By Thomas Dichter
Friday, June 19, 2026
In 2000, two psychologists researched the question of character. They looked at how
seven major world religions define it, as well as much literature and
philosophy on the topic, and came up with six virtues (e.g., courage, humanity,
temperance, wisdom, transcendence, and justice) and 24 “strengths,” among them
judgment, perspective, fairness, self-regulation, perseverance (as in finishing
what one starts), love, and curiosity. Academic research aside, most of us know
character when we see it. We generally admire the traits identified above; they
are what we want in our best selves, and throughout our history, from George
Washington almost to the present, we have usually wanted leaders who reflected
that ideal—so much so that when a president’s lack of character became evident
(Richard Nixon and Watergate, Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky), Americans
reacted with widespread disdain, if not outrage.
With Donald Trump, something has changed.
The president has regularly disparaged war heroes and
people with disabilities, and has shown outright glee at the death of public
figures. In mid-March, on hearing of Robert Mueller’s death, Trump said “Good,
I’m glad he’s dead.” On Easter Sunday this year, Trump initiated a full week of
profanity and sacrilege, falling so far short on the character front that
virtually none of the above-mentioned psychologists’ six virtues or 24
strengths was evident. On Truth Social, Trump posted an expletive-filled threat to Iran, and then began a
week-long attack on Pope Leo XIV, something that prompted the Wall Street
Journal, in a lengthy history of America’s relationship with Rome,
to point out: “Never before, even at the height of U.S. anti-Catholicism, has a
sitting president attacked the pope like this.”
When the Wall Street Journal asked whether Catholics approved of the president’s
behavior, one 29-year-old computer scientist and devout Catholic was reported
as having “voted for Trump in 2024 because one of [his] top political issues is
his opposition to abortion. He said he cast that ballot unenthusiastically—he
didn’t like the president’s character.”
We have been hearing for some time about this kind of
“hold-your-nose” support of Trump; many who support him see his character
failings clearly. In fact, many Americans, according to numerous polls, do
not see Trump as a moral person. As his second term continues, even once
fervent supporters have begun to question his character; Tucker Carlson has gone so far as to call Trump’s behavior “evil.”
While moral character apparently still matters to many of
us in our own lives—in our choice of romantic partners and friends, for
example—we seem to have reached a point in recent years where it matters
considerably less in our choice of leaders. As one 2016 analysis of elections from 1952 to 2012 concluded:
“the electorate’s focus on candidate attributes has declined substantially.”
In 2016, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary President
R. Albert Mohler wrote that, in the 1990s, “evangelicals largely spoke with
solidarity on the centrality of character in leadership, and of character as
something essential to the credibility required of one who would hold a major
position of leadership, in particular, one who would be elected President of
the United States.” In a 2017 article, The Dispatch contributing writer
Alan Jacobs cited Mohler and went on to debate the degree to which “pragmatic virtues”
won over that earlier evangelical position. Indeed, Americans have been
generally pragmatic about character; we understand that no one is perfect and
have accepted, within limits, character flaws in our presidents. But something
has changed with Trump.
Beginning with George Washington, Americans had an almost
mythic view of presidential character, and during the following five
presidencies (John Adams through John Quincy Adams), good character was taken
for granted. All six of our first presidents carried with them the noble aura
of the Revolution and the Founding. From then on, even when “the issues” were
what the electorate focused on, an assumption of decent character still lived
in the background; it still mattered. If in the past a candidate for president
had publicly expressed glee at the death of an opponent or openly exhibited
blatant dishonesty, hatred, greed, vengefulness, mean-spiritedness, and so on,
it is difficult to believe that he could have been elected.
Of course, we have accepted imperfect presidents. Abraham
Lincoln played fast and loose with the law (and, arguably, the Constitution) on occasion.
Ulysses S. Grant—while gifted with courage, perseverance, and humility—was a
bit short on temperance. John F. Kennedy, who symbolized courage and, to some
extent, justice, and tried more often than not to act on principles, did not
always exercise good judgment. We have also had less-than-great presidents who
nonetheless embodied good character. As the 1961 book A History of the
American People put it: “In the years following Grant’s two terms as
president, the American Presidency was dominated by mediocrity. Rutherford B.
