A different kind of hero
by Simon Longstaff
If you have ever had to stand in the face of vehement opposition and hold your ground in support of what you believe to be right, then you will know that the ethical path is frequently travelled only with difficulty.
As argued in the lead article for this issue of City Ethics, the acid test of a commitment to ethical behaviour comes when there is a cost to be borne.
Towards the end of 1991, Time magazine published an article about the experience of whistleblowers in Australia. As with any good headline the title of the cover story provided an eloquent and succinct summation of the issues. In this case the piece was entitled ‘Integrity and Ruined Lives’. Amongst other things, the article is testimony to the courage of those honest individuals who have put their convictions before a concern for their personal wellbeing.
In many cases, the disclosures made by whistleblowers brought advantage to the community at large while at the same time resulting in loss to the individuals who saw fit to raise the alarm. It is curious that we praise the deeds of citizens who engage in acts of physical heroism yet tend to damn the morally courageous. The person who foils a bank robbery is widely applauded. Why then do so many of us shrink from the company of those who reveal wrongdoing?
To act ethically will frequently require courage, and in particular, the virtue of moral courage – the ability to stand up for what is right, even when to do so involves significant personal cost. Physical threats tend to be immediate and intense. Because of this, the corresponding type of courage is sometimes treated as if more ‘real’. But both are equally important and both give rise to heroes.
Some think that heroes are forged in the white heat of the dangerous moment. But there is another kind of hero, the person of quiet decency whose achievement is only built over an entire career.
We are stuck by the intensity of lightning, yet fail to mention the thunder that rolls on into the distance long after the lightning's moment has passed. We are captured by the tumultuous descent of the waterfall while the steady progress of the river is ignored. And we marvel at the ocean's power, unaware of the fact that we stand upon ground claimed for us by the silent witness of the ancient cliff. In each case the spectacular is only made possible by the patient and mundane.
discuss this articleDr Simon Longstaff is Executive Director of St James Ethics Centre.
This article was first published in City Ethics (now Living Ethics), issue 15, autumn 1994
© St James Ethics Centre