We live in an age where the oath of office often feels like a formality. But President George Washington didn’t see it that way.

Why not?

He was an honorable man. He led decisive action that saved a ragtag set of colonies and their fledgling fighters. He helped forge an America born at war, and then spent his life, with others, shaping it into a lasting union.

We asked him to be king. He refused. Instead of seizing power, he handed it back to the people. He is one of only four presidents honored with a monument on the National Mall.

Washington saw the presidency not as an achievement, but as a duty. The office wasn’t his. It was the nation’s. He was only a temporary occupant.

His first term was a dry run of an experimental system. At his second inauguration, he delivered the shortest speech in presidential history: 135 words. Four sentences. In it, he asked to be judged not by success or failure, but by fidelity to the Constitution.

He never saw the oath as ceremony. He saw it as a public binding. An act of submission to law, to philosophy, to something greater than himself. He swore to uphold that ideal above riches, safety, or power. He made himself small beneath the American ideal.

The oath directs the president to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution. Then it adds a quiet line: to the best of my Ability.

That phrase carries humility. In the hands of someone like Washington, it becomes a unifying voice. But not everyone is like Washington.

In lesser hands, “to the best of my ability” promises nothing. It demands no wisdom. No courage. No character. The Constitution doesn’t define “Ability.” It sets no standard, offers no test. It doesn’t ask whether a president understands liberty, grasps law, or even knows the six goals of the preamble. It only asks that he act according to his ability.

So what happens when a man with no moral compass takes the oath?

What if his ability begins and ends with self-interest? What if we choose someone whose ability is shaped not by humility, but by ambition, ignorance, or vanity?

He can still raise his hand. He can still say the words. He can still claim he did his best.

And the Constitution won’t stop him.

It gives the people the power to choose. And once we choose, it assumes we chose well. It assumes we chose someone who understands what it means to defend a republic.

Which brings us back to the same words every president has spoken since Washington.

A Constitutional Clause Built on Subjectivity

Found in Article II, Section 1, Clause 8, the Constitution outlines that before they enter the office, the President shall take the following Oath or Affirmation:

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.

The oath is a mirror. It reflects back the character of the person who takes it.

Most constitutional clauses set standards. Common verbiage includes “shall,” “must,” and “only with advice and consent.” Not the oath. It doesn’t bind the office to a standard of excellence; it binds it to the standard of the person. It says the president will act to the best of their ability, which turns the focus inward. It’s not a promise of outcome. The oath is filtered through the person’s internal fidelity. It limits the obligation by what the individual president is capable of and not what the Constitution demands.

We could ask why the framers didn’t just say the president must uphold the Constitution or shall ensure its defense. Perhaps they feared the tyranny of perfection just as much as the tyranny of incompetence.

The framers wrote before modern party systems, before mass media, and before the idea that one person might use the presidency as a personal brand empire. They assumed men of honor, or at least men with a reputation to protect. For the framers, “ability” was a nod to human limits, not human depravity.

They assumed, wrongly, that the people would never elect someone without basic ability and a high ethical standard. Of course, there is the law, and the law is measurable. Not all ethical violations break the law.

But having a high ethical standard is not a requirement to be president. We have several examples of presidents with an ethical standard many would consider deficient.

Let’s look at three moments where the oath bent under pressure.

James Buchanan – The Man Who Watched the Union Burn

Imagine this. It’s 1857. The country is fracturing. A sharp economic downturn, the Panic of 1857, has shaken public confidence and threatens the livelihoods of thousands. Slavery has already turned Congress into a battlefield. The Kansas–Nebraska Act has opened the door to “popular sovereignty,” allowing settlers in new territories to vote on whether to allow slavery.

Pro-slavery and anti-slavery protestors flood into Kansas. Violence breaks out; the territory earns a new name: Bleeding Kansas.

Then, the Supreme Court delivers the Dred Scott decision. The Court declares that Black Americans can never be citizens. That the federal government has no power to prohibit slavery in the territories. That the Constitution itself offers no protection to the enslaved.

In the middle of this firestorm, James Buchanan takes the oath of office. The country needed leadership more than ever.

He swears to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States. And then he proceeds to do ... almost nothing.

Buchanan personally believed slavery was immoral. But he believed even more deeply that the Constitution gave him no power to act. He saw himself not as a leader, but as a caretaker of a document, and the document, he claimed, left no room for federal intervention.

He was a staunch states’ rights advocate. When Southern states began seceding, South Carolina first in December 1860, Buchanan declared secession illegal ... but also claimed the federal government had no authority to stop it.

His cabinet fell into chaos. Several members were Southern sympathizers. One of them, Secretary of War John Floyd, secretly funneled arms to the South. Buchanan, weak and indecisive, let it happen.

So the Union dissolved while the President, bound by his narrow reading of the Constitution, stood aside.

He felt he had done his duty. He said,

“I feel that my duty has been faithfully, though it may be imperfectly, performed, and, whatever the result may be, I shall carry to my grave the consciousness that I at least meant well for my country.”

