Skip to main content

The Art of the Possible

In this episode, The Art of the Possible . . .

Politics is The Art of The Possible. My first introduction to that statement during a Philosophy class was The Prince, by Niccolò Machiavelli.

Machiavelli's The Prince, published in 1532, is a political treatise that offers rulers advice on gaining and maintaining power. It is often considered a controversial work due to its candid exploration of the tactics and strategies that can be employed to achieve political success.

Three key themes in The Prince include:

  1. The nature of power: Machiavelli argues that power is essential for political stability and that rulers must be willing to use force and deception to maintain their authority.
  2. The importance of virtue: While Machiavelli acknowledges the importance of virtue, he also emphasizes that rulers must be willing to compromise their moral principles to achieve their goals.
  3. The role of fortune: Machiavelli believed that while human action is essential, fortune also significantly determines political outcomes.

Does all this sound too familiar?

Now, I’m not one to profess a political preference, mainly because throughout my 40 years as an educator, there was always controversy between Republican and Democratic values that, quite frankly, I never took the time to understand. “Leave it to the politicians; mind your own business.” That was my sentiment. My job was to present facts, figures, and formulas to help students learn to think for themselves. What impact would this “small town” boy have on society anyway?

Growing up in a small, Midwestern town in Illinois, we learned about American Independence, the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution of the United States, and the Revolution. We recited the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in grade school and learned the values of honesty, integrity, hard work, and willingness to help our neighbors. My mother and I immigrated from France in 1959, and we were both asked to learn English to fit in with our small rural community.

So, how do you fit in when you barely speak the language? You smile and bring joy to people's lives by finding ways to help them overcome obstacles and challenges. It doesn't need to be earth-shattering. My mother picked apples at the local orchard, cleaned others' homes, and worked in the local grade school as a cook to help provide meals for children. She always minded her own business, primarily out of fear of not being accepted. I shoveled snow, mowed the neighbor's yard, and delivered the local newspaper. By serving the community in our small way, we were welcomed and loved by our neighbors, the extended family she nurtured, and the friends we made over a lifetime of humility, honesty, and dedication.

So, what is the art of the possible? During my time at GIA, my good friend Tawfic Farah, who passed in 2013, stated it this way: “The Prince is about power,” he said, “It’s about walking over people, clawing your way up the ladder, you were in Florence, you saw his tomb - even Machiavelli died, we all will. Power corrupts people. The art of the possible is working with people, finding people you can trust, and allowing them to make mistakes. We all make mistakes. And when we do, never pass the blame; take the responsibility. But, when you do what you love and are given the opportunity to do–silently, quietly, with integrity and no fanfare, you will discover the art of the possible.

In 2024, we can choose how we move forward as a people. I’m not telling anyone how to vote; that’s not my place or anyone’s place. I’m asking you what your values are and what you believe. Do you think that serving others fulfills a place in your life that helps you grow and prosper? Or do you want to be told what to do by rulers who, since Machiavelli's time (1532), have used power to control people through religion, persecution, fear, fanning flames of hate and violence, reflecting misery of people who blindly worship people who have wealth, and use their positions to enhance their power?

The historian and moralist Lord Acton expressed this opinion in a letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton in 1887: "Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

Over the past few weeks of political conventions, I've realized–through others’ stories–the valuable lessons instilled in me by my mother, my father’s example, and my friend Tawfic during my upbringing in a small Midwestern community. They taught me that "The Art of the Possible" involves working with people you can trust, allowing them to make mistakes, taking responsibility for your own mistakes, and pursuing what you love silently, quietly, and with integrity.

It’s my hope that you have, too! If you look in the mirror, you will likely see that you, too, have embraced the art of the possible in your community. And it has nothing to do with politics.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Comments

Don Hanley said…
Patrick - a wonderful article - I hope it goes viral!!
Anonymous said…
Yes so very true … and power mean you have a tiger by the tail and can’t let go for fear of one’s colleagues)rivals

Most Popular of All Time

The Compass of Cuba: Mom

🎄  Preview of this week's  On the Fly  blog: A Holiday Tribute to Mom. As the holidays hustle with pixels and beeps, the world scrolls along in a smartphone-y sleep. I log off for a moment—just one little minute— To breathe in the past and to sit myself in it. My mind doesn’t wander to faraway places, Or trips full of tickets and new airport faces. Instead, it drifts backward, as memories do, to Cuba, Illinois, where the best moments grew. To a home full of warmth, in the wintry Midwest, Where my mother—dear “Marcie”—put love to the test. With a smile that could melt the most frigid of dawns, and hugs that hung on you like shivering fawns. She came from La Rochelle in France, brave and bright, Across oceans and war shadows, into new light. A town full of strangers soon felt like her own, And her courage built up the foundation of home. “Oh yes, we know Marcie!” the locals would say— “It's Doc Ball’s French lady! She brightens the day!” She cleaned, and she cooked, and sh...

Feeling Human Again

In this episode, The Unexpected Thankfulness of Feeling Human Again I’ll be honest with you: My triumphant return from France was not the glamorous homecoming I had imagined. No graceful glide back into routine. No cinematic jet-setter moment where I lift my suitcase off the carousel and wink at life like we’re old pals. Instead? I came home and immediately launched into a two-week performance piece titled The Great American Couch Collapse. My days blurred together in a haze of soup, hot tea, tissues, and desperate negotiations with the universe for just one nostril—one!—to function properly. The living room sofa became my emotional support furniture. And any creative idea that dared tiptoe into my congested brain was gently shown the exit with a firm but courteous, “Not today, friend. Try again later.” When life hits the pause button like that—when you’re exhausted, sick, and mentally unplugged—how do you find your spark again? Somehow, today, I felt it. A tiny shift. A clearing of th...

A Holiday Reflection–Mother's Love

In this episode,  How a Mother’s Love Built My Memories– A Holiday Reflection As this holiday season approaches and the world buzzes with shopping, planning, and busy schedules, I find myself embracing something wonderfully simple: taking a moment to pause. Not to check off a list or recharge devices, but to breathe deeply, remember fondly, and honor the person and place that have shaped my sense of home long before I had the words for it. This year, after regaining my strength from a lingering post-travel fog, my mind didn’t wander to exotic destinations or future adventures. It drifted backward—across oceans and time—to Cuba, Illinois, in the early 1960s, and to the woman whose love built the foundation of my world: Mauricette Elaine (Bontemps) Ball. My Mom . We came to Cuba after leaving La Rochelle, France, in 1959—a transition so dramatic I only appreciate its enormity now. My mother, barely in her mid-twenties, stepped off that plane and into the Midwest with a courage that s...

Patience: the Only First-Class Ticket

In this episode, Patience: the Only First-Class Ticket They say travel broadens the mind. After eight days sailing the Rhône with 140 fellow luxury vacationers, I can confirm it also tests patience , calf strength, buffet strategy, and one's tolerance for people furious that France insists on being French. Don't get me wrong—I adored this trip. The river shimmered like liquid optimism. The villages looked hand-painted. The pastries could negotiate world peace. But somewhere between Ship Horn Hello and Bon Voyage, we'd inadvertently boarded a floating behavioral research study disguised as a holiday. Our ship was less a cruise and more a ferry for the Sailors of Status. Some passengers approached relaxation like yogis. Others treated leisure like a final exam with extra credit. I came to believe certain luxury watches emit ultrasonic signals that only their owners can detect. A frequency calibrated to trigger rapid movement toward any line forming for any reason. I saw more ...