By Fred Baerkircher
The world was a different place in 1955, when "The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit," by Sloan Wilson,
was published. The scars of World War II were still fresh, and it made sense that Tom Rath, the man
of the book's title, thought he might be able to find solace in climbing the corporate ladder to ensure
his budding family’s well-being. As Rath travels farther down the corporate path, though, he realizes
the artificiality of his ambition. Money might fix the cracks in the walls, but it won't absolve him
of his sins. He learns that there is a clear distinction between a man and the suit he wears.
Today, when we talk about "the Man," we generally are referring to the suit. Compared to Rath's generation,
at least, we’ve had little to worry about over the past half century or so except financial gain. In most
ways, of course, this is good. But it’s had the unfortunate effect of obscuring who our villains are.
They used to wear brown shirts or jackboots. Now they sell us our tennis shoes and tee-shirts. What's
worse is that we readily buy them.
It's this complicity that makes the Man so powerful today. None of us can truly say we live entirely
without the benefit of hardships inflicted on others. Whether it's oil, or food, or affordable clothing,
we profit daily off other people’s misery. But there is no viable alternative. The Man has become a force
larger than us all, with the properties of a god. The Man is omniscient, omnipresent and omnipotent.
Instead of setting us against the Canaanites, the Man has us declare war on trade restrictions and low
profit margins.
The Man is the Tao gone horribly awry. When good people meet with misfortune, it is no longer surprising;
it's simply the Man’s way. We have long since failed to be shocked at corporate perfidy, at personal perdition
or societal perniciousness. These are just the prints left by the Man's work boots. The Man will steal from you,
cheat you and grind you into the dust. Worse, the Man will instill in you the drive to do the same to others,
perpetuating the cycle. The happiness we are encouraged to find in new cars or jewelry is purchased
with a moral check. The Man is a kind of manna; we are composed of it,
controlled by it and finally consumed by it.
Of course, none of this is particularly new. People have treated one another badly from
the beginning. Even the terminology is aging. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, "the Man"
has been used to describe the powers that be since the 1920s. Back then it was a term typically
used by minorities. These days, though, almost all of us can empathize with that sense of
alienation and powerlessness.
And that's what's different about the modern Man. We've come to question the necessity of
oppression. Class entitlement and national advantage are no longer seen as a given. We’ve begun
to recognize how arbitrary relative position is, and also to feel guilty about it. In naming that
feeling we've acknowledged a kind of optimism that maybe, despite what our history tells us, a
better world is possible. When we, as relatively advantaged Americans, talk about the Man,
there is a clear implication that, hard as it might be to change, the world doesn’t have to
be this way. Even the gods can evolve, and recognizing that possibility is the first step in bringing
change about.
Throughout history, our gods have been forces best not messed with. Interactions generally
end badly for mortals. But those same deities have always provided us moral
imperatives, and the Man is no different in that respect. Rather than offer an example
of what we should do, though, or commandments about behavior we should avoid, the
Man provides us with an example of what we should rebel against. It's a fresh
twist on an old prayer to ask for the strength to change those things we cannot
accept, and the Man, suit and all, serves as a much-needed rallying point. And so
in that respect, at least, the Man might just be a welcome addition to our pantheon.