In some societies, there is no distinction between religious elites and political elites. In others, there is a strong wall between them. Either way, they tend to have direct access to huge swaths of the populace and influence with them. This is an irresistible target for the proto-tyrant to court or nullify.
In many cases, the shrewd proto-tyrant will pose as befriending the major religious sect or, at least, dissemble that they mean it no harm. It is extremely enticing for the leaders of these sects to give the proto-tyrant public support or, at least, studiously refrain from criticizing their regime. There is apparently much to be gained or, at least, much less to lose in terms of their temporal power and ability to continue serving their faithful.
It is supremely ironic to ask religious leaders what the price of their souls is. Yet, this is the question they must ask themselves. Power is power, whether in military uniform, judicial robes, or clerical garb. It is hard to risk losing it. But that very power carries with it the burden to deploy it in service of the good.
Your congregants—your followers—constitute a decisive segment of the populace—of the ultimate seat of political power. If you signal your support for the proto-tyrant, you are enabling and paving the trajectory to full tyranny. Your minimum obligation is to not lend the prestige of your role to support an illusion of the proto-tyrant as a defender of the faith or messianic messenger. Nor to use this illusion as a rationale for your own choices.
Beyond that, your role becomes more delicate. There is a legitimate argument for keeping the political out of the worship service. All present deserve to be held in the embrace of the faith. Inevitably, political views will range across the spectrum. Using the pulpit to cajole for or against the proto-tyrant violates the sanctity of the worship space. If doing so becomes a drumbeat, you will literally be preaching to the choir as those who do not share your views will withdraw or find congregations better aligned with their politics.
Some will argue this stand would be a dereliction of moral duty. In the face of a widespread campaign against vulnerable minorities, doesn’t the spiritual leader have a duty to speak for the voiceless? To uphold the sanctity of all human life? This is a powerful argument.
An answer to the conflicting obligations lies in using the power of the pulpit to speak against specific immoral policies without targeting the regime itself. This may be thought to split hairs but that is the very point. One can remain a follower of the duly constituted political regime while vocally questioning egregious policies. This is the very essence of courageous followership.
To those who do not bear responsibility for a congregation, this may seem too weak a response to the increasingly abusive use of power. Yet, it may be the appropriate response for a vested religious leader; still an act of courage and, in the best case, a corrective to the autocrat who learns the limits of their “free pass” for accruing and abusing governing power.
Should the proto-tyrant fail to absorb the lessons being taught to the populace from the pulpit and continue on an egregious path toward tyrannical rule, the religious elite can follow their source of moral guidance and choose to become activists. This is the measured, latent power of elite privilege. The challenge is timing; too soon and you lose the congregation, too late and you lose the window of opportunity. Indeed, this is a time for guidance, judgment, and courage.
Chaleff is a speaker, innovative thinker and the author of “ To Stop a Tyrant: The Power of Political Followers to Make or Brake a Toxic Leader.” This is an excerpt from “To Stop a Tyrant.”




















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.