The Perils of the Pillow
Power, Influence, and the Shadowy Role of Wives, In-laws and Mistresses
By Plutonix
Characters:
- Socrates: The venerable Athenian philosopher, ever probing and questioning.
- Cephalus: A wealthy and respected elder, fond of worldly affairs and practical observations.
Setting:
A quiet corner in the Agora, the bustling marketplace of Athens, late in the afternoon.
Socrates, clad in his customary simple attire, is meticulously examining a small, misshapen olive, while Cephalus approaches, a scroll tucked under his arm and a look of vexation on his face.
Cephalus: Socrates, my good man! Still contemplating the perfection of the sphere in the imperfection of the olive, I see? Would that the affairs of men were as easily dissected!
Socrates: Ah, Cephalus, ever the pragmatist. And you, it seems, are burdened by a weight heavier than any scroll. What troubles the usually serene countenance of my friend today? Have the markets soured, or has a politician finally uttered a truth?
Cephalus: (Sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically) Worse, Socrates, far worse! I’ve just returned from the assembly, where the talk is of recent revelations from a distant island nation concerning their tourism authority. It appears funds meant for the public good were funnelled, quite brazenly, to an exclusive hotel group, owned by a close one of their former leader. Millions, Socrates! Millions supposedly for promoting the island yet seemingly used to fly Eastern European dancers for a private White party, or to pay for aborted polo matches in the snow!
Socrates: (Raises an eyebrow, dropping the olive) Dancers from afar, snow polo in a warm land, and funds diverted to kin? This sounds less like the prudent management of a city-state and more like a scene from a bawdy comedy. But tell me, Cephalus, is this an isolated incident, a mere ripple in the vast ocean of human folly, or a recurring tide?
Cephalus: A recurring tide, Socrates! A veritable tsunami of ill-advised decisions born from proximity to power! It brings to mind countless tales, from our own histories and those of barbarians, where leaders, be they kings, tyrants, or even elected officials, seem to lose their way, guided not by reason or public interest, but by the whispers of those nearest to their beds or their hearths.
Socrates: “Whispers,” you say? A poetic phrase. But how can a leader, presumably chosen for their wisdom or strength, allow themselves to be thus “led by the nose,” as the common saying goes? Are they so easily swayed by the charming melodies of a wife, the fervent pleas of a mistress, the subtle manipulations of an in-law, or the hearty counsel of a lifelong friend?
Cephalus: That, Socrates, is precisely the labyrinth I find myself in! Take for instance, Louis, the French king you spoke of, who allowed his mistress, Pompadour, to steer the ship of state, making enemies and spending lavishly. Or Queen Anne, whose dear friend, Sarah Churchill, pulled strings like a puppeteer. And the Marcos woman, Imelda, whose shoe collection alone could fund a small army, whose influence utterly corrupted her husband’s rule in the distant Philippines!
Socrates: Indeed, their names echo through time as cautionary tales. But what is the essence of this weakness, Cephalus? Is it simply a matter of blind faith, as if love or friendship were a blinding fog that obscures the path of rectitude?
Cephalus: At first glance, one might think so. A man trusts his wife above all, his friend as his own soul. He believes them incapable of malice, or perhaps even of error. He invests them with a wisdom they may not possess.
Socrates: And do these trusted confidantes always possess the wisdom, or the virtue, to advise justly? Are their personal interests perfectly aligned with the public good?
Cephalus: (Snorts) Rarely, Socrates, rarely! The Mauritius affair is a prime example: private hotel, private parties, public funds. The interests are as divergent as a straight line and a drunken sailor’s walk! So, it cannot be only blind faith. There must be other, darker currents at play.
Socrates: Let us then explore these currents. Consider the isolation of power. A leader, by their very office, is set apart from ordinary men. They face immense pressures, difficult decisions, and often, loneliness. To whom do they turn when the formal advisors offer only cold logic or self-serving flattery?
Cephalus: To those who offer comfort, warmth, and uncritical acceptance, I suppose. A wife, a mistress, a family member – they are the safe harbour in a storm of public scrutiny.
