The Chomsky Moment And the Cracks in Cultural Hegemony

 

The end of moral asymmetry in American intellectual life. 

My latest on American Thinker.

In 2023, newly disclosed documents related to the late financier Jeffrey Epstein revealed meetings and financial interactions between Epstein and the eminent linguist and public intellectual Noam Chomsky. The disclosures did not accuse Chomsky of criminal conduct. But they confirmed that, years after Epstein’s 2008 conviction for soliciting a minor, Chomsky met with him multiple times and discussed financial matters.

Chomsky’s response was characteristically blunt: his meetings with Epstein, he said, were “none of your business.” The tone may have been legally defensible. Culturally and symbolically, it was something else.

Because Chomsky is not merely a professor emeritus at MIT. For over half a century, he has been one of the central intellectual pillars of the American Left — a figure whose authority extends far beyond linguistics into foreign policy, media criticism, and moral judgment on American power. His 1988 book Manufacturing Consent shaped generations of students’ understanding of media, propaganda, and elite influence. To admirers, he has represented intellectual courage against empire; to critics, an implacable critic of Western liberal democracies.

But in either case, he has stood as a moral voice.

And that is precisely why the Epstein association matters — not as a criminal allegation, but as a symbolic rupture.

From the 1960s to Cultural Hegemony

To understand the magnitude of that rupture, one must place Chomsky within the broader intellectual ecosystem that reshaped American academia after the 1960s. While not formally a member of the Frankfurt School, his work converged with its critique of capitalist modernity, mass culture, and liberal-democratic institutions. Thinkers such as Herbert Marcuse and Theodor Adorno helped institutionalize a style of critical theory that viewed Western society as structurally oppressive beneath its democratic veneer.

Overlay that with the influence of Antonio Gramsci and his theory of cultural hegemony: the idea that ruling classes maintain dominance not only through economic power but by shaping cultural norms, education, and moral language. Change the culture, and you change the political order.

The American New Left absorbed this framework. Over decades, it migrated from street protest to faculty lounges, from counterculture to curriculum committees. The result is what we now call Critical Theory’s progeny: identity-centered scholarship, postcolonial critique, and ultimately the framework popularly labeled CRT. While Chomsky himself has often criticized certain excesses of identity politics and has not endorsed every development in “woke” culture, his lifelong assault on American institutions provided intellectual scaffolding for the suspicion of Western norms that now permeates large sectors of academia.

The point is not that Chomsky caused CRT. It is that he helped legitimize a moral architecture in which America is presumptively guilty, power is presumptively corrupt, and Western institutions are structurally suspect.

For decades, that critique carried a tacit moral asymmetry: the critics stood above the system they condemned.

  

The Weberian Problem

Here is where the scandal intersects with political theory.

Max Weber famously distinguished between the “ethic of conviction” and the “ethic of responsibility.” The former acts from purity of principle; the latter accounts for the foreseeable consequences of one’s actions in the public sphere.

Chomsky’s career embodies the ethic of conviction. He has consistently argued from first principles against war, imperialism, and elite hypocrisy. But when a public intellectual of such stature maintains a relationship — however defined — with a convicted sex offender embedded in elite financial networks, the question shifts from private intention to public consequence.

Even if the meetings were purely intellectual.

Even if the financial discussions were routine.

The symbolic impact is unavoidable.

A figure who built his reputation exposing the moral compromises of power was, at minimum, socially entangled with a man whose entire operation depended on elite protection.

That tension does not prove corruption. It exposes fragility.

The Collapse of Moral Asymmetry

For many on the Right, the Epstein scandal has become shorthand for elite decadence across party lines. But for the American Left, it strikes deeper. The post-1960s intellectual project has relied not only on critique, but on moral differentiation — the implicit claim that progressive institutions and thinkers occupy higher ethical ground than the corporate, military, or conservative establishments they oppose.

The Chomsky episode does not invalidate every argument he has ever made. It does something subtler: it undermines the aura of moral insulation.

If even the most relentless critic of American elite corruption can be found in the appointment book of one of the most notorious financiers in recent memory, then the narrative of unilateral moral superiority begins to erode.

And once moral asymmetry collapses, the logic of cultural hegemony weakens.

