What We Lose When “Fascism” Becomes an All‑Purpose Insult

Every now and then, I find myself revisiting something I wrote and realizing it deserves a second look. That happened with a comment I made back in August, in Truth, Justice, and Wednesday Addams, about Americans going all in on our own homegrown fascist authoritarianism. The conversations that followed were illuminating—not because people necessarily disagreed, but because it became clear that for many, “fascism” has drifted into the realm of all‑purpose insult meant to inflame rather than remaining a defined political ideology. When someone responds by sending me a photo of a left‑leaning politician sporting a crudely drawn Hitler moustache, it is hard not to notice how far the word has wandered from its actual meaning. Fascism is, after all, a far‑right ideology. Using it as a catch‑all slur for anyone you dislike does not just muddy the waters; it obscures the very real dangers the term is meant to describe.

What follows is not an exhaustive treatise, but a reminder of what fascism entails, and why precision matters.

Anti‑Democratic at Its Core

Fascism begins with a rejection of the Enlightenment, the 18th‑century intellectual movement that gave us the philosophical scaffolding for modern democracy. The core commitments of Enlightenment political philosophy are familiar:

• Reason
• Natural rights, individual liberty, and equality
• Consent of the governed
• Constitutionalism, separation of powers, and checks and balances
• Pluralism

Fascism rejects all of these. It replaces the idea of shared power with a centralized, dictatorial state that seeks control over every aspect of public and private life. Democracy and its institutions are not something to be improved or reformed; they are something to be dismantled.

Ultranationalism

Fascism and ultranationalism reinforce one another in ways that are hard to untangle. Ultranationalism takes ordinary nationalism and pushes it past any sense of balance or mutual respect. Where healthy nationalism emphasizes shared identity and the protection of a nation’s sovereignty, ultranationalism elevates the nation’s interests—and its supposed superiority—above all others, even at the expense of basic human rights or global stability. It often embraces coercion and violence as legitimate tools of national advancement. Once this mindset takes hold, cooperation becomes weakness, and the rights of other nations or peoples are treated as irrelevant obstacles. Society is split into imagined hierarchies: those cast as impure, inferior, or dangerous, and those mythologized as bearers of a grand cultural destiny. 

The result is a politics that becomes needlessly destructive, both to those it targets and to the nation that embraces it.

The Lost “Golden Age”

In fascist ideology, the idea of a “Golden Age” functions as a powerful myth—an imagined past elevated to justify sweeping political upheaval and the consolidation of authoritarian rule. This idealized era is rarely rooted in historical reality; instead, it is selectively constructed to evoke pride, nostalgia, and a sense of lost greatness. By promising a return to this fabricated past, fascist leaders bind popular sentiment to the ambitions of the ruling elite.

At the same time, fascism depends on a counter‑narrative of decline. The nation is portrayed as perpetually endangered and victimized—undermined from within, besieged from without, and betrayed by enemies, real or invented. This manufactured atmosphere of crisis becomes the rationale for extreme actions, allowing extraordinary powers to be framed as necessary acts of national salvation.

And, of course, there must be enemies.

Scapegoats, Enemies, and the Politics of Blame

Fascist movements depend on the constant identification of enemies—both within and beyond the nation’s borders—to explain its alleged decline. These scapegoats can be ethnic or religious minorities, immigrants, political rivals, or any group that can be portrayed as fundamentally “other.” The strategy serves two key purposes: it forges unity through shared hostility and diverts attention from the regime’s own shortcomings.

While scapegoating is hardly new in political life, fascism transforms it from a tactic into a central organizing principle of governance.

Militarism and the Glorification of Violence

Fascism places military power, rigid order, and sanctioned violence at the heart of national identity and ambition. Armed force becomes both a tool and a symbol: it suppresses dissent at home, advances expansionist aims abroad, and reinforces the regime’s authority through paramilitary intimidation. The relentless buildup and celebration of military strength form the backbone of fascist governance, enabling aggressive foreign policy and tightening control over society.

Within this worldview, violence is not a regrettable necessity but a celebrated ideal. Fascist ideology frames war as a purifying force capable of restoring national vitality. Martial virtues—discipline, obedience, aggression—are elevated as moral goods. Violence is transformed from a means to an end into a defining feature of national greatness.

Suppressing Opposition and Controlling Truth

No fascist regime permits genuine dissent. Opposition parties, independent journalism, labor movements, and civil society groups are dismantled or crushed—frequently through intimidation or outright violence. The aim is never dialogue; it is absolute control. The leader’s word becomes the sole source of truth. Information is tightly managed, censorship wipes out competing accounts, and propaganda permeates every corner of public life.

