Month: July 2025

The opinion pages of The New York Times this morning featured an intriguing piece on interviews with eleven Hispanic voters who have supported Trump. The group has apparently been part of a long-term focus study and today’s column highlighted their thoughts and feelings about the state of the nation. It served as an example of what disturbs me about public opinion surveys, including focus groups like this one.

As important as it is to be aware of public opinion and the influence it has on national conditions and issues, I believe it is equally important to understand what the public actually knows. Perhaps pollsters and focus group facilitators try to tease that out, but it is rarely—if ever—reported. All we hear about are opinions. To its credit, today’s column made some effort to explore what these opinions were based on.

It was reasonably clear that the participants’ views stemmed from a belief that Trump is a man of strength and integrity, with a plan to deliver economic well-being to ordinary working people. They seemed equally convinced that Democrats promise a lot but deliver little. Many expressed discomfort with evolving social values they see as inconsistent with their conservative beliefs.

In the best tradition of American patriotism, they voiced deep faith in the promise of freedom, opportunity, and the rewards of hard work and dedication. Yet, they were somehow persuaded that Democratic policies are designed to limit opportunity, take away freedoms, and impose a way of life they do not want to live.

As you might guess, they also expressed frustration over the lack of results they had expected from Trump, which they blamed on Congress for failing to support him.

But here’s the rub: because the right questions weren’t asked, we have no way of knowing what they actually understand about the issues. By “know,” I don’t mean what they believe—I mean verifiable, factual information. My guess is that their views, like many, are shaped more by propaganda than by truth, a mixture of fact and fiction.

Sadly, I don’t think they’re much different from any other segment of the population. It doesn’t matter where one falls on the liberal-conservative spectrum. There are reliable sources of verified information, but many, are overwhelmed by the flood of ideological snake oil sold by countless internet influencers, not unlike the old infomercials that hawked miracle gadgets and magic cloths. Ordinary people, focused on getting through the daily grind, are unlikely to spend the time needed to sort it all out. Instead, they tend to rely on what feels right and gravitate toward voices that affirm their feelings, attitudes, and beliefs. Anything that contradicts those is met with suspicion.

What to do about it?

Ironically, Trump may be helping. His cruel deportation policies and blatant disregard for the rule of law are waking people up to the kind of person he really is. More Americans are starting to understand that tariffs are effectively a national sales tax—paid by us. It’s becoming clearer that the U.S., once respected, is now more feared and has lost credibility among the community of nations. Trump has become the worst possible ambassador for American values and traditions.

Where that leads is an open question. People—across all demographics—want a government that works with them and for them. They want results and accountability. Both must be presented in ways that are clear and easily understood. I have yet to see that articulated with clarity and conviction by any emerging leader, at least not in a voice heard loud and clear across the land.

The Trump administration’s deconstruction of the federal government has made two things increasingly clear. First, the federal government really does provide services essential to the life of a prosperous and reasonably safe nation. Second, it has done a lousy job of explaining that to the public in ways that can be understood and appreciated by nearly everyone.

It’s a reminder that the old trope isn’t entirely wrong: the bureaucracy often functions like an inwardly focused paperwork factory. On the other hand, as the  blundering DOGE debacle proved, there is very little waste fraud or abuse as so many believed.

Thirty years of belittling the federal government created an opportunity for some segments of the body politic to scream “socialism” or “communism” whenever they felt aggrieved by Government actions imagined to trespass on their freedom.  It also fostered a mindset among the rest of us in which the federal government became “them”—something alien to “us.” As a result, the government has been demonized as the enemy of the people, or, just as damaging, has been ignored in a wave of complacent abdication from civic engagement. Either way, we’ve abandoned the hard work of deciding how we want to live together as a country and what we owe to each other in contributing to the general welfare.

Indeed, it’s become nearly impossible to imagine what the “general welfare” even means. Ask a few neighbors to describe the common good, and you’ll likely be met with blank stares. We’ve been indoctrinated with the notion that the only thing that matters is what benefits the individual—or the individual’s immediate circle.  A common good that includes all those “other” people has been made to seem like a threat to one’s personal rights and privileges.  Developing a National ethos of a common good will require a re-definition of the federal government as an agent serving our collective needs and not as an alien they” demanding submission.

At some point—hopefully before the current administration ends—we will need to begin the difficult process of rebuilding a federal government capable of meeting the needs of a 21st century nation and its people. We will also need to restore the credibility and reputation of the United States as a global leader and model of what representative democracy can accomplish for the greater good.

