It was 8:00 sharp at the Satraps' Academy of Administration, Ruling, and Sycophancy (SCARS) when Professor Ashpenaz stepped up to the podium and called his class to order.

"Listen up!" he said sharply. "Turn to page 34 in your papyri. Today, we're talking about my Three Simple Rules for Success in Politics."

There was a rustling of scrolls as the students found their place.

Most of the class stood in awe of Professor Ashpenaz. He'd been in government ever since the days of Nebuchadnezzar, surviving several kings and two empires, and he was a satrap besides. In short, this guy knew his stuff. Getting on his good side could take you a long way.

"Yesterday, we talked about how knowing my Rules help you step on enough people to reach the top," said the Professor. "Today, we're looking at the flip side: When you ignore my Rules, bad things happen."

At that moment, there was a rustling in the back of the classroom. Arioch, the professor's least-favorite student, had just walked in.

"Nice of you to join us," snapped Professor Ashpenaz.

"Sorry, Professor," said Arioch. "My horse wouldn't budge this morning."

The class snickered. Arioch was notoriously bad with his mounts: one time he'd backed up traffic halfway to Susa.

"Now that you're here, why don't you remind us of my first Rule?" sneered Professor Ashpenaz.

"The first one, sir? I think it was 'Don't rock the boat'?"

The professor was a tad disappointed: He'd been hoping for an excuse to throw the kid out. "That's correct," he acknowledged reluctantly. "In Persian politics, you always want to go with the flow; stick with the crowd; blend right in. Sure, it's nice to get noticed for your accomplishments — but you never want to get noticed for anything else."

He stepped out from behind his podium and approached the class. "Now, let me tell you what happens when you do rock the boat."

The students were on the edge of their seats. With any luck, this story would have something juicy political intrigue in it.

"Before my time, old King Nebuchadnezzar — may he rot in pieces — knocked off a little kingdom called Judah. Now, this'll be on the test; write it down: 'Conquered schmucks behave better when you let some of them into the government.' If you make advisors out of a few natives, the rest will fall in line. Know what I mean?"

Heads nodded wisely around the room.

"So the king picked out four Judeans and enrolled them in the MBA program here at SCARS: Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

"These guys got all the perks. King's own cuisine, best wine ... the works. But then they got stupid. They'd never heard Rule Number One, so they refused to eat the royal food!"

There was a collective gasp from the room. A portly student in the front row shook his head in disbelief. "Why?" he managed to gasp.

"It wasn't good enough for 'em," sneered the professor. "The Judeans had religious convictions. You know how sometimes Nebuchadnezzar had meals dedicated to the gods? They didn't like that. And they never ate pork; said pigs are 'unclean.' So they asked for veggies and water instead — jail food."

He turned to his class: "Now, why was this a crummy idea?"

"They must have wasted away," muttered the portly student with a shudder.

"If they ended up in worse physical shape than the other trainees," added someone else, "their professor could've lost his head. You never get the boss in trouble."

"Besides, turning down a gift from the king is career suicide," muttered another.

"Good answers," said the professor. "Now, how does this apply to your career?"

"Keep your religious convictions quiet at work," said a softspoken student in the back row. "If you're a freak, why advertise it?"

"Go with the flow," said another voice. "If everybody else is inflating their numbers or lying to get business, you do it too."

"Good ways not to rock the boat." said Ashpenaz. "Come on; give me something else."

There was a long silence. Then finally, Arioch raised his hand. "Uh, Professor?" he said. "I was doing the reading last night, and ... well, it sounds like the Judeans ended up in better physical shape than the other trainees."

Professor Ashpenaz looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, technically —"

"So didn't their convictions work for them? Since they looked stronger than the guys who pigged out, it helped them land jobs at the palace —"

It figured that the only one who'd actually done his homework was Arioch. "Uh, that might be one point of view," muttered the professor. "The exception that proves the rule ...

"But it's not the important thing!" the professor thundered, recovering his dignity. He turned to the rest of the class: "The important thing is, don't rock the boat! It won't get you anywhere in your career."

