1st Will/Volition - "1V" / "Kings"

"King" (1st Will) 

The 1st Will is a born leader. It is said that leaders are not born, but become. However, this, as well as many other popular truths, does not stand the test of experience. Leaders are born, not only in people, but also in animals. For example, chickens barely hatch, but they already know which of them is which, as biologists say, an individual "alpha", and it knows itself that it is "alpha", and the first to march to the trough, graciously allowing the others, from "beta" to "omega", to follow it. And the established pecking order never changes. 

It seems that the willful order of functions exists not only in chickens, but even in mosquitoes. I will allow myself in this connection a small lyrical digression of a purely personal nature. 

I once served as a night watchman. The building I was guarding was old, with warm, damp cellars, where mosquitoes breed unhindered from early spring to late fall. So I had more than enough time and material to observe the habits and way of life of the mosquito people. 

So, lying in the darkness on the cot and listening to the mosquitoes sing at night, I noticed that mosquitoes are not as uniform as they look during out-of-town walks: they, they say, as soon as they see a man, they all rush straight to drink his blood. My experience as a night watchman convinced me that the picture is more complex, that there are significant differences in the character and behavior of individual specimens. 

Some mosquitoes, apparently with the 4th Will, appeared in my room as if at random, at first only shyly moving along the walls, representing idle gawkers, interested only in architecture. Then, in the same way, seemingly without a plan or personal interest, the mosquitoes began to circle, now approaching, now moving away, and in apparent hesitation approaching again. However, usually it was enough to wave my hand in their direction, and they themselves, immediately agreeing with the hopelessness of further attempts, flew away. 

Other mosquitoes, probably with the 3rd Will, were just as timid at first, but showed much more persistence in achieving their goal. With long and consistent circling circles, they would not settle down until they settled on me. A clap of the palm followed, and, if it did not finish off the bloodsucker, the mosquito returned to its original distant position, and the cautious, deadly hunt for me resumed. 

But one day I sensed that there was more than just a mosquito interested in my person. It flew into the room and, without hesitation or unnecessary thought, came straight at me. The unquestioning straightforwardness of its behavior gave the impression that it had no shadow of a doubt about its right to suck my blood. I, categorically disagreeing with this and at the same time not finding the mental strength to fight openly, cowardly covered myself with the blanket. A mosquito, with its wings fluttering, flew up and sat down on the blanket. I can't explain where that feeling came from, but it felt like the tiny creature was literally trampling me. It stood like that for a while, as if surveying its possessions, and began to hop from place to place, slowly dipping its long nose into the folds and crevices of the blanket, in the vain hope of getting to my veins. I lay there neither dead nor alive, though there was no reason to doubt the thickness of the blanket. But then the royal mosquito made a mistake: by the irritable and panicked fluttering of its wings I realized that my tormentor had overdone it, and had fallen into one of the folds of the blanket. God, who knew with what pleasure I, Everest compared to a mosquito, was crushing this tiny but extremely self-confident creature. Later, of course, came the shame of the pleasure experienced, but I still cannot say with complete certainty that the struggle then was unequal. This is the effect the phenomenon of the 1st Will can have, even if it is from another, incomparable level and world. 

I will add a similar-sounding historical anecdote to this purely personal story. When General Bonaparte, who had been appointed commander-in-chief of the Italian army and was not yet known to anyone, arrived at his headquarters, the first thing he decided to do was to convene a council of war. Soon the officers, not inferior in rank to Napoleon, entered the commander's office - handsome, bogatyrs, rubbers, against which the small, thin, yellow-faced Bonaparte clearly did not look good. The commander greeted them with his hat on his head, and the other generals did not bare their heads. As they talked Bonaparte took off his hat, they followed suit, but after a minute he put his hat back on and looked at those around him in such a way that no one dared to repeat his gesture. Later, when the council of war was over, Massena, the brave man, muttered: "Well, that little fellow gave me the creeps." Here is another, perhaps not so mystical, example of the phenomenon of the 1st Will. 

* * * 

The main thing to start analyzing the psychology of the 1st Will is that it is born with a two-layered picture of the universe. In the subconsciousness of the "king" the whole cosmos and all its elements are lined up in a simple hierarchy of two levels: the top and the bottom. The whole being is divided into upper and lower worlds, heaven and earth, the chosen and the invited, power and people, shepherds and flocks, householders and household members, etc. At the same time, a remarkable feature of the psychology of the First Will seems to be that from birth it feels that it belongs not to any other, but to the highest, elitist, exclusive, elective stage of this two-stage model. Tolstoy wrote: "There is something in me that makes me believe that I was not born to be like everyone else. And decades later, Tolstoy was echoed by Salvador Dali: "Ever since my tender age, I have had the perverse tendency to think of myself as different from all other mortals. 

The premonition of the 1st Will of one's being chosen is not just a vague feeling secretly living in a person - it is the program, the character, the way and meaning of an individual's life. It is something embodied in everything the "king" does, thinks and feels. 

Belonging to the higher of the two worlds introduces some adjustments to the notions of the 1st Will about the norms of law and ethics. The "King" can by no means be called an amoral being, he honors the law and does not like to violate the norms established in society, but some bifurcation, associated with the two-stage picture of the universe, in the ethics and law of the 1st Will is present. Unconditional fulfillment of all rules, in its view, is necessary for beings belonging to the second, lower world. As for beings of the higher world, for them the observance of the rules of law and morality is necessary, but not unconditionally, but insofar as, and there are situations when the higher expediency permits their violation. The motivations here are very different, but in the end it always turns out that the ultimate goal of the amoralism of the 1st Will is power, career, self-assertion. That is why, when Luther said that "the Church for the sake and for the good of the cause has nothing to fear and a strong good lie," and when Lenin wrote that for the victory of the world revolution "it is necessary....to make any and all sacrifices, even in case of need - to go for all sorts of tricks, stratagems, illegal techniques, reticences, concealment of the truth...", then, at best, both fell into self-deception - all this was necessary for them personally to satisfy their own ambition. 

The two-stage picture of the universe in the mind of the 1st Will is connected with another curious, many deceiving feature of the behavior of the "Tsar": his imaginary democratism. The fact is that the 1st Will really treats others equally, without distinguishing between ranks and ranks. However, the source of this phenomenon is not in natural democratism, but in the simplicity of the picture living in her soul: there is only the top and bottom, and more complex hierarchical structures are arbitrary and tricky. 

