Do you want Caesar? Because this is how you get Caesar



Political solutions feel increasingly out of reach in the United States. Congress cannot pass a budget and has offloaded most of its legislative duties to lobbyists and the permanent bureaucracy. The judiciary spends more time blocking lawful presidential action than interpreting law. Executive agencies drag their feet under activist judges and rebellious career staff. Inflation continues to punish households, the health care system teeters, and American workers watch themselves replaced by imported labor.

In moments like these, people look for someone who can simply make the system function again. That is how you get a Caesar.

Caesar does not appear because the existing powers pushed too far, but because they refused to act decisively when action was needed.

Though “dictator” carries a purely negative meaning today, the term originally described a legitimate emergency office in the Roman Republic. Rome elected two consuls who shared executive authority, but when a true crisis struck — invasion, rebellion, famine — Roman law allowed the temporary selection of a dictator who ruled alone for six months. The point was efficiency during existential danger.

Rome famously revered figures like Cincinnatus, elected dictator twice, who relinquished power immediately when the crisis ended. His restraint, not his authority, made him a civic hero. Tradition demanded this behavior; violating it meant disgrace and, often enough, assassination. George Washington consciously modeled his own two-term limit on this Roman example.

The end of the Roman Republic is often associated with Julius Caesar being named dictator for life. The underlying crisis, however, predated him. Rome’s elites consolidated land, squeezed citizens out of ownership, imported a large slave class that drove down wages, and ignored the growing unrest. The Senate refused to act and violence broke out. Does any of this sound familiar?

Caesar marched on Rome, won a civil war, and took power. He reformed the calendar, overhauled the justice system, cut welfare, and enacted land reforms. He was popular with the public but enraged the ruling class by destroying their privileges. His assassination ended his rule, but not the transformation he initiated. The republic was finished.

Spengler’s forecast

In “The Decline of the West,” Oswald Spengler argued that civilizations follow a life-cycle: birth, growth, decline, and death. In the late stage, societies fall under the control of bureaucratic oligarchies powered by money. Rules remain on paper, but decisions always serve wealthy interests. Economic mobility collapses. The public is effectively locked out.

These eras are marked by deep cultural divides. A decadent, urban elite begins to live in ways utterly foreign to the people they rule. Wealth concentrates in cities. Cosmopolitan values take hold. Citizens no longer recognize their own country.

When legislative bodies fail, bureaucracies grow unchallengeable, and moneyed elites block ordinary people from their own society, Spengler argued that a Caesar figure reliably emerges — a leader who sweeps aside gridlock and imposes order. Not necessarily a tyrant in the cartoonish sense, but a figure who commands enough power to break the stalemate.

The danger is obvious: Once such a leader accumulates that power, nothing guarantees he gives it back. Caesar may save the nation, transform it, or accelerate its decline. What is certain is that once he arrives, the political order changes rapidly.

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America’s crossroads

It is hard not to look at today’s United States and see a similar pattern emerging. Donald Trump is not Caesar, but he has been forced to govern through executive orders because Congress refuses to act and the bureaucracy works to undermine him. Activists hold No Kings rallies while Steve Bannon urges Trump to return in 2028. Passionate positions create momentum, and what begins as rhetoric can become a real possibility.

Once an idea becomes a constant point of reference — even in opposition — it gains a form of inevitability. That is the nature of political hyperstition.

If Americans want to avoid a real Caesar, the only solution is to fix the problems that make one appealing. Caesar does not appear because the existing powers pushed too far, but because they refused to act decisively when action was needed.

The borders must close. Replacement labor through expanded visa programs must end. Inflation must be crushed. Foreign adventurism must stop. Policy must shift away from elite wealth extraction and toward enabling young Americans to buy homes and start families. The cultural divide must narrow, and shared values must be restored.

None of this is easy. All of it is essential. If these challenges remain unanswered, no one should be surprised when Caesar finally arrives.

Liberty cannot survive a culture that cheers assassins



When 20-year-old loner Thomas Matthew Crooks ascended a sloped roof in Butler County, Pennsylvania, and opened fire, he unleashed a torrent of clichés. Commentators and public figures avoided the term “assassination attempt,” even if the AR-15 was trained on the head of the Republican Party’s nominee for president. Instead, they condemned “political violence.”

“There is absolutely no place for political violence in our democracy,” former President Barack Obama said. One year later, he added the word “despicable” to his condemnation of the assassin who killed Charlie Kirk. That was an upgrade from two weeks prior, when he described the shooting at Annunciation Catholic School by a transgender person as merely “unnecessary.”

Those in power are not only failing to enforce order, but also excusing and even actively promoting the conditions that undermine a peaceful, stable, and orderly regime.

Anyone fluent in post-9/11 rhetoric knows that political violence is the domain of terrorists and lone wolf ideologues, whose manifestos will soon be unearthed by federal investigators, deciphered by the high priests of our therapeutic age, and debated by partisans on cable TV.

The attempt to reduce it to the mere atomized individual, however, is a modern novelty. From the American Revolution to the Civil War, from the 1863 draft riots to the 1968 MLK riots, from the spring of Rodney King to the summer of George Floyd, the United States has a long history of people resorting to violence to achieve political ends by way of the mob.

