First I would like to thank Anna Biller, who helped edit and research this book, and whose in- valuable insights played a critical role in the shape and content of The 48 Laws of Power. Without her, none of this would have been possible. I must also thank my dear friend Michiel Schwarz who was responsible for involving me in the art school Fabrika in Italy and introducing me to Joost Elffers, my partner and producer of The 48 Laws of Power. It was in the scheming world of Fabrika that Joost and I saw the timeless- ness of Machiavelli and from our discussions in Venice, Italy, this book was born. I would like to thank Henri Le Goubin, who supplied me with many Machiavellian anec- dotes over the years, particularly concerning the numerous French characters who play such a large role in this book. I would also like to thank Les and Sumiko Biller, who lent me their library on Japanese his- tory and helped me with the Japanese Tea Ceremony part of the book. Similarly, I must thank my good friend Elizabeth Yang who advised me on Chinese history. A book like this depended greatly on the research material available and I am particularly grateful to the UCLA Research Library; I spent many pleasant days wandering through its in- comparable collections. My parents, Laurette and Stanley Green, deserve endless thanks for their patience and support. And I must not forget to pay tribute to my cat, Boris, who kept me company throughout the never-ending days of writing. Finally, to those people in my life who have so skillfully used the game of power to manipu- late, torture, and cause me pain over the years, I bear you no grudges and I thank you for sup- plying me with inspiration for The 48 Laws of Power.
Robert Greene The feeling of having no power over people and events is generally un- bearable to us—when we feel helpless we feel miserable. No one wants less power; everyone wants more. In the world today, however, it is dangerous to seem too power hungry, to be overt with your power moves. We have to seem fair and decent. So we need to be subtle—congenial yet cunning, democratic yet devious. This game of constant duplicity most resembles the power dynamic that existed in the scheming world of the old aristocratic court. Throughout history, a court has always formed itself around the person in power—king, queen, emperor, leader. The courtiers who filled this space were in an espe- cially delicate position: They had to serve their masters, but if they seemed to fawn, if they curried favor too obviously, the other courtiers around them would notice and would act against them. Attempts to win the master’s favor, then, had to be subtle. And even skilled courtiers capable of such subtlety still had to protect themselves from their fellow courtiers, who at all moments were scheming.
TRANSGRESSION OF THE LAW
In the mid-ninth century A.D., a young man named Michael III assumed the throne of the Byzantine Empire. His mother, the Empress Theodora, had been banished to a nunnery, and her lover, Theoctistus, had been mur- dered; at the head of the conspiracy to depose Theodora and enthrone Michael had been Michael’s uncle, Bardas, a man of intelligence and ambi- tion. Michael was now a young, inexperienced ruler, surrounded by in- triguers, murderers, and profligates. In this time of peril he needed someone he could trust as his councillor, and his thoughts turned to Basil- ius, his best friend. Basilíus had no experience whatsoever in government and politics—in fact, he was the head of the royal stables—but he had proven his love and gratitude time and again. They had met a few years before, when Michael had been visiting the stables just as a wild horse got loose. Basilíus, a young groom from peasant Macedonian stock, had saved Michael’s life. The groom’s strength and courage had impressed Michael, who immediately raised Basilíus from the obscurity of being a horse trainer to the position of head of the stables. He loaded his friend with gifts and favors and they became inseparable. Basil- íus was sent to the finest school in Byzantium, and the crude peasant be- came a cultured and sophisticated courtier.
Now Michael was emperor, and in need of someone loyal. Who could he better trust with the post of chamberlain and chief councillor than a young man who owed him everything? Basilíus could be trained for the job and Michael loved him like a brother. Ignoring the advice of those who recommended the much more qualified Bardas, Michael chose his friend. Basilíus learned well and was soon advising the emperor on all matters of state. The only problem seemed to be money—Basilíus never had enough. Exposure to the splendor of Byzantine court life made him avari- cious for the perks of power. Michael doubled, then tripled his salary, en- nobled him, and married him off to his own mistress, Eudoxia Ingerina. Keeping such a trusted friend and adviser satisfied was worth any price. But more trouble was to come. Bardas was now head of the army, and Basilíus convinced Michael that the man was hopelessly ambitious. Under the illusion that he could control his nephew, Bardas had conspired to put him on the throne, and he could conspire again, this time to rid of Michael and assume the crown himself. Basilíus poured poison into Michael’s ear until the emperor agreed to have his uncle murdered. During a great horse race, Basilíus closed in on Bardas in the crowd and stabbed him to death. Soon after, Basilíus asked that he replace Bardas as head of the army, where he could keep control of the realm and quell rebellion. This was granted. Now Basilíus’s power and wealth only grew, and a few years later Michael, in financial straits from his own extravagance, asked him to pay back some of the money he had borrowed over the years. To Michael’s shock and astonishment, Basilíus refused, with a look of such impudence.