Formally, the First Will is a supporter of equality. But a peculiar kind of equality, where everyone is equalized not in rights, but in disenfranchisement before it. In this connection, it is interesting to observe the "egalitarianism" of the First Will in the example of Emperor Paul I. On the one hand, Paul constantly berated the Russian aristocrats as "Jacobins" because they claimed to be equal to him, even conditionally, but still (the tsar being first among equals). On the other hand, the aristocracy worshipped Paul as an "equalizer and sankulot" because he did not differentiate between officials and ranks among his subjects, equally passionately flogging anyone who came within reach. Once, when they tried to offer Paul condolences on the death of Chancellor Bezborodko, he replied in a very "egalitarian" way: "I have all bezborodniks. This is equality in the "tsarist" way. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Russian aristocracy soon tired of such "equality" and sent the tsar-"sanctioned" into the next world. Life is richer than the twostep model of the world, richer than the "tsarist" idea of equality, and violence against society in the spirit of elementary opposition of the top to the bottom often takes cruel revenge on the "tsar". 

* * * 

The premonition of belonging to a higher world not only subjugates the entire personality of the 1st Will without a trace, but literally crushes it, rapes it. The life of the "king" is tragic at first, because feeling himself an "alpha" chick, he forces himself to behave according to his PRESENTATIONS about "alpha" behavior, sometimes in spite of his own inner inclinations and needs. The trouble is that the 1st Will permits the lower functions to realize themselves only in "regal", hierarchically elevated forms, whereas, say, the Second Function is by nature a consistent democrat and by its tendency to process and richness of expression is quite alien to any aristocratic endeavor. 

To make it clearer, I will give the example of Napoleon. With the 1st Will, he had the 2nd Physique. And the 2nd Physique, as already mentioned, is a great lover, it brings to sex processionality, strength, flexibility, versatility, naturalness, caringness. And probably Napoleon with his 2nd Physique, indulging in sexual pleasures with the Countess of Walewski, was just like that. But he was not always like that, and not with everyone. When he became emperor, Napoleon made it a rule to rape the wives of his ministers, and he did it with a state mind on his forehead, carelessly and without unbuckling his sword. God knows from which recesses of his Corsican memory he dug the memory of the right of the first night, but this is not important, what is important is that doing all the necessary manipulations in such cases, even without unbuckling his sword, he not only raped the wives of his ministers, he primarily raped his own sexually powerful and rich nature. Why? Napoleon's violence over the 2nd Physique was demanded of him by his own "regal" 1st Will. That such self-torture must be carried out through the ministers' wives and the sword is only an individual wretched idea of the forms in which a statesman of the highest vocation must perform his sex. 

Even the superprocessional Third Function of the 1st Will makes it cranky and double-handed, putting its action in dependence on public opinion. About Leo Tolstoy, who had the 3rd Physics, i.e. His wife bitterly wrote about Leo Tolstoy, who had the third Physique, i.e. caring and pitying, "If anyone knew how little genuine tenderness in him and how much of it was done according to principle and not by heart, they will write in his biography that he was driving water for a janitor and no one will ever know that he was driving his wife to give her some rest, did not give his child a drink and did not sit with the sick for 5 minutes at 32 years". 

The examples of Napoleon and Tolstoy seem to suggest that, in connection with the phenomenon of the First Will, all of this needs to be reconsidered. The effective First Will seems to cancel the processionality of the Second and Third Functions, and the entire personality of the "king" in the image of the First Function is made effective. However, this is an appearance: the "king" in fact does not cancel his processivity, but drives his processivity inside.

 Let us turn for confirmation of this thesis to the personality of Akhmatova. Akhmatova, under the 1st Will, had the 2nd Emotion. And as has been said before, the 2nd Emotion is a born "akyn" who sings everything he sees around him. Akhmatova herself actually admitted her "akynic" understanding of the tasks of poetry, saying that poetry is made up of simple phrases like, "Would you like some tea?" Yet contrary to such a declaration, which implies abundant fructification, Akhmatova's poetic legacy is not distinguished by either large form or a large number of works. The secret of such restraint was once revealed by Akhmatova herself, parsing Simonov's poems. Then she said: "The courageous military commander, all chest in medals, in a whiny voice said women's treachery:" Here's one! And here's another one!" A man should hide it in his chest like a grave." Let us note: considering natural poetic capturing of the simplest elements of everyday life, Akhmatova finds it inadmissible for a man to rhyme lamentation of women's adultery, but not in the rhyme, we think, finding trouble, but in the publicity of poetic foolishness. 

The point is that Akhmatova was not simply an "akyn" according to the Second Emotion, but, according to the First Will, a "royal akyn," for whom not everything is allowed in poetry, but only that which does not degrade the dignity and does not prick the author's ego and generally goes back to the hierarchical, elevated system of themes and images that puts the poet in an exceptional position above the crowd. The default principle of "royal akynism" is accurately outlined by Pushkin in Boris Godunov, when Tsar Boris, instructing his son, says: 

"Be silent, must not the king's voice. 

It's a waste in the air; 

Like a holy chime, it should only broadcast 

Great sorrow or great feast. 

This principle was very close to Akhmatova, not without reason she herself called the word "regal" in her poems. And the small volume of her legacy seems to confirm the assumption of a strictly elitist approach of the poet to creativity. And at the same time, at first glance, it seems to confirm the previously expressed idea that the First Will, with its aristocratic intentions, cancels the processionality and multi-facetedness of the Second Function (in this case, the Second Emotion). 

Everything is so, and everything is wrong. One woman who slept for some time in the same room with Akhmatova said that "the first nights she could not sleep, because Anna Andreevna in her sleep all the time something or other murmured, or sang. The words could not distinguish - only the rhythm, a very definite and persistent: "It seemed, it was all buzzing, like a beehive. A striking testimony, isn't it? Raped by Ahmatov's "First Will" in the period of wakefulness, the Second Emotion still bursts into the period of oblivion and does its due "akynic" work of forming poetically everything experienced during the day, without dividing into the worthy and the unworthy, the low and the high. Akhmatova, humming like a beehive at night, is the ideal image to embody the idea of the indestructibility of the processional element in man, no matter how it is trampled by the excess of the First Will. 

However, even temporary relaxation in sleep is not able to compensate for the "king" the agony of the daytime self-torture and remove the overall tragic background of life. As another poet accurately put it: 

"Peace and quiet in me. 

