdom eating out of your hand. Everything turns gray when I don’t have at least one mark on the horizon.
Life then seems empty and depressing. I cannot understand honest men. They lead desperate lives, full of boredom.
Count Victor Lustig, 1890-1947
KEYS TO POWER
The essence of deception is distraction. Distracting the people you want to deceive gives you the time and space to do something they won’t notice. An act of kindness, generosity, or honesty is often the most powerful form of distraction because it disarms other people’s suspicions. It turns them into children, eagerly lapping up any kind of affectionate gesture. In ancient China this was called “giving before you take”—the giving makes it hard for the other person to notice the taking. It is a device with infinite practical uses. Brazenly taking something from someone is dangerous, even for the powerful. The victim will plot revenge. It is also dangerous simply to ask for what you need, no matter how politely: Unless the other person sees some gain for themselves, they may come to resent your neediness. Learn to give before you take. It softens the ground, takes the bite out of a future request, or simply creates a distraction. And the giving can take many forms: an actual gift, a generous act, a kind favor, an “honest” admission—whatever it takes. Selective honesty is best employed on your first encounter with someone. We are all creatures of habit, and our first impressions last a long time. If
someone believes you are honest at the start of your relationship it takes a lot to convince them otherwise. This gives you room to maneuver. Jay Gould, like Al Capone, was a man who distrusted everyone. By the time he was thirty-three he was already a multimillionaire, mostly through deception and strong-arming. In the late 1860s, Gould invested heavily in the Erie Railroad, then discovered that the market had been flooded with a vast amount of phony stock certificates for the company. He stood to lose a
fortune and to suffer a lot of embarrassment. In the midst of this crisis, a man named Lord John Gordon-Gordon offered to help. Gordon-Gordon, a Scottish lord, had apparently made a small fortune investing in railroads. By hiring some handwriting experts Gordon-Gordon was able to prove to Gould that the culprits for the phony stock certificates were actually several top executives with the Erie Railroad itself. Gould was grateful. GordonGordon then proposed that he and Gould join forces to buy up a controlling interest in Erie. Gould agreed. For a while the venture appeared to prosper. The two men were now good friends, and every time Gordon-Gordon came to Gould asking for money to buy more stock, Gould gave it to him. In 1873, however, Gordon-Gordon suddenly dumped all of his stock, making a fortune but drastically lowering the value of Gould’s own holdings. Then he
disappeared from sight. Upon investigation, Gould found out that Gordon-Gordon’s real name was John Crowningsfield, and that he was the bastard son of a merchant seaman and a London barmaid. There had been many clues before then that Gordon-Gordon was a con man, but his initial act of honesty and support
had so blinded Gould that it took the loss of millions for him to see through the scheme. A single act of honesty is often not enough. What is required is a reputation for honesty, built on a series of acts—but these can be quite inconsequential. Once this reputation is established, as with first impressions, it is hard to shake. In ancient China, Duke Wu of Chêng decided it was time to take over the increasingly powerful kingdom of Hu. Telling no one of his plan, he married his daughter to Hu’s ruler. He then called a council and asked his ministers, “I am considering a military campaign. Which country should we invade?” As he had expected, one of his ministers replied, “Hu should be invaded.”
The duke seemed angry, and said, “Hu is a sister state now. Why
do you suggest invading her?” He had the minister executed for his impolitic remark. The ruler of Hu heard about this, and considering other tokens of Wu’s honesty and the marriage with his daughter, he took no precautions to defend himself from Cheng. A few weeks later, Chêng forces swept through Hu and took the country, never to relinquish it.
Honesty is one of the best ways to disarm the wary, but it is not the only one. Any kind of noble, apparently selfless act will serve. Perhaps the best such act, though, is one of generosity. Few people can resist a gift, even from the most hardened enemy, which is why it is often the perfect way to disarm people. A gift brings out the child in us, instantly lowering our defenses. Although we often view other people’s actions in the most cynical light, we rarely see the Machiavellian element of a gift, which quite often hides ulterior motives. A gift is the perfect object in which to hide a deceptive move. Over three thousand years ago the ancient Greeks traveled across the sea to recapture the beautiful Helen, stolen away from them by Paris, and to
destroy Paris’s city, Troy. The siege lasted ten years, many heroes died, yet neither side had come close to victory. One day, the prophet Calchas assembled the Greeks.
Image: The Trojan Horse. Your guile is hidden inside a magnificent gift that proves irresistible to your opponent. The walls open. Once inside, wreak havoc.
“Stop battering away at these walls!” he told them. “You must find some other way, some ruse. We cannot take Troy by force alone. We must find some cunning stratagem.” The cunning Greek leader Odysseus then came up with the idea of building a giant wooden horse, hiding soldiers inside it, then offering it to the Trojans as a gift.
Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, was disgusted with this idea; it was unmanly. Better for thousands to die on the battlefield than to gain victory so deceitfully. But the soldiers, faced with a choice between another ten years of manliness, honor, and death, on the one hand and a quick victory on the other, chose the horse, which was promptly built. The trick was successful and Troy fell. One gift did more for the Greek cause than ten years of fighting.
Selective kindness should also be part of your arsenal of deception. For years the ancient Romans had besieged the city of the Faliscans, always unsuccessfully. One day, however, when the Roman general Camillus was encamped outside the city, he suddenly saw a man leading some children toward him. The man was a Faliscan teacher, and the children, it turned out, were the sons and daughters of the noblest and wealthiest citizens of the
town. On the pretense of taking these children out for a walk, he had led them straight to the Romans, offering them as hostages in hopes of ingratiating himself with Camillus, the city’s enemy.
Camillus did not take the children hostage. He stripped the teacher, tied his hands behind his back, gave each child a rod, and let them whip him all the way back to the city. The gesture had an immediate effect on the Faliscans. Had Camillus used the children as hostages, some in the city would have voted to surrender. And even if the Faliscans had gone on fighting, their resistance would have been halfhearted. Camillus’s refusal to take advantage of the situation broke down the Faliscans’ resistance, and they surrendered. The general had calculated correctly. And in any case he had had nothing to lose: He knew that the hostage ploy would not have ended the war, at least not right away. By turning the situation around, he earned his enemy’s trust and respect, disarming them. Selective kindness will often break down even the most stubborn foe: Aiming right for the heart, it corrodes the will to fight back.
Remember: By playing on people’s emotions, calculated acts of kindness can turn a Capone into a gullible child. As with any emotional approach, the tactic must be practiced with caution: If people see through it, their disappointed feelings of gratitude and warmth will become the most violent hatred and distrust. Unless you can make the gesture seem sincere and heartfelt, do not play with fire.
Authority: When Duke Hsien of Chin was about to raid Yü, he presented to them a jade and a team of horses. When Earl Chih was about to raid Ch’ouyu, he presented to them grand chariots. Hence the saying: “When you are about to take, you should give.” (Han-fei-tzu, Chinese philosopher, third century B.C.)
REVERSAL
When you have a history of deceit behind you, no amount of honesty, generosity, or kindness will fool people. In fact it will only call attention to itself. Once people have come to see you as deceitful, to act honest all of a sudden is simply suspicious. In these cases it is better to play the rogue. Count Lustig, pulling the biggest con of his career, was about to sell the Eiffel Tower to an unsuspecting industrialist who believed the government was auctioning it off for scrap metal. The industrialist was prepared to hand over a huge sum of money to Lustig, who had successfully impersonated a government official. At the last minute, however, the mark was suspicious. Something about Lustig bothered him. At the meeting in which he was to hand over the money, Lustig sensed his sudden distrust. Leaning over to the industrialist, Lustig explained, in a low whisper, how low his salary was, how difficult his finances were, on and on. After a few minutes of this, the industrialist realized that Lustig was asking for a bribe. For the first time he relaxed. Now he knew he could trust Lustig: Since all government officials were dishonest, Lustig had to be real. The man forked over the money. By acting dishonest, Lustig seemed the real McCoy. In this case selective honesty would have had the opposite effect. As the French diplomat Talleyrand grew older, his reputation as a master liar and deceiver spread. At the Congress of Vienna (1814-1815), he would spin fabulous stories and make impossible remarks to people who knew he had to be lying. His dishonesty had no purpose except to cloak the moments when he really was deceiving them. One day, for example, among friends, Talleyrand said with apparent sincerity, “In business one ought to show one’s hand.” No one who heard him could believe their ears: A man who never once in his life had shown his cards was telling other people to show theirs. Tactics like this made it impossible to distinguish Talleyrand’s real
deceptions from his fake ones. By embracing his reputation for dishonesty, he preserved his ability to deceive. Nothing in the realm of power is set in stone. Overt deceptiveness will sometimes cover your tracks, even making you admired for the honesty of your dishonesty.
LAW 13
WHEN ASKING FOR HELP, APPEAL TO PEOPLE’S SELF-INTEREST, NEVER TO THEIR MERCY OR GRATITUDE
JUDGMENT
If you need to turn to an ally for help, do not bother to remind him of your past assistance and good deeds. He will find a way to ignore you. Instead, uncover something in your request, or in your alliance with him, that will benefit him, and emphasize it out of all proportion. He will respond enthusiastically when he sees something to be gained for himself.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
In the early fourteenth century, a young man named Castruccio Castracani rose from the rank of common soldier to become lord of the great city of Lucca, Italy. One of the most powerful families in the city, the Poggios, had been instrumental in his climb (which succeeded through treachery and bloodshed), but after he came to power, they came to feel he had forgotten them. His ambition outweighed any gratitude he felt. In 1325, while Castruccio was away fighting Lucca’s main rival, Florence, the Poggios conspired with other noble families in the city to rid themselves of this
troublesome and ambitious prince.
THE PEASANT AND THE APPLE-TREE
A peasant had in his garden an apple-tree, which bore no fruit, but only served as a perch for the sparrows and grasshoppers. He resolved to cut it down, and, taking his ax in hand, made a bold stroke at its roots. The grasshoppers and sparrows entreated him not to cut down the tree that sheltered them, but to spare it, and they would sing to him and lighten his labors. He paid no attention to their request, but gave the tree a second and a third blow with his ax. When he reached the hollow of the tree, he found a hive full of honey. Having tasted the honeycomb, he threw down his ax, and, looking on the tree as isacred, took great care of it. Self-interest alone moves some men.
FABLES, AESOP, SIXTH CENTURY B.C.
Mounting an insurrection, the plotters attacked and murdered the governor whom Castruccio had left behind to rule the city. Riots broke out, and the Castruccio supporters and the Poggio supporters were poised to do battle. At the height of the tension, however, Stefano di Poggio, the oldest member of the family, intervened, and made both sides lay down their arms. A peaceful man, Stefano had not taken part in the conspiracy. He had told
his family it would end in a useless bloodbath. Now he insisted he should intercede on the family’s behalf and persuade Castruccio to listen to their complaints and satisfy their demands. Stefano was the oldest and wisest member of the clan, and his family agreed to put their trust in his diplomacy rather than in their weapons. When news of the rebellion reached Castruccio, he hurried back to Lucca. By the time he arrived, however, the fighting had ceased, through Stefano’s agency, and he was surprised by the city’s calm and peace. Stefano di Poggio had imagined that Castruccio would be grateful to him for his part in quelling the rebellion, so he paid the prince a visit. He explained how he had brought peace, then begged for Castruccio’s mercy.
He said that the rebels in his family were young and impetuous, hungry for power yet inexperienced; he recalled his family’s past generosity to Castruccio. For all these reasons, he said, the great prince should pardon the Poggios and listen to their complaints. This, he said, was the only just thing to do, since the family had willingly laid down their arms and had always supported him.
Castruccio listened patiently. He seemed not the slightest bit angry or resentful. Instead, he told Stefano to rest assured that justice would prevail, and he asked him to bring his entire family to the palace to talk over their grievances and come to an agreement. As they took leave of one another, Castruccio said he thanked God for the chance he had been given to show his clemency and kindness. That evening the entire Poggio family came to the palace. Castruccio immediately had them imprisoned and a few days later all were executed, including Stefano.