Since the January 6 riot that followed the 2020 election, the left has persistently attempted to paint the right as particularly prone to mob action. But as the online response to the murder of Charlie Kirk demonstrates — with thousands of leftists openly celebrating the gory, public assassination of a young father — the vitriol that drives mob violence is endemic to American political discourse and a perpetual threat to order.

America’s founders understood this all too well.

In August 1786, a violent insurrection ripped through the peaceful Massachusetts countryside. After the end of the Revolutionary War, many American soldiers found themselves caught in a vise, with debt collectors on one side and a government unable to make good on back pay on the other. A disgruntled former officer in the Continental Army named Daniel Shays led a violent rebellion aimed at breaking the vise at gunpoint.

“Commotions of this sort, like snow-balls, gather strength as they roll, if there is no opposition in the way to divide and crumble them,” George Washington wrote in a letter, striking a serene tone in the face of an insurrection. James Madison was less forgiving: “In all very numerous assemblies, of whatever character composed, passion never fails to wrest the sceptre from reason. Had every Athenian citizen been a Socrates, every Athenian assembly would still have been a mob,” he wrote inFederalist 55. Inspired by Shays’ Rebellion and seeking to rein in the excesses of democracy, lawmakers called for the Constitutional Convention in the summer of 1787.

Our current moment of chaos

If the United States Constitution was borne out of political chaos, why does the current moment strike so many as distinctly perilous? Classical political philosophy offers us a clearer answer to this question than modern psychoanalysis. The most pointed debate among philosophers throughout the centuries has centered on how to prevent mob violence and ensure that most unnatural of things: political order.

In Plato’s “Republic," the work that stands at the headwaters of the Western tradition of political philosophy, Socrates argues that the only truly just society is one in which philosophers are kings and kings are philosophers. As a rule, democracy devolves into tyranny, for mob rule inevitably breeds impulsive citizens who become focused on petty pleasures. The resulting disorder eventually becomes so unbearable that a demagogue arises, promising to restore order and peace.

The classically educated founders picked up on these ideas — mediated through Aristotle, Cicero, John Locke, and Montesquieu, among others — as they developed the structure of the new American government. The Constitution’s mixed government was explicitly designed to establish a political order that would take into consideration the sentiments and interests of the people without yielding to mob rule at the expense of order. The founders took for granted that powerful elites would necessarily be interested in upholding the regime from which they derived their authority.

Terror from the top

History has often seen disaffected elites stoke insurrections to defenestrate a ruling class that shut them out of public life. The famous case of the Catilinarian Conspiracy in late republican Rome, in which a disgruntled aristocrat named Catiline attempted to overthrow the republic during the consulship of Cicero, serves as a striking example.

In the 21st century, we face a different phenomenon: Those in power are not only failing to enforce order, but also excusing and even actively promoting the conditions that undermine a peaceful, stable, and orderly regime.

The points of erosion are numerous. The public cheerleading of assassinations can be dismissed as noise from the rabble, but it is more difficult to ignore the numerous calls from elites for civic conflagration. Newspapers are promoting historically dubious revisionism that undermines the moral legitimacy of the Constitution. Billionaire-backed prosecutors decline to prosecute violent crime.

For years, those in power at best ignored — and at worst encouraged — mob-driven chaos in American social life, resulting in declining trust in institutions, lowered expectations for basic public order, coarsened or altogether discarded social mores, and a general sense on all sides that Western civilization is breaking down.

Without a populace capable of self-control, liberty becomes impossible.

The United States has, of course, faced more robust political violence than what we are witnessing today. But even during the Civil War — brutal by any standard — a certain civility tended to obtain between the combatants. As Abraham Lincoln noted in his second inaugural address, “Both [sides] read the same Bible and pray to the same God.” Even in the midst of a horrific war, a shared sense of ultimate things somewhat tempered the disorder and destruction — and crucially promoted a semblance of reconciliation once the war ended.

Our modern disorder runs deeper. The shattering of fundamental shared assumptions about virtually anything leaves political opponents looking less like fellow citizens to be persuaded and more like enemies to be subdued.

Charlie Kirk, despite his relative political moderation and his persistent willingness to engage in attempts at persuasion, continues to be smeared by many as a “Nazi propagandist.” The willful refusal to distinguish between mostly run-of-the-mill American conservatism and the murderous foreign ideology known as National Socialism is telling. The implication is not subtle: If you disagree with me, you are my enemy — and I am justified in cheering your murder.

Fellow citizens who persistently view their political opponents as enemies and existential threats cannot long exist in a shared political community.

“Democracy is on the ballot,” the popular refrain goes, but rarely is democracy undermined by a single election. It is instead undermined by a gradual decline in public spiritedness and private virtue, as well as the loss of social trust and good faith necessary to avoid violence.

The chief prosecutors against institutional authority are not disaffected Catalines but the ruling class itself. This arrangement may work for a while, but both political theory and common sense suggest that it is volatile and unlikely to last for long.

The conditions of liberty

Political order, in general, requires a degree of virtue, public-spiritedness, and good will among the citizenry. James Madison in Federalist 55 remarks that, of all the possible permutations of government that have yet been conceived, republican government is uniquely dependent upon order and institutional legitimacy:

As there is a degree of depravity in mankind which requires a certain degree of circumspection and distrust, so there are other qualities in human nature which justify a certain portion of esteem and confidence. Republican government presupposes the existence of these qualities in a higher degree than any other form.

