Last October, I gave two talks in the days just before the presidential election, weaving together themes from an essay I had written earlier on polarization and communion with Pope Francis’ call for a “better kind of politics” in his 2020 encyclical, “Fratelli Tutti.”
During those talks, I commented that Francis’ description of politics as “a lofty vocation and one of the highest forms of charity, inasmuch as it seeks the common good” would be considered almost catastrophically stupid from the standpoint of political tactics. He calls for politicians to “be the first to make the sacrifices that foster encounter” and to “be ready to listen to other points of view.” To no one’s surprise, neither major presidential nominee took Pope Francis’ advice (or mine), which I suppose can be construed as agreement that however beautiful such a vision of politics might be, it seems unlikely to win elections.
While I was not thinking of former President Jimmy Carter in giving those talks, as I am writing this column, the nation is preparing to lay him to rest. He is probably the best example in contemporary American history of how attempting to practice virtue in politics may be an obstacle to electoral success. But there are far more important lessons to be drawn from his practice of the “lofty vocation of politics,” an endeavor that lasted far beyond his four years in the White House.
In thinking about Mr. Carter’s life, I have also been remembering the cover of the June 11, 2018, print issue of America, which featured images of George W. Bush, Barack Obama and Donald Trump under the headline “Pay Less Attention to These Men,” pointing to an article by Nathan Schneider that argued for ending the “cult of the presidency.”
It is a commonplace observation that Mr. Carter’s post-presidential career was more successful than his single presidential term. From building houses with Habitat for Humanity to monitoring elections around the world to leading a remarkably successful campaign to eradicate guinea worm disease, he remained devoted to the common good long past the end of his career as a politician. One thing consistent across those various efforts was that they were not designed to put Mr. Carter front and center. He allowed us to pay less attention to him and more attention to the problems being solved—and to the people serving and being served in those efforts.
So rather than saying that he was more successful after his presidency than during it, it would be more accurate to say that Mr. Carter’s identity as a public servant and as a citizen was both larger and more significant than his role as president. His embrace of the lofty vocation of politics and service to the common good was not limited to holding political office, and the whole world is better off because of it.
There are other lessons to be drawn from Mr. Carter’s life. After his time in Washington, D.C., he returned to Plains, Ga., where he was born, and lived there for the rest of his life with his wife, Rosalynn. As American life becomes geographically “sorted” along ideological lines between red and blue states, his rootedness in and dedication to a specific local community offer an example to the political and cultural elite, many of whom move away from their hometowns and never look back.
Mr. Carter also lived a life of profound discipleship. His humanitarian service, of course, was animated by his deep Christian faith, and that faith was sustained by his membership at Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, where he famously taught Sunday school for decades. As president, he opened his inaugural address by quoting from Scripture: “He hath showed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God” (Mi 6:8). At the end of that address, in listing his hopes for what people might say about the United States after his presidency, he started with the hope “that we had remembered the words of Micah and renewed our search for humility, mercy and justice.”
A Jesuit friend of mine recently told me that when he prayed with the “Call of the King” meditation, in which St. Ignatius recommends that a retreatant reflect on a virtuous earthly king in order to prepare to respond to the call of Christ the king, Jimmy Carter was one of those “earthly kings” who helped him hear God’s call to justice and service.
As a nation, we need to rekindle Mr. Carter’s hope for remembrance of the words of Micah and renewal of our search for humility, mercy and justice. Perhaps one aid to doing so is to learn from his example that our lofty political vocations as citizens can be even more significant than the office of the presidency.
