Could it be that, beyond economic, political or geostrategic difficulties, there are obstacles to the ideal of the common good that are inherent in human nature? And if something specific to human nature stood in the way of achieving this ideal, would it not lead to failure, regardless of overcoming all other difficulties?
Globalisation, as a process of generalisation for the common good of the multiple interactions in today’s world (economic, financial, political, social, cultural, etc.), seems to have reached a stage where some are already proclaiming its end, without having had time to extend its influence or its transformations to the very edges that would justify its name—the edges of the globe or of the world.
Irrespective of the level at which the discussion takes place, from the transnational to the small-group level, the above questions essentially call for an analysis of how we relate to our fellow human beings. How do we see those who are different from us, who have been formed in other cultures? How much do we care about their welfare? Is their welfare similar to our own? Do we really have the goal or ideal of a common good? It is important to examine some aspects of our relationship with others, whether distant or near, in search of the most appropriate attitude towards our fellow human beings.
A globalisation that lacks a human face
The French journalist François Lenglet published a book with a surprising title: La fin de la mondialisation [The End of Globalization].[1] After an extensive compilation of data and facts, he argues that we have at least reached the end of the known phase of this process, a phase that has been predicted by many specialists since the 1970s. What comes next is not really known. What we do know is that, although the phenomenon initially seemed to be manageable at the macro-social level, the tension between the objective historical process (facilitated by technology) of the internationalisation of relations and interaction between people, on the one hand, and the need for safety and security of life, on the other, has re-emerged.
As Lenglet points out, this tension can be seen, for example, in the difficult relationship between the uncontrollable expansion of certain markets and the need for rules, planning, changes in legislation, and the protection of national economies; or in the conflict between the concentration of profits in the hands of a few powerful people and the impoverishment of the masses; or in the contrast between the standardisation of banking and the effect of the indebtedness of states, which are treated like any other debtor and asked to surrender their property.[2] All this has happened before, but not on the scale that we are seeing today, which has led to strikes or protests by socio-professional categories in various countries, as well as an “explosion of nationalism.” “This is not fair. And it is not even effective,”, Lenglet concludes his analysis.[3]
The French anthropologist and journalist Claude Karnoouh has a different perspective on the phenomenon, but still a negative one, even “uncomfortable”, to use his own words: “Globalisation, then, seems to be on the verge of being completed in its entirety. Even if there are still small pockets of archaism here and there, claiming to be irreducible, they will soon be integrated into the West and its generality, by means of the market, the economy, technological constraints and, not least, bombs. Where will we find from now on the radical alterity,”[4] the only one that, with its irreducible identity, once defied the West, which was always sure of the universality of its values?
Claude Karnoouh deplores the trend towards a uniform identity.
From the point of view of anthropology—the science of human beings in the geographical, historical, and behavioural diversity of their hypostases—something essential would be lost; under the global whirlwind, the richness of the different cultures of our world, a richness that seemed irreducible, would disappear. The diverse identities of different ethnicities, races, peoples, languages, life experiences, and geographical backgrounds would be threatened by what the author calls the West’s “manipulated identity alternatives,” offered to the public like goods in a Western supermarket.
From this perspective, globalisation appears as unnatural a process as the process of global climate standardisation. We recall the slogan, also anthropologically inspired, that was promoted in the 1990s: “unity in diversity”—a slogan that respected cultural relativism and the inalienable identities of different communities, while promoting economic unification for the prosperity of all. What has been and will be the scope of this slogan? Where is the failure of this project? What would constitute its recovery?
In the midst of strategies and calculations…
“…concern for the man himself and his fate must always form the chief interest.” Einstein’s advice is once again relevant given the invasion of all kinds of mercantile interests which are loaded with justificatory rhetoric, partisan strategies, burdensome alliances, and democratic pretences. The great advantage of the latter is that they have an obvious common denominator, a goal that unites them: profit. In contrast, the human diversity of the planet can only be defended if we all recognise the common denominator that makes all human beings the Man himself, above material interests.
Only if we respect our differences, because we value what unites us in our fellow human beings, can we imagine a better world with high values and just norms. This awareness begins gradually, with each one of us, with the awakening of our consciences to social reality, then with the civic education of groups and the community about common values, principles and goals, and then with the involvement of civil society to keep the political system in check.
The history of humanity, unfortunately, records cases of alterity that show that we are not naturally inclined to respect the differences of others, of those who are not like us. Without a lucid effort, without an inner struggle with their own selfishness, human beings, no matter how “civilised” they may be, are not prepared to interact with their fellow human beings in good faith; neither to consider their wellbeing, nor to approach them in order to make themselves known to them, to collaborate for the common good.
