The American Presidency

How can one person lead a government built to limit personal power? In The American Presidency: A Very Short Introduction, political scientist Charles O. Jones explores this enduring paradox at the heart of the U.S. presidency. Americans demand that their presidents lead decisively, yet they are deeply suspicious of any sign of executive overreach. Jones argues that this tension—between high expectations and systemic constraints—has shaped every presidency from George Washington to George W. Bush.

A Job Born from Ambivalence

The framers of the U.S. Constitution faced a central problem in 1787: how to create an executive strong enough to govern but weak enough to avoid tyranny. Drawing lessons from their break with monarchy, they set out to balance energy and restraint through the doctrine of separated powers. Unlike parliamentary systems—where legislatures choose the executive—the American presidency was designed to be an independent institution, elected separately and charged with executing laws passed by Congress.

Jones calls this structure one of history's greatest political inventions. The separation of powers forces presidents to negotiate, persuade, and share credit. It ensures unity through institutional rivalry: Congress legislates, the courts interpret, and presidents manage—no branch dominates, yet none stands alone. As Richard Neustadt, a mentor to Jones, famously put it, America’s system is one of “separated institutions sharing powers.”

The Evolution of an Unscripted Role

When George Washington took office in 1789, he was essentially handed an undefined job description. The word “presidency” does not appear in the Constitution, and early debates even questioned whether the nation needed a single executive at all. Over time, each president—sometimes through crisis, sometimes through creativity—helped define what the office could be. Washington set standards of restraint and moral authority. Jefferson showcased political leadership beyond administration. Andrew Jackson asserted the president’s connection to the people. Lincoln demonstrated executive power in war, and later figures from FDR to Reagan and Clinton grappled with expanding federal responsibilities and public expectations.

Throughout history, the presidency has evolved alongside the nation’s growth—from an agrarian republic to a global power with sprawling bureaucracies. By the twentieth century, it was no longer one man presiding over a few clerks; it had become the head of a vast “presidential branch,” with layers of aides, advisers, and agencies. Yet, Jones insists, the president remains one actor in a system intentionally designed to prevent dominance. Power must still be bargained for, not assumed.

Why Expectations Outpace Authority

Jones observes that modern Americans treat the president as both CEO and national therapist—responsible for the economy, foreign crises, moral leadership, and even social psychology. But in reality, executive power remains limited by design. Presidents cannot command loyalty from Congress, override the courts, or manage local governments directly. Instead, they operate through persuasion, coalition-building, and institutional partnerships. It’s a constant struggle between public expectation and constitutional reality.

For instance, though presidents propose laws, they need majorities in both houses of Congress to enact them. They direct an army but require legislative approval for war declarations. They appoint officials, yet the Senate must consent. Even commands rely on bureaucracies that respond slowly and independently. The presidency, Jones shows, is less a throne of power than a node in a complex web of shared governance.

Themes Across Time

Across seven concise chapters, Jones traces how American presidents have navigated this structural challenge. The book explores the invention of the executive office, its relationship to Congress, the evolution of elections and political parties, the realities of transition and governing, the management of policymaking, and the ongoing calls for reform. Jones also examines how reforms—like the War Powers Act or term limits—often fail to restrain executive action as intended. The responsibilities and crises facing presidents—from impeachments to wars to natural disasters—continuously reshape how the role functions within its constitutional boundaries.

Ultimately, Jones’s message is both cautionary and optimistic. The American presidency succeeds not because it grants unchecked authority, but because it demands collaboration. The system works precisely because it resists simplicity. As a citizen, recognizing this reality helps you see presidential leadership not as solitary heroism, but as a perpetual negotiation within the world’s most enduring experiment in balanced government.

Imagine being present in Philadelphia in 1787, tasked with designing a government from scratch. What would leadership look like? Who would hold power? Charles O. Jones begins his story here, showing that the presidency was not a predetermined creation but a bold experiment—a solution to the failures of the Articles of Confederation and the excesses of monarchy.

Creating Unity Through Separation

The Founders faced an extraordinary challenge: how to build an executive capable of energetic leadership without resurrecting kingship. Their answer was ingenious—separating to unify. They established a system where executive, legislative, and judicial powers were distinct yet interdependent. Presidents would implement laws, not make them, but their independence from Congress would allow for balanced competition. This deliberate tension, Jones notes, would ensure freedom through shared responsibility.