Interpretation
Stefano di Poggio is the embodiment of all those who believe that the justice and nobility of their cause will prevail. Certainly appeals to justice and gratitude have occasionally succeeded in the past, but more often than not they have had dire consequences, especially in dealings with the Castruccios of the world. Stefano knew that the prince had risen to power through treachery and ruthlessness. This was a man, after all, who had put a close and devoted friend to death. When Castruccio was told that it had been a terrible wrong to kill such an old friend, he replied that he had executed not an old friend but a new enemy.
A man like Castruccio knows only force and self-interest. When the rebellion began, to end it and place oneself at his mercy was the most dangerous possible move. Even once Stefano di Poggio had made that fatal mistake, however, he still had options: He could have offered money to Castruccio, could have made promises for the future, could have pointed out what the Poggios could still contribute to Castruccio’s power—their influence with the most influential families of Rome, for example, and the great marriage they could have brokered. Instead Stefano brought up the past, and debts that carried no obligation. Not only is a man not obliged to be grateful, gratitude is often a terrible burden that he gladly discards. And in this case Castruccio rid himself of his obligations to the Poggios by eliminating the Poggios.
Most men are so thoroughly subjective that nothing really interests them but themselves. They always think of their own case as soon as ever any remark is made, and their whole attention is engrossed and absorbed by the merest chance reference to anything which affects them personally, be it never so remote.
ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, 1788-1860
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
In 433 B.C., just before the Peloponnesian War, the island of Corcyra (later called Corfu) and the Greek city-state of Corinth stood on the brink of conflict. Both parties sent ambassadors to Athens to try to win over the Athenians to their side. The stakes were high, since whoever had Athens on his side was sure to win. And whoever won the war would certainly give the defeated side no mercy. Corcyra spoke first. Its ambassador began by admitting that the island had never helped Athens before, and in fact had allied itself with Athens’s enemies. There were no ties of friendship or gratitude between Corcyra and Athens. Yes, the ambassador admitted, he had come to Athens now out of
fear and concern for Corcyra’s safety. The only thing he could offer was an alliance of mutual interests. Corcyra had a navy only surpassed in size and strength by Athens’s own; an alliance between the two states would create a formidable force, one that could intimidate the rival state of Sparta. That, unfortunately, was all Corcyra had to offer. The representative from Corinth then gave a brilliant, passionate speech, in sharp contrast to the dry, colorless approach of the Corcyran. He talked
of everything Corinth had done for Athens in the past. He asked how it would look to Athens’s other allies if the city put an agreement with a former enemy over one with a present friend, one that had served Athens’s interest loyally: Perhaps those allies would break their agreements with Athens if they saw that their loyalty was not valued. He referred to Hellenic law, and the need to repay Corinth for all its good deeds. He finally went on to list the many services Corinth had performed for Athens, and the
importance of showing gratitude to one’s friends. After the speech, the Athenians debated the issue in an assembly. On the
second round, they voted overwhelmingly to ally with Corcyra and drop Corinth.
Interpretation
History has remembered the Athenians nobly, but they were the preeminent realists of classical Greece. With them, all the rhetoric, all the emotional appeals in the world, could not match a good pragmatic argument, especially one that added to their power. What the Corinthian ambassador did not realize was that his references to Corinth’s past generosity to Athens only irritated the Athenians, subtly asking them to feel guilty and putting them under obligation. The Athenians couldn’t care less about past favors and friendly feelings. At the same time,
they knew that if their other allies thought them ungrateful for abandoning Corinth, these city-states would still be unlikely to break their ties to Athens, the preeminent power in Greece. Athens ruled its empire by force, and would simply compel any rebellious ally to return to the fold. When people choose between talk about the past and talk about the future, a pragmatic person will always opt for the future and forget the past. As the Corcyrans realized, it is always best to speak pragmatically to a pragmatic person. And in the end, most people are in fact pragmatic—they will rarely act against their own self-interest. It has always been a rule that the weak should be subject to the strong; and besides, we consider that we are worthy of our power. Up till the present moment you, too, used to think that we were; but now, after calculating your own interest, you are beginning to talk in terms of right and wrong. Considerations of this kind have never yet turned people aside from the opportunities of aggrandizement offered by superior strength.
Athenian representative to Sparta, quoted in The Peloponnesian War, Thucydides, c. 465-395 B.C.
KEYS TO POWER
In your quest for power, you will constantly find yourself in the position of asking for help from those more powerful than you. There is an art to asking for help, an art that depends on your ability to understand the person you are dealing with, and to not confuse your needs with theirs. Most people never succeed at this, because they are completely trapped in their own wants and desires. They start from the assumption that the people they are appealing to have a selfless interest in helping them. They talk as if their needs mattered to these people—who probably couldn’t care less. Sometimes they refer to larger issues: a great cause, or grand emotions such as love and gratitude. They go for the big picture when simple, everyday realities would have much more appeal. What they do not realize is that even the most powerful person is locked inside needs of his own, and that if you make no appeal to his self-interest, he merely sees you as desperate or, at best, a waste of time. In the sixteenth century, Portuguese missionaries tried for years to convert the people of Japan to Catholicism, while at the same time Portugal had a monopoly on trade between Japan and Europe. Although the missionaries did have some success, they never got far among the ruling elite; by the beginning of the seventeenth century, in fact, their proselytizing had completely antagonized the Japanese emperor Ieyasu. When the Dutch began to arrive in Japan in great numbers, Ieyasu was much relieved. He needed Europeans for their know-how in guns and navigation, and here at last were Europeans who cared nothing for spreading religion—the Dutch
wanted only to trade. Ieyasu swiftly moved to evict the Portuguese. From then on, he would only deal with the practical-minded Dutch. Japan and Holland were vastly different cultures, but each shared a timeless and universal concern: self-interest. Every person you deal with is like another culture, an alien land with a past that has nothing to do with yours. Yet you can bypass the differences between you and him by appealing to his self-interest. Do not be subtle: You have valuable knowledge to share, you will fill his coffers with gold, you will make him live longer and happier. This is a language that all of us speak and understand. A key step in the process is to understand the other person’s psychology.
Is he vain?
Is he concerned about his reputation or his social standing?
Does he have enemies you could help him vanquish?
Is he simply motivated by money and power?
When the Mongols invaded China in the twelfth century, they threatened to obliterate a culture that had thrived for over two thousand years. Their leader, Genghis Khan, saw nothing in China but a country that lacked pasturing for his horses, and he decided to destroy the place, leveling all its cities, for “it would be better to exterminate the Chinese and let the grass grow.” It was not a soldier, a general, or a king who saved the Chinese from
devastation, but a man named Yelu Ch‘u-Ts’ai. A foreigner himself, Ch‘uTs’ai had come to appreciate the superiority of Chinese culture. He managed to make himself a trusted adviser to Genghis Khan, and persuaded him that he would reap riches out of the place if, instead of destroying it, he simply taxed everyone who lived there. Khan saw the wisdom in this and did as Ch‘u-Ts’ai advised. When Khan took the city of Kaifeng, after a long siege, and decided to massacre its inhabitants (as he had in other cities that had resisted him), Ch‘u-Ts’ai told him that the finest craftsmen and engineers in China had fled to Kaifeng, and it would be better to put them to use. Kaifeng was spared. Never before had Genghis Khan shown such mercy, but then it really wasn’t mercy that saved Kaifeng. Ch‘u-Ts’ai knew Khan well. He
was a barbaric peasant who cared nothing for culture, or indeed for anything other than warfare and practical results. Ch‘u-Ts’ai chose to appeal to the only emotion that would work on such a man: greed. Self-interest is the lever that will move people. Once you make them see how you can in some way meet their needs or advance their cause, their resistance to your requests for help will magically fall away. At each step on the way to acquiring power, you must train yourself to think your way inside the other person’s mind, to see their needs and interests, to get rid of
the screen of your own feelings that obscure the truth. Master this art and there will be no limits to what you can accomplish.
Image: A Cord that Binds. The cord of mercy and gratitude is threadbare, and will break at the first shock. Do not throw such a lifeline. The cord of mutual self-interest is woven of many fibers and cannot easily be severed. It will serve you well for years.
Authority: The shortest and best way to make your fortune is to let people see clearly that it is in their interests to promote yours. (Jean de La Bruyère, 1645-1696)
REVERSAL
Some people will see an appeal to their self-interest as ugly and ignoble. They actually prefer to be able to exercise charity, mercy, and justice, which are their ways of feeling superior to you: When you beg them for help, you emphasize their power and position. They are strong enough to need nothing from you except the chance to feel superior. This is the wine that intoxicates them. They are dying to fund your project, to introduce you to powerful people—provided, of course, that all this is done in public, and for
a good cause (usually the more public, the better). Not everyone, then, can be approached through cynical self-interest. Some people will be put off by it, because they don’t want to seem to be motivated by such things. They need opportunities to display their good heart. Do not be shy. Give them that opportunity. It’s not as if you are conning them by asking for help—it is really their pleasure to give, and to be seen giving. You must distinguish the differences among powerful people and figure out what makes them tick. When they ooze greed, do not appeal to their charity. When they want to look charitable and noble, do not appeal to
their greed.
LAW 10
INFECTION: AVOID THE UNHAPPY AND UNLUCKY
JUDGMENT
You can die from someone else’s misery—emotional states are as infectious as diseases. You may feel you are helping the drowning man but you are only precipitating your own disaster. The unfortunate sometimes draw misfortune on themselves; they will also draw it on you. Associate with the happy and fortunate instead.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
Born in Limerick, Ireland, in 1818, Marie Gilbert came to Paris in the 1840s to make her fortune as a dancer and performer. Taking the name Lola Montez (her mother was of distant Spanish descent), she claimed to be a flamenco dancer from Spain. By 1845 her career was languishing, and to survive she became a courtesan—quickly one of the more successful in Paris. Only one man could salvage Lola’s dancing career: Alexandre Dujarier, owner of the newspaper with the largest circulation in France, and also the newspaper’s drama critic. She decided to woo and conquer him. Investigating his habits, she discovered that he went riding every morning. An excellent horsewoman herself, she rode out one morning and “accidentally” ran into him. Soon they were riding together every day. A few weeks later Lola moved into his apartment. For a while the two were happy together. With Dujarier’s help, Lola began to revive her dancing career. Despite the risk to his social standing, Dujarier told friends he would marry her in the spring. (Lola had never told him that she had eloped at age nineteen with an Englishman, and was still legally married.) Although Dujarier was deeply in love, his life started to
slide downhill. His fortunes in business changed and influential friends began to avoid him. One night Dujarier was invited to a party, attended by some of the wealthiest young men in Paris. Lola wanted to go too but he would not allow it. They had their first quarrel, and Dujarier attended the party by himself. There, hopelessly drunk, he insulted an influential drama critic, Jean-Baptiste Rosemond de Beauvallon, perhaps because of something the critic had said about Lola. The following morning Beauvallon challenged him to a duel. Beauvallon was one of the best pistol shots in France. Dujarier tried to apologize, but the duel took place, and he was shot and killed. Thus ended the life of one of the most promising young men of Paris society. Devastated, Lola left Paris. In 1846 Lola Montez found herself in Munich, where she decided to woo and conquer King Ludwig of Bavaria. The best way to Ludwig, she discovered, was through his aide-de-camp, Count Otto von Rechberg, a man with a fondness for pretty girls. One day when the count was breakfasting at an outdoor café, Lola rode by on her horse, was “accidentally” thrown from the saddle, and landed at Rechberg’s feet. The count rushed to help her and was enchanted. He promised to introduce her to Ludwig. Rechberg arranged an audience with the king for Lola, but when she arrived in the anteroom, she could hear the king saying he was too busy to meet a favor-seeking stranger. Lola pushed aside the sentries and entered his room anyway. In the process, the front of her dress somehow got torn (perhaps by her, perhaps by one of the sentries), and to the astonishment of
all, most especially the king, her bare breasts were brazenly exposed. Lola was granted her audience with Ludwig. Fifty-five hours later she made her debut on the Bavarian stage; the reviews were terrible, but that did not stop Ludwig from arranging more performances.