The students looked at Arioch with disgust. Their professor's interpretation of the story sounded much easier.¹

* * *

"Now, somebody give me Rule Number Two," said Professor Ashpenaz. "Somebody besides Arioch."

A student raised his hand. "Worship whatever the king does," he said.

"Good," said the professor. "Now, what does that mean?"

"Find out which Zoroastrian Temple he goes to on Sundays, and become a member," suggested one of the class members.

"That's not a bad idea," approved Ashpenaz. "But most kings don't care about religion; they just say they do to keep people in line. They worship more important things."

"Like money?" suggested a student.

"You got it. What else?"

"Uh ... power, I guess."

"Maybe, but you're missing the biggie."

There was silence in the room; all the students racked their brains for the answer.

"THEMSELVES!" the professor finally burst out. The students scribbled frantically in their notes. "Kings are so in love with their mirrors, it's a wonder they ever leave the palace.

"Here's what that means to you," continued Ashpenaz. "Say you have a king who's into money. What's the smartest thing you can do?"

"Make him more," someone said.

"Exactly — by any means necessary. Mark it down: 'any means necessary.' If your performance reviews come out all right, what's wrong with a little fib?

"Let's say he asks you to do something against the law. Just play dumb and do it! I mean, so long as it's one of the stupid little laws: like not duplicating a copyrighted papyrus. Or not fudging maintenance records on the royal chariots."

"So if it's illegal ... you do it anyway?" said someone hesitantly.

"Hello — he's the king! If he's worshiping the bottom line, don't get in his way."

The students were still writing furiously: They wanted to remember all of the professor's great ideas.

"Now, let's get back to our not-so-bright Judean friends — Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego," said Ashpenaz. "King Nebuchadnezzar had a 90-foot statue made up — all gold. I never saw it, but people say it looked a lot like him. What do you think he worshiped?"

"Himself!" said the class in unison.

"That's right! Whenever the folks in Babylon heard the band play, they were supposed to bow down before the statue.

"No big deal: I mean, who cares about a statue? Bowing doesn't mean anything; think about your own god as you're bending over if it makes you feel better. But the three idiots from Judea wouldn't do it. So the king stoked the furnace where he burned lawbreakers, and roasted 'em alive."

The students looked uncomfortable. They knew the king could order executions on a whim — and it was not the most pleasant part of a Persian political career.

"So whatever you do," the professor continued, "worship with the king! If he's into himself, bow to the statue. If he's into money, get him some more. And what did I tell you to write down about that?"

"Any means necessary," parroted the students.

"Danged right!" crowed their professor.

In the back, Arioch had had his hand in the air for a few minutes now. Professor Ashpenaz was steadily ignoring him, but now he finally called on his problem pupil.

"What?" he growled.

"Sir ... I'm sorry to interrupt, but about the three Judeans ... the papyrus says their God rescued them from the furnace."

"Well, that's the story," sneered Ashpenaz.

"Yeah, but if they lived to tell a story ... doesn't that mean it might be true?"

"The point is," said the professor, his temper rising, "if they'd worshiped what the king did, they would never have been tossed in the fire, and wouldn't have needed a Divine rescue!"

"Bowing to the statue sounds like a lot less trouble," muttered one of the students.

"Exactly!" spat the professor.

"But if they got out alive, aren't we drawing the wrong lesson? Shouldn't we worship —"²

"We need to move on," said Ashpenaz tersely. "Who can tell me Rule Number Three?"

* * *

The students took a moment to look at their papyri. "The king is always right," one of them finally volunteered.

"Correct," said the professor. "I know it sounds simple. But this one's easy to mess up if you possess — " Ashpenaz brought out his finger quotes — "moral convictions."

"We don't have any of those," said a guy in the front row, sounding offended. "We're in politics!"

"Let's make sure," said their professor. "Suppose the king thinks you came up with an idea that was really another satrap's work. What should you do?"

"Uh, I guess you can take the credit?" a student suggested.

"Sure — if his majesty already thinks you did it, go right ahead! And why?"

"The king is always right," said the class in unison.

"Maybe you have convictions against gambling, but the king wants an article on the royal casino for his newspapyrus. Or you think pornography's a bad idea, but he wants harem photos for the front page. Whatever shall you do?"

