In life we shall find many men that are great, and some that are

Hear, O children of wisdom, the solemn words of Charles Caleb Colton, who gazed upon the works of men and measured the worth of their souls: “In life we shall find many men that are great, and some that are good, but very few men that are both great and good.” This saying is not idle, nor light, but forged in the fire of long observation. It speaks to the ancient struggle between power and virtue, between ambition and conscience, between the glory that dazzles the eyes of the world and the goodness that sanctifies the heart.

The meaning of this truth is clear. To be great is to rise above the common measure—to wield influence, command armies, build empires, or shape ideas so vast that they change the course of history. Yet greatness alone is not enough. For greatness without goodness is but a sword without a conscience, a fire without restraint, a force that may conquer but not bless. To be good is to be righteous, compassionate, and just, to act with kindness even when no eye beholds it. Yet goodness alone, without strength or vision, often remains unheard, powerless to shape the world. The rarest of men, then, are those who unite these two—who are both mighty in deed and pure in heart.

History thunders with examples of men who were great, but not good. Consider Napoleon Bonaparte, whose genius in war and statecraft carved new maps for Europe and whose name still echoes with awe. Yet in his relentless ambition, nations bled and millions died. He was great, undeniably, but his goodness faltered, for the weight of his victories fell heavily upon the innocent. Such greatness shines with fire, but it burns rather than warms.

And yet, there are those few who walked as both great and good. Think of Abraham Lincoln, who rose from humble soil to become the steward of a divided nation. He wielded the powers of war, yes, but he did so not for glory, nor conquest, but for union, for freedom, for the dignity of human souls. His greatness was inseparable from his goodness, and for this reason, his memory does not merely command respect—it inspires love. Here is the rare union Colton spoke of, a man both great and good, whose strength was tempered by justice, and whose justice was made effective by strength.

But these men are scarce, and therein lies Colton’s warning. For greatness tempts the heart with pride, while goodness demands humility. To walk with both is to balance on a narrow path where few dare tread. Most men, in pursuing greatness, sacrifice goodness; and others, in holding to goodness, shrink from greatness. The union of both requires not only talent, but discipline, not only ambition, but virtue, not only vision, but love.

The lesson for us, therefore, is to strive not merely for greatness, nor merely for goodness, but for the union of both. Let no one be deceived into thinking that power alone makes a man worthy, or that virtue without courage can suffice to shape the world. To live as both great and good is the highest calling, the noblest destiny, and though it may be rare, it is not impossible. Each soul must ask: Will my greatness be stained by cruelty, or guided by goodness? Will my goodness remain hidden, or will I dare to give it power?

As for practical action, cultivate both strength and virtue. Pursue excellence in your craft, your leadership, your vision, but temper it always with compassion and integrity. Do not pursue power for its own sake, but for the service of others. Let your ambition be harnessed by justice, and your justice be made strong by courage. In this way, though few men in history are both great and good, you may walk among them—not in fame, perhaps, but in truth, which is the greater crown.

Thus, Colton’s words endure as both a lament and a challenge. Many men are great, some are good, but few are both. Let us not rest until we have joined greatness with goodness in our own lives, so that our legacy may not only command respect, but also awaken love in the generations to come.