In “Story 16” in “Padeshahan,” or “Kings,” the first chapter of Sa’di’s Golestan—the stories are simply numbered; they are not given titles—the protagonist is having a hard time earning enough money to support his family. He has become so poor, in fact, that he’s begun to think about trying to find work in another country, where no one would know him and he could take whatever job might along, no matter how shameful the work might be. Before taking that last step, however, he asks the story’s narrator, who has royal connections–he is a fictionalized version of Sa’di–to get him a job in the king’s palace.
“Listen,” the narrator replies, “working for the king is a mixed blessing at best.” On the one hand, he goes on, “You will earn more money than you could otherwise hope for. On the other hand, the politics of the royal palace can cost you your life.” The risk, he concludes, is not worth the money.
What follows is a debate between the two friends about who will win out in a place like the king’s palace, someone with a clear conscience, who does his or her work honestly and with integrity, or the enemies and competitors the person with a clear conscience doesn’t yet know she or he has, the schemers who are waiting to sabotage anyone who threatens their standing even before that person starts doing her or his job.
The protagonist thinks the narrator’s cynicism is unwarranted. He says,
If you want to see your enemies embarrassed
by every slur they’ve tried to taint you with,
wear the mantle of your office modestly
and carry out your duties pure of heart.
Do this and you’ll have nothing to fear when you leave.
The king’s launderers beat against stones
only his most deeply stained garments.
In response, the narrator tells “the story of the fox who, when people asked him why he was running away from the palace, explained, “I have heard that camels are being forced into the king’s service.”
“Don’t be foolish!” they replied. “You are not a camel; you don’t look anything like a camel; how could anyone possibly mistake you for a camel?”
“Shh! Keep your voices down!” The fox looked warily from side to side, as if he might have been followed. “If my enemies tell the king’s guard that I am a camel, and the king’s guard catches me, who will dare to speak in my defense? Which guard will have the courage to trust his own eyes an release me? I would be like the man who was bitten by a cobra, waiting, while the poison worked through him, for the antidote to come from Iraq. I’d die before it reached me.”
“Stop thinking about a career in government,” the narrator concludes. “You’re better off accepting your situation as it is.”
The protagonist rejects the narrator’s advice and, as you might expect, in the end, things transpire just as the narrator predicted. One of the protagonist’s enemies accuses him of treason before the king, who does not order an investigation because he chooses to believe the accusation. Once the king’s position becomes clear, everyone who had supported the protagonist turns their backs on him and he is left even more destitute than he was when the story started.
I doubt that anyone reading this works in a royal palace, but I have no doubt that we all recognize the workplace politics that Sa’di describes. As well, I am sure we all work with people who are more like the fox than the protagonist, that we all have colleagues who could be any one of the enemies mentioned in this story, and that we’ve all had bosses like the king whose capriciousness ended the protagonist’s career. The past few years at my own job have been trying ones for a whole range of reasons, but each one would seem to bear out Sa’di’s cynicism when it comes to workplace politics. Nonetheless, despite evidence to the contrary that I have seen with my own eyes, I remain, like Sa’di’s protagonist, an optimist, though I admit this optimism might come more easily to me than to others, given that I am a tenured full-professor.
At the end of the story, Sa’di’s narrator says, basically, I told you so. “You should have listened to me when I compared working for the king to traveling the ocean [in search of treasure]. Each is simultaneously profitable and dangerous.”
Either you’ll walk to the shore with gold-filled hands
or the waves will deposit you there, dead as gold.
The protagonist took that risk and lost. What about you? Do you share his optimism? Are you a risk-taker at work? Why? Why not? Under what circumstances?
Apparently this story was written before public employee unions came into being. Working for the government now – except at the very highest levels where civil service laws do not apply – is about the safest kind of job you can have.
I’m not going to answer your question, because it will look as if I am boasting… or trying to scare you.
But I will bring it to your attention that many languages have extremely popular idioms derived from that story, and apply them to a much wider range of situations than the workplace. Not surprisingly, these are the languages of countries where corruption, snitching, and oppression are rampant.
Try googling “deve değil olduğunuzu kanıtlamak”, “доказать, что ты не верблюд”, “докажи, че не си камила” (Turkish, Russian, Bulgarian)
It says something about the US that there is no such idiom in English, and that googling for it leads to the original Saadi story or to foreign idioms.
Do civil service laws not apply to police officers and fire fighters, Ron?
“Safe” = “losing one’s job via the arbitrary whim of one’s superior or a politician”. Referencing the context of the story. We’re not talking about physical safety here, unless you consider that 1000 or more years ago the process of firing someone from a government job might involved the use of a beheading sword.
Aha. My mistake. That’s the danger of reading other things during the day, I guess.
With my new understanding… Does civil service include working for state governments?
I don’t think I’ve ever been in a workplace like that. Or if I have, then I was too much of a peon to be aware of any of the intrigues and backstabbing going on at the higher levels.
I think this was Ned Stark’s theory.
I work at a University. The cynic is right; no one questions what is really happening, even if they know the particular head of that department is a liar. If you make trouble or if you become a target, unless you have a stronger power to back you, you will lose your job.
The most vulnerable workers (i.e. who make the least money, have the least seniority) are constantly at the whims of the tenured professors regarding their reputation for work ethic/attitude in the college. I am fully on board with the cynic.
Jake – that would depend on the State, I should think. I can’t answer for other State governments, but here in Illinois civil service protections coupled with union contracts give State employees quite a bit of job security.
Amp – that has not been my experience where I’ve worked, either. We work in crisis situations a lot, and pretty much everyone in our immediate group has each other’s backs.
If your success is heavily affected by qualities unrelated to your “job skills”–which is true for a variety of things–then your failures are also likely to be the same way.
Politics is widely regarded as being that way; has always been that way; and shows no signs of changing. Usually the maximal success and maximal failure are linked: the same dictator who might promote you to power, assign you a wife, and make you incredibly rich on a whim might similarly execute you on a whim. (Or, in the US, the same governor who might give you a high paid staffing position and some insider trading information might fire you and render you functionally unemployable.)
So
wear the mantle of your office modestly
and carry out your duties pure of heart.
obscures the issue because it jumps into the scene a step too late: whether or not you try to fulfill your office as best you can, you were committed to rise or fall when you put on the mantle in the first place. You’ve already gambled when you take the position.
What you do afterwards may affect the extent of the rise/fall but it doesn’t stop the game from happening.
So, in other words, when you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die.
I’ve never been an astronaut, spy, hobbit, drug dealer, or cop. I’ve never had to fight off zombies or sail through killer storms. And I can’t say any of the rom coms I’ve seen looked much like the relationships I’ve had. So, like most people I would guess, I can’t really recall watching a movie that looked much like my life.
Except once.
While watching Margin Call, I was engrossed when I realized, “OMG, that’s … me!” It was a pitch perfect portrayal of American corporate culture (at least, it matched up with my experiences pretty well). It was also a damn good movie (if you like nuance and intelligent writing), and it presents a great illustration of exactly the kinds of issues you bring up in your OP, RJN. (I looked through a couple of YouTube clips for one I could include here, but none of them do the movie justice. The scenes just don’t carry much punch stripped of their context.)
I recommended this movie to a friend who had been even higher up in the corporation I used to work for than I was. He couldn’t watch the whole thing. “I lived it, I don’t need to see it again on the screen,” he told me.