Once the state claims authority over reality itself, resistance becomes not only perilous but almost unimaginable.

Economic Control Without Economic Equality

Fascism frequently casts itself as the sworn opponent of socialism and communism, and it leans heavily on anti‑leftist rhetoric to rally support. Yet fascist regimes also impose extensive state control over the economy—not to elevate workers, but to harness corporate power in service of the state’s ambitions. 

The outcome is neither genuine free‑market capitalism nor any form of socialism, but a hybrid system in which economic power is subordinated to political authority.

The Cult of Personality

Finally, fascism ultimately hinges on a leader raised to near‑mythic stature. Through orchestrated spectacle, constant propaganda, and unending repetition, this figure is cast as the nation’s sole redeemer—the one person capable of restoring greatness.

This cult of personality is not decorative; it is the structural core of the regime. The leader must seem flawless, irreplaceable, and monumental. Loyalty is not simply admired—it becomes an absolute requirement.

Why Precision Matters

When we use “fascism” as a casual insult, we flatten all this complexity into a caricature. We lose the ability to recognize the real thing when it appears—not as a cartoon villain with a tiny moustache, but as a political movement that presents itself as patriotic, restorative, and necessary.

Fascism rarely announces itself with jackboots on day one. It arrives wrapped in promises of national renewal, moral clarity, and protection from imagined threats. It thrives in confusion, in the blurring of definitions, in the erosion of shared meaning. If we want to defend democracy, we must be able to name what threatens it. And that begins with using our words carefully—not to score points, but to illuminate the truth.

 

Crisis, Power, and the Playbook of Democratic Backsliding

Few political metaphors carry as much historical weight—or as much cautionary power—as the phrase “Reichstag moment.” It is invoked when a leader uses a crisis to justify sweeping, extraordinary powers that erode democratic norms. To understand why the term resonates so strongly today, it helps to revisit the original event in 1933.

On the night of February 27, 1933, the Reichstag, Germany’s parliament building in Berlin, went up in flames. A young Dutch communist, Marinus van der Lubbe, was arrested at the scene, but historians still debate whether he acted alone, was manipulated, or was a scapegoat. Regardless of the fire’s true origins, the political consequences were immediate and devastating.

Adolf Hitler—just four weeks into his role as Chancellor—seized the moment with remarkable speed. The Nazis blamed the Communists claiming—without any evidence—that the fire was the opening act of a larger insurrection. This narrative—amplified through state-aligned media—created a climate of fear that the party exploited. The next day, President Paul von Hindenburg signed the Decree for the Protection of People and State, commonly known as the Reichstag Fire Decree. The Decree suspended key civil liberties guaranteed by the Weimar Constitution:

• Freedom of speech
• Freedom of the press
• Freedom of assembly
• Privacy of communications
• Protection from arbitrary arrest

Historian Richard J. Evans (The Coming of the Third Reich) notes that the decree “gave the Nazis a carte blanche to suppress all political opposition,” enabling mass arrests of Communists, Social Democrats, and any other critics of the regime.

On March 23, 1933, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act (officially, Law to Remedy the Distress of the People and the Reich). Under intense intimidation—SA troops, Hitler's paramilitary force, surrounded the building—the Act granted Hitler’s cabinet the power to enact laws without parliamentary approval for four years. The Enabling Act effectively dismantled the Weimar Republic’s democratic framework. Historian Ian Kershaw (Hitler: A Biograph) describes it as “the legal foundation of Hitler’s dictatorship,” allowing the Nazis to outlaw rival parties, control the press, and centralize power.

Together, the Reichstag Fire Decree and the Enabling Act transformed a constitutional democracy into a totalitarian state in a matter of weeks.

The phrase “Reichstag moment” emerged later as historians and political theorists sought language to describe a recurring pattern of exploiting a crisis to justify authoritarian expansion. The term typically refers to:

• Crisis exploitation: using fear or chaos to justify extraordinary measures.
• Emergency powers: expanding executive authority beyond normal constitutional limits.
• Suppression of dissent: targeting political opponents, activists, or journalists
• Narrative control: framing the crisis as proof of internal enemies or subversive threats.

