I thought I’d take a break from politics because I’m sickened and depressed by it. But given the last couple of days—and how they remind me of something I grew up with—I can’t let it go without a few comments.

Recently, President Trump made a number of boastful comments. On Wednesday, August 21st, he proclaimed, “I am the chosen one,” speaking of his taking on China in a trade war that might be destroying our economy. Yes, he later said, the comment was meant as a joke. But was it? I wonder because on the same day that morning Trump quoted a tweet by Wayne Allyn Root (evangelical, conspiracy theorist and conservative writer) that “the Jewish people in Israel love him [Trump] like he’s the King of Israel. They love him like he is the second coming of God!” Note the lack of awareness that Jews believe that the Messiah has not yet come once, let alone twice. Jews don’t believe in the “second coming.” Note also, the conflation of Israel and America (two chosen nations?), which Root had in an earlier opinion piece contrasted, criticizing America (and American Jews) for not accepting their savior. Among Trump’s many boasts, he now was caught saying (threatening?) that he might stay another ten years after his second term—as if no human being could remove him, no election. As if he’s untouchable, omnipotent and beyond our comprehension.

We’ve long known that many evangelicals, especially those who think the end times and the return of Jesus is near, believe God chose Trump to be president at this particular time and that the election was God’s will. On August 22, I woke up to Gail Collins in the New York Times (“The President Goes Godly”) and Alexandra Petri in The Washington Post (“Oh, good, Donald Trump is God now”).  Excellent articles—clever, witty, but hangman’s humor. Readers’ comments also point out how dangerous this is for America. As one reader explains, this is the classic definition of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but that this is our President, with access to the nuclear codes that could bring about the Armageddon that, supposedly, some extremist evangelicals would like to happen so Jesus can return. Only, if Root and Trump are right, he’s already here! (even if unacknowledged by those who aren’t his supporters).

Again, Trump says he was only joking when he called himself “the chosen one”, but with his most recent claims, I think we are moving into uncharted territory. Our president has gone beyond “I can do anything I want.”  This is beyond the “divine right of kings” ideology. Every week I think things can’t get more surreal, or more dangerous and yet they do. We have been pushed into the realm of a messianic world-view.

I don’t think many people know more than I do about individuals who claim to be the redeemer, the savior—words that appear in Isaiah chapter 49, where God says  “I the Lord am your Savior [moshiach, in Hebrew], your Redeemer.”  I grew up with a father who, you might say, also had a Messiah complex.  He wasn’t like Trump.  He was a religious and spiritual man. He didn’t have or aspire to political power and wasn’t elected to political position. My father thought of himself as a prophet, the voice of God, a prophet of the end-times. He was sure the final war was imminent, that there would be floods and famine and fires; that the seas would rise. Many times I worried—still do--that he was right. But my father also believed himself appointed to be the Redeemer and he had a small group of followers.

 I know how such a claim of authority, the promise of a better life, can appeal to people, especially people who feel they’ve been forgotten, even despised. But I know the problems, the dangers and harm it can cause from personal experience. And I recognize the characteristic of a person who thinks he is the Redeemer, the only person who can save a rotting world. Such a person insists on complete loyalty and absolute power. If my father thought you weren’t loyal, or disobeyed in any way, he could throw you out of your home, excommunicate you. He insisted on his absolute authority. His word was the law in my family; it went unquestioned, and if you questioned it you were punished. He was the judge, and even gave commandments (like executive orders?).

He didn’t start out this way, I’m sure, but he changed, and gradually he claimed to be more and more powerful. But eventually old age caught up with him, because (of course), no one really is God. If you live under someone who claims absolute power, it does damage that cannot always be repaired. I understand how love can get mixed into it. But I’m fearful when I see people surrounding Trump who never defy him—either through fear of their own, accepting his messages or through vicariously enjoying his life without perceived limits. They surrender their will and at times ignore what they know in their hearts and minds to be wrong.  Its a condition of unquestioning obedience.

My siblings and I eventually grew up and became our own persons (though we may carry invisible scars), capable of exercising our own judgment.

Somehow, we survived,  but will America?

Recently, I wrote about our desire for independence, our fear of being dependent, and facing our inescapable, likely inevitable, interdependence. I thought about that when I heard Trump declare proudly, “I have the right to do whatever I want,” addressing a crowd of young people at the Turning Point USA Teen Student Action Summit in Washington on July 23, 2019. There it is, the paradox in all its glory. The “man who would be king” declaring his power to the young people who either are or will soon be voters. This is how he shapes future generations.  And this is how he influences others in the present, those white men who feel no remorse or responsibility, but only omnipotence as they massacre innocent people at the garlic festival at Gilroy, or the downtown bar at Dayton, Ohio, or the people at Walmart in El Paso, Texas.  All of these angry young men acting out, “I can do anything I want!”

