Politics, Religion, Life and Self Governance

← Read the short invitation

Gregory Absten
November 1, 2026 — intended for circulation after the November 3 elections

A Note Before We Begin

Mom always said it was impolite to discuss politics or religion in public because it could lead to arguments. There is some wisdom in that advice, but these subjects influence nearly everything we do as individuals and as a society. We cannot simply avoid them. We can, however, learn to discuss them without turning people who disagree with us into enemies.

This essay includes strong political opinions, but it is not an endorsement of a political party or candidate. It is an invitation to consider two questions: What do we really believe, and how should we then live? I hope each reader, myself included, will examine not only the beliefs we claim to hold but how faithfully our decisions, actions, and relationships reflect them. Our differences should provoke thought and discussion, not personal hostility. I wrote this essay myself, using AI only to assist with research and the editing of this revision. If you want a short read just read the summary below, and if interested please read the entire essay.

For those that wish to continue reading – please do.

I am a longtime Republican who has also been registered as an independent, and I have never been a Democrat. I have voted for candidates from both major parties. I oppose President Trump and many policies of his administration, and I intend to return to independent registration. I say that openly because readers deserve to know my perspective. Yet I have close friends and family members who strongly support him. My brother and I are about as far apart politically as two people can be. We sometimes struggle to understand each other’s conclusions, but we share many underlying values, remain close, and would help each other without hesitation. Our political differences do not cancel our love for one another. If we can do that in a family, perhaps our country can learn to do it too.

Our political conversations have become dominated by fear, insults, accusations, and the assumption that every disagreement must produce a winner and a loser. I hope we can raise up a different kind of leader: a statesman or stateswoman who listens, cooperates, admits mistakes, and works toward the common good. Before expecting that of our leaders, though, we must ask whether we practice those qualities ourselves.

What Do We Really Believe?

People who truly believe something should be willing to act on it. That sounds simple, but our beliefs are often inconsistent, incomplete, or inherited without much examination. We may defend a political party while overlooking conduct we would condemn in its opponents. We may profess compassion while dismissing the needs of people unfamiliar to us. We may declare our devotion to truth while avoiding information that challenges our opinions.

The problem is not always dishonesty. Two sincere people may observe the same events and reach very different conclusions. We select different evidence, give different weight to competing concerns, and bring different experiences to the question. That does not mean every claim is equally true. It means we owe one another—and ourselves—the discipline of checking facts, reconsidering assumptions, and separating what we know from what we merely suspect.

The film A Few Good Men dramatized our discomfort with unwelcome facts in the famous confrontation in which Jack Nicholson’s character shouts, “You can’t handle the truth!” Sometimes we cannot, or at least do not want to. If the facts threaten our loyalties or self-image, the temptation is to look away. Social media amplifies that tendency. We gather in echo chambers where familiar opinions are repeated and dissenting voices are filtered out. The result can resemble a thermostat wired backward: the hotter the argument becomes, the more heat the system adds.

For me, faith also plays a central role in seeking truth. I believe God’s Holy Spirit guides the individual conscience. Yet I know that sincere Christians can read the same passage of Scripture and disagree about its application. That reality should produce humility rather than certainty that one’s own interpretation licenses contempt for others. Listening carefully does not require us to surrender our convictions.

The Crisis of Trust

I believe our political divisions are symptoms of problems that have developed over decades. Economic insecurity, the erosion of opportunities for many middle-class families, growing concentrations of wealth, and suspicion that institutions serve the powerful have weakened public trust. When people feel ignored, they become more receptive to anger, conspiracies, and promises that one forceful leader can solve everything. Donald Trump did not invent those conditions. In my judgment, his political rise reflects them, even as his rhetoric and conduct have intensified some of the divisions.

Let me be clear: there is nothing inherently wrong with earning money or becoming wealthy. The biblical patriarch Abraham was a man of considerable means. First Timothy 6:10 warns of the love of money, not the mere possession of it. The moral question is what we are willing to do to acquire wealth or power, and whose welfare we are prepared to sacrifice along the way.

Trust is the foundation of representative government. We entrust elected officials with authority because we believe they will use their best judgment to serve the public, even when we disagree with particular decisions. Character therefore matters. So do honesty, humility, competence, and a willingness to accept accountability. I am more inclined to trust a person who acknowledges a mistake and corrects it than one who insists that every action was perfect.