In short, republican government requires citizens who can govern themselves, an antidote to the passions that precede mayhem and assassination. Without a populace capable of self-control, liberty becomes impossible. Under such conditions, the releasing of restraints never liberates — it only promotes mob-like behavior.

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Photo by Scott Olson/Getty Images

The disorder of Shays’ Rebellion prompted the drafting of the Constitution, initiating what has sometimes been called an “experiment in ordered liberty.” That experiment was put to the test beginning in 1791 in Western Pennsylvania. The Whiskey Rebellion reached a crisis in Bower Hill, Pennsylvania, about 50 miles south of modern-day Butler, when a mob of 600 disgruntled residents laid siege to a federal tax collector. With the blessing of the Supreme Court Chief Justice and Federalistco-author John Jay, President George Washington assembled troops to put down the rebellion.

Washington wrote in a proclamation:

I have accordingly determined [to call the militia], feeling the deepest regret for the occasion, but withal the most solemn conviction that the essential interests of the Union demand it, that the very existence of government and the fundamental principles of social order are materially involved in the issue, and that the patriotism and firmness of all good citizens are seriously called upon, as occasions may require, to aid in the effectual suppression of so fatal a spirit.

Washington left Philadelphia to march thousands of state militiamen into the rebel haven of Western Pennsylvania. The insurrectionists surrendered without firing a shot.

Our new era of political violence rolls on, with Charlie Kirk’s murder being only the latest and most prominent example. Our leaders assure us they will ride out into the field just as Washington once did. Whether they will use their presence and influence to suppress or encourage “so fatal a spirit” remains an open question.

Editor’s note: A version of this article was published originally at the American Mind.

Civics isn’t a class; it’s the backbone of the republic we fight for



I slept through high school civics class. I memorized the three branches of government, promptly forgot them, and never thought of that word again. Civics seemed abstract, disconnected from real life. And yet, it is critical to maintaining our republic.

Civics is not a class. It is a responsibility. A set of habits, disciplines, and values that make a country possible. Without it, no country survives.

We assume America will survive automatically, but every generation must learn to carry the weight of freedom.

Civics happens every time you speak freely, worship openly, question your government, serve on a jury, or cast a ballot. It’s not a theory or just another entry in a textbook. It’s action — the acts we perform every day to be a positive force in society.

Many of us recoil at “civic responsibility.” “I pay my taxes. I follow the law. I do my civic duty.” That’s not civics. That’s a scam, in my opinion.

Taking up the torch

The founders knew a republic could never run on autopilot. And yet, that’s exactly what we do now. We assume it will work, then complain when it doesn’t. Meanwhile, the people steering the country are driving it straight into a mountain — and they know it.

Our founders gave us tools: separation of powers, checks and balances, federalism, elections. But they also warned us: It won’t work unless we are educated, engaged, and moral.

Are we educated, engaged, and moral? Most Americans cannot even define a republic, never mind “keep one,” as Benjamin Franklin urged us to do after the Constitutional Convention.

We fought and died for the republic. Gaining it was the easy part. Keeping it is hard. And keeping it is done through civics.

Start small and local

In our homes, civics means teaching our children the Constitution, our history, and that liberty is not license — it is the space to do what is right. In our communities, civics means volunteering, showing up, knowing your sheriff, attending school board meetings, and understanding the laws you live under. When necessary, it means challenging them.

How involved are you in your local community? Most people would admit: not really.

Civics is learned in practice. And it starts small. Be honest in your business dealings. Speak respectfully in disagreement. Vote in every election, not just the presidential ones. Model citizenship for your children. Liberty is passed down by teaching and example.

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Photo by Bill Oxford via Getty Images

We assume America will survive automatically, but every generation must learn to carry the weight of freedom.

Start with yourself. Study the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and state laws. Study, act, serve, question, and teach. Only then can we hope to save the republic. The next election will not fix us. The nation will rise or fall based on how each of us lives civics every day.

Civics isn’t a class. It’s the way we protect freedom, empower our communities, and pass down liberty to the next generation.

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There Are Three Good Reasons To Cut Bureaucratic Bloat, And Only One Is About Money

The real goal of DOGE is the return the government to the limited, constitutional order envisioned by the founders.

The prayers that shaped a nation can save it again



I’ve often wondered what our Founding Fathers would think of their great American experiment. Imagine George Washington strolling down the Las Vegas Strip, Thomas Jefferson riding the Tennessee Tornado at Dollywood, or John Adams catching a “throwed roll” at Lamberts in Missouri.

Would they be awestruck by the Independence Day fireworks in New York City? Or cheer at the Super Bowl? Would they marvel at the soaring Gateway Arch in St. Louis? Or the majesty of the Rocky Mountains? Would Betsy Ross wash down a Moon Pie with an R.C. Cola?

‘The greatness of America doesn’t begin in Washington,’ Ronald Reagan said. ‘It begins with each of you — in the mighty spirit of free people under God.’

On the last day of the Constitutional Convention of 1787, Benjamin Franklin was asked if we had a republic or a monarchy?

“A republic, if you can keep it,” he was said to reply.

