Illustrations of Dune, Ep. 01 | Duke Leto Atreides: The Art of Ruling

GAIUS HELEN MOHAIM

“Grave this on your memory, lad: A world is supported by four things [...] the learning of the wise, the justice of the great, the prayers of the righteous, and the valour of the brave. But all of these are as nothing [...] without a ruler who knows the art of ruling. Make that the science of your tradition!”

If you haven't had a chance to watch the prologue, Paul is You, now would be a good time! Aside from explaining the premise of this whole series, it has more doodles I made for you, so go check it out.

Having said that, you're gonna do what you want, so here's the gist. Dune argues that power doesn't corrupt, it attracts those who are corruptible. As the protagonist, Paul is an audience surrogate, a character you can easily relate with that acts as your stand-in. Every step of the way he shows you how you too are corruptible, even as you try your hardest to do what you think is right. If you remain ignorant of your biases and blind to your influences, it could easily happen to you as well. 

Which brings us back to the art of ruling.

As Paul considers the Reverend Mother's words he makes two associations. Gurney Halleck, the troubadour-warrior, stands out to him as valorous. Likewise, when Leto refers to “Duncan the moral”, he easily agrees with the swordsman’s virtue. This sets the precedent that each “support” is meant to be a specific person, a role model for Paul, though the others are never named. With a limited cast at this early stage there could be some speculation, though. I personally think that Lady Jessica could be “the wise,” being not only Paul’s mother but a renowned Bene Gesserit, the one to teach Paul how to maintain control of himself, and others. In many ways her perceptiveness and cunning are at the heart of Paul’s understanding of the world and himself. As for “the great,” I believe this would be Thufir Hawat. Thufir has served House Atreides for three generations and remains a paragon of his training despite being well over a hundred years old. 

You might argue that Stilgar, the naib of Sietch Tab’r, might be “the great.” While I would agree that Paul would probably be inclined to think that highly of him, by the time they meet, Paul hasn’t really contemplated on this subject further, and never does again. If anything, I think Stilgar might be more of an analog for another role recently vacated around the time they meet in the desert.

On that note, I think it’s pretty clear who Paul sees as “a ruler who knows the art of ruling.”

Despite his absence from the early chapters of Dune, Leto Atreides is regularly invoked in other characters’ dialogue and the narration. We can paint a pretty clear picture of him in our minds early on. Paul clearly looks up to him, as do all his counselors. By inference and only a few mentions of him by name we quickly learn that he’s from old nobility and popular among his noble peers of the Landsraad. This affords him significant political sway, enough to justify employing Thufir Hawat, the legendary mentat, to defend him as a ‘Master of Assassins.’

Why would an honorable duke have need of a Master of Assassins? Enter the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen - mortal enemy of House Atreides - and his twisted mentat, Piter DeVries. Grandiose and overtly sadistic, they revel in the “plans within plans” they’ve set in motion to settle Leto’s declaration of kanly, a bitter blood feud many generations in the making. We’ll talk plenty more about House Harkonnen in another video, but suffice to say, it’s abundantly clear that they are not to be trusted. If anything, it draws us more to Leto’s side to know how underhanded and cruel his greatest enemies are and the lows they’ll gleefully sink to.

In the next chapter we return to our protagonist. Paul is coming to grips with a sense of “terrible purpose.” He’s passed the Reverend Mother’s test but now must face her again, this time with his mother. The Reverend Mother begins explaining the nature of political power in the Imperium and we begin to realize how vast the powers being converged against House Atreides are. An air of grim inevitability starts to descend. Ominously, she predicts great hardship for Paul, but also hope. But, “For the father? Nothing.” 

Chapter by chapter we continue to sink deeper into the plot, guided by quotations at the opening of each. Coming from in-universe publications made after the events of Dune, they often provide important context from a historical perspective you wouldn’t have otherwise. With a few exceptions, all of these quotations are from the same woman: the Princess Irulan. For instance, at the beginning of the following chapter Irulan assures the reader of Leto’s fatherly qualities, which she claims “have long been overlooked,” almost as if sensing that Leto’s absence is starting to become conspicuous. Considering we’re about to be properly introduced to two prominent male role models, Thufir Hawat and Gurney Halleck, the timing is interesting, at the very least.