The delegates debated nearly every dimension of executive power: Should there be one leader or several? Should the executive be chosen by Congress, the people, or the states? How long should they serve, and how could they be removed? Each answer moved the design further from parliamentarism and monarchy toward a uniquely American invention—the independently elected president, accountable to the people yet bound by checks and balances.

Washington’s Model of Reluctant Power

No figure was more critical than George Washington. His reputation for restraint reassured the convention delegates that the new office would not be abused. Delegates often calibrated executive powers with Washington in mind, trusting that his integrity would set the right precedents. Indeed, his two-term precedent became an unwritten law until FDR broke it in 1940, leading to the formal two-term limit in the Twenty-second Amendment.

Washington’s presidency defined the office as one of dignity and service, not domination. His decision to reject the title “His Excellency” and insist on “Mr. President” embodied the founders’ vision of republican humility—a leader who presides rather than rules.

Key Decisions: Term, Selection, and Impeachment

Several innovations distinguished the American presidency. The Electoral College balanced localism and federalism, ensuring that the executive was chosen neither by the legislature nor by direct popular vote alone. The four-year renewable term allowed stability without lifetime tenure. The impeachment process created a constitutional safety valve—presidents could be removed by Congress for “treason, bribery, or other high crimes and misdemeanors.” This made them accountable without making them subservient.

Debates over powers—vetoes, appointments, treaties, and war—established the foundation for two centuries of constitutional interpretation. Presidents would lead armies but require Congress to declare war. They would appoint ambassadors but seek Senate confirmation. They could veto bills but be overridden by supermajorities. These woven constraints form the enduring fabric of executive authority.

The Legacy of Shared Power

Jones emphasizes that the presidency was not designed as a “presidential government” but as a participant in a web of independence and connection. The Founders expected contention, negotiation, and even gridlock—it was the price of liberty. Every president since Washington has had to “invent” the office anew, interpreting its vague constitutional phrases in practice.

Key Idea

The presidency’s strength lies not in unilateral power, but in its ability to work through others. It succeeds by forging unity within a deliberately divided system.

By the end of Chapter One, you realize how revolutionary this model remains. The presidency was not born for efficiency or control—it was born for balance. And that balance, though always contested, continues to define American democracy.

After inventing the office, early Americans had to figure out where the presidency literally and figuratively fit. Chapter Two moves from constitutional blueprints to concrete realities: the creation of Washington, D.C., the separation of institutions, and the establishment of political expectations that still shape every modern president.

A City That Embodied Separation

Washington, D.C. was not just a city—it was a political statement. Major L’Enfant’s 1791 plan physically separated the Capitol from the President’s House with swampland in between. This geographic gap mirrored the philosophical one: Congress and the executive were to work together but remain distinct. Today, Jones points out, the distance continues to symbolize tension and interdependence—the swamp, drained or not, is literal and metaphoric.

Experimenting with Power Balances

The early republic toyed with three models: the presidential presidency (advocated by Alexander Hamilton), the congressional presidency (championed by anti-Federalists), and the separated presidency that prevailed. Hamilton envisioned an almost monarchic executive, chosen for life and wielding veto power at will. His plan failed but forecast debates that would echo in the modern expansion of executive authority—from Lincoln’s suspension of habeas corpus to FDR’s New Deal powers to modern presidential signing statements.

By contrast, the congressional model would have made the president a mere agent of the legislature. The final compromise—a separated but shared presidency—ensured independence, mutual checks, and ongoing contestation.

The Perpetual Ordeal of Governing

Jones describes the presidency as a perpetual ordeal: leading a permanent government while being temporary yourself. Bureaucrats, judges, and congressional staff outlast presidents, who average fewer than six years in office. Every new president enters an active machine midstream. Johnson inherited Kennedy’s Great Society dreams; Bush inherited the war on terror’s architecture; Biden, in our current century, navigates a deep state of long-serving professionals. The effort to align enduring institutions with transient mandates defines presidential struggle.

Fitting Into History

Every president must “fit in” to ongoing government—often amid wars, scandals, or preexisting programs. Jones walks through vivid examples: FDR managing the Great Depression; Eisenhower administering liberal welfare programs despite his conservative instincts; Nixon inheriting the Great Society; and Reagan tackling double-digit inflation. Presidents rarely start fresh; they join the stream of history already in motion.