I willed to narrow my circle... 

But I cry in my sleep, 

When the knot weakens." 

* * * 

Another tragic motif in the life of the "tsar" is contained in his voluntaristic slogan "If you want it, everything will work out! The tragedy here lies in the very unrealism of the slogan, the deliberate refusal to compromise with the environment, nature, the world, society, other people's wills and desires. "If you want it, everything will work out!" - shouts the 1st Will, pissing against the wind, but the splashes fly not at all where the Will wants to go, but where the wind blows. And with this mournful discord between the vital, perfectly organic slogan and the environment, the "Tsar" can do nothing about it. 

* * * 

Nothing lives the 1st Will like power. Calvin, who since his youth had not come out of the most severe illnesses, who without any coquetry wrote in his letters "my life is like a continuous dying!" seized power in Geneva, lived, lived, lived, buried loved ones and comrades-in-arms. With the iron hoops of the Will squeezing the crumbling organism, Calvin, inspired by the power he had over his fellow citizens, with an inhuman effort lived and worked so that even the rich Calvinist Church is still not able to publish a complete collection of his works, so huge is it. 

The 1st Will loves power, loves it with a pure love, devoid of extraneous impurities. For her, power is not a means to wealth or the realization of long-held plans, but an end in itself, valuable in its own right. One of Churchill's biographers wrote that "if Churchill and Lloyd George had been asked at the time why they went to Parliament, if they had been sincere, they would have answered, 'To become ministers.'" And why become ministers? Both would have said with confidence, "To become Prime Minister." And why? Churchill would have answered that question, "To be Prime Minister." 

The life credo of the First Will was perfectly summed up by one character in Turgenev's story "First Love. I am quoting the passage in its entirety, which is so expressive and lapidary that there is little to add to it: "You take what you can, but do not give it to yourself; to belong to yourself - that is the whole point of life," he once said to me. Another time, as a young democrat, I began to speak in his presence about freedom...

- "Freedom," he repeated, "and do you know what freedom can give a man?" 

- "What?"

 - "Will, your own will, and power it will give, which is better than freedom. Know how to will, and you will be free, and you will command. 

The unshakable confidence of the "king" in his right to power is both his strength and his Achilles' heel. The fact is that fate often deprives the "king" of his throne during his lifetime, and it is often this blow that the iron, but fragile First Will cannot withstand. One of Churchill's contemporaries, having visited him when he had just been deprived of his ministerial portfolio, wrote: "What a strange mood he had. When he was on the rise, he had complete self-confidence; when he was down, he fell into a deep depression." Fortunately, the then young Churchill's body withstood the blow. But there were other times when loss of power and death proved to be joined by an equal sign. Contrary to the power of the 2nd Physique, Tvardovsky and Napoleon burned like candles, the former after his dismissal as editor-in-chief of the New World, the latter after the final loss of the empire. 

The 1st Will is too strong, so it is not flexible and very fragile. Interestingly, the problem of the fragility of the 1st Will was of serious interest to Sophocles at the time of writing Antigone, and here are the conclusions he came to: "...too unyielding a temper 

Most likely to give up. The toughest one, 

Bulat cast on fire rather 

It happens to be fractured and broken... 

And it is not shameful for the wisest people 

Take notice of others and be persistent in moderation. 

You know: trees in winter showers, 

Sloping down the valley, keeping the branches intact, 

The stubborn ones are uprooted. 

Whoever pulls the sail too tight And will not weaken, will be overturned, 

And his rook will float upside down." 

Of course, the demise of a career or lack of prospects is tragically perceived by the 1st Will. But they do not cancel the desire to rise up, but only stimulate the search for new non-standard ways of career growth. Hence the abrupt, incomprehensible to those around him, changes that often marked the fate of the "Tsar. Here is a typical story on this topic, told by the well-known psychologist Steven Berglas. A patient once came to him, supposedly feeling remorse for having sacrificed his family for work. "I suggested that he start going to church with his family," Berglass recalled, "but instead of just attending the service, he became a deacon. That is, once again, he preferred the position to family fellowship." To this we might add that both to the psychologist and to the church the hero of the story went only because his previous job had exhausted his career possibilities. 

First Will is a natural-born leader. It is as easy and natural for her to manage people as it is to breathe. The "king" does not usually say bluntly, "I have an abundance of will, so give me yours and follow me. I'm in charge of everything!" But he, more than anyone, knows how to behave like one in power, and people involuntarily obey, not so much seeing as feeling the "king," like chickens feel the chick-"alpha." 

The evaluation of the talent of the 1st Will to lead people can be twofold, depending on the circumstances. On the one hand, this talent is more valuable than ever in times of catastrophes, troubles, disorder. The ability to cement society and lead it, even if the unity is not achieved without violence and the goals are dark, is still a good thing, because it simply allows the society to save itself and survive. And vice versa. In times of peace, peace, harmony, nothing is more detrimental to society than the talent of the 1st Will leader, because it is inseparable from monologue, authoritarianism, suppression of personality, from deadly uniformity of behavior, thoughts, feelings. 

Margaret Thatcher's father, from whom she most likely inherited her 1st Will, bequeathed to his daughter "never to follow the crowd, never to be afraid to differ from it, and if necessary, to lead it. These words of the father of the future prime minister succinctly and succinctly set forth not just a personal experience and view, but a universal strategy of the 1st Will in its interaction with the crowd. "The King" indeed never mixes with it, never rides in the convoy, rarely stands on the sidelines of traffic and constantly strives to be at its head. And how can he not aspire to the head of the crowd? After all, only with her participation can his natural leadership talent be realized. After all, there is no king without an entourage, empty sky without earth, and the top reveals itself only in the presence of the bottom. So the aspiration of the 1st Will to be at the head of anything is not legal, but natural, because only in such a position it is truly realizable. 

And one more conclusion, due to the specific relationship between the "king" and the crowd: despite all his hardened individualism, he - a being very public, very dependent, staying with the crowd in almost mystical, hypostatic connection, in a state of inseparability and inseparability. "I live for show, for people," Tolstoy grunted and ... continued such an ostentatious existence. 

At the same time, being a creature of dependence, the "king" is as unceremonious as anyone in relations with those who have become dependent on him, and there is no more consistent and insolent rapist in the world than the 1st Will. However, the "king" is more of a dictator than a tyrant - he does not tolerate interruptions, yet he believes too much in his natural right to power to be seriously afraid of competition and to be hardened in fear of it. 

