It is perhaps remarkable that, as violent as the USA is today (both literally and metaphorically), there have been relatively few political assassinations in recent times. The same cannot be said of the 1960’s, a decade in which there were three key assassinations. In 1963 President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, and five years later his brother, Robert F. Kennedy, was killed while on the campaign trail for the presidency. But just a few months previously Martin Luther King Jr had been assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. John F had already made a global impact by the time of his election, having been a member of both the House and Senate (and publishing a Pulitzer prize-winning book) before winning the top job in 1960. His early death probably helped to preserve his reputation, despite his involving the US further in the Vietnam conflict (which would become so divisive later in the decade) and authorising a number of CIA capers in Cuba. King’s violent and tragic death, April 4th, 1968 (he had already survived a stabbing in 1958), and his involvement in the Civil Rights movement in the US (which included the soaring rhetoric of his 1963 “I have a dream” speech) have also served to preserve his reputation. But biographers, or at least competent biographers, seek to describe their subject as completely as the evidence will allow. And in a review of a new biography of King, I was struck by the comment that “Heroes are defenceless against time’s erosion” (DeGroot’s review of “King”, by Jonathan Eig, The Times, 20/5/23).
All men, even great men, are men. Or, if you prefer a non-gendered version, all human beings are human beings. This is hardly an original or earth-shattering statement. Indeed, it is simply a restatement of what J.C. Ryle, first Bishop of Liverpool, observed back in the mid-19th century: “The best of men are only men at their very best”. In his “Expository thoughts on the Gospels” he was discussing the tendency to put prominent people on something of a pedestal, and perhaps by implication to “worship” them. Certainly to pay closer attention to them than was merited. This is not to argue that there aren’t those to whom attention should be paid, whether in science, the arts, politics or theology (or wherever your interest lie). There will be those who have technical expertise who should be listened to, whose insights should be appreciated and carefully considered. Hopefully the recent madness of despising experts because they are experts and believing the sage advice of those who have no expertise but opine anyway, has passed or at least is passing. There will be others who because of other experience will have something to contribute to a particular debate or discussion. But no-one is an expert in everything; even polymaths have blind spots and other limitations. This is why it is unwise to take too seriously the metaphysical prejudices of eminent natural scientists, who become eminent largely by knowing more about less. They are entitled to their metaphysical views (and they all have them). But their opinion should carry no more weight than those of other non-experts in metaphysics. So it is worth paying a certain amount of attention to what is being said on certain topics at a certain time over a certain range to certain people. But the topics and range will always have limits.
And this bring us to the problem of those occupying pedestals. For we tend to attribute to them an expertise that is way too broad, insight that is way more penetrating that is likely to be the case, and authority that they probably don’t want and are not capable of bearing. Eventually they will topple or be toppled leaving us with conundrums. What of their cause (if they have one)? Is that inevitably tainted by the discovery that the leader of that particular cause was flawed (although probably no more flawed than the rest of us)? King’s great cause was the end of racism, a time he anticipated when character would count for more than skin colour. That is surely a worthy, if yet unobtained, objective. This seems to be a cousin of the issue of separating an artist from his or her art. This last weekend a protester climbed on to a statue outside the BBC which was created by the sculptor Eric Gill, and attacked it with a hammer and chisel. The reason was that Gill, one of the towering figures in British sculpture in the first half of the 20th century, was guilty of incest and child abuse. Meanwhile, on planet evangelical, yet another UK leader is currently being investigated over allegations of abuse of those under his influence, and a former Archbishop has been forced to step back from his ministry because of alleged mishandling of another abuse claim. Can you separate the man from his theology?
What has disappointed here is not speeches, sculpture or theology, but the particular human beings involved. Because it turned out (or it may turn out after investigation) that they were flawed. But then we all are. That’s why pedestals of whatever kind are dangerous. Those specimens of humanity who occupy them will almost inevitability disappoint on some level or another, at one time or another. And there is definitely a temporal aspect to this that means that the human and flawed reality will always catch up with even the greatest of human, pedestalled heroes. Which brings us back to what Ryle was actually discussing. Pedestals make for idolatry, because those who occupy them, whether by accident or design, are usurping someone who most definitely should be “up there”. It is precisely because this is how human beings are designed (to worship) that pedestals exist in the first place. But Ryle’s point was that there is someone the worship of whom is entirely appropriate. It turns out that perhaps the most examined life ever lived, examined both by His contemporaries and by many since, has yet to be found to be flawed in any respect. Ryle was discussing Matthew 17:1-13 (page 209 of the James Clark 1974 edition of his “Expository Thoughts on the Gospels”), and his focus was entirely on Jesus.
Here is someone worthy of hero worship. Because He is worthy of worship.