My confidence in the present administration is very low. I am troubled by its treatment of immigrants, its approach to alliances and international conflicts, the influence of private financial interests, and the rhetoric used against critics. Some of the administration’s supporters see the same policies as necessary or effective. They deserve a fair hearing, but the administration itself also deserves rigorous scrutiny. Promises must be measured against results. Claims about crime, prices, national security, public expenditures, and immigration should be tested against evidence—not accepted because they come from our preferred leaders.

This concern is larger than Trump. Congress, both political parties, and successive administrations have contributed to a system in which campaigning, fundraising, and maintaining power can crowd out the work of governing. An enormous flow of money into elections encourages dependence on donors and special interests. The sheer scale of that spending is hard to reconcile with the unmet needs of people who lack adequate food, shelter, or medical care. Even when political spending is lawful, we should ask whether it serves democracy well.

I am especially disturbed when fear is used to divide us by nationality, race, or religion. Our Constitution does not reserve citizenship rights or eligibility for public office to people who share one religion or ancestry. If a Muslim citizen meets the legal qualifications to run for office, the proper response of someone who opposes that candidate is to vote against the candidate—not to demand exclusion on religious grounds. We should remember the suspicion directed at John F. Kennedy because he was Catholic. Prejudice does not become a constitutional principle merely because it is popular with a political faction.

We can support lawful immigration enforcement while insisting on due process, proportionate treatment, and human dignity. We can defend the country without demonizing entire populations. We can reject criminal behavior without assigning guilt to people who merely resemble the offender in language, appearance, nationality, or faith. When our treatment of others contradicts our stated principles, we should recognize the contradiction.

The Constitution and the Purpose of Government

We already possess a remarkable framework for living together despite our differences: the United States Constitution. Anyone who speaks passionately about what government should do ought to become familiar with what that document actually says. Those who believe it should change have a legitimate constitutional path for seeking amendments. Neither political enthusiasm nor religious conviction places us above the law.

The Preamble names the purposes of our union: establishing justice, ensuring domestic tranquility, providing for the common defense, promoting the general welfare, and securing liberty for ourselves and our posterity. Those words are more than ceremonial. They provide standards against which we can evaluate what our government does.

Domestic tranquility is not advanced by deliberately provoking hatred among citizens. The common defense is not a blank check for reckless aggression. Promoting the general welfare requires attention to the public’s needs, not just the fortunes of those with influence. Securing liberty requires checks and balances, independent institutions, and a government accountable to law rather than one person. I support a strong national defense. I also believe military force and our obligations to allies demand sober judgment and an honest account of their purpose and consequences.

In frustration, I once rewrote the Preamble as a satire in which the wealthy and influential formed a nation to protect their own assets and privileges. It was exaggerated intentionally. But satire can expose a genuine concern: a government meant to serve We the People can gradually become preoccupied with serving those already closest to power.

I do not advocate revolution or violence. I am calling for a reset in our expectations of public service. Congress must exercise its constitutional responsibilities, including oversight of the executive branch. The courts must remain independent. Civil servants who keep government functioning from one administration to another deserve recognition and fair evaluation. Waste and inefficiency must be addressed, but government cannot be measured solely by the standards of a profit-making corporation. Its purpose includes meeting public needs that markets alone may not meet.

Consider humanitarian assistance. Beyond any strategic benefit to the nation, helping people who are hungry, sick, or displaced reflects values many Americans claim to hold. Programs should be audited for effectiveness and waste, but dismantling assistance without seriously considering the human consequences is not sound stewardship. A policy may reduce an expenditure while imposing a much greater cost on vulnerable people—and eventually on our country as well.

I would like us to examine substantial reforms to our political system. Congressional term limits deserve serious discussion. So do stronger safeguards against conflicts of interest, greater transparency in campaign finance, and lawful ways to reduce undue influence by large donors and organizations. I question whether rigid party loyalties now discourage legislators from exercising independent judgment. Perhaps we should create more room for representatives who are not beholden to either major party.

I do not pretend that abolishing parties or prohibiting certain forms of political spending would be simple—or even constitutional under present law. Proposed reforms require careful legal analysis, and reasonable people may disagree about the best mechanism. But disagreement about a solution should not prevent us from agreeing on the objective: a government of representatives who are knowledgeable, honest, accountable, and more interested in serving the people than in winning a perpetual partisan contest.

Some will call that naive. I remember John Lennon’s song Imagine and its acknowledgment that the person with such hopes may be called a dreamer, yet is not alone. We will never design a perfect government. But progress begins by imagining standards worth pursuing and then taking practical steps toward them.

