Deborah Orr: How to be both good and famous

One of the many very fatuous aspects of "celebrity culture" is the kind of disapproval it sometimes attracts. There is a puritan strain in our society which likes to suggest that those fortunate enough to have a saleable talent should also, by coincidence, be admirable in very many other respects – perhaps even all respects.

Great communicators, great singers, great actors, great footballers: All of them are lucky enough to be born in a technological era that can convey their gifts to millions of people willing to pay to be entertained or even transported by evidence of their skills. Their very existence supports huge chunks of national or international economies, so they are very important people indeed. It would therefore be marvellously useful if each and every one of them could comport themselves with suitable grace, sensitivity and intelligence.

From this sternly idealistic line of thought springs the notion that famous people should be "role models", ever-considerate about the impression they may make on their fans, and accepting of the idea that lucrative visibility is a kind of constitutional monarchy. They should endeavour to practice a voluntary 21st-century version of enlightened despotism, and accept that with power comes responsibility and with wealth comes an obligation to "give something back".

At root, the notion is not a fallacious one. Success in all sorts of fields demands not only the possession of a wonderful flair or a glorious skill, but also other qualities – the discipline to dedicate oneself to the hard work of physical training perhaps, or an ability to communicate your ideas as well as develop them, or a tendency to pick yourself up and try again, instead of being crushed by adversity, or even a happy alignment of all of these positive attributes and more.

Back in the day, or so we are assured, the English aristocracy understood such matters. The privileged did not question that they were born to rule, which was in itself unhealthy. But the elite system under which they were brought up attempted to instil them with "good character" and an understanding that with the happy fortune of their birth came certain obligations.

Right now, in the febrile atmosphere that has been generated by the paralysis of the global banking system, there has even been speculation that all this would never have happened in the past, when the world was governed by gentlemen. As ever, the nostalgia is massively overstated and enormously romanticised. But it cannot be denied that such notions existed at least, and were seen as worth cultivating, however tawdry or inadequate their actual enactment might sometimes have been.

In reality, great human paragons are, and always have been, few and far between. The things we want from the anointed among us are so difficult to attain, after all. Among the many splendid characteristics we hope for, we usually throw in such inimical-to-celebrity qualities as modesty for a start. Actually, bearing in mind the high standards that we expect from people in "public life", it is amazing that anyone ever measures up at all.

When the news of Paul Newman's death interrupted talk of financial meltdown on Saturday's television news, my small son asked me who he was, and I surprised myself by becoming a little teary as I tried to explain my understanding of the kind of man he had been. I'm not sentimental, and I don't believe that humanity is well-served by its lionisation of such people as Hollywood stars. But one of the very many qualities that made Newman exceptional was that he didn't think much of such values either.

He was, of course, a physically beautiful human being, which is always nice. Happily, there was plenty of opportunity to gaze at him, because he was such a good actor, and chose so many great roles. On Saturday, it seemed almost ludicrous that those sublime clips of Newman in the full bloom of his youth and his perfection were being interrupted to show us all what a bottle of salad dressing looked like.

But it is hard to convey in pictures that a man had a generous spirit, and part of Newman's charm was that he didn't mind slapping his lovely face on a can of lemonade if it was in a good cause. His food company made around $220m for charity, and he made personal gifts of large sums to a variety of other causes, usually for the benefit of young people. Newman may have co-authored a book titled Shameless Exploitation In Pursuit Of The Common Good. But his philanthropic efforts did not have the whiff of self-publicity around them that the work of some high-profile people attains.

Partly, this was because Newman seemed so uninterested in cultivating himself as a marketable commodity. He was not a luvvie, turning up to dole out prizes or turning up to be seen with celebrity chums – even though he had them. But there was also a sense that Newman didn't just find himself with a pile of money, then start wondering what to do with it. He'd been politically active – at first with the civil rights movement – since he was a young, unknown man, and that was part of his character from the start.

Newman was not perfect. Much is made of his 50-year marriage to Joanne Woodward. Less is made of the fact that he left a first wife and three small children to be with her. When the eldest of these children, Scott, died of a drug overdose at 28, Newman admitted that he had been "emotionally distant". He also said that he doubted he would ever be rid of the guilt that he felt.

This is one of the other things that is often forgotten in the pursuit of "great men" who can be unequivocally admired. The very qualities that contribute to their success – Newman's love of racing driving confirms him as a risk-taker – sometimes make less purely noble activities attractive to them as well. People are not perfect and no rules of conduct can ever be applied, uniformly, to everyone.

Newman's legacy, in the form of his films and his many charitable projects, is considerable. But it is important to remember that as well as a great man, he was a good person, and to remember too that there are solid reasons why really exceptional public figures are fairly hard to come by.

d.orr@independent.co.uk

Interesting? Click here to explore further