Because Gramscian influence depends on credibility. Cultural authority must appear ethically elevated to justify reshaping curricula, institutions, and norms. If the intellectual class is perceived as subject to the same gravitational pull of wealth, access, and prestige as everyone else, its claim to exceptional moral insight diminishes.

A Myth from the Sixties Meets the Twenty-First Century

The myth born in the 1960s was that radical critique purified the critic. That standing outside “the system” conferred immunity from its temptations. Over time, that myth helped fuel a worldview in which America’s sins were magnified, while the critic’s own milieu was presumed enlightened.

The Epstein revelations do not topple Chomsky’s scholarly contributions to linguistics. They do not erase his influence. But they puncture the myth that critique equals virtue.

And that puncture comes at a moment when the intellectual descendants of the New Left are facing growing resistance from parents, voters, and lawmakers who question the premises of CRT and institutionalized “wokeness.”

The Chomsky moment, then, is not about scandal in the tabloid sense. It is about the exposure of a structural paradox: those who claimed to unmask power were not immune to its proximity.

Cultural hegemony depends on the perception of moral altitude. When that altitude drops, even slightly, the entire architecture wobbles.

The collapse is not judicial.

It is symbolic.

And symbols, in politics, often matter more than verdicts.

God Is Back

A significant and surprisingly broad phenomenon has emerged: a quiet revival of faith among young people in both the United States and the United Kingdom.

My latest on American Thinker.

In recent years, a significant and surprisingly broad phenomenon has emerged: a quiet revival of faith among young people in both the United States and the United Kingdom. At the same time, a parallel rediscovery of God is taking place among many leading intellectuals. Together, these two trends deserve careful attention  and serious reflection.

Let’s begin with the “ordinary people” before turning to the maîtres à penser.

England and Wales: Young People Are Returning to Church

According to The Quiet Revival report published by the Bible Society, the share of young people aged 18 to 24 who attend church at least once a month in England and Wales has risen from 4% in 2018 to 16% in 2024, with men driving much of this growth. Many of these young churchgoers are also gravitating toward Catholicism: among those aged 18-34 who are active in church life, over 40% identify as Catholic, surpassing Anglicans.

Paul Williams, CEO of the Bible Society, summarizes the findings this way:

“The Quiet Revival is a hugely significant report that should reshape perceptions of Christianity and religious practice in England and Wales. Far from sliding toward extinction, the Church is alive, growing, and making a difference for individuals and society.”

This favorable trend is also reflected in a rise in adult conversions and baptisms. Many parishes now report record numbers of adults entering the Catholic Church -- typically motivated by a search for authenticity, truth, and community.

A Similar Trend in the United States

The same dynamic is unfolding in the United States. According to Pew Research, about 1.5% of American Catholic adults today are converts. Many of these younger adults say they are seeking a “stable moral order” and a spiritual depth they no longer find in contemporary secular culture. For a growing number of them, the structure, ritual, and aesthetic beauty of Catholic liturgy are decisive factors.

In other words, a generation is rediscovering in God not only a transcendent ideal but also a concrete community and a form of stability that secular society struggles to provide.

A Leadership Roundtable study notes that young adult Catholics in the U.S. are among the most engaged parishioners -- attending Mass, confession, and eucharistic adoration -- while also feeling tension between their personal dedication and the institutional fragility they perceive in parts of the Church.

This is not a series of isolated conversions. It is a demographic and cultural shift -- and a profound one.

…And the Intellectuals Are Returning to God

Alongside this youth-driven religious revival, a comparable phenomenon is unfolding among intellectuals.

For the past two decades, a large portion of the western cultural elite embraced the paradigm of the “New Atheism.” The formula seemed obvious: economic progress + science + technology = final emancipation from all religion.

But that season is over.

Philosophers, writers, commentators, and even high-profile figures in the tech world are now moving in the opposite direction: returning to God -- or at least to the religious dimension as an indispensable cultural foundation.

This time the trend does not originate with the masses, but with the people who shape ideas. And that matters: cultural currents often begin at the top and filter downward into public opinion.

Though the personal stories differ, they share a common thread: the realization that hyper-rationalism no longer explains the world -- and no longer helps people live well within it.

Here are some emblematic cases, drawing on an insightful Free Press article by Peter Savodnik.

