[This essay originally appeared in Javelin Joe’s Reflections. It appears here in revised form.]
INTRODUCTION
The presidential nominating convention of the Republican
Party in 1964 was held in the Cow Palace in San Francisco. It was so much of a
ruckus by GOP standards that the convention hall might well have been called
the “Stomping Elephant” Palace. Just four years after the presidency of the
Eastern‑establishment–backed General Eisenhower, the Republicans were set to
nominate a Westerner from Arizona, the irascible Senator Barry Goldwater.
As he accepted his party’s nomination, Goldwater excited his
supporters and dismayed his opponents with the now‑famous line: “Extremism
in the defense of liberty is no vice. And moderation in the pursuit of justice
is no virtue.” Thus began a wild presidential campaign pitting Goldwater
against the incumbent President Lyndon Johnson. Painted as an extremist,
Goldwater lost in a landslide.
A bright spot of the campaign was the emergence of Ronald
Reagan, the former actor and union leader turned conservative activist and
Goldwater ally. In “The Speech,” delivered just days before the election,
Reagan made an impassioned plea for Goldwater’s candidacy. Despite the
landslide loss, Reagan’s appearance propelled him to the governorship of
California two years later and to the presidency in 1980. Reagan had inherited
Goldwater’s mantle.
Like Goldwater, Reagan was a Westerner, albeit a
transplanted one from the Midwest. He selected as his vice‑presidential running
mate George H. W. Bush, a transplanted Texan with strong Eastern establishment
credentials. After Reagan completed his two presidential terms, Bush was
elected president and served one term.
While I am personally a fan of Goldwater, Reagan, and Bush,
it was Bush’s political philosophy of prudence that has a more enduring
quality than “extremism” or “destiny.” For example, President Bush ordered U.S.
forces and allies into an armed response to Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait.
Following an intensive air campaign, the ground forces needed only 100 hours to
rout the Iraqi army. Instead of pressing on to capture Baghdad, Bush ordered a
halt to offensive operations and sought a cease‑fire. Kuwait had been liberated—his
stated goal—and nothing further was desired.
Although the Bushism “wouldn’t be prudent” was regularly
skewered by comedians and commentators—and even his manhood was questioned by
some in the 1992 election—Bush’s policy of prudence served the nation well,
especially when contrasted with the imprudence of his three immediate
successors (including his eldest son). The purpose of this paper is to examine
the nature of prudence and how it has been utilized in formulating public
policy.
DEFINING PRUDENCE
Prudence has traditionally been defined as the ability to
discipline oneself with reason and act accordingly. Classically, prudence is
considered one of the Cardinal Virtues. It is associated with wisdom, insight,
foresight, knowledge, judgment, and rational choice on a practical level.
Nevertheless, prudence has taken on a negative connotation
in modern jargon. It has become associated with cautiousness and the reluctance
to take risks. While the ability to forego unnecessary risks is a positive, if
prudence becomes an excuse to avoid taking calculated risks, it can devolve
into over‑cautiousness or even cowardice.
If avoidance is the only trait associated with a leader,
then that person is not prudent and possibly not even a leader. Prudence
implies deliberation, consultation, and the selection of the most suitable
means to accomplish valuable purposes. Sometimes prudence leads to intentional
inaction; sometimes it leads to decisive action.
Related to prudence is the concept of smart power,
popularized by Joseph Nye. Smart power is the discernment of whether to use
soft power or hard power in a given situation. A manager seeking to improve an
employee’s performance might choose anything from informal conversation (soft
power) to a formal performance review (hard power). Power is “smart” when
neither extreme is chosen by default, and either may be chosen if effective.
Prudence is the foundation of such judgment.
“Life is a long lesson in humility,” James M. Barrie once
wrote. David Brooks, reflecting on the American cultural climate at the
conclusion of World War II, found a mood of humility, self‑effacement, and
graciousness rather than boasting. “Humility,” he writes, “is the awareness
that there’s a lot you don’t know and that a lot of what you think you know is
distorted or wrong.”
Humility, I maintain, is the foundation of prudence. Yet
humility is not a quality we normally look for in a politician or policy
expert. Think of Bush 41’s manhood being questioned, or Churchill’s famous jab:
“He’s a humble man and has much to be humbled about.”
LIMITATIONS
Prudence is inseparable from the recognition of
limitations—limitations of knowledge, power, foresight, and human virtue. The
prudent leader understands that political life is not a laboratory experiment
but a realm of imperfect choices, competing goods, and unintended consequences.
Prudence is not paralysis; it is disciplined judgment under conditions of
uncertainty.
This insight leads naturally to two thinkers whose work
illuminates the moral and political dimensions of prudence: Edmund Burke
and Reinhold Niebuhr.
BURKE AND NIEBUHR
Edmund Burke
Edmund Burke remains the indispensable philosopher of
political prudence. Writing during the upheaval of the French Revolution, Burke
warned against the intoxicating allure of abstract ideals unmoored from
historical experience. In Reflections on the Revolution in France, he
described society as a “partnership… between those who are living, those who
are dead, and those who are to be born.” This intergenerational contract
required humility, restraint, and a sober appreciation of human fallibility.