THE NUT AND THE CAMPANILE
A nut found itself carried by a crow to the top of a tall campanile, and by falling into a crevice succeeded in escaping its dread fate. It then besought the wall to shelter it, by appealing to it by the grace of God, and praising its height, and the beauty and noble tone of us bells. “Alas,” it went on, “as I have not been able to drop beneath the green branches of my old Father and to lie in the fallow earth covered by his fallen leaves, do you, at least,
not abandon me. When I found myself in the beak of the cruel crow I made a vow, that if I escaped I would end my life in a little hole. ” At these words, the wall, moved with compassion, was content to shelter the nut in the spot where it had fallen. Within a short time, the nut burst open: Its roots reached in between the crevices of the stones and began to push them apart; its shoots pressed up toward the sky. They soon rose above the building, and as the twisted roots grew thicker they began to thrust the
walls apart and force the ancient stones from their old places. Then the wall, too late and in vain, bewailed the cause of its destruction, and in short time it fell in ruin.
LEONARDO DA VINCI, 1452-1519
Ludwig was, in his own words, “bewitched” by Lola. He started to
appear in public with her on his arm, and then he bought and furnished an apartment for her on one of Munich’s most fashionable boulevards. Although he had been known as a miser, and was not given to flights of fancy, he started to shower Lola with gifts and to write poetry for her. Now his favored mistress, she catapulted to fame and fortune overnight. Lola began to lose her sense of proportion. One day when she was out riding, an elderly man rode ahead of her, a bit too slowly for her liking.
Unable to pass him, she began to slash him with her riding crop. On another occasion she took her dog, unleashed, out for a stroll. The dog attacked a passerby, but instead of helping the man get the dog away, she whipped him with the leash. Incidents like this infuriated the stolid citizens of Bavaria, but Ludwig stood by Lola and even had her naturalized as a Bavarian citizen. The king’s entourage tried to wake him to the dangers of the affair, but those who criticized Lola were summarily fired. In his own time Simon Thomas was a great doctor. I remember that I happened to meet him one day at the home of a rich old consumptive: He told his patient when discussing ways to cure him that one means was to provide occasions for me to enjoy his company: He could then fix his eyes on the freshness of my countenance and his thoughts on the overflowing cheerfulness and vigor of my young manhood; by filling all his senses with the flower of my youth his condition might improve. He forgot to add that mine might get worse.
MONTAIGNE, 1533-1592
While Bavarians who had loved their king now outwardly disrespected him, Lola was made a countess, had a new palace built for herself, and began to dabble in politics, advising Ludwig on policy. She was the most powerful force in the kingdom. Her influence in the king’s cabinetฃ continued to grow, and she treated the other ministers with disdain. As a result, riots broke out throughout the realm. A once peaceful land was virtually in the grip of civil war, and students everywhere were chanting,
“Raus mit Lola!” Many things are said to be infectious. Sleepiness can be infectious, and yawning as well. In large-scale strategy when the enemy is agitated and shows an inclination to rush, do not mind in the least. Make a show of complete calmness, and the enemy will be taken by this and will become relaxed. You infect their spirit. You can infect them with a carefree, drunklike spirit, with boredom, or even weakness.
A BOOK OF FIVE RINGS, MIYAMOTO MUSASHI, SEVENTEENTH
CENTURY
By February of 1848, Ludwig was finally unable to withstand the
pressure. With great sadness he ordered Lola to leave Bavaria immediately. She left, but not until she was paid off. For the next five weeks the Bavarians’ wrath was turned against their formerly beloved king. In March of that year he was forced to abdicate.
Lola Montez moved to England. More than anything she needed
respectability, and despite being married (she still had not arranged a divorce from the Englishman she had wed years before), she set her sights on George Trafford Heald, a promising young army officer who was the son of an influential barrister. Although he was ten years younger than Lola, and could have chosen a wife among the prettiest and wealthiest young girls of
English society, Heald fell under her spell. They were married in 1849. Soon arrested on the charge of bigamy, she skipped bail, and she and Heald made their way to Spain. They quarreled horribly and on one occasion Lola slashed him with a knife. Finally, she drove him away. Returning to England, he found he had lost his position in the army. Ostracized from English society, he moved to Portugal, where he lived in poverty. After a few months his short life ended in a boating accident. A few years later the man who published Lola Montez’s autobiography went bankrupt. In 1853 Lola moved to California, where she met and married a man named Pat Hull. Their relationship was as stormy as all the others, and she left Hull for another man. He took to drink and fell into a deep depression that lasted until he died, four years later, still a relatively young man. At the age of forty-one, Lola gave away her clothes and finery and turned to God. She toured America, lecturing on religious topics, dressed in white and wearing a halolike white headgear. She died two years later, in 1861. Regard no foolish man as cultured, though you may reckom a gifted man as wise; and esteem no ignorant abstainer a true ascetic. Do not consort with fools, especially those who consider themselves wise. And be not selfsatisfied with your own ignorance. Let your intercourse be only with men of good repute: for it is by such association that men themselves attain to good
repute. Do you not observe how sesame-oil is mingled with roses or violets and how, when it has been for some time in association with roses or violets, it ceases to he sesame-oil and is called oil of roses or oil of violets?
A MIRROR FOR PRINCES, KAI KAUS IBN ISKANDAR, ELEVENTH
CENTURY
Interpretation
Lola Montez attracted men with her wiles, but her power over them went beyond the sexual. It was through the force of her character that she kept her lovers enthralled. Men were sucked into the maelstrom she churned up around her. They felt confused, upset, but the strength of the emotions she stirred also made them feel more alive. As is often the case with infection, the problems would only arise over time. Lola’s inherent instability would begin to get under her lovers’ skin.
They would find themselves drawn into her problems, but their emotional attachment to her would make them want to help her. This was the crucial point of the disease—for Lola Montez could not be helped. Her problems were too deep. Once the lover identified with them, he was lost. He would find himself embroiled in quarrels. The infection would spread to his family
and friends, or, in the case of Ludwig, to an entire nation. The only solution would be to cut her off, or suffer an eventual collapse.
The infecting-character type is not restricted to women; it has nothing to do with gender. It stems from an inward instability that radiates outward, drawing disaster upon itself. There is almost a desire to destroy and unsettle. You could spend a lifetime studying the pathology of infecting characters, but don’t waste your time—just learn the lesson. When you suspect you are in the presence of an infector, don’t argue, don’t try to help, don’t pass the person on to your friends, or you will become enmeshed. Flee the infector’s presence or suffer the consequences. Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look. He thinks too much.... I do not know the man I should avoid so soon as that spare Cassius.... Such men as he be never at heart’s ease whiles they behold a greater
than themselves, and therefore are they very dangerous.
Julius Caesar, William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
KEYS TO POWER
Those misfortunates among us who have been brought down by
circumstances beyond their control deserve all the help and sympathy we can give them. But there are others who are not born to misfortune or unhappiness, but who draw it upon themselves by their destructive actions and unsettling effect on others. It would be a great thing if we could raise them up, change their patterns, but more often than not it is their patterns
that end up getting inside and changing us. The reason is simple—humans are extremely susceptible to the moods, emotions, and even the ways of thinking of those with whom they spend their time. The incurably unhappy and unstable have a particularly strong infecting power because their characters and emotions are so intense. They often present themselves as victims, making it difficult, at first, to see their miseries as self-inflicted. Before you realize the real nature of their problems you have been infected by them.
Understand this: In the game of power, the people you associate with are critical. The risk of associating with infectors is that you will waste valuable time and energy trying to free yourself. Through a kind of guilt by association, you will also suffer in the eyes of others. Never underestimate the dangers of infection.
There are many kinds of infector to be aware of, but one of the most insidious is the sufferer from chronic dissatisfaction. Cassius, the Roman conspirator against Julius Caesar, had the discontent that comes from deep envy. He simply could not endure the presence of anyone of greater talent. Probably because Caesar sensed the man’s interminable sourness, he passed him up for the position of first praetorship, and gave the position to Brutus instead. Cassius brooded and brooded, his hatred for Caesar becoming pathological. Brutus himself, a devoted republican, disliked Caesar’s dictatorship; had he had the patience to wait, he would have become the first man in Rome after Caesar’s death, and could have undone the evil that the leader had wrought. But Cassius infected him with his own rancor,
bending his ear daily with tales of Caesar’s evil. He finally won Brutus over to the conspiracy. It was the beginning of a great tragedy. How many misfortunes could have been avoided had Brutus learned to fear the power of infection. There is only one solution to infection: quarantine. But by the time you recognize the problem it is often too late. A Lola Montez overwhelms you
with her forceful personality. Cassius intrigues you with his confiding nature and the depth of his feelings. How can you protect yourself against such insidious viruses? The answer lies in judging people on the effects they have on the world and not on the reasons they give for their problems.
Image: A Virus. Unseen, it enters your pores without warning, spreading silently and slowly. Before you are aware of the infection, it is deep inside you. Infectors can be recognized by the misfortune they draw on themselves, their turbulent past, their long line of broken relationships, their unstable careers, and the very force of their character, which sweeps you up and makes you lose your reason. Be forewarned by these signs of an infector;
learn to see the discontent in their eye. Most important of all, do not take pity. Do not enmesh yourself in trying to help. The infector will remain unchanged, but you will be unhinged. The other side of infection is equally valid, and perhaps more readily
understood: There are people who attract happiness to themselves by their good cheer, natural buoyancy, and intelligence. They are a source of pleasure, and you must associate with them to share in the prosperity they draw upon themselves. This applies to more than good cheer and success: All positive qualities can infect us. Talleyrand had many strange and intimidating traits, but most agreed that he surpassed all Frenchmen in graciousness, aristocratic charm, and wit. Indeed he came from one of the oldest noble families in the country, and despite his belief in democracy and the French Republic, he
retained his courtly manners. His contemporary Napoleon was in many ways the opposite—a peasant from Corsica, taciturn and ungracious, even violent. There was no one Napoleon admired more than Talleyrand. He envied his minister’s way with people, his wit and his ability to charm women, and as best he could, he kept Talleyrand around him, hoping to soak up the culture he lacked. There is no doubt that Napoleon changed as his rule continued. Many of the rough edges were smoothed by his constant association with Talleyrand. Use the positive side of this emotional osmosis to advantage. If, for example, you are miserly by nature, you will never go beyond a certain limit; only generous souls attain greatness. Associate with the generous, then, and they will infect you, opening up everything that is tight and
restricted in you. If you are gloomy, gravitate to the cheerful. If you are prone to isolation, force yourself to befriend the gregarious. Never associate with those who share your defects—they will reinforce everything that holds you back. Only create associations with positive affinities. Make this a rule of life and you will benefit more than from all the therapy in the world.
Authority: Recognize the fortunate so that you may choose their company, and the unfortunate so that you may avoid them. Misfortune is usually the crime of folly, and among those who suffer from it there is no malady more contagious: Never open your door to the least of misfortunes, for, if you do, many others will follow in its train.... Do not die of another’s misery.
(Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)
REVERSAL
This law admits of no reversal. Its application is universal. There is nothing to be gained by associating with those who infect you with their misery; there is only power and good fortune to be obtained by associating with the fortunate. Ignore this law at your peril.
LAW 11
LEARN TO KEEP PEOPLE DEPENDENT ON YOU
JUDGMENT
To maintain your independence you must always be needed and wanted. The more you are relied on, the more freedom you have. Make people depend on you for their happiness and prosperity and you have nothing to fear. Never teach them enough so that they can do without you.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
Sometime in the Middle Ages, a mercenary soldier (a condottiere), whose name has not been recorded, saved the town of Siena from a foreign aggressor. How could the good citizens of Siena reward him? No amount of money or honor could possibly compare in value to the preservation of a city’s liberty. The citizens thought of making the mercenary the lord of the
city, but even that, they decided, wasn’t recompense enough.
At last one of them stood before the assembly called to debate this matter and said, “Let us kill him and then worship him as our patron saint.” And so they did. The Count of Carmagnola was one of the bravest and most successful of all the condottieri. In 1442, late in his life, he was in the employ of the city of Venice, which was in the midst of a long war with Florence. The count was suddenly recalled to Venice. A favorite of the people, he was received there with all kinds of honor and splendor. That evening he was to dine with the doge himself, in the doge’s palace. On the way into the palace, however, he noticed that the guard was leading him in a different direction from usual. Crossing the famous Bridge of Sighs, he suddenly realized where they were taking him—to the dungeon. He was convicted on a trumped-up
charge and the next day in the Piazza San Marco, before a horrified crowd who could not understand how his fate had changed so drastically, he was beheaded.
