Noblesse Oblige: Redeeming Privilege in an Age of Resentment

The United States is not just a melting pot of races and cultures, it's also a melting pot of languages and ideas. One concept we inherited (or borrowed) from the French is summed up in the expression noblesse oblige. 

In our time, the failures of Western Civilization—colonialism, inequality, exploitation—are often highlighted as though they define the whole. Yet Western Civ also gave rise to constitutional government, the rule of law, scientific inquiry, individual rights, abolition movements, and ideals of human dignity that fueled reform from within. Its greatest strength may have been self-critique—the capacity to confront injustice using its own moral vocabulary. At its best, it calls the powerful to responsibility, to service rather than domination.

The French phrase noblesse oblige literally means “nobility obligates.” It expresses the idea that those who possess privilege—whether of birth, wealth, education, or power—carry a moral responsibility toward those with less. French is a beautiful language, and the concept here is beautiful as well.

This idea emerged from the hierarchical structure of medieval and early modern France. In a feudal society, nobles enjoyed legal advantages, land ownership, and social prestige. Yet embedded within that system was an expectation: privilege was not merely to be enjoyed, but to be stewarded. A noble was expected to show courage in battle, generosity toward dependents, protection of the weak, and a certain standard of honorable conduct. Rank demanded character.

The phrase itself gained wider usage in the 17th and 18th centuries and entered English in the 19th century. In Victorian Britain and America, it became shorthand for the belief that the upper classes should lead in philanthropy, public service, and moral example. Industrial magnates who endowed libraries, universities, and hospitals sometimes saw themselves as acting under this principle. Andrew Carnegie funded a total of 2,509 libraries worldwide between 1883 and 1919, including libraries in both Duluth and Hibbing.

Critics, however, have long noted the ambiguity of noblesse oblige. At its best, it encourages stewardship, generosity, and civic responsibility. At its worst, they say it reinforces paternalism—implying that help flows downward from a superior class rather than recognizing shared dignity and mutual obligation. 

This is another example, as I noted last week, of how it's better to do the right thing for the wrong reason than to  do the wrong thing.   

Carnegie Library interior, Duluth MN

In modern democratic societies, the phrase has expanded beyond hereditary aristocracy. Today it may refer to the ethical duties of CEOs, elected officials, celebrities, or anyone whose influence exceeds that of others. The core insight remains relevant: privilege is not morally neutral. Power and advantage carry responsibility. Noblesse oblige reminds us that status is not only a benefit—it carries a burden of expectation.

There is always a price for negligence when we don’t assume responsibility for our privilege.  

What's often missing when discussing the responsibilities of privilege is how much of this attitude stems from the Bible. Jesus emphasized stewardship, charity, and accountability for the powerful. Biblical ideas like "To whom much is given, much will be required" (Luke 12:48) and Christ's example of servant leadership aligned with the notion that higher status demanded greater service.

Christianity profoundly shaped and reinforced this concept within feudal Europe, especially from the 11th–13th centuries onward. The code of chivalry—which developed in France around the late 12th century (associated with knighthood and the ideal of the chevalier)—was explicitly rooted in medieval Christian ethics. It blended warrior duties with Christian virtues: piety, protection of the weak, generosity, justice, and humility. Chivalry was never fully codified but was popularized in literature (e.g., Arthurian legends) and promoted by the Church to civilize the warrior class. 

Without Christian influence, feudal obligations might have remained more pragmatic or contractual (as in some pre-Christian warrior societies). Christianity infused them with ethical depth—turning raw power into a calling to honorable service, mercy, and protection of the weak.

These attitudes which were embedded in Old Testament Judaism didn't begin with Christianity, but they flowered there. The principle echoes throughout Scripture: from the prophets' calls for justice and care for the widow, orphan, and stranger, to the New Testament's parables of stewardship and the servant-king who washes feet rather than lords it over others. Jesus Himself is the ultimate embodiment of noblesse oblige—the divine Son who, possessing all authority, laid it down to serve and sacrifice for the least.

In our flattened, egalitarian age, the phrase can sound archaic or elitist. Yet its deeper truth endures: whatever gifts, opportunities, or positions we've been entrusted with—be they talents, resources, influence, or simply the accident of birth in a prosperous society—come with strings attached. Not strings of guilt, but of grateful obligation. The one who has received much is called to give much, not out of superiority, but out of recognition that all good things come from above and are meant to flow through us to bless others.

This is the quiet revolution at the heart of the biblical vision: true nobility isn't about hoarding privilege but about channeling it toward the common good. In a culture quick to demand rights and resent hierarchies, noblesse oblige—reclaimed through its Christian roots—challenges us to ask: What have I been given? And how will I steward it faithfully?