Burke’s prudence was inseparable from his understanding of limitations.
He believed that statesmen must work with the grain of inherited institutions
rather than against them. Because leaders cannot foresee all consequences of
their actions, they must proceed incrementally, adjusting to circumstances
rather than forcing circumstances to conform to theory.
Burke’s relevance today lies in his insistence that humility
is the foundation of prudence. His legacy reminds us that prudence is not
passive—it is the active stewardship of a fragile social order.
Reinhold Niebuhr
Reinhold Niebuhr offered a theological counterpart to
Burke’s political prudence. In The Irony of American History and Moral
Man and Immoral Society, Niebuhr argued that human beings are capable of
moral insight yet prone to self‑deception. This duality demanded a political
ethic grounded in realism rather than utopianism.
Niebuhr’s Christian realism emphasized that nations,
like individuals, are tempted by pride—the belief that they can control history
or eliminate evil through power. Prudence requires acknowledging the limits of
human virtue and the persistence of sin in public affairs. This did not lead
Niebuhr to quietism; rather, he argued for responsible action tempered by
awareness of moral ambiguity.
Niebuhr’s influence on American statesmen—from George Kennan
to Martin Luther King Jr.—stemmed from his insistence that leaders must balance
idealism with realism, justice with restraint, and action with repentance. His
thought reinforces the claim that prudence is not avoidance but disciplined
judgment.
BACK TO GOLDWATER AND REAGAN
Turning again to Barry Goldwater and Ronald Reagan, it is
noteworthy that perhaps the great antithesis to prudence in American mythology
is the cowboy with the shoot‑from‑the‑hip, devil‑may‑care attitude. Goldwater
himself was born in the cowboy culture of Arizona Territory. Reagan, a native
of Illinois, adopted the cowboy persona through Hollywood westerns, hosting Death
Valley Days, and owning a ranch in the Santa Monica hills.
We can only conjecture how Goldwater would have governed.
But we do know how he campaigned. In Florida, he spoke against Social Security.
In Tennessee, he attacked the Tennessee Valley Authority. He voted against the
Civil Rights Act of 1964. As much libertarian as conservative, he wanted limits
on government intrusion in personal lives and business. He might have withdrawn
American advisers from South Vietnam, preventing escalation. But it was unfair
to portray him as unstable or eager to use nuclear weapons, as the infamous
“Daisy” ad implied.
Reagan, in contrast, has a governing record. While not
always prudent in his rhetoric, he was prudent in his actions. As governor, he
reformed welfare by cutting costs while increasing benefits. As president, he
pursued three primary goals: defeat communism, cut taxes, and increase defense
spending. In defeating communism, he also reduced nuclear arsenals. Reagan
focused on limited, achievable goals—and succeeded.
TAFT AND THE PRUDENTIAL PRESIDENCY
William Howard Taft, often overshadowed by Theodore
Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson, offers a compelling model of prudential
leadership. Taft was not a visionary reformer or charismatic populist; he was a
constitutionalist whose temperament aligned with Burkean restraint. His
judicial background shaped his belief that the president’s role was to execute
the law faithfully, not to expand executive power through personal ambition.
Taft resisted Roosevelt’s “stewardship theory,” which held
that the president could do anything not explicitly forbidden. Taft insisted
that the president could act only where the Constitution explicitly authorized
him. This was not bureaucratic caution but a principled defense of limited
government.
In domestic policy, Taft pursued antitrust enforcement more
vigorously than Roosevelt, but without theatrical rhetoric. In foreign policy,
he favored arbitration and economic diplomacy over military intervention. His
approach reflected a belief that American power should be exercised with
restraint and predictability.
Taft’s presidency illustrates that prudence is not always
politically rewarding. His refusal to dramatize issues contributed to his
political isolation and defeat. Yet his legacy—especially his later service as
Chief Justice—demonstrates the enduring value of constitutional humility. Taft
reminds us that prudence is not merely a personal virtue but a constitutional
one: a commitment to the limits that preserve liberty.
CONCLUSION: THE ART OF LIMITATIONS
Prudence is not the virtue of the timid. It is the virtue of
those who understand that leadership is exercised within the constraints of
human fallibility, institutional boundaries, and moral ambiguity. Prudence
requires humility, disciplined judgment, and the willingness to accept that not
all desirable ends can be achieved at once—or at all.
Goldwater embodied the American impulse toward boldness;
Reagan demonstrated how boldness can be channeled into focused, achievable
aims; Bush exemplified restraint in the use of power; Burke and Niebuhr
provided the philosophical and theological foundations for prudence; and Taft
modeled constitutional humility in practice.
In an age that prizes immediacy, certainty, and spectacle,
prudence may seem antiquated. Yet it remains the essential virtue of democratic
leadership. Prudence is the art of limitations—the recognition that power must
be bounded, ambition tempered, and action guided by reason rather than impulse.
A prudent politics does not promise perfection. It promises
something far more valuable: stability, continuity, and the possibility of
genuine progress rooted in humility. In a world increasingly drawn to extremes,
prudence is not a vice. It is a necessity.
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