* * * 

The 1st Will is born a leader. But perhaps even more than confident in his right to power, a "king" is born confident in his right to disobedience. Time and circumstances are not always conducive to the natural right of the 1st Will to power, but the holiday of disobedience is a holiday that is always with you, a holiday that can be celebrated every day, regardless of time and circumstances. Therefore, the 1st Will is not always the leader, but always the person out of control. I recall an old friend of mine yelling, once again getting fired from his job, "Understand, I can't be ordered around!" 

Uncontrollability is the earliest sign of the 1st Will. Children-"tsars" are the most stubborn, the most difficult children in the world. It is almost impossible to come to an agreement with them, violence has no effect, tears are useless. Seven years old, Charles XII of Sweden, when he was taken out of his father's office because the hour of the meeting of ministers had come, first knocked long and hard on the closed door, and then simply ran headlong into it; the bloody, unconscious boy, of course, was brought into the office, although he had nothing to do there. 

As a child, even direct, obvious personal gain does not make the 1st Will obedient; it rebels chronically, with or without cause, in a variety of forms. Describing his childhood, Salvador Dali said: "The child king turned anarchist. "Against everything and everyone!" became my motto and guide to action. As a child, I always acted differently from everyone else, but I never thought about it. Now I realized the exceptionality of my behavior and purposely acted against all expectations. Whenever someone would say, "Black!" - I countered with, "White!" Every time someone lifted their hat in greeting, I never missed an opportunity to spit and swear in public. I felt so different that any accidental coincidence of my actions with someone else's would send me into a trance-I could burst into tears of rage. I was different! I'm different, no matter what it costs me, I'm not like anyone or anything! I am the only one! Hear, one!" 

With age, however, the front of the First Will becomes more meaningful, it ceases to revolt over trifles and to direct harm to itself. But ungovernability as such remains the norm of "tsarist" behavior, multiplying the ranks of putschists, right-wing activists, reformers, chicanes, anarchists, dissenters, far-reaching reactionaries and no less far-reaching radicals of all stripes. 

Let us ask ourselves: is the uncontrollability of the 1st Will good or bad? As they say, our shortcomings are extensions of our virtues. Therefore the rebellious spirit inherent in the 1st Will is double-edged. On the one hand, it is vital to society; it is the touchstone on which the dulling, retarded public consciousness is constantly being honed; it is not by chance that Socrates said of himself that he was attached to Athens "like a gadfly to a horse, great and noble, but lazy from obesity and needing to be chased. The 1st Will is the enemy of all that is commonplace, habitual, trivial, and in this enmity lies its chief value to society. 

On the other hand, the self-value of rebellion often drives the 1st Will into the camp of reaction, makes it row against the current, write against the wind, rape the phenomenon. Returning to Socrates, who compared himself to a gadfly, we can say that the "king" is a gadfly that stings all asses, whether they need it or not. Therefore, the dilemma of who the 1st Will is, a noble rebel or an empty frontrunner, is unsolvable; he is both, and all together, depending on the circumstances. 

* * * 

If the "king" is religious, and often he is, the rebellious spirit creates additional tragicomic and insoluble difficulties for the 1st Will in its relationship with God. It is impossible to understand how Gorky managed to spy this drama in Tolstoy's soul, but, the fact remains, he saw and described it: "The thought that, noticeably, more often than others sharpens his heart is the thought of God. Sometimes it seems not to be a thought, but an intense resistance to something he feels over himself...He has a very uncertain relationship with God, but sometimes it reminds me of a relationship of 'two bears in the same den.'" Surprisingly true and does not apply to Tolstoy alone. The problem named by Gorky is the general drama of the mystical 1st Will. 

On the one hand, the usual religious picture, where the Lord Almighty arbitrarily carries out judgment and punishment of the lower, created world, is a balm for the heart of the "king", because this sanctifies and supports with higher authority the domestic and social arbitrariness carried out by the "king". But on the other hand, asserting his own monarchic credo with reference to the Higher monarchic principle, the "tsar" together with the rest of the created world falls under God's invisible jurisdiction, which his rebellious soul cannot bear. Atheistic rebellion occurs in the 1st Will sometimes at a very tender age and is obviously of an unconscious nature. For example, when the little Toulouse-Lautrec was brought to church for the first time, he immediately cried out: "I want to pee! Yes, I want to pee here," and despite his family's entreaties, he immediately wet the church plates. 

Thus, the religious bifurcation of the First Will results in what Gorky very aptly called the relationship between the two bears in the same den. God-building and God-fighting miraculously coexist in the soul of the "Tsar," now making it happy, now oppressing it. And it is forever. Neither complete reconciliation with God, nor complete divorce from Him in the mystically attuned 1st Will is possible. 

* * * 

The "king" is an amazing creature; he never relaxes. His self-control is absolute. Like a knight chained in the armor of his iron will, the "king" walks through life, alien to passions, temptations, weaknesses, attachments. Even the Fourth Function, which, as has been said, man usually willingly sets free and entrusts to others, the 1st Will sets free and entrusts only to the extent of his interest in it. The degree of self-control of the "king" can be judged on the example of Napoleon, who, in the midst of the Battle of Wagram, fell asleep, slept under the roar of the cannonade for ten minutes, and then, as if nothing had happened, again took command of the troops. 

"I myself am not one of those who are subject to the charms of others," Akhmatova declared. The most reliable sign of the First Will: there are almost no alcoholics or drug addicts among its owners (Toulouse-Lautrec's and Tvardovsky's weakness for drinking is a rare exception). The loss of self-control and relaxation brought on by alcohol or drugs, or any outside influence, is completely unacceptable to the "king". The power of someone or something over oneself, dependence on someone or something are tantamount to the loss of one's "I" and self-destruction of the First Supporting Function for the First Will. 

* * * 

While the 1st Will is a creature of extraordinary integrity, made of one stone, from the outside it appears as something contradictory, bifurcated, and inconsistent. However, if you look closely, you will find that the contradictory nature of the 1st Will is better characterized by the words "ambivalence," "hypostasis," and is entirely related to the problem of power. There are three positions in which the countenance of the 1st Will presents three dissimilar expressions: when the "king" does not claim power, when he does, and when he has it. 

