Rubin is an alumnus of the Bridge Alliance Leaders Mastermind Cohort. He is founder and principal of Bstory, an initiative that uses the power of collective story to breathe new life into our civic and moral imaginations. This is the first in a regular column called Civic Soul.
There exists something transcendent in the best of what the African American experience has to offer. It is reflected in the many cultural contributions made throughout American history. Africans brought to America have had a profound influence on the American civic landscape. I use "soul" as a metaphor to describe this sense of awareness. It can be heard in the music, from spirituals to hip-hop, and it strives to raise the consciousness of this nation.
When one encounters life from the underside of our society, it fashions a sensitivity to the political, social and economic inequities that exist. When people say that change happens at the margins, they are pointing to a certain set of circumstances that lead to the very essence of a solution. These life lessons are not found in ivory towers. To view life through a soul lens is to intuitively view problems from a different vantage point.
Too many fail to know her name, but we need more voices like that of Fannie Lou Hamer. While criticized for not being the most articulate, Hamer summoned a power to speak in a way that demanded attention. Hamer had a way of truth-telling and we need more people who will ask questions in the best interest of all, as she did at the 1964 Democratic National Convention. She asked, "Is this America, the land of the free and the home of the brave, where our lives be threatened daily, because we want to live as decent human beings?" Basic human dignity is an appropriate starting point, but unfortunately Covid-19 and the frequent recordings of police brutality have only exposed the gaps that many were already aware of.
Reflecting on the state of things during the early part of the pandemic, columnist David Brooks wrote, "Everywhere I hear the same refrain: We're standing at a portal to the future; we're not going back to how it used to be." I do not know if our visions are the same, but like Brooks I can see possibilities of alternate futures.
I know that many would like to return to "normal" because they argive only prepared to weather things that are predictable and it causes us to avoid what cannot be measured. I get it, risk is scary while business as usual is tangible and safe.
However, like James Baldwin said, "I do believe, I really do believe in the New Jerusalem, I really do believe that we can all become better than we are. I know we can. But the price is enormous."
The possibilities that I see ahead require more than simply reform, but a complete reorientation of values. We must come to a point when we move past the idea of American exceptionalism that Princeton Professor Eddie Glaude calls "a lie that hollows out the nation's soul and leaves its democracy flawed and threatened." Too often we are grounded in a nostalgic remembrance of a past that never existed. There is much work to be done.
I was inspired by a question posed by the Rev. Andrew Wilkes. He authored the book "Freedom Notes: Reflections on Faith, Justice and the Possibility of Democracy," which at its core is an exploration of how we get free. The question he asks us is, "What if all of us — not just politicians — are elected for public service?"
It is much easier to look to Washington to be the Change That We Can Believe In, or to Make America Great Again, but at some point there must be a groundswell of citizens who do not bow down and worship at an altar of exceptionalism or any claim of supremacy. Rather, we must tear down every false idol and replace them with visions that carry possibilities that awaken our imaginations and gives voice to the voiceless as we consider this present moment and beyond.
In his posthumous op-ed in The New York Times, the late Rep. John Lewis wrote, "Ordinary people with extraordinary vision can redeem the soul of America by getting in what I call good trouble, necessary trouble." Therefore, I am excited to share this column with you. Beyond all the analysis, change starts with our collective individual beliefs and actions. As we journey together in civic soul, let us do it toward casting a vision that will redeem the soul of America.
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.