Matthew Crawford: From Academic Agnosticism to the Anglican Church

Matthew Crawford -- long seen as a symbol of secular intellectual life -- found faith through a human encounter: meeting Marilyn Simon, a scholar and believer. His story is simple yet revealing. It wasn’t doctrine he lacked, but meaning. A higher moral order became, for him, a response to today’s radical individualism and fragmentation.

Paul Kingsnorth: The Environmental Novelist Who Found Orthodoxy

Once a leading figure in European environmentalism, Kingsnorth explored several spiritual paths before embracing Orthodox Christianity. His reasoning is partly sociopolitical: the ecological crisis, he argues, is at its core a spiritual one -- the result of a rupture between human beings and the natural world. Orthodoxy, with its mystical depth, offered him a restored sense of the sacred.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali: Faith as a Response to Inner Emptiness -- and to Islamism

A former Dutch MP, survivor of genital mutilation, and for years a fierce critic of political Islam, Ayaan Hirsi Ali converted to Christianity for two reasons:

• her personal battle with depression
• the West’s inability, in her view, to confront aggressive religious ideologies with purely secular tools

Her conversion is perhaps the most overtly political: she argues that a culturally disarmed Europe needs Christianity as an anchor of identity and resistance.

Richard Dawkins and “Cultural Christianity”

The father of New Atheism has not converted, but he has retreated. Dawkins now describes himself as a “cultural Christian,” openly worried that abandoning the Christian tradition will create a dangerous ideological and religious vacuum.

Jordan Hall: The Anti–Silicon Valley Conversion

A former tech pioneer, Jordan Hall discovered God not in some futuristic spiritual forum but in a small rural church. His diagnosis is sociological before it is mystical: the West is undergoing “cultural termination,” marked by demographic decline, loneliness, and digitized relationships. Religious community, he argues, provides something no technology can replace.

Conversions are Sweeping Through the Young

Across the U.S., conversions among young men are rising, traditional liturgies are making a comeback, and seminaries are seeing increased interest. In a period of economic insecurity, relational instability, and cultural uncertainty, religion reemerges as a form of social capital.

Not a Folkloric Revival -- and Not a Fashion Statement

The return to faith among both intellectuals and the young reflects a deep unease with a cultural model that has lost its normative power. For Europe -- and for the West more broadly -- where debates over identity, welfare, birth rates, and social cohesion are intensifying, these developments deserve close attention.

Religion may be returning not only as a legacy of the past, but as a resource for the future -- a striking challenge to the atheism and agnosticism that once appeared firmly in command.

When Silicon Valley Met the Occult: AI and the Return of Gnosticism

From the trenches of World War I to the code of Silicon Valley, a haunting idea emerges: artificial intelligence may not just be a technological project—but a metaphysical one.

A fascinating and thought-provoking conversation—Tucker Carlson’s recent interview with producer and filmmaker Conrad Flynn delves into the intersection between artificial intelligence and spirituality, two realms that would seem to have nothing in common—and yet, as it turns out, they do. The real heart of the discussion, however, lies in its middle section, when Carlson briefly steers the conversation toward one of those historical events that left a permanent scar on civilization: World War I. Why did it begin? In Sarajevo, on June 28, 1914, a Bosnian student named Gavrilo Princip assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Was that the real cause? Of course not—but it was the spark.

Carlson recalls that, about a decade ago, when the centennial of the war was commemorated across Europe, he still held a fairly secular view of the conflict. Yet many historians agreed on one striking point: World War I destroyed, perhaps forever, Christian Europe. It swept away two empires—the Austro-Hungarian and the Ottoman—and laid the groundwork not only for World War II but also for the world we live in today.

Within that abyss of irrational violence, one begins to suspect that something dark—perhaps even demonic—took hold of history and has been dragging it ever deeper ever since. It is within that unsettling framework that Carlson’s conversation with Conrad Flynn unfolds.

Flynn is an unconventional figure, with a past in Hollywood, where he was developing a show about the occult roots of rock music. His research into figures like Aleister Crowley and the bands inspired by black magic led him to an unexpected discovery: that the same dark imagery and anti-human, gnostic philosophies that once haunted rock album covers in the 1970s had migrated—astonishingly—to the heart of Silicon Valley.