Political scientist Sheri Berman (The Collapse of the Weimar Republic and the Rise of National Socialism in Germany) has written that the Reichstag Fire illustrates how “democratic backsliding often begins with the manipulation of emergencies,” a theme echoed in comparative studies of authoritarian regimes.

The enduring power of the “Reichstag moment” lies in its clarity. It distills a complex historical process into a recognizable pattern:

1. A crisis occurs.
2. A leader frames it as an existential threat.
3. Emergency powers are invoked.
4. Rights are suspended.
5. Opposition is neutralized.
6. Democracy erodes—sometimes quickly, sometimes gradually.

The Reichstag Fire remains one of the most dramatic examples of this sequence, but the pattern is not confined to any one country or era. The “Reichstag moment” is not just a historical reference—it is a conceptual tool. It helps us recognize when leaders use crisis as a shortcut to unchecked power. By understanding the original event and the mechanisms of democratic breakdown, we become better equipped to identify similar patterns in contemporary political life. That is why historians and political analysts continue to invoke it: not to sensationalize, but to remind us that democratic institutions require vigilance.

The Monroe Doctrine Is Back—or Is It?

Suddenly, the Monroe Doctrine is everywhere again. A foreign‑policy statement from 1823 is being invoked in 2026 as if it cleanly maps onto today’s geopolitical landscape. The enthusiasm is striking—and worth unpacking.

Where It All Began: 1823 and the “Era of Good Feelings”

James Monroe

President James Monroe first outlined what would later be called the Monroe Doctrine in his annual message to Congress on December 2, 1823. The United States was still basking in the glow of the so‑called “Era of Good Feelings,” a moment of national pride following the War of 1812. Americans believed they had won a decisive victory. In reality, the war ended in a stalemate. Britain, exhausted by decades of conflict and focused on rebuilding after the Napoleonic Wars, simply agreed to peace. No borders shifted. No major policies changed.

Still, symbolic triumphs—Oliver Hazard Perry’s victory on Lake Erie and Andrew Jackson’s dramatic win at New Orleans (fought after the peace treaty had already been signed)—fed a powerful national myth that outpaced the facts.

A Hemisphere in Flux

Meanwhile, much of Central and South America had recently broken free from European colonial rule. These new nations were fragile, indebted, and vulnerable. U.S. leaders feared that instability or default might tempt European powers to return.

Monroe’s message was direct: any attempt by European nations to colonize or interfere in the Western Hemisphere would be considered a threat to U.S. peace and security. The doctrine was reactive—if Europe interfered, then the U.S. would respond.

At its heart, the Monroe Doctrine was meant to shield the sovereignty of newly independent nations. Monroe believed that keeping Europe out would benefit U.S. economic interests, but those interests were secondary, not central, to the doctrine’s purpose.

A Doctrine the U.S. Couldn’t Enforce

In practice, the Monroe Doctrine was more aspiration than enforceable policy. The United States lacked the military strength to back it up, and European powers knew it. Their disregard was obvious:

• 1833: Britain reclaimed the Falkland Islands.
• 1838–1850: France—and later France with Britain—blockaded Argentina’s Río de la Plata and Buenos Aires.
• 1861: While the U.S. was consumed by the Civil War, Spain reoccupied Santo Domingo and France invaded Mexico, installing a Habsburg emperor.

Only after the Civil War did the U.S. begin enforcing the doctrine more assertively, supporting Mexico’s resistance to French occupation. This marked the start of America’s rise as a hemispheric power—but decades of inconsistency had already damaged trust across Latin America.

Theodore Roosevelt Rewrites the Rules

In 1904, President Theodore Roosevelt dramatically reinterpreted the Monroe Doctrine. What had been a defensive warning became an offensive justification for intervention. The Roosevelt Corollary argued that if Latin American nations failed to maintain order or repay debts, European powers might intervene—so the United States should intervene first.

 President Theodore Roosevelt's
1905 diplomatic mission
to Asia, led by William Howard Taft,
secretly laid the groundwork for
future U.S. conflicts in the Pacific,
including World War II,
by making secret deals that
fueled Japanese imperialism

Roosevelt claimed an American “international police power” to address “chronic wrongdoing or impotence,” transforming the doctrine into a tool of U.S. imperialism. Examples include:

• Dominican Republic (1905–1924): U.S. control of customs houses, followed by occupation.
• Nicaragua (1912–1933): U.S. Marines intervened to crush a revolution and stayed for two decades.
• Haiti (1915–1934): U.S. forces occupied the country after the assassination of its president.

These interventions deepened resentment throughout Latin America.

