The Emperor

If the Empress signifies Mother Nature, then the Emperor represents Society. He stands as the opposing force to nature’s wild abundance, creating order out of chaos. He is an authority figure—not one who abuses power, but one who wields it to construct meaningful structures. The Emperor remains grounded in the face of uncertainty and responds with clarity and just action, rather than attempting to control what is not his to command.

The Emperor and the Empress are often seen as the parental figures of the Major Arcana. Where the Empress embodies nurturance and nature, the Emperor represents our entry into the social world. In childhood development, many theorists suggest that the first five years of a person’s life are marked by the care and emotional nourishment provided by a maternal figure. This is the time in which a child learns to get their basic needs met by a primary attachment figure—often, culturally, the mother.

Around age five, however, a new structure is introduced: formal education. It is here that the child begins to internalize the norms and rules of society. Often, the father figure—or another authority—reinforces these lessons at home, teaching the importance of structure and discipline. The Emperor, in this light, reflects that stabilizing force. He is connected with the number four, symbolic of foundations and security. His leadership is not chaotic or reactionary; it is even-handed and legitimate.

The Emperor’s energy is something I have had to learn to embody in my role as a professor. For years, I wrestled with my position of authority—particularly in a profession that emphasizes critical reflection on power dynamics within relationships. In a course titled Anti-Oppressive Social Work Practice, students learn the importance of sharing power, offering choice, and using invitational language when engaging with individuals seeking services.

I worked hard to model these principles in the classroom. Yet, I often found myself feeling powerless in response to student behavior—especially when that behavior clashed with the core values of social work. I worried about how these students would act in the field. I tried to assert authority in ways that I hoped would shape their conduct, but these attempts frequently backfired. Students questioned my intentions or suggested I was acting unethically or unfairly. My fear of being seen as oppressive or unjust weakened my boundaries. I often felt like a pushover and lamented that neither my authority nor departmental policies were being respected. I felt, quite frankly, like a victim.

After much contemplation, I realized that my discomfort with authority stemmed from witnessing the misuse of power by others. I began to understand that not all authority is synonymous with oppression. Some forms of authority are not only necessary—they are ethical, protective, and generative.

As I embraced this understanding, I began to name it for my students. I told them, directly, that I would not absorb their projections or struggles with authority. I reminded them that I had earned my role through years of education, training, and professional practice. I pointed them to the syllabus—not as a punitive document, but as a structure that articulates my expectations. If students chose not to meet those expectations, they were exercising their own agency.

I have worked to create a classroom environment where certain elements are clear and stable: deadlines, attendance, respect, and the completion of assignments. Within this container, students can begin to explore and tolerate the uncertainty inherent in their future roles as social workers.

Jessica Dore (2021) writes in her essay on The Emperor:

“A person who holds true power is able to occupy spaces of intense uncertainty, and all the feelings that bring that up, while maintaining stable in their actions—that is, renouncing one’s need to react in a way that will give them a false sense of control” (p. 52).

This insight captures the essence of the Emperor. His power is not reactive or rooted in domination. Instead, it emerges from an ability to hold steady—especially when faced with ambiguity, conflict, or doubt. This is the lesson I’ve had to learn as a professor. And it is the lesson I hope to pass on.

References

Dore, J. (2021). Tarot for change: Using the cards for self-care, acceptance, and growth. Penguin Life.