Frédéric Bastiat captured the essence of modern politics in a single sentence

 

Frédéric Bastiat captured the essence of modern politics in a single sentence: “The State is that great fiction by which everyone tries to live at the expense of everyone else.” Once the state becomes the primary mechanism for distributing resources, politics stops being about protecting rights or creating the conditions for voluntary cooperation. It becomes a contest in which every group attempts to extract wealth from others through taxation, subsidies, regulation and welfare. Farmers demand agricultural subsidies. Pensioners demand higher benefits. Students demand free tuition. Corporations demand bailouts and protection from competition. Each group frames its demands as a matter of justice or necessity, while ignoring that the money must come from someone else’s labour and property. This creates a deeply corrosive dynamic. Instead of producing value through trade and innovation, people invest time and resources in political activity designed to redistribute existing wealth. The result is not greater prosperity, but higher taxes, expanding bureaucracy and a culture of dependency, victimhood and resentment. The state transforms society into a zero-sum game. When everyone is encouraged to view government as a source of unearned benefits, the moral and practical foundations of a free society are steadily undermined. The fiction eventually collapses under the weight of its own contradictions.

A Rolling Stone Gathers No Dust

 

By Richard G. Medlock

Ladies and gentlemen, I recently discovered that the English language is evolving faster than the dictionary can keep up with it. I asked a room full of bright young people to finish one of the oldest sayings in the English language: "A rolling stone gathers no..." I was expecting someone to say "moss." Instead, without the slightest hesitation, they shouted, "Dust!" It was unanimous. I stood there wondering whether I had become old enough that history itself had been revised without informing me.

The more I considered their answer, however, the less certain I became that they were wrong. After all, have you ever noticed what collects dust? The treadmill you promised yourself you'd use after New Year's. The guitar you were going to master. The book you've been "meaning to read." The exercise machine that has become the world's most expensive clothes rack. Dust is remarkably democratic. It settles on unused talent, postponed dreams, and excellent intentions with equal enthusiasm. If dust were running for public office, it would win by a landslide.

Now consider the rolling stone. It has no time for dust. It is too busy bouncing down hills, startling squirrels, and occasionally convincing someone at the bottom of the hill that they should have chosen another picnic location. Motion has its inconveniences, but it has one tremendous advantage—it leaves very little opportunity for stagnation.

I've noticed that people often resemble stones. Some roll through life collecting experiences, wisdom, friendships, and stories that become richer with every passing year. Others become permanent fixtures in the landscape. They proudly announce, "I don't like change." Well, neither does a cemetery, but that's hardly the standard to aspire to.

The funny thing about comfort is that it often disguises itself as wisdom. We tell ourselves, "I'll start tomorrow." Tomorrow, however, is a curious fellow. He arrives every morning but somehow always insists that the important work begin the following day. If procrastination were an Olympic event, many of us would postpone entering until the next Games.

Failure frightens people far more than standing still, yet standing still is often the greater danger. A man who never climbs a mountain cannot fall from the summit—but neither will he ever witness the sunrise from the peak. A fellow who never asks a question will avoid looking foolish for five minutes and remain ignorant for fifty years. It seems to me that life has always rewarded those willing to risk a little embarrassment in exchange for a great deal of growth.

History has never been changed by spectators. Noah built the ark before it rained. David walked toward Goliath while everyone else was backing away. The Wright brothers looked at birds and concluded that envy was an insufficient response. Every worthwhile accomplishment began with someone moving while everyone else was explaining why movement was impractical.

Faith itself is a rolling stone. It grows stronger by being exercised. Courage grows by being tested. Wisdom grows by being sought. Character grows by making difficult choices when easy ones are available. Even repentance requires movement. Heaven seems remarkably fond of people who are headed in the right direction, even if they haven't yet arrived.

