Molineaux is co-publisher of The Fulcrum and president/CEO of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
A mentor and teacher commented, “Humans regulate other humans.” This came on the heels of a few days of mild depression, where I chose to numb out and turn off the world; I was alone and without accountability to others. I had moved from respite to wallowing, and these few words called me back to my normally determined self. The idea that “humans regulate other humans” registered for me on several levels: mental, emotional and physical.
First, while I was numbing out, I watched a documentary on cults. Research has documented that we are most at risk of being radicalized into extremism or cults when we lose our sense of self; this is often preceded by feeling lonely, depressed, powerless and lacking a sense of meaning. Into this void of identity steps someone who seeks to exploit others in their most vulnerable moments. Only other people can intercede, offering hope of a better future and a sense of belonging. “Humans regulate other humans” hit this squarely. Unfortunately friends and loved ones are often ill equipped to offer connection, support, sympathy or understanding. Instead, offering rejection and ridicule which only serves to drive our loved ones further into the arms of the exploiters.
Second, our human bodies are neurologically wired for connection to each other and nature. Walking in the forest or on the beach offers me a sense of wonder and connection to something greater than myself. Scientifically, the fewer connections we have, the sooner we die. When we are alone, our thoughts recycle and with each cycle, our thinking often becomes more perverted due to lack of community sense-making. Mentally and emotionally, we are our strongest in the arms of a healthy community.
Third, when we are in a community, cultural norms ensure the survival of the community. They regulate how we live together for the collective’s sake, not the individual. In the United States, we enshrined this in our Constitution and subsequent rule of law. This is the cultural norm we share, above all others. Or at least, we used to. Humans regulate other humans, right?
Today, competing groups of citizens are claiming the rule of law means different things to them. One group claims the rule of law for all people, challenging inequities and abuse of power. Another group claims rule of law has been corrupted by the ruling class, and it is up to citizens to set it right. I agree with both claims. Corruption is rampant and the rule of law must be challenged for its failures to treat all people equally.
Here is our catch-22 in all its glory. We haven’t yet imagined a set of cultural and social norms that is truly inclusive of our rich diversity. So we judge harshly and fight about cultural norms, trying to force others into what is most comfortable for us. And as we focus on the fight, we turn off our imagination, just when we need it most.
The pandemic has radically changed our sense of safety in the world, as has our political climate, extreme weather conditions and social unrest. Everything we thought was predictable is being stripped away so we can create anew. It can be exhilarating instead of terrifying if our imagination is not stifled by the harshness of the fight around us.
A close friend quipped to me recently, “I’m so tired of being resilient.” As we spent more time together, I found her assigning intent to others for actions she found objectionable. “How can they be so gullible?” or “They are just followers, not able to think for themselves,” she would state. When I offered other possible interpretations, she took exception that I was “making excuses for them.” I had a choice to make. I had more knowledge of intentions due to the diversity of my friends group and work life. But the norms of our relationship has always been to avoid conflict, and that was the direction we were heading.
I chose to stop offering alternative explanations that challenged her “knowing.” Should I have? Was I really being helpful by avoiding the discomfort of our times? Like many of us, she is exhausted by our social upheaval and the implications on her life. I chose not to add more uncertainty or hardship. I made the best decision based on norms and compassion, but wish I had found a way to respond that didn’t require one of us shutting down part of who we are.
We’ve been through a lot in the last few years. Like our ancestors who endured the pandemic 100 years ago, two world wars, a financial crisis and extreme weather, we will survive. And out of our trials, we will find a social cohesion that transcends our troubles and is the best we can imagine for ourselves. Let’s start with compassion, kindness and imagining a better future that allows us the freedom to be who we are, within our community.




















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.