Whether as custodians, restorers, or reformers, their choices are shaped by what came before. Custodial presidents like Ford and Carter sought to recover public trust after scandal, while Bush 41 inherited a sense of continuity from Reagan. Meanwhile, expectations stay high even as options narrow. As Jones puts it, the Presidency must manage “responsibilities well enough to receive credit for the good as ballast for the certainty of blame for the bad.”

In this chapter, you begin to see the presidency not as a throne but as a relay—each occupant running a leg in a race with no finish line. The system endures precisely because each new president must adapt to it rather than dominate it.

How do you choose a single leader for a nation designed to distrust concentrated power? Chapter Three traces the evolution of the American presidential election system—from the mysterious birth of the Electoral College to the media-driven primaries and permanent campaigns we know today.

The Founders’ Puzzle

Jones explains that the Founders rejected both parliamentary appointment and pure popular vote. Their solution, the Electoral College, combined federalism and democracy—each state choosing electors equal to its congressional representation, who then voted for president. This system intended to balance populism with deliberation, but it also invited anomalies. The 1800 tie between Jefferson and Aaron Burr forced thirty-six ballots in the House and spurred the Twelfth Amendment, separating presidential and vice-presidential ballots.

Since then, the system has functioned remarkably well, though not without close calls: Hayes in 1876, Harrison in 1888, Gore in 2000—all winners or losers of disputed outcomes. These episodes underscore Jones’s key point—procedural design encourages legitimacy through endurance, not perfection.

From Party Caucuses to Primaries

Early presidents were chosen through congressional caucuses, but the rise of parties—and suspicion of insider control—pushed nominations outward. By the 1830s, national conventions emerged; by the early 1900s, presidential primaries let voters weigh in directly. Still, activists and superdelegates influenced outcomes until reforms following the tumultuous 1968 Democratic Convention made primaries decisive.

Today, states like Iowa and New Hampshire front-load the process, creating early “momentum elections.” The effect, Jones notes, is a grueling, expensive, and media-saturated marathon that begins years before votes are cast. Modern campaigns no longer end on election day—they continue into governing, producing what he calls the permanent campaign.

Split Power, Shared Mandates

Because the Constitution separates elections for president, House, and Senate, presidents often face split-party government. In fact, since World War II, divided control has been the norm, not the exception. This design, Jones argues, prevents any single majority from ruling the whole system, compelling negotiation. Presidents may claim a “mandate,” but they must bargain with legislators whose own constituencies may reject that same platform.

Even presidential polling reflects this reality: modern presidents are judged weekly, if not daily, through approval ratings and media soundbites. Popularity becomes a form of political currency—an asset that can quickly vanish under scandal or crisis (as seen with Nixon’s Watergate, Carter’s malaise, or Bush’s Iraq War backlash).

“Being elected president,” Jones writes, “is only the first step in the exercise of power.”

Elections grant legitimacy, not control. Presidents who treat victory as a blank check quickly discover that democratic power is not owned—it must be continually earned.

Winning the White House is only the beginning; building a functioning presidency is a far harder task. In Chapter Four, Jones shows how each administration enters a government already in motion—and how leadership is shaped by appointments, organization, and adaptation. Think of it as assembling a cockpit while the plane is already in flight.

From Campaign to Cabinet

Jones details the logistical ordeal of staffing an administration. Modern presidents must fill thousands of posts, from cabinet secretaries to sub-agencies, balancing partisanship, diversity, and efficiency. Since the 1883 Pendleton Act, most bureaucratic jobs are merit-based, but top leadership remains political. The president’s appointments signal policy direction—just as Reagan’s cabinet of conservatives aimed to downsize government, Clinton’s diverse appointees embodied inclusivity, and George W. Bush’s team reflected loyalty and ideological unity.

Transition Troubles

The ten weeks between election and inauguration are critical. A well-run transition sets priorities and fills key roles before crisis strikes. Jones praises the planning of Kennedy, Reagan, and Bush 43, and critiques Carter and Clinton for their late starts. Delays in confirmation—often due to partisan obstruction in the Senate—can leave crucial agencies leaderless for months. The advice from seasoned aides: choose experienced managers, separate campaign loyalists from governing professionals, and act fast.