So perhaps those young people accidentally improved an old proverb. "A rolling stone gathers no dust." Keep your mind rolling toward truth. Keep your heart rolling toward kindness. Keep your hands rolling toward service. Keep your feet rolling toward worthy goals. The world has enough dusty dreams, dusty talents, dusty convictions, and dusty excuses. What it desperately needs are people who refuse to stand still.

When your story is finally written, may it never be said that you were beautifully preserved beneath a layer of dust. Instead, may it be said that you lived with purpose, laughed often, learned constantly, served generously, trusted God completely, and kept rolling until the very end. After all, a stone that keeps moving may occasionally hit a bump—but it will always have a better view than the one that never left the driveway.

July Fourth Exposed Democrats’ Big Problem with America’s Silent Majority

 

July Fourth was a bad day for Democrats.

Americans turned out in force to celebrate the birthday of the country they love, applauding the virtues and values that have made the United States an exceptional nation for 250 years. The silent majority, the folks who believe in the essential promise and goodness of this beautiful land, made their voices heard.

A recent Cato poll confirmed that sentiment, showing that 86% of respondents are grateful and 79% are proud to be Americans. Moreover, “most also believe America is a land of opportunity (61%) and even more believe the American Dream (74%) is available to them personally.” Cato reports that three-quarters of Americans feel positive about the nation’s founding, and 70% believe its founding principles remain relevant today. “In particular, overwhelming majorities believe the U.S. Constitution is important for protecting our rights and freedoms (86%) and for enabling America’s prosperity (82%).”

That sure isn’t what we’ve been hearing from democratic socialist darling Zohran Mamdani, who has, incredibly, become the voice of the Democratic Party. In his Fourth of July speech, the New York City mayor lambasted our “nativist” country as one characterized by “monopolies that dominate every industry,” “oligarchs who buy elections” and a “health insurance industry that exploits the sick.”

Mamdani’s false and cliché-ridden diatribe doesn’t even make sense. In one breath, he excoriates the U.S. as dominated by an exclusive wealthy elite, but in the next, he exults in the “power each of us holds to bring America ever closer to the greatness so many have seen when they looked upon these shores.” How can both those things be true? In an “authoritarian” regime, what power?

The democratic socialist surge, newly led by Mamdani, is real and is terrifying the party establishment. Party leaders New York Sen. Chuck Schumer and House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries are running scared as the DSA threatens their political lives. Fifteen House moderates — the kind being wiped out by insurgent leftist newcomers — penned an open letter declaring, “We are capitalist, not socialist,” and “We are mainstream, not extreme.” They also proclaimed, “We are proud, not ashamed of America.” Imagine elected politicians having to make that pronouncement.

It’s about time they did.

Democrats have only themselves to blame for the rise of the socialist left. They have offered the country nothing but hatred of Donald Trump for over a decade. They have opposed even the most popular policies proposed by the president, like deporting criminals and reducing taxes. They have absurdly blocked investigating and eliminating hundreds of billions of taxpayer dollars lost to fraud every year — a problem that even Joe Biden’s administration said required urgent action. They have become the party that champions boys competing in girls’ sports and resists voter ID laws. They have fawned over European governments that have approval ratings below 30% and especially applauded those nations’ green energy policies that have stifled their economies and left them unable to compete for emerging industries like AI.

Democrats’ consistent and mindless opposition to President Trump created a policy vacuum, giving democratic socialists an opportunity to fill that hole with outlandish policies like abolishing prisons and eliminating private property rights. Those are policies the silent majority will not accept, no more than they accepted the woke excesses of the George Floyd and #MeToo protests.

The Democratic Socialists of America (DSA) first showed up as supporters of Vermont independent Sen. Bernie Sanders when he ran for president in 2016. The DSA’s membership increased from 6,500 to 8,500 during his campaign; another 13,000 people signed up in the eight months following the election.