Without a doubt, America is the most exceptional nation in the world. In the face of great adversity and insurmountable odds, we have overcome. And we have been blessed.

And that’s why I set out on a mission with my friend Michelle Cox to write “Star-Spangled Blessings: Devotions for Patriots.”

It’s a collection of stories about how God has lavished our country with a bounty of star-spangled blessings.

That’s not to say that our great nation has not been through some squabbles. We’ve had more than a few — and some were doozies. We’ve made lots of mistakes, but we’ve also righted many wrongs.

Perseverance is a word that has defined us over the years. Franklin Roosevelt announcing to the nation about a date that would live in infamy. Walter Cronkite relaying to the nation a shocking bulletin from Dallas. President George W. Bush standing on a pile of rubble at Ground Zero with a bullhorn.

Yet, amid great tragedy, our nation has always found strength in almighty God — our defender and our protector.

President Trump knows of that strength, that divine intervention. He survived not one but two assassination attempts.

“Many people have told me that God spared my life for a reason. And that reason was to save our country and to restore America to greatness, and now we are going to fulfill that mission together,” he said during a speech in 2024.

I vividly recall watching as the shots rang out in Butler County, Pennsylvania. My heart stopped as Trump dropped to the stage. But then, he rose up, and with blood streaming down his face, he thrust his fist into the air and shouted, “Fight, fight, fight!”

President Trump would then urge Americans to read their Bibles, to get back to church, and to pray.

“Let’s make America pray again,” he said.

The president caught quite a bit of grief from the atheists and the Democrats for that altar call.

“Religion and Christianity are the biggest things missing from this country, and I truly believe that we need to bring them back, and we have to bring them back fast,” the president said at the time. “I think it's one of the biggest problems we have. That’s why our country is going haywire. We've lost religion in our country. All Americans need a Bible in their home, and I have many. It's my favorite book. It's a lot of people's favorite book.”

Now, that’ll preach, as we say back home in Tennessee.

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Photo by Andrew Harnik/Getty Images

Sure, we have lost our way in this country. We’ve been so focused on taking back Congress and the White House that we forgot to take care of our homes and our communities.

Ronald Reagan said it best in 1984 when he told the nation that “the greatness of America doesn’t begin in Washington. It begins with each of you — in the mighty spirit of free people under God, in the bedrock values you live by each day in your families, neighborhoods, and workplaces.”

As I write in “Star-Spangled Blessings,” we must return to the faith of our founders. A faith that compelled George Washington to pray on bended knee at Valley Forge.

A faith that compelled John Adams to petition the almighty to bless those who resided in the White House. A faith that compelled Franklin Roosevelt to ask Americans to pray for a spiritual awakening.

It’s that sort of American spirit that has resonated with people across the fruited plain. These are moments that define us as a nation.

Lee Greenwood, the singer-songwriter who penned “God Bless the USA,” is a friend of mine, and his anthem to the land of the free and the home of the brave still brings a tear to my eye as I write these words from the hills of Tennessee.

And I suspect that if America’s founders were here today, they would love this land from sea to shining sea. And they would join their fellow countrymen in asking God to bless the USA.

Punch a cop, get a charge — even if you’re in Congress



With a recent assault on the very federal law enforcement officers they are charged with overseeing, Democrats haven’t just embraced criminals; they’ve become them.

Last month, three Democratic lawmakers — Reps. Rob Menendez Jr., Bonnie Watson Coleman, and LaMonica McIver, all from New Jersey — led a mob of protesters in storming the Delaney Hall Immigration and Customs Enforcement facility. They waited for a bus full of detainees to arrive, then rushed the open gate and physically clashed with federal officers.

Our republic will not survive if America’s elected leaders are allowed to act like this. They not only committed crimes in public but then hid behind their Article I powers as a shield.

This wasn’t symbolic. This was an elected mob laying hands on law enforcement.

The video tells the story: shoving, punching, and chaos. These three members of Congress — who represent more than two million Americans — assaulted officers doing their jobs. Then, astonishingly, they claimed they were the victims, despite clear footage proving otherwise.

All of this over what turned out to be nothing.

After the chaos, ICE officials offered the lawmakers a guided tour of the facility. The Democrats quietly admitted they found no signs of mistreatment. Their entire stunt, billed as a protest of conditions, collapsed under the weight of reality. They walked in demanding accountability and walked out with nothing but bad footage and a pending felony charge.

Yes, a felony.

Rep. McIver now faces a federal charge of assaulting a law enforcement officer, announced on May 20 by Acting U.S. Attorney Alina Habba. President Trump and Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem have made it clear: This administration backs the rule of law. If you punch a cop, you get charged — even if you have a congressional pin on your lapel.

The left tried to frame the incident as “congressional oversight.” But oversight doesn’t mean storming gates or skipping security checks. ICE policy allows members of Congress to tour facilities — even unannounced. But it does not allow them to create security threats, bypass screening, or lead mobs onto federal property. Those procedures exist to protect staff, detainees, and lawmakers alike.

This was not oversight. It was lawlessness, pure and simple.

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Photo by Andrew Harnik/Getty Images

Since President Trump restored control of the southern border, anti-border Democrats have become unhinged. No longer able to rely on waves of illegal crossings, they’ve begun imitating the tactics of the very criminal aliens they once defended — storming barriers, resisting authority, and attacking officers.