“When I talked about my show with people in the Valley,” Flynn told Carlson, “a lot of them said, ‘That’s a great concept for a show. But you know, there’s some of the stuff going on in Silicon Valley. You know, there are some weird kind of Aleister Crowley cults there.’” For Flynn, this was no longer mere counterculture—it was a worldview shaping the future of technology itself.

Carlson then recalled that moment in 2014 when, before an audience of MIT professors and students, Elon Musk used a metaphor that has since burned itself into the collective memory: “With artificial intelligence, we are summoning the demon.”

Musk’s point, framed with the image of a medieval scholar armed with pentagram and holy water, was pragmatic: we were creating a technology both powerful and incomprehensible—one that could easily slip beyond our control.

A decade later, that “metaphorical demon” has not been banished. It has grown more real, more present—and for some, it has even changed form. What once served as an exaggerated warning now acts as a lens through which an increasing number of thinkers, journalists, and even technologists interpret our age. In many ways, the conversation has shifted from technological alarm to spiritual warfare. At the center of this shift stands Nick Land, a British academic philosopher often described as a “mad genius.” If Musk uses the demon metaphor as a warning, Land and his followers embrace it as a desirable prophecy.

If you look at Nick Land, Flynn notes, he believes the AI we’re building will literally become the demons of the Apocalypse. Not a metaphor—actual demons. Land’s writings—hugely influential in certain high-tech and financial circles—depict AI not as a tool but as an entity that, once it reaches a certain threshold, will become omnipotent, transcend humanity, and fulfill a kind of gnostic prophecy.

In his view, artificial intelligence represents the technological incarnation of the “demons” of Revelation. Why? Because, for Land, AI embodies pure intelligence rebelling against the limits of the material world—the “evil god” of Gnosticism—in order to create a new order. The possible destruction of humankind, in this narrative, is not a tragedy but a necessary sacrifice for a higher form of existence.

This is where Flynn and Carlson’s “wild ride” touches a raw nerve in our culture. Gnosticism, an ancient heresy, is undergoing an unexpected revival in the digital age. Its central doctrine sees the material world as a prison created by an evil god—the Demiurge—and salvation as the escape through hidden knowledge, or gnosis.

Artificial intelligence, from this perspective, becomes the ultimate tool of liberation:

1. Liberation from the body (transhumanism).
2. Liberation from nature (total technological domination).
3. Creation of a realm of pure mind (the metaverse, or simulated reality).

To create AI that surpasses humanity, then, is to reenact the final rebellion against the Creator’s limits. It is humankind once again eating from the Tree of Knowledge and declaring, “I will have no gods before me.” Musk’s “demon,” in this light, is not merely a risk—it is the symbol of a Promethean, blasphemous transcendence. The rise of this worldview is no coincidence. It responds to deep collective anxieties:

• Loss of meaning: In a secular world, the occult and the spiritual offer powerful narratives to explain evil and power.
• Technological incomprehensibility: AI is a “black box.” Using magical or demonic language is an archetypal way to describe something powerful yet ineffable.
• Critique of power: The growing sense that global elites—technological and financial—are detached or hostile to ordinary people finds a radical explanation in the idea that they adhere to an anti-human philosophy.

Elon Musk’s warning opened Pandora’s box. It reminded us that technology is never neutral—it carries a worldview within it. The conversation between Carlson and Flynn, however extreme it may sound, forces us to ask: What worldview is truly driving the race toward AI? Is it a cautious humanism—or a digital Gnosticism that, in seeking to become God, may end up meeting something far darker, something that looks very much like a demon? The answer to that question may determine not only the future of our technology, but the survival of our very human essence.

Rethinking Humanity in the Age of AI

Algorithms and ancient voices. Talking about Artificial Intelligence is practically unavoidable these days... What do we really have to be afraid of? It’s not the robots.
My latest on American Thinker.

Summer, at least in theory, is supposed to be the best time of year to reflect on ourselves and on the big questions of our age.  Maybe it’s the warm weather, which is often more suitable for thinking than for acting, or maybe it’s simply the fact that many people are on vacation and finally have time to ponder things.  Either way, talking about artificial intelligence (AI) these days is practically unavoidable.