Democrats should have disavowed the socialist Sanders then, when the DSA movement was tiny, but instead they played to the so-called Bernie Bros, who some thought denied Hillary Clinton the Oval Office by sitting out the election. In 2020, the corrupt hierarchy in charge of the party, along with a compliant media, promoted the big lie that Joe Biden was fit to serve as president. They engineered the defeat of Sanders, who led the early primaries, and forced the nomination of Biden. In recompense, they gave Bernie a seat at the table, allowing him to co-write the party’s platform and thus legitimizing his influence.

Riding that newfound acceptance, Sanders’ signature issues, like Medicare for All and taxing the rich, took on new weight, attracting the likes of New York’s Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who became one of two democratic socialists elected to the House of Representatives in 2019.

After the bruising defeat in 2024, the party scurried to find a new message and adopted “affordability” as its issue. Democrats crusading to bring down the cost of living is laughable, given that the most expensive places to live in the U.S. are all run by Democrats. What drives costs higher? Burdensome regulations, pro-union labor policies and high taxes, all signature attributes of Democrat-run governments.

Massive government spending — pushing too many dollars into the economy — also drives up inflation. It is no coincidence that during Joe Biden’s presidency, when government spending hit the highest levels relative to the economy since World War II, inflation soared to above 9%.

DSA candidates are also running on affordability, but with socialist solutions like providing free buses as well as government-subsidized groceries and childcare. So far, they have succeeded mainly in deep-blue districts and with low voter turnout. Ultimately, Mamdani and his ilk will fail, as socialism always has, because it denies the driving human force of self-interest and the wisdom and adaptability of free markets.

But Democrats need to take a stand against the noisy radical leftists who will ultimately cost them voters. The movement is driven not only by socialist economic policies, but also by opposition to Israel and by antisemitism. Black Americans and Jews are important Democratic voting blocs; both are already speaking out against DSA candidates.

America’s silent majority has rallied to defend our nation in the past; if socialism gains ground, those quiet patriots will do so again. Count on it.

Read Liz Peek’s full column on Fox News here.

The Republic Belongs to Us

 

The Republic Belongs to Us

An Essay for America's 250th Anniversary

"If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher."�— Abraham Lincoln, Lyceum Address, 1838

On July 4, 2026, the United States marks its 250th birthday.

Few nations have reached such an anniversary under the same Constitution. During those two and a half centuries, empires have risen and fallen, borders have been redrawn, revolutions have swept away governments, and constitutions have been rewritten or abandoned altogether. Through civil war, economic depression, world wars, social upheaval, political violence, and moments when the country seemed on the verge of coming apart, the American Republic endured.

That is no small achievement.

It is also no accident.

As we celebrate this milestone, many do so with mixed emotions. Polls show that pride in being an American has fallen sharply over the past generation. Depending on whom you ask, the explanation is obvious. Some blame Donald Trump. Others blamed Joe Biden. Before them, it was Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Bill Clinton, or another president who, in someone's view, represented everything that had gone wrong with the country.

The names change…the argument is mostly the same.

Every generation has been tempted to believe that America's future rises and falls with the people who occupy public office. Every generation has also discovered that the country is far larger than any president, any Congress, or any political party.

America is not Washington.

Washington is where part of our government works.

America is where we live.

It is the family saving for a child's education, the farmer who begins work before sunrise, the small business owner building their own future, the teacher who refuses to give up on a struggling student, the volunteer firefighter who leaves the dinner table when the siren sounds, and the service member standing watch on the other side of the world.

Those people rarely appear in headlines.

Yet they are the Republic in its greatest sense.

It was built into our Constitution before a single government office was created. It was spelled out in three simple words:

We the People.

Those words are so familiar that they are easy to overlook.

They should not be.

For most of human history, governments claimed authority from kings, emperors, dynasties, or military conquest. Our Constitution took a unique new direction in answering the question…

Who owns the republic?

Not the government.

Not the president.

Not Congress.

Not the courts.

The people.

Everything that follows in the Constitution rests on that single idea.

Government exercises authority, but it does not possess sovereignty. Public officials hold power, but only because the people have entrusted it to them. The Republic belongs not to those who govern but to those who consent to be governed.