Hayes, James A. Garfield, Chester A. Arthur, Grover Cleveland, and Benjamin
Harrison were essentially colorless men who believed that the president was an
executive agent rather than a vigorous leader … Honest but plodding, dull and
unimaginative, they kept the rigging on the ship of state in adequate repair,
but they seldom displayed any desire to sail into uncharted waters.” Even James
Buchanan, perennially ranked by scholars as the worst president, was not
lacking in character.
In 1920, in part as a rebound from World War I and the
1918 Spanish flu pandemic, Americans overwhelmingly voted for Warren G. Harding
and his promise of “normalcy.” While a man who was said to “look like a
President,” Harding was not seen as a man of great character. He was described by some as “a jovial,
easy-going, shallow man,” and was said to have “brought to the White House the
moral code of the hangers-on around a rural county courthouse.” Given the bad
memories of the war and the pandemic, it would seem that much of the country
wanted nothing more than to be jovial, easygoing, and shallow. Still, almost no
one would have characterized Harding as “evil.”
Other presidents whose character flaws were readily
apparent nonetheless exerted admirable leadership and accomplished desirable
things. FDR was wily, opaque, obfuscating, and manipulative, but he steadfastly
led America through the Depression and the Second World War. LBJ was neither
honorable nor honest, but he made unprecedented progress on civil rights. Richard “Tricky Dick” Nixon was not seen as
altogether trustworthy, but his bold moves on China changed the calculus of the
world’s economy. All three were flawed men, but they each left the White House
having increased America’s standing internationally or improved the lot of
underserved Americans at home. Even then, character still mattered, and when
presidential character flaws became too blatant to ignore—as with Nixon’s
cover-up of Watergate or Clinton’s lies about Lewinsky—there were consequences.
Looking back at how presidential candidates have been
marketed, it is clear that symbols of good character have been important to
American voters. An early example is the William Henry Harrison–Martin Van
Buren campaign of 1840, when Harrison’s campaigners handed out all manner of merchandise, from pitchers to
neckties to whiskey decanters, depicting Harrison as a “man of the people,” an
image that was reinforced by using the motif of a log cabin (the campaign was,
in fact, called “The Log Cabin Campaign.”) As a brave war hero, resolute
leader, and “man of the people,” we see an almost complete amalgam of positive
character symbols that continued well into the 20th century.
Though Harrison was not born in a log cabin, seven U.S.
presidents were; the use of the log cabin in campaigns resonated with voters as
a powerful symbol signifying “man of the people,” someone who has risen from
humble beginnings. Lincoln was perhaps the ultimate log cabin candidate, with
his ruggedness as a man of the soil and his integrity in walking miles to
return a borrowed book. Such symbols and stories reaffirm who we think we are,
as much as they reflect who we think the candidate is.
Similarly, it is no accident that we have had a
preference for soldier presidents. Of our 45 presidents, 31 served in the military. The character traits associated
with military service—patriotism, courage, and devotion to duty—were important
to voters. Thus from 1788 to 1992, the nation has elected soldier presidents
like George Washington, Andrew Jackson, William H. Harrison, Zachary Taylor,
Ulysses S. Grant, James A. Garfield, Rutherford B. Hayes, William McKinley,
Theodore Roosevelt, Harry S. Truman, John F. Kennedy, and George H.W. Bush—all
of whom not only served, but saw combat.
The cowboy is another powerful shorthand for good
character, and two presidents, Theodore Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, benefitted
from that imagery. As W. Lloyd Warner put it in his 1959 study of Christian
life in America: “the cowboy… on his great horse nobly rides forth to battle,
to kill and be killed, to rescue pure womanhood from villainy. Honor and
self-sacrifice dominate his thoughts and control his actions.”
In some of our elections, certain presidential character
traits mattered because of their contrast with the preceding president. Jimmy
Carter, who promised to “never lie to you,” might not have been elected if the
country had not still been reeling from the dishonesty of Watergate. Following the scandals
of Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge’s image as “Silent Cal” and the “reticent
prudent Vermonter,” was reassuring and conveyed integrity (the 1924 election
slogan was “Keep Cool with Coolidge”).