Not engaged in power struggles, the 1st Will, of all the traits inherent in it, outwardly manifests only two: an unshakable belief in a two-stage, hierarchical model of the universe and ungovernability. In all other respects she bears little resemblance to a "tsar. It is a lawabiding, very decent person, a reliable friend and business partner. And the "tsar", who is not engaged in a struggle for power, has practically no reason to violate the rules of law and morality. There are difficulties. The excess of will is spent only in defense of his own sovereignty, and life acquires obvious features of asociality: celibacy, loneliness, egocentrism, etc., which is quite uncomfortable for such a social being as a "tsar". 

As for the differences between a "tsar" fighting for power and one who has it, they are insignificant, although the diametrical contradiction in slogans misleads many. When simpletons see the "oppositionist tsar" in power, they begin to scratch their heads and recall the old aphorisms about the corruptibility of power. But in reality there is no metamorphosis. Both by fighting tyranny and by asserting it, the 1st Will does not betray itself at all, because anarchy and dictatorship are two equal sides of its nature. 

This is the usual picture in world history: an ardent opponent of arbitrariness carries out a revolution, then, grasping the seat of power, carries out a more or less "velvet" counterrevolution and asserts an even worse tyranny than before. It would be all too easy and convenient to explain such metamorphoses by the deliberate intention of a scoundrel disguised as a democrat. The reality is more complicated and tragic. Napoleon is said to have fainted at the dispersal of the National Assembly; Lenin was hysterical on the day of the dissolution of the Constituent Assembly. Cromwell asserted his dictatorship even more painfully. He, the mighty advocate of the humiliated Parliament, the implacable enemy of absolutism, having become the head of the country, made many attempts to assemble a parliament in the most various, convenient combinations, but, lo and behold, each of the hand-parliaments dared to claim at least a fraction of the absolute power which was already in the hands of Cromwell, and ... they had to be broken up. In this painful creationdestruction of an ephemeral democracy a considerable part of the life of the English Lord Protector passed. What is here, just naked ambition? No, it is the tragic dialectic of the 1st Will: the more intransigent and consistent the tyrannicide, the more likely it will be followed by unconscious, painfully shaped but inexorable tyranny (the result). 

The views of the "tsar" on the structure of government also change diametrically after coming to power. Being in opposition a fierce supporter of self-government, he begins his rule with a consistent replacement of the system of self-government by a self-contained structure of officials appointed by the center, completely independent of the population. Cromwell's system of governor-generalships, Napoleon's system of prefectures, Lenin's system of obkoms, etc., were formed according to this principle. 

"King" does not even have to be a politician to be a very tough politician. Freud, for example, was formally engaged in science, but built his school of psychology as a theocratic state, with an infallible, charismatic leader, a bureaucracy, a court, a police force, a propaganda office, etc. Similarly, literary circles, model homes, all kinds of associations with more than one member, which have the bitter good fortune to fall under the stone hand of the 1st Will, are often formed in a similar way. 

It is worth noting the degradation that usually occurs with the entourage of the "Tsar" after he has attained power. Let me note the main thing: the 1st Will is not afraid of personalities, it feels itself a super-personality, so the entourage of the times of opposition and the first cabinet of the "tsar" are brilliant, the real cream of society. But time passes, and a strange, at first glance, but consistent process of washing out the personalities from the environment of the 1st Will. This is not because the "king", having taken the steering wheel of power in his hands, becomes less self-confident and feels fear of a possible rival, but because the 1st Will can also front the crowd, but only rule alone. The 1st Will is the first to leave the "king" and, slamming the door, the same 1st Will leaves. Second, and without slamming the door, the 2nd Will self-dismisses. This leaves the camarilla - nontalented, hard-working, but ineffectual and weak-willed people who play the entourage of the "king" until the end of his reign. 

The low quality of the entourage, however, is of little concern to the 1st Will; it needs performers, not personalities. Napoleon's statement is characteristic in this regard: "I am my own minister. I conduct my own affairs, and therefore I am strong enough to take advantage of mediocre people. Honesty, lack of talkativeness, and efficiency are all that I require." Loyalty is the main condition for a stable and warm relationship with the 1st Will; if it is present, the other virtues or vices of the environment seem unimportant. 

In essence, the "tsar" does not care at all about the creed or the ideology he officially professes, in whose name he swears and calls for himself. It is not he who works for the slogans, but the slogans work for him. Robespierre, enrolled as a hardened republican, a fierce opponent of the monarchy, noted in his papers: "We need a united will. It must be republican or royalist," that is, political principles are indifferent, as long as they lead him to the top of the social pyramid. Robespierre himself did not manage to become an absolute monarch, but his political successor, Napoleon, easily accomplished the evolution of the 1st Will, from ardent republican to emperor. 

The "tsar" is unscrupulous in his means. Stubbornly, with his head held high, he walks through mud, spitting, and blood. It is better for people not to judge the results, leaving the judgment to God and history. 

However, some prediction of the historic trial of the 1st Will can already be made. In politics, its destiny is to win battles and lose campaigns. Even when, in rebellion, the "Tsar" reaches the highest power (Cromwell, Robespierre, Napoleon, Lenin, Hitler), he often ends badly, and his cause turns out to be stillborn. There are two reasons for this: obviously, the 1st Logic of the "Tsar" is not distinguished by strategic thinking, and is at best effective in solving tactical problems. Secondly, the effectiveness and monologism of the 1st Will, which are common to the First Function, does not imply any other ultimate goal than to achieve and retain absolute personal power, which is hardly tolerated by the contemporaries and is fruitless for the future. The monologism and efficacy make the First Will a natural, often unconscious monarchist, and monarchism is a historically futile thing. 

Also. I did not want the reader to get the impression of the 1st Will as a cruel tyrant, automatically professing the Caligula principle of "Let them hate, just as long as they fear." No. The "king" is more of a dictator than a tyrant. Of course, political life under his steely hand can only exist as a ghost. But this does not mean that there is no feedback between the "tsar" and the people. In this case, the relationship between the government and society is based on what Lenin called "democratic centralism. However savage the name may sound, such a system of relations is unprecedented in world history, and its content was exhaustively formulated by Consul Sies: "Power must come from above, and trust from below. That is, power is power, but it should be based on the people's trust, not in direct confrontation with society. That is why usually the "czar" only stifles political life and that which has to do with the Third Function: 3rd Physics stifles the economy, 3rd Logic stifles glasnost, 3rd Emotion stifles the pathos and mysticism of life. Everything else, however, the 1st Will usually agrees to leave free. Therefore, the "Tsar" is more of a dictator than a tyrant. As Stendhal wrote of Napoleon, "Ruled by a tyrant, but there was little arbitrariness." 

