The one and the many

While I was reading The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, by Stephen Covey, I came across this quote, from Dag Hammarskjold, a former Secretary-General of the United Nations, who died in sinister circumstances in a plane crash over Africa on his way to negotiate a cease-fire, and is the only person to have been posthumously awarded a Nobel Peace Prize:

Dag Hammarskjold, past Secretary-General of the United Nations, once made a profound, far-reaching statement: “It is more noble to give yourself completely to one individual than to labor diligently for the salvation of the masses.”

I have pondered that on a couple of occasions since, and the fact that such an illustrious Secretary-General of the United Nations said it.

Stephen Covey goes on to say that what he understands this to mean is that we can devote many days and hours to projects and people “out there”, and yet still not have deep, meaningful relationships with those around us, and that it would “take more nobility of character—more humility, courage and strength—to rebuild that one relationship than to continue putting in all those hours for all those people and causes”. I believe he’s right, and we are more vulnerable and tested in deep, close relationship to one person than if we keep our distance as an ambassador for the good of the masses.

A few days ago as I slogged on through the The Brothers Karamazov, by Dostoevsky, I read this passage, which reminded me of the above. It is one of the Elders from the monastery, quoting an aged physician:

‘That is almost precisely what a certain medical man once told me, long ago now,’ the Elder observed. ‘The man was already quite advanced in years, and of unquestionable intelligence. He spoke just as frankly as you have done, though also with humour, a rueful kind of humour; “I love mankind,” he said, “but I marvel at myself: the more I love mankind in general, the less I love human beings in particular, separately, that is, as individual persons. In my dreams,” he said, “I would often arrive at fervent plans of devotion to mankind and might very possibly have gone to the Cross for human beings, had that been suddenly required of me, and yet I am unable to spend two days in the same room with someone else, and this I know from experience. No sooner is that someone else close to me than his personality crushes my self-esteem and hampers my freedom. In the space of a day and a night I am capable of coming to hate even the best of human beings: one because he takes long over dinner, another because he has a cold and is perpetually blowing his nose. I become the enemy of others,” he said, “very nearly as soon as they come into contact with me. To compensate for this, however, it has always happened that the more I have hated human beings in particular, the more ardent has become my love for mankind in general.”’

It is laughable really isn’t it, when articulated in such a way. I’m not sure that there is much more to say, but that there is a caution to remember that the sniffing, slow-chewing individuals are intrinsic to whatever may be our glorious labours for the good of all, that they aren’t irritating obstructions to that higher cause, and to keep in mind the nobility of giving yourself deeply to those in your sphere.

One can’t help but think of Jesus, as the man who did go to the Cross for human beings, but who also walked many a road, and rowed in many a boat and wept in a garden with a few, who well and truly got his hands dirty with individuals, who used his spit to heal the blind and spoke to outcast women.