Lessons from Presidents: Taft and Calling

The year is 1905. Having rightfully won reelection four years after assuming the post following President McKinley’s assassination, Theodore Roosevelt announces that he would not make a run at a historic third term. Though the two-term limit wouldn’t be established until 1951, it’d been an unspoken rule since the time of Washington to intentionally withdraw one’s name from the ring after eight years in office. If anyone was set to break that tradition, it was the larger-than-life president. But rather than breaking precedent, he would opt to find a worthy successor — someone to continue his agenda. Two years later, he would find his man in William Howard Taft.

Taft had long been respected by his peers and the public alike. A federal circuit judge at 34 and chief civil administrator to the Philippines during McKinley’s administration, Taft was known for his warmth and kindness. It was that disposition that allowed him to flourish in the roles he was given. With Roosevelt’s initiative, it didn’t take much for others to warm to the idea. Taft would go on to secure the presidency in 1909, and Roosevelt would secure his legacy.

Imagine his surprise then when Taft started forging his own path, releasing Roosevelt’s cabinet and making decisions Roosevelt deemed to be a mistake. Not only that but it became increasingly evident that Taft was not the man for the job. Whereas Roosevelt reveled in his critics and found ways to win them over, Taft, as thick as he was, had the thinnest of skins. He had a penchant for analyzing decisions from all sides but never landing on anything. When it came to legislative matters, he never took initiative. What started as hope eventually gave way to total disillusionment, and Roosevelt, so upset with Taft’s performance, would eventually renege on his decision, and seek re-election under a third party in 1912. While it would be the closest the United States would ever come to electing a third-party candidate, ultimately, neither gentleman won the presidency. It would go to Woodrow Wilson. Roosevelt’s entry split the vote and, to make matters worse, it would be years before these political-confidants-turned-bitter-enemies would become friends again.

For the last couple years, I’ve been fascinated by the idea of leadership as a matter of both character and competence. Namely, the idea it’s not enough to just have one. You must have both. While character without competence might result in impotent and ineffectual leadership, competence without character is Machiavellian. We might have more grace for the former, hoping a person might grow into their role, but great leadership requires both. I am not original in this thought. In fact, a cursory Google search will yield articles and diagrams from people much smarter than I am. But if leadership is about character and competence, what then do we make of someone like William Howard Taft? As far as we can tell his character seemed fine. On paper, he seemed to have the qualifications for the job. After all, the man who suggested he run for office had held the position before, had been successful, and knew what was necessary to do well. But leadership isn’t solely a matter of possessing competence and character, it’s also about calling.

While personality and temperament nestle their way into character and competence, character speaks more to a person’s virtue — if a person has lived an exemplary life of morality and integrity — whereas competence addresses technical skill — the requisite experience a person has to take on this new role. If Parker Palmer is correct, and calling is a matter of letting our lives speak, asking ourselves what things we must do — not because we’re obligated by someone else, but because it’s who we are — then examining one’s personality and life belongs to calling. Frederick Buechner takes it a step further saying that calling is where our deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet. Taking this into consideration, it’s hard to imagine that Taft was actually called to the presidency.

I recognize to talk about calling in this instance is complicated for a number of reasons. First, because as a Christian, you can’t talk about calling without talking about God himself. It’s as Os Guinness writes in The Call, you don’t get a calling without the One who calls. And while I do believe in common grace — that is to say, that God causes the sun to rise on both the just and the unjust — I can’t speak to the spiritual lives of any party involved here. For all I know, Taft could’ve been called to the presidency. For all I know, no one is called to the presidency. I’m juxtaposing two different worlds here.

Secondly, if we remember Joseph Campbell and his work with the hero’s journey, the hero’s journey begins with an unsuspecting protagonist who possesses the seeds of greatness getting summoned on an adventure for which they weren’t looking. In accepting the adventure, they grow into the person they were always meant to be. How do we square the realities of Taft’s call to adventure and his failure? Granted our lives aren’t monomyths or fictional stories, we can’t escape the parallels of our lived experience.

Thirdly, another layer to consider calling here is that just because we’re called to a thing doesn’t mean we’ll experience instantaneous success. Each new season and new assignment bring its own share of difficulties. Some of those things never go away. It’s the nature of the assignment. This begs the question: if we can’t rely on the invitation of another or the fruit of our efforts, how can we be sure we’re actually called to a thing?

Each of us must develop a process for discerning which battles are ours to take on and which ones we should stay out of, when we should listen to what others see in us and when we should trust our gut, and what God is saying in a given moment. Because these big invitations have a way of disrupting the trajectory of our lives, they often come with an element of emotional turbulence. It can be hard to discern calling because so much of ourselves (and those we love) is wrapped in the decision. 

As an Enneagram 2, I am motivated by need. If anyone says they need me to do anything, I have a hard time saying no. After all, if I don’t do it, how will it get done? I’ve found it necessary to factor in the sovereignty of God when making decisions.

Believing in the sovereignty of God reminds me that God has appointed someone for this role, and that may or may not be me. Rather than being motivated by the fear of what might happen if we don’t step into this role, the sovereignty of God wonders how stepping into a role not designed for us might prevent the actual person it was intended for from stepping into it. In stopping to remember the sovereignty of God, we can weigh urgent emotions against timeless realities. The invitation of others and our own desires and fears are held in perspective. 

When holding in tension the sovereignty of God, we can arrive at what St. Ignatius referred to as indifference. We are happy regardless of whether God has called us to a particular role. That indifference allows us to hear more clearly what he would have us do. But also, the sovereignty of God says that even if I should discern incorrectly, God’s purposes will still prevail. 

I can’t say if Taft was or wasn’t called to the presidency, but his life and example remind me that as a Christian, leadership is never as simple as technical skill or personal virtue. We must consider if we’re called to a thing. If we are, then we faithfully execute that responsibility by living a life of character and growing our competence.

I don’t have space to get into it here, but I suppose in there is another leadership lesson in here about succession: as much as we might be tempted to select successors because of their similarity to us, we must ultimately remember they are their own people. Even if they might think like us, they have different giftsets and frames of reference. This can be a gift if we allow it to be. As great as we might be at a role, none of us are perfect. We need other people to cover our blind spots. But also, as Heraclitus reminds us, “No man ever steps in the same river twice.” We might’ve been the right leader for the time, but who’s to say we’re the right leader for the future? It might need someone entirely different from who we are. That’s not an erasure of our legacy, it’s adding another dimension to the work we’ve started.

Interestingly enough, Taft never personally had presidential ambitions. It was more his wife and Theodore Roosevelt that wanted him there. What he actually wanted more than anything was to serve as a Supreme Court justice. His temperament and disposition favored such a role. However, when a spot became available during Roosevelt’s administration, Taft didn’t receive the nomination. The President needed him elsewhere. 

In one of those truth-is-stranger-than-fiction endings, Taft would eventually get his wish. In 1921, while teaching law at Yale, President Warren Harding nominated him to serve as Chief Justice, a call to adventure he once again accepted. But this time he flourished. It was a role he held faithfully right up until his death in 1930. To this day, Taft remains the only person to have held both offices of President and Chief Justice. I suppose all’s well that ends well. Talk about common grace indeed.