To do that, we need credible public voices—people who can effectively communicate how essential our shared common good is to individual well-being. I don’t think the voices come from the countless podcasts and niche news sources preaching to tiny, self-selected audiences. The voices we need must be nationally recognized—figures whose words are echoed and amplified by others. And I don’t believe those voices can come from candidates for public office, though many will try.

Whoever these voices turn out to be, they must make it unmistakably clear: we are not, and have never been, on a path to socialist communism. That tired nonsense must be laid to rest.

What we do need is to reconstruct an activist federal government—one that raises from us the resources needed to provide for all, given the conditions and challenges of our time. At its core, our common good depends on doing everything possible to ensure that no one is deprived of full and equitable opportunity. That will mean public financing of services that must be delivered at the national level, without discrimination.

Yes, that sounds like DEI. And it is—but in the right way: not as a fad or slogan of the month, but as a lived reality in a nation committed to the inalienable rights of all people to freedom and the pursuit of a full life.

There are public needs that can only be met nationally. There are local emergencies—natural or otherwise—that demand the coordinated resources of us all. And there are ways of being American that cannot be confined to state borders or regions. They must be equally available to everyone. Meeting that demand will require rebuilding a federal administrative structure that is leaner, far more efficient, and genuinely dedicated to high levels of customer satisfaction—the customer being the ordinary, tax-paying citizen.

What to do about Congress is another problem. I don’t support term limits, but mandatory retirement ages seem appropriate. We need a new voting rights act, one strong enough to prevent states from systematically excluding certain citizens from the ballot box. Equally important, we must impose workable limits on gerrymandering.

How likely is any of this? Not very. But we must continue to try!

A friend asked me that a few days ago after attending a lecture on myth in the Bible. It’s one of those questions that has consumed theologians and philosophers for centuries. Expecting a coherent answer out of me was a case of high expectation and low probability of success.

Still, if I can, I want to describe a fact without using the word true. To start, let’s limit facts to the ordinary experiences of daily life—steering clear of subatomic physics and such. Let’s keep it very simple: tables as facts.

As a mostly blind guy, I might walk into a room and become aware of a large object. “What is that?” I might ask. The answer: “It’s a table.” I know what a table is. I can now perceive it as a table, I can touch it, and I can discover that I can use it as a table. Therefore, it is a fact. But the fact of its presence and our mutual agreement that it is a table, provides no meaning in itself—and it is in meaning that truth lies.

The meaning of the table has to do with its purpose, the value someone places on its design or heritage, and what the owner says about it. Dianna and I travel a fair amount and generally stay in a Marriott of one kind or another. There are few variations in the design of a Marriott hotel. Each room is filled with the usual objects—the facts of the room: a bed, counter space, drawers, one or two chairs, perhaps a couch, a wall-mounted television, etc. These are facts. But they carry very little meaning until we put them to use—and that use personalizes them. Meaning arises from our experience. The true story of our stay in that room depends on the meaning we give to our use of it, regardless of the facts that are present.

This is an overly simple model, but it illustrates a central point: a fact by itself cannot contain truth. Yet truth cannot be revealed without facts on which to build the meaning that illuminates, if not defines, truth.

The question came up in the first place because it seems impossible that a myth could reveal truth—if, by definition, a myth is not factual.  Myths are not intended to be taken literally but they are not without facts. The myth in question was from the first three chapters of Genesis—the origin stories of God’s people.

And yes, they do contain facts: the Earth and all its features and creatures are here. We are here. These are facts. But where did we come from? Why are we here? What is our purpose? How are we supposed to relate to everything around us? These are questions that cannot be answered by the mere existence of facts. Yet they must be answered for truth to be revealed.

I doubt there is any culture not anchored in its own set of origin myths. As far as I know, each of them is specific to the particular people who hold them.

The curious thing about the biblical myths is their universality. They are not just about how this place was created, but how the entire universe came to be. They are not just about how our tribe was formed, but how all humanity came to be. Most important, they are about who we are in all our strengths and weaknesses, and what right relationships with one another should be. And finally, they reveal a God who is not just another thing in the universe, but the power through which everything exists and is sustained.

Moreover, God is revealed as one who is lovingly engaged with creation—including humanity—for the good of all. It is a story of such profound truth that we have never fully plumbed its depths. It was told and retold over many generations until it could be written down for us.

And one thing they were certain of: it is only through God’s self-revelation that we have the story.

Science has since added an abundance of new facts. We are learning more about the processes that brought us to where we are today. We are also learning how our own behavior has contributed to the abuse of the creation that has been given into our care.

Yet the truth of the origin myths remains as profoundly powerful and divinely awesome as ever.