That principle changed the world.

It also imposed a responsibility unlike any that had come before.

If the people are sovereign, then the people are responsible.

The Founders understood that liberty could not survive on parchment alone. They wrote a Constitution that restrained power because they knew power naturally expands. They divided authority because they understood ambition. They established checks and balances because they recognized that no person could safely be trusted with unlimited control.

The Constitution was designed for imperfect human beings.

What it could not do was make them better people.

No document can teach honesty, no law can require integrity, and no court can produce wisdom.

The success of the American experiment would depend upon something no constitution could guarantee: the character of the people themselves.

That was not a new observation.

Centuries before the American Revolution, philosophers had debated whether free government could survive among people unwilling to govern themselves. The Founders believed it could not. Liberty demanded more than elections. It demanded self-restraint, personal responsibility, respect for others' rights, and a willingness to put the common good ahead of immediate self-interest.

They called this civic virtue.

Today, we might simply call it good citizenship.

The distinction is important because modern Americans often speak of freedom almost exclusively in terms of rights.

We defend freedom of speech.

Freedom of religion.

The right to keep and bear arms.

Due process.

Equal protection under the law.

Each deserves defending.

But the generation that secured those rights rarely spoke about them without also speaking about duty.

The Declaration of Independence proclaims that all people are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights. Americans know those words by heart. What we remember less often is the final sentence of that document, where fifty-six men pledged to one another "our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

The same generation that declared individual rights also accepted individual responsibility.

To them, the two could not be separated.

Perhaps that is what has changed most.

Modern politics encourages us to think of citizenship primarily as something we receive. Better services. Better policies. Better leaders. Better outcomes. Every election becomes a search for someone who will fix what is broken.

That was not the Founders’ vision.

They expected citizens to do much of the work themselves.

They expected neighbors to solve problems together before asking distant officials to intervene. They expected families to teach character, churches and civic organizations to strengthen communities, local governments to remain close to the people they served, and citizens to participate in public life instead of watching it from the sidelines.

Nearly fifty years after the Constitution was ratified, the French historian Alexis de Tocqueville came to America hoping to understand why the young republic seemed so different from Europe.

He expected to study its government.

Instead, he studied the people.

Everywhere he traveled, he found Americans coming together to accomplish what individuals could not accomplish alone. They built schools, established charities, founded churches, started businesses, published newspapers, and organized civic groups—not because government required it, but because they believed responsibility belonged first to the citizen.

Tocqueville concluded that America's greatest strength was not its government.

It was the habits of its people.

That observation deserves renewed attention today.

Much of our national conversation now begins in Washington and ends there. Every controversy becomes national. Every disagreement becomes political. Every election is described as the most important of our lifetime.

The closer institutions of family, community, church, neighborhood, and local government receive far less attention, even though they shape the character of the nation far more than any speech delivered from the Capitol.

A republic is not built from the top down.

It is built from the ground up.

Its foundation is laid in places where the media rarely go.

It is built in the ordinary places where character is formed: around family tables, in neighborhoods, in classrooms, in churches, and in communities where people still know one another and are willing to lend a hand.

It is a responsibility.

Our Freedom has always depended upon those ordinary places.

It still does.

For much of our history, Americans understood that liberty demanded more than affection for country.

It required participation.

Citizenship was not something exercised every four years. It was woven into everyday life, from jury service and town meetings to church suppers and neighbors helping neighbors. These quiet acts rarely appeared in history books, yet they formed the character of communities and our nation.

No law required a father to keep his word.

No judge could compel a neighbor to stop and help repair a fence.

No president could order a citizen to volunteer at a food pantry or coach a youth baseball team.

Those decisions belonged to individuals - and still do.

John Adams once observed that the Constitution was made "only for a moral and religious people" and was wholly inadequate for the government of any other. His words have often been debated, sometimes misunderstood, but the principle behind them is difficult to dismiss. Adams recognized that liberty cannot survive if every obligation must first become a law. A free people must possess enough character to do voluntarily what no government could ever successfully compel.