THE TWO HORSES
Two horses were carrying two loads. The front Horse went well , but the rear Horse was lazy. The men began to pile the rear Horse’s load on the front Horse; when they had transferred it all, the rear Horse found it easy going, and he said to the front Horse: “Toil and sweat! The more you try, the more you have to suffer.” When they reached the tavern, the owner said;
“Why should I fodder two horses when I carry all on one? I had better give the one all the food it wants, and cut the throat of the other; at least I shall have the hide.” And so he did.
FABLES, LEO TOLSIOY, 1828-1910
Interpretation
Many of the great condottieri of Renaissance Italy suffered the same fate as the patron saint of Siena and the Count of Carmagnola: They won battle after battle for their employers only to find themselves banished, imprisoned, or executed. The problem was not ingratitude; it was that there were so many other condottieri as able and valiant as they were. They were
replaceable. Nothing was lost by killing them. Meanwhile, the older among them had grown powerful themselves, and wanted more and more money for their services. How much better, then, to do away with them and hire a younger, cheaper mercenary. That was the fate of the Count of Carmagnola, who had started to act impudently and independently. He had taken his power for granted without making sure that he was truly indispensable. Such is the fate (to a less violent degree, one hopes) of those who do not make others dependent on them. Sooner or later someone comes along who can do the job as well as they can—someone younger, fresher, less expensive, less threatening.
Be the only one who can do what you do, and make the fate of those who hire you so entwined with yours that they cannot possibly get rid of you. Otherwise you will someday be forced to cross your own Bridge of Sighs.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
When Otto von Bismarck became a deputy in the Prussian parliament in 1847, he was thirty-two years old and without an ally or friend. Looking around him, he decided that the side to ally himself with was not the parliament’s liberals or conservatives, not any particular minister, and certainly not the people. It was with the king, Frederick William IV. This was an odd choice to say the least, for Frederick was at a low point of his power. A weak, indecisive man, he consistently gave in to the liberals in parliament; in fact he was spineless, and stood for much that Bismarck disliked, personally and politically. Yet Bismarck courted Frederick night and day. When other deputies attacked the king for his many inept moves, only Bismarck stood by him.
THE CAT THAT WALKED BY HIMSELF
Then the Woman laughed and set the Cat a bowl of the warm white milk and said, “O Cat, you are as clever as a man, but remember that your bargain was not made with the Man or the Dog, and I do not know what they will do when they come home.” “What is that to me?” said the Cat. “If I have my place in the Cave by the fire and my warm white milk three times a day, I do not care what the Man or the Dog can do.” ... And from that day to this, Best Beloved, three proper Men out of five will always throw things at a Cat whenever they meet him, and all proper Dogs will chase him up a tree. But the Cat keeps his side of the bargain too. He will kill mice, and he will be kind to Babies when he is in the house, just as long as they do not pull his tail too hard. But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and the night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and
all places are alike to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
JUST SO STORIES, RUDYARD KIPLING, 1865-1936
Finally, it all paid off: In 1851 Bismarck was made a minister in the
king’s cabinet. Now he went to work. Time and again he forced the king’s hand, getting him to build up the military, to stand up to the liberals, to do exactly as Bismarck wished. He worked on Frederick’s insecurity about his manliness, challenging him to be firm and to rule with pride. And he slowly restored the king’s powers until the monarchy was once again the most powerful force in Prussia. When Frederick died, in 1861, his brother William assumed the throne. William disliked Bismarck intensely and had no intention of keeping him around. But he also inherited the same situation his brother had: enemies galore, who wanted to nibble his power away. He actually considered abdicating, feeling he lacked the strength to deal with this dangerous and precarious position. But Bismarck insinuated himself once again. He stood
by the new king, gave him strength, and urged him into firm and decisive action. The king grew dependent on Bismarck’s strong-arm tactics to keep his enemies at bay, and despite his antipathy toward the man, he soon made him his prime minister. The two quarreled often over policy—Bismarck was much more conservative—but the king understood his own dependency. Whenever the prime minister threatened to resign, the king gave in to him, time after time. It was in fact Bismarck who set state policy. Years later, Bismarck’s actions as Prussia’s prime minister led the various German states to be united into one country. Now Bismarck finagled the king into letting himself be crowned emperor of Germany. Yet it was really Bismarck who had reached the heights of power. As right-hand man to the emperor, and as imperial chancellor and knighted prince, he pulled all the levers.
Interpretation
Most young and ambitious politicians looking out on the political landscape of 1840s Germany would have tried to build a power base among those with the most power. Bismarck saw different. Joining forces with the powerful can be foolish: They will swallow you up, just as the doge of Venice swallowed up the Count of Carmagnola. No one will come to depend on you if they are already strong. If you are ambitious, it is much wiser to seek out weak rulers or masters with whom you can create a relationship of dependency. You become their strength, their intelligence,
their spine. What power you hold! If they got rid of you the whole edifice would collapse. Necessity rules the world. People rarely act unless compelled to. If you create no need for yourself, then you will be done away with at first opportunity. If, on the other hand, you understand the Laws of Power and make others depend on you for their welfare, if you can counteract their
weakness with your own “iron and blood,” in Bismarck’s phrase, then you will survive your masters as Bismarck did. You will have all the benefits of power without the thorns that come from being a master. Thus a wise prince will think of ways to keep his citizens of every sort and under every circumstance dependent on the state and on him; and then they will always be trustworthy.
Niccolò Machiavelli, 1469-1527
THE ELM-TREE AND THE VINE
An extravagant young Vine, vainly ambitious of independence, and fond of rambling at large, despised the alliance of a slately elm that grew near, and courted her embraces. Having risen to some small height without any kind of support, she shot forth her flimsy branches to a very uncommon and superfluous length; calling on her neighbour to take notice how little she wanted his assistance. “Poor infatuated shrub,” replied the elm, “how inconsistent is thy conduct! Wouldst thou be truly independent, thou shouldst carefully apply those juices to the enlargement of thy stem. which thou lavishest in vain upon unnecessary foliage. I shortly shall behold thee grovelling on the ground; yet countenanced, indeed, by many of the human race, who, intoxicated with vanity, have despised economy; and who, to
support for a moment their empty boast of independence, have exhausted the very source of it in frivolous expenses.”
FABLES, ROBERT DODSLEY, 1703-1764
KEYS TO POWER
The ultimate power is the power to get people to do as you wish. When you can do this without having to force people or hurt them, when they willingly grant you what you desire, then your power is untouchable. The best way to achieve this position is to create a relationship of dependence. The master requires your services; he is weak, or unable to function without you; you
have enmeshed yourself in his work so deeply that doing away with you would bring him great difficulty, or at least would mean valuable time lost in training another to replace you. Once such a relationship is established you have the upper hand, the leverage to make the master do as you wish. It is the classic case of the man behind the throne, the servant of the king who actually controls the king. Bismarck did not have to bully either Frederick
or William into doing his bidding. He simply made it clear that unless he got what he wanted he would walk away, leaving the king to twist in the wind. Both kings soon danced to Bismarck’s tune. Do not be one of the many who mistakenly believe that the ultimate form of power is independence. Power involves a relationship between people; you will always need others as allies, pawns, or even as weak masters who serve as your front. The completely independent man would live in a cabin in the woods—he would have the freedom to come and go as he pleased, but he would have no power. The best you can hope for is that others will grow so dependent on you that you enjoy a kind of reverse independence: Their need for you frees you.
Louis XI (1423-1483), the great Spider King of France, had a weakness for astrology. He kept a court astrologer whom he admired, until one day the man predicted that a lady of the court would die within eight days. When the prophecy came true, Louis was terrified, thinking that either the man had murdered the woman to prove his accuracy or that he was so versed in his science that his powers threatened Louis himself. In either
case he had to be killed. One evening Louis summoned the astrologer to his room, high in the castle. Before the man arrived, the king told his servants that when he gave the signal they were to pick the astrologer up, carry him to the window, and hurl him to the ground, hundreds of feet below. The astrologer soon arrived, but before giving the signal, Louis decided to ask him one last question: “You claim to understand astrology and to know the fate of others, so tell me what your fate will be and how long you have to live.”
“I shall die just three days before Your Majesty,” the astrologer replied.
The king’s signal was never given. The man’s life was spared. The Spider King not only protected his astrologer for as long as he was alive, he lavished him with gifts and had him tended by the finest court doctors. The astrologer survived Louis by several years, disproving his power of prophecy but proving his mastery of power. This is the model: Make others dependent on you. To get rid of you might spell disaster, even death, and your master dares not tempt fate by finding out. There are many ways to obtain such a position. Foremost among them is to possess a talent and creative skill that simply cannot be replaced. During the Renaissance, the major obstacle to a painter’s success was
finding the right patron. Michelangelo did this better than anyone else: His patron was Pope Julius II. But he and the pope quarreled over the building of the pope’s marble tomb, and Michelangelo left Rome in disgust. To the amazement of those in the pope’s circle, not only did the pope not fire him, he sought him out and in his own haughty way begged the artist to stay.
Michelangelo, he knew, could find another patron, but he could never find another Michelangelo. You do not have to have the talent of a Michelangelo; you do have to have a skill that sets you apart from the crowd. You should create a situation in which you can always latch on to another master or patron but your master cannot easily find another servant with your particular talent. And if, in reality, you are not actually indispensable, you must find a way to make it look as if you are. Having the appearance of specialized knowledge and skill gives you leeway in your ability to deceive those above you into thinking they cannot do without you. Real dependence on your master’s part, however, leaves him more vulnerable to you than the faked variety, and it is always within your power to make your skill indispensable. This is what is meant by the intertwining of fates: Like creeping ivy, you have wrapped yourself around the source of power, so that it would cause great trauma to cut you away. And you do not necessarily have to entwine yourself around the master; another person will do, as long as he or she too is indispensable in the chain. One day Harry Cohn, president of Columbia Pictures, was visited in his
office by a gloomy group of his executives. It was 1951, when the witchhunt against Communists in Hollywood, carried on by the U.S. Congress’s House Un-American Activities Committee, was at its height. The executives had bad news: One of their employees, the screenwriter John Howard Lawson, had been singled out as a Communist. They had to get rid of him right away or suffer the wrath of the committee. Harry Cohn was no bleeding-heart liberal; in fact, he had always been a die-hard Republican.
His favorite politician was Benito Mussolini, whom he had once visited, and whose framed photo hung on his wall. If there was someone he hated Cohn would call him a “Communist bastard.” But to the executives’ amazement Cohn told them he would not fire Lawson. He did not keep the screenwriter on because he was a good writer—there were many good writers in Hollywood. He kept him because of a chain of dependence: Lawson was Humphrey Bogart’s writer and Bogart was Columbia’s star. If
Cohn messed with Lawson he would ruin an immensely profitable
relationship. That was worth more than the terrible publicity brought to him by his defiance of the committee. Henry Kissinger managed to survive the many bloodlettings that went on in the Nixon White House not because he was the best diplomat Nixon
could find—there were other fine negotiators—and not because the two men got along so well: They did not. Nor did they share their beliefs and
politics. Kissinger survived because he entrenched himself in so many areas of the political structure that to do away with him would lead to chaos. Michelangelo’s power was intensive, depending on one skill, his ability as an artist; Kissinger’s was extensive. He got himself involved in so many aspects and departments of the administration that his involvement became
a card in his hand. It also made him many allies. If you can arrange such a position for yourself, getting rid of you becomes dangerous—all sorts of interdependencies will unravel. Still, the intensive form of power provides more freedom than the extensive, because those who have it depend on no particular master, or particular position of power, for their security. To make others dependent on you, one route to take is the secretintelligence tactic. By knowing other people’s secrets, by holding information that they wouldn’t want broadcast, you seal your fate with theirs. You are untouchable. Ministers of secret police have held this position throughout the ages: They can make or break a king, or, as in the case of J. Edgar Hoover, a president. But the role is so full of insecurities and paranoia that the power it provides almost cancels itself out. You cannot rest at ease, and what good is power if it brings you no peace? One last warning: Do not imagine that your master’s dependence on you
will make him love you. In fact, he may resent and fear you.
But, as Machiavelli said, it is better to be feared than loved. Fear you can control; love, never. Depending on an emotion as subtle and changeable as love or friendship will only make you insecure. Better to have others depend on you out of fear of the consequences of losing you than out of love of your company.