"Write the story and take the pictures?" ventured a student.

"Of course! And why?"

"The king is always right," repeated the class.

"Now the king wants you to tell some servants that their jobs are safe, when really he's booting 'em onto the streets in a month. What's your plan?"

"Lie your head off," said a student with assurance.

"Yes! Because —"

"The king is always right."

"Now you got it!" said the professor. "Remember our Judean friends? One of them found out why this rule's important just yesterday. Because he broke it, he spent the night with King Darius' pussycats."

"The king likes cats?" said a student.

"He sure does ... in his lions' den," sneered the professor.

The students involuntarily gulped. The lions were King Darius' favorite punishment, and the word around the palace was that he used them quite freely.

"You see," said Ashpenaz, enjoying his story, "old Daniel — he's in his 80s now — got a little too big for his britches. Darius was thinking about promoting him from governor to second in command of the kingdom, and we couldn't have that. It would mean a demotion for the rest of us! Completely unfair.

"So we tricked his majesty into signing a law that nobody could pray to any god but the king for a month. Then yesterday, we took a field trip to Chez Daniel. Wouldn't you know it — the holy roller, who never bothered to learn Professor Ashpenaz's Three Simple Rules, was on his knees! It's like he was expecting us. We immediately reported it to his majesty, and as a result, the lions had Creamed Prophet last night."

Some of the students were starting to look a bit green around the gills. Others were laughing right along with the professor. Nobody noticed when a couple of palace guards slipped into the back of the room and blocked the door.

"Professor?" said Arioch, waving his hand in the air. "Actually, I just heard —"

"You didn't hear anything!" snapped the professor. "This isn't in your papyrus, because it happened yesterday!"

"Yes, but —"

"I know you liked to hang around with that Judean and followed his God. Maybe you better study extra-hard on Rule Number Three tonight, or we'll see if we can catch you praying!"

"But professor —"

"Remember, students: The king is always right. Don't forget it, or you'll end up playin' with the kitties!"

"But professor," Arioch finally burst out, "Daniel's alive. The king went down to the lions' den this morning — he didn't have a scratch on him!"

The professor gaped at him. "That's impossible ..."

"Yes, sir! And the king issued a new law saying everyone should honor the True God —"

"You lie! Nobody's ever survived the lions —"

"It's true! Daniel's at the palace right now —"³

The professor was speechless. He stuttered and stammered; wasn't sure what to do next ... until suddenly, the palace guards stepped forward from the back.

"Professor Ashpenaz?" one of them said.

The professor's face turned white: he knew why they'd come. "Uh, the professor's not here today," he tried.

"You're under arrest for trickery and deceiving the king, sir. Come with us."

"Don't I get to defend myself?" Ashpenaz squeaked, in a voice quite unlike his own. "I demand jurors for my trial —"

"OK, if you really want 'em," said one of the king's goons. "But they'll probably be lions."

The guards chuckled darkly as they escorted Ashpenaz from the room.

The students looked at each other in horrified disbelief. No one they knew had ever been thrown to the lions. Only Arioch seemed unsurprised this turn of events, but he was observed to be mumbling quietly — probably praying for the satraps who were about to become cat food.

"This is terrible! Poor Professor Ashpenaz," wailed a student.

"How will we finish our class?" griped another.

"Now we don't have any connections in the palace. We'll end up on the streets!" protested a third.

"On the other hand ... I think his majesty may have a few openings for new satraps." The portly student from the front row looked smug.

There was a moment of silence ... and then every student rushed for the door. They all had a little resume writing to do.

Besides, they needed time to erase the late professor's Three Simple Rules from their papyri — just in case the king checked. They weren't likely to be popular at the palace anymore.

* * *

1. See Daniel 1 for the rest of the story. (By the way, the characters of Ashpenaz and Arioch in the book of Daniel bear no relation to the characters in this story. However, I needed some authentic names from the 6th century BC ... and strangely enough, I didn't know any off the top of my head.)
2. Daniel 3 is all about the courage of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
3. For the story of Daniel in the lions' den, see Daniel 6.