Julius Caesar still casts a long shadow. We have a 12-month calendar — and leap year — thanks to Julius. July is named after him (though the salad isn’t). The words czar and kaiser, now mostly out of use, simply meant “Caesar.”
We also can thank Caesar for the durability of the term “dictator.” He wasn’t the first Roman dictator, just the most infamous one. In the Roman Republic, the title and authority of “dictator” was occasionally granted by the Senate to an individual to deal with a big problem or emergency. Usually, the term would last no more than six months — shorter if the crisis was dealt with — because the Romans detested anything that smacked of monarchy.
When Caesar crossed the Rubicon (where we get that phrase) his enemies in the Senate fled. So, the remaining senators named him dictator for 11 days to hold fresh elections. His second dictatorship was set for 10 years, and then finally he was named dictator for life.
In the centuries that followed Caesarism, not dictatorship, was the real dirty word, at least for lovers of liberty.
Even in America, dictator held onto some of that “emergency problem-solver” connotation. During the Great Depression, many Americans craved just such a man. Legendary liberal columnist Walter Lippmann wrote at the dawn of the Great Depression, “A mild species of dictatorship will help us over the roughest spots in the road ahead.”
On FDR’s Inauguration Day 1933, the New York Herald-Tribune ran an approving headline: “For Dictatorship If Necessary.” Many aides and Cabinet secretaries were dubbed “dictators” in much the same way we sometimes call officials “czars” — as in drug czars, border czars, even “green jobs czar,” etc.
Later it was Hitler and Stalin who erased most of the “Mr. Fix-it” connotation of “dictator.”
But the real cautionary tale was there from the beginning. Dictatorship — the granting of unchecked powers during a temporary emergency — is what makes Caesarism possible. By giving one person the “arbitrary power” to declare war, levy taxes or hand out favors to sustain his popularity with the plebes, the temptation to become a Caesar is too great.
Some — like Cincinnatus, George Washington or Abraham Lincoln — can resist, but all you need is one lesser mortal to be granted undue power for the whole experiment in republican government to come crashing down. This was the history of republics until 1789, which is why Ben Franklin described the end result of the Constitutional Convention as “a republic, if you can keep it.”
The founders were steeped in Roman history. The Constitution is designed to prevent such temptation. But the founders also understood that sometimes a president should have extraordinary powers during an emergency. After all, the institution of a dictator had helped preserve the Roman Republic for centuries until Caesar’s Caesarism made it an empire.
In short, emergency powers are necessary only during actual emergencies. There’s a long history of American presidents declaring emergencies not to solve a crisis but to gain the power crises confer. Joe Biden tried to use the COVID-19 pandemic to cancel $430 billion in student loans he had no authority to cancel.
President Trump has declared a trade imbalance a national emergency. He claims the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA) of 1977 — a law that doesn’t mention the word “tariff” — grants him total, unchecked power to levy tariffs to deal with that emergency. He’s used that alleged authority to punish Brazil — with whom we have a trade surplus — because its current government is prosecuting a Trump ally who also tried to steal an election.
And just last week, Trump announced that a pro-free trade ad bought by the government of Ontario using the words of President Reagan is justification for raising tariffs on all of Canada by another 10 percent. Not counting oil, we have a trade surplus with Canada, too. And we buy so much oil from Canada because they sell it to us at a below-market rate.
These are not emergencies. Nor are trade deficits, generally. Is it an emergency that you have a trade deficit with your local grocery store?
Trump’s lawyers have argued that denying the president this permanent and unlimited power would be disastrous, which itself is a Caesarist argument: I must have unchecked power to keep you safe.
IEEPA requires Congress to review the president’s actions every six months. But congressional Republicans have changed the rules to deny themselves the ability to check the authority Trump is abusing.
Trump is not a dictator, but as Benjamin Franklin understood, republics fail not so much because would-be Caesars seize power. They fail because cowards give it to them — under the false pretense of an emergency.
Donald Trump Isn’t a Dictator, but His Goal May Actually Be Worse was originally published the Tribune Content Agency.
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
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.