A tragic theory of history: selfishness drives power, conscience resists but is fragile. From Henry VIII to Gandhi, what path will we choose?
1. Competing Theories of History
Over the centuries, historians and philosophers have offered different ways of explaining the grand movement of human events:
- Marxist theory sees history as the struggle between classes, with economic forces driving change.
- Whig or liberal theory portrays history as a steady march of progress — toward freedom, democracy, and human rights.
- Cyclical theories (such as Toynbee or Spengler) describe civilisations as rising and falling like organisms, inevitably succumbing to decline.
- Great Man theory attributes historical change to the genius or will of powerful individuals.
Each has insight, but none is fully adequate. They often reduce history to one factor, leaving out the complexity of human motives.
2. A Hypothesis of Tragic History
My own hypothesis begins with human nature itself. We are social animals who naturally form hierarchies. This is our simian inheritance — clearly visible in primate groups, where dominance and submission determine access to power, mates, and resources. The same instinct shapes human societies everywhere: from African tribal structures to medieval monarchies, from corporate boardrooms to modern democracies like the United States, which still organise themselves in pyramids of power.
At the top sit leaders — kings, emperors, generals, presidents — whose decisions ripple down the pyramid. These decisions are rarely guided by conscience alone. More often, they are shaped by selfish impulses: the hunger for power, security, sex, or wealth. Conscience — though innate, part of our authentic self — is fragile. It can be silenced by fear, greed, or the flattery of power.
The Roots of Conscience
It is not easy to explain how this “authentic self” — the voice of conscience — came into being. Selfishness is simple enough to trace to our animal inheritance: the instinct to survive and dominate. Conscience is harder. Yet even in the animal kingdom we see faint parallels. Primates reconcile after conflict and share food; elephants mourn their dead; dolphins protect the injured. These are not yet “morality,” but they show that empathy and fairness have survival value.
It would seem to be a matter of degree. We think nothing of killing elephants for their tusks or cows for beef. We do not consider their level of consciousness worthy of preservation. That thought applies even less to an ant, a fly, or a snail. Yet the preservation of life in all its diversity is essential for the continuance of humankind as a species. It is ignorance — sometimes disguised as husbandry or economic necessity — which allows us to play havoc with the natural world as though there were no consequence.
Learning the value of life in all its forms may be the highest manifestation of consciousness. To see that the fate of the smallest insect and the greatest predator is bound up with our own survival is to glimpse conscience at its widest scale — not only human-to-human, but human-to-creation.
Intelligence is neutral. It can serve selfishness (making exploitation more efficient) or conscience (making cooperation more rational). Which side it serves depends on consciousness: whether we see clearly, or whether we are blinded by ignorance and desire.
Thus, history is best explained as the recurring triumph of selfishness over conscience, with occasional interruptions where awareness breaks through.
3. Two Case Histories
Henry VIII and His Wives
Henry VIII’s reign illustrates the tragic pattern in concentrated form. His selfish drive was dynastic survival: he believed England needed a male heir to secure the Tudor line and prevent civil war. This obsession shaped his marriages, his politics, and ultimately the religious fate of England.
Yet Henry was not a mediocrity. In his youth he was handsome, athletic, and charismatic. He was a talented musician and composer — works such as Pastime with Good Company and Helas Madam are still performed today. He was also an adept linguist, fluent in French and Latin, and deeply read in theology. His physical courage was proven in tournaments: he excelled at jousting, hunting, and the knightly arts, embodying the Renaissance ideal of the “king-athlete.”
But in January 1536, at the age of 44, Henry suffered a devastating jousting accident. He was thrown from his horse and lay unconscious for hours, nearly killed. The injury to his leg never healed and became a chronic ulcer, compounded by obesity and (likely) diabetes. From then on he lived in constant pain, and his personality darkened. Once magnanimous, he grew paranoid, suspicious, and increasingly cruel. Many historians see 1536 as the turning point when the Renaissance prince hardened into the tyrant.
Henry’s six wives reflect both his gifts and his flaws:
- Catherine of Aragon — married nearly 24 years, but produced only one surviving child, Mary. When no son came, Henry sought annulment. When the Pope refused, Henry broke with Rome, declared himself head of the Church of England, and cast Catherine aside.
- Anne Boleyn — witty, ambitious, and alluring, she captivated Henry. But when she failed to produce a male heir, she was accused of adultery, incest, and treason. She was beheaded in 1536, the same year as Henry’s accident.
- Jane Seymour — gave birth to Edward, the longed-for male heir, but died days later of postnatal complications.
- Anne of Cleves — a political marriage arranged sight unseen. Henry found her unattractive, ridiculed her publicly, and swiftly annulled the union.
- Catherine Howard — young and vivacious, but reckless. Accused of adultery, she was executed for treason in 1542.
- Catherine Parr — a learned woman who outlived Henry. More companion and nurse than queen, she helped reconcile Henry with his daughters, Mary and Elizabeth.
Ignorance played a decisive role in his decisions:
- Conception: It was unknown that the father determined the child’s sex. Henry blamed his wives for failing to produce sons.
- Medicine: His ulcerated leg, obesity, and probable diabetes worsened his mood and fertility. Physicians had no effective treatments, and his declining health inflamed his cruelty.
