Greg Jesson, a PHD candidate at the University of Iowa, has written an interesting comparison between Saddam Hussein and Gerald Ford. I think his insights into the difference between a man who lives his life to please self as compared to a man who lives for a greater purpose are very insightful.
Not long ago, somewhere in turbulent, war-torn, Baghdad, a man sat in a prison cell. At some point, an ominous red card was handed to him, and because this was his signature way of informing prisoners of their looming execution, he knew what that card meant. He once had liked the idea of robbing those he murdered of their last shred of hope. For twenty-five years, he ruled Iraq with absolute power, commanded the eighth largest army in the world, and was feared by all around him, but on Saturday morning he sat alone, reflecting on the meaning of that red card. His name was Saddam Hussein.
Six thousand miles away, the funeral was underway for Gerald Ford, 38th president of the United States. Despite Chevy Chase’s tiresome and exaggerated impressions of President Ford falling over everything, he was the most talented athlete in history of congress and the presidency. As center and linebacker for the University of Michigan football team, he was voted the most valuable player by his teammates in 1934. He was an Eagle Scout, and graduated from Yale Law School in the top third of his class, while working his way through school. Even in his formative years he was accomplished. Many would have let such successes taint their character.
Ford was not a remarkable president. He was not an adept strategist like Clinton, nor a gifted communicator like Reagan, nor a dashing visionary like Kennedy. More significantly, both in terms of his character and to our nation, he was a great human being. As an impetuous teenager, I was angry at Ford for pardoning Nixon. Unquestionably, Nixon was guilty, and simplistically I thought he should be imprisoned. Courageously, amidst a firestorm of controversy, Ford pardoned him, allowing Americans to contemplate healing rather than retribution. He knew that law without justice is destructive, but that justice without grace is soul-killing. Time has proven Ford’s compassion correct. Since then, I cannot remember hearing a single comment maligning Ford. Typical of Ford’s uncommon decency were his Bipartisan breakfasts and lunches for members of Congress to come to the White House and talk with the president face-to-face. Ford was as plain, and yet as profound, as a cup of water—in a word: refreshing.
Like all people, Hussein and Ford spent their lives forming their characters. Ford died surrounded by loving friends, and a grateful nation, whereas Hussein died surrounded by unbridled hatred, and a nation self-destructing. Neither man was the product of his environment; each could have gone the opposite way. Every cultural environment is always the product of the choices of its members, not the other way around. Character never emerges by chance; it is always the cumulative result of conscious decisions. One man chose selfishness; the other chose service. One was a dictator; the other was a defender of democracy.
Selfishness and democracy are incompatible, because to believe in democracy just means that one must grapple with the reasons and desires of others. Many around the world misunderstand why Congress, and Americans in general, are always immersed in spirited debate—but this is the dialogue of democracy. So, it shouldn’t be surprising that one of these men never bothered to debate, and the other spent his entire life in respectful, but often tough, debate.
We should pity Saddam Hussein but not Gerald Ford. Why?
Hussein wasted his life by living only for himself. He left this world incapable of seeing the monster he had become. His lust for power and wealth ran unchecked by the suffering of others, including his own fellow citizens. When the end came, Hussein said, “My conscience is clear,” but that is the problem with conscience; if ignored in the early stages of ethical deliberation, it fades, and finally disappears. Conversely, if one follows what is known to be right—even in times of great personal cost—this contributes to an increasing insight into living a genuinely good life.
In contrast, Ford lived (of course not perfectly, but certainly intently) for others. Athletic and political friends, as well as rivals, always found him to be fair and gracious. By not being self-absorbed, Ford learned what makes life worth living. He knew who he was, and what is eternally valuable. Life is about forming one’s character—everything in life either contributes to that end, or is a diversion from it. Countries don’t require remarkable leaders to survive, but they do require remarkable human beings. Never think that wasted lives are exclusive to tyrannical dictators; they exist at every stage and in every station of life. Finally, don’t pity Gerald Ford; he gladly submitted his life to a Faith, which quietly and beautifully touched all around him.
We should do as well.
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