The Final Cut: Speaking Ill (or Well) of the Dead

This review was published orginally on cinekklesia on May 2, 2006.

Many Christians decry situational ethics, the school of thought which argues that the morality of one's action should be judged based on the situation in which the person finds him- or herself. The anonymous contributors at Wikipedia remind us that situational ethics should not be confused with moral relativism, since the former does not deny the existence of universal moral truths — rather, the fullness of those truths are complicated (not eradicated) by the situations in which we find ourselves.

Even though situational ethics might escape the charge of moral relativism, it is easy to see why it still comes up for special scrutiny (and criticism). It seems to present an overly convenient method of justification — any situation can be made "complicated," and anybody can demand that outside parties judge one's actions "in context." While situational ethics is not the same as moral relativism, the differences between the two seem to measure a hair's breadth, especially in their practical manifestations.

Yet, we all practice situational ethics, and when we look at specific, real-world cases (situations?), I doubt that we would want to live in a universe in which such ethics were completely unavailable. How about the case in which a small child presents us with an object that he/she created in art class and asks us what we think? Most likely, the piece is bad in some way (technically sloppy, aesthetically immature) because, well, a small child created it! Do we critique it harshly? Do we say that the child needs to spend a lot more time developing his/her craft, studying nuances of color, shading, and texture? Of course not. We tell the kid that the work is "very nice" and move on.

What about the case in which someone attending a lecture makes a rambling comment during the Q&A, demonstrating an ignorance of the most basic facts or an inability to analyze? Should the speaker call the audience member to account and tell him/her that the comment is asinine, meaningless, and narcissistic (a point on which the rest of the audience would agree)? Or, should the speaker be gracious, salvage what he/she can from the comment, and generate a meaningful response that edifies everyone?

These are just two examples of how most of us (including the most ardent moral universalists) appreciate a little of bit tact (read: polite deceit) if it can save everyone pain and embarrassment. Perhaps a fully developed situational ethic ultimately proves destructive; however, a "lite" situational ethic might be socially (and even morally) necessary. Trouble is, how do we distinguish the two?

Omar Naim tackles this question a bit in The Final Cut (2004). This movie packs a lot of themes into its one-and-a-half hours, but one of its central concerns focuses on the dead and how we (should) remember them. Robin Williams plays Alan Hakman, a technician ("cutter") skilled at editing the entirety of one's life into a 90-minute home movie for friends and relatives to view post-mortem. This life "footage" is retrieved from a neurological implant that the deceased received before birth. (In the universe of The Final Cut, parents who think it would be grand to have everything their child sees recorded for posterity can purchase the implant while the child is in utero.) Hakman is considered one of the best cutters in the business, particularly because of his skill in editing all of the nasty bits out of one's life.

During the movie, Hakman runs into a former colleague, Fletcher (Jim Caviezel), who has left his initial profession and joined the ranks of anti-cutter activists. The activists' list of grievances is quite long and includes invasion of privacy, parents' pre-natal interference in the future autonomy of their children, and whitewashing: the erasure of evidence regarding immoral, even criminal, activity.

Hakman, of course, sees his role differently. He is doing what the rest of us have done for centuries: creating an artifact—like a painting, photo album, or home movie—that captures the "best" of us, leaving out the naughty bits that we don't want the world to see. Besides, after one passes away, what is the point in dragging out his/her crimes into the light? What good will it do? The person can't be prosecuted. Speaking ill of the dead ultimately harms only the living, the friends and family who just want "closure" and to remember the good times.

What is most intriguing about this issue is the fact that we (at least those of us in Western cultures) don't have clear guidelines regarding how to speak about the dead. In one sense, we consider it impolite to criticize those who have passed away, but that taboo seems to correlate with time: the closer we are to the actual death of the person, the more tasteless it is to critique. However, once a certain, indeterminate, amount of time passes, then we can begin the process of biography and "truth-telling," of examining the impact (good and bad) of the deceased's life on the rest of us.

Yet, my description of this process is too clean relative to what we actually do. History and biography are messy, politically charged activities. Some figures are so polarizing that either (a) their demise brings about immediate celebration or (b) they remain sacred cows long after the coffin is laid to rest. To choose two obvious examples: most history textbooks state (or strongly imply) that Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin were bad men who—to put it in the mildest terms possible—instituted bad public policy. However, neo-Nazis certainly take offense at any demonization of their Führer, and one still can see Russians nostalgically holding pictures of Uncle Joe whenever yearning for "better times."

So, what is the movie's take on all this? Ultimately, The Final Cut doesn't give us any guidelines regarding when we can take apart and interrogate a dead person's legacy. It only warns us of the dangers of whitewashing, of destroying the evidence necessary for truth-telling.

On a theological level, we also don't have much guidance. Clearly, the Bible doesn't eschew our speaking ill of the dead; from Adam and Eve's disobedience to Judas' betrayal to Pontius Pilate's cowardice, we have spoken ill of the dead for centuries. The truth hurts, after all, and we might as well learn from it. However, the call to love our neighbor forces us to eschew a sweeping, overt exposure of the truth in all circumstances, at all costs. When facing grieving family and friends, is the best course of action to remind everyone that the man or woman in the coffin wasn't without blemish? Doesn't love dictate discretion and wisdom? Doesn't love "[keep] no record of wrongs" (1 Cor. 13:5, NIV)?

Our choice here is not whether we should praise or condemn situational ethics, but to see whether our particular courses of action cohere with the demands of Scripture. God calls us to righteousness, love, and wisdom; wisdom demands discretion that is borne of experience. Is that situational ethics, or is it maturity (see 1 Cor. 13:11)?