The Constitution can restrain power.

It cannot create virtue.

That truth may be even more relevant today than when Adams first wrote it.

Americans have become remarkably good at identifying problems.

We see corruption in politics, declining trust in institutions, rising debt, failing schools, loneliness, addiction, civic division, and a public conversation that rewards outrage more than understanding.

The debate usually begins with the same question.

Who is to blame?

The answers vary according to our politics. Some point to Donald Trump. Others point to Joe Biden. Some blame billionaires. Others blame capitalism, the media, corporations, universities, or the opposing political party.

Most of those institutions deserve criticism from time to time.

None of them absolves citizens of responsibility.

Representative government has always been, in part, a reflection of the people it represents. If dishonesty becomes acceptable in daily life, it should surprise no one when dishonesty reaches public office. If Americans reward spectacle over substance, outrage over reason, and personality over character, politics eventually follows the same path.

Government does not stand apart from society.

It grows out of it.

That is why Abraham Lincoln's warning still echoes across nearly two centuries.

Long before he became president, Lincoln asked that simple question.

How might the American republic someday come to an end?

He did not imagine a foreign army crossing the Atlantic to conquer the United States. His concern was far closer to home.

"If destruction be our lot," he told a gathering of young men in Springfield, Illinois, "we must ourselves be its author and finisher."

Lincoln understood something that we should not forget.

A republic is rarely lost all at once.

It weakens gradually.

Not simply because ambitious leaders seek more power, but because citizens slowly surrender the responsibilities that once limited power in the first place.

History gives us many examples.

The Roman Republic did not become an empire overnight. Long before Julius Caesar crossed the Rubicon, civic norms had eroded, political violence had become more common, and public office increasingly served personal ambition rather than the common good. The institutions remained, but the habits that sustained those institutions had begun to disappear.

America is not Rome.

History doesn’t repeat precisely.

But history does reveal patterns.

Free societies endure when citizens value liberty enough to accept the responsibilities that accompany it. They begin to decline when freedom is viewed primarily as a collection of benefits rather than a collection of obligations.

When these habits weaken, communities become less connected, local institutions lose influence, and citizens begin to see themselves less as participants in self-government than as consumers of government.

The change is missed in the gradual creep.

Yet its consequences reach far beyond politics.

A nation that expects every problem to be solved from the top eventually loses confidence in ordinary people's ability to solve problems for themselves. Civic muscles weaken from lack of use. Neighbors become audiences. Elections become emotional breaking points because so much hope has been placed in outcomes that no election can ever deliver.

The Founders laid the framework for something completely different.

They expected citizens to look first toward family, community, faith, local government, voluntary associations, and one another before looking toward Washington. Not because government lacked an important role, but because they believed free people become stronger when they accept responsibility for the places and people closest to them.

That belief helped shape the American character for generations.

It can again.

The habits that sustain a republic are not beyond our reach, but it takes effort.

Reading before voting.

Listening before speaking.

Keeping promises.

Serving without recognition.

Disagreeing without hatred.

Teaching children not only what their rights are, but why the rights of others deserve equal protection.

None of those actions will appear in history books.

Taken together, they determine whether the principles written in Philadelphia remain living principles or become little more than words preserved behind glass.

The Constitution gave Americans a framework for liberty.

Only Americans can give it life.

The American story has never been a story of perfection.

It is a story of aspiration.

From its beginning, the nation has measured itself against ideals it has not always achieved. That tension has shaped nearly every chapter of our history. Slavery stood in direct contradiction to the Declaration's promise that all are created equal. Segregation denied rights that should have belonged to every citizen. Political corruption has tested public confidence. Fear has sometimes overwhelmed principle. Like every nation, America has known moments that deserve admiration and moments that demand honesty.

Remembering both is part of loving a country.