As Democrats debate about whether to impeach Trump (some insisting the crimes are too obvious to ignore while others are concerned more about the impact on elections), he has been talking about his power as a president. I think the claim extends beyond the office and I see it as a dangerous thing.  Trump’s narcissism has been frequently noted. But I want to look  at what asserting, “I can do whatever I want,” might mean not just politically, but spiritually--from a historical religious perspective.

It’s not just that Trump echoes the ideology of the absolute power of kings (called “the divine right of kings”) that the Declaration of Independence broke free from. As our founding fathers surely would have recognized, even Jeffferson who was a deist, Trump’s statements echo and claim for himself the idea of a God who is omnipotent, boundless, all-powerful and untouchable.

The theological debates about God that occurred during the Protestant Reformation in Europe and England are relevant here. In breaking from Roman Catholicism, Protestant theologians had to think about God, particularly since Protestants emphasized the individual’s personal relation with God, unmediated by human authorities. Rejecting the idea that your money or good deeds could buy salvation, Protestant theologians of the Reformation insisted that salvation is through “faith” and God’s “grace” alone. John Calvin said God has unlimited power. His God was one of “will.” God’s “will” determined who was saved or not, assigning (perhaps even before Creation!) the majority of people to be damned, and fewer to be saved. Humans have no “free will.”  All freedom belongs to an omnipotent God. But the Dutch theologian Jacob Arminius objected. He brought back the older idea that human beings indeed do have “free will.”  He didn’t mean we can do whatever we want without any consequences. But he did mean that we are not powerless. We have some measure of liberty, responsibility and a role in our fate (or salvation, as he would say). Two different ways of thinking about God. And I suspect that this theological notion of human freedom ultimately made thinkable the English and American revolutions centuries later.

Theology is not just about God but shapes human relations, society and politics.  Milton, a favorite of America’s founding fathers, writing during England’s Civil War period (1642-1660), attacked the idea of absolute monarchy--the notion that a king has absolute power, thus is above the law. Think of the religious significance of such a notion. For a ruler to insist he has absolute power, that he is above the law, is to claim God’s power, to claim to be God. That is not a small sin. It violates the First Commandment!  An absolute ruler sets himself up as God; he insists on his will, his executive commands and on being worshipped. (Think of Trump’s insistence on declarations of loyalty from his cabinet members—otherwise, you’re fired. Or think of the adoring crowds at Trump’s rallies. They remind me not just of Nazi rallies of 1930s Germany, but the exuberance of a religious revival meeting). Milton insisted that those who worship a monarch or any type of leader are guilty of idolatry. As he and seventeenth-century political radicals said (they were all good Protestants), “God is our only king.” I wonder what evangelicals who support Trump so fervently would say about this?

When Milton wrote Paradise Lost, he put theology at the center of his epic, understanding that theology is bound up with the idea of what a human being is and with political order. In Book 3, Milton’s God expresses a theology that gave humans “free will” and thus responsibility from the moment of their creation (“I made them sufficient to stand,” he says of Adam and Eve, “but free to fall.”) In order for there to be human free will, however, God must voluntarily limit his power. This is a fascinating idea to me.  To put it slightly differently, even Milton’s God isn’t above the law! He is bound by the law he created that states human beings have free will; they must be free even to make mistake, which is why God refuses to intervene in the impending fall when the Son asks him.

Genesis says God created human beings in his image. In our theologies, don’t we also create create God in our image? Trump’s claim that, “I can do anything I want, but I don’t,” sounds like he’s choosing to limit his power at the same time as he’s asserting unlimited power (omnipotence)—but it’s a wink, wink, since his comment is really an assertion of god-like power, echoing his earlier statements about being able to grab women by the private parts or being able to get away with shooting a person on Fifth Avenue.  As many political commentators have pointed out, this claim, “I can do anything I want,” not only reveals ignorance of the Constitution (which does not give presidents unlimited executive power), but it also sets himself up as an all-powerful god, someone to be adored, worshipped and feared.

I believe this is part of his appeal to his “core” of white men, and his dangerous power to inspire young white supremacists who perpetuate mass shootings, as in El Paso and Dayton within twenty-four hours on the weekend of August 3-4. These young men fantasized about being powerful. A gun, especially an assault rifle, makes a person feel all powerful. Trump’s repeated assertions of his unlimited power is a model for them and something they identify with. Psychologically, it’s the ultimate fantasy of freedom, of being unaccountable to anyone else. It appeals to those who feel they lack power (and respect) in their lives, but believe they should have it. It reminds me of the assertion of freedom when a mother (or later in life, the wife) asks, “where are you going”? “Out!” Or “None of your business.”  Healthy teenage boys grow out of it. But what happens if you have a culture that promotes a toxic masculinity, a male independence that is perpetual adolescence, rejecting responsibility and limits? One who believes (erroneously) that the Second Amendment means their possession of guns cannot be restricted, which makes them behave like a god who can decide who shall live and who shall die.

And I ask you: how can we change this culture?