Now, that’s the legacy of the modern Democratic Party.

But legal consequences alone aren’t enough. Congress must act.

The House should censure all three lawmakers involved. Censure is not a punishment; it’s a statement of principle. And lawmakers have been censured for far less than leading an assault on federal agents. The House has a duty to uphold the integrity of its own body. That means sending a message: If you behave like a thug, you’ll be treated like one.

Our republic will not survive if America’s elected leaders are allowed to act like this. They not only committed crimes in public but then hid behind their Article I powers as a shield.

America’s founders warned about this.

In "Federalist 1," Alexander Hamilton posed a choice: Would Americans build a government based on “reflection and choice” — or surrender to “accident and force”? That question remains. If lawmakers now claim the right to break the laws they swore to uphold, we’re no longer living in a constitutional republic. We’re living under mob rule.

And if we let this slide — if Congress fails to hold its own accountable — then we’ll have no one to blame when the next mob storms another federal building under another political banner.

Democrats love to remind us: “No one is above the law.” Fine. Then prove it.

Agree to disagree? More like surrender to the script



Wouldn’t you know it? It was bound to happen.

You’re chatting with a friend about this, that, and the other thing — carefully steering clear of politics, just like always.

You both know you don't see eye to eye when it comes to today’s contentious political landscape, so you do your best to keep things light. But then, out of nowhere, the forbidden topic appears. It sneaks into the conversation, innocently enough — until suddenly, it’s front and center.

I knew my friend Jeffrey didn’t like Trump, so I always tried to avoid politics when we talked. But somehow, I found myself on the phone with him getting a lecture on “how bad Trump is for democracy.”

What happened?

All I did was mention a film I thought we both appreciate: “Bonhoeffer: Pastor. Spy. Assassin.”

With people in general justifying the absolute obvious craziness of the far left by being silent and looking the other way, we can announce a brand-new term: ‘political immaturity.’

I genuinely believed it was a safe topic. We’re both Christians, both admirers of Dietrich Bonhoeffer and his courageous stand against Hitler and the Nazis. We also share respect for Eric Metaxas, whose book on Bonhoeffer many consider the definitive biography and which inspired the film adaptation.

Plus, Jeffrey knows I was Metaxas’ radio producer for many years. So really, I thought we were on solid, non-controversial ground.

But Jeffrey immediately jumped in to point out that Bonhoeffer’s descendants don’t support Eric Metaxas — because Metaxas supports Trump. That, in his view, proved just how awful Trump is and, dare I say it, how Hitler-like. From there, it was only a short leap to his inevitable conclusion: Trump is bad for democracy.

I calmly responded that descendants of historical figures, while entitled to their opinions, are just as influenced by the culture of their time as anyone else. Then I added what I considered the most glaring problem with his argument: the United States isn’t a democracy — we’re a constitutional republic.

I suggested that, in many ways, democracy can be a lousy form of government. After all, it allows 51% of the people to impose their will on the other 49%, forcing them to live under rules they didn’t choose and might not benefit from. In my quick tutorial on democracy versus the American system, I didn’t even get into the brilliance of the framers’ creation of the Electoral College — a safeguard that gives individual states real power and influence.

To my surprise, Jeffrey actually agreed with me on that point. But then he pivoted, arguing that Trump was just doing whatever he wanted — like sending back all the “asylum-seekers” who crossed the border during Joe Biden’s presidency.

I asked him how he knew all 15 million migrants (give or take) were asylum-seekers. Who vetted them? And I reminded him that Trump had nearly been blocked from deporting even the worst of the worst — violent criminals — by an unelected judge from ... well, somewhere.

Then I said, “It’s hard to imagine the words ‘Christian’ and ‘Democrat’ even appearing in the same sentence these days.”

That didn’t go over well.

I listed just a few of the issues Democrats continue to support. I left out the wide-open borders — which my friend seemed fine with, even after I brought up the rise in sex trafficking, fentanyl deaths, and inner-city crime — and focused on other examples. I mentioned sex-change procedures for children, drag queen story hours in public libraries, and men competing in women’s sports.

That’s when Jeffrey cut me off.

“Of course I don’t agree with those things,” he said.

And then came the words every far-left friend says when he's on the brink of losing an argument to inconvenient facts: “Let’s just agree to disagree.”

End of discussion.

Since Jeffrey is a friend, I let the conversation fizzle out. We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then said our goodbyes.

But not long after I hung up, I realized how disingenuous “agree to disagree” can be in a discussion or debate. That phrase shuts down dialogue. It signals that neither side will reconsider his position and, worse, that neither side is allowed to keep making his case or challenging the other’s facts.

What struck me even more was how casually Jeffrey used the phrase — not just with me, but seemingly with his own party. It was as if he could personally find things like child gender surgeries or men in women’s locker rooms repugnant — especially as a Christian — but still wave it all off because Democrats “stand up for the little guy.”

To avoid making waves, many Christians stepped onto the slippery slope of so-called “political correctness” years ago. The idea was simple: Being on the “right side” of politics meant standing up for marginalized people. And what Christian wouldn’t want to be seen doing that? After all, didn’t the Bible and the saints speak out for the disadvantaged?

