Hans Christian Anderson didn’t get the story quite right.
After all, he had not read the original fourteenth century Spanish tale. But,
even more importantly, when Anderson wrote the story he seems to have forgotten
his own experience as a child when he blurted out, “Oh, he’s only a human
being!” when he saw the Danish King Frederick VI. What happened immediately
after little Hans made this observation, whether apocryphal or not, lies at the
heart of the truth of the tale.
Now, it doesn’t really matter whether the protagonist of the
story, the vain emperor, is an actual emperor. He could be any public or
government official because, as has been amply demonstrated throughout history,
such persons respond to only one stimulus. What I mean by this is that they
respond to two events, and all other events are filtered and, in the process,
transformed, into manifestations of one
of these two events—which are really two
sides of the same coin. Everything that happens anywhere in the world either
enhances his ego, or conversely, threatens it. If a villager in a remote part
of the world discovers a more efficient way to perform a task, this is proof
that our leader’s inspiration is such that it reaches to every corner of the
globe. If someone falls prey to an illness, no matter how removed from our
hero, this is because they have failed to heed our great leader’s words of advice.
If, on the other hand, a child challenges an adult’s authority, no matter
where, then this attack on the divinely-inspired order of things is a direct
threat to the supremacy of the leader and must be suppressed with dispatch less
this unruly child’s behaviour influence others to act in even more unruly and
socially unacceptable ways.
This feature of the personality of all leaders, no matter
how small their domain, is why they are given to making grandiose speeches in
which they freely share advice on all aspects of human life—no matter if they
have no direct experience or expertise in the matter at hand. This explains why
male members of parliaments feel it is their rightful duty to make decisions
regarding the behaviour of pregnant females and to decide what social and
medical services women in such condition are entitled to receive. The fact that
the men making such decisions have no experience at all in such matters is
irrelevant; their basic character dictates that they must make such pronouncements.
Similarly, anything perceived as a challenge to their authority, be it theft
from banking institutions or making speeches designed to incite people to ask
questions whose answers might prove embarrassing to the leaders, are supressed
with the full might of the law. In fact, anyone who enjoys any small pleasure
that is not shared by the leaders is suspect of being disloyal to the state
(and hence, to the leader), explaining why those who prefer recreational drugs
or sexual practices that differ from those enjoyed by the leaders are often
thrown into prison and all their possessions appropriated by the state.
But I digress, if only to demonstrate that the emperorship
of the protagonist in our story is not a key issue. The fact that he is a leader, if
only chairman of the local municipal businessmen’s association, is all that is
required for the basic premise of the story to work. Such men cannot resist the
enchantment of anyone who tells them that they are natural leaders of men and
that anyone who questions their decisions and pronouncements is suspect of
engaging in other unsavory and despicable acts. When leaders hear words to this effect they
fall into a trance in which they become helpless automatons unable to resist
any suggestion their enchanters might wish to make. For a tailor to convince a
leader to disrobe and then to dress in a uniform made of invisible materials is
child’s play to anyone skilled in the art of political persuasion. For the
tailor to then convince the leader to show off his invisible garments in a
public procession is laughably easy. Leaders cannot resist the lure of public
processions any more than a child can resist a brightly coloured bauble.
The question of why ordinary folks tolerate the antics of
leaders is an interesting one. Surely any adult sensible of the ways and means
that individuals and families employ to remain healthy and reasonably happy
participants in the great procession of life would be aware that political
leaders are useless parasites who contribute nothing to the public good except
for empty-headed speeches and laws that serve only to enhance the leader’s
comforts and security. But the leaders have two tools that they use to great
effect to maintain their hold over their subjects, variously called members,
electors, constituents, or other terms designed to disguise the true
relationship. One tool is the church, educational systems, and other social
institutions whose sole purpose is to promote lesser leaders talented at
persuading others to accept the status quo and to accord the leaders status
that they would otherwise be unable to attain. The other tool is, of course,
the law, used to suppress and silence anyone who challenges the authority of
the leader. Through these two institutions leaders have managed to convince
most citizens that they have a vital role to play in the governance of daily
life and that they are deserving of respectful acquiescence; and, further, those
who question this state of affairs should be imprisoned or silenced in some
other more benign way, such as involuntary medical treatments often involving
debilitating drugs, electro-shock “therapy,” and confinement. Of course, there is the ultimate response,
first employed by the Old Testament King David: that is, enlist your opponents
and send them off to war, ensuring that they are in the front lines of battles.
By this means leaders have, in the past, eliminated entire generations of those
who posed a potential challenge to their privilege roles.
This digression was essential to explain what happened to
young Hans, and to the child in our story of the emperor’s new clothes. It
would be reassuring to think that when the child pointed out that the emperor
was, in fact, naked—or when Hans pointed out that King Frederick VI was merely
another human being—that the crowd immediately saw the wisdom of the child’s
words and applauded him for enlightening them. Alas! That is not what happens
to such children in our world—nor is it what happened to the young Hans Christian
Anderson. When Hans made his observation his mother remonstrated, "Have
you gone mad, child?" Yes, exactly. A more mild reaction than is the norm
when children challenge one of the basic premises of adult reality, but one
that underscores the moral of the tale. Children who point out that the emperor
is naked are sometimes supressed with a brutality that belies all promises of
parental love and support, for, if children are permitted to tell adults, in
effect, that they are blind fools, then what else might issue from the mouths
of babes?
Young Hans shared the same fate as most children: he was sent off to school in order to learn to be more respectful of those in authority, but, more importantly, to teach him how to see invisible clothing so that never again would he be tempted to give voice to unthinkable thoughts. Naked emperors? What a preposterous idea! Why the sun should fall from the sky rather than permit such illogical and impossible conditions to exist! Our world is ruled by naked men only in the eyes of those who have yet to be enlightened by the great mysteries of the church and schools. And, if such enlightenment fails to take root, we always have the option of plucking out their eyes so that they too can fully participate in the affairs of the valley of the blind.