Patriotism does not require pretending that mistakes were never made.

It requires believing that the country is worth improving.

That has always been the American way.

The Declaration of Independence announced principles that challenged the world. The Constitution created a framework through which free people could argue, persuade, amend, vote, worship, publish, petition, and reform without abandoning the republic itself. Progress often came slowly. Sometimes far too slowly. Yet generation after generation used those constitutional tools to move the nation closer to its own promises.

That is one of the most remarkable features of the American experiment.

The country has changed dramatically.

The principles have endured.

For two and a half centuries, Americans have transferred power through elections rather than military coups. Citizens have openly criticized presidents without fearing imprisonment. Religious belief has remained a matter of conscience rather than government decree. Entrepreneurs have built businesses from little more than an idea. Immigrants have arrived from every continent, believing that, despite its imperfections, this country offers possibilities that cannot be easily found elsewhere.

None of that happened by accident.

Every freedom was protected by people who believed it was worth protecting.

Every institution was strengthened by citizens who accepted responsibility long before history remembered their names.

That may be the greatest lesson of America's first 250 years.

The republic has always depended far more on ordinary people than extraordinary leaders.

History remembers presidents, generals, inventors, and reformers because they shaped important moments.

The Republic remembers millions of others.

It remembers the millions of ordinary Americans whose names history rarely records—parents who taught character, teachers who inspired, workers who practiced honesty, volunteers who strengthened communities, neighbors who served one another, and those who stood watch in defense of the nation.

Most of these people never considered themselves remarkable.

Yet together they accomplished something incredible.

They sustained a free society.

Perhaps that is why America continues to draw people from around the world. People who leave behind familiar places, familiar languages, and often members of their own families in search of opportunity, liberty, stability, and the chance to determine the course of their own lives.

Many Americans have become so accustomed to those freedoms that they scarcely notice them.

Those who have lived without them rarely make that mistake.

Citizenship, then, is more than a legal status.

It is an inheritance.

None of us created it.

None of us received it without cost.

For 250 years, Americans have borrowed this republic from those who came before them. Each generation added a chapter to the story before placing it in the hands of the next.

Now it rests with us.

Years from now, our children and grandchildren will inherit the country we leave behind.

They will attend the schools we strengthen or neglect.

They will live under the institutions we preserve or weaken.

They will inherit the habits we teach and the example we set.

The generation of 1776 did not ask whether America would be easy to build.

The generation of 1861 did not ask whether the Union would be easy to preserve.

Every generation has carried responsibilities unique to its own time.

Ours is no different.

The challenge before us is not simply to celebrate America's first 250 years.

It is to deserve the next 250.

That work will never belong exclusively to presidents, members of Congress, judges, or political parties.

The Constitution settled that question before the Republic even began.

We the People.

Three words placed at the beginning of our national charter because they answer the most important question any free nation can ask.

Who bears responsibility for the Republic?

The answer has never changed.

It belongs to the citizen who votes with an informed mind rather than blind loyalty.

To the parent who teaches that rights and responsibilities walk together.

To the neighbor who serves quietly without waiting for recognition.

To the entrepreneur who creates opportunity.

To the teacher who inspires.

To the volunteer who gives time.

To the immigrant who chooses to become an American.

To the veteran who once wore the nation's uniform.

To every citizen who understands that liberty is not simply inherited.

It is renewed.

Again and again.

One generation at a time.

The Constitution begins with "We the People."

Two hundred and fifty years later, those words remain both a promise and a responsibility.

The Republic belongs to us.

Teach Religion in America to a Class of High School Freshmen.

 

Clint Teeple

Here is how I would teach religion in America to a class of high school freshmen.