Perhaps that's the meditation we need today—not to reject privilege, but to redeem it. To see our advantages not as entitlements to exploit or excuses to withdraw, but as divine trusts calling us to humble, generous service. For in the end, the measure of our nobility isn't the height of our station, but the depth of our willingness to bend low for the sake of others. As Christ showed us, the greatest among us must become the servant of all—and therein lies the truest freedom and the most enduring legacy.

"Eddie Did It"

Me with 2 of my 3 brothers. L to R: Don, Ed, Ron

It's been said, and oft repeated, that the weakest ink is stronger than the strongest memory. For this reason, countless people keep journals, genealogical and legal records as well as baby books. Our diaries, and photos, preserve our memories. 

According to our family's baby book, where (among other things) my mother recorded my our first words, my brother Ron's very first sentence was “Eddie did it.” 

I was his older brother by two years. With this utterance of “Eddie did it,” he was simply proving that at a very early age he had entered the “Adam and Eve Blame Game," the age-old drama of finding creative ways to avoid responsibility and shift the blame to someone else.  

When we dislike the negative consequences of poor choices we make, we let others take he rap. How hilarous that this was my brother's first sentence! 

It's a profound insight when we finally learn that we are responsible for the things we say and do. This truth runs contrary to the Freud-based pop culture assumption that my parents or circumstances or society made me the way I am, that I have no choice but to be this way, to behave badly or whatever.

Politicians are especially good at this blame game. When an initiative fails, it was not their fault. "I inherited an impossible situation," they often say. Or maybe, "Don't blame me. My intentions were good." This is why the public lost respect for their elected officials.

In many work environments, the blame game can make it almost impossible to learn from previous mistakes because rather than get a proper diagnosis of what happened, all the players become more concerned about covering their tracks. In his book On Advertising, David Ogilvy stated that when we have autopsies without blame, only then will we discover what killed the patient.

Mistakes are inevitable in life, and in business. Some decisions in business are simply educated guesses. New product introductions do not always find welcoming arms to greet them. For example, the Polaroid Camera required a very long runway before it got off the ground. It took a lot of faith and persistence to stick with that one. Many other products, however, were doomed before they left the lab. Does this mean we should simply stop trying? No, each failure is an opportunity to learn.

The real tragedy is not that we fail; it’s that we waste the failure by refusing to own it and learn from it.

When a company launches a product that bombs, the first instinct is rarely “What did we miss?” Instead people say, “Who can we pin this on?” Marketing blames engineering for a buggy prototype. Engineering blames sales for overselling features. Sales blames the customer for being too stupid to “get it.” The corpse lies on the table, but instead of an honest autopsy, everyone reaches for the makeup kit. In the next launch, thecompany is doomed to repeat the same mistakes, only with better PowerPoint excuses.

Healthy cultures—whether families, teams, or communities—grow precisely because they replace the question “Whose fault is this?” with “What really happened, and how do we keep it from happening again?” NASA’s turnaround after the Challenger disaster is a classic example. The Rogers Commission didn’t hunt for a scapegoat; it hunted for the truth. O-rings, cold weather, and a broken safety culture were laid bare without finger-pointing. The result? Painful reforms, yes, but also the safest space program in history for the next 17 years.

Owning our part makes us uncomfortable because it strips away the anesthesia of blame. But it is also the only door to real understanding. The moment we stop saying “Eddie did it” and start saying “I did it, and here’s what I’m going to do differently,” we step out of childhood—personal, corporate, or political—and into maturity.  

* * *

Feel free to comment. Was there too much moralizing tacked on to what was essentially a personal anecdote? I was aiming for an Aesop-style insight. If I got carried away, I blame no one but myself.

Living Life Without a Script: The Pros and Con

This past weekend someone made a comment about living life without a script and it generated some thoughts which I can try to capture here. 

At first blush, not having a plan or script seems liberating. Upon deeper reflection, however, such a life can also be quite daunting. Here are a few of the pros and cons that come to mind regarding living life without a predetermined plan.

On the positive side, there's something to be said for the spontaneity and freedom it offers. Without the constraints of a predetermined path, you have the flexibility to explore new opportunities, embrace unexpected challenges, and pursue passions without being bound by societal expectations or norms. This freedom can potentially lead to a more fulfilling and authentic life, where you can discover your true self and express your creativity without inhibition.

In theory, living without a script encourages adaptability and resilience. When faced with unforeseen circumstances or obstacles, some people may become better equipped to adapt to whatever life throws at them. This flexibility enables them to navigate life's ups and downs with greater ease and confidence, fostering personal growth and development in the process.

Many people may be drawn to this kind of free-flow lifestyle becaue it fosters a sense of adventure and discovery. Embracing uncertainty and stepping into the unknown can lead to exhilarating experiences and meaningful connections with others. By embracing spontaneity and the unexpected, you can open yourself up to a world of possibilities and enriching experiences that you may not have otherwise encountered.

