By John Bicknell, CQ Staff

What qualifies a person to be president?

While it seems that this question is much in the news these days, it actually isn’t.

Republican John McCain justifiably lays claim to a long career in elective office and a heroic military record, and belittles his opponent’s brief-by-comparison resume. Democrat Barack Obama speaks of his years as a community organizer, a state legislator, a U.S. senator, and offers up the tried and true response of all those who confront a resume deficit — look at the mess those with the experience have gotten us into.

But these are mere lists. Some attention has been paid to what each man has accomplished in the jobs he’s had. But little attention has been paid to whether the types of experiences they cite as qualifications for the presidency have any real world applications in the Oval Office.

The standard in American politics has been elective national or statewide office. The exception to this has been military heroes, such as Zachary Taylor, Ulysses S. Grant and Dwight D. Eisenhower, none of whom had been elected to anything before becoming president.

Voters, and the press, look at the resumes, consider years of service, consider accomplishments in those jobs, attempt to weigh the character of the man — largely informed by their performance in office — then cast their vote and hope for the best.

But what, really, does any of that tell us about what qualifies a person to be president?

I would argue that history proves these things tell us almost nothing.

Run down the list of presidents and you’ll find successes among those who had great experience and little experience. You’ll find the same for failures.

Our greatest president, Abraham Lincoln, served briefly in the state legislature, even more briefly in the House of Representatives and had a brief and inglorious military career.

Opinions are more divided on Woodrow Wilson, but historians generally rank him highly. He had a distinguished career as a scholar, but his elective experience before becoming president consisted of one two-year term as governor of New Jersey.

Our worst president, James Buchanan, came to the office with a resume as sparkling as any in the history of the country — service in the state legislature; in the House, where he was chairman of the Judiciary Committee, in the Senate, where he was chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee; secretary of State; and ambassador to Great Britain. And yet, Buchanan was the Nero of America, fiddling while the country burned in the run-up to the Civil War.

John Quincy Adams, who had a memorable post-presidential career in the House, had served before the presidency in the state senate, the U.S. Senate, as ambassador to five countries, as secretary of State. His one term in office is generally regarded as middling, at best.