The Dance of Church and State

The music began faintly, reverberating off the marble walls and exquisite golden-domed ceiling like the myriads of harps of heaven. It floated through the silver-trimmed windows and out into the stillness of night. Even at its softest, the music could be heard many long lengths away. Now it would be foolish to say that this spectacle of beauty and pure power was likely to go unnoticed; no, the Ballroom had outside it many spectators who gathered from all corners of existence. But they stood far away, more out of anticipation than fear, for the dance that was about to commence was one that the universe itself had been waiting for. No one wanted to interrupt the delicious tension that hung like fog in the air.

It is at this point, then, that the two dancers entered upon the black and white chessboard floor. They advanced slowly and deliberately—each had their own power hanging in the balance, and each waited for the other to tip the scale, to call a false claim, to ruin what was already ruined. The dancers were the omnipotent Church and the invincible State.

The Church was a beautiful specter, clothed all in white with a glistening scarlet overcoat that some would say made it look heretical. Over its lush robes it wore jewelry which could make a king red with envy: gold, silver, diamonds, and rubies were prominent in its everyday attire, but as one would expect, the Church had donned much more in preparation of this monumental occasion. The chandeliers cast down light which ignited each jewel, making the Church glow a “heavenly” radiance. But this magnificent wardrobe seemed to mask the true face of the Church, which was in reality very pale and plain. Indeed, the Church had gone to such extremes to hide itself under gaudy items that a veil connected itself to the Church’s blood red hat, running like a wedding train down its back and covering its face in glittering silver and gold filaments that seemed to dance freely in the air. None of the Church’s ghostly blonde hair could be seen, as it had been tightly braided and stuffed rather forcefully under the hat; one could see from the evident dedication of its attire that the Church took no matter lightly. It had realized long ago that every move made that was farther away from it was one more move that was closer to destroying it. Perhaps this is why the fingertips of the Church’s gloves were stained red. One could argue it was symbolic, and one could speculate on whether or not it was dye. However, through its mighty trials and hellish tribulations the Church still moved gracefully. Its delicate figure added to the litheness of its gait as it strode to the center of the ballroom, where it watched its partner carefully.

The State was careful, cold, and calculating. The seriousness of its attitude permeated everything about it. A dark green uniform trimmed with gold showed its power; the absolute shininess of its shoes conveyed its narcissism. The sharp cut of its hair gave away its immaculate taste, and the clenching and unclenching of its hands showed its need for control. The State was adorned with many medals which hung, carefully placed, upon the left breast of its uniform. While they gave the impression of prestige, it would be obvious to the trained mind that these medals were won, not for valor or bravery, but for manipulation and deceit. It would also do well to note that since no one could ever be higher than the epitome of government, the State had given the medals to itself.

Smiling at the realization, the Church advanced with perfectly placed steps, taking by the hand the iron-willed State.

*The right to lead goes to the first to move.

The music switched.

The dance had begun.

Narrowing its eyes at the moon-pale face which smirked a sickly sweet smile, the State knew that it had underestimated the power of its partner. It would not make the same mistake again. However, it knew that it is rarely the battle that wins the war; the State would let the Church have its fun, at least for a moment.

The silver and gold of its veil swirled around the Church as it spun, each gaudy jewel and ring of precious metal sparkling in the incandescence provided by the chandeliers so far above. Throwing its head back and laughing to the heavens the Church hummed along to the song with a nearly childlike attitude.

But the State knew its ploy.

Grabbing the red velvet arm of the Church, the State twirled it into submission.

*The right to lead goes to the strongest.

The Church whipped back against the State, their arms intertwined. Its eyes widened in mock surprise while its pale mouth twitched with a pseudo-smile. The strength that it had felt clamp onto its arm was nothing to laugh at, yet it did. A twinkling laugh spilled from the Church’s lips, a laugh that marked the direness of the situation. The State simply stared at the “delicate” form in its hands, wondering how an idea ever got so strong.

The music raged fearful notes as the two figures fought for control. They dipped and spun and threw each other while never letting go of one another’s hands. To lose the dance was to lose the war, and this crusade of cunning and strength was one in which neither wanted to be defeated. It was impossible for either to submit: the State with its iron grip and the Church with its wandering hands. Each displayed their power in their own way, be it the quickness of the Church or the brute strength of the State. The right to lead was fought over like territory, as if it was the right to sway the people, the right to earn their trust.

Eventually the hatred that crackled between the Church and the State reached its crescendo, and the music flowed to said hatred, and fierce, deep notes marked the Armageddon of the dance.

The Church grabbed the State, and the State grabbed the Church, and they started to spin in a violent whirl of less-than-choreographed chaos. The dark green and the bloody red of each side was reminiscent of the yin and yang, the dark and the light. Each held one other in balance; two necessary evils summoned together by a phantom director and led to fight within the world of music.

Faster and faster they spun, and the music got fainter and fainter until the only thing they heard was the wind in their ears.

The spectators outside could attest to the fact that the music dissipated into the void of night, and the lights within the ballroom were beginning to dim. They all shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances of worry.

Within the ballroom the maelstrom still reeled as the darkness encroached. Each wanted the other to let go, to end the turbulent dance which they had started so eagerly.

The Church pleaded silently with the State, and the State pleaded with the Church.

“Let go!” they both yelled over the wind of their sins.

Their hands slipped apart—no one could tell whose hand slipped first—and both flew across the ballroom which now seemed so much bigger.

The spectators left, one by one, marveling at the strangeness of human institutions.

The right to lead goes to the one who understands the meaning of the dance.