Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.
There's no record of Edmund Burke -- the great Irish-born British statesman and father of modern conservatism -- actually saying what is often attributed to him: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." But it does capture his worldview well enough.
It also captures a renewed, possibly short-lived triumph of courage and wisdom within the Republican Party.
Amid threats to oust House Speaker Mike Johnson for allowing a vote on aid to Ukraine, Rep. Tony Gonzales (R-Texas) captured the party's own divide between the good and the rest in colorful terms on CNN Sunday. "It's my absolute honor to be in Congress," he said, "but I serve with some real scumbags."
Gonzales was taking aim at Reps. Matt Gaetz (R-Fla.) and Bob Good (R-Va.), but he could have included quite a few others.
For the last few years, congressional Republicans have been split into factions that are not ideological in the traditional sense. Pick nearly any standard domestic policy issue -- abortion, gun rights, taxes, immigration -- and you won't see much evidence of the schism. Even (public) support for Donald Trump doesn't delineate the divide.
No, the difference is largely over tactics, rhetoric and psychology. One faction, comprising an overwhelming majority of the House GOP caucus, is interested in accomplishing the possible. The other is more interested in aiming for the impossible and then complaining about falling short.
Of course, members of the latter group don't admit to the impossibility of their goals; that would ruin the con. They insist that with enough willpower, particularly among their leaders, they could impose their will on the Democratic-controlled Senate and White House. They make that case on television, on social media and in floor speeches. And when they inevitably fail, they whine that they were "betrayed" by Republican quislings who collaborated with the Democrats, all while raising money off the notion that they're courageous warriors who are willing to lose on principle.
The success of their shtick has depended on a number of factors. One is that the Republicans' narrow House majority empowers the fringe.
To become speaker last year, Kevin McCarthy agreed to a change in the rules that makes it possible for a single representative to move to "vacate the chair" -- that is, trigger a vote on whether to depose the speaker. That's what happened last year after McCarthy avoided a default on the national debt, kept the government open and committed other alleged outrages.
Gaetz and seven other Republicans, representing less than 2 percent of the country, were enough to oust McCarthy against the wishes of 95 percent of the Republican caucus, with Democrats uniformly hewing to the bipartisan tradition of refusing to support a speaker of the opposite party. In other words, the Republican firebrands, who think the worst sin imaginable is to work with Democrats, voted with Democrats to oust their leader.
McCarthy's successor, Johnson, brought four bills to the House floor Saturday -- three to provide vital military aid to Ukraine, Israel and Taiwan, and one to force a Chinese company to sell TikTok or cease operating in the United States. The bills passed overwhelmingly, with all but the Ukraine bill winning a majority of Republicans' votes.
Now Reps. Marjorie Taylor Greene (R-Ga.), Paul Gosar (R-Ariz.), and Thomas Massie (R-Ky.) want to oust Johnson for his "betrayal" -- not of the caucus, country or Congress but of the tiny fringe faction that thinks it should call the shots.
They'll probably fail, for several reasons. First, few Republicans -- including some who oppose Johnson -- want to be seen following the lead of the House's most notorious cranks and bigots. Second, Trump doesn't want the Republican caucus to turn into an embarrassing circular firing squad while he is running for president. (It's remarkable that Trump is worried that other Republicans will make him look bad.) Third, Democrats have signaled that they will help Johnson keep his job after he courageously did the right thing. And finally, no one appears to want Johnson's job who could also get the job.
The most important development for the party in all of this is that the rest of the caucus has realized that going along with the arsonists -- all of whom have safe seats and would be happy to throw their bombs from the House minority -- amounts to politically suicidal appeasement.
"The majority of the majority -- the vast majority of the majority -- is sick and tired of these high school antics," Rep. Derrick Van Orden (R-Wis.) said last week. He also noted that "the only way to stop a bully is to push back hard."
One can only hope that realization sticks.
First posted April 24, 2024. (C)2024 Tribune Content Agency, LLC.
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.