Prince Philip emerges as a complicated figure with an even more complicated history

Was Prince Philip the paragon of duty or an embittered racist? Depends who you’re asking, of course. His fans may revere him as a worthy traditionalist who understood how to make sacrifices for causes bigger than himself. Others are happy to see him as final evidence that monarchy is out of step with the character of a modern democracy.

The British press’s reaction to the death of the Duke of Edinburgh last week sought to acknowledge this complicated legacy. His varied gaffes received plenty of attention (“If you stay here much longer you’ll all be slitty-eyed,” he said to some British students in China; “Still throwing spears” he quipped to an Australian Aboriginal; “And what exotic part of the world do you come from?” he asked a Black British politician).

But obituaries were also careful to dwell on his trademark, aristocratic blunt humour; his philanthropy; the wildly far reaching and successful Duke of Edinburgh award; his role as a modernising innovator who dragged the royal family kicking and screaming into the digital age. Prince Philip, beyond all else, emerges as a complicated figure with an even more complicated history.

Categorise people

His death has been a timely reminder of somethings we are often so quick to forget: despite our inclination to categorise people as Good or Bad, most people are a mix of both; our demand for total moral purity from public figures is ludicrously out of step with reality; and the most befitting answer to the question “Was Prince Philip the paragon of duty or an embittered racist?” might be “both.”

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These lessons have come at an opportune moment, as we are teasing through the reputations of dead political leaders and artists with a fine-tooth comb, in search of moral imperfections. Most recently novelist Philip Roth’s private character was hauled in front of the court of public opinion; but there are increasingly few who escape this fate.

We have argued endlessly about Winston Churchill, whether it is appropriate to vandalise his statue, and whether he is even deserving of a statue in the first place. Six years ago the Washington Post was keen to tell us, “Don’t forget that Winston Churchill was a clear racist and a stubborn imperialist.” More recently a Guardian oped lamented the “myth” of Churchill as a “flawless hero”.

As we analyse Churchill's life we do not need to be confined to making a singular moral assessment

To some, he is Britain’s greatest prime minister, responsible for defeating the scourge of fascism in Europe. Others think his colonial legacy – particularly the role he played in the Bengal famine – ought to be his ultimate and defining feature. And in this tug of war between two competing visions of the man we seem to have lost our very basic sense: surely both of those qualities of Churchill can be true at the same time. And as we analyse his life we do not need to be confined to making a singular moral assessment.

But we lose sight of complexity and ambiguity because it plays into our own prejudices. There has long been a tendency to write out the complicated intricacies from history in favour of a simpler and more compelling narrative. It is one of the reasons why divine intervention was such an appealing plot point for Ancient Greek storytellers.

Brexiteers

And, we have enjoyed a far more recent example. In the wake of Brexit the New York Times remarked on “England’s last gasp of empire”. Remainer criticisms of Brexiteers made frequent and unchallenged appeals to “imperial nostalgia”. And the decision to leave the bloc quickly was spun into a terrifying story of unfettered nationalism.

Brexit was supported by a vast and diverse coalition, not all of whom can be cast aside as malign and navel gazing

It’s a neat yarn but it is a product of one our laziest impulses. We cannot in good faith explain Brexit away as solely the product of pining for a once great empire; a tale of waning grandeur; and as a function of so-called little-Englander mentality. There are some Brexiteers who think like that. There are also plenty who do not. Your average voter probably cares a lot more about public services and the state of the NHS than he does about the Scramble for Africa, say. Brexit was supported by a vast and diverse coalition, not all of whom can be cast aside as malign and navel gazing. But it is easier – and it serves Remainers’ short-term interests better – to indulge in these reductionist arguments.

Justify our prejudices

But the impulse to order the world into simple, moral categories is one we should be quick to dismiss. Not simply because we should be cautious of practices that help justify our prejudices. But because it is practically disadvantageous as well. We cannot react appropriately to Brexit, for example, if we refuse to understand it for what it actually is. And we will fail to understand our neighbours if we cannot accept that Prince Philip, like the monarchy, is neither totally good nor totally bad but both.

Mostly, Prince Philip’s death is a reminder that we are destined to talk past each other for eternity if we cannot accept that moral ambiguity is the most human trait of all.