Image: Vines with Many Thorns. Below, the roots grow deep and wide. Above, the vines push through bushes, entwine themselves around trees and poles and window ledges. To get rid of them
would cost such toil and blood, it is easier to let them climb.
Authority: Make people depend on you. More is to be gained from such dependence than courtesy. He who has slaked his thirst, immediately turns his back on the well, no longer needing it. When dependence disappears, so does civility and decency, and then respect. The first lesson which experience should teach you is to keep hope alive but never satisfied, keeping even a royal patron ever in need of you. (Baltasar Gracián, 1601- 1658)
REVERSAL
The weakness of making others depend on you is that you are in some measure dependent on them. But trying to move beyond that point means getting rid of those above you—it means standing alone, depending on no one. Such is the monopolistic drive of a J. P. Morgan or a John D.
Rockefeller—to drive out all competition, to be in complete control. If you can corner the market, so much the better. No such independence comes without a price. You are forced to isolate
yourself. Monopolies often turn inward and destroy themselves from the internal pressure. They also stir up powerful resentment, making their enemies bond together to fight them. The drive for complete control is often ruinous and fruitless. Interdependence remains the law, independence a rare and often fatal exception. Better to place yourself in a position of mutual
dependence, then, and to follow this critical law rather than look for its reversal. You will not have the unbearable pressure of being on top, and the master above you will in essence be your slave, for he will depend on you.
LAW 8
MAKE OTHER PEOPLE COME TO YOU—USE BAIT IF NECESSARY
JUDGMENT
When you force the other person to act, you are the one in control. It is always better to make your opponent come to you, abandoning his own plans in the process. Lure him with fabulous gains—then attack. You hold the cards.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
At the Congress of Vienna in 1814, the major powers of Europe gathered to carve up the remains of Napoleon’s fallen Empire. The city was full of gaiety and the balls were the most splendid in memory. Hovering over the proceedings, however, was the shadow of Napoleon himself. Instead of being executed or exiled far away, he had been sent to the island of Elba, not far from the coast of Italy. Even imprisoned on an island, a man as bold and creative as Napoleon Bonaparte made everyone nervous. The Austrians plotted to kill him on Elba, but decided it was too risky. Alexander I, Russia’s temperamental czar, heightened the anxiety by throwing a fit during the congress when a part of Poland was denied him: “Beware, I shall loose the monster!” he threatened. Everyone knew he meant Napoleon. Of all the statesmen gathered in Vienna, only Talleyrand, Napoleon’s former foreign minister, seemed calm and unconcerned. It was as if he knew something the others did not.
Meanwhile, on the island of Elba, Napoleon’s life was a mockery of his previous glory. As Elba’s “king,” he had been allowed to form a court— there was a cook, a wardrobe mistress, an official pianist, and a handful of courtiers. All this was designed to humiliate Napoleon, and it seemed to work. That winter, however, there occurred a series of events so strange and dramatic they might have been scripted in a play. Elba was surrounded by British ships, their cannons covering all possible exit points. Yet somehow, in broad daylight on 26 February 1815, a ship with nine hundred men on board picked up Napoleon and put to sea. The English gave chase but the ship got away. This almost impossible escape astonished the public throughout Europe, and terrified the statesmen at the Congress of Vienna. Although it would have been safer to leave Europe, Napoleon not only chose to return to France, he raised the odds by marching on Paris with a tiny army, in hopes of recapturing the throne. His strategy worked—people
of all classes threw themselves at his feet. An army under Marshal Ney sped from Paris to arrest him, but when the soldiers saw their beloved former leader, they changed sides. Napoleon was declared emperor again. Volunteers swelled the ranks of his new army. Delirium swept the country. In Paris, crowds went wild. The king who had replaced Napoleon fled the country. For the next hundred days, Napoleon ruled France. Soon, however, the
giddiness subsided. France was bankrupt, its resources nearly exhausted, and there was little Napoleon could do about this. At the Battle of Waterloo, in June of that year, he was finally defeated for good. This time his enemies had learned their lesson: They exiled him to the barren island of Saint Helena, off the west coast of Africa. There he had no more hope of escape.
Interpretation Only years later did the facts of Napoleon’s dramatic escape from Elba come to light. Before he decided to attempt this bold move, visitors to his court had told him that he was more popular in France than ever, and that the country would embrace him again. One of these visitors was Austria’s General Roller, who convinced Napoleon that if he escaped, the European
powers, England included, would welcome him back into power. Napoleon was tipped off that the English would let him go, and indeed his escape occurred in the middle of the afternoon, in full view of English spyglasses. What Napoleon did not know was that there was a man behind it all, pulling the strings, and that this man was his former minister, Talleyrand. And Talleyrand was doing all this not to bring back the glory days but to crush Napoleon once and for all. Considering the emperor’s ambition
unsettling to Europe’s stability, he had turned against him long ago. When Napoleon was exiled to Elba, Talleyrand had protested. Napoleon should be sent farther away, he argued, or Europe would never have peace. But no one listened. Instead of pushing his opinion, Talleyrand bided his time. Working quietly, he eventually won over Castlereagh and Metternich, the foreign
ministers of England and Austria. Together these men baited Napoleon into escaping. Even Koller’s visit, to whisper the promise of glory in the exile’s ear, was part of the plan. Like a
master cardplayer, Talleyrand figured everything out in advance. He knew Napoleon would fall into the trap he had set. He also foresaw that Napoleon would lead the country into a war, which, given France’s weakened condition, could only last a few months. One diplomat in Vienna, who understood that Talleyrand was behind it all, said, “He has set the house ablaze in order to save it from the plague.” When I have laid bait for deer, I don’t shoot at the first doe that comes to sniff, but wait until the whole herd has gathered round.
Otto von Bismarck, 1815-1898
KEYS TO POWER
How many times has this scenario played itself out in history: An
aggressive leader initiates a series of bold moves that begin by bringing him much power. Slowly, however, his power reaches a peak, and soon everything turns against him. His numerous enemies band together; trying to maintain his power, he exhausts himself going in this direction and that, and inevitably he collapses. The reason for this pattern is that the aggressive person is rarely in full control. He cannot see more than a couple of moves ahead, cannot see the consequences of this bold move or that one. Because he is constantly being forced to react to the moves of his ever-growing host of enemies, and to the unforeseen consequences of his own rash actions, his
aggressive energy is turned against him. In the realm of power, you must ask yourself, what is the point of chasing here and there, trying to solve problems and defeat my enemies, if I never
feel in control? Why am I always having to react to events instead of directing them? The answer is simple: Your idea of power is wrong. You have mistaken aggressive action for effective action. And most often the most effective action is to stay back, keep calm, and let others be frustrated by the traps you lay for them, playing for long-term power rather than quick victory.
Remember: The essence of power is the ability to keep the initiative, to get others to react to your moves, to keep your opponent and those around you on the defensive. When you make other people come to you, you suddenly become the one controlling the situation. And the one who has control has power. Two things must happen to place you in this position:
You yourself must learn to master your emotions, and never to be
influenced by anger; meanwhile, however, you must play on people’s natural tendency to react angrily when pushed and baited. In the long run, the ability to make others come to you is a weapon far more powerful than any tool of aggression.
Study how Talleyrand, the master of the art, performed this delicate trick.
First, he overcame the urge to try to convince his fellow statesmen that they needed to banish Napoleon far away. It is only natural to want to persuade people by pleading your case, imposing your will with words. But this often turns against you. Few of Talleyrand’s contemporaries believed Napoleon was still a threat, so that if he had spent a lot of energy trying to convince
them, he would only have made himself look foolish. Instead, he held his tongue and his emotions in check. Most important of all, he laid Napoleon a sweet and irresistible trap. He knew the man’s weakness, his impetuosity, his need for glory and the love of the masses, and he played all this to perfection. When Napoleon went for the bait, there was no danger that he might succeed and turn the tables on Talleyrand, who better than anyone knew France’s depleted state. And even had Napoleon been able to
overcome these difficulties, the likelihood of his success would have been greater were he able to choose his time and place of action. By setting the proper trap, Talleyrand took the time and place into his own hands.
All of us have only so much energy, and there is a moment when our energies are at their peak. When you make the other person come to you, he wears himself out, wasting his energy on the trip. In the year 1905, Russia and Japan were at war. The Japanese had only recently begun to modernize their warships, so that the Russians had a stronger navy, but by spreading false information the Japanese marshal Togo Heihachiro baited the Russians
into leaving their docks in the Baltic Sea, making them believe they could wipe out the Japanese fleet in one swift attack. The Russian fleet could not reach Japan by the quickest route—through the Strait of Gibraltar and then the Suez Canal into the Indian Ocean—because these were controlled by the British, and Japan was an ally of Great Britain. They had to go around the Cape of Good Hope, at the southern tip of Africa, adding over more than six thousand miles to the voyage. Once the fleet passed the Cape, the Japanese spread another false story: They were sailing to launch a counterattack. So the Russians made the entire journey to Japan on combat alert. By the time they arrived, their seamen were tense, exhausted, and overworked, while the Japanese had been waiting at their ease. Despite the odds and their lack of experience in modern naval warfare, the Japanese
crushed the Russians. One added benefit of making the opponent come to you, as the Japanese discovered with the Russians, is that it forces him to operate in your territory. Being on hostile ground will make him nervous and often he will rush his actions and make mistakes. For negotiations or meetings, it is always wise to lure others into your territory, or the territory of your choice.
You have your bearings, while they see nothing familiar and are subtly placed on the defensive. Manipulation is a dangerous game. Once someone suspects he is being manipulated, it becomes harder and harder to control him. But when you make your opponent come to you, you create the illusion that he is
controlling the situation. He does not feel the strings that pull him, just as Napoleon imagined that he himself was the master of his daring escape and return to power.
Everything depends on the sweetness of your bait. If your trap is
attractive enough, the turbulence of your enemies’ emotions and desires will blind them to reality. The greedier they become, the more they can be led around. The great nineteenth-century robber baron Daniel Drew was a master at playing the stock market. When he wanted a particular stock to be bought or
sold, driving prices up or down, he rarely resorted to the direct approach. One of his tricks was to hurry through an exclusive club near Wall Street, obviously on his way to the stock exchange, and to pull out his customary red bandanna to wipe his perspiring brow. A slip of paper would fall from this bandanna that he would pretend not to notice. The club’s members were always trying to foresee Drew’s moves, and they would pounce on the paper, which invariably seemed to contain an inside tip on a stock. Word
would spread, and members would buy or sell the stock in droves, playing perfectly into Drew’s hands.
If you can get other people to dig their own graves, why sweat yourself? Pickpockets work this to perfection. The key to picking a pocket is knowing which pocket contains the wallet. Experienced pickpockets often ply their trade in train stations and other places where there is a clearly marked sign reading BEWARE OF PICKPOCKETS. Passersby seeing the sign invariably feel for their wallet to make sure it is still there. For the watching pickpockets, this is like shooting fish in a barrel. Pickpockets have even been known to place their own BEWARE OF PICKPOCKETS signs to
ensure their success.
When you are making people come to you, it is sometimes better to let them know you are forcing their hand. You give up deception for overt manipulation. The psychological ramifications are profound: The person who makes others come to him appears powerful, and demands respect.
Filippo Brunelleschi, the great Renaissance artist and architect, was a great practitioner of the art of making others come to him as a sign of his power. On one occasion he had been engaged to repair the dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral in Florence. The commission was important and prestigious. But when the city officials hired a second man, Lorenzo Ghiberti, to work with Brunelleschi, the great artist brooded in secret. He
knew that Ghiberti had gotten the job through his connections, and that he would do none of the work and get half the credit. At a critical moment of the construction, then, Brunelleschi suddenly developed a mysterious illness. He had to stop work, but pointed out to city officials that they had hired Ghiberti, who should have been able to continue the work on his own. Soon it became clear that Ghiberti was useless and the officials came begging to Brunelleschi. He ignored them, insisting that Ghiberti should
finish the project, until finally they realized the problem: They fired Ghiberti. By some miracle, Brunelleschi recovered within days. He did not have to throw a tantrum or make a fool of himself; he simply practiced the art of “making others come to you.”
If on one occasion you make it a point of dignity that others must come to you and you succeed, they will continue to do so even after you stop trying.