Faith and the Freedom of Conscience

We now arrive at the deeper part of my question: how should religious convictions shape our conduct in political life?

I believe in God, in Jesus Christ, and in the value of biblical teaching. I also believe in the separation of church and state. These positions are not contradictory. Government must protect the rights of citizens who hold different faiths or none at all. That does not require believers to abandon their convictions when voting or serving in public office. It does require us to recognize that our personal religious beliefs do not automatically become binding civil law for everyone else.

No party has a monopoly on God’s approval. I learned something about that in the early 1980s when I was active in a Baptist church during the rise of the Moral Majority. I welcomed the idea that Christians should take moral questions seriously in public affairs. What became increasingly clear, however, was that Christians did not speak with one uniform political voice. We could share a faith yet disagree about policy, priorities, and the application of Scripture.

Sincerity matters as much as public religious language. A few years ago, I contacted a chimney contractor whose vehicle displayed prominent Christian messages. During his visit, he spoke repeatedly about his faith and then insisted that a relatively minor repair would require an expensive reconstruction because of current building codes. A city building official subsequently told me the existing structure could be repaired without that work; another contractor completed the repair at a fraction of the quoted cost. I cannot know the first contractor’s inner motives, but the contrast between his religious presentation and the advice I received left me wary. Religious language is not evidence of integrity. Integrity must be demonstrated in conduct.

Jesus addressed the difference between sincere devotion and religious performance in Matthew 6:5–6, warning against prayer intended to attract admiration and counseling private prayer. He was not prohibiting all public or congregational prayer. He was challenging the motive behind it. That distinction also matters when politicians invoke God before an audience. We should judge neither every public prayer as hypocrisy nor every religious declaration as proof of virtue.

Romans 14 supplies another principle that is especially important in a pluralistic society. Paul discusses believers who disagree about what they may eat and about the observance of particular days. He cautions them against despising or condemning each other over matters of conscience. His advice is that each person should be persuaded in his or her own mind and should act with concern for the conscience of others. This is not a declaration that every action is morally acceptable. It recognizes that some questions permit sincere differences without making one person the enemy of another.

I believe that principle is applicable far beyond the dinner table. If Christians who share Scripture must exercise humility about certain differences among themselves, how much more care should they take when dealing with fellow citizens of other traditions? A Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, Sikh, Taoist, atheist, or person of another belief deserves the same civic dignity and constitutional protection. We do not have to agree on the path to salvation—or even on whether there is one—to treat one another fairly.

The Bible also teaches discernment and, at times, separation from those who persistently divide or harm a community. Titus 3:10–11 addresses a divisive person after repeated warnings. Romans 16:17 cautions against those who create divisions contrary to what believers have been taught. First Corinthians 5 discusses serious misconduct within the church. These passages should not be turned into a general license to reject anyone with an unfamiliar opinion. They address particular behavior and responsibilities within communities of faith.

Other passages place limits on how separation is carried out. Second Thessalonians 3:15 says not to regard the person being admonished as an enemy, but as a brother. Ephesians 4:15 calls for truth spoken in love. Second Timothy 2:24–25 urges gentleness and patience in correction. Most directly, Jesus commands love even for enemies in Matthew 5:44.

Taken together, these teachings suggest a demanding but coherent approach. We may oppose a person’s actions without denying that person’s dignity. We may correct someone without humiliating them. We may establish boundaries without hatred. We may remain firm in our convictions while acknowledging that we ourselves can be mistaken. Love does not require approval of every behavior, but disagreement does not release us from the obligation to love.

Seeing the Person Behind the Conflict

This brings me to a personal experience that has stayed with me for decades.

As a young student on a clinical rotation in a children’s hospital intensive care unit, I saw a child brought in after a car accident. Her face was heavily bandaged, and when she regained consciousness she could not see what was happening around her. Frightened and disoriented, she began thrashing, pulling at lines, and upsetting equipment. The staff urgently considered how to control the situation, including sedation. I wondered whether she simply needed someone to tell her where she was.

I leaned close to her ear and spoke calmly. I explained that she had been in an accident, that she was in a hospital, and that people were caring for her. She quieted almost immediately.

I do not tell this story to criticize the experienced medical staff. They were responding to an urgent and potentially dangerous situation. What I learned was something more personal: behavior that appears disruptive or threatening may be rooted in fear, confusion, or pain. Sometimes recognizing the frightened human being behind the behavior changes everything.

