Over the past few months, numerous authors have touted historical parallels to Donald Trump’s surprising Presidential candidacy. Few of these parallels have been complimentary—focused as they are on belligerent fascists of the 20th Century—and all appear to have forgotten the man behind the movement. Donald Trump’s pre-political biography sets him apart from the historical dictators to whom many like to compare him. The ancient world, however, provides a close parallel that few have noted.
The Jewish holiday of Purim (March 23-24 this year) celebrates events arising in the court of King Ahasueros, the Persian ruler whose empire of 127 nations extended from India to Ethiopia. The Book of Esther tells the story. What do we know about Ahasueros? He threw great parties. He liked supermodels and conspicuous consumption. He loved being the center of attention and adulation. He was hotheaded. He was coarse. He was not beyond stirring ethnic divisions. And he was something of a misogynist. Esther opens with Ahasueros throwing a 180-day VIP bash for nobility and soldiers, an epic weeklong bacchanal on palace grounds for the entire citizenry, and a women-only party under the Queen’s auspices in a dedicated palace. Say what you want about Ahasuerus, he knew how to entertain.
When it came to the nuts-and-bolts of ruling, on the other hand, he appears to have been a hands-off manager with no clear ideology and a deep commitment to few key principles other than his own grandeur. He maintained a small cadre of advisors whom he trusted implicitly, even when their counsel pointed him in radically new directions. The Book of Esther recounts the conflict between two of the King’s ministers—Haman, whom the King elevates to Viceroy early in the story, and Mordechai, a Jewish guy living in the capital, apparently employed as a minor palace functionary or courtier.
Haman—not Ahasueros—is the villain in this story. The royal decree declaring Haman Viceroy orders all of the King’s subjects to pay him suitable homage, kowtowing before him in both the literal and figurative sense. Mordechai, citing sincere and deeply held religious convictions, seeks a waiver. In response, the enraged Haman hatches a plan to eliminate not only Mordechai, but the entire Jewish nation—whose asserted religious aversion to Viceroy-worship formed the basis of Mordechai’s waiver request. Ahasueros, never one for details, signs off on Haman’s plan declaring Adar 13 genocide day.
The royal anti-Jewish decree notwithstanding, Mordechai continues to do his job, demonstrating devoted respect and loyalty to the king, and at one point foiling an assassination attempt. Through his faithful service, Mordechai rises through the ranks of the palace hierarchy, always keeping one eye on Haman’s genocide calendar. At the same time, Mordechai cultivates his asset inside the palace—his niece Esther—originally captured as part of the harem only to become the king’s favorite consort.
Mordechai and Esther engineer a scene designed to shock Ahasueros to his senses. Putting it into play entails considerable risk, because the mere act of entering the king’s inner chamber uninvited is punishable by death. When Esther hesitates, Mordechai counsels her with a mixture of faith and obligation that inspire to this day: “And who knows if for a time such as this you attained royalty? If you do not act now, salvation will arise, but you and your heritage will be lost.”
And so she acts. Taking a page from Ahasueros’s own playbook, Esther invites the King and Haman to a party. On the second day of festivities, following an undisclosed amount of wine, the ever expansive
Ahasueros asks Esther if there is anything he can do for her, impetuously offering to lavish up to half his entire empire on her. Esther demurely replies that—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble—she would like to stay alive and have her people avoid genocide. When the stunned king requests further clarification, she notes that Haman has launched a campaign against her. The king turns on Haman, orders him executed, and issues a new decree empowering the Jews to protect themselves.
As the story closes, the king learns of Mordechai’s employment record and his relationship to Esther, and selects him as the new Viceroy. Mordechai proves to be an inspired choice, beloved among the people and instrumental in making the remainder of Ahasueros’s reign successful.
The lesson here is clear—or at least it should be. Good governance requires good advising. A man who arrives at the Presidency best known for throwing a good party, but willing to conform to those who counsel him, can still govern well—as long as he selects the best advisors. Thus, in all the debates ranging around Donald Trump’s candidacy, two points stand out as particularly troubling. One arose last week, when Trump identified himself as his own leading foreign policy advisor. The second stems from the #NeverTrump effort to defeat Trump in part by enlisting qualified, talented Republicans to shun Trump under any and all circumstances.
The first of these problems is a matter of pure ego. At some point Trump will select advisors—and one can only hope that he will take their advice seriously. But it is morally unconscionable for those capable of providing wise counsel to categorically refuse to do so, even when knowing that their refusal might harm the country.
If Trump does indeed become the nominee, Republicans who believe that the party boasted numerous superior candidates should follow Mordechai’s lead. They should offer the best counsel available to ensure his success—rather than joining the Democrats in working towards his failure in the misguided notion that they can thus avoid responsibility.
And, as Mordechai advised Esther, though confronted with even real threats and the possibility of failure, those in a position to act cannot succumb to fear and we cannot avoid entanglement. There is a moral obligation to use whatever is at our disposal to make the best of it – and to have faith in the outcome.