Socrates: Precisely. And in this haven, might a leader become emotionally dependent, perhaps even vulnerable to subtle manipulation? If the only person who truly listens, truly understands, is the one whispering suggestion that benefit their own kin, how strong must the leader be to resist? It is difficult to bite the hand that strokes your brow, is it not?
Cephalus: A chilling thought. So, it’s not just blind faith, but a desperate need for solace and validation that makes them pliable. The comfort offered can become a chain.
Socrates: Excellent, Cephalus. Now, consider the flow of information. Do these intimate circles always provide objective counsel? Or are they prone to creating an echo chamber, reflecting back only what the leader wishes to hear, or what benefits the echoer?
Cephalus: Ah, the dreaded echo chamber! Of course! If a wife’s cousin desires a lucrative contract, she is unlikely to tell her husband, the leader, that his cousin is incompetent, is she? Rather, she would sing praises of his unmatched skill and loyalty. Dissenting voices are weeded out, either by design or by fear of displeasure.
Socrates: So, the leader, surrounded by agreeable voices, loses the capacity for critical judgment, believing their chosen few are uniquely wise and trustworthy, perhaps even more so than their formal advisors. This leads to a lack of objective feedback.
Cephalus: Indeed. And what of the shared aims? Often, these close ones aren’t just seeking personal gain, but consolidating a shared power, a dynasty, a legacy. The Marcoses, for instance, were a formidable pair, unified in their ambition. Their interests, though against the public’s, were perfectly aligned with each other’s.
Socrates: A powerful synergy, though often destructive. So, shared ideologies and personal interests, even if corrupt, can bind them tightly. What about the absence of boundaries? Does a leader perhaps forget where the private ends and the public begins when it comes to family?
Cephalus: It’s as if the lines blur, Socrates. The money in the public purse feels like the money in their own household. A request from a spouse or mistress feels like a personal obligation, rather than a matter of state policy. Weak personal boundaries, indeed.
Socrates: And does not power itself breed a certain hubris, a belief in superiority or entitlement? The leader might begin to believe that they, and by extension their inner circle, are above the common rules, that their actions, however questionable, are ultimately justified because they are the ones in charge.
Cephalus: Ah, the “divine right” of the modern leader! “I know best,” they declare, “and those I trust, know best even more!” It’s a dangerous delusion.
Socrates: And finally, Cephalus, what if there is something held over the leader? A secret, a past misstep, a personal vulnerability known only to those closest to them. Could this not make them susceptible to compromise or even blackmail, however subtle?
Cephalus: (Eyes widen) A most nefarious thought, Socrates! That the very intimacy that provides comfort could also provide a lever for manipulation. The skeleton in the closet, wielded by a loved one.
Socrates: So, Cephalus, it seems the reasons are far more intricate than mere blind faith. They involve a perilous cocktail of emotional needs, the isolating nature of power, the absence of honest counsel, shared ambitions, blurred boundaries, the arrogance of office, and even the threat of personal exposure.
Cephalus: (Shakes his head slowly) A truly disheartening portrait of human nature, Socrates. The Mauritian affair, with its polo matches and dancers, suddenly seems less a comedy and more a tragedy. The money of the people, squandered for private whims, all because a leader, for a myriad of reasons, ceded his judgment to those in his intimate circle.
Socrates: Indeed. The lesson, it seems, is eternal: the greater the power, the greater the need for self-awareness, for honest advisors who are not family or lovers, and for a constant, vigilant dedication to the public good above all personal affections. For history, as you say, is replete with reminders that the soft whispers of personal desire can often drown out the loud cries of public interest, leading many a great man, and nation, astray.
Cephalus: (Ponders for a moment) Perhaps, then, the next time a leader feels the urge to entertain a dubious suggestion from a beloved relative, they should first spend an hour contemplating a misshapen olive. It might just save their nation a fortune, and their reputation.
Socrates: (Smiles, picking up another olive) A most profound conclusion, Cephalus. Perhaps we should patent this “olive contemplation” as a new form of political therapy.
Cephalus shakes his head with a wry smile, beginning to walk away, still contemplating the human tendency to self-sabotage under the spell of intimacy.
Mauritius Times ePaper Friday 18 July 2025
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