Understanding Humanity Through Political Philosophy

The fundamental question that underpins all political philosophy is, quite simply, what is wrong with humans? The Bible offers answers that can change perspectives entirely.

This week, as New York celebrated the candidate supported by Mayor Zoran Mamdani, I recalled his words following his victory. He expressed gratitude, stating, “Praise be to Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.” Naturally, discussions quickly veered towards his political views. With the 25th anniversary of 9/11 approaching, his public expression of faith certainly concerns many.

While government can mitigate the impact of evil, the human mind itself remains unchangeable.

These conversations are significant, but I found myself reflecting on a different angle.

Gratitude serves as a window into our beliefs about reality. People express thankfulness for various reasons—some cite their fortune, others the market, and some even express appreciation for themselves. It’s fascinating, really, how our gratitude can highlight our faith in what governs our lives.

Mayor Mamdani’s acknowledgment of Allah extends beyond personal expression; it signifies recognition of a higher authority. Theology isn’t confined to sacred spaces; its influence spills into the public realm, affecting our institutions, governance, and even our choices at the ballot box.

This theological framework shapes our views on humanity, ultimately leading us to philosophical conversations about politics.

Many Americans may think they’re discussing straightforward issues like taxes, healthcare, and education. Yet, at the heart of every political debate lies a crucial question: What is wrong with humans?

Each political ideology has its own perspective on this.

Take, for example, the viewpoint that humans are fundamentally good. Here, the focus shifts to external factors: the systems in place, the economy—if we just fix these, people will flourish.

This belief explains why socialism remains appealing. If people are inherently good but thwarted by corrupt structures, then restructuring becomes a moral imperative. A better society emerges from better systems.

In contrast, the Bible starts from a different foundation.

Jeremiah reflected on the human heart, referring to it as deceitful and badly flawed. Jesus highlighted that negative traits like greed and envy stem from within. Similarly, Paul mentions our fallibility in his letters to the Romans, noting that “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

If the Biblical perspective holds, then no political arrangement can rectify humanity’s gravest dilemmas.

The Reformers recognized that sin affects not only individuals but every aspect of human existence. Though capable of creating beauty and showing kindness, people remain flawed.

These beliefs shaped the founders of the Constitution. They didn’t draft a governing document believing in “essentially good people.” Instead, they aimed to establish a framework for “sinners.”

Power was divided intentionally; they understood that corrupt individuals could be amplified by power rather than sanctified by it.

The greatest achievement of the Framers was their trust in checks and balances over self-reliance, allowing for collective growth and improvement in governance.

These checks don’t reflect a naive optimism but a realistic assessment of human nature. They recognize that neither authority nor popular vote can resolve deep-rooted issues.

Such a perspective should influence our views on wealth. Whenever immense wealth is present, people often ask how that wealth can be utilized. Elon Musk’s considerable fortune has drawn attention to this very question.

It’s interesting to note what’s often implicitly assumed: that we, with our perceived purity of intent, will handle it well.

Consider the story of Mary anointing Jesus with costly oil—Judas critiques her choice, suggesting the money could have been better spent on the poor. At first glance, his argument seems reasonable, but John reveals that Judas’s motives were far less altruistic.

There’s a type of generosity that leaves us feeling noble while spending another’s resources. It’s easy to cast judgement on others but hard to scrutinize our own motives.

When faced with divine scrutiny, the question won’t be about others’ actions but rather about how we positioned our own resources.

And trust me, it’s not just about money. This applies to families, communities, opportunities—how we manage each of these underscores our own beliefs.

Political dialogue often asks, “Who should wield control?” Meanwhile, stewardship questions, “What will you do with what has been entrusted to you?”

Good governance, rule of law, and institutional accountability matter, but they can only curb existing evils; they can’t create what’s missing.

Government wields a sword while Christ calls us to take up a cross.

Yes, government can mitigate some of the chaos, but it cannot change the human heart.

What’s necessary is more profound than improved systems; we need new hearts.