Ten parts. One semester. Show them the facts and let them think for themselves. 1. What religion does to people Start with right now, not the past. For years, researchers, including many who are not religious themselves, have found that people who attend religious services regularly tend to live longer, feel less depressed, and stay married longer. Harvard’s Tyler VanderWeele has shown this across large studies. Religious communities also tend to volunteer more and give more to charity. Let students see the facts first. The beliefs can come later. 2. Why the colonists came They were not all the same. The Puritans came to build a society run by their own strict faith. Quakers and Catholics came to escape exactly that kind of control. Roger Williams was kicked out of Massachusetts for disagreeing with the leaders, so he started Rhode Island, where people could believe what they wanted. Maryland was set up as a safe place for Catholics. Early America was a patchwork of religious groups, some kind to outsiders, many not. 3. Faith and the Revolution Religion helped fuel the fight for independence. Preachers stood up in church and told people that standing up to the king was the right thing to do. The idea that there is a law higher than any king ran through the speeches and writings of the time. Not every Founder believed the same things about God, and that is worth talking about too. Read the sermons next to the political writing. 4. What the First Amendment actually did You have heard the phrase “separation of church and state.” Those words are not in the Constitution. Thomas Jefferson wrote them in a personal letter years later. Here is what the First Amendment really says. The government cannot set up an official national religion, and it cannot stop you from worshiping the way you choose. It protects religion from the government and the government from religion. 5. The persecution Americans forget America’s Protestant majority did not always extend religious freedom to others. In the 1830s, a Protestant mob burned a Catholic convent near Boston. A decade later, Protestant mobs in Philadelphia burned Catholic churches and the books inside, fighting over which Bible belonged in public school. Latter-day Saints had it worse. Their Protestant neighbors drove them from state to state. In 1838, Missouri’s governor ordered them “exterminated or driven from the State.” Mobs murdered them, including children. Women and girls were assaulted, and the survivors carried it for life. In 1857, the army marched toward Utah. In 1887, Congress broke up The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and seized its property. 6. Faith on the other side This is the other half of the story. Religion drove the fight to end slavery. Quakers and other Christians called it a sin, while slaveholders quoted the same Bible to defend it. After slavery ended, Black churches became the center of their communities and the engine of the civil rights movement. Martin Luther King Jr. was a Baptist minister who made his case in the words of scripture. 7. Then and now Now compare that history to today. How are religious minorities treated now, including Jews, Muslims, Sikhs, Hindus, and people with no religion at all? Where has America gotten better? Where do the old patterns still show up? Have students follow the thread from the violence against Catholics and Latter-day Saints to the suspicion newer faiths still face today. 8. Christian nationalism Some people today want to make America an officially Christian country. Look at what they are actually asking for. Then hold it up against the First Amendment and what the Founders wrote. How do its supporters argue it fits the Founders’ vision? How do its critics argue it conflicts with the First Amendment? This is where the “Christian nation” argument belongs, with the facts in front of you. 9. Read the actual texts Read representative passages from the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament, the Quran, the Book of Mormon, the Bhagavad Gita, and others. What does each one say about fairness, forgiveness, family, and how to treat a stranger? Students learn far more from the actual words than from hearing someone else describe them. 10. The panel Finish by inviting real people from different faiths to take students’ questions face to face. Put a Latter-day Saint, a Catholic, a Jew, a Muslim, an evangelical, and someone who is not religious in the same room, answering the same questions. Nothing breaks down a stereotype faster than a real person sitting across from you. A class like this does not tell students what to believe about God. It shows them what religion has actually done in America, the good and the bad, and trusts them to think for themselves.

The Founding Fathers

 

This book is dedicated to that generation of resolute Americans whom we call the Founding Fathers. 

They created the first free people to survive as a nation in modern times. 

They wrote a new kind of Constitution which is now the oldest in existence. 

They built a new kind of commonwealth designed as a model for the whole human race. 

They believed it was thoroughly possible to create a new kind of civilization, giving freedom, equality, and justice to all. 

Their first design for a free-people nation was to encompass all North America, accommodating, as John Adams said, two to three hundred million freemen.

Skousen, W. Cleon. The Five Thousand Year Leap (p. 21). Verity Publishing. Kindle Edition. 