As Roseanne Rosanna Danna used to say, “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”

For several weeks, the Epstein files have dominated political headlines. Now we have the Stephen Colbert scandal to add to the mix. Neither episode has done the current administration any favors—yet neither was imposed upon them. These are issues largely born out of the Trump era itself.

CBS claims that canceling Colbert was a purely financial decision—one they deeply regret having to make. I believe them. It really is about money. If the deal for Skydance to purchase Paramount goes through, Shari Redstone stands to walk away over $2 billion richer, safely cemented in the billionaire class. The Ellison family will acquire a trove of valuable media assets to add to their growing media conglomerate, operating under the Skydance banner.

The financial structure is complex and has taken years to negotiate. The only remaining obstacle is approval from the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC)—a supposedly independent agency, historically free from direct presidential influence. But that was before the current administration.

David Ellison met with the SEC Chair on July 15, 2025, to discuss the proposed acquisition and push for approval. While no final decision has been announced, it certainly appears that sacrificing Colbert was the price Ellison had to pay. Will we ever know for sure? Probably not. Paramount and Skydance will trot out all the usual data: the decline of late-night viewership, shifting audience habits, and the rise of streaming platforms. Trump, of course, will claim to know nothing about any of it—then pivot to dismiss Colbert as a loser, adorned with his familiar string of petty, humiliating adjectives.

Stephen Colbert, Seth Meyers, and Jimmy Kimmel have long shared a vast national audience. With sharp wit, keen insight, and real comedic talent, they’ve exposed the absurdities—and outright crimes—of our political system in ways that entertain and inform millions. The Obama and Biden administrations took it with good humor. Trump cannot. For him, they are unbearable. How dare they make him look like a fool?

And yet, their work is protected by the Constitution’s First Amendment. Still, the merger requiring SEC approval isn’t about the First Amendment. It’s about money. Getting rid of Colbert had nothing to do with free speech—it was just the cost of getting the deal done. Paramount also owns Comedy Central and The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. Don’t be surprised if Trump finds a way to raise the price of approval again.

What a nasty turn this has taken for the administration—that it should become such a widely discussed and deeply resented issue. What will the companies holding the fates of other late-night hosts decide? They could stand in defense of the First Amendment, even if it costs them. But let’s be honest: corporations are not people. They are legal entities, devoid of intrinsic ethics or morality. Corporate courage exists only in the character of top executives and major shareholders.

Experience teaches us that their single-minded focus on profit, returns, and personal enrichment leaves little room for patriotic principle. There are exceptions, of course. We can hope for them. We can even encourage them. But keep expectations low.

The June 2025 release of a documentary about Hannah Arendt on PBS brought her back into public consciousness—at least for those few who still watch PBS. Her books The Human Condition and The Origins of Totalitarianism are masterpieces of insight that speak to every age, none more urgently than our own, as we teeter on the edge of a MAGA world.

She coined the term the banality of evil while covering the 1961 trial of Adolf Eichmann for his role in the murder of more than six million Jews and other victims of the Nazi regime. The phrase was not well received by good, upstanding people who felt confident they knew right from wrong and believed they could never be misled, as so many were in Nazi Germany. But what she saw—what she understood from the trial and from years of study—was that ordinary human beings can be drawn into societal evil without even noticing it’s happening. Banality refers to the dull, ordinary quality of actions and systems unexamined by critical reflection or moral self-awareness. The good, upstanding readers of her time were humiliated—and angered—to be told they, too, were susceptible to the same quiet drift into evil. She was right then. She is right now.

We are not Germany in the 1930s. We are Americans in the 2020s. But the dynamics of that distant time echo disturbingly in our own. One of the most sinister similarities is the growing acceptance that some people are superfluous—that is, not needed or wanted in a country like ours. Indeed, they are seen as a hindrance to the better life others feel entitled to. They absorb resources rightfully “ours.” And truth be told, they are no longer viewed as fully human—more like animals to be caged and dealt with appropriately.

Surely that is not us—not we who live in the land of the free and the home of the brave, the land where all persons are created equal and endowed with unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We have a Constitution that guarantees it and laws to enforce it. Don’t we?

We do not—at least, not when complacency, fear, and anxiety create conditions in which bizarre conspiracies flourish, truth loses its footing, and autocrats ascend to high public office.

To avoid the trap of the banality of evil, every American must look with critical eyes at the emergence of our own police state, targeting so-called superfluous people to be rounded up, incarcerated, and eliminated. Humanely, of course. No gas chambers for us. Just ship them off to places they don’t want to go, where their lives will be at extreme risk—and provide no resources for their survival.

