Megan Rawlins Woods is the Senior Director of Nonpartisanship for Mormon Women for Ethical Government. She is from West Jordan, Utah. She earned a bachelor’s degree in planning and resource management from Brigham Young University. She currently lives with her husband and five children in rural Utah.
As I watched the debt ceiling standoff between Republican lawmakers and President Biden over the last several months, I returned to a question I have been contemplating for several years: What is the difference between taking a principled stand on an issue and being a stubborn, egotistical obstructionist?
For most of us, whether a politician seems principled or egotistical often depends on whether we agree with the stand they have taken. But with just a little effort, I believe we can get past our biases.
Our culture is built on the idea of winners and losers. In sports (naturally) and business, in academics and talent, even in romance and family — we see competition in all of it. We want to win at life. And if there are winners, there must be losers.
This cultural idea is prevalent in politics. Obviously, there are definite winners and losers in elections. However, as a government by the people, it’s dangerous to approach every single topic or issue as a competition, with close to half of the country being designated “losers.” This mentality creates a country of “us” versus “them,” with each side claiming a monopoly on truth and morality and painting the others as deluded, ignorant, or even evil.
We need to stop viewing political opposition as an enemy to annihilate. We cannot silence the opposition. The so-called enemy is not going anywhere. In fact, they are equal participants in our democracy with valid concerns. There will always be people around us with whom we disagree. We live together. We work together. We go to school together and church together and are part of the same communities. We need to learn to govern together.
Governing together means respecting and understanding different perspectives. As President Henry B. Eyring, a leader in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said, “. . . differences can be seen as an opportunity. . . . [We can] see a difference in someone else not as a source of irritation but as a contribution.”
Unfortunately, we — the voters — seem to celebrate extremism. We want to be winners. We want to vote for winners. We click on the viral links and support efforts to give ego-driven politicians more exposure. We also cheer when the opposition falters or fails. We mock their mistakes or missteps (literally, in the case of Biden ’s tripping or Trump ’s cautious descent at West Point).
Our celebration of extremism means we are supporting candidates who have no intention of collaborating to pass legislation. I have seen candidates campaign by claiming they will not go to Washington, D.C., to make friends. I have seen incumbents boast that their colleagues find them difficult to work with. We have politicians who, when they are presented with persuasive arguments, choose to dig in their heels to save face. That isn’t being principled. They seem to mistake antagonistic anger with strength, as if being insolent equates to standing on principle. Stubborn grandstanding is no way to run a democracy.
This type of stubbornness creates frustration and limits effectiveness. The best legislation comes through bipartisan efforts, and those efforts require negotiation, moderation, compromise, and collaboration. When elected officials work to build bridges, relationships, and friendships, they are more likely to produce the kind of legislation that has the longest lasting positive impact.
When I am trying to determine if a politician is driven by principle or ego, some questions I ask include: Is this a pattern of behavior? Does this politician routinely stand against bipartisan legislation that has wide support? Does their opposition to the legislation guarantee them media attention or a viral clip? Have they passionately declared their opposition to or support for a piece of legislation before it has even been discussed, debated, or written? Do they seem to have a knee-jerk reaction of anger to any idea presented by the opposing party? Do they appear to relish their ability to stand in the way of bipartisan legislation?
If the answer to these questions is yes, the politician may be driven by ego and not principle.
Correcting this aspect of divisiveness will require us to begin building intellectual relationships with our political opposition. We start by humanizing them as people, trusting that they are motivated by a sincere desire for good. We look for common ground and shared principles. Only then can we focus on creating policy to enact those principles. There is a healthy tension between different ideologies, and when we learn to respect those, we can find lasting solutions. Can we learn to see differences as contributions? If so, everybody wins.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.