That experience influences how I think about people I strongly oppose, including President Trump. I disapprove of much of his conduct and many of his policies. I also wonder what personal fears, ambitions, or longings may lie behind the public image. I cannot know his private spiritual life or psychological motives, and I do not claim to. But as a Christian, I believe he deserves the same opportunity for grace, humility, and spiritual growth as anyone else. My disagreement does not put me above him in God’s sight.

Christianity teaches me that salvation is not a prize earned through wealth, fame, achievement, or political success. It is a gift of grace received through faith in Jesus Christ. I would hope that any person struggling to win acceptance could find peace in that message. Concern for another person’s soul need not imply support for that person’s behavior. Indeed, honest opposition and genuine compassion may coexist.

This distinction also helps me consider people of other religions. It is easy to hear the word jihad and associate every Muslim with terrorism. Yet in Islamic traditions, jihad can refer to striving in God’s cause, including moral and spiritual struggle; in other contexts it has also referred to armed struggle. Its meanings and limits have been interpreted differently over time. We should neither erase the history of violence committed in religion’s name nor assign responsibility for that violence to every adherent. Christianity, too, has been invoked by people whose acts are profoundly inconsistent with the compassion many Christians profess.

Galatians 5:17 describes the conflict between the flesh and the Spirit. I see a broad parallel with the challenge of disciplining selfish impulses in other religious traditions, while recognizing that their doctrines are not identical. The useful lesson for civic life is simple: judge individuals by what they actually do, not by stereotypes attached to their religious identity.

How Should We Then Live?

The title of Francis Schaeffer’s 1976 book How Should We Then Live? captures a question that has long interested me. Schaeffer argued that Western civilization was weakening its moral foundation and that a preoccupation with personal comfort and prosperity could leave citizens willing to sacrifice principle and liberty. One need not accept every part of his interpretation of history to take that warning seriously. What happens when people become so concerned with preserving their own security that they stop asking whether the system is just?

I believe our answer must begin at home. We should examine our beliefs, seek evidence for them, and admit when we have been wrong. We should listen carefully to those who disagree and avoid treating every difference as a test of loyalty. We should speak honestly but without needless cruelty. The standard we demand of our leaders should be the standard we apply to ourselves.

We also need to participate. Read the Constitution—especially its Preamble—and understand the responsibilities of our elected representatives. Contact local, state, and federal officials about matters important to you. Thank them when they act with integrity. When they disappoint you, say so clearly and respectfully. Encourage specific good behavior rather than merely rewarding the loudest partisan attacks. Seek candidates who can cooperate without abandoning principle.

Before reposting an inflammatory claim on Facebook or another platform, pause. Is it accurate? Where did it originate? Have I heard the other side? Am I trying to inform others or merely to provoke them? Sometimes the most useful thing we can do is decline to amplify an insult. When we do respond, we can explain our differences without calling names or questioning another person’s humanity.

We should also remember those who are overlooked in political arguments: people who are hungry, homeless, ill, frightened, or struggling to support their families. A society’s moral character is revealed partly in how it treats people with little power. Our obligations of compassion do not disappear at a state or national boundary, although the practical responsibilities of government must be debated and balanced.

Some may think meaningful reform is impossible. I do not. I have no complete blueprint for restructuring our political system, and I know that even good proposals involve compromises. But I believe a great deal can change when enough citizens reward honesty, competence, compassion, and principled cooperation instead of spectacle and hostility. A rising tide should lift all boats, not only the yachts.

So what do we really believe, and how should we then live? Our beliefs have little value unless they are reflected in the way we treat other people. We can disagree profoundly over politics, religion, and policy without surrendering integrity or respect. We can oppose wrongdoing without hatred. We can be guided by personal faith while defending the civil rights of those who do not share it. We can strive for a more just government without pretending any leader—or any one of us—is perfect.

For Christians, these are not merely convenient rules of civility. They are obligations of faith. For others, they may stand as principles of sound citizenship and human decency. Either way, the work begins with each of us: one conversation, one act of kindness, one well-considered vote, and one honest effort at a time.

We should seek understanding without surrendering our principles. Respecting those with whom we disagree does not mean remaining silent about conduct we believe is wrong. It means having the courage to speak honestly while exercising the humility to listen, reconsider, and recognize the humanity of those who see things differently. After all, even dead fish can float downstream. Living according to our convictions sometimes requires swimming against the current.

Perhaps a perfect system of government will have to await the second coming of Christ. In the meantime, we have work to do here on earth.

May God look after us all, in spite of ourselves.

Gregory Absten
Absten@LaserTraining.org