Every patriotic American must raise their voice in collective outrage at corrupt courts, spineless legislators, and authoritarian executives who wield power through threats of violent retribution.

A prayer used frequently to open worship begins with a plea that we might know and understand what we ought to do.

The Internet age, together with the rapid growth of artificial intelligence, has enabled us to know a great many things. But knowledge by itself is not understanding. Understanding requires the application of meaning to what we know—meaning for ourselves and others, in the context of place and time, intent and purpose, and probable consequences. Understanding requires making connections with other things we know and recognizing our inadequacy in not knowing enough.

The hard work of acquiring the knowledge we need—and understanding it—leads us to look for shortcuts. Many live according to the philosophy of: “I know what I know and I understand what I understand, and that’s good enough for me. If it’s not good enough for you, that’s your problem.” Others are indiscriminate in what they accept as verifiable information, uncritically accepting what some others say is true. Even the most inquisitive among us takes these shortcuts because otherwise we would be driven to madness by the expanse and complexity of available knowledge and ways of understanding. The value of shortcuts depends entirely on the validity and trustworthiness of the sources on which one relies.

Knowing and understanding is made all the more difficult with the addition of the words “ought to do.” What we ought to do is a moral question about what is right and good. It’s often unclear whether what we are able or allowed to do is also what we ought to do. I think it’s something we know intuitively and explains why we are so gifted at self-justification—persuading ourselves that what we do and what we ought to do are the same thing.

We are not left without help. What we ought to do is not so far away that we have to travel far to find it. It is near at hand, revealed to us through the prophets, confirmed by the words and deeds of Jesus Christ that form the cornerstone, keystone, pivot point on which all other knowledge and understanding is measured.

It sounds simple, but there is a catch. Every time we think we’ve got it—that we now know and understand—God has more to say. It’s a lifelong process, and when we look back, we’re often amazed at how much our minds have changed. And we’re not done changing. Change is the sound of God calling and discerning whether it is God’s call is never easy. Too often we substitute the social values with which we’re comfortable for the new way in which God is calling us. Less often, but just as wrong, is to follow any new way simply because it’s new and feels like something we ought to do. The test is always to measure the new against the commandments to love God, self, and neighbor.

The way of Jesus offers no promise of wealth or good times. The way of Jesus offers a life lived to the fullest and a richness of blessing beyond the value of silver or gold, social status, or personal reputation. It is the way by which we are empowered to live with courage as we confront decisions that must be made and conditions that cannot be avoided.

The spectacle of irresponsibility acted out by persons in high office—immune from being held accountable—makes it difficult to explain why either responsibility or accountability is a virtue essential to life together in community. If they are important, then we need a good grasp of what they mean. Responsible for what? Accountable to whom? What are the measures of good and not good?

In the 1960s, Robert Blake and Jane Mouton developed a way to talk about responsibility known as the Leadership Grid. Intended as a leadership model, it works well to describe responsibility in a variety of settings. One axis, scaled from 1 to 9, is devoted to concern for production—whatever “production” might be. The other axis, also scaled from 1 to 9, is devoted to concern for people. A leader’s single-minded determination to get the job done, no matter what, will use people as mere tools to be pushed to their limits and discarded when they fail. On the other hand, single-minded commitment to keeping conflict at a minimum and assuring that everybody gets along leads to unmotivated, directionless floundering. Each represents an extreme way of understanding the meaning of responsibility.

Some have little regard for productivity or the well-being of others. They keep their heads down and try to do just enough to avoid being noticed. Others work out something of a midpoint—concerned about achieving a reasonable level of production while keeping people from being unhappy or dissatisfied. Play it safe, don’t push too hard. Finally, there are rare people who appear to be at number 9 on each axis. They are equally intent on achieving maximum production and maximum good for the people on whom production relies. They exist, but not in great numbers, and sometimes only for a moment.

The grid provides a useful model for understanding how responsibility can be described, but its fuller meaning depends on context. It could be used to explain responsibility in a criminal enterprise as well as in a faithful church parish. For what is one responsible? The cure of souls or the robbing of a bank? It’s all the same to the Leadership Grid. This is where the question of responsibility gets tricky.

The most common practice is to evaluate words and deeds by their consequences. Families, friends, neighbors, communities, states, and countries set standards for acceptable behavior. Sometimes they take the form of unwritten social norms, and other times they are written into law. There tend to be rewards for actions that conform and contribute to the stability of relationships. Actions that transgress the standards are liable to punishment. It explains much of what we mean when we talk about the consequences of our actions. It’s a workable approach, but it tends to favor conforming mediocrity—unconcerned with those living at the margins and suspicious of those pushing in new directions. It is susceptible to manipulation by those who promise to stop unwanted changes, return to a better past, and prevent deviation from standards.