But over time, political correctness evolved. Or rather, it escalated. “PC” gave way to “woke,” and suddenly we were all expected to embrace a new worldview — one in which anyone with a shred of sanity and compassion would naturally join the swelling ranks of the awakened. Christians, of course, were included in that expectation — if they knew what was good for them and wanted to belong to the era’s grand new “Awokening.”

So what’s next?

With people in general justifying the absolute obvious craziness of the far left by being silent and looking the other way, we can announce a brand-new term: “political immaturity.”

When you ignore common sense to do whatever you are told is “correct” and “woke,” you have not matured into rationally thinking for yourself. You might start with a wish to "go along to get along," and now you are being led around and told what to think and do like somebody's child.

The only hope for America over these next few critical years is a true Great Awakening to the truth within the church that can lead to a foundational restoration within this great country.

Optimistically speaking, if we take this route, future generations might look back and say with joy: “Wouldn’t you know it? It was bound to happen!”

Editor’s note: A version of this article appeared originally at American Thinker.

Progressives’ ‘democracy’ is just a cover for unaccountable power



Every country is governed by an organized elite, and every ruling class relies on a narrative that justifies its authority. Political theorist Gaetano Mosca called this a political formula — a framework that defines the legitimacy of a government. Without a radical shift in this formula, a nation's people assume their leaders must operate within the existing governmental structure.

Americans expect to be governed as a republic, with a mixed constitution that heavily favors the input of the common man. While aspects of the narrative justifying government power have remained intact, the ruling elite have fundamentally altered how the state functions.

When Democrats claim Trump threatens 'our democracy,' they really mean he threatens their administrative state.

Technocratic bureaucracy now dominates every branch of government, replacing the will of the people with the judgment of so-called experts. Donald Trump has declared war on this bureaucracy — what many call the deep state — acknowledging the extent to which the federal government has been transformed. His stance has deeply unsettled his opponents.

The entrenched elite believed their new governing model was permanently enshrined. Yet to their shock, the power of America’s foundational principles still holds enough force to challenge the system they assumed was complete. Republican presidents have come and gone, but for the first time in years, the ruling class is paralyzed by the prospect of real change.

The U.S. Constitution establishes essential ground rules, but the Founding Fathers designed it with significant flexibility. While power is divided among three branches with built-in checks and balances, the dominance of each branch has shifted throughout history. This adaptability has allowed the nation to respond to crises without requiring a formal revolution.

This flexibility ensures continuity of governance during emergencies, but it also makes it difficult for the public to recognize when a more insidious shift occurs within the state’s structure.

Some trace the origins of the administrative state to Chester A. Arthur or Woodrow Wilson, but few deny its full emergence under Franklin D. Roosevelt. FDR’s New Deal created a vast bureaucracy of experts tasked with modernizing and centralizing economic and political power. The Great Depression and World War II provided the perfect justification for this transformation, and Americans — grateful for an end to both crises — barely noticed how radically their form of government had changed.

FDR’s managerial revolution still haunts the United States. Today, the country operates less like a republic and more like a web of insular, unaccountable bureaucratic agencies.

Progressives are eager to dismantle the constitutional restraints on democracy, such as the Electoral College and the Senate, while shifting power away from elected representatives and into the hands of the administrative state. The left has worked hard to dominate public opinion through institutional control and wants to maintain a direct and unobstructed link between its bureaucratic machinery and the people it seeks to govern. To the left, the checks and balances of a mixed republican constitution are archaic and inconvenient. When Democrats claim Donald Trump’s presidency threatens “our democracy,” they really mean he threatens their administrative state.

Average Americans may struggle to pinpoint exactly when or how their government changed, but they recognize that something feels fundamentally different from what they were promised. Even if most citizens today have never lived under a truly representative republic, the founding narrative remains powerful enough for Americans to see it as their rightful system of government — and to demand its return.

Democrats may cry “constitutional crisis” as Trump removes corrupt officials and empowers Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency to slash bureaucracy. But voters understand that this decisive exercise of executive power aligns far more with the original mixed republican system than anything the administrative state has imposed. Trump’s executive orders may threaten their “democracy,” but bold action is essential to restore the republic’s promises.

The left obscured its quiet revolution by replacing the constitutional republic with an unaccountable administrative state. Believing this transformation to be permanent, progressives even exported the model as a blueprint for governance across the Western world. In countries like the United Kingdom and Germany, technocratic governments now arrest their own citizens for criticizing failed policies, all in the name of defending “democracy.”

But in the United States, the republic’s legacy remains too strong to erase. Despite being ground zero for the technocratic revolution, America is also poised to lead its rejection.

Trump campaigned on Making America Great Again, and the key to fulfilling that promise is dismantling the bureaucratic behemoth that has strangled American ingenuity, productivity, and liberty. The republic’s narrative still beats in the heart of the nation, and by pledging to restore it, Trump has rallied his supporters to the difficult but necessary task of reversing the left’s technocratic revolution.

Did Jan. 6 threaten ‘our democracy’? Or prove the republic still works?



Like Dec. 7, 1941, Jan. 6, 2021, has taken on a mythic stature that surpasses the actual events of that day. Trump’s opponents view it as an “insurrection” — a deliberate attack on the Constitution, carried out by his supporters at his command to illegally overturn the 2020 election by threatening members of Congress. Many of his supporters, though, see it as a protest that spiraled into chaos, ensnaring citizens who never intended harm but wanted to express their belief that the election had been unfairly conducted.

