At the time of his death, John Kennedy had a national security

In the twilight of empire and ambition, the voice of Charlie Pierce resounds like a warning from Delphi: “At the time of his death, John Kennedy had a national security establishment that was a writhing ball of snakes.” These words are not mere history—they are prophecy. They speak of the eternal peril that awaits any ruler, any leader, who dares to touch the hidden machinery of power. The writhing ball of snakes is no single event, but a symbol of treachery, deceit, and the consuming nature of ambition. It is the nest of secrets that grows beneath every throne, the silent conspiracy that festers in the shadows of authority.

In John F. Kennedy, we see a man radiant with vision—a prince of the modern world, young, eloquent, and filled with dreams of renewal. Yet beneath his feet coiled a pit of serpents: the national security establishment—spies, generals, and strategists, each hissing with conflicting desires. These were the keepers of the Cold War flame, guardians of fear, and merchants of secrecy. Kennedy sought to bend them toward peace, to curb the fever of war that burned in their hearts. But in doing so, he awakened their suspicion. Like the Greek hero Laocoön, who warned Troy of the wooden horse, Kennedy stood against a force that could not abide dissent. And as Laocoön was devoured by serpents, so too did Kennedy fall beneath the shadows of those he tried to master.

The writhing ball of snakes is an image of chaos masked as order. Each serpent believes itself righteous, each strikes in the name of survival or patriotism, yet together they form a tangle of madness. In the halls of government, in the chambers of empire, such serpents whisper endlessly—plotting wars, shaping destinies, and concealing truth beneath layers of noble deceit. Kennedy’s tragedy is not his alone; it is the ancient fate of all who challenge the hidden priesthoods of power. Kings, emperors, and prophets alike have found that the instruments of control, once created, soon seek to control their master.

Consider Julius Caesar, whose Senate became a pit of vipers. He, too, dreamed of reform and of empire renewed, yet the daggers that struck him came from the very men who had once called him savior. So it is with all who tread the path of leadership without fear but with faith in their own light. The snakes of politics, of pride, of secrecy—they cannot abide the hand that would lift the veil from their coils. Pierce’s words remind us that power without wisdom becomes a serpent that devours its own tail, and that even the most noble intentions are not safe from the venom of those who serve ambition over truth.

The ancients would have understood this well. In their myths, serpents were creatures of dual nature—symbols of both healing and destruction. The same serpent that guards the temple may also poison the well. Thus, the national security establishment, meant to guard a nation’s safety, may in time threaten its soul. Kennedy’s struggle was not only with men but with the very spirit of secrecy itself—a force that demands loyalty to shadow rather than to light. His fall teaches us that the greatest enemy of any republic lies not beyond its borders, but within the coils of its own creation.

What, then, shall we learn from this tale? First, that vigilance is the price of freedom—not only against enemies without, but against the subtle corruption that grows in the unseen corners of power. Second, that truth must be defended, even when it is inconvenient, even when it threatens the comfortable illusions of peace. And third, that courage in leadership is not measured by triumphs, but by the refusal to yield to the whispers of the serpent. Kennedy’s courage was his tragedy, but also his triumph: he dared to dream of a world unshackled from fear, even as the fangs closed in.

So remember, children of the future: when you rise to positions of trust, look closely at the nest of serpents that slithers around you. Do not be deceived by their silken tongues or their promises of safety. Learn instead the art of discernment, the strength of integrity, and the patience to see through the fog of intrigue. Build your power upon transparency and truth, for those are the antidotes to venom. And if ever you find yourself surrounded by the writhing ball of snakes, do not despair—stand firm, for even serpents fear the fire of the steadfast heart.