If you want to understand what makes the United States exceptional on an emotional level, take an in-person or virtual trip to both Mt. Vernon, Virginia, and Paris, France. At Mt. Vernon, you can tour the preserved and reconstructed plantation of George Washington, viewing what the tour claims is the first compost bin in the nation and reading about the particular way he organized his gardens.
The most important part, though, is his grave. The first President of the most powerful nation on Earth rests in a modest brick mausoleum about ten feet high, built into a hillside. The plain white room containing the sarcophagi of Washington and his wife is barely larger than the two coffins themselves.
The French have a very different tomb dedicated to the founder of their modern nation. Emperor Napoleon rests in a stone sarcophagus on a raised dais in a huge domed building. To American eyes, the building looks like one of our state capitals, complete with columns, domes, Greco-Roman reliefs, and multiple entrances. The room containing the sarcophagus is opulent, with detailed carved statues of Roman figures, golden trim, ornate hanging lamps, large windows, and a large second-story balcony. It is less a grave than a temple, deifying the person of the Emperor.
This striking difference tells you much of what you need to know about why the United States has done so well for so long. The father of our nation and his contemporaries did not believe in deifying their leader. Washington was keenly aware of setting a humble precedent by everything he did, from limiting himself to two terms to adopting the title “Mr. President.” His legacy to all of us was not in his personality, but in the processes and structures he built that lived on after he did. By his design, we pay respect to our founder by operating the wondrous democratic machinery he first showed us how to operate.
My opinion of Washington as the best American President is not unanimous. Many studies that rank the Presidents place Abraham Lincoln first, while Washington tends to appear somewhere in the top five. This always struck me as unfair. Lincoln was remarkable, to be sure, and ending the scourge of slavery guarantees his place forever as one of the best Presidents. Yet, he arrived on the scene with a particular existential problem to solve - a civil war that was clearly about to erupt over the slavery question. His capacity for greatness was amplified by exterior forces presenting him with a clear crisis.
Washington, more than any other President, arrived with a blank slate. His existential crisis had come years before, when he survived a war with Great Britain. By the time he came to office, the most serious existential dangers to the country came in the form of future risks. Washington’s challenge in office was not so much how to defeat an enemy in front of him, but how to build a system that could handle enemies in the future. It is harder to create than to destroy, and harder still to build a strong structure for a future you cannot fully predict.
Process theory suggests that the aim of a law should not be to obtain a particular substantive result, but to adopt and defend processes that tend to lead to good results. It isn’t hard to see the utility of this approach. People are going to disagree about what is good and what is bad and to what degree. Some such disagreements may be distant from the passions of most citizens, like what kind of crops to encourage farmers to grow or who to hire for a government construction contract. Others may be very close to the heart, such as whether to outlaw abortion or how immigration should work. In each case, because there are passions and well-reasoned arguments pulling in different directions, there has to be some process to decide what to do. A core function of government is helping mediate that outcome.
Washington wasn’t a process theorist exactly. In fact, he did not write much at all about the philosophy behind his governance. But his instincts were very process-based. He believed that a regular process was what distinguished the republic from the extremes of monarchy or mob rule. He strove to mediate carefully and fairly between the political divisions of the day among his own cabinet members and in his interactions with Congress. Even his more extreme actions, like putting down the Whiskey Rebellion (a major use of federal military force against citizens), came from a sense of duty to uphold duly enacted law rather than any sense of solving a problem by any means necessary. Washington left us with an example and a legacy of respect for the process and for the rule of law.
There will always be those who feel passionately in the correctness of their substantive position and who believe anyone who feels differently is evil. After all, if you believe you have the best interests of the country in mind and you’ve determined the right solution to a problem, doesn’t that mean anyone who disagrees with you must be treasonously acting against the country’s interests? This is a very natural trap to fall into, and some of the less successful Presidents did so. President Adams passed heavy-handed censorship laws based on this logic, called the Alien and Sedition Acts, which are now widely recognized as ineffective.
Thinking of anyone who has a substantively different opinion as evil is a mistake. We are all limited as human beings, impacted by our life experiences, knowledge, and skills. Indeed, the major benefit of the rule of law is as a way to mediate differing ideas, leading to better results than a single person’s judgment alone. A fair process must be respected and accepted to make this happen. To declare that the process should not stand in the way of one’s own passionately held belief is Napoleonic hubris.
Disregarding the rule of law to force through a result is also extremely dangerous. People are going to have disagreements no matter what processes are in place. If there is no agreed upon process for resolving those disagreements, the parties will decide the issue some other way. The most ancient method is physical violence. Without a respected legal process, if two neighbors disagree over how much water each is extracting from the stream, murderous action could end that disagreement. In addition to being morally abhorrent, that process does nothing to make sure the decision was made correctly.
Adherence to the established rule of law as a way of solving problems leads to better outcomes. Similarly, the idea of a single strong leader who cuts through the “red tape” of process to fix a problem is similarly flawed. A modern state is a massive, complex system. No single person understands its operation alone. Swift, decisive action simply results in faster bad decisions.
We best honor the legacy of George Washington and others responsible for the freedoms we enjoy by respecting the process that was their greatest legacy. None of us will always agree with the results of the process. But the last two hundred years of the United States becoming the leader of the world should give us powerful evidence that the rule of law is effective. Washington did not need a gaudy display of opulence to declare his successes, as the greatness of his hard work has thundered for hundreds of years.
Colin E. Moriarty is a partner at Moriarty Underhill LLC and a volunteer with Lawyers Defending American Democracy.




















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.