Evaluating the consequences of words and deeds is essential, but not sufficient. Potential consequences can be weighed in light of self-centered desires, for the good of others at some risk to oneself, or even for a greater good for the whole. The Declaration of Independence is one example: men pledging their sacred honor to gain freedom for an entire nation. The consequences they faced were unacceptable to others who preferred to remain silent and protect their own interests.

There is another way. It begins when leaders add a dimension that makes what is just, good, and right not only for themselves or even for the greatest number, but for the whole. It does not diminish the value of the greatest good for the greatest number but requires that the needs and aspirations of minorities and the marginalized be fully included without prejudice. What is needed for the well-being of all peoples—and of creation itself—cannot be sacrificed to the greater prosperity of some. It does not mean everyone should be equally prosperous, but that no one should be deprived of opportunity. It also means that creation must be respected and stewarded for the benefit of future generations.

For Christians, that means applying a deep understanding of Christ’s commandments to love as the principal measure of what is just, right, and good. These commandments must be factored into every decision about concern for production or people. They must be applied to every test of social norms and legal standards.

Christian responsibility begins with the way of the cross. It means being responsible for living into God’s commandments to love others and to care for creation—by taking the wisdom of the prophets to heart and following, as best we can, in the way of Jesus Christ. All other forms of responsibility are subordinate to these. We live in a world that, for the most part, operates with a different understanding of responsibility—one sometimes in conflict with the way of the cross. We are to do the best we can, given the demands of daily life.

Each of us, regardless of our faith or lack of it, is accountable to someone for how we have handled our responsibilities. Some claim to be accountable only to themselves. That is a case of egotistical hubris—accountable to a fool. Most of us recognize our accountability to different authorities in different contexts. Parents, teachers, bosses, spouses, friends, the law—each becomes a source of accountability that measures, in some way, our performance. Christians are accountable first and ultimately to Jesus Christ. Every other authority is subordinate. Nevertheless, others are important and have merit. Provided they exercise their authority in ways that do not contradict God’s way of love, they are to be respected. It is possible to evade accountability to the law and society, at least for a while. But it is not possible to evade accountability to God—nor is it possible to evade accountability to future generations for what we will have bequeathed to them.

Trump has a limited vocabulary for expressing his beliefs and feelings about issues and people. One word stands out among all others: dominate. He works hard at dominating through intimidation. It’s his principal tool for getting what he wants—perhaps the only one he has.

He uses the word frequently when explaining his approach to solving problems and managing relationships. World leaders, titans of industry, political associates, friends, lovers, even golf tournaments—it’s all the same: dominate every person, issue, and event. He can be charming when needed, but charm is only a tactic to find the right moment to dominate.

His frequent tirades of humiliating insults are verbal devices meant to intimidate others into submission. When turned around, they become complaints about how unfairly he is persecuted by enemies supposedly opposed to all the wonderful good he is doing. Likewise, he adopts physical settings and theatrical moves of dominance: photo ops in the Oval Office with world leaders, so-called spontaneous press conferences as he walks to the helicopter or stands in a passageway aboard Air Force One, speaking to a handful of reporters. None are spontaneous; they are calculated performances to dominate the narrative. The same goes for orchestrated cabinet meetings where officials are expected to offer televised praise.

But what happens when those domination tools don’t work?

It’s not something Trump has often experienced. His tactics have worked so well for so long, why shouldn’t they continue to? And yet, there are rare occasions when the intended target simply refuses to be dominated—refuses to respond in kind—and remains unmoved by insult or threat. Trump appears not to know what to do with that. How do you intimidate someone who refuses to be intimidated? How do you dominate someone who refuses to be dominated?

Refusing to be dominated is not the same as passive resistance, nor is it passive aggression. It is an active stand for what is good and right, taken in full awareness of the consequences. Many of us have encountered people who rely on domination and intimidation as habitual tools to get their way. And many of us have seen others who, without surrendering their dignity, respond as though the attempt to dominate had never occurred. That kind of response resets the entire narrative.

Jesus at his trial is one example. But you and I are not Jesus. So what about people closer to our own limitations and capabilities? Nelson Mandela and Desmond Tutu come to mind. They are modern symbols of courageous humility.

Here’s the point: the power to control is drained from leaders who rely on domination when individuals—and whole communities—turn the other cheek, and continue steadfastly doing what is right and good, as God has shown us the way of right and good.