If that seem like a strange conclusion for me to draw, consider this: two chapters later, just before we finally meet Leto for the first time, Irulan takes us aside a moment to do it again. As the chapter opens she reminds us:

PRINCESS IRULAN CORRINO

"How do we approach the study of Muad'Dib's father? A man of surpassing warmth and surprising coldness was the Duke Leto Atreides. Yet, as many facts open the way to this Duke: his abiding love for his Bene Gessurit lady; the dreams he held for his son; the devotion with which men served him. You see him there - a man snared by Destiny, a lonely figure with his light dimmed behind the glory of his son. Still, one must ask: What is the son but an extension of the father?” 

At this point we need to pull back the curtain. Who’s meant to be compiling these quotes, the narrator or the author? What’s motivating them to include this particular quote right now? Can I take it at face value?

Leto may as well have been the protagonist of the book at this point, but we don’t actually meet the man for more than fifty pages. Any opinions we’ve formed about him so far have been heavily skewed by the adoration of his family, the loyalty of his subjects, or the treachery of his enemies; all of which is capped off by an explicit reminder of his most honorable traits from a future character who presumably knew him in some capacity.

This is intentional. You are being manipulated.

Now, am I really saying that this completely normal narrative device, using one or more characters to form an impression of another, is suspicious? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Princess Irulan, a character only known in this book by her disconnected quotes, is actually a perfect example of why Dune is saying you absolutely should not trust unverified, indirect accounts. There are a few reasons, but one in particular stands out among the rest: Princess Irulan is Leto’s future daughter-in-law. That on its own precludes her from giving an unbiased account, but beyond that, Irulan won’t even meet Paul until a few years after Leto’s part is well and truly ended. Anything she would have to say about him is, at the very least, a second- or third-hand account of a man she never even shared a planet with during his life. The fact that this information is also concealed from you is worth noting as well.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ve actually paused right on the precipice of meeting Duke Leto properly for ourselves. Once you’re finally given a chance to form your own impression you can surely come to a solid conclusion on your own, free of manipulation, right?

Well, no… In fact, from this point onward it only gets worse. When Leto enters a room his presence is tangible. He exudes a casual air of power, lending his confidence effortlessly to those he addresses as if it were their own. He is a man who knows not only what to say to achieve the greatest effect, but also how and when to say it. For example, when Paul admits to his anxiety about their imminent move to Arrakis, Leto forces himself to admit that it will be dangerous. He reminds himself that Paul isn't a soldier to be rallied and offers his Son a brief candid confession instead. Yes, Arrakis will be dangerous. But just as quickly, he undercuts it with talk of the abundant opportunities that await them. There is the spice, of course, but he also suspects that the native Fremen are yet another. We learn that he plans to exploit the Fremen as a military force but he softens the blow by complimenting their honor in the same breath, comparing them favorably to his finest swordsman:

DUKE LETO ATREIDES

"’I sent a mission headed by Duncan Idaho,' the Duke said. 'A proud and ruthless man, Duncan, but fond of the truth. I think the Fremen will admire him. If we're lucky, they may judge us by him: Duncan the moral.'"

Side-stepping the implication that Leto might not seem moral if he were judged directly, this might seem familiar. He’s practically giving away the game. Just as the Fremen will be sent Duncan Idaho, an honorable swordmaster hand-picked to appeal to them culturally, so too were we sent Paul, a mild-mannered young man with a mysterious air of destiny. Not just someone we’re likely to relate to but - most crucially - someone we’re likely to agree with. In a very real sense we’re only fond of Leto at this point because Paul, our audience surrogate, is fond of him.

This is intentional. You are being manipulated.

