There is a theory that difficult times produce leaders of substance, even leaders of greatness. One thinks of how Winston Churchill stiffened the backbone of England, and Franklin D. Roosevelt clarified the energy and spirit of America. Many people were quick to trumpet that George Bush had risen to the historical moment after Sept. 11, become a man and leader beyond what anyone could have hoped or predicted. Here was a man decisive, they said, and stalwart – a man Americans could trust to summon the general will and the political might to confront a great challenge.

As Americans we all like to believe in our unique proclivity to reinvention. In fact, Bush, as a born-again Christian, must certainly hold such a belief. But most of us know that by the time one is in middle age, the vicissitudes of one’s life, one’s habits and passions have coalesced into a character that is unlikely to alter significantly. And, sadly, we are learning now that Bush is indeed the same “W” that he was before, that his brief Lincolnesque (or should we say Napoleonic? ) moment was a mirage.

It makes me uneasy to hear a person’s intelligence denigrated or mocked, as though intelligence should be the measure of the person. Smart people can be monstrous and foolish in equal measure. Though why the most powerful country in the world wouldn’t see the necessity of choosing a good and supremely intelligent person as leader is curious.

Surely solutions to the world’s complex issues require a perspicacity and creativity of which few people can boast. But President Bush’s IQ is not really the issue. Rather, what we need most in a leader, should demand of a leader, is a great heart. This heart should be wise, be courageous, determined and empathetic. Because of the enormous political, financial, military and cultural power of the United States, this heart must consider the welfare of all peoples of the world. Venezuelans, Afghans, Iraqis, Somalis, Koreans and Canadians did not vote for Bush (nor did a majority of Americans) but all have fates concerned with his character. For that matter, so do parula warblers, orb spiders, right whales, the ozone and the Penobscot River.

This heart must be reflective, a place that can be spoken from, that despises slogans, sound bites and rhetoric. This heart must be honest, must not be a pinball of lobbyists nor a shill of corporations.

Bush is fond of saying we live in the world’s greatest democracy. The heart of the leader of such a place should strive to be the world’s most democratic heart. And this heart must not be secretive. Secrets breed distrust in the people and demonstrate a profound lack of respect for the people. If a democratic leader does not feel comfortable sharing the truth with the people who elected him or her, that person should resign. The people are ultimately responsible for the government and the actions it takes, the future it envisions, the history it writes. They cannot fulfill their duty if they don’t know the truth.

Great hearts know that no person can be written off, all are equally valuable, there is no such thing as collateral damage. Great hearts love children and endlessly scheme to protect the future from the greediness of the present.

Especially, though, hearts must have peace at their core: violence must be the moral burden of last resort.

People said frequently about Bill Clinton that he had a startling ability to compartmentalize, that he could segregate issues and problems – personal and political – into discrete packages so that he could focus his attention on them one at a time. Obviously, this is both a strength and a weakness. I’m not sure why anyone was surprised or impressed. Compartmentalization is part of the American character. We attack failings in other cultures while ignoring our own. Condemn revolutions by oppressed peoples, aiding the oppressors because popular revolutions cut into corporate profits. Get teary-eyed singing “America the Beautiful” while poisoning the land and desecrating the aesthetics. The myth of ourselves is so strong and dear to us that we refuse to allow it into the same part of our consciousness that enables our behavior.

James Baldwin, one of America’s greatest writers on race and culture, once said, “People who shut their eyes to reality invite their own destruction, and anyone who insists on remaining in a state of innocence long after that innocence is dead turns himself into a monster.” True leadership emerges from the constant effort to bridge the gap between the ideal and the practice. The strength to resist the pressure to give lip service to the ideal while committing the atrocious must come from deep in the heart. Most of us know in that heart’s depth that America’s lopsided exploitation of the world’s resources is egregious and immoral. But we repress this knowledge either with a sense of entitlement or with an unwillingness to contemplate lessening our privileged lifestyle.

Maintaining the dichotomy between our ideals and our greediness leads to a kind of national insanity, a self-hatred that we try to consume our way out of and that may destroy us and everyone else. Metaphorically, I think it is a cruel irony that the obscure and secretive heart that seems to control most of what our government does, Dick Cheney’s, requires a pacemaker.

Robert Shetterly is an artist who lives

in Brooksville.