Image: The Honeyed Bear Trap. The bear hunter does not chase his prey; a bear that knows it is hunted is nearly impossible to catch and is ferocious if cornered. Instead, the hunter lays traps baited with honey. He does not exhaust himself and risk his life in
pursuit. He baits, then waits.
Authority: Good warriors make others come to them, and do not go to others. This is the principle of emptiness and fullness of others and self. When you induce opponents to come to you, then their force is always empty; as long as you do not go to them, your force is always full. Attacking emptiness with fullness is like throwing stones on eggs. (Zhang Yu, eleventh-century commentator on The Art of War)
REVERSAL
Although it is generally the wiser policy to make others exhaust themselves chasing you, there are opposite cases where striking suddenly and aggressively at the enemy so demoralizes him that his energies sink. Instead of making others come to you, you go to them, force the issue, take the lead. Fast attack can be an awesome weapon, for it forces the other person to react without the time to think or plan. With no time to think, people make errors of judgment, and are thrown on the defensive. This tactic is the obverse of waiting and baiting, but it serves the same function: You make your enemy respond on your terms. Men like Cesare Borgia and Napoleon used the element of speed to
intimidate and control. A rapid and unforeseen move is terrifying and demoralizing. You must choose your tactics depending on the situation. If you have time on your side, and know that you and your enemies are at least at equal strength, then deplete their strength by making them come to you. If time is against you—your enemies are weaker, and waiting will only give them the chance to recover—give them no such chance. Strike quickly and they have nowhere to go. As the boxer Joe Louis put it, “He can run, but he can’t hide.”
LAW 9
WIN THROUGH YOUR ACTIONS, NEVER THROUGH ARGUMENT
JUDGMENT
Any momentary triumph you think you have gained through argument is really a Pyrrhic victory: The resentment and ill will you stir up is stronger and lasts longer than any momentary change of opinion. It is much more powerful to get others to agree with you through your actions, without saying a word. Demonstrate, do not explicate.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
In 131 B.C., the Roman consul Publius Crassus Dives Mucianus, laying siege to the Greek town of Pergamus, found himself in need of a battering ram to force through the town’s walls. He had seen a couple of hefty ship’s masts in a shipyard in Athens a few days before, and he ordered that the larger of these be sent to him immediately. The military engineer in Athens who received the order felt certain that the consul really wanted the smaller
of the masts. He argued endlessly with the soldiers who delivered the request: The smaller mast, he told them, was much better suited to the task. And indeed it would be easier to transport.
The soldiers warned the engineer that their master was not a man to argue with, but he insisted that the smaller mast would be the only one that would work with a machine that he was constructing to go with it. He drew diagram after diagram, and went so far as to say that he was the expert and they had no clue what they were talking about. The soldiers knew their leader and at last convinced the engineer that it would be better to swallow
his expertise and obey. After they left, though, the engineer thought about it some more. What was the point, he asked himself, in obeying an order that would lead to failure? And so he sent the smaller mast, confident that the consul would see how much more effective it was and reward him justly. When the smaller mast arrived, Mucianus asked his soldiers for an explanation. They described to him how the engineer had argued endlessly for the smaller mast, but had finally promised to send the larger one. Mucianus went into a rage. He could not concentrate on the siege, or consider the importance of breaching the walls before the town received reinforcements. All he could think about was the impudent engineer, whom he ordered to be brought to him immediately. Arriving a few days later, the engineer gladly explained to the consul, one more time, the reasons for the smaller mast. He went on and on, using
the same arguments he had made with the soldiers. He said it was wise to listen to experts in these matters, and if the attack was only tried with the battering ram he had sent, the consul would not regret it. Mucianus let him finish, then had him stripped naked before the soldiers and flogged and scourged with rods until he died.
THE SULTAN AND THE VIZIER
A vizier had served his master for some thirty years and was known and admired for his loyalty, truthfulness, and devotion to God. His honesty, however, had made him many enemies in the court, who spread stories of his duplicity and perfidy. They worked on the sultan day in and day out until he too came to distrust the innocent vizier and finally ordered the man who had served him so well to be put to death. In this realm, those condemned to death were tied up and thrown into the pen where the sultan kept his fiercest hunting dogs. The dogs would promptly tear the victim to pieces. Before being thrown to the dogs, however, the vizier asked for one last request. “I would like ten days’ respite,” he said, “so that I can pay my debts, collect
any money due to me, return items that people have put in my care, and share out my goods among the members of my family and my children and appoint a guardian for them.” After receiving a guarantee that the vizier would not try to escape, the sultan granted this request. The vizier hurried home, collected one hundred gold pieces, then paid a visit to the huntsman who looked after the sultan’s dogs. He offered this man the one hundred gold pieces and said, “Let me look after the dogs for ten days.” The huntsman agreed, and for the next ten days the vizier cared for the beasts with great attention, grooming them well and feeding them handsomely. By the end of the ten days they were eating out of his hand. On the eleventh day the vizier was called before the sultan, the charges were repeated, and the sultan watched as the vizier was tied up and thrown to the dogs. Yet when the beasts saw him, they ran up to him with wagging
tails. They nibbled affectionately at his shoulders and began playing with him. The sultan and the other witnesses were amazed, and the sultan asked the vizier why the dogs had spared his life. The vizier replied, “I have looked after these dogs for ten days. The sultan has seen the result for himself. I have looked after you for thirty years, and what is the result? I am condemned to death on the strength of accusations brought by my enemies.
”The sultan blushed with shame. He not only pardoned the vizier but gave him a fine set of clothes and handed over to him the men who had slandered his reputation. The noble vizier set them free and continued to treat them with kindness.
THE SUBTLE RUSE: THE BOOK OF ARABIC WISDOM AND GUILE,
THIRTEENTH CENTURY
Interpretation
The engineer, whose name has not been recorded by history, had spent his life designing masts and pillars, and was respected as the finest engineer in a city that had excelled in the science. He knew that he was right. A smaller ram would allow more speed and carry more force. Larger is not necessarily better. Of course the consul would see his logic, and would eventually understand that science is neutral and reason superior. How could the consul
possibly persist in his ignorance if the engineer showed him detailed diagrams and explained the theories behind his advice?
The military engineer was the quintessence of the Arguer, a type found everywhere among us. The Arguer does not understand that words are never neutral, and that by arguing with a superior he impugns the intelligence of one more powerful than he. He also has no awareness of the person he is dealing with. Since each man believes that he is right, and words will rarely convince him otherwise, the arguer’s reasoning falls on deaf ears. When cornered, he only argues more, digging his own grave. Once he has made the other person feel insecure and inferior in his beliefs, the eloquence of Socrates could not save the situation.
It is not simply a question of avoiding an argument with those who stand above you. We all believe we are masters in the realm of opinions and reasoning. You must be careful, then: Learn to demonstrate the correctness of your ideas indirectly.
OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW
In 1502, in Florence, Italy, an enormous block of marble stood in the works department of the church of Santa Maria del Fiore. It had once been a magnificent piece of raw stone, but an unskillful sculptor had mistakenly bored a hole through it where there should have been a figure’s legs, generally mutilating it. Piero Soderini, Florence’s mayor, had contemplated trying to save the block by commissioning Leonardo da Vinci to work on it, or some other master, but had given up, since everyone agreed that the stone had been ruined. So, despite the money that had been wasted on it, it gathered dust in the dark halls of the church.
This was where things stood until some Florentine friends of the great Michelangelo decided to write to the artist, then living in Rome. He alone, they said, could do something with the marble, which was still magnificent raw material. Michelangelo traveled to Florence, examined the stone, and came to the conclusion that he could in fact carve a fine figure from it, by adapting the pose to the way the rock had been mutilated. Soderini argued that this was a waste of time—nobody could salvage such a disaster—but
he finally agreed to let the artist work on it. Michelangelo decided he would depict a young David, sling in hand. Weeks later, as Michelangelo was putting the final touches on the statue, Soderini entered the studio. Fancying himself a bit of a connoisseur, he studied the huge work, and told Michelangelo that while he thought it was magnificent, the nose, he judged, was too big. Michelangelo realized that Soderini was standing in a place right under the giant figure and did not have the proper perspective. Without a word, he gestured for Soderini to follow him up the scaffolding. Reaching the nose, he picked up his chisel,
as well as a bit of marble dust that lay on the planks. With Soderini just a few feet below him on the scaffolding, Michelangelo started to tap lightly with the chisel, letting the bits of dust he had gathered in his hand to fall little by little. He actually did nothing to change the nose, but gave every
appearance of working on it. After a few minutes of this charade he stood aside: “Look at it now.” “I like it better,” replied Soderini, “you’ve made it come alive.”
Interpretation
Michelangelo knew that by changing the shape of the nose he might ruin the entire sculpture. Yet Soderini was a patron who prided himself on his aesthetic judgment. To offend such a man by arguing would not only gain Michelangelo nothing, it would put future commissions in jeopardy. Michelangelo was too clever to argue. His solution was to change Soderini’s perspective (literally bringing him closer to the nose) without making him realize that this was the cause of his misperception. Fortunately for posterity, Michelangelo found a way to keep the perfection of the statue intact while at the same time making Soderini believe he had improved it. Such is the double power of winning through
actions rather than argument: No one is offended, and your point is proven.
THE WORKS OF AMASIS
When Apries had been deposed in the way I have described, Amasis came to the throne. He belonged to the district of Sais and was a native of the town called Siuph. At first the Egyptians were inclined to be contemptuous, and did not think much of him because of his humble and undistinguished origin; but later on he cleverly brought them to heel, without having recourse to harsh measures. Amongst his innumerable treasures, he had a gold footbath, which he and his guests used on occasion to wash their feet in. This he broke up, and with the material had a statue made to one of the gods, which he then set up in what he thought the most suitable spot in the city. The Egyptians constantly coming upon the statue, treated it with profound reverence, and as soon as Amasis heard of the effect it had upon them, he called a meeting and revealed the fact that the deeply revered statue was once a footbath, which they washed their feet and pissed and
vomited in. He went on to say that his own case was much the same, in that once he had been only an ordinary person and was now their king; so that just as they had come to revere the transformed footbath, so they had better pay honor and respect to him, too. In this way the Egyptians were persuaded to accept him as their master.
THE HISTORIES. HERODOTUS. FIFTH CENTURY B.C. KEYS TO POWER
In the realm of power you must learn to judge your moves by their longterm effects on other people. The problem in trying to prove a point or gain a victory through argument is that in the end you can never be certain how it affects the people you’re arguing with: They may appear to agree with you politely, but inside they may resent you. Or perhaps something you said
inadvertently even offended them—words have that insidious ability to be interpreted according to the other person’s mood and insecurities. Even the best argument has no solid foundation, for we have all come to distrust the slippery nature of words. And days after agreeing with someone, we often revert to our old opinion out of sheer habit.
Understand this: Words are a dime a dozen. Everyone knows that in the heat of an argument, we will all say anything to support our cause. We will quote the Bible, refer to unverifiable statistics. Who can be persuaded by bags of air like that? Action and demonstration are much more powerful and meaningful. They are there, before our eyes, for us to see—“Yes, now the statue’s nose does look just right.” There are no offensive words, no
possibility of misinterpretation. No one can argue with a demonstrated proof. As Baltasar Gracián remarks, “The truth is generally seen, rarely heard.” Sir Christopher Wren was England’s version of the Renaissance man. He had mastered the sciences of mathematics, astronomy, physics, and physiology. Yet during his extremely long career as England’s most celebrated architect he was often told by his patrons to make impractical changes in his designs. Never once did he argue or offend. He had other ways of proving his point. In 1688 Wren designed a magnificent town hall for the city of Westminster. The mayor, however, was not satisfied; in fact he was nervous. He told Wren he was afraid the second floor was not secure, and that it could all come crashing down on his office on the first floor. He demanded that Wren add two stone columns for extra support. Wren, the consummate
engineer, knew that these columns would serve no purpose, and that the mayor’s fears were baseless. But build them he did, and the mayor was grateful. It was only years later that workmen on a high scaffold saw that the columns stopped just short of the ceiling. They were dummies. But both men got what they wanted: The mayor could relax, and Wren knew posterity would understand that his original design worked and the columns were unnecessary. The power of demonstrating your idea is that your opponents do not get defensive, and are therefore more open to persuasion. Making them literally and physically feel your meaning is infinitely more powerful than argument. A heckler once interrupted Nikita Khrushchev in the middle of a speech
in which he was denouncing the crimes of Stalin. “You were a colleague of Stalin’s,” the heckler yelled, “why didn’t you stop him then?” Khrushschev apparently could not see the heckler and barked out, “Who said that?” No hand went up. No one moved a muscle. After a few seconds of tense silence, Khrushchev finally said in a quiet voice, “Now you know why I didn’t stop him.” Instead of just arguing that anyone facing Stalin was afraid, knowing that the slightest sign of rebellion would mean certain
death, he had made them feel what it was like to face Stalin—had made them feel the paranoia, the fear of speaking up, the terror of confronting the leader, in this case Khrushchev. The demonstration was visceral and no more argument was necessary.