I do not consider the events of that day an insurrection, nor do I believe that all those arrested received fair treatment. Still, Jan. 6 was a dark day for the republic — an act of lawlessness that stains Donald Trump’s legacy.

As Lincoln stated, no matter how desirable our goals may be, 'there is no grievance that is a fit object of redress by mob law …'

I do not believe he intended to overthrow the constitutional order. Instead, the events reflected the folly of taking politics to the streets, a tactic once favored by the left. More than anything, Jan. 6 exposed the dangers of unrestrained democracy — a threat America’s founders understood all too well.

The Great Seal of the United States proclaims that the American founding represents a novus ordo seclorum — a new order of the ages. The Constitution of 1787 was a remarkable achievement, establishing a commonwealth designed to protect the natural rights of all citizens. At the same time, understanding the founding requires looking to the past, particularly to the taxonomy of regime types identified by Greek philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle, the founders of political science.

What the Greeks knew

Greek political science differs from modern political science by focusing on fundamental questions. What is the best form of government? What system best ensures citizens’ excellence (areté) and happiness (eudaimonia)? What causes political communities to decline?

In contrast, today’s political science fixates on minutiae. Modern scholars, adopting a value-free perspective, struggle to explain why one form of government is superior to another beyond personal preference. As a result, they increasingly write more and more about less and less.

For the Greeks, political constitutions directly corresponded to the human soul (psyche). They divided the soul into three parts: nous, the intellective, reasoning part; thumos, the spirited part, concerned with honor and justice; and epithumeia, the appetitive part, which governs basic desires and is especially vulnerable to passions.

Each type of government, according to this framework, reflected a part of the soul. In this political taxonomy, the noetic part of the soul corresponded to rule by one; the thumetic part to rule by the few; and the appetitive part to rule by the many.

Each system had both good and bad versions. In a just system, rulers governed for the benefit of the entire polity. In a corrupt system, they ruled for their own benefit. The Greeks classified kingship as the good form of rule by one, while tyranny was its corrupted counterpart.

Aristocracy was the noble form of rule by the few, while oligarchy or plutocracy represented its decay. The good form of rule by the many was politeia, or a balanced constitution — a concept the Romans translated as res publica, best rendered in English as “commonwealth.” The corrupted version of rule by the many was democracy in its worst form: ochlocracy, or mob rule.

The founders feared unbridled passion and mob rule, which led them to reject democracy. They saw it as easily corrupted and unstable, prone to constant turmoil and disorder, and just as much a threat to citizens’ rights as tyranny or oligarchy. Democracies, they believed, were especially vulnerable to demagogues who could manipulate the masses.

To prevent this, the U.S. Constitution deliberately established a self-governing republic — the virtuous form of rule by the many.

Republic vs. democracy

No founder articulated the dangers of democracy — the perils of unchecked passions — better than Alexander Hamilton. Like most of his contemporaries, he viewed the American Revolution as an act of deliberate action, designed to secure the natural rights outlined in the Declaration of Independence: “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

However, Hamilton also recognized that revolution is inherently lawless. Before establishing a government that safeguards rights and liberty, men must first “dissolve the [existing] political bands.” But revolutionary fervor, he warned, is ill suited for maintaining a stable political society — even one dedicated to protecting individual rights.

Hamilton understood that a passion for liberty was necessary if the cause of American independence was to succeed, but that ultimately it had to be tempered by the rule of law. As he said during the New York Ratifying Convention in 1788,

In the commencement of a revolution … nothing was more natural than that the public mind should be influenced by an extreme spirit of jealousy … and to nourish this spirit, was the great object of all our public and private institutions. Zeal for liberty became predominant and excessive. In forming our confederation, this passion alone seemed to actuate us, and we appear to have had no other view than to secure ourselves from despotism. The object certainly was a valuable one. But Sir, there is another object, equally important, and which our enthusiasm rendered us little capable of regarding. I mean the principle of strength and stability in the organizing of our government, and of vigor in its operation.

Passions unleashed in the fight for rights can ultimately destroy those very rights. Individual freedoms survive only when society maintains a strong sense of law and order.

Hamilton was alarmed by calls for “permanent revolution,” a theme that dominated Thomas Jefferson’s rhetoric. He saw Jefferson’s dismissive and intellectualized response to Shays’ Rebellion and the French Revolution — expressed in statements like “a little rebellion now and then is a good thing” and “the Tree of Liberty must be watered from time to time with the blood of tyrants” — as a dangerous philosophy. To Hamilton, this mindset invited chaos and guaranteed frequent upheaval rather than stable governance.

He believed that the solution was to instill respect for the Constitution, binding Americans to the rule of law. Though a creation of the people, the Constitution imposes necessary constraints that must be respected while it remains in force.

Hamilton argued that attaching people to the Constitution’s rule of law would preserve the new government as if it were an ancient institution. This stability would allow for the just administration of laws, without which the Revolution’s central aim — the protection of rights — could not be secured.

