I’m grateful to my mother for getting me stories on records when I was in elementary school. For example, I listened to “Tale Spinners for Children” stories of Robin Hood and The Knights of the Round Table among others. I have written about how stories like these helped shape my sense of right and wrong. Yet there is more to consider. I’m not referring to the way these stories introduced me to classical music, although in retrospect, I suppose this was a part of my indoctrination as well. Lately, I find myself thinking about how these stories taught me what might happen if we do not follow the path of truth, justice, and honor, or fail to defend those who cannot defend themselves.
In his discussion of “The Ethics of Elfland,” G.K. Chesterton asserted that fairy tales, myths, and legends teach us that success is contingent upon following instructions. If you do not return by midnight, your carriage will turn into a pumpkin. If you open that box, evil will be set loose upon the world. If you look back, disaster will result. If you use the sword, Excalibur, against a true friend, its power will be turned against you. If you eat the fruit of that tree, you will lose paradise. In Chesterton’s view, joy is conditional. To achieve it, we must refrain from doing as we please, with a higher good in mind.
In story after story, Camelot – paradise – was lost – because people failed to meet the necessary conditions. Self-interest always destroys what might have been a good thing. It turns out that the seven deadly sins are deadly because they cancel virtues. Malice, taking the form of revenge, displaces justice and discards forbearance along the way. Avarice, the desire for more wealth and power, overshadows generosity and obscures the truth. There is a kind of gluttony that can’t be satisfied by anything ordinary – only designer brands and exclusive services will do – and the pursuit of it promotes envy over charity, consumption over circumspection. The hidden danger of sloth lies in its selectiveness – choosing to do good only for those we like or agree with. Lust, unbridled by chastity, or even friendship, supplants love. And there is a kind of pride that negates humility, insists on “our interests first,” and expects the rest of the world to make life great – for people like us.
Further, not everything we call a virtue always lives up to that word. Ambition sounds good, until it devolves into greed. Self-confidence is admirable until it becomes arrogance. Loyalty is fine, until it becomes more important than doing the right thing. Still, there are four cardinal virtues. We know them as prudence (wisdom), justice (fairness), temperance (self-control), and fortitude (endurance). In stories of chivalry, these four, along with the spiritual virtues of faith, hope, and love, guided honorable rulers and knights. The dishonorable betrayed confidences, lied for personal gain, disregarded the rule of law, exploited the weak, and often resorted to fear, intimidation, and violence.
The conditions for Camelot are nothing less than choosing truth, justice, and honor – standing up for what is right, even when that path is hard. To choose to do otherwise is to choose to undo Camelot, to let it fall. Many nations and civilizations have fallen, not because they weren’t great, but because their leaders lost the will to do good. Just as joy was conditional in the stories of old, it remains so today. It seems to me our success as a society depends on our ability to follow basic instructions.
A lady [Elizabeth Powel] asked Dr. [Benjamin] Franklin, “Well, Doctor, what have we got, a republic or a monarchy?” – “A republic,” replied the Doctor, “if you can keep it.” – James McHenry, September 18, 1787
“May you, till the extremest old age, enjoy the pure Felicity of having employed your whole Faculties for the Prosperity of the People for whose Happiness you are responsible, for to you their Happiness is intrusted.” – Elizabeth Willing Powel to George Washington, November 17, 1792
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