The most powerful persuasion goes beyond action into symbol. The power of a symbol—a flag, a mythic story, a monument to some emotional event—is that everyone understands you without anything being said. In 1975, when Henry Kissinger was engaged in some frustrating negotiations with the Israelis over the return of part of the Sinai desert that they had seized in the 1967 war, he suddenly broke off a tense meeting and decided
to do some sight-seeing. He paid a visit to the ruins of the ancient fortress of Masada, known to all Israelis as the place where seven hundred Jewish warriors committed mass suicide in A.D. 73 rather than give in to the Roman troops besieging them. The Israelis instantly understood the message of Kissinger’s visit: He was indirectly accusing them of courting mass suicide. Although the visit did not by itself change their minds, it made them think far more seriously than any direct warning would have. Symbols like this one carry great emotional significance. When aiming for power, or trying to conserve it, always look for the indirect route. And also choose your battles carefully. If it does not matter in the long run whether the other person agrees with you—or if time and their own experience will make them understand what you mean—then it is best not even to bother with a demonstration. Save your energy and walk away.
GOD AND ABRAHAM
The Most High God had promised that He would not take Abraham’s soul unless the man wanted to die and asked Him to do so. When Abraham’s life was drawing to a close, and God determined to seize him, He sent an angel in the guise of a decrepit old man who was almost entirely incapacitated.
The old man stopped outside Abraham door and said to him, “Oh Abraham, I would like something to eat.”
Abraham was amazed to hear him say this. “Die,” exclaimed Abraham. It would be better for you than to go on living in that condition.”
Abraham always kept food ready at his home for passing guests. So he gave the old man a bowl containing broth and meat with bread crumbs. The old man sat down to eat. He swallowed laboriously, with great effort, and once when he took some food it dropped from his hand, scattering on the ground.
“Oh Abraham,” he said, “help me to eat.” Abraham took the food in his hand and lifted it to the old man’s lips. But it slid down his beard and over his chest. “What is your age, old man?” asked Abraham. The old man mentioned a number of years slightly greater than Abraham’s old age.
Then Abraham exclaimed: “Oh Lord Our God, take me unto You before I reach this man’s age and sink into the same condition as he is in now.” No sooner had Abraham spoken those words than God took possession of his soul.
THE SUBTLE RUSE: THE BOOK OF ARABIC WISDOM AND GUILE,
THIRTEENTH CENTURY
Image: The Seesaw. Up and down and up and down go the arguers, getting nowhere fast. Get off the seesaw and show them your meaning without kicking or pushing. Leave them at the top and let gravity bring them gently to the ground.
Authority: Never argue. In society nothing must be discussed; give only results. (Benjamin Disraeli, 1804-1881)
REVERSAL
Verbal argument has one vital use in the realm of power: To distract and cover your tracks when you are practicing deception or are caught in a lie. In such cases it is to your advantage to argue with all the conviction you can muster. Draw the other person into an argument to distract them from your deceptive move. When caught in a lie, the more emotional and certain you
appear, the less likely it seems that you are lying. This technique has saved the hide of many a con artist. Once Count Victor Lustig, swindler par excellence, had sold dozens of suckers around the country a phony box with which he claimed to be able to copy money. Discovering their mistake, the suckers generally chose not to go the police, rather than risk the embarrassment of publicity. But one Sheriff Richards, of Remsen County, Oklahoma, was not the kind of man to accept being conned out of $10,000, and one morning he tracked Lustig down to a hotel in Chicago. Lustig heard a knock on the door. When he opened it he was looking
down the barrel of a gun.
“What seems to be the problem?” he calmly asked.
“You son of a bitch,” yelled the sheriff, “I’m going to kill you. You conned me with that damn box of yours!”
Lustig feigned confusion. “You mean it’s not working?” he asked. “You know it’s not working,” replied the sheriff.
“But that’s impossible,” said Lustig.
“There’s no way it couldn’t be working. Did you operate it properly?” “I did exactly what you told me to do,” said the sheriff. “No, you must have done something wrong,” said Lustig.
The argument went in circles. The barrel of the gun was gently lowered. Lustig next went to phase two in the argument tactic: He poured out a whole bunch of technical gobbledygook about the box’s operation, completely beguiling the sheriff, who now appeared less sure of himself and argued less forcefully.
“Look,” said Lustig, “I’ll give you your money back right now. I’ll also give you written instructions on how to work the machine and I’ll come out to Oklahoma to make sure it’s working properly.
There’s no way you can lose on that.” The sheriff reluctantly agreed.
To satisfy him totally, Lustig took out a hundred one-hundred-dollar bills and gave them to him, telling him to relax and have a fun weekend in Chicago. Calmer and a little confused, the sheriff finally left. Over the next few days Lustig checked the paper every morning. He finally found what he was looking for: A short article reporting Sheriff Richards’s arrest, trial, and conviction for passing counterfeit notes. Lustig had won the argument; the
sheriff never bothered him again.
There is no one better to be than myself. Today is going to be an amazing day. My feelings matter. I get better every single day. I choose to feel happy. My family loves me so much. I care about others. I learn from my mistakes.
i am trying to get better at typing
Pildele sau Proverbele lui Solomon 3
1. Fiule, nu uita invataturile mele si pastreaza in inima ta sfaturile mele!
2. Caci ele iti vor lungi zilele si anii vietii tale si-ti vor aduce multa pace.
3. Sa nu te paraseasca bunatatea si credinciosia: leaga-ti-le la gat, scrie-le pe tablita inimii tale.
4. Si astfel vei capata trecere si minte sanatoasa, inaintea lui Dumnezeu si inaintea oamenilor.
5. Increde-te in Domnul din toata inima ta si nu te bizui pe intelepciunea ta!
6. Recunoaste-L in toate caile tale, si El iti va netezi cararile.
7. Nu te socoti singur intelept; teme-te de Domnul si abate-te de la rau!
8. Aceasta va aduce sanatate trupului tau si racorire oaselor tale.
9. Cinsteste pe Domnul cu averile tale si cu cele dintai roade din tot venitul tau:
10. caci atunci granarele iti vor fi pline de belsug, si teascurile tale vor geme de must.
11. Fiule, nu dispretui mustrarea Domnului si nu te mahni de pedepsele Lui.
12. Caci Domnul mustra pe cine iubeste, ca un parinte pe copilul pe care-l iubeste!
13. Ferice de omul care gaseste intelepciunea si de omul care capata pricepere!
14. Caci castigul pe care-l aduce ea este mai bun decat al argintului, si venitul adus de ea este mai de pret decat aurul;
15. ea este mai de pret decat margaritarele, si toate comorile tale nu se pot asemui cu ea.
16. In dreapta ei este o viata lunga; in stanga ei, bogatie si slava.
17. Caile ei sunt niste cai placute, si toate cararile ei sunt niste carari pasnice.
18. Ea este un pom de viata pentru cei ce o apuca, si cei ce o au sunt fericiti.
19. Prin intelepciune a intemeiat Domnul pamantul, si prin pricepere a intarit El cerurile;
20. prin stiinta Lui s-au deschis adancurile si strecoara norii roua.
21. Fiule, sa nu se departeze invataturile acestea de ochii tai: pastreaza intelepciunea si chibzuinta!
22. Caci ele vor fi viata sufletului tau si podoaba gatului tau.
23. Atunci vei merge cu incredere pe drumul tau, si piciorul nu ti se va poticni.
24. Cand te vei culca, vei fi fara teama, si cand vei dormi, somnul iti va fi dulce.
25. Nu te teme nici de spaima naprasnica, nici de o navalire din partea celor rai;
26. caci Domnul va fi nadejdea ta, si El iti va pazi piciorul de cadere.
27. Nu opri o binefacere celui ce are nevoie de ea, cand poti s-o faci.
28. Nu zice aproapelui tau: "Du-te si vino iarasi; iti voi da maine!" cand ai de unde sa dai.
29. Nu gandi rau impotriva aproapelui tau, cand locuieste linistit langa tine.
30. Nu te certa fara pricina cu cineva, cand nu ti-a facut niciun rau.
31. Nu pizmui pe omul asupritor si nu alege niciuna din caile lui!
32. Caci Domnul uraste pe oamenii stricati, dar este prieten cu cei fara prihana.
33. Blestemul Domnului este in casa celui rau, dar locuinta celor neprihaniti o binecuvanta.
34. Cand are a face cu cei batjocoritori, Isi bate joc de ei, dar celor smeriti le da har.
35. Inteleptii vor mosteni slava, dar partea celor nebuni este rusinea.
A tecnologia tem transformado o mundo de maneiras inimagináveis. Desde a invenção do computador até a ascensão da inteligência artificial, cada avanço tem moldado a forma como vivemos, trabalhamos e nos comunicamos.
Um dos maiores impactos da tecnologia é a conectividade. Com a internet, podemos nos conectar com pessoas ao redor do mundo instantaneamente. Redes sociais, e-mails e videoconferências tornaram a comunicação mais rápida e eficiente.
Além disso, a automação está revolucionando indústrias inteiras. Robôs e algoritmos estão assumindo tarefas repetitivas, permitindo que os humanos se concentrem em trabalhos mais criativos e estratégicos. Isso não só aumenta a produtividade, mas também abre novas oportunidades de emprego em áreas emergentes.
A inteligência artificial (IA) é outro campo que está ganhando destaque. Sistemas de IA são capazes de aprender e tomar decisões, o que está sendo aplicado em diversas áreas, desde a saúde até a segurança. Por exemplo, algoritmos de IA podem analisar grandes volumes de dados médicos para ajudar no diagnóstico de doenças.
No entanto, com todos esses avanços, também surgem desafios. Questões de privacidade, segurança cibernética e a necessidade de regulamentação são tópicos importantes que precisam ser abordados para garantir que a tecnologia seja usada de maneira ética e segura.
Em resumo, a tecnologia continua a evoluir rapidamente, trazendo tanto benefícios quanto desafios. Manter-se atualizado com essas mudanças é essencial para aproveitar ao máximo as oportunidades que a tecnologia oferece.
I only want to say. If there is a way. Take this cup away from me. For I don't want to taste its poison. Feel it burn me, I have changed. I'm not as sure as when we started.
Then I was inspired. Now I'm sad and tired. Listen, surely I've exceeded expectations? Tried for three years, seems like thirty. Could you ask as much from any other man?
But if I die. See the saga through and do the things you ask of me. Let them hate me, hit me, hurt me, nail me to their tree. I'd wanna know, I'd wanna know my God. I'd wanna see, I'd wanna see my God.
Why I should die? Would I be more noticed than I ever was before? Would the things I've said and done matter any more? I'd have to know, I'd have to know my Lord. I'd have to see, I'd have to see my Lord. If I die, what will be my reward? I'd have to know, I'd have to know my Lord.
Why should I die? Can you show me now that I would not be killed in vain? Show me just a little of your omnipresent brain. Show me there's a reason for your wanting me to die. You're far too keen on 'where' and 'how' and not so hot on 'why'.
Alright, I'll die! Just watch me die! See how I die!
Then I was inspired. Now, I'm sad and tired. After all I've tried for three years. Seems like ninety - why, then, am I. Scared to finish what I started? What you started! - I didn't start it!
God, thy will is hard. But you hold every card. I will drink your cup of poison. Nail me to your cross and break me. Bleed me, beat me, kill me, take me now. Before I change my mind!