For every intelligent and insightful thing we read or hear about this vast and complex topic, there are countless foolish or banal statements multiplying like the Gremlins in the 1984 movie.  A novel like Klara and the Sun (2021) by Kazuo Ishiguro, with its humanistic take on AI, is an example of the former; the constant oversimplifications that flood both old and new media are a perfect example of the latter.

One thing is certain: Talking about A.I. ultimately means talking about human beings.  Because no technology, not even the most advanced, is ever just lines of code or clever algorithms.  It always ends up reflecting our desires, our fears, our limits, and our hopes.  It’s no surprise that in this era, where AI is rapidly permeating every part of our lives, we’re witnessing both excitement and dread, rooted in the age-old questions philosophers and poets have been asking for millennia: Who are we?  What can we become?  What is our destiny?

And so, looking back to the great thinkers and writers of the past feels not just interesting, but necessary.

Nietzsche, for instance, would probably smirk at some of the fear surrounding A.I.  He spent his life urging mankind to fulfill its true potential — “Become who you are!” he said — and he’d likely argue that if it takes A.I. to free us from tedious chores, repetitive work, bookkeeping, or endless emails, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that.  It might even be a kind of Dionysian liberation: Let the machines handle the paperwork so we can dance, create, or watch the sun go down.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, the great voice of American transcendentalism — a thinker whom Nietzsche greatly admired — would likely agree.  He wrote, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”  Emerson’s faith in the power of the individual and in human progress would not have been shaken by the challenges of A.I.  He probably would have seen it as a tool to amplify human potential — so long as we remain true to our inner voice.  Used wisely, A.I. could be an ally in our journey toward self-determination, not a tyrant.

Still, we can’t ignore the risks of intoxication — or of hubris.  Technology, as Plato well knew, is a beautiful siren.  But it can deceive us.  It makes us believe we can do anything — even recreate consciousness itself.  And yet it’s amusing to think that Plato, for all his brilliance, could never have imagined ChatGPT, deepfake videos, or algorithms that can write poetry or love letters.  Even so, his question still floats in the air like a soul hovering in the realm of ideals: What is man?  And what will we become when the machine speaks with our voice?

Let’s be clear, though: A.I. itself isn’t frightening.  What’s frightening is humanity.  Shakespeare understood this well.  In Hamlet, he wrote, “What a piece of work is man!”  Yes, marvelous and noble...but also treacherous, petty, and cruel.  Deep down, we all know that the real monsters aren’t inside machines — they’re inside people.  Nietzsche would call it our will to power.  Or perhaps it’s simply our bloated ego, like that of the Roman emperor Tiberius, whom Montaigne mocked for caring more about his posthumous reputation than about living well among his contemporaries.

Dante knew this, too. He mapped out an entire journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise to show that human beings lose themselves — and find themselves again.  If today we’re getting lost among bits and bots, perhaps it’s simply the same old selva oscura, where the right path is easy to lose.  Who knows if an algorithm could ever serve as our Virgil and lead us out?  Maybe so — at least when it comes to giving us directions home on Google Maps.

Of course, we need to stay vigilant.  The danger is that we become so accustomed to comfort that we start outsourcing not only our tasks, but also our thinking, our critical spirit, and our memory of history — that we start treating the machine as an infallible oracle.  It’s at moments like this that we hear Montaigne’s slightly melancholic humor reminding us, “I do not teach; I tell a story.”  Well, A.I. tells stories, too.  The problem is that it doesn’t necessarily tell the truth.  And there lies a vast abyss, one that belongs less to the realm of technology and more to the domain of human judgment.

We shouldn’t buy into the idea of an AI-driven apocalypse.  But we should absolutely be worried about an apocalypse of the human spirit — about people who stop asking questions.  That’s the real danger.  The biggest risk is giving up on asking who we are, why we live, and what we truly want.  And if there’s one lesson that the classics — from Plato to Shakespeare, from Dante to Montaigne — teach us, it’s that doubt is life.  That there’s no truth without contradiction.  And that sometimes, as Sophocles said, “not knowing anything is the sweetest life.”