After the great geographical discoveries, in the wake of the testimonies of navigators, traders, adventurers, soldiers, missionaries, and so on, in fifteenth-century Europe and in the centuries that followed, alterity was constituted by the dislocation of the known horizon of the inhabited planet. Western culture’s image of others, of those different from European people, changed radically under the influence of the Native Americans. The myth of the “good savage” was a rather fanciful way of seeing them as contemporary ancestors who were valued for a series of qualities such as innocence, curiosity, a desire for exploration and interaction, and generosity, but who did not inspire humanity or the Christian spirit in Europeans, but rather the desire for enrichment and their objectification to the point of slavery.
The utopias of thinkers such as Campanella, Morus, and Bacon, who noted with sadness the precariousness of European people, imagined better worlds in the middle of the ocean, on unknown and uncorrupted islands. Here is an evocative fragment from Francis Bacon’s The New Atlantis, an unfinished work written in the early 17th century, in which European shipwreck victims are welcomed by the mysterious inhabitants of a South Sea island: “He was a priest, and looked for a priest’s reward; which was our brotherly love, and the good of our souls and bodies. So he went from us, not without tears of tenderness in his eyes; and left us also confused with joy and kindness, saying amongst ourselves; That we were come into a land of angels, which did appear to us daily, and prevent us with comforts, which we thought not of, much less expected.”[5]
Towards the end of the 19th century, alterity took on a new facet in Europe—that of ethnocentrism.
Academic anthropologists looked down on the elements of the cultures they wrote about and studied from a distance, judging them by the criteria of their own culture. Even later, when they tried to capture the “local colour” encountered in the field, the arrogance of the one who thinks he understands everything and sees himself as the exponent of normative culture shone through. As the scholar Bronislaw Malinowski wrote in 1925: “Looking from far and above, from our high places of safety in developed civilisation, it is easy to see all the crudity and irrelevance of magic. But without its power and guidance early man could not have mastered his practical difficulties as he has done, nor could man have advanced to the higher stages of culture.”[6]
Another representation of others, those who are very different from white people, is given by a new value that is present not only in the European but also in the American mentality to this day: exoticism. And with it comes a new way of disregarding others, of placing them among museum exhibits, or among extraordinary experiences, or among opportunities for adventure and escape from the everyday and the familiar; of not considering them as fellow human beings.
This stage was surpassed by another in the history of “civilised” man’s relationship with alterity, with the professionalisation of field anthropologists in the American school of Franz Boas at the beginning of the last century. The empathic integration of researchers into the cultures they studied brought many new elements to everyone’s attention, providing valuable information about the human diversity of the planet. However, empathy towards our fellow human beings has remained an unattainable ideal. Is it intangible? Is our neighbour so unreachable?
Alterity prefigured by Christianity
Christianity can offer all people and some ideologies a particular anthropological lesson: in order to succeed in describing or forming an image of human nature, it is not enough to separate and extract its defining elements, universally valid, nor to look at its extent from a distance, but it is necessary, above all, to “feel together”; the Christian attitude seems to be the only one that is concerned with treating our “farthest”—to use a term of the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche—as the neighbour of whom the Bible speaks.
The Christian parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-42) shows us in a comprehensive way not only who our neighbour is, but also whose neighbour we are: anyone who needs help and whom we can help through our good deeds.
To love one’s neighbour as oneself (Matthew 19:19) presupposes not only a healthy and balanced love of self, without excess or diminution, without self-adulation or self-loathing, but also the idea of a common good—a good that everyone can desire, regardless of differences in culture, environment, status, age, education, and so on.
This good is not yet reflected in broader social or political plans, but its image can be shaped by biblical teaching and embraced individually. This common good implies that each person has the right to be treated as an equal among his or her fellow human beings, to be recognised as a human being, to be understood and helped to the extent that others are able, to be judged not for what he or she is but for what he or she does, to be seen as a product of God’s creation along with all others, and as having the chance, like all others, to save his or her soul for a higher world. In concrete terms, the Christian attitude towards one’s neighbour, whoever he or she may be, has a positive formulation for action, which goes like this: “Do to others as you would have them do to you” (Luke 6:31).
Of course, in a fallen world, this desideratum seems illusory, it cannot be followed by the multitude, but it can at least be a landmark on the individual’s path and a prefiguration of the transcendent world in which it finds its fulfilment.
By carrying the model of perfection within us, by preparing ourselves for it, we succeed in transcending imperfection and transient precariousness. In ancient times, it was said that “all roads lead to Rome”—and this was true of their purpose, because the route of the goods and tributes accumulated from an entire empire was directed towards the centre. Now, fortunately, some roads have a different destination. And the more numerous and straighter they are, the more they will light up and facilitate the way for the others.