- Succession: He refused to accept that a daughter could rule successfully, despite precedents elsewhere in Europe. Ironically, his daughters Mary and Elizabeth both became queens, with Elizabeth I presiding over England’s “Golden Age.”
The tragic outcome:
- His obsession with annulment led to England’s break with Rome, unleashing generations of religious persecution, rebellion, and war.
- His cruelty created a court climate of fear and corruption, undermining trust and stability.
- England’s religious landscape was permanently altered: monasteries dissolved, church wealth seized, papal authority replaced by the king’s supremacy. The divisions between Catholic and Protestant deepened, shaping conflicts that resurfaced in the English Civil War and even in the sectarian legacy of Britain and Ireland.
What if conscience had prevailed?
Had Henry accepted Catherine of Aragon’s daughter, Mary, or later Elizabeth, as heir, England might have avoided schism with Rome, along with the bloodshed of the Reformation. A more selfless king could have preserved dynastic stability without resorting to tyranny, and Europe’s religious landscape might have developed along different, less violent lines.
Henry VIII remains a towering example of how remarkable gifts, when joined to selfishness, ignorance, and the accidents of fate, can magnify tragedy and distort history.
Gandhi and Indian Independence
By contrast, Gandhi represents a rare case where conscience shaped intelligence. He faced an empire armed with superior force and yet chose non-violence, appealing to justice rather than domination.
- His self-interest as an individual was minimal; he lived in poverty and simplicity.
- His intelligence was used to mobilise conscience on a national scale, transforming suffering into moral witness.
- His consciousness was awake, seeing beyond immediate gain to the dignity of all peoples.
The British response was often brutal. The most infamous instance came in April 1919 at Amritsar, when thousands of unarmed Indians gathered peacefully at Jallianwala Bagh. General Dyer ordered his troops to block the exits and open fire into the crowd. At least 379 were killed and more than a thousand wounded, though Indian sources suggest the toll was much higher. Men, women, and children were cut down indiscriminately.
Events like this revealed the empire’s violence in the starkest possible light. Yet those who endured suffering without retaliation embodied the saying of Jesus: “No greater love hath any man than this, that he should lay down his life for his friend.” Their sacrifice lent Gandhi’s movement a moral force stronger than armies, and independence was achieved without a war of extermination.
4. A Tragic Prediction
In general, my hypothesis leads to a sombre conclusion: the balance of history shows selfishness in command far more often than conscience. With the tools of science and technology, selfishness now has more power than ever before. Unless conscience and consciousness awaken, the trajectory of history points not to progress but to catastrophe — even extinction.
This relentlessness of blind power is echoed in cultural and historical examples. Graeme Allwright’s song “Jusqu’à la ceinture” tells of soldiers advancing into a river at their captain’s command. The water rises to their waists, their chests, and eventually over their heads — yet the order is always the same: “Advance!” The image captures the madness of obedience to authority, even when it leads to ruin.
J. Robert Oppenheimer faced a similar dilemma when his brilliance helped create the atomic bomb. He recognised the moral abyss but was swept along by the momentum of war and the pressure of military power. In our own time, Geoffrey Hinton — often called the “godfather of AI” — has expressed a parallel unease, warning that the tools he helped develop may spiral beyond human control.
Both examples illustrate the madness and relentlessness of military and technological power when conscience is silenced: intelligence serving selfishness rather than awareness.
5. Conscience, Consciousness, and Meaning
If conscience is innate, the question then arises: when — or whether — consciousness becomes significant. In one sense, consciousness is unevenly distributed across all living things. Some animals clearly feel, perceive, and even mourn; others, like insects or plants, express only the faintest stirrings of awareness. Yet all living things die, and in nature there is no appeal, no higher purpose: life simply is.
It is only humans who seem unable to rest with that. We associate consciousness with a great purpose — whether religious salvation, secular progress, or personal fulfillment. Where nature is content to be, we are restless to assign meaning. Perhaps this is our glory, or perhaps our torment: the refusal to accept existence without explanation.
This could be the deepest root of our tragedy. Conscience may restrain selfishness, but consciousness presses us to impose meaning on a world that offers none. Sometimes this produces art, religion, and compassion; but at other times it leads us into systems of domination, ideologies of certainty, and wars fought in the name of truth.
The real error comes when we look for meaning outside ourselves rather than within. In doing so, we entrust our lives to external constructs — institutions, creeds, ideologies — instead of strengthening the inner resources that are already present in conscience and awareness. History shows how easily those constructs, once exalted, are captured by selfishness and turned to domination.
Yet we must also face the humbling truth: nature simply is, and we die. To believe we have a higher cosmic purpose may be nothing more than vanity. But it is still true that what we leave behind will be better if we live in alignment with our authentic selves. In that sense, conscience does not promise eternal significance, but it does call us to live with love and compassion — yesterday, today, and forever. That is not meaning imposed from outside, but meaning arising from within: the authentic self made active in the world.
6. The Value of Awakening
If conscience is innate but fragile, and consciousness so easily conscripted by selfishness, then the task before us is one of awakening: to return to the authentic self, to cultivate awareness, and to allow intelligence to serve compassion rather than desire. This will not abolish tragedy, nor give us certainty, but it may help us live more truthfully and leave behind a gentler world than the one we inherited.