FDR’s Good Neighbor Policy: A Different Vision

In 1933, President Franklin D. Roosevelt charted a new course by rejecting the Roosevelt Corollary and introducing the Good Neighbor Policy. FDR pledged non‑intervention, mutual respect, diplomatic engagement, and cultural exchange. This shift ended routine U.S. military occupations and opened the door to more cooperative hemispheric relations.

The timing proved crucial. During World War II, the Good Neighbor approach helped unify the Americas. Most Latin American nations aligned with the Allies, provided essential raw materials such as rubber, hosted strategic bases, and curtailed Axis influence. A region once wary of U.S. power became a network of indispensable partners.

The Cold War Ends the Good Neighbor Era

The Cold War quickly unraveled the Good Neighbor Policy. As anti‑communist containment became the overriding priority, earlier commitments to sovereignty and non‑interference faded. The United States resumed overt and covert interventions across Latin America:

• Guatemala (1954) – CIA‑backed overthrow of President Jacobo Árbenz.
• Cuba (1961–1962) – Bay of Pigs invasion and the Cuban Missile Crisis.
• Brazil (1964) – Support for a military coup against President João Goulart.
• Dominican Republic (1965) – Deployment of 22,000 Marines to suppress an uprising.
• Chile (1973) – Support for the coup that brought Augusto Pinochet to power.
• Operation Condor (1970s–1980s) – U.S. intelligence cooperation with South American dictatorships.
• Nicaragua (1981–1990) – Funding the Contras, leading to the Iran‑Contra scandal.
• Grenada (1983) – Invasion to remove a Marxist junta.
• Panama (1989) – Invasion to arrest General Manuel Noriega.

The hemisphere once again became a battleground for U.S. strategic priorities.

2025–2026: A New Corollary Emerges

In December 2025, the Trump administration introduced what it called the “Trump Corollary” to the Monroe Doctrine. The policy seeks to reassert U.S. primacy in the Western Hemisphere and claims the right to intervene to prevent “hostile foreign incursion or ownership of key assets”—and asserting that it “supersedes” the original Monroe Doctrine.

“To supersede” means “to take the place of”—and the term fits, because the Trump Corollary diverges sharply from Monroe’s original intent.  The Monroe Doctrine centered on protecting the sovereignty of Western Hemisphere nations. The Trump Corollary prioritizes “America First” national security interests over the territorial and political autonomy of neighboring states. It asserts that the U.S. no longer extends unconditional respect for the sovereignty of regional partners.  The Trump Corollary also explicitly links national security to U.S. access to the natural resources of Western Hemisphere nations, framing economic extraction as a condition of American security—an approach far removed from Monroe’s defensive posture.

Which Monroe Doctrine Are We Talking About?

The Monroe Doctrine has never been a fixed idea. It has been reinterpreted, stretched, and repurposed for two centuries—sometimes as a shield against European imperialism, sometimes as a justification for American intervention, and sometimes as a diplomatic olive branch. The 2026 revival raises an important question: are we witnessing a return to Monroe’s original vision, or the emergence of something entirely new?

History suggests that every generation remakes the doctrine to fit its own anxieties and ambitions. The real issue, then, is not whether the Monroe Doctrine is “back,” but which version of it policymakers are choosing to resurrect—and what that choice reveals about the future of the Western Hemisphere.

 

 

Two Lectures in Early 2026

What a great time I had with my last lecture series Pilgrims and Puritans: A Theocracy in Colonial New England.  And it seems the participants really liked the experience.  As one of them emailed me:

Thank you for another WONDER-FULL presentation. Of course, YOU would go above and beyond what the title implied. Pilgrims and Puritans ain't all turkey when Dincher is the one talkin'!

I am doing something a little different in early 2026.  I'll be delivering two single-session presentations through the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at Cal State East Bay.

Beyond Economics: Healthcare Justice

Tuesday, March 3, 2026
9:30 AM to 11:30 AM

Register here

Medicine’s classical duty to “do no harm” has collided with a modern, market-driven healthcare system.  In today’s America, health care is no longer a simple exchange between doctor and patient. It’s a sprawling, high-stakes system involving providers, hospitals, clinics, labs, pharmaceuticals, cutting-edge technologies—and the ever-present insurance industry. The cost of accessing this system was the central flashpoint in the 43-day U.S. government shutdown of 2025.  But beyond economics lies a deeper concern: justice. When access to life-saving care depends on a person’s ability to pay, the problem becomes not only economic but ethical—a question of justice about who counts, who pays, and how a just society cares for the sick. Beyond Economics:  Healthcare Justice explores how values in medicine have evolved from Hippocrates’ timeless call to “do no harm” to today’s urgent debate over fairness and equity—and the intersections with theories of justice.