On the other hand, there are drawbacks. For example, without structure and direction how do you set goals, make decisions or prepare for the future? I'm reminded of Aesop's fable about the grasshopper and the ants. The industrious ants spent the summer and fall preparing for winter. The grasshopper fiddled around, laughed, skipped, hopped from here to there. Some of the ants may have even grumbled about their lot, but when winter came the grasshopper was hardly prepared. 

I once asked a Native American friend about how the Ojibwa survived such a hostile environment here in the Northland. How did they prepare for these brutal winters?

He said, "As soon as winter is over they would begin preparing for the following winter to come." Their survival involved planning and, like the ants, industriousness.

While living in the now, it can be a challenge to stay focused on priorities. After a while this lack of direction can lead to feelings of aimlessness and uncertainty, making it difficult to find purpose and meaning in life.

Living without a script can also be risky and unpredictable. Without a safety net or fallback plan, individuals may find themselves unprepared for setbacks or emergencies. Financial stability generally requires a plan and a commitment. Long-term stability doesn't just happen magically. 

Yes, living responsibly can feel like a burden at times, but there are rewards as well. Assuming responsibility for a family, or a community, develops character. How many hippie communes failed right at that point as people shirked their responsibilities?

Not everyone is cut out for a life of floating aimless and free. Anxiety about the future can produce emotional distress. 

If your life is one of flitting about, outsiders may envy your freedom, but if you're here today and gone tomorrow, who will be your support group through the tougher times and curveballs life throws at most of us in one way or another. 

This is why people come together in groups with shared values. Whether it be a church, a bowling league, curling club or community action group, there's something healthy about being associated with others in one way or another. This is why healthy families are so meaningful. Blood is thicker than water.

* * * 

I'm not sure who coined the name "Peter Pan Syndrome" but it's pretty apt. And actually, I understand the appeal when Peter Pan sings his creed:

If growing up means it would be
Beneath my dignity to climb a tree,
I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up
Not me!

Behaviors associated with Peter Pan Syndrome include avoiding commitments, seeking instant gratification, shirking responsibilities and maintaining a childlike dependence on others.

Yes, I'll concede that it's fun when you're young to go with the flow... but there are many unseen rewards for pursuing an ambitious goal. Your attempts to achieve audacious goals may fall short, but you'll be a better person for it. You may even leave a legacy far beyond anything you ever imagined.

"Eddie Did It"

It's been said, and well repeated, that the weakest ink is stronger than the strongest memory. For this reason people keep journals, genealogical records and baby books.

In my mother’s recording of my brother's first words, his very first sentence was “Eddie did it.” I was his older brother by two years. With this utterance of “Eddie did it”, he was simply proving that he had entered the “Adam and Eve blame game," the age-old drama of finding creative ways to avoid responsibility and shift the blame to someone else. We do not like the negative consequences for poor choices we make, so we try to throw them onto others. Let others take he rap. At a very early age my brother Ron began practicing the part.

It is a profound insight when we finally learn that we are responsible for the things we say and do. Especially in the post-Freud era in which pop culture assumes that my parents or my circumstances made me the way I am, that I have no choice but to be this way, to behave badly or whatever.

Politicians are especially good at this. When an initiative fails, it was not their fault. "I inherited an impossible situation." This is why people have lost respect for their elected officials.

In many work environments, the blame game can make it almost impossible to learn from previous mistakes because rather than get to a good diagnosis of what happened all the players have been more concerned about covering their tracks. In a recent book I was reading, the author noted that when we have autopsies without blame, only then will we discover what killed the patient.

Mistakes are inevitable in life, and in business. Some decisions in business are simply educated guesses. New product introductions do not always find welcoming arms to greet them. The Polaroid Camera had a very long runway before it got off the ground, for example. It took a lot of faith and persistence to stick with that one. Many other products, however, were doomed before they left the lab. Does this mean we should simply stop trying? No, each failure is a learning opportunity.

I'm grateful to work in an environment where my past blunders are not posted on billboards around the office. No one ever pulled a gun and threatened to walk me to a shallow grave in the back forty for an ad campaign that bombed.

Maybe it's easier in a workplace where there is corporate growth. We're a team without a backup squad with plenty to do, so we need each other. I can imagine that in some companies this is not the case. It has to be tough working in a setting where you know there are people sharpening axes in the back room.

In the meantime, if you make it a habit to assume responsibility for your words and actions, you will be trusted by others and get more opportunities in life. Editors, for example, enjoy working with writers who meet deadlines. They schedule space in their mags and do not like the idea of scrambling at the last minute to fill a slot. You will start to lose cred when you resurrect the old "dog ate my manuscript" excuse, or any other excuses.

Excuses, excuses. If you need one, and your don't have a really good one up your sleeve, put this one in your back pocket, just in case. Remember, you can only use it once. "Eddie did it."