Shakespeare’s Richard II opens with a king who seems to possess everything—the throne, the divine right to it, and the absolute confidence of a man who has never been told no. By the play’s end, he is alone in a cell, turning his own dethronement over like a koan he cannot solve. In between, the most powerful man in England discovers his power was never a possession. It was a story other people agreed to keep telling. And once they stopped, there was nothing underneath. This profound exploration of power, identity, and the nature of reality, as articulated by playwright William Shakespeare, resonates with timeless Buddhist principles, particularly the concepts of impermanence, emptiness, and the illusory nature of self, even when applied to institutions.
The enduring relevance of Shakespeare’s dramatic narratives is evident in their ability to transcend their historical context and offer insights into universal human experiences. Richard II, written around 1595, depicts the downfall of King Richard II of England. The play traces his journey from an autocratic ruler who believes his authority is divinely ordained to a deposed monarch grappling with the stark reality of his vulnerability. This narrative arc has found a contemporary echo in recent political upheavals, serving as a potent reminder that perceived invincibility can be a fragile construct.
The Ephemeral Nature of Political Power
The author’s observation that the play offers a "much-needed cautionary tale for many a political strongman" is particularly pertinent in the context of the United Kingdom’s recent political landscape. In August 2026, the British Prime Minister’s tenure ended abruptly following a significant shift in parliamentary support and the rise of an insurgent rival. The rapid and seemingly effortless departure of a leader who appeared firmly entrenched in power mirrored the dramatic unravelling of Richard II’s authority. This event underscores the inherent instability of political power, which is often contingent on the ongoing consensus and belief of various stakeholders.
Shakespeare’s play vividly illustrates how a leader’s perception of their own power can diverge sharply from its actual foundation. Richard II’s absolute conviction in his divine right to rule blinds him to the fact that his authority is a social construct, sustained by the allegiance of his subjects and the prevailing political order. When this consensus erodes, his perceived power evaporates, leaving him exposed. This dynamic is not unique to medieval monarchs; it is a recurring pattern in the rise and fall of leaders across history and cultures.
The Mind’s Manufacture of Presence in Absence
A pivotal scene in Richard II occurs when the king, having departed for Ireland, returns to find his Welsh army dispersed. His response is not one of pragmatic reassessment but a desperate attempt to conjure strength from language alone. He famously declares that the very stones of his kingdom will "prove armed soldiers" and that serpents will "lie in their way." This dramatic invocation highlights a profound psychological phenomenon: when the substantial basis of power disappears, the mind often reacts not with acceptance of absence but with the manufacturing of presence.
This resonates deeply with core Buddhist teachings. The dharma consistently emphasizes the impermanent nature of all phenomena. In Buddhist terms, the king’s "army" was a collection of individuals bound by oaths and loyalties, which were themselves impermanent conditions. When those conditions changed—rumors of his death, the rise of a rival—the army, as a manifestation of his power, dissolved. Richard’s attempt to substitute words for soldiers reflects the mind’s struggle to accept such dissolution. It is an effort to impose a subjective reality onto an objective situation where the external supports have vanished.
Sunyata and Anatta Applied to Institutions
The play’s depiction of Richard II’s kingship as an agreement that can be withdrawn offers a powerful, albeit dramatic, illustration of the Buddhist concept of sunyata, or emptiness of inherent existence. The crown, the throne, and the office of king were not intrinsically real or eternal entities. They were constructs built upon a complex web of social, political, and religious agreements: oaths of fealty, coronation rituals, the consent of the nobility, and the prevailing ideology of divine right. Buddhism posits that all phenomena, including institutions and concepts of power, lack inherent, independent existence. They arise dependently on causes and conditions and are thus empty of a permanent, self-sufficient essence.
This understanding can be extended from the individual self (anatta) to institutions. Just as a person is an aggregation of ever-changing physical and mental components, a monarchy or a political office is a collection of agreements, roles, and perceptions that are constantly in flux. The belief that the throne or the crown possesses an inherent authority, independent of the people who uphold it, is a form of delusion that Buddhism seeks to dismantle. Richard II’s tragedy lies in his unwavering belief in the intrinsic reality of his kingship, a belief that crumbles when the underlying conditions are removed.
Ditthi: When Belief Hardens into Reality
Shakespeare masterfully captures how deeply ingrained beliefs can shape our perception of reality. Richard II’s kingship is anchored in the medieval doctrine of the divine right of kings. This was not merely a political theory; it was a deeply held conviction that God had appointed the monarch, rendering his authority sacrosanct and inviolable. The play quotes Richard as stating that "not all the water in the rough rude sea / Can wash the balm off from an anointed king." This expresses a belief so profound that it had solidified into what he perceived as an immutable truth.
