What if America’s founders never intended the presidency to be shackled by term limits? Long before the 22nd Amendment, Alexander Hamilton—writing as Publius in Federalist No. 72—warned that restricting the executive’s re-eligibility would weaken the nation, rob it of experience, and invite instability. Today, the prospect of Donald Trump running for a third term forces us to revisit that debate: were term limits a safeguard against tyranny, or a political tool that strayed from the Founders’ design? Perhaps the presidency was never meant to be caged by term limits, but to sail freely on the turbulent seas of public trust.
The question of whether a president should be allowed to seek a third term strikes at the heart of America’s constitutional design. When the Framers debated the executive branch, they considered stability, accountability, and the dangers of concentrating power. In Federalist No. 72, Hamilton argued that term limits were shortsighted—depriving the nation of capable leadership, undermining incentives for good governance, and even encouraging corruption as presidents approached a forced exit. To Hamilton, re-eligibility was not a threat to liberty but a safeguard for it.
Yet, the modern two-term limit—cemented in the 22nd Amendment after Franklin D. Roosevelt’s unprecedented four elections—reflects a very different fear: that prolonged presidencies invite despotism. The amendment was less a philosophical refinement of the Founders’ intent and more a political response to one man’s hold on power. Against this backdrop, any discussion of Trump and a potential third term isn’t just about him; it’s about whether America should side with Hamilton’s warnings or with the 20th-century consensus that liberty requires rotation in the executive office.
Hamilton declared in Federalist No. 72: “Nothing appears more plausible at first sight, nor more ill-founded upon close inspection, than a scheme which in relation to the Executive would banish him forever from the councils in which, in certain emergencies of the state, his presence might be of the greatest moment to the public good.” To Hamilton, forced rotation in the presidency was a liability. He believed re-eligibility kept executives accountable to the people, ensured continuity in policy, and preserved the nation’s ability to retain proven leadership in times of crisis. Liberty itself—not tyranny—suffered when voters were denied the chance to re-elect a leader they trusted. He saw re-eligibility as the keel that keeps the ship of state steady during storms of crisis.
By contrast, the spirit behind the 22nd Amendment reflects a philosophy born of fear rather than trust. After Roosevelt’s four elections, Congress imposed a hard stop on executive power, echoing Washington’s precedent but codifying it into law. The amendment assumes that institutions—not the popular will—are the ultimate check on ambition. It’s as if we placed the presidency in a glass case, afraid it might shatter under the weight of ambition, instead of letting the people hold it steady in their hands. But as Hamilton would remind us, the people’s judgment is a powerful safeguard if given its due.
FDR’s presidency is the clearest example. Serving four terms, he steered America through the Great Depression and World War II, providing continuity that many argue was essential. Critics worried about concentrated power, prompting the 22nd Amendment in 1951. His presidency both justified breaking with Hamilton’s vision and demonstrated the value of experienced leadership during crisis.
Even more recently, Reagan’s popularity near the end of his second term sparked quiet discussions about repealing term limits. Some argued that his leadership in defeating the Soviet Union warranted extended service. Similarly, after Obama’s two terms, commentators wondered whether continuity could have further advanced policy goals. In both cases, the two-term rule prevented voters from making that choice—illustrating Hamilton’s point that artificial limits can rob the people of leaders they still desire.
A lesser-known post-war debate in Congress further illuminates this tension. Representative John McCormack warned in 1947: “We must be careful not to weaken the Presidency, or make him a lame-duck from the start of his second term.” His concern echoes Hamilton nearly verbatim, yet the amendment passed, codifying a rule born of extraordinary circumstances rather than consistent constitutional philosophy.
Term limits do have benefits: they blunt incumbency advantages, deter personality cults, and slow patronage networks. Washington’s voluntary exit lit a beacon for republics everywhere—a lighthouse showing the path of restrained ambition. Yet modern presidents wield unprecedented media power and administrative reach, and these checks alone don’t resolve the question. Elections, primaries, impeachment, the 25th Amendment, judicial review, divided government, and an attentive press remain robust safeguards. The two-term cap, however, introduces distortions: lame-duck incentives, strategic succession planning, and abrupt prohibitions even when continuity could stabilize the nation. International cautionary tales—Putin, Xi Jinping, Chávez—illustrate the dangers of unchecked tenure. Still, America’s constitutional system, reinforced by centuries of precedent, remains designed to resist authoritarian drift.
Hamilton warned that “the exclusion of men from offices will discourage ambition more than it will restrain it.” This remains true. The two-term limit, born of mid-20th-century fear of Roosevelt’s dominance, fails to trust the people. As Publius notes in Federalist No. 10, “the latent causes of faction are thus sown in the nature of man,” yet the Constitution filters these passions through checks and balances to refine the community’s deliberate sense. The Framers expected ambition and faction; they designed a system capable of withstanding it without removing voter choice. If we believe in self-government, we must also believe voters can decide whether a leader deserves a third term—or if it is time for new leadership.
The real question: do we trust the people, or a rigid amendment that pre-decides their choices? The Founders placed faith in judgment; the 22nd Amendment placed it in preemptive restraint. Which vision will guide America? That choice, like the helm of the republic itself, rests not in dusty tomes or alarmist headlines—but in our hands, here and now.
By Cameron LeCompte
Writer and Editor, The Federalist View
August 28, 2025