* * * 

The inflexibility of the "tsar's" will, due to his monologue and effectiveness, makes his life uncomfortable not only in society, but also in his family. Rebels and dictators are not loved anywhere, and the family is no exception. 

Family life is especially difficult for "queens. Apart from the usual struggle of wills, in which everyone always participates, regardless of sex and age, the woman with the 1st Will is pressed by public opinion, which automatically assigns her a subordinate position in the family. It is not surprising that playing the game of rebuffs on her part becomes a norm of life and takes hypertrophied forms of permanent rebellion, which, understandably, does not make life together any easier. Akhmatova, for example, admitted that by fighting for independence she ruined a lot in her relationship with Gumilev and left a remarkably concise and succinct sample of her position in conflicts with her husbands: 

"Are you submissive? You're out of your mind! 

I am obedient to God's will alone. 

I don't want any trepidation or pain, 

My husband is an executioner, and his house is a prison. 

The life of men with the 1st Will is not much easier when it comes to clarifying relations with the household members. Although public opinion gives him some head start, the "tsar" does not always manage to exercise his "legal" right to arbitrariness. The character of the wife, contrary to expectations, is often not plasticine, and the domestic battle takes the same form as described above. Here, for instance, is the situation in young Gandhi's family: "I constantly watched her every step; she did not dare leave the house without my permission. This led to quarrels. The prohibition I imposed was actually a kind of imprisonment, and Kastrubhai was not such a girl as to submit easily to such demands. 

She decided that she could go wherever and whenever she wanted. The more I forbade her, the more she resisted, and the angrier I got. 

The birth of children usually expands and complicates the conflict, rather than humbles it. Submitting children to their will seems easier and more natural to the "king," which is true only in part, up to a time, and ends in a fierce front on the part of the grown children, the fierceness of which is directly proportional to the pressure exerted before. One of Tolstoy's sons, though greatly diluted, confessed: "We not only loved him: he occupied a very large place in our lives and we felt that he suppressed our personalities, so that at times we wanted to get out from under that pressure. As children it was an unconscious feeling; later it became conscious, and then I and my brothers had a certain spirit of contradiction toward my father. As the children grow up and expand, the "Tsar's" family splits, temporary and permanent psychotypic coalitions form, the opposing sides cease to be shy about the means of fighting-in short, everything that happened in Tolstoy's family in the last decades of his life and which was based on the despotism of Tolstoy's 1st Will takes place. 

Peace and tranquility in the "king's" family can exist only with the absolute loyalty of the housemates. Love of the 1st Will is despotic and possible only when it knowingly looks down on its partner. Ivan Bunin, knowing for himself the temperament of the "Tsar", briefly and accurately described the tyrannical background of his love: "Yes, it touched me most at that hour when, braiding her braid for the night, she came up to me to kiss me goodbye, and I saw how much smaller she was, without heels, than me, how she looked into my eyes from below up. 

I felt the strongest love for her in the moments of expressing the greatest devotion to me, the abandonment of myself..." 

* * * 

In essence, the "tsar" is a deeply lonely man. "You are a king, live alone," Pushkin said on another occasion, but accurately. In the 1st Will, the "self," the super-personality, the individualism, is too strong for it to feel a genuine longing for pairedness. It may sound insulting, but the 1st Will is not given to love, to truly love, the "king" is given to need, to depend, but not to love. Real love is not consumption, but sacrifice, even personal selfdestruction for the sake of another being. Which the 1st Will is utterly incapable of. Although Tolstoy had the word "love" on his tongue, by his own confession he never had occasion to love, he had only a "sexual" interest in Sophia Andreevna, and this kind of affection was clearly burdensome. "Napoleon boasted: "I love neither women nor cards, I love nothing, I'm a creature completely political. 

To put it bluntly, the "king" is too busy with himself, too fond of himself to transfer much of this feeling to others and, by and large, deeply indifferent to everything that is not part of his self. Here are three views (one from the inside, two from the outside) on the problem of the attitude of the 1st Will toward others. "I think that every man is self-loving, and all that a man does is all out of self-love... Self-love is the belief that I am better and smarter than all people. Why do we love ourselves more than others? Because we think we are better than others, more worthy of love. If we found others better than ourselves, we would love them more than ourselves" (Tolstoy about Tolstoy). "He often seemed to me a man, unwaveringly - in the depths of his soul - indifferent to people, he is so higher, more powerful than them, that they all seem to him like gnats, and their vanity - ridiculous and pathetic" (Gorky on Tolstoy). "I understood better Lev Nikolayevich's selfishness and indifference to everything. For him, the same world is that which surrounds his genius, his work; he takes from everything around him only what serves as a service element for his talent, for his work" (Tolstoy on Tolstoy). Is there any question of love here? 

Previously, speaking of the independence of the 1st Will from alcohol and drugs, I said that it had to do with the impossibility for the "king" to fall under any kind of power. It is the same picture with "love," by which he usually means his dependence on someone. Love, even in such a diminished form, is still power, and the 1st Will does not tolerate power over itself in any form. Therefore, the "king" not only does not truly love, but also avoids love, feels more comfortable without it: 

"My voice is weak, but my will is not weak, 

I even feel better without love" (Akhmatova). 

About the same thing, but in prose, the young Napoleon wrote: "What is love? It is the consciousness of one's own weakness, which soon completely overwhelms the lonely man; at the same time it is the feeling of loss of power over himself...I consider love harmful both to society as a whole and to the personal happiness of man, that it causes more harm than it gives joy. And rightly so, the gods would do a true favor to humanity if they would free the world from it." 

But the boomerang returns, and the people pay the "tsar" back in kind. Grandpa Yepishka, the prototype of Grandpa Yeroshka from "The Cossacks," once directly told Tolstoy that he was "some kind of unloved. Note that this was said about a man whose Emotion and Physics are processional, i.e., about a being, according to the idea, created for love. And yet, there is a great deal of truth in this phrase. The 1st Will is more often respected, appreciated, feared than loved. The inner alienation, the "selfhood" of the 1st Will separates a wall from anyone who would like to merge with it outwardly and inwardly, to become one. The transformation of two into one is the highest manifestation of love, but the distance that the 1st Will automatically sets between itself and others deliberately excludes such a merger. And people feel it. 