When we think of propaganda it tends to come in the form of smear campaigns and grandstanding, politicians shouting loudly in favor of themselves or in condemnation of their opponents. While that does definitely count, and much of what Leto engages in would fall under this category, it’s not the only form it can take. So far, all of these tactics are pretty standard fare, but still pretty subtle if you don’t know what to look for. It’s fairly understandable if you didn’t catch on right away, or at all. Unfortunately the most dangerous tactics of propaganda are also the subtlest, and so far we’ve yet to cover the most insidious. Allow me to explain…

Dune’s narration is told in a unique and peculiar style. Throughout a scene the perspective will “float” between the characters, switching from one character to the next without warning as often as the scene demands. This is evocative of the multiple perspectives and personalities that prescient characters like Paul experience, as others have mentioned before. This narrative device helps the reader come to a better understanding of some aspects, like prescience, that may be difficult to explain outright, or too subtle to comment on directly. By taking in more of that character’s experience in a given moment we come to relate with them more closely overall, by way of shared experience.

With that in mind, what would it mean when the narration doesn’t float?

This is exactly what happens in any scene Leto appears in. The floating quality of the narration vanishes and all attention is drawn to him. This makes Leto the primary focus of each of his scenes to the exclusion of all other characters, even Paul. In fact, when the perspective does switch back to Paul in these scenes, it’s often just so he can make an internal observation that redirects attention right back to Leto again. This mimics what it might be like to be in the room with the Duke, feeling his magnetism firsthand. Perhaps this is part of the reason why his entrance is so pushed back, so that Paul and Jessica in particular have a chance to make their own impressions on us before Leto pulls all the focus. On a practical level this might be true, but I think there’s more to it. 

If you actually went back and watched the prologue, “Paul is You,” then you may recall that you is Paul. By which I mean that Paul is a stand-in for the ways in which you, the reader, can be corrupted. This is why I said earlier that this tactic is the most insidious. If Paul is you, then when the narration pauses so that Paul can comment internally about Leto in a positive way, you are having your own thoughts about him dictated to you while someone else nods your head in agreement. 

Again, this is intentional. You are being manipulated by the narration itself, which is even going so far as to gaslight you into thinking the best of Duke Leto Atreides. 

By all accounts provided thus far, Leto is a good man and an even-handed ruler who values loyalty and rewards it in kind. If his family loves him, so much the better to prime us for Leto’s actual introduction with our benefit of the doubt ready to stifle any little doubts that may arise.

So what am I saying here? What’s the point of picking apart one of the more sympathetic tragic heroes of this story? Am I really just here to kick dirt on a beloved character from a timeless classic? 

Okay, so, yeah … maybe a little. But not for nothing! In order to assess Leto’s character properly, we needed to start by clearing the air of all the obfuscation while drawing attention to why that’s necessary. Being able to identify propaganda is crucial, but it doesn’t make you immune to it. Instead it reinforces the need to critically question anyone’s claims, especially the ones of those in power, even if they're your father.

Having done that, we can get a clearer image of Leto in his entirety, virtues and flaws, and try to come to an understanding of one of Paul’s greatest influences, from Paul’s perspective. 

PRINCESS IRULAN

"There is probably no more terrible an instant of enlightenment than the one in which you discover your father is a man - with human flesh.”

To some extent it’s only natural to choose your own ruler when searching for such a role model. Doubly so when said ruler is your own father. We’ve spent a lot of time already talking in depth about Leto’s projected image of himself. If we think of that as what he values most about himself, we already have insight into his priorities where the Art of Ruling is concerned: loyalty, charisma, and strength. In a word, bravura. We’ve also established that Leto’s highest-level advisors each personify the four supports Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohaim enumerates, at least as far as Paul can attest.