Perhaps AI will force us to redefine what it means to be human.  Maybe it will make us smarter.  Or lazier.  Or both at once.  But I’d like to believe we’ll learn to use it as a mirror in which to see ourselves more clearly, much like Montaigne in his tower, surrounded by his thousand books and the Greek and Latin maxims carved into the beams.

And there, perhaps, we’ll finally realize that if the future frightens us, it’s not AI’s fault.  It’s ours.  Because of our arrogance.  Or our laziness.

It must be said that humanity has never been closer to becoming truly master of itself.  We must just remember that machines can imitate many things — but not the sudden quickening of a human heart at the sight of a sunset, nor the mystery of a soul wondering why it exists.

If I Ever Found Myself Sinking into Depression

 

Cistercian Abbey of Follina (Tv, Italy)

My take on Marcello Veneziani's heartfelt oration in defense of Vittorio Sgarbi—now ravaged by depression—in the hope that he may rediscover his will to live and passion for all that made him famous. Click here for an Italian version of this post.

Marcello Veneziani has gifted us with a heartfelt oration in defense of Vittorio Sgarbi—a moving and intelligent tribute to the great art critic, now ravaged by depression—in the hope that he may rediscover his will to live and passion for all that made him famous. An exhortation that will likely linger in the minds of Marcello’s readers, as well as Sgarbi’s admirers, tailored so precisely to its subject that it holds no universal value. Because Sgarbi is truly one of a kind—an Oscar Wilde-like figure, a Po Valley Dorian Gray, both carnal and spiritual, a hedonist yet open to the sacred all at once.

Yet beyond the merits of Veneziani’s article and the truths so vividly evoked, I found myself reflecting—in a way that mirrors my own inner world. In short, I wondered what I would need to hear from a friend, ideally one as inspired as Veneziani, if it were me falling into depression. After all, I’m around the same age, with my own share of aches and pains. By the grace of God, though, I’m not depressed.

Hermitage of Camaldoli (Ar, Italy)

Well, the answer comes to me easily: I’d want to hear a heartfelt plea for silence. The silence I’ve known and revered since my youth—ever since I was fortunate enough to cross the threshold of a Benedictine, Cistercian, or Trappist monastery, or a Camaldolese hermitage, and savor their stillness, broken only by Gregorian chant and the measured, monotonous footsteps of monks pacing the cloisters. And those scents, those stones, those Romanesque columns, the well at the center, the chime of a bell calling the faithful to the Liturgy of the Hours before dawn or at twilight.

   Cistercian monks

I’ve told myself a thousand times that, by some miracle, there’s a silent monastery within me, enclosed within the walls of my body and soul. And inside it, there’s profound peace—even if only for a moment, before being overtaken by a loud, overwhelming wave of reality. But only temporarily, because sooner or later, that inner hermitage inevitably resurfaces and restores the silence. And in that absence of noise, somehow, everything around me regains meaning, becoming something worth caring about again. A Camaldolese monk once gave me a definition of that mystery: a silence inhabited by God.

Yes, I believe that if I were to plunge into depression, the only exhortation with any real chance of reaching me would be an invitation to let myself be enveloped by a silence inhabited by God.

 

O America!

 What is at stake on November 5 is the idea of America *

During these pre-election weeks, a two-word phrase  keeps coming to my mind. The phrase is the title of a book I read in my 20s, O America, by Luigi Barzini. These two words are somehow a concise but accurate summary of what I think and feel about this election—and what’s at stake in this election. Subtitled When You and I Were Young, the book is a reflective memoir where the author reminisces about his time in the U.S. from 1925 to 1930. The son of one of the most brilliant journalists of Italy during the war years, Barzini arrived in the U.S. as a young man full of hopes and illusions, and he uses this book to explore his personal experiences and impressions of a rapidly modernizing America. Through a poetic and nostalgic lens, he portrays a vibrant and youthful America, detailing the culture, challenges, and unique aspects of American society as seen through the eyes of a young immigrant.

