Reversing the Logic of Term Limits
We should end them for presidents—and create them for Congress
Estimated read time is 6 minutes. Enjoy!
This is the newest installment in my series on reforming Congress—but today’s argument steps back to consider the larger ecosystem of domestic policymaking. Our constitutional time horizons are misaligned. Presidents are too constrained to shape the legislative process, while representatives and senators have too much time to entrench themselves. The result is drift: a government that talks endlessly but rarely solves the problems our people face. My argument may sound counterintuitive—term limits for Congress, none for the presidency—but paired with other reforms, it’s ultimately needed to restore our capacity to govern.
This idea will worry plenty of my progressive readers, who fear it could hand Donald Trump the chance for endless reelection. But good governance isn’t about any one person. The point of constitutional reform is to design a system that channels ambition productively and keeps government both accountable and effective. The goal is balance—to pair our democratic impulses with a structure that actually lets elected leaders govern.
What we want, as Alexander Hamilton put it, is “energy in the executive” and responsiveness in the legislature. Right now, we have neither—at least when it comes to actual legislating. The 22nd Amendment has made the presidency more erratic, while careerism in Congress has produced sclerosis and decay. We need to reverse the logic of term limits—and rethink how time itself shapes our politics.
The Problem with Presidential Term Limits
The 22nd Amendment, ratified in 1951 after Franklin Roosevelt’s four electoral victories, limits presidents to two terms in office. It is arguably the only explicitly anti-democratic amendment in our entire constitutional history. Every other change—direct election of senators, expanded suffrage, voting-rights protections—broadened popular choice. The 22nd narrowed it.
I don’t love that we have a presidential system. A parliamentary model—where executive and legislative authority are fused, and governments rise and fall with public confidence—would be far more efficient and accountable. That’s a longer-term goal, and future posts will explore it. But reform is path-dependent. We have to move forward from where we stand, not from the system we wish we had. And right now, the American presidency is the central engine of national governance.
Term limits don’t constrain that power—they distort it. By making presidents unaccountable once reelected, they detach the executive from public opinion and weaken their ability to influence Congress. Hamilton, writing in Federalist No. 72, warned precisely against this: that banning reelection would “deprive the community of the advantage of the experience gained by the chief magistrate” and would sap the “incentive to good behavior” that comes from ongoing responsibility to the people.
He was right. The two-term rule hasn’t made the presidency more virtuous or restrained. It’s made it less effective.
Eighteen Months of Governing, Six and a Half Years of Drifting
Presidents today get roughly eighteen months to govern—out of a possible ninety-six. The rest is either transition, campaigning, or lame-duck drift.
When a president takes office, the first months vanish in the churn of nominations, staffing, and confirmation fights. By the time an administration is ready to legislate, it’s barely a year from the start of the midterm election cycle, when members of Congress—every representative and one-third of the senators—are already focused on reelection. If a president is particularly effective, they might notch three or four legislative successes before lawmaking grinds to a halt. After the midterms, a first-term president is back on the campaign trail, raising money and defending what little record they’ve managed to build. The window for real governance closes before it ever truly opens—turning national elections into rituals of hope, followed by disappointment.
And what happens after reelection? In theory, a president’s second term should be a moment of freedom: no more elections, no more constraints. In practice, it’s paralysis. Congress knows the president will never face voters again, and therefore feels little need to cooperate. The executive becomes a lame duck on day one of the second term.
The result is a presidency that governs mostly by executive order and via the regulatory process—governing “around” Congress instead of through it. Each new president then reverses much of what the last one did, producing a kind of administrative whiplash.
In foreign affairs, presidents remain active, largely because diplomacy and war-making now rest squarely within executive discretion. But domestically, where coordination with Congress is essential, the system has collapsed. Presidents are too transient to build sustained coalitions or long-term programs.
If we could extend the possibility of reelection—if the people could keep a president they trust—executive leadership might again function as intended. Continuity would strengthen accountability, not weaken it, because citizens could directly reward or punish performance. Franklin Roosevelt demonstrated that advantage during the Depression and World War II. We may not want another president to serve more than two terms, but the ability to retain a capable leader should rest with the people.
This argument isn’t partisan. It would have potentially benefited Eisenhower, Reagan, Clinton, and Obama, all of whom left office with broad support. Nor does it empower the so-called “imperial presidency.” In fact, the modern expansion of executive power occurred after term limits were imposed. When presidents cannot secure legislative outcomes, they naturally reach for unilateral tools. Repealing the 22nd Amendment would make presidents more accountable for governing well, not less.
Term Limits Where They Belong: Congress
Almost none of these arguments apply to Congress, the place where slightly decreasing democratic choice makes sense. The presidency is a singular office, designed for unity of purpose. Congress is a sprawling institution, meant to reflect the nation’s diversity and periodically refresh itself.
If the problem with presidential term limits is too little continuity, the problem with congressional incumbency is too much permanence. The modern Congress has become a professional guild, not a citizen legislature. As Richard Goodwin warned more than thirty years ago, we have created “a self-perpetuating political class,” insulated from the lives and struggles of ordinary citizens. The longer members stay, the more risk-averse they become.
I’m not doctrinaire about this reform. If other changes—multi-member districts, ranked-choice voting, campaign-finance reform—could restore responsiveness, I’d take those first. But term limits remain an appealing piece of the puzzle, especially if paired with the four-year congressional cycle proposed in last week’s post.
Here’s how that could work:
Every House and Senate term would last four years—rather than two and six—aligned with the presidential cycle.
Members would serve no more than 16 years total in either chamber.
Service in both would be permissible: a talented representative could later become a senator, and vice versa, for up to 32 years total federal service.
That strikes the right balance between experience and renewal. Sixteen years is long enough to master the legislative process, develop expertise, and see major reforms through to completion—but short enough to prevent lifetime incumbency. Knowing their time is finite, legislators might be bolder, more willing to legislate rather than simply posture for reelection.
Such a system could actually diminish executive power, because a Congress less obsessed with self-preservation may reassert its legislative role. And with other reforms to reduce the influence of money and gerrymandering, the body might again reflect the people rather than the ultra-rich donor class.
Time to Flip the Script
Every institution in our government has been warped by time. Presidents don’t serve long enough to govern; members of Congress serve so long they forget how.
Hamilton believed energy in the executive was essential to good government. Goodwin argued that rotation in office was essential to democratic vitality. Both were right. We need to merge those insights—to build a system that renews itself without erasing experience, and channels ambition without breeding permanence. Only then can government begin working for the citizenry rather than against it.
COMING NEXT WEEK: Once, Congress was a full-time job. Today, lawmakers fly in Tuesday, posture Wednesday, and fly out Thursday—leaving little time to legislate or build trust. Next week, I’ll explore how a part-time Congress became a full-time problem—and what it would take to make it a real workplace for democracy again.