Tyrion is glad he took the advice to dress warmly, despite looking like a ball of striped fur bundled up in his shadowskin cloak. Deep under Rhaenys's Hill, the chill in the dank vaults behind the Guildhall of the Alchemists is so bone-deep that even Timett retreated after a brief taste.
By the light of a sealed lamp, Tyrion inspects a fragile, grapefruit-shaped clay jar. The jar has a pebbled texture to keep it from slipping when grasped, and when Tyrion tilts it to peer inside the murky green wildfire oozes toward the lip. When Tyrion remarks on its thickness, the pallid and obsequious Pyromancer Hallyne explains that "the substance" (as the pyromancers call it) flows more easily as it warms.
Tyrion is annoyed by the alchemists' pretentiousness. Their habits of calling each other "wisdom" and hinting at vast stores of secret knowledge do not match the reality of a declining guild in moth-eaten robes who no longer even pretend to transmute metals. The Maesters of the Citadel have supplanted the once-powerful guild in almost every respect
―except the creation of wildfire, which remains a closely-guarded guild secret.
Hallyne explains that once kindled, wildfire cannot be quenched and will seep into cloth, wood, leather, or even steel and set them afire as well. Tyrion recalls from the flaming sword of Thoros of Myr that even a thin coating can burn for an hour, though it ruins the sword. When Tyrion asks why the wildfire doesn't seep into the clay pots, Hallyne explains that it does, and thus they have a lower vault full of pots from the reign of King Aerys II Targaryen, whose fancy it was to shape the jars like fruit. By rights, those jars should be destroyed, but so many of the guild's masters were killed during the Sack of King's Landing that they lack the skill and have flooded the vaults instead. Hallyne adds that the whereabouts of much of King Aerys's stock was also lost, such as a cache of two hundred jars discovered only last year under the Great Sept of Baelor. Hallyne admits this older stock can still be used, but urges extreme caution, since wildfire grows more volatile with age and will self-ignite if left in even direct sunlight for too long, causing it to expand violently and create a chain reaction among nearby jars.
When Tyrion asks how many jars they have, Hallyne quotes the morning's count by Wisdom Munciter as 7,840 jars, including 4,000 from King Aerys' older stock and says he is confident the guild will meet its promise of 10,000 jars. Tyrion is astonished, delighted, and terrified. He knows creating wildfire is a lengthy and dangerous process, and thought the number was only a wild boast. He insists he does not want any undue haste or defective wildfire, but Hallyne assures him the wildfire is prepared only by trained acolytes in work cells designed to fill with sand and smother any fires―and the hapless acolyte. Tyrion is interested in inspecting how such a cell would work, but he does not have time.
Hallyne reiterates the importance of handling wildfire with care, suggesting that common soldiers in the frenzy of battle may not be as considerate as trained pyromancers, and any little mistake could be catastrophic. In response, Tyrion requests as many spare jars as possible to be delivered to each of the city gates.
As they walk back, Hallyne stresses the honor of welcoming the Hand of the King for the first time since Lord Rossart, who was of their guild himself. The mention of Rossart reminds Tyrion of the stories of Mad King Aerys II using the alchemists to burn his enemies, and he decides it would be best to keep Joffrey well away from the pyromancers to prevent him getting the same idea. As such, when Hallyne proposes hosting a feast for Joffrey, Tyrion explains that Joffrey has forbidden feasting (at Tyrion's insistence) until the war is won. However, Tyrion has no objections when Hallyne instead proposes a demonstration of the "dread secrets" of his ancient order at the Red Keep; there is no harm in a few magic tricks.
After navigating the twists and turns of the Guildhall, they come to the long and echoing Gallery of the Iron Torches, where columns of wildfire flames burn around black metal columns and reflect off the black marble walls to bathe the hall in emerald light. However, Tyrion is less impressed because he knows the cost of wildfire means the torches have been lit only to impress him.
After bidding farewell to Hallyne on the doorstep, Tyrion descends the broad steps to the Street of Sisters near Visenya's hill where Timett waits with his litter and an escort of Burned Men, a most appropriate escort for a visit to the pyromancers and a necessary precaution since Joffrey rained arrows on a hungry mob at the gates of the Red Keep only three days past. Tyrion is surprised to find Bronn waiting as well, with two messages: Ser Jacelyn Bywater urgently requires Tyrion at the Gate of the Gods and Cersei commands him to attend her in her chambers. Tyrion decides to see Bywater first, as the man is not prone to waste his time and forcing Cersei to wait will make her angry and stupid, which he prefers to composed and cunning.
The normally-busy food market inside the Gate of the Gods is nearly deserted as Tyrion crosses it to meet Ser Jacelyn, who informs him that Ser Cleos Frey has arrived with peace terms from Robb Stark. Tyrion is pleased, but Cleos proves reluctant to discuss the terms since his orders are to deliver them directly to Cersei. Gaunt and haggard from his journey, Cleos describes the dire situation around the Gods Eye and the kingsroad, where the river lords are burning their own crops to starve the Lannisters, who are in turn torching every village and killing the smallfolk. Tyrion dismisses this as the way of war while Cleos adds that even with a peace banner his party was attacked twice by broken men, losing three men and another six wounded.
When Tyrion is amused by Robb's impossible peace terms, Cleos shares that Robb sits idle at Riverrun, likely afraid to face Lord Tywin in battle, and grows weaker as the river lords disperse to defend their lands. Tyrion wonders if that was his father's plan, then informs Cleos that the terms―including the exchange of Willem Lannister and Cleos' brother Tion Frey for Sansa and Arya Stark―are unacceptable, and Cleos will be expected to carry the small council's counteroffer back to Riverrun. Cleos is not pleased with the prospect of recrossing a war zone and points out that it is Catelyn Stark who wants this peace, not Robb. Tyrion counters that Catelyn wants her daughters and urges Cleos to rest and await further instructions.
Tyrion rejoins Jacelyn Bywater watching several hundred recruits drilling beyond the gate. With so many refugees, there is no lack of men joining the City Watch for food and a bed, but Tyrion has no illusions about their worth in battle. He commends Bywater for contacting him and instructs him to give Ser Cleos and his escort every hospitality but to keep them outside the city to hide the truth of conditions there. He also instructs Bywater to use the jars the alchemists will deliver to train spitfire crews to handle wildfire using paint and burning oil. Bywater calls this a wise measure, although he has no love for "alchemist's piss". Tyrion agrees, but insists he must use what he is given.
Back in his litter, Tyrion reflects that if he can use negotiations to keep Robb dreaming of an easy peace at Riverrun until Ser Stafford Lannister readies his new host at Casterly Rock, then Stafford and Lord Tyrwin can smash Robb's forces between them. Tyrion only wishes the Baratheons would be as accommodating. With Renly creeping up the roseroad with his massive southron army and Stannis poised to sail his fleet up the Blackwater Rush any day, Tyrion takes small comfort from his stockpile of wildfire.
A commotion in Cobbler's Square pulls Tyrion out of his musings. A sizable crowd listens to the rantings of a prophet garbed as a begging brother. Calling the red comet in the sky above Aegon's high hill "the Father's Scourge", he proclaims:
We have become swollen, bloated, foul. Brother couples with sister in the bed of kings, and the fruit of their incest capers in his palace to the piping of a twisted little monkey demon. Highborn ladies fornicate with fools and give birth to monsters! Even the High Septon has forgotten the gods! He bathes in scented waters and grows fat on lark and lamprey while his people starve! Pride comes before prayer, maggots rule our castles, and gold is all... but no more! The Rotten Summer is at an end, and the Whoremonger King is brought low! When the boar did open him, a great stench rose to heaven and a thousand snakes slid forth from his belly, hissing and biting! There comes the Harbinger! Cleanse yourselves, the gods cry out, lest ye be cleansed! Bathe in the wine of righteousness, or you shall be bathed in fire! Fire!
Wounded by being called a "twisted little monkey demon", Tyrion takes solace from the hoots of derision drowning the echoing shouts as he orders the Burned Men to clear a path. He agrees with the prophet about the High Septon, however, smiling at the memory of a joke Moon Boy made at the gluttonous cleric's expense.
Returning to the Red Keep without further incident, Tyrion ascends to his chambers in a hopeful mood, thinking all he needs is time to piece it all together. Entering his solar, he is confronted by Cersei, who is furious at him for ignoring her summons and plotting to sell her only daughter like a bag of oats. Knowing his ploy has worked, Tyrion points out princesses like Myrcella are born for such marriage alliances, unless Cersei planned to wed her to her brother Tommen. Cersei declares she will not allow Myrcella to be shipped off to Dorne. Without missing a beat, Tyrion points out that Dorne will be much safer than King's Landing, and the feud between the Lannisters and House Martell goes back only a generation, whereas the Dornishmen have warred with Storm's End and Highgarden for a millennium.
Tyrion explains that he proposed nine-year-old Myrcella become a ward of Prince Doran Martell until she turns fourteen, at which time she will marry Trystane Martell, who is just two years older. Cersei insists Myrcella will be a hostage, but Tyrion opines that she will be treated more kindly than Sansa Stark, especially with Ser Arys Oakheart of the Kingsguard as her sworn shield. Cersei still worries that Doran Martell might kill Myrcella to avenge the murder of his sister Elia Martell, but Tyrion insists Doran is too honorable to murder an innocent girl and the terms are too rich to refuse: he has also promised the prince his sister's killer, a council seat, and some castles on the Dornish Marches. Cersei accuses Tyrion of offering too much without her consent, but he insists Doran would not accept less and asks if Cersei means to offer sexual favors instead. When she slaps him, Tyrion promises her it will be the last time, but Cersei only laughs and suggests Tyrion's faith that their father's letter will protect him might be as misguided as Eddard Stark's faith in King Robert's last will. Tyrion notes to himself that unlike Lord Eddard he has the City Watch, his clansmen, and a party of sellswords, though he supposes Stark had delusions of support as well.
Rather than argue, Tyrion declares that Renly and Stannis will mount Myrcella's head beside Cersei's if they take the city. To his astonishment, Cersei begins to cry, something Tyrion has not seen since they were children. Awkwardly he moves to comfort her, but she wrenches away, which hurts more than any slap. He promises nothing will happen to Myrcella, but Cersei calls him a liar and declares he has not kept his promise to free Jaime. Tyrion assures her that Jaime remains safe at Riverrun until he can find a way to free him.
Cersei laments that if she were a man she would not have allowed any of this to happen. She wonders how Jaime could let himself be captured and questions what their father is doing hiding in Harrenhal. Tyrion assures her Lord Tywin is making war, proposing that Tywin is a lion waiting to pounce while Robb is a fawn frozen by fear. Cersei is not convinced, pointing out that Jaime would not sit idle if their father were the prisoner. To himself, Tyrion agrees that Jaime never had any patience, but he only says that not everyone can be as bold as Jaime, but there are other ways to win a war, and Harrenhal is strong and well situated.
Cersei adds that King's Landing is neither and Renly's host will soon be at their gates. Tyrion assures her the city will not fall in a day, giving Lord Tywin time to march down the kingsroad to take Renly in the rear. Hungry for reassurance, Cersei asks what will happen if Robb Stark marches. Tyrion explains that Harrenhal prevents Roose Bolton from crossing the Trident to reunite the northern forces, and even if he could, Robb does not have the strength to take Harrenhal and march on King's Landing. Meanwhile, Lord Tywin's army lives on the fat of the riverlands and their uncle Stafford is raising another army at Casterly Rock.
Wondering how Tyrion knows all this, Cersei asks if Lord Tywin confided in him. Tyrion replies that he only looked at a map, which causes Cersei to accuse him of mere speculation. Drawing out Robb's peace offer, Tyrion asks why Robb would offer terms―even unacceptable terms―if he were winning. Suddenly all queen again, Cersei asks how the terms came to Tyrion instead of her, but Tyrion quips that his job as Hand is to hand her things. As he hands her the letter, Tyrion muses that getting slapped by Cersei is a small price to pay for her agreement to the Dornish marriage, which he can sense he will now get. The identity of an informer is just the plum in his pudding.
The Olympic Games are an international sporting competition held every two years, alternating between Summer and Winter Games. The first Olympic Games were held in Ancient Greece in 776BC. The Olympic rings represent 5 regions of the world - Asia, Africa, Europe, the Americas, and Oceania, the Olympic flame and the relay torch should burn until the end of the Games that year.
