Risk was popular in college. A realistic game of global geopolitics, winning it depended on alliances, betrayals, and favorable rolls of the dice. I was never very good at Risk, and instead spent most of my time playing chess or bridge, at which I achieved adequacy.

I did win one game of Risk, though. It was against the two best players in the dorm, too. How? My friend Steve and I agreed in advance to not attack each other. The simple expedient of a reliable alliance outweighed all other considerations. We divided the world in half and quit, to the chagrin of our defeated opponents, who, irony of ironies, described our simple tactic as cheating. Apparently honoring a commitment violates the rules of Risk.

It also violates some of The 48 Laws of Power, the unwholesome but highly useful reference recommended in last week’s column for anyone who wants to achieve influence in a large organization. While considerably more shallow than Machiavelli’s The Prince, Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, or even Anton Jay’s Management and Machiavelli, The 48 Laws of Power has the advantage of painting-by-numbers: It’s formulaic and easy to follow.

If the book is so unpleasant, why is it important? Simple: As a wise man once said, the only thing worse than having to play stupid games is losing at stupid games you can’t avoid playing. Even if you eschew these techniques yourself, if you can’t recognize their use by others you won’t be able to nullify their effects.

The book is missing something important: An indicator … a thermometer bar perhaps … to indicate which laws are novice, intermediate, and advanced techniques. This would be helpful because many of this book’s suggestions require significant finesse for success.

Let’s imagine for a moment that you have no scruples. You buy the book, study the laws, perfect your technique, and so begin your meteoric rise to the top of your company. Chances are good that even as your career advances, your ability to lead will decline.

Evaluate each Law on its own merits — to be fair, some are the essence of leadership. Laws 28 through 30, for example, recommend that you “Enter action with boldness,” “Plan all the way to the end,” and “Make your accomplishments seem effortless.” This is good advice: Timidity is worse than inaction, you should always define the goal before taking the first step, and you should never let anyone see you sweat.

Other laws, though, impair your effectiveness as a leader. For example, concealing your intentions and saying less than necessary — Laws 3 and 4 — may confuse your rivals and prevent them from preparing a defense. Regrettably, it also confuses those you lead, and confused soldiers rarely win battles.

Taking credit for the work of others (Law 7) and creating a state of terror (Law 17) are also dreadful leadership techniques. They lead to sullen teams with no initiative or drive.

The very techniques that help you achieve power prevent its effective use.

The worst aspect of The 48 Laws, though, are their potential for poetic justice. Follow them yourself and you encourage their use by those around you.

And some of them will be better at the game than you are.

Sometimes, you read something that makes you want to take a long shower. The 48 Laws of Power, written by Robert Greene, and produced and “designed by” Joost Elffers (and what’s it say when a book’s producer/designer gets equal billing?) takes Machiavelli’s suggestions and the ethical dilemma he posed and eliminates the ethical dilemma.

Machiavelli expressed his dilemma in The Prince: “Any man who tries to be good all the time is bound to come to ruin among the great number who are not good. Hence a prince who wants to keep his authority must learn how not to be good, and use that knowledge, or refrain from using it, as necessity requires.”

Greene and Elffers say, “No one wants less power; everyone wants more.” “You will be able to make people bend to your will without their realizing what you have done. And if they do not realize what you have done, they will neither resent nor resist you.” “In fact, the better you are at dealing with power, the better friend, lover, husband, wife, and person you become.”

They figure everyone wants to increase their power, and always at someone else’s expense. This may be true in their world. In mine, most people want to optimize their power, not maximize it.

Powerlessness is a sorry state of affairs most of us try to avoid — true enough. Maximize your power, though, and you isolate and dehumanize yourself, substituting dry affairs for loving relationships, suspicion and manipulation for trusting friendships, and cold planning for the uninhibited enjoyment of life. Love and friendship require us to give others power over ourselves and vice versa.

On the other hand …

In your career you aren’t surrounded by friends. So while I don’t generally recommend “Keep[ing] others in suspended terror,” (Law 17), recognizing that your rivals do can prevent their achieving power over you. Nor should you “Use selective honesty … to disarm your victim,” (Law 12) for any number of reasons, not the least of which is an insufficient supply of naivete. If you’re naive enough to fall for it, though, your less scrupulous colleagues will manipulate you without much effort.

Some laws are just bad advice. Law 11, which advises you to “Learn to keep people dependent on you,” can change you from a peer to a subordinate in a hurry if you aren’t careful, and can prevent an employer from promoting you out of fear that what only you can do will no longer get done. If you’re irreplaceable, you’re unpromotable.

Other than its ethical repulsiveness, the biggest problem with this book is that some of its suggestions only work when everyone plays. “Get others to do the work for you, but always take the credit,” only works if people don’t confide in each other. Otherwise you can kiss Law #5, “So much depends on reputation — guard it with your life,” goodbye.

But … and it’s a big but … you can’t always avoid Machiavelli’s ethical dilemma, and even the most distasteful of these 48 “Laws” may be required to keep a bigger schmuck than you from taking over.

Sadly, you should own this book. Put it on your home (not office!) bookshelf, right next to Covey’s The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and see if one of them bursts into flames.