He also recognized his leadership had failed. In a moment of despair, as the nation cracked beneath his inaction, Buchanan reportedly declared,

“I am the last President of the United States!”

It’s one of the most devastating examples of a president interpreting “to the best of my Ability” as a command to do nothing at all.

And it left Lincoln to inherit a war that may have been prevented if the man before him had seen the oath not just as a legal clause, but as a moral charge.

Andrew Johnson – The President Who Fought Reconstruction

In April 1865, the war was ending. The Union had held. And then, at Ford’s Theatre, John Wilkes Booth assassinated President Abraham Lincoln.

Into that moment stepped Andrew Johnson, a Democrat from Tennessee, loyal to the Union but hostile to the idea of racial equality.

He took the same oath Lincoln had taken: to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution.

But Johnson didn’t use that oath to finish Lincoln’s work. He abused his veto power to preserve white supremacy.

He vetoed civil rights legislation. He openly opposed the Fourteenth Amendment. He told white Southerners they could regain power quickly and face few consequences. As if the war had changed nothing, as if emancipation had never happened.

He said,

“It is the province of the Executive to see that the will of the people is carried out in the rehabilitation of the rebellious States, once more under the authority as well as the protection of the Union.”

And when Congress passed the Civil Rights Act of 1866, the first law to declare all persons born in the United States as citizens, he vetoed that, too.

Congress overrode him. Twice. It was the first time major legislation passed despite a presidential veto.

Johnson argued he was defending the Constitution. That federal enforcement of civil rights was an overreach. That states had the right to decide, even if they used that right to deny freedom.

He didn’t see Reconstruction as a duty. He saw it as an intrusion.

And so, under the cover of “to the best of my ability,” Johnson tried to undo the meaning of Union victory.

He became the first president in American history to be impeached. He survived conviction by one vote. But his legacy was clear: he used the oath not to heal the country, but to hold it back.

Richard Nixon – The President Who Tried to Redefine the Law

Richard Nixon took the oath in 1969. Then again in 1973. He swore to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution.

What followed was one of the most profound breaches of public trust in American history.

Nixon authorized illegal wiretaps. He used the CIA to block FBI investigations. He compiled enemy lists, with the goal to “use the available federal machinery to screw our political enemies.” He used the IRS to target his political opponents. And then, when the Watergate break-in exposed the rot, he tried to cover it all up.

He didn’t deny that he broke ethical norms. He didn’t even deny the facts. What he denied was that he could be held accountable.

He told interviewer David Frost in 1977:

“When the president does it, that means it is not illegal.”

President Richard Nixon’s name has an asterisk next to it in history books as the biggest crook to ever hold the office. The man who took an oath to defend the Constitution believed he was functionally above it.

He saw the office not as a duty to the people, but as a shield against them. He interpreted “to the best of my ability” not as an internal check, but as a blank check. Nixon wasn’t after money or fame; he hungered for power, control, and a place among history’s greats.

Nixon resigned before the House could impeach him. In his farewell speech, Nixon said plainly,

“To leave office before my term is completed is abhorrent to every instinct in my body.”

But he left. In the end, even Nixon understood that while the oath might be vague, the consequences of breaking it could still find you.

Fast Forward to Last Week

In an NBC News interview, Kristen Welker asked President Trump if he’s duty-bound to uphold the Constitution.

He answered,

“I don’t know… I have brilliant lawyers that work for me, and they are going to obviously follow what the Supreme Court said.”

That answer says a lot. The oath doesn’t bind the lawyers. It binds the President. And yet, instead of owning that responsibility, he passed it off.

Some lawmakers responded with outrage. But while they bicker, real people are out here hurting.

We should be focused on our purpose. The Constitution gives us one: to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, ensure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common Defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty.

Justice is the first obligation. America doesn’t exist to serve the strong. It exists to protect the weak. That means every family has heat in the house and food on the table. No new burden on taxpayers. No ballooning bureaucracy. Just results. And that takes consensus. Political theater kills consensus.

To any president who says they “don’t know” if they’re bound to defend the Constitution, we shouldn’t pretend. You don’t need to lie. We can just say it plainly. The office exists to serve the Constitution. And you are serving it to the best of your ability.

But when you fail to meet even the most basic obligations, that reveals your ability.

The Fifth Amendment protects all persons, including citizens, immigrants, and anyone under US jurisdiction, from being deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law. If we use taxpayer dollars to process, detain, or deport someone, they are under our jurisdiction. They are owed due process.

History gives us examples of presidents who fell short. They have names that include Buchanan, Johnson, and Nixon. We remember none as great.

Washington made himself small beneath the Constitution. We ask no less from anyone who follows.

This isn’t a constitutional crisis. The system the framers built is strong. The Constitution gives the structure. But the oath still matters. The success of the presidency still depends on the person who takes the oath, and how they choose to fulfill it.

May God bless the United States of America.

Music from #Uppbeathttps://uppbeat.io/t/studiokolomna/chamber-timeLicense code: IC3A9HDXIT3FAWUV

Get full access to I Believe at joelkdouglas.substack.com/subscribe