Being Useful
I was asked recently to give a talk on one of the most influential philosophers and theologians of the 20th century—Martin Buber.
I doubt that the people who asked me to talk about Buber were aware of the gift they gave me with their request. Of all the philosophers or theologians I could be asked to speak about, Buber is the one who I knew would not be satisfied with superficial treatment. Citing the dates of his life, his many books, and the universities where he taught or which bestowed honorary degrees on him would not do justice to Buber. Even the photograph of Buber that I brought to the talk failed to convey the magnetism of the man. I needed to let Buber speak.
Of the lessons from Buber that I shared with the class, two seem to be especially pertinent for our current struggles as a society. Once, Buber was asked who he considered to be a great person. He paused before saying that there are no great people, only useful ones. Like other sages, Buber did not explain what he meant. He left that for his listeners and for us to figure out the distinction.
Based on other Buber writings and sayings, I have my own theory about what Buber meant. When we call another person great, we mean that she or he achieved something noteworthy in the past. Biographies list the significant achievements attained by individuals over a lifetime, evidence that they achieved greatness.
In contrast, we consider someone useful if he or she offers valuable guidance, service, and even correction to others or the community in the present moment. People considered great can rest on their laurels. Instead of resting, useful people look around, see where their skills and gifts are needed, and act.
According to those who had the privilege of knowing Buber, one of the most useful contributions he made was offering exceptional openness to others whom he met. Buber did not just write about the power of dialogue; he tried to practice a certain quality of dialogue throughout his life.
Perhaps only someone like Buber could discern three kinds of dialogue. One type of dialogue, what he called “technical dialogue,” occurs when we seek information from another person. An example would be asking a check-in person at an airport if a flight is on time.
According to Buber, a more common kind of dialogue isn’t dialogue at all. It is mutual monologues masking as dialogue. Someone pretends to be listening to another person but is really only waiting to speak. Isn’t this the disease that plagues Washington? When was the last time any of us heard a politician confess that her or his opponent has made a good point?
The rarest form of dialogue, Buber wrote, is genuine dialogue. In genuine dialogue, each person is fully open to the other, neither judging the other nor relinquishing where he or she stands on an issue. It was this quality of dialogue that Buber hoped would take place between Israelis and Palestinians and lead to peace when Israel became a modern nation in 1948. It is that quality of dialogue that we wish would take place between Ukraine and Russia, between Israelis and Palestinians, and between Iran and the US.
Sadly, we see none of that level of vulnerability and openness in any of those conflicts. Instead, there is a lot of speaking, shouting, threatening, and posturing, all culminating in warfare.
Perhaps it’s time to view war as a failure, never a glorious achievement, never something sacred. As Buber would teach all those who are willing to listen, the greatest and most useful human achievement is not the invention of nuclear bombs, murderous drones, or AI, but the capacity to relate to and understand another human being.