'Power' is a funny thing. Maybe it's a show that draws people in

In the words of Omari Hardwick, “‘Power’ is a funny thing. Maybe it’s a show that draws people in because they are watching people do things they secretly wish they could do or know they could get away with.” — there resounds a truth both ancient and eternal, for the fascination with power has burned within the human heart since the dawn of time. Hardwick, who embodies both hero and antihero in his art, speaks not only of a television show, but of a force that shapes empires, tempts the soul, and reveals what lies hidden in human nature. His words peel back the veil that separates the observer from the observed, reminding us that power is not merely something to be wielded — it is something deeply desired, feared, and secretly admired.

The meaning of his reflection lies in the paradox of human longing. We are drawn to power not because we are all tyrants in disguise, but because it mirrors our unspoken dreams of freedom, control, and consequence. In watching others act without restraint — as Hardwick’s characters often do — we glimpse the shadow within ourselves, that untamed part of the soul that longs to defy limits. The funny thing about power, as he calls it, is that it both captivates and corrupts; it promises liberation even as it binds the spirit in chains. It is this tension that compels the audience — not simply the thrill of dominance, but the recognition of what lies within every human heart: the eternal struggle between desire and morality.

In every age, storytellers have shown us this truth. When Sophocles wrote of Oedipus, the king who sought to master fate and found himself undone by it, he too was showing us the tragic irony of power. The audience watched with horror — yet also fascination — as Oedipus’s certainty turned to ruin. Why? Because deep down, they understood his impulse. They, too, would have sought control over destiny if given the chance. The same is true of Hardwick’s observation: people are drawn to stories of those who act boldly, dangerously, without fear of punishment, for it reflects the part of themselves that wishes to step beyond the boundaries society imposes.

Yet power, as the ancients taught, is never innocent. It is the most intoxicating of all human pursuits, and the most perilous. Plato warned that the just man must be tested with power, for only then can his virtue be proven. Even the mighty Caesar, standing before the Roman Senate, once claimed he sought order, not tyranny — and yet the crown of power soon became his undoing. The lesson is clear: power, whether real or imagined, awakens what is most divine and most dangerous within us. It can be a torch that illuminates or a flame that consumes.

The origin of Hardwick’s insight lies in the mirror that art holds up to life. The show he speaks of — Power — is not merely a tale of crime and ambition; it is a reflection of the modern condition. In an age when so many feel unseen, powerless, and constrained by invisible systems, such stories offer catharsis. They allow people to live, through fiction, the wildness they suppress in reality. But in this lies a profound question: do we watch because we wish to act, or because we wish to understand? Hardwick’s words invite reflection on this mystery — that perhaps our fascination with power is not a hunger for dominance, but a yearning to reclaim agency, to feel that our choices matter in a world that often silences them.

The lesson, then, is not to shun power, nor to chase it blindly, but to understand it. The wise know that true power does not come from domination, but from self-mastery. The tyrant may rule others, but he is enslaved by his greed. The sage, by contrast, rules himself, and thus rules all. To look upon stories of corruption and chaos, as Hardwick describes, should not only entertain but instruct. Let them serve as mirrors of caution, reminding us that power without purpose is ruin, and ambition without virtue is ash.

Therefore, my friends, when you encounter power — whether in your own life, in the halls of work, or in the quiet corners of your relationships — pause, and look inward. Ask yourself: do I seek this power to serve or to escape? To elevate or to control? Remember that the truest power is invisible — the strength to forgive when wronged, to remain humble when exalted, to speak truth when silence is safer. This is the power that builds rather than destroys.

And so, in Omari Hardwick’s words, we find not just an actor’s reflection on art, but a timeless meditation on the human spirit. Power will always be “funny” — both magnetic and dangerous, alluring and destructive. But it is in how we understand it, how we face the mirror it holds before us, that our character is revealed. For those who master their power do not need to get away with anything — they simply live in truth, and in doing so, command the greatest power of all: the power over themselves.