Through both words and actions, Hamilton worked to temper popular passions and connect citizens first to their state constitutions and then to the federal Constitution. He defended New York Loyalists after the Revolution, a position he reinforced through his "Phocion" letters. During the ratification debates in 1787 and 1788, he vigorously argued for the new Constitution, emphasizing its role in securing national stability.

As treasury secretary, he promoted fiscal responsibility, stressing the necessity of paying debts and honoring contracts. Within Washington’s administration, he sought to subordinate American gratitude to France and enthusiasm for the French Revolution to the dictates of international law.

Nothing better illustrates Hamilton’s commitment to moderating revolutionary fervor than a letter he wrote to John Jay around the same time he was crafting his own revolutionary pamphlets.

The same state of passions which fits the multitude … for opposition to tyranny and oppression, very naturally leads them to contempt and disregard of all authority. … When the minds of those are loosed from their attachments to ancient establishments and course, they seem to grow giddy and are apt more-or-less to turn into anarchy.

Lincoln: Passions vs. reason in politics

In his 1838 speech to the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, “On the Perpetuation of Our Political Institutions,” Abraham Lincoln warned against the dangers of mob violence in pursuit of political goals. He saw it as a sign that unchecked passions were overtaking reason.

Lincoln identified the greatest threat to American freedom and prosperity not as a foreign enemy but as an internal danger. “If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher,” he declared. “As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.”

I hope I am over wary; but if I am not, there is, even now, something of ill-omen, amongst us. I mean the increasing disregard for law which pervades the country; the growing disposition to substitute the wild and furious passions, in lieu of the sober judgment of Courts; and the worse than savage mobs, for the executive ministers of justice. This disposition is awfully fearful in any community; and that it now exists in ours, though grating to our feelings to admit, it would be a violation of truth, and an insult to our intelligence, to deny. Accounts of outrages committed by mobs, form the every-day news of the times. They have pervaded the country …

Thus, then, by the operation of this mobocratic spirit, which all must admit, is now abroad in the land, the strongest bulwark of any Government, and particularly of those constituted like ours, may effectually be broken down and destroyed — I mean the attachment of the People …

… Passion has helped us; but can do so no more. It will in future be our enemy. Reason, cold, calculating, unimpassioned reason, must furnish all the materials for our future support and defence. —Let those materials be moulded into general intelligence, sound morality, and in particular, a reverence for the constitution and laws …

Lincoln allowed that there were bad laws, among which he included the laws supporting slavery.

When I so pressingly urge a strict observance of all the laws, let me not be understood as saying there are no bad laws, nor that grievances may not arise, for the redress of which, no legal provisions have been made. —I mean to say no such thing. But I do mean to say, that, although bad laws, if they exist, should be repealed as soon as possible, still while they continue in force, for the sake of example, they should be religiously observed. So also in unprovided cases. If such arise, let proper legal provisions be made for them with the least possible delay; but, till then, let them, if not too intolerable, be borne with.

But he maintained that “there is no grievance that is a fit object of redress by mob law …”

The mobocratic spirit and Jan. 6

Political conservatives consistently denounced political violence, including the unrest that followed Trump’s 2016 election victory, the riots and destruction that erupted after George Floyd’s death in May 2020, and numerous other instances of domestic looting and property destruction carried out by left-wing groups in recent years.

Yet as former U.S. prosecutor Andrew McCarthy noted, the central charge against Trump regarding Jan. 6 — that he undermined the Constitution’s electoral process — is difficult to dispute. He gave the mob assembled that day the false impression that Vice President Mike Pence had the authority to overturn Joe Biden’s victory. More importantly, he failed to quickly and decisively use his influence to call off his supporters, denounce violence, and urge them to leave the Capitol grounds.

McCarthy contended that if Democrats had pursued an impartial investigation rather than overreacting for partisan purposes, they could have built a compelling case that Trump violated his constitutional duty to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution while faithfully executing the laws. A thorough congressional inquiry would have produced stronger articles of impeachment. Instead, Democrats omitted key allegations, allowing them to frame the riot as an “insurrection” for political advantage.

As McCarthy argued, the congressional January 6panel “was a blatantly partisan, monochromatically anti-Trump political exhibition that presented the country with a skewed picture, eschewing cross-examination and perspectives that deviated from its relentless theme: Trump’s incitement to insurrection had our democracy hanging by a thread.”

In the end, the riot of January 6 did not “prevent the peaceful transition of power.” Was the peace disturbed? Yes ...

... that’s why so many people have been prosecuted, some for serious offenses, and many others for trivial crimes that the Justice Department would normally decline to charge. But there was so little damage done to the Capitol that Congress was able to reconvene a few hours after order was restored. It promptly affirmed Biden’s victory, as it was always certain to do. No one tried to blow up the Capitol. No one tried to mass-kill the security forces. Our Constitution held firm, and there was never any reason to suspect it wouldn’t. Our democracy was not realistically imperiled, much less at the precipice of annihilation.

Ultimately, January 6 did not represent a threat to “our democracy” but instead illustrated why the Founders prudently established a republic rather than a democracy. They understood that democracies justify behavior such as occurred that day. Deliberation and the passage of laws by representative bodies are designed to permit prudence to curb the passions. As Lincoln stated, no matter how desirable our goals may be, “there is no grievance that is a fit object of redress by mob law …”

The Constitution Vindicates Trump’s Firing Of 17 Inspectors General

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