In response to the recent obituary of a well-regarded public figure, published comments included, as you might expect, many effusive statements of praise for the deceased. A few went so far as to call him “a great man.” I’m sure I’ve seen or heard that remark countless times. In fact, I recall my sister using it standing over our dad’s coffin 45 years ago. But for some reason, this time it got me thinking. What does that mean?
Desmond Tutu says there are no evil people, just evil acts; no monsters, just monstrous acts. Wouldn’t the converse apply as well? That there are no great people, only people whose lives contribute to the well-being of others in extraordinary ways.
To call someone a “great” person can be dangerous, I should think. This doesn’t mean he or she couldn’t legitimately be considered a great statesman, or a great golfer, or a great parent, or a great mechanic. It’s when the term relates to their existence as human being that things get dicey, for it is a term easily equated with “superior.” And so much of the world’s horror is the result of the belief that “I am fundamentally superior to you.”
The use of “great” is perhaps questionable only in this larger context. Certainly those responding to the man’s obituary were just trying to convey their esteem for their friend or loved one who had lived honorably and contributed so much. That said, it isn’t out of the question that an implied “not like some others” might be lurking below.
Some may find it a stretch to equate the life of the person in the glowing obit with that of the gang-banger who makes his or her way from childhood abuse, torture, violence, poverty, and the condemnation of society to a life of relative tranquility and fruitful relationships with others and the world at large. To me, a more risky stretch is assuming that those who enjoy society’s conspicuous advantages and recognition are more worthy of admiration. I’ve never met anyone whose struggles with the burdens they carry didn’t leave me feeling a certain measure of awe.
Our ego’s desire to separate humanity into good guys and bad guys, “Us” and “Them,” so that we can satisfy our small-self desire to be among the righteous, creates the poison of judgment. And judgment, the opposite of kinship, fuels the marginalizing of others and all the forms of oppression that come with it.
It’s hard for me to imagine how it’s possible to cultivate a peaceful heart without finding all of humankind my family. We humans are much too complex to fit any label that separates us.
Except perhaps those folks of discriminating palate who love to eat kale, and those unfortunate souls who don’t.
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