Being incapable of love, the "king" is at the same time terribly jealous. Moreover, his jealousy is not based on physiology, or rather, not always and not only on physiology. Tolstoy noticeably jealous of his friend, director Sulerzhitsky to Gorky, although he was not a homosexual. And the fact is that the 1st Will is not stuck on sex, but yearns to possess the whole being of the person caught in his field, demands devotion not only in body, but also in soul. The "king" wants to be smiled at, listened to, reckoned with only. This is unrealistic, and it condemns the First Will, with its boundless self-centeredness, to the chronic torment of jealousy, equally poisoning the life of herself and those around her. 

To confess, the most doubtful and vulnerable part of Freud's doctrine has always seemed to me to be that concerning the "Oedipus complex. For as long as I can remember, while loving my mother very much, I have never been jealous of her father, and was even very proud of him for that chivalrous display of love for his wife, which he demonstrated very simply and openly. So, naturally, after getting acquainted with Freud's teachings, I did not accept the concept of "Oedipus complex" at all and considered it a pure fiction. 

Now I repent, I was wrong. Freud judged it by himself, I judged it by myself, which is inherent in everyday egocentric psychology, completely fruitless and yields nothing but mutual irritation. So, now it is necessary to admit that the "Oedipus complex" is not a myth, it exists. But, first of all, it is not universal. Secondly, jealousy, not always sexually colored, is inherent in a certain part of society represented by the 1st Will. As for the "Oedipus complex" itself, where jealousy, judging from the description, has an accentuated sexual coloring and is transferred even to relatives with the opposite sex sign, according to my calculations, a rather narrow circle of "kings" in whom the 1st Will is combined with the 3rd Physique suffers from it. Such a combination is really a rattlesnake mixture capable of causing that feeling described by Freud under the name of "Oedipus complex". 

Leo Tolstoy had a combination of the 1st Will and the 3rd Physique, but he was not an "Oedipus" in its classical version: Tolstoy's mother died early and his sister went to a monastery, so he transferred the usual jealousy in such cases to his daughters and hatred to his sons-in-law. In the novel "Resurrection," Tolstoy, awarding his complex to the novel's hero Nekhludoff, confessed in him as follows: "Nekhludoff, though he hid it from himself, though he struggled with this feeling, hated his son-in-law. He disliked him for his vulgarity, his self-confident narrow-mindedness, and above all he disliked him for his sister, who could love so dearly, so egotistically and sensitively this poor creature... It always hurt Nekhludoff deeply to think of Natasha being the wife of this hairy, self-confident, with glossy bald face. He could not even hold back his disgust at his children. And whenever he heard that she was going to become a mother, he felt a feeling of sympathy that once again she had caught something bad from this man who was a stranger to them all." 

The same feelings were obviously felt by Freud. And since the tradition of attributing all mankind their own sicknesses did not begin with Freud and did not end with him, we can say that the phenomenon of the Oedipus complex is interesting not for its content but for its origin, once again confirming the old thesis about the perfect callousness, deafness and egocentrism of human nature. 

* * * 

The attitude of the "Tsar" to glory is complex. The main goal of the First Will - the real power, rather than its external attributes (titles, orders, applause, throwing bonnets in the air, etc.), so it usually leaves the impression of a creature indifferent to glory, modest, coldly trolling the most outspoken sycophants. On the question of whether Akhmatova was pleased with fame, Gumilev replied: "That's the fact that almost did not please. It's like she did not want to notice her. But unusually suffered from any offense, every word of a foolish critic, and on the successes did not pay attention. Without disputing, in principle, Gumilev's opinion, we would like to note that the attitude of the 1st Will to fame is more complicated. The outward indifference of the "tsar" to fame, however strange it may seem, is worked by his extreme ego: knowing that excessive honor usually produces the opposite effect, he emphasizes modesty so as not to put himself in an embarrassing or ridiculous position. Finally, glory for the 1st Will lacks what makes it truly desirable; there is no element of surprise, of revelation. The 1st Will knows for itself that it is a superperson, and confirmation from outside does not add much to the knowledge it possesses from birth. 

It does not follow from this that the "czar" is truly indifferent to fame. No, he is very sensitive in this matter and carefully monitors how his image is shaped in society. Akhmatova, according to a contemporary, "was always interested and important what they say and write about her, even when they were and unknown people, not like Blok." And Emperor Augustus even tried to regulate the activities of his sycophants: "He allowed only the best writers to write about himself and only in solemn phrase, and ordered the praetors to see to it that literary contests did not damage his name." 

* * * 

I seem to have been a little carried away, though not without reason, in describing the political face of the First Will, but I had somewhat forgotten that our shortcomings are an extension of our virtues. The "tsar" has them, too. And they are many. Persistence, determination, resoluteness, unconditional faith in oneself, amazing energy and a burning thirst for primacy - not only paint the face of the 1st Will, but also give a lot to society. Without it, the rest of the Will, which is more inert and inclined to let things run their course, would indeed turn our world into a fly-in-the-sky picture, as the hero of Chekhov's Duel aptly put it. 

* * * 

The line separating the "king" from the rest of us mortals is invisible. But, strangely enough, everyone, not seeing it, feels it and does not risk crossing it. Outwardly, the distance between the 1st Will and the rest of the Will manifests itself in the emphasized politeness of the forms of treatment of those around him to the "king". One of Lenin's close observers wrote: "...when calling Lenin 'Ilyich' there was no familiarity. None of his entourage would dare joke with him or slap him on the shoulder on occasion. There was some invisible barrier, a line separating Lenin from other Party members, and I never saw anyone cross it. 

This invisible line separating the First Will from the others becomes even more apparent when it appears in the background and paired with the Will that stands much lower. In this connection, I cannot help but recall the visits to Russia of Galina Vishnevskaya and Mstislav Rostropovich. There was a striking difference in the way people addressed these equally famous partners: Vishnevskaya, the owner of the first Volya, was called only "Galina Pavlovna" respectfully, whereas even very young musicians considered her husband to be only "Slavochka". 

Akhmatova, remembering Vyacheslav Ivanov, said with envy: "He was a desperate publicist...A most experienced, virtuoso catcher of men! He, a forty-four-year-old man, was led under the arms of gray-haired ladies... This is how he knew how to put himself everywhere. 