Erasing History—or Caring for our National Soul?

Tuesday, April 21, 2025
9:30 AM to 11:30 AM

Register here

Confederate statues topple from their pedestals. Military bases shed names that once honored rebellion. Government websites are scrubbed clean, museum exhibits closed, and school curricula rewritten.  Across the political divide, accusations fly—each side charging the other with “erasing history.” Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question: when does such action distort the past, and when does it nurture the spirit of our nation? Erasing History—or Caring for the National Soul offers one perspective on the difference. 

Following Stars into Humble Rooms

When I was a kid, my family had a peculiar Christmas tradition. The tree never appeared until Christmas Eve after all the kids were tucked in bed. Santa, apparently moonlighting as an interior decorator, did all the heavy lifting overnight. The catch? We were banished to bed at an unreasonably early hour—practically before the sun had finished setting—and heaven forbid we stumbled downstairs and spooked Santa mid‑tinsel toss.

By morning, the house had undergone a full HGTV holiday makeover. A towering tree glittered with tinsel icicles (the kind made of lead, because nothing says “Merry Christmas” like mild poisoning). Beneath it sprawled an American farm village, heroically encircled by my grandfather’s 1940s Lionel train, which ran endless laps like it was training for the Polar Express Olympics.

And then there was the creche. An antique even back then, it featured the usual suspects: angel, shepherd, cow, donkey… plus, for reasons never explained, a World War II GI accompanied by a German shepherd. (Apparently Bethlehem had a draft.)

The three magi, however, were always late to the party. On Christmas morning, they started out across the room, looking like they’d taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Each day they shuffled a little closer, inching their way to Bethlehem like they were following GPS with bad reception.  They finally arrivid at the manger on January 6^th, just in time for the Feast of the Epiphany and for the whole display to be packed away. Timing is everything.

Of course, the actual magi didn’t exactly have a smooth trip either.  They followed a star expecting splendor: a prince in a palace, courtiers at his side, servants ready to anticipate his every need, and maybe a buffet spread.  But the star led them elsewhere—to a backwater town of farmers and shepherds where the soil was stubborn and meadows few, to a carpenter’s fixer-upper in a land where trees were scarce.  Instead of a prince kept warm in velvet, they found a poor child cradled by a young mom juggling the hard chores of survival, a child who looked like he needed diapers more than incense.  Not quite the Ritz.  I picture the magi standing there, gifts in hand, glancing at one another, and thinking, “Well, this is awkward.  Should we just Venmo them a few gold coins and call it a day?”

But wisdom is more than foresight.  And the magi were wise.  They had the ability to see meaning in the commonplace, in the unexpected, in the awkwardness.  And generosity is more than wealth.  It is the courage to give as if the recipient were worthy of a crown.

So, they offered their treasures anyway.

Christmas is as Christmas Does

Remember Forrest Gump’s mama? She had a way of boiling wisdom down to bumper-sticker brilliance: “Stupid is as stupid does.”  Turns out Thomas Merton, the monk-poet with a knack for solemnity, may have been humming the same tune back in 1939. In a poem attributed to him, Christmas as to People (although there is no sure evidence that he actually wrote it), he declared: "Christmas is as Christmas does." Given the world stage in 1939, the poem isn't exactly decked with candy canes and carols. It opens with:

Christmas is as Christmas does.
And the wide world shudders now with woes.

From there, the sleigh ride heads downhill fast. Me? I prefer my Christmas poetry to have a little more sparkle: holly and evergreen, jingling bells, and enough tinsel to make Clark Griswold proud.

Still, Mama Gump and the apocryphal Brother Merton were onto something. Their words remind us of a timeless truth: we become what we do.

In ancient Greece, when philosophy and psychology still shared the same cradle, Aristotle reminded his students that character is not a gift—it’s a habit. Do something often enough, and it becomes who you are. Tell the truth repeatedly, and honesty takes root until it feels effortless. Practice friendliness, generosity, and consideration, and kindness will become second nature. Live “as if” you were already the person you aspire to be, and you’ll find yourself becoming that person. In that sense, the spirit of Christmas—generosity, peace, compassion—isn’t a seasonal costume we put on once a year. It’s a way of being that grows stronger each time we choose it.

