Clinton is a big personality who has led a big life, and for

Alastair Campbell, counselor of leaders and chronicler of power, declares with conviction that to judge Clinton, a man of vast deeds and influence, solely by his moments of madness is to betray truth itself. He reminds us that a big personality and a big life cannot be reduced to scandal, for such a narrow gaze diminishes not only the man, but also the very importance of the presidency and the weight of history. In this, Campbell speaks against the blindness of conventional wisdom, which delights in gossip but fails to discern the full measure of a life.

The ancients knew well this folly of reducing greatness to weakness. Julius Caesar, conqueror and statesman, was remembered by some only for his dalliance with Cleopatra, though his reforms and vision for Rome altered the course of an empire. To define him by a single scandal would be to ignore the breadth of his triumphs and the complexity of his rule. So too does Campbell argue that the significance of a leader must be weighed not by fragments, but by the entirety of his life and legacy.

History offers another mirror in the tale of Winston Churchill. During his lifetime, many derided him for rash decisions, biting words, and personal excess. Yet to reduce Churchill to these flaws would be to ignore his resolute stand against tyranny in Britain’s darkest hour. His greatness lay not in a life without error, but in a life so vast that even his mistakes were dwarfed by the scale of his contribution. Campbell’s words remind us that leaders, like nations, must be judged by the sum of their journey, not by isolated shadows.

Yet Campbell also strikes at the weakness of the media, which often hungers for the sensational over the substantial. The spectacle of scandal is easy to consume, while the deeper labor of governance, diplomacy, and reform is harder to capture in headlines. But wisdom demands that the people look beyond the surface, lest they misjudge those who shape their destiny. For if a nation remembers its rulers only by their failings, it blinds itself to the lessons of their strength.

Let the generations remember: the measure of a man—or of a leader—is not found in a single stumble, but in the path he carved through history. Clinton, like many before him, lived a life of contradictions, marked by error yet also by achievement. To reduce such a life to scandal is to choose blindness over truth. The wise, therefore, must see with wide eyes: honoring the full story, discerning the enduring significance, and refusing to let conventional wisdom silence the deeper legacy of a great life.