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

 

Richard G. Medlock

The inspired declaration that all people "are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights" and that among these are "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness" finds profound meaning when viewed through the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. While the Declaration of Independence speaks of these rights in a civic and political sense, they also reflect eternal principles established by our Heavenly Father long before the foundation of the world. The Plan of Salvation reveals that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are not merely political ideals—they are sacred gifts that originate with God and are central to His eternal purposes for His children.

Read full Article

Thomas Jefferson: "Stand Like a Rock"

 

Richard G. Medlock

Thomas Jefferson's counsel, “In matters of style, swim with the current; in matters of principle, stand like a rock,” teaches a profound distinction between things that are temporary and things that are eternal. Style refers to customs, fashions, methods, preferences, and the many ways people adapt to changing times. Principles, on the other hand, are enduring truths that do not change with public opinion, cultural trends, or political pressure. Jefferson understood that wise people are flexible in matters that are not essential, but immovable when it comes to matters of truth, justice, morality, and liberty. A person who refuses to adapt in every circumstance becomes rigid and ineffective, while a person who abandons principles to fit the crowd loses integrity and character.

In daily life, this means we can be open-minded regarding different approaches, technologies, traditions, and personal preferences while remaining firmly committed to honesty, responsibility, kindness, and moral courage. The method may change, but the principle should not. For example, communication methods have changed dramatically from letters to emails to social media, yet the principles of truthfulness and respect remain the same. Successful leaders understand this distinction. They adapt their strategies to changing circumstances while holding fast to their core values. As circumstances evolve, wisdom asks, "How should I do this?" Principle asks, "What is the right thing to do?"

This truth is deeply reflected in scripture. The Apostle Paul taught, "Prove all things; hold fast that which is good" (1 Thessalonians 5:21). Likewise, the Lord declared that truth is "knowledge of things as they are, and as they were, and as they are to come" (Doctrine and Covenants 93:24). Truth does not change because society changes. Public opinion may shift like the wind, but eternal principles remain constant. President Russell M. Nelson taught, "Truth is truth. Some things are simply true." The challenge of every generation is to discern the difference between changing customs and unchanging truths.

The Founding Fathers understood this principle well. They designed the Constitution not around the passions of the moment but upon enduring principles of human liberty, accountability, and limited government. They knew that public sentiment could be volatile and that majorities could be mistaken. Therefore, they sought to anchor the nation to principles rather than personalities. Jefferson himself believed that while laws and policies might require adjustment over time, the fundamental rights endowed by the Creator were not subject to popular vote. Rights such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were viewed as permanent principles, not temporary fashions.

There is also a spiritual dimension to Jefferson's statement. Throughout history, prophets have often found themselves standing alone against prevailing cultural currents. Noah preached righteousness when the world mocked him. Daniel remained faithful despite political pressure. Jesus Christ stood for truth even when it led to rejection and crucifixion. They were willing to swim with the current in matters that were merely cultural, but they stood like rocks when eternal truth was at stake. Their examples teach that courage is not measured by how loudly we agree with the crowd, but by how faithfully we adhere to truth when the crowd disagrees.

In our own day, Jefferson's words are especially relevant. We live in a world of rapidly changing opinions, technologies, and social movements. Wisdom requires adaptability, humility, and a willingness to learn. Yet it also requires a moral anchor. Without principles, flexibility becomes compromise. Without adaptability, conviction becomes stubbornness. The mature individual learns to distinguish between what can change and what must never change.

Ultimately, Jefferson's statement is a call to both wisdom and courage. Be gracious and adaptable in matters of preference. Be teachable in matters of method. But when it comes to truth, integrity, moral law, faith, and God-given rights, stand firm. The currents of public opinion may shift daily, but principles rooted in truth endure. The person who stands upon those principles becomes, in the words of the Savior, like a wise man who built his house upon a rock—steady in the storm, secure in adversity, and faithful regardless of the changing winds of the world.