Preachers
One of the amusing sideshows since Trump has taken power is the pearl clutching from the usual suspects about the law and process. The people who sat silent as lawfare was waged against Americans for the crime of holding unapproved opinions are now suddenly concerned with the rule of law. The people who took money from tech companies to remain silent about tech censorship are now carrying on as if they are dissidents because they no longer control the discourse.
Hypocrisy is a feature of man, and it has always had a central role in American politics because America is a nation of moralizers. The one thing we have always overproduced is preachers ready to wag their bony fingers at the people as they lecture them about their many moral failings. The United States is a giant outdoor revival tent where preachers take turns performing for the crowd. When not lecturing the locals, our preachers travel the world to lecture foreigners.
Preachers need to believe they are special, perhaps even called or chosen to lead the sinners out of sin into the land of salvation. You cannot think you are a wretch and at the same time be a preacher. You can be a wretch and confess your wretchedness to the people in the pews as part of your redemption. You can testify about your former wretchedness and how you rejoined the mass of ordinary sinners. You cannot preach unless you are sure you are something special.
After all, the point of preaching is to inform. The preacher not only knows the nature of sin, but he also claims to know the nature of grace. He claims to know the road that leads from sin to salvation and grace. If everyone had this knowledge, then there would be no need for the preacher. Everyone would be free to decide if they want to take the path to salvation or take some other path. This is why every preacher is sure he has been called to lead the sinner down the righteous path.
This is why the fallen preacher is a stock character in our morality tales. In a land full of preachers, we have a superabundance of preachers who turned out to be worse sinners than the people in the pews. Given that democratic politics is just a long running morality play, it is no surprise that our politics features the hypocrite, and the endless cries of hypocrisy are the Greek chorus of our politics. Democracy is a viper's den of preachers and hypocrites hissing about hypocrisy.
This has been a defining feature of the Trump era. His every utterance seems to draw out the preacher-hypocrite. Here is Jonah Goldberg hilariously claiming he is what stands between the mean orange man and the sacred Constitution. He and his fellow cult members were chanting about the "unitary executive" back in the Bush years, when they intended that phrase to mean, "Ignore the laws." After all, they preached, the righteous cause of forever war was too important for due process.
Goldberg is typical of the modern preacher. He is a mediocrity's mediocrity who spends his days smearing people opposed to his cult. In the Bush years, he would preach about the need to rally to a clown like George Bush out of party loyalty. Those questioning this were disloyal deviationists or secretly in league with Old Scratch. When it was his turn to return the favor with Trump, he slanderously claimed Trump and David Duke were buddies in the secret KKK.
The most egregious example of the modern preacher is David French. This chinless weirdo is what not-for-profit politics produces. He imagines himself to be a blend of James Bond, Clarence Darrow, and Jesus Christ. His Twitter feed is dripping with sanctimony as he lectures the world about sin, but it is mostly about the righteousness of David French. It is no surprise that this ridiculous mediocrity is at the New York Times. It is the main chapel of our media.
These two festering lumps of mediocrity are famous examples, but the public square is littered with people who dream of one day standing in front of the masses, lecturing them about their failings. The Covid Karens of a few years ago made clear that behind the pleasant looking face of every stranger could lie the pursed lips of a vinegar drinking scold ready to pounce at your moment of weakness. We are sinners in the hands of an angry God named Karen from Human Resources.
The preacher plays a vital role in human society, but he must be locked up in his church where we can visit him for inspiration. The preacher provides inspiration when inspiration is needed to continue the task of living. In modern America, the preachers have been let out of their churches to run wild in our lives, making sure no one can enjoy the simple act of living. They nose about looking for sin and when none can be found they create chaos that can lead to sin.
The task before the country, if it is to escape this hell of proselytizing, is to herd the preachers back into their churches. Living is about trade-offs, the choice between practical benefits and equally practical costs. For a people to live, they must embrace living, not sit quietly while preached to about the sins of living. That is what we are seeing with the Trump administration. It is the long overdue effort to round up the preachers and put them back in their rightful place.
The price for this freedom will be the endless hypocrisy from the pearl clutchers and bony fingered ministers, now suddenly concerned about law and order. They were silent when the law was ignored but now pretend to care when the law must be ignored to restore order, the only ground in which the law can flourish. That means sidelining the preachers until the coast is clear. Then they can be let loose to preach the gospel of republican virtue to whoever will listen.
"Festering lumps of mediocrity" is musical. I'll file it away for rhetorical inspiration.
When I was young a half century ago I first ran into such people at university. Usually back then they were either feminists or Marxists. I naively would try to explain to the Marxists that I wasn't really evil, but just had a different viewpoint, only to be stunned by the vicious reaction: rage, name calling, etc. But at least one could argue over their ideological premises, because there was a basic logic to them, flawed as it was. Still, discussion usually became a futile shouting match, in which the lefty would prevail because he had a bottomless well of incandescent self-righteous rage and better lungs.
The feminists were all damaged by some kind of abuse or neglect when young, often by progressive parents whose politics they inherited, but whom they deeply resented nonetheless. They were dangerous to young horny males because often they behaved like regular young horny females, only to transform into shrieking harpies once one made a wrong move. Which always happened, because it was impossible to predict what might offend. The first time it happened I was amazed at the obvious pleasure the girl derived from putting me in my place.
Now the Marxists are dead or evolved into Wokeness, which conforms more to the old feminist model: absolute hostility to reason or the notion of truth; feelings being the only reality. At least such people were the rare exception in my youth. Now they're everywhere, because unlike most of the fingerwaggers of my youth, they're indoctrinated from the beginning.
But now that I'm old and don't give a hoot, I've learned finally how to deal with them. Shouting "Get away from me, you demented scum, you stinking spawn of Hell!" can stun the freak long enough to give one time to escape. Raucous, derisive laughter can often confuse them for a short time also. Whatever you do, don't engage with them. That way lies misery.
Jonah Goldberg is another of those self-appointed public intellectuals that have never had an actual job. If he wasn't scribbling the opinions his paymasters tell him to write, what would he be doing? Maybe he would be qualified to supervise toll collectors on the Jersey turnpike.