But Aristotle also knew the shadow side of this truth. Habits don’t discriminate between virtue and vice. As Jungian analyst John A. Sanford observed in Meeting the Shadow, Robert Louis Stevenson’s tale of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is a chilling parable of this dynamic. Jekyll believed he could dabble in darkness without consequence, slipping in and out of Hyde at will. Yet each indulgence gave Hyde more power, until the mask became the man. His actions reshaped his very core.

And so, whether in the glow of Christmas lights or the gloom of Hyde’s London streets, the lesson is the same: we become what we do. Mama Gump said it plain, Merton said it solemn (maybe), Aristotle said it wise. The choices we make—bright or bleak—are the brushstrokes that paint the portrait of our lives. If Christmas is as Christmas does, then perhaps the best gift we can give is to live each day “as if” we were already the generous, peaceful, compassionate people we long to be.

James Madison’s Master Plan

I am approaching the final sessions of my Pilgrims andPuritans lecture series where I will contrast the theocratic vision of the Pilgrims and Puritans and their modern heirs with the democratic principles enshrined in the U.S. Constitution. That contrast requires giving attention to James Madison, the U.S. Constitution’s principal architect, and his vision of government.  So, I am going to ramble on here a bit about Madison, the Constitution, power, and moral character.

From Articles to Architecture

By the summer of 1786, just five years after the Articles of Confederation took effect, it was painfully clear that the national government created by the Articles was too weak to meet the country’s needs. Congress tried to patch the system with amendments, but gaining the unanimous consent from thirteen states required by the Articles proved impossible.

In 1787 Congress changed its approach and invited the states to send delegates to revise the Articles. Madison, convinced the Articles were beyond repair, arrived with a bold blueprint for a new government. Within weeks he had persuaded the delegates to abandon revision and an entirely new Constitution. Congress was so feeble at the time that the Convention did not even bother to inform it of the change in direction,

The underlying question before the delegates—and later the states—was this:  could they create a federal government strong enough to unify the nation and meet its challenges a still be limited enough that fundamental rights would be protected. Madison believed it was. Others disagreed.

The Bill of Rights: A Necessary Rick

As the Convention concluded, opposition to a constitution that created a powerful federal government remained fierce. George Mason, Madison’s fellow Virginian, proposed a solution: add a Bill of Rights. Madison initially resisted. He feared that listing specific rights might imply that any unlisted rights were fair game for government infringement—thus expanding federal power rather than limiting it leading to tyranny.

Structure as Safeguard

Madison argued that a Bill of Rights was unnecessary. The Constitution itself—through its architecture—would be the true guardian of liberty. Simply put, Madison believed that a well-structured governmental system was the best safeguard against corruption and tyranny.

His structural safeguards included the separation of powers and a system of checks and balances, ensuring that no single branch of government could dominate. This framework was not merely theoretical—it was a practical mechanism to prevent corruption and tyranny. Each branch would serve as a check on the others, creating a dynamic equilibrium that preserved liberty.

He also made the legislative process slow, included a difficult constitutional amendment process, and provided for the indirect election of officials, such as the president (through the electoral college) and senators (elected by state legislatures). Madison designed these mechanisms to temper popular passions and encourage deliberation. Madison feared that direct democracy could lead to mob rule or the rise of demagogues. By inserting layers of representation and procedure, he hoped to cultivate a more thoughtful and stable government.

The Role of Character in Governance

Madison was a master political engineer who passionately believed that a well-designed government, anchored in the separation of powers and a system of checks and balances, would prevent a slide into tyranny. He also understood that no democratic system would survive without virtuous leaders and frequently addressed the need for good character in government officials, emphasizing wisdom, virtue, integrity, and competence as essential traits for a good political leadership.

Madison believed that a system of enumerated powers and structural safeguards like the separation of powers and checks and balances would support the rise of public servants of good character, mitigate the impact of human flaws, and prevent the abuse of power, corruption, and the violation of fundamental rights.  Structure would check ambition.

Was Madison Right?

Madison placed his faith in a system of enumerated powers, structural safeguards, and the moral compass of public servants. Over the past two centuries, that faith has been tested—sometimes severely. We might ask: Was Madison’s confidence in constitutional design justified? Or did he underestimate the fragility of virtue and the resilience of ambition? Madison’s vision certainly invites us to reflect not only on the limits of power, but on the enduring challenge of cultivating character in those who wield it.