A person who is only for a moment in the field of the "king" is usually unable to articulate what it was that made him feel the presence of an exceptional, chosen being, but the fact that such a feeling arises is certain. 

One of Bunin's acquaintances said: "The fact that Bunin was a special man was felt by many, almost all. 

He and I once went to buy cakes at Coquelin's Confectionery on the corner of Passy, where I used to go quite often. 

On my next visit, the cashier asked me, embarrassed, "Excuse me, please, but I would very much like to know who this gentleman who came with you the day before yesterday was?" Not without pride I replied, "The famous Russian writer." But my answer did not make the right impression on her. "A writer," she repeated disappointedly, "And I thought some grand duke. He's so...so," and, unable to find an appropriate definition to describe Bunin, she began counting out my change. 

Although the cashier mentioned above did not attempt to describe the signs by which she guessed a "grand duke" in Bunin, they exist and with some experience are easy to read. 

The gaze is the first among the external features of the "Tsar. The lawyer Kony described the expression of Tolstoy's eyes as follows: "...the penetrating and as if pricking look of severe gray eyes, in which shone more inquiring justice than caressing kindness, - the look of a judge and a thinker at the same time." 

Let us add to Kony's statement that the First Will looks with a squint, focusing and as if strengthening the firmness of his gaze. Also, the expression of the eyes of the "Tsar" strangely combines analyticism with aloofness, his gaze as if asking: "Who are you?" - and at the same time warns: "Stay away!" 

The gaze of the "king" is firm, fixed, stern, assertive, and he himself knows the power of his eyes. The Emperor Augustus "would be pleased when under his gaze the interlocutor lowered his eyes. "Lermontov knew the power of his eyes and loved to embarrass and torment timid and nervous people with his long and piercing gaze." 

I will not insist, but it seems that the game of staring, which the 1st Will often resorts to, goes back to very distant times. After all, gorillas have been known to make eye contact, which means challenge. Therefore, I don't know about chickens, but with humans, it is probably the eyes that are the first to foretell the "alpha" person, the one in power. 

The gesture of the First Will is regal. Her plastique is distinguished by a calm grace and majesty. Moreover, the plasticity of the 1st Will is absolutely natural, there is nothing mannered, affectation - her royalty, regardless of origin, natural and non-judgmental as the shape of the nose or eye color. Gorky wrote about Tolstoy: "It was nice to see that being of pure blood, nice to observe the nobility and grace of speech, proud restraint, to hear the elegant precision of a killer word. Barin in it was just as much as necessary for the serfs. They said of Gauguin that "no matter what he did, even if he held up a match to someone who asked him for a light, his gestures were majestic (as if he was not holding a match, but waving a torch). Akhmatova has been described: "... something regal, as if existing above us and at the same time devoid of the slightest arrogance, was evident in her every gesture, in every turn of her head. 

It is a hundred percent certain that if we take a frequent dictionary of the vocabulary of the possessors of the 1st Will, we will find a definite pattern of predominance in their use of the imperative inclination, as well as of hierarchically raised words and forms. However, while I do not have such a dictionary at hand, I will give an example of curiosity rather than scholarship. When Margaret Thatcher was informed of the birth of her granddaughter, she exclaimed: "We are a grandmother!" The English press has been prattling on about this phrase for a long time. And in vain. Common people's origin did not prevent the British Prime Minister to feel his inner aristocrat. And the "we" for her, I think, was more natural than for the great multitude of people who, by right of origin, referred to themselves in the plural. 

At the same time, strange as it may seem, loving the high, elitist word, the 1st Will does not disdain the low, rude, obscene word. Perhaps in connection with the universal "royal" principle - "the law is not written for us. In any case, the fact that in the speech of the "king" there is a certain lexical bifurcation is certain. Napoleon was known to be a virtuoso at boorishness. Or another example from Russian history: when Molotov was asked if, according to some sources, it was true that Lenin called him a "stone ass," he answered simply: "If they only knew what Lenin called others! 

And one more observation about the "tsar's" habits of speech: in his conversations with people close to him he likes to use all kinds of diminutives (diminishing those around him). Take Lenin's paraphrase "Nadyusha" (about Krupskaya) or Akhmatova's less well-known "Borisik" (about Pasternak). (about Pasternak). I believe that this tendency to use diminutives stems from the common "patristic" position of the First Will, which perceives those around it as children, lovely, expensive, but in need of constant care, infantile beings. On the contrary, diminutive "tsars" perceive their own address with a gnashing of teeth. Akhmatova, being in a difficult relationship with Alexei Tolstoy, recalled: "He was like Dolokhov, he called me Annushka, which made me shudder, but I liked him...". 

It may seem strange, but the choice of clothing of the "king" is subject once and for all to the ideas given to him about the attire appropriate to his ministry and vocation. First, he prefers the most austere clothing, both in color and style. Of course, depending on his social affiliation, the clothing of the 1st Will differs greatly, and the artist "king" dresses quite differently from the "king" politician. However, against the background of his social group, the First Will still stands out for the emphasized strictness of his attire. 

Here is a tragicomic episode from my own practice. One day I am walking down the street with a young, long-legged "queen", and noticing a more than revealing miniskirt in front of me, quite tactlessly asked why she, with such length and slim legs, should not wear a mini. "I can't...Understand, I can't...," my companion barely exhaled as she looked down at her knee-covering skirt, and who knew how much anguish was in his look and voice. Here I was once again convinced of the irresistible tragic-masochistic nature of the First Will, which, for fear of losing its "regal" image, does not allow even the most innocent liberties. 

Second, being a creature of inner buttoning, the 1st Will likes buttoning up in clothing as well. For her taste, the more buttons, clasps, buttons, belts, etc. on clothing, the better. 

Finally, the sense of his own exclusivity requires the "king" to wear something quite nonstandard and singular. At the same time, the exceptionality in the clothing of the 1st Will must not carry a touch of cheap exoticism, vulgar showiness. That is why, more often than not, when trying on something, the First Will achieves its goal through the archaization of clothing, by introducing elements of old taste into it ("false-classical" shawl by Akhmatova). 

A perfect illustration of the combination of all the aforementioned features of the clothing of the 1st Will - Lenin's troika. Against the background of the military-beaux-beaux-de-vie fashion of his entourage, Lenin's troika stood out for its austerity, buttoned up and archaic exclusivity.