On August 8, 1974, Richard Nixon addressed the American people.
As White House cameras rolled, Nixon announced that he would be vacating his presidential term the following day.
It was a painfully ironic moment.
Nixon was seemingly at the height of his powers. He had already implemented much of his campaign agenda, and he’d won re-election in a landslide almost two years prior. But now, he was stepping away from it all.
For Nixon had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Dogged reporting had uncovered Nixon’s role in a break-in at the Democratic headquarters two years prior. And in the face of a congressional inquiry, Nixon had tried to cover up his involvement in the whole affair.
These revelations were more than an embarrassment. They constituted a crisis.
And so, facing public pressure and the threat of impeachment, Nixon relinquished his post. He gave up the most powerful position on the planet. And he slunk into obscurity for the rest of his life.
It was a sad ending to Nixon’s story. An ending that was all too predictable.
When I was in school, English class wasn’t my jam.
I didn’t geek out on arcane grammatical exercises or enjoy reading about faded romances in the passages of Jane Eyre. I much preferred history class, or Spanish class, or even photography class.
And yet, when my English teacher assigned the class Macbeth, I found myself captivated by it.
William Shakespeare’s play had all the necessary elements to capture an adolescent’s attention. Ambition. Betrayal. Suspense. Murder. Comedy.
Macbeth was a fun read, no doubt. But it would take me years to internalize its underlying message.
Namely, that absolute power corrupts absolutely.
You see, when we first meet the title character, he is an upstanding and loyal member of the Scottish nobility. But once he’s given a prophecy of greatness by three witches, the shine of his character starts to fade.
This obsession leads Macbeth to slay the Scottish king and cover up his involvement in the dirty deed. The ploy vaults him to the throne. But it also sends his paranoia into overdrive.
Macbeth starts killing off his friends and associates to keep them from taking the crown from him. He becomes obsessed with legacy and succession. And he generally becomes insufferable.
These traits eventually lead Macbeth to overconfidence, which portends his downfall. And that downfall transcends Macbeth into a cautionary tale.
Be careful in how you attain power, the conventional wisdom reads. And be even more careful in how you wield it.
If only it were that simple.
In recent years, there’s been plenty of grumbling about powerful figures in our society. Particularly the well-heeled ones.
The excesses of the billionaire class have been thoroughly documented. And their moves to consolidate power have led to vehement protests.
To those with less than 10 columns of numbers on their net worth statements, these billionaires seem unconscionable. They seemingly have it all, and yet they seem to be squeezing society for even more. It’s a practice that seems wholly unnecessary.
Or is it?
You see, if we put ourselves in the ornate shoes of these elites, we might find them in the same dilemma as Macbeth.
No, they likely don’t have a bloody dagger lying about. And they aren’t channeling their inner Nixon to bury the evidence.
But those same sensations of insecurity are omnipresent within them. In fact, they’re inherent.
For these elites had but two paths to their station in life. They either climbed the ladder from obscurity – as such titans as Jeff Bezos did – or they were born into familial wealth – as it the case with the Waltons, Murdochs, and Hunts.
In each situation, the pressure to maintain is immense. Jeff Bezos and his kind don’t want to lose what they’ve worked so hard to accrue. And the scions of silver spoon families don’t want to waste away multi-generational legacies.
This pressure begets insecurity. That insecurity begets paranoia. And that paranoia leads to sequestration.
Elites build barriers to protect their treasure troves. Then they expand those barriers outward, trampling those below them in the process.
It’s cruelty spurred by caution. A toxic cocktail.
Back when I first learned about Nixon’s foibles and Macbeth’s misdeeds, I had but one reaction.
If I were in that position, I’d be better than that.
It was easy for me to say. I was a good kid who stayed out of trouble. Perjury and murder seemed beyond the pale of my capabilities.
But as I grew older, I realized how wrong that statement was.
Truth be told, if I ascended to such power, I would likely act similarly to those disgraced figures – or the modern-day aristocracy. For I would be afflicted with an insecurity-laden dissonance.
This revelation altered my approach to life.
I still strove to enhance my station and to challenge myself at every turn. But I no longer kept the penthouse in my crosshairs.
It wasn’t a distaste for whitewashed mansions or haggis that kept me from the express escalator.
No. It was an urge to maintain my essence that kept me in check. By failing to chase power, I’d instead find maximal peace. I wouldn’t hear the footsteps. I’d maintain my best qualities and personality traits.
To be clear, such an outcome might still have been possible with full power. Jeff Bezos’ ex-wife Mackenzie Scott, for instance, has remained both well-heeled and well-regarded through the years. She’s kept her head – and a semblance of relatability – through a tireless devotion to philanthropy. And she’s earned plaudits from Time and Forbes magazines in the process.
Still, Scott’s path is a narrow one. It’s a tightrope act that few can traverse.
Indeed, the surest way to avoid the fall from grace is to avoid the pull of power. To leave such dark callings to others, and to entrench oneself in the proletariat.
That is what I believe. That is the path I follow.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.