Dangerous Unselfishness
A Lesson from Martin Luther King Jr.'s Last Speech
In Martin Luther King Jr.’s last speech “I’ve been to the Mountaintop”, given a day before his tragic assassination, he called people to support black sanitation workers who were on strike over poor work conditions and unfair pay, and challenged his audience to develop a “dangerous unselfishness” in their fight for justice through peaceful means.
He recounted Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan and suggested that the Priest and the Levite, who chose not to help the wounded man who was robbed and left on the side of the road, might have been afraid of what would happen to them if they stopped to cross the road and help the man because the road was dangerous and conducive to ambushes. Martin Luther King Jr. said:
And so the first question that the priest asked, the first question that the Levite asked was, "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by and he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?”
This kind of sacrificial love is the cardinal ethic of character. It requires a humbling of self and a willingness to take on responsibility for the well-being of another. John Dickson defines humility as “the noble choice to forego your status, deploy your resources or use your influence for the good of others before yourself … a willingness to hold power in service of others.”1
I’m challenged by this other-centered perspective because it is a dangerous unselfishness. It’s all too easy to come up with excuses for not helping. One of the most common is to deny responsibility by claiming it is not my problem, not within my ability, or not going to accomplish enough to bring change. Susan Montag challenged these excuses when she wrote, “The likelihood that your acts of resistance cannot stop the injustice does not exempt you from acting in what you sincerely and reflectively hold to be the best interests of your community.”2
There may be legitimate limitations on what can be done, but these should always be put to the test to see if they are convenient self-serving excuses, especially when they are presented by institutions and those who hold the power to intervene.
One of the principles I’ve tried to encourage organizational leaders to follow is to surrender the temptation to defend the image of the institution. Research shows that institutional responses to crisis tend to marginalize victims, the most profoundly impacted, because leadership focuses their attention on the needs of the most powerful. Important questions to ask, and to keep asking, when responding to a crisis is, “Who is impacted and how? What losses have they experienced? What must we do to alleviate the suffering and promote healing? How do we enter into that suffering in ways that are trauma-informed and restorative?”
But those questions and their answers are opposed by a self-serving question that goes something like, “If we enter into their suffering, what will happen to us?”
I’ve heard leaders resentfully say things like, “I didn’t sign up for this,” as if walking with people in the midst of their suffering wasn’t in the job description. I’ve heard some suggest that continuing to address people’s concerns is distracting them from their real mission. Others have expressed concern that if they acknowledge the truth of leadership wrongdoing then that would risk liability. Out of concern that liability might ascend up to them, institutions have at times chosen to prevent their responsibility from descending down in ways that would empower and validate the wounded. Even when wrongs are exposed and made clear, leadership might remain silent or give a statement that falls just short of accepting responsibility by saying something like, “If mistakes were made,” or “If anyone was hurt.”
Rather than asking, “What will happen to us if we enter into their suffering?” ethical leaders ask, “What will happen to them if we don’t enter into their suffering?” And not only is that for the good of others, but it’s also character-forming and joy-producing for the one who helps. No one who experiences truly meaningful service to others looks back on their work and says, “I’m so glad of the self-serving, self-protective leadership role I had.”
Martin Luther King Jr.’s call to dangerous unselfishness contains a lesson that can reframe how we respond to injustice. He concluded his final speech with these words:
That’s the question before you tonight: not, “If I stop to help the sanitation workers what will happen to all of the hours that I usually spend in my office every day and every week as a pastor.” The question is not, “If I stop to help this man in need what will happen to me?” It’s, “If I do not stop to help the sanitation workers what will happen to them?” That’s the question.
Dickson, J. P. (2011). Humilitas: A Lost Key to Life, Love, and Leadership. United States: Zondervan.
Sontag, S., & Rieff, D. (2007). At the same time : essays and speeches (P. Dilonardo & A. Jump, Eds.; 1st ed). Farrar, Straus, and Giroux.
One beauty of having “many stories” rather than the one politically correct narrative, is that it allows us to see a situation from a variety of perspectives. We can then learn to read a single story and see it through the lenses of the different characters. In the Good Samaritan parable, as in most stories, we tend to ultimately identify ourselves with the hero. MLK’s question is a very valid one then. What if we don’t do what is right? That question likely never entered the heads of the priest and the Levite however, as they would have been too put off by the thought of a Samaritan being the hero. That would have been unthinkable, repulsive. But maybe that was the point. To see the hero as the despised, rejected and themselves in the desperate traveler needing grace, receiving mercy, would have clashed with tradition and pride. But I think that was what Jesus was getting at.
I know parables should not be stretched out of shape until they imply things not intended by Jesus, but after living through my own abusive situation, I have wondered about the recovery of the traveler. There is a consequence to both the wounded, and those that walk by them, if the right action is not taken in the moment, but also after the fact. Was reconciliation part of his recovery? Was he ever allowed to tell his story?