But what of Leto’s actual philosophy and methods? We have several examples of the Duke interacting with his subjects, and he often glides through each interaction with the effortless ease of a man who is simply fit to be in his position. This is most evident when he’s delivering a wry but relatable joke before moving on to more serious matters or in his calm demeanor while decisively moving from one bit of statecraft to the next. Leto is well aware of his effect on those around him and takes this responsibility just as seriously as any other that his station requires of him. In his own words:

DUKE LETO

"Command must always look confident [...] All that faith riding on your shoulders while you sit in the critical seat and never show it.”

Leto’s understanding is that, as a ruler, he is a figurehead for his people. He presents confidence to his subjects and his subjects reflect that confidence back to him in turn, a cycle that inspires loyalty through the understanding that those who are great and good go on to do great and good things. He perhaps learned this method of political performance from his own father, who was definitely no stranger to spectacle. 

Referred to only as “the Old Duke,” Leto’s father is best remembered as a fearless matador. Hopelessly outmatched in strength, a bullfighter must outwit his quarry, feinting into another feint, and then another feint again. With incredible patience and calm, he whittles the lumbering beast down to exhaustion; cleverly re-directing its rage and deflecting its enormous power with a flourish. Greatly inspired by his father, Leto clearly thinks of himself as something of a matador as well, but his performance is revealing in ways he may not have intended.

As I mentioned before, Dune’s narration usually “floats” between characters, allowing an unusually high level of transparency for most characters in a scene. This is why I said earlier that the style is meant to convey prescience. In a literal sense the narrative is Paul’s prescient recollection of the events of his life through the eyes of each point-of-view character with whom he shares ancestry, not just his own. This is why we can hear the Reverend Mother and Jessica discuss Paul when he’s out of the room or private conversations that Baron Harkonnen has with Piter and others. More importantly for our purposes here, this gives us access to Leto’s inner thoughts, allowing us to call attention to when they don’t completely align with his actions.

In any narration, not just Dune’s, a character’s first words are often crucial to their nature. It’s telling, then, that aloud Leto enters saying nothing of substance, directing attention to the banal and benign, while his internal thoughts point openly to a man spread much too thin:

NARRATOR

He felt tired, filled with the ache of not showing his fatigue. 

DUKE LETO

(internally)

‘I must use every opportunity to rest during the crossing to Arrakis [...] There will be no rest on Arrakis.’

What Leto doesn’t reveal to anyone is his fatigue, or rather, his vulnerability. You could even go so far as to say that it’s his greatest fear, both as a ruler and as a man. Perhaps seeing his father fall to that final bull sealed his resolve to never allow himself to end up in the same position of weakness, dooming himself to the same tragic fate. A legacy of misunderstanding. The moment he became Duke Atreides, Leto learned from the Old Duke that even momentary weakness is death and to expose yourself is to invite calamity. 

LADY JESSICA

“‘...the Duke is really two men. One of them I love very much. He’s charming, witty, considerate … tender - everything a woman could desire. But the other man is … cold, callous, demanding, selfish - as harsh and cruel as a winter wind. That’s the man shaped by the father.’”

Perhaps he thought of his father when he received the report of an intercepted Harkonnen message implicating Lady Jessica as their spy. With the benefit of the narrator’s prescience we know that Leto takes this for the obvious lie it is, but he chooses to act otherwise to tease out the real double-agent, thereby sealing his fate. By cutting himself off from the one person to whom he allows himself any vulnerability, Leto plays directly into the Baron’s hand, isolating himself and removing his most intimate and essential defenses. 

As I said previously, Leto presents - or rather, projects - confidence to his subjects so they will project it back onto him, but even that isn’t the full story. Leto projects in the first place because he lacks the self awareness necessary to recognize who he truly is as a person. He lacks that self awareness because that would require him to confront and embrace his fears and weaknesses, accepting them as essential parts of himself, which he is simply unwilling to do. When Leto projects himself to others he is also literally telling himself who he is as well, based on his own understanding of the kind of person he’s supposed to be. Under this assumption, Leto is forced to further assume that if he needs to tell himself who he is, everyone else must need to be told as well. Thus he projects an “air of bravura,” not because he’s confident but because he assumes that only by convincing others will it become true. 