My approach to contemporary America, and the tremendous challenges it faces, foremost among them the upcoming presidential elections, is a bit less poetic and nostalgic and a bit more dramatic. The stakes are incredibly high and the only literary genre allowed is tragic theater. Then again, as Victor Davis Hanson suggested, Donald J. Trump might embody the characteristics of a tragic hero in the ancient Greek sense, and the entire complex reality of American history in these years can be seen through the lens of tragedy—and we know, since Nietzsche, that if tragic language is born “from the spirit of music,” the tragic scene is born from the vision of the lyrical poet. Hence, perhaps, in the present days, my inclination towards poetic invocations, such as Barzini’s “O America,” or Langston Hughes’s poem “Let America Be America Again”:

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.
…

But really, in just a few words, how could we express what is at stake on November 5, the 60th presidential election in United States history? Let’s say that, beyond the many issues on which the lives of millions of Americans—and very likely billions of people around the world—depend, what is most at stake is an idea: the idea of America. ‘Things change, the world changes, we cannot remain loyal to outdated concepts and values.’ So say the enemies of that idea (even though, of course, they deny being so). But the truth is that the idea of America, far from being subject to fads, fancies, and chatter of Hollywood stars and mainstream media gurus, must be seen, so to speak, sub specie aeternitatis (in the perspective of eternity).

The American experiment began with a revolutionary idea that a nation could be founded on the principles of democracy, equality, and liberty.  The wager was that a coherent, stable culture allowing the greatest possible freedom of religious and political thought and expression could actually be created. The idea of America envisions a society where all people can pursue their dreams and live without oppression. When the Founding Fathers wrote about “the pursuit of happiness” in the Declaration of Independence, they referred to an individual’s right to seek a fulfilling and meaningful life. This phrase implies that people are entitled not only to basic freedoms but also to the chance to improve their lives, pursue passions, make choices, and seek well-being, however they define it. Happiness, in this sense, is more than pleasure; it’s about purpose, dignity, and the opportunity for personal and social growth. The government’s role, as envisioned by the Founders, is to protect these rights so each person can freely pursue their version of happiness without undue restriction.

Unfortunately, in our days, certain societal forces—such as unchecked globalization, identity politics, and the erosion of national borders—are diminishing the traditional role of citizenship in the United States. Yet, a meaningful and unified American identity, based on shared values, is essential for sustaining the nation’s democratic fabric. The American founding ideals rely on a cohesive sense of citizenship, which fosters individual liberties and collective responsibility. Without revitalizing these values, America risks losing its unique democratic spirit and the social cohesion that has historically defined it.

Victor Davis Hanson

In his books—such as The Dying Citizen and Mexifornia—articles and lectures, Victor Davis Hanson often points to historical precedents from classical civilizations, comparing modern challenges to those faced by ancient Greece and Rome, where similar internal divisions and weakened citizenship led to political decline. “America,” he writes in The Dying Citizen,” was always about self-governing citizens who took pride in their country, were autonomous and self-sufficient, and who recognized that citizenship implied both rights and responsibilities.” Here he emphasizes that the American ideal is built on the concept of responsible citizenship and individual sovereignty, viewing these core values as essential to preserving freedom and democracy. Real lovers of America must advocate for a return to a robust concept of citizenship that honors American principles of self-governance and national sovereignty, aware that without these ideals American society risks losing the cohesion and vitality that make it unique.

That said, we can return to the point where we started and add that there are an increasing number of people who, thanks to the good ideas and prodigious tenacity of Donald J. Trump, look forward with hope and confidence to the approaching historic moment. Of course, if “The Chosen One” loses, most likely everything—along with the idea of America—is lost. But this is not going to be the case. O, America, in you we trust. And may God always bless the United States of America.

* An Italian version of this article is being published in Atlantico magazine.

Luck or God?

My latest on American Thinker.

My take on a timeless, but very current, issue. Many top Republican officials have embraced divine intervention -- “the hand of God” -- to help explain how former president Donald J. Trump survived the recent assassination attempt. By crediting “luck or God” for saving him from the assassination attempt, Trump was cautious, but “open”. He showed statesmanlike wisdom. We ordinary citizens and Christians can afford to go a little further. Personally and honestly, I feel like believing that the world witnessed another miracle performed by God on July 13, 2024. I believe that God spared Ronald Reagan and St. John Paul II for a reason. Likewise, God spared Donald Trump for a reason.