The demands on early decisions are immense—appointing a Cabinet, forming the White House staff, setting the first budget, and signaling national priorities. Even small missteps can define an administration’s reputation before it truly begins.

Remaking and Renewal

Presidencies mutate over time. Staff burnout, scandal, or shifting agendas often lead to “second-term syndrome”—either reinvigoration or decline. Jones rejects the myth of a “second-term curse” but notes recurring patterns: reorganizations (as in Reagan’s 1987 reshuffle), fatigue (as under Eisenhower), or complacency leading to scandal (as with Nixon and Clinton). Successful presidents like Reagan rejuvenated their teams midterm; others, like Carter, never found rhythm.

Turnover statistics tell the story: most cabinet secretaries serve fewer than three years. The presidency is dynamic, always remade by necessity. Jones’s insight is sobering—the executive branch changes faster than the Constitution, but slower than the news cycle, leaving presidents perpetually catching up.

The Presidency as a Living Organization

Running the executive branch is closer to managing a multinational corporation than issuing royal decrees. Presidents must direct millions of employees, influence policy, and maintain public trust—all while reacting to events beyond their control. Jones concludes that the presidency is less a structure than a living organism—constantly adapting, occasionally failing, yet surprisingly resilient.

In understanding this, you can appreciate why leadership is a craft, not a command. To “make” a presidency is to harmonize people, institutions, and expectations—knowing that, in four or eight years, someone else will remake it again.

How does a president lead a government too vast to comprehend? Chapter Five dives into the mechanics of modern administration: management, communication, and coordination across millions of people and hundreds of agencies. The president’s actual authority depends less on orders and more on influence through connection.

Governing Through Others

In 1937, a commission famously concluded, “The president needs help.” That simple sentence led to the creation of the Executive Office of the President (EOP), a network of advisers now numbering in the hundreds. The White House, Jones reminds us, is both command center and bottleneck. Presidents rely on intermediaries—from the Office of Management and Budget to the National Security Council—to connect the dots between policy and performance.

The federal workforce under presidential supervision totals nearly four million, rivaling the population of Los Angeles. Yet much of their work—healthcare, defense, social programs—is administered through states, partnerships, and contractors. The result? Presidents govern by coordination more than by control.

Navigating Relationships: Congress, Courts, and Media

Presidents connect daily with three separate but unavoidable power centers: Congress, the judiciary, and the media. Each offers resistance and cooperation in turn. With Congress, the art lies in bargaining and persuasion; with the courts, presidents must anticipate constitutional limits; and with the press, every message becomes both communication and performance. “They need each other and resent that,” Jones quotes journalist Garry Wills.

Presidents also collaborate (and clash) with other governments. Federal policy is an intergovernmental enterprise—state and local units administer federal funds, while Congress guards purse strings. Foreignly, presidents personify U.S. diplomacy through ambassadors and alliances, yet must share legitimacy with international institutions.

The Presidential Branch

Over time, an autonomous “presidential branch” has emerged—staff whose primary duty is loyalty to the occupant of the Oval Office. This can create tension with cabinet secretaries or agencies that serve broader missions. Jones likens staff hierarchies to a “barnyard pecking order,” as aides vie for proximity to the president. Managing this inner circle requires trust, vigilance, and stamina; burnout is high and turnover inevitable.

“The plain fact,” Jones writes, “is that no modern president has fully managed the executive branch.”

Even so, the effort to connect—to Congress, to the public, and to the machinery of government—is the essence of presidential leadership. What distinguishes effective presidents is not power hoarded, but networks built.

Presidents don’t rule—they negotiate. In Chapter Six, Jones pulls readers inside the day-to-day job of governing: making law, doing policy, and leading within limits. Every major decision—from war to welfare—requires cooperation among institutions that were designed to resist dominance. The question is not whether the president has power, but how it is used.

Working with Congress

Presidents interact constantly with Congress, yet their relationships vary widely. Lyndon Johnson, with two decades of legislative mastery, excelled at coalition-building for his Great Society. Richard Nixon specialized in foreign affairs but distrusted legislators. Jimmy Carter came as an outsider and resisted compromise. Their successes and failures illustrate a truth: the Constitution gives Congress power to raise money, make laws, and declare war. Presidents lead by persuasion, not decree.