DUKE LETO

“'The people must learn how well I govern them. How would they know if we didn't tell them?’"

How, indeed.

The moment he first becomes Duke Atreides, Paul learns from Leto that your principles will get you killed by those who have none. Or else they will wear you down until you buckle under their weight, leaving you hollow and alone like the final remains of Leto Atreides: a skull enshrined within a simple altar in the desert mountainside with nothing but an incomplete mythology for company. To Paul, the 15-year old who is not yet prescient and has just lost his father, this is the only reward for a ruler who knows the art of ruling. Thus the legacy of misunderstanding continues. For Paul the boy this would be the end of Leto’s story for years, and would no doubt contribute heavily to his decisions, many of which we know to have horrific consequences.

Fortunately for us, Leto can also be redeemed through Paul, not the boy but the narrator who is prescient. 

Upon his capture Leto is taken to Baron Harkonnen heavily drugged. His uniform is in tatters, the golden hawk that once gleamed so proudly ripped away, left in ruin much like House Atreides itself. This is a powerful representation of pride and where it will lead, just as the Baron had predicted. Likewise, the decision to strip even his uniform away in the Denis Villeneuve adaptation was incredibly striking and, in some ways, more fitting. In fact, it fits so well I personally had forgotten that Leto wasn’t naked in the novel’s depiction until I re-read it. Even now it’s the way my mind reflexively recalls that scene because it so perfectly captures both the inner and outer conflict. I have to imagine this decision was made not just for dramatic effect but also to emphasize Leto’s utter humiliation and helplessness as his mortal enemy eclipses him, dark heart filled with malice as he leers over his prey.

As the fading effects of the drug slowly release their hold of his faculties Leto’s greatest fear materializes into grim reality all around him. He is at the final precipice of his character arc now, forced into the realization that his lack of self-awareness has allowed his mortal enemy to play him for a fool. From reports to the Baron, he knows that Paul and Jessica may still be alive, or at least that the Baron’s men can’t confirm they are dead, and this fills him with resolve. Armed only with a false tooth filled with a deadly poison implanted by Dr. Yueh, the same man who betrayed him, Leto is utterly vulnerable in the face of certain death, but he knows what must be done. This time Leto has no “air of bravura” for the Baron. His fleeting thoughts turn instead to Paul, his little boy, flying a kite in more peaceful times together on their homeworld, the garden planet Caladan. He no longer needs to tell himself who he is, now he is certain.

When the Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohaim spoke to Paul of the art of ruling, she held up a finger for each of a world’s supports, clenching them into a fist to demonstrate a ruler’s firm grasp. Until this moment this had been Leto’s understanding as well, but now, suddenly, he understands differently. If you don’t know yourself, anyone - anyone - can lead you by the horns in whatever direction they like. With nothing left but his weak and unresponsive body, unshielded and unshorn, he chooses at last to make them his strength. For the first and only time in his life, Leto embraces his vulnerability. No longer ashamed, when Leto confronts himself he isn’t broken down but rather empowered by it. As Leto gasps his final breath he draws the Baron in to gloat over his prey, stretched out before him, pitiful and frail. In the moment of his final defeat, however, Leto demonstrates a greater understanding of the art of ruling, by making his strength the relaxing of a fist, or rather, the release of his breath.

Leto’s culmination as a person comes at the end of his life, literally down to his very last breath, a poignant reminder that it’s never too late to embrace your complete self. In the end Leto finally comes to understand that he can never hope to rule others if he can’t first rule over himself. Much like the Old Duke, he must be the kind of man that faces a challenge with a cool head and sharp wit, aware that confidence is essential yet fragile unless supported from within by a keen understanding and - most crucially - acceptance of all he is.  

This comes too late for Paul, but not for you. You, who are corruptible. Corruptible by those who would use your nature to their advantage, corruptible by those who have nothing but good intentions, and especially corruptible by failing to understand the art of ruling … yourself.