When the British wit G. K. Chesterton was dining with a literary friend in London one day, their conversation turned to the subject of power and authority. At one point, Chesterton remarked, “If a rhinoceros were to enter this restaurant now, there is no denying he would have great power here. But I should be the first to rise and assure him that he had no authority whatsoever.”
Most of us encounter this relationship between power and authority early in life, even if it takes some time before we recognize all the dynamics at play. Fourth grade safety patrol was my first flirtation with raw power. Most of us selected for patrol duty developed bigger heads than we deserved, in part because the responsibility of protecting little children induced some awe in us. We believed we were the only saving reality between a child and a fast-moving car. With outstretched arms and an orange reflective belt buckled to our bodies, others might have confused any of us with a glow-in-the-dark Jesus minus the cross. I enjoyed the added benefit of knowing how to whistle through my teeth. With a quick shrill burst, I was able to command a dump truck to halt or stop a couple of seven-year-olds tussling at the curb.
Although I relished this whiff of power, I had no authority whatsoever. It took years of observing others before I learned that I had confused the authority of power with the power of authority. Like Richard Nixon after Watergate, who still had the full power of the presidency at his disposal but zero authority, I couldn’t find a single kid who loved the commanding manner of my safety patrol antics. I had yet to grasp the magnificence of another president—Abraham Lincoln—who possessed great authority but who was often reticent to exercise the full powers of his office.