Making Law in a Shared System

Jones breaks policymaking into phases: problem definition, agenda-setting, option formulation, legitimation, implementation, and evaluation. Presidents influence the early stages—framing problems and proposing agendas—but Congress legitimizes and funds them. The bureaucracy then implements, and the judiciary reviews disputes. Each branch, like a cogwheel, turns the others. When crises strike, the gears speed up, as in the rapid passage of the Patriot Act after 9/11.

Policy also differs by type. Incremental policies (like annual budget adjustments) favor bureaucratic stability, while reform policies (like welfare reform in 1996) spark fierce political risk. Crisis policy—as seen in FDR’s New Deal or Bush’s 9/11 response—temporarily expands executive power before checks reassert themselves. Jones underlines that presidential leadership is measured less by control than by responsiveness.

The Budget as a Political Weapon

Nothing unites or divides Washington like the budget. Since the Budget and Accounting Act of 1921, presidents have submitted annual proposals, but since 1974, Congress has had its own process. The result is an intricate dance between OMB and the Congressional Budget Office. Budget battles—from Truman’s fights with conservative Democrats to Clinton’s 1995 showdown with Republicans—reveal how fiscal policy doubles as ideological warfare. Still, even stalemates affirm the system’s endurance.

Crises as Leadership Tests

Jones ends the chapter by ranking presidents not by rhetoric but by circumstance. Some—like Truman at the dawn of the Cold War, Johnson in Vietnam, Reagan during economic crisis, and Bush 43 after 9/11—governed at turning points that redefined federal power. Others—like Eisenhower, Ford, and Clinton—presided over consolidation and reform. Crises don’t make presidents omnipotent, but they magnify their capacity to interpret the moment for the nation.

By the end of this chapter, Jones has reframed power as a relational art. Presidents lead best when they understand that cooperation, not command, sustains American democracy.

Jones closes his book by asking: can the presidency itself be reformed? Americans are instinctive tinkerers, forever seeking to perfect institutions that already work. Yet as Jones shows, most efforts to reform the presidency—term limits, war powers acts, independent commissions—end up producing unanticipated consequences rather than fundamental change.

Why Constitutional Reform Rarely Works

Only a handful of constitutional amendments directly affect the presidency. The Twelfth Amendment fixed electoral process flaws; the Twentieth modernized inauguration dates; the Twenty-Second imposed term limits; and the Twenty-Fifth clarified succession. Each arose from crisis—Jefferson’s tie, FDR’s tenure, Nixon’s resignation. Yet these amendments altered procedure, not spirit. Jones argues that the presidency evolves mainly through practice, not parchment.

Legislative Reforms and Their Limits

Countless statutes have sought to structure presidential behavior: the War Powers Act, Budget Acts, Freedom of Information Act, and Federal Election Campaign Acts. While intended to restrain or clarify power, they mostly reflect Congress’s anxiety about being overshadowed. The presidency, Jones notes, always adapts. For instance, the 1973 War Powers Act has constrained few presidents in practice; the 1974 Budget Act gave Congress tools but not cohesion; and campaign finance laws spawned loopholes faster than reforms could close them.

The Courts and Custom

Judicial decisions occasionally define executive limits—such as United States v. Nixon (1974) on executive privilege or Clinton v. Jones (1997) on civil suits against sitting presidents. But the larger informers of change are customs and expectations: direct media contact replacing press releases, global diplomacy through travel, and an expanded “first family” political role. The modern White House is equal parts symbol, stage, and command post.

This evolution, Jones concludes, is organic rather than legislative. Every technology—from radio to Twitter—reshapes communication between the executive and the public. Expectation expands faster than authority, forcing presidents to act as moral arbiters and crisis managers in equal measure.

Looking Forward

The future of the presidency lies not in rewriting the Constitution but in rebalancing our understanding. Polarization, narrow electoral margins, and global interdependence ensure that future presidents will face divided power and relentless scrutiny. Yet, as Jones insists, this is the design, not the dysfunction, of American democracy. Shared power endures because it must.

“We have created a position of great power,” wrote political scientist E. Pendleton Herring, “but have made the full realization of that power dependent upon influence rather than authority.”

In that paradox lies the presidency’s enduring strength. It is a human institution, grounded in compromise and continuity. Its success—like that of the republic itself—depends not on brilliance or reform, but on the patient art of governing together.