(cross posted at my blog, I have to sit down)
My heart sank when I saw this picture on Creative Minority Report:
Orthodox. Faithful. Free.
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The NAACP hid a prominent statue of George Washington inside a wooden box during a MLK Day rally, offering the terminally lame excuse that the box would make a more suitable backdrop for the rally’s speakers. The NAACP denies any intention of disrespect, but their narrow view of history is no secret: anyone who owned slaves is a racist, and anyone who is a racist cannot be called a great man. This is what is taught in history class, and several generations have been nourished on these junk food ideas.
Students are taught that they must not squander their exquisite admiration on someone who owned slaves. They are taught, by implication, that it’s not enough for a man to give up his family and his safety for the noble cause of independence. It’s not enough to inspire and command. It’s not even enough to triumph in a way that directly benefits millions of people today.
He must also be . . . EVERYTHING MAN.
He must leap out of his time, and see with the eyes of every possible future type of enlightenment. Did he accomplish the massive victories that his generation desperately needed? Not good enough. We also require him to be the role model for solving any type of conflict that might ever turn up, or else he’s no good to us. Into the box you go, little George. You don’t impress us anymore.
Where else do we see this same lazy, self-absorbed analysis of history? In the sour voices that grumble over John Paul II’s beatification. He may have been good, they say, but oh, he was not great. Oh, sure, he was very charistmatic and all. He clearly prayed a lot, and that’s commendable. But what a hash he made of the Church! It’s all his fault! He’s the one who wrote all those lame hymns, he’s the one who offered free butch haircuts to nuns, if you’ll recall. And who can forget those Woodstock-style World Youth Day rallies, where he encouraged the youth to hold hands during the Our Father? Never mind that the number of Catholics worldwide grew from 700 million to 1.2 billion while he was Pope — the guy was a squish, a pushover, a washout.
Listen to me. God sends certain men to achieve certain great deeds while they live. They are not responsible for what future generations may require: that is up to the heroes born of those generations. Great men are great because they do what needs to be done at the time. They put their own desires and frailties aside, and they make the world new with their particular strengths, their particular form of brilliance. Heck, that’s what Martin Luther King Jr. did. A holy man? No. He was a serial adulterer. And Washington owned slaves, and John Paul II allowed the monster Maciel to flourish.
But they were great men. They took their personal, God-given talents and turned them into something immense — something that made the world better.
It’s not just that we should forgive the wrong they did because they did so much good (although that is also true). No. I’m saying that these men were good in the way that they were designed to be good, great according to their own natures. George Washington’s great strength wasn’t as an abolitionist, you know? John Paul II’s great strength wasn’t as a disciplinarian. It wasn’t his calling.
Do we criticize Fra Angelico for not figuring out how to split the atom? Or do we sneer at Herman Melville because he couldn’t outrun Carl Lewis? I mean, what do we want from these guys? And can’t we even imagine that whatever heroes we admire today may someday be judged harshly by our great great grandchildren — and wouldn’t that seem unfair? Men are men, and they live when they live. Who is good enough for us? Who can escape our endlessly dissatisfied dissection?
There was only one perfect Man. The other great men of the world — Washington, King, John Paul II, and any hero you can name — are only mirrors, who catch and show to us a little bit of His radiant light. The world is dark enough already. Let’s not become so enlightened that we spend our time setting up boxes around the brilliance of great men.