Again and again Americans seemed to want to see their
presidents as good, solid, honest men of the people. In Robert and Helen Lynd’s
famous 1929 study of Muncie, Indiana, the word “square” summed up the
elements of good character:
…in [Muncie]’s
traditional philosophy, it is not primarily learning, or even intelligence, as
much as character and goodwill which are exalted. Says Edgar Guest, whose daily
message in [Muncie]’s leading paper is widely read and much quoted:
“God won’t ask you
if you were clever,
For I think he’ll
little care,
When your toil is
done forever
He may question:
Were you square?”
The authors go on to link this to political campaigns:
“Rarely do campaign speakers mention the special ability of a candidate for
office; they extol him as ‘a man of the people,’ ‘four-square,’ a ‘real American.’ … in the
popular mind … What they want is a good, plain, common sense man of the
people.”
But let’s be clear: Along with character, the “pragmatic
virtues” have always been a part of what Americans want in our presidents. As
was so in Muncie 100 years ago, being able to “deliver the goods” sometimes
mattered as much as, or even more than presidential character: “A local
business leader, speaking at a church forum about the mayoral race, says that
‘The first qualification for our mayor is that he must be a Christian.’ ….the next speaker said: ‘I don’t care if that
man is a Christian or what he is so long as he can deliver the goods.’”
Trump’s supporters, exercising their pragmatic side, may
have seen him as capable of delivering the goods on issues like immigration,
taxes, the economy, and government spending. But Trump’s base has barely budged
in its support for the president, despite diminishing purchasing power, the
economic disruption of the Iran war, and the lack of promised support for
pro-lifers. A rational calculus cannot adequately explain this. Character, and
in Trump’s case, the lack thereof, may be where we need to look to understand
this paradox.
Given Americans’ rising distrust of institutions like the
media, and the apparently easy embracing
of "alternative facts” among many
MAGA voters, it is possible that many of Trump’s supporters simply do not
notice his policy inconsistencies or his mean-spiritedness. For those who do see Trump’s moral failings,
these may be excused either as theater or as “that’s just Trump being Trump.” A
2024 survey involving 25,000 adults in all 50 states found that more Trump
voters than Democrats get their news from friends, family, and nontraditional
news media. One of the researchers raised the possibility that negative reports about Trump
“just never reached people.”
But a better explanation is the surprising force and
staying power of MAGA anger and resentment. It seems possible that many deeply
pro-Trump followers are so fearful of the future, so grieving of their sense of
lost status and confidence, so sure they have been cheated of something,
however ill-defined but profoundly felt, that they want a president who will
even the score, someone who will promise to give them back what they feel they
have lost. Thus, the character trait that counts for them the most is embodied
in the iconic “fight, fight, fight” reaction Trump displayed after being shot
in 2024. It is a power-filled gesture not just of defiance, but of anger and
revenge.
With Trump’s supporters, anything that symbolizes power
seems to be what counts most. Trump’s blatant grabs for what he wants—whether a
golden eagle-topped arc of triumph, a gigantic new White House ballroom, his
name on a class of ships, or his overt corruption—all mark the power inherent
in defying established norms. Like a child testing the rules to see what they
can get away with, many of Trump’s moral lapses can be seen as admirable
displays of defiance, signalling strength and boldness. As such, he fulfills an
irrational but very real need felt by millions of frustrated Americans; an
almost Freudian fantasy of extreme control meant to compensate for the loss of
it. To be blunt, Trump gives the finger to a world that has snubbed him, and in
doing so acts on behalf of many Americans who feel similarly ignored.
Can Thomas Hobbes’ “war of all against all,” which seems
to fit the Trumpian regime, really be what many Americans want in a president?
While it may well be true that “the perception of moral decline is an
illusion,” as a recent Columbia University study put it, the view from where we stand now of our president’s
“character,” and those who seem to mirror it, is a dark one indeed.
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