Buddhism has a term for such mistaken perceptions: ditthi, or wrong view. Ditthi occurs when a belief, particularly one that is deeply ingrained and widely accepted, is mistaken for the ultimate nature of things. It becomes so pervasive that it is no longer questioned, functioning like the water in which a fish swims, unnoticed because it is the very medium of existence. Richard’s deposition is essential because it forces him to confront the possibility that his kingship, which he believed to be the bedrock of reality, was in fact a construct of belief, a subjective interpretation of his role within a larger system. His dethronement compels him to see his position not as an inherent quality but as a role within a system of meaning, a system that others had the power to redefine.
The Mirror of Self: Unchanged Face, Lost Kingship
The play’s emotional power is amplified by Richard’s eventual self-awareness. After his deposition and imprisonment, he confronts his reflection in a looking glass. He anticipates seeing the ruin of a fallen king, but instead, he beholds his ordinary face, unchanged. "Was this the face," he asks, "that every day under his household roof / Did keep ten thousand men?" This poignant moment reveals the ultimate emptiness of his former identity. The kingship, the power, the authority—these were never inherent qualities residing within his face or his person. They resided in the perception of others, in their willingness to believe in his role.
The act of smashing the glass can be interpreted in multiple ways. It might be seen as a tantrum of a deposed ruler, a final act of defiance. However, it can also be understood as a misguided but instinctive rejection of a false source of truth. Richard is looking to an external symbol—his face—for an answer that can only be found within a different mode of understanding, one that acknowledges the constructed nature of his former identity. The glass, reflecting only his physical appearance, offers no solace because the essence of his kingship was never located there.
The Eight Worldly Winds and the Practice of Noticing
Buddhism offers the framework of the "eight worldly winds" (gain and loss, pleasure and pain, praise and blame, fame and disgrace) to describe the inherent vulnerability of our identities. These winds represent the constant flux of external circumstances and social valuations upon which we often build our sense of self. We tend to anchor our identity to conditions that are inherently unstable: a job title, a reputation, a social circle, or even political power. When the winds blow—when we experience loss, pain, blame, or disgrace—what appeared solid and permanent can shift or disintegrate because it was never fundamentally solid.
Richard’s tragedy is not merely the loss of his crown, but the shattering of his self-perception as an inherently kingly being. He was, in his own understanding, a king by divine right. The play reveals that he was, in reality, a man whose kingship was a temporary and conditional agreement with his people. His entire identity was built on a foundation that was as insubstantial as the stones and serpents he invoked in his desperation.
The practice that Richard II implicitly points towards is not one of grim detachment or cynicism, but of mindful awareness. It is the practice of "noticing," as the original text suggests, before the winds of change arrive. This involves cultivating an understanding of the conditional nature of our own identities and the external circumstances upon which we rely. It means recognizing that positions of power, reputations, and even personal achievements are impermanent and subject to the ebb and flow of conditions.
An Archetypal Pattern of Power and Illusion
The pattern depicted in Richard II is not an isolated incident but an archetype that recurs throughout history and across cultures. It is the fundamental narrative of politics: a figure who, for a period, appears to embody absolute authority and inevitability, ultimately reveals themselves to be a temporary focal point for collective agreement. The perceived inevitability of their reign was simply a consequence of unexamined beliefs that held sway at the time. As political scientists and historians have documented, the concentration of power in any single leader or institution is always subject to internal and external pressures. For example, studies of presidential power in the United States, while a different system, have shown how the perceived strength of the executive branch can fluctuate dramatically based on public opinion, congressional dynamics, and global events. The "aura" of power, much like Richard’s divine right, is often a psychological phenomenon sustained by the narrative of leadership.
While few individuals will face the dramatic loss of a throne, the underlying principle of conditional existence applies universally. Most people build a sense of certainty on foundations that are equally fragile: a career, a marriage, a family legacy, or the belief that what has been achieved will endure because it has, thus far, persisted. The play’s ultimate lesson is a call to cultivate a more profound understanding of reality, one that acknowledges impermanence and interdependence. This awareness, fostered through practices akin to Buddhist mindfulness, allows for greater equanimity in the face of life’s inevitable changes and challenges. It encourages us to appreciate the present moment and the conditional nature of our experiences, rather than clinging to illusions of permanence and inherent selfhood, whether applied to individuals or the grand narratives of power.
