Reflections on Political Ideologies and Power

Throughout my career, I’ve been surrounded by individuals who proudly identify as communists or democratic socialists, and some who admire figures like Bernie Sanders. In faculty meetings, it often becomes clear that the shades of red in political ideology are, well, quite varied.

It seems that the American experiment was never about creating perfect people; instead, it relies on a moral understanding that no government can wholly replace moral renewal. Given the growing support for self-identified socialists among young voters in areas like New York, many Americans might wonder what such a political shift could truly entail if it were to gain actual power. Mayor Mamdani suggests that no issue is too significant—or minor—for government intervention.

Let’s pause for a bit and engage in a thought experiment. What if Karl Marx was onto something?

Imagine if the wealth of the richest families was solely built upon exploitation, favoritism, and corruption. What if wealth came only at the expense of others?

Even if we concede that premise, where does that lead us? I can already hear you thinking, “Is the professor okay? Has academia finally taken its toll?”

But seriously, it’s crucial to ask the hard questions that many socialists seem to avoid.

When politicians assert that the government can solve every problem, control every industry, subsidize every need, and redistribute every inequality, they demand a remarkable level of trust. Listen closely to their words—there’s often an underlying belief that if the government just extends its hand enough, every issue can be addressed.

Yet, why does this idea persist? It’s puzzling. Why would anyone subscribe to a belief system that views individuals as corrupt outside of government, yet expects them to act altruistically once they hold public office?

If concentrated wealth is seen as corrupting, why would consolidating more power in the hands of the state eliminate that corruption? The irony is profound.

The democratic socialist says, “Grant me power so that you can be free,” but isn’t there a contradiction there?

History tends to repeat itself. Consider the French Revolution, which condemned the aristocracy, or the Russian Revolution, which criticized both the bourgeoisie and the Tsar. Various communist revolutions in Asia and Latin America began by uncovering corruption among the wealthy elite.

While some criticisms are, no doubt, accurate—wealth can indeed stem from dishonesty and oppression—the proposed socialist solutions often introduce even graver risks.

Revolutionaries argue that the wealthy possess too much power and propose creating institutions with far greater authority. A wealthy individual might own billions, but states can wield trillions. A powerful person may influence an industry, yet the state can regulate the entire market.

If those in power misuse it, what makes anyone think that granting virtually unlimited authority to a select few will solve the issue?

History has shown us that communist governments often follow a disheartening pattern. They begin with promises of justice, equality, and safety for the poor but often devolve into repression, stagnation, and a ruling class that surpasses the privileges of previous elites. Sometimes, it even ends very violently.

Even if Marx was right in identifying human exploitation, he fundamentally erred in believing that such tendencies would vanish once the same individuals entered government. Government is composed of people—flawed, imperfect beings. No salary or title magically transforms them into angels.

This presents an interesting but severe contrast. Those who profess to distrust wealthy individuals often grant remarkable levels of trust to politicians wielding powers beyond those of any billionaire.

And if corruption is inherently linked to power, why do governments seem so confident they can act without consequence?

I’ve observed similar contradictions among the radical left in academia. They decry oppression and abuse but often promote friends and silence dissent once they take power.

The founders of America faced this challenge firsthand. They recognized that power corrupts, understanding that human nature is inherently flawed. James Madison famously noted that if humans were angels, the need for government would be nonexistent. Their solution? To create checks on government power—through separation of powers and balances—so that no one entity could accumulate excessive authority.

Ultimately, they acknowledged a vital truth modern politics frequently overlooks: political systems can’t rectify the human heart.

John Adams warned that the Constitution was designed for “a moral and religious people,” hinting at its inadequacy for others.

His emphasis wasn’t that Christians are free from sin, but that a functioning government requires a populace capable of self-governance. When people lack the ability to govern themselves morally, the government expands to control them externally.

This is a lesson America risks forgetting as it prepares for its 250th anniversary. Our greatest threats don’t just come from the expanding state or rising inequality—I believe that political power isn’t equipped to mend the human condition.

No, Marx’s approach is doomed to repeat its grim history of failure. Whether oppression comes from wealthy corporations or an all-consuming government, humans persist in abusing power due to their nature.

Now, democratic socialists are enticing young voters with promises of dismantling wealth and providing endless freebies, all while manipulating constitutional structures for consolidation of power and, frankly, committing election fraud.

The American experiment rests not on forging perfect citizens but on the understanding that no governmental system can replace the need for moral renewal.

What’s alarming is that if enough Americans forsake what’s sacred and beneficial, merely having checks and balances won’t prevent exploitation by a socialist regime.

Christianity offers solutions that penetrate the human heart, the foundation of economics and politics. Jesus told Nicodemus that he must be reborn.

The gospel transcends mere wealth redistribution—it transforms both rich and poor. It encourages generosity over greed, service over tyranny, and humility over arrogance out of a love for God instead of fear of government.

Without such transformation, every revolution merely replaces one ruling class with another. Perhaps the most significant achievement of America, after 250 years, is not in discovering a flawless political system, but in recognizing that no political structure can save us. Only Christ can.

A truly free republic can only be preserved by a redeemed people. And such redemption is not wrought by the state but through the redemptive work of Jesus Christ.