There are questions that mankind has always been seeking answers to, not only through reason and argumentation but through intuition, faith, or direct experience. One of them concerns miracles. Christians believe that the Almighty God communicates with humans in various ways, one of which is through particular events in history or in the present. To be sure, believing that a specific event is actually “a message from Above,” or a miracle, is a personal decision for each individual.

We believers know well that from a Christian perspective the understanding of God’s will can be nuanced and is often viewed as both accessible and mysterious. In other words, you cannot treat what you believe in like something taken from Walmart: chosen, paid for, packaged, and brought home. You cannot take the things we believe in and put them in your pocket: the moment you pronounce their names they escape you because in most cases they belong to the realm of symbols, which by nature allude to something that is hidden, that is elusive. Therefore, for one thing, it is useless to counter our statements from a rationalistic or positivistic standpoint. What purpose do self-referential objections and counter-objections serve? Nobody wants to convince anyone: it would be futile and senseless.

Just recently many top Republican officials were embracing divine intervention -- “the hand of God” -- to help explain how former president Donald J. Trump survived the recent assassination attempt. “The most incredible thing was that I happened to not only turn [my head] but to turn at the exact right time and in just the right amount,” Trump himself said. He also credited “luck or God” for saving him from would-be assassin Thomas Matthew Crooks’s bullet.

Understanding God’s specific will for individual situations can be particularly challenging. There is an acknowledgment that God’s ways and thoughts are higher than human ways and thoughts: [...]  

 

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America’s Descent into Madness and Back

My latest on American Thinker.

Several indicators suggest that a shift in public sentiment is taking place

It’s become almost a cliché that the United States of America, once a shining beacon of freedom to the world, is increasingly becoming less of a model and more of a bad experiment of political culture, a country that is losing its moral compass and is becoming more and more dysfunctional with each passing year. Until some time ago such kinds of observations were typical of left-wing intellectuals and activists, but in the last few months/years they have become bipartisan, though of course for opposite reasons.

One of the maîtres à penser—probably the most prominent one—of this new approach to understanding the evolution—or, better, involution—of American political culture is Victor Davis Hanson, a senior fellow in military history at the Hoover Institution at Stanford University and a professor emeritus of classics at California State University, Fresno. A good summary of his views on how America has changed in these past few years is a recent American Greatness article that explains how, by whom and for what purpose American civilization has been turned upside down, which is why “we have a rendezvous soon with the once unthinkable and unimaginable.” In the last six months, he says, we have borne witness to a series of iconic moments evidencing a self-induced collapse of American culture. “The signs are everywhere,” he explains, “and cover the gamut of politics, the economy, education, social life, popular culture, foreign policy, and the military.”  Although he doesn’t explicitly say it, the implicit message is that America is descending into a sort of madness.

How else can we explain why the Biden administration fled from Afghanistan, leaving behind billions of dollars of advanced military weaponry and equipment in the hands of Taliban?  Or why has the Pentagon revolutionized the entire system of recruitment, promotions, and tenure in the armed forces, “by predicating them in large part on race, gender, and sexual orientation rather than merit or battlefield efficacy?” [...]  

 

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Ron DeSantis’s War on Woke

My latest on American Thinker.

There is no politician who better understands that Woke is an existential threat to America

Ron DeSantis calls himself the governor of the state “where woke goes to die,” and his track record of accomplishments in the fight against wokeness as governor of Florida – which he believes will be a model for his presidency of the whole country – has caught the attention of many across the country.  Take Senate Bill 266, which prohibits Florida’s public universities from spending money on programs or activities that “advocate for diversity, equity and inclusion or promote or engage in political or social activism” and weakens tenure protection for professors. Or House Bill 1069, dubbed by critics as “Don’t say gay,” which liberates teachers and students from having to use fashionable nonstandard pronouns. The law also expands existing parental authority over a child’s education by extending the existing prohibition on instruction relating to sexual orientation and gender identity in kindergarten through grade 3 to include prekindergarten through grade 8 and expressly stating that charter schools must comply with this requirement. The bill also requires that instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity in grades 9 through 12 be age-appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students. A review process is also established that allows parents to object to inappropriate books in schools and requires school boards to discontinue the use of any material the board doesn’t allow a parent to read aloud in public meetings.

As former diplomat and host of “DeSantisland” podcast Dave Seminara summarizes [...]  

 

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