The Death of Democracy: Trump Is Not the Problem

Unless you have been living under a rock, the mass media have been lamenting the “death” of democracy since President Donald J. Trump’s ascendancy to the White House in 2016. While I agree that Trump has repeatedly tested the constitutional limits of presidential authority, and his administration has attempted to shift powers traditionally exercised by Congress, states, courts, independent agencies, and civil society toward the presidency, the story is far more complicated than his detractors claim. While many of my friends publicly proclaim that they will rejoice in his death, or at very least, in a Blue Wave in the November midterm elections, I assert that the decline of America’s democracy is more complicated than blaming President Trump for it. In keeping with my love of Plato and Greek philosophy, I would like to pose the following question: Is a political system good because it gives people the ability to choose their rulers, or because it reliably produces competent, virtuous rulers who govern in the people’s interests? If you chose the second option, you have more in common with Plato and the Chinese Communist Party than you might have realized. Modern democracy assumes that the ability to choose and remove our rulers is the foundation of good government. Still, Plato’s Republic challenges that assumption by asking a more fundamental question: what if the quality of government depends less on how rulers are chosen than on whether those who rule possess the knowledge, character, and commitment to the common good necessary to govern well? Plato’s philosopher-kings may be impossible to reproduce in the modern world. Still, their radical emphasis on competence, virtue, education, and self-denial forces us to confront an uncomfortable possibility: a political system can be democratic in procedure yet fail in its ultimate purpose if its leaders repeatedly put their own interests above those of the people they govern.

​Whether we speak of the United States of the past, currently, or Plato’s Republic, the elites who set economic and foreign policy believed that political action and democracy are not the business of ordinary people. As Thomas Jefferson asserted in his 1813 letter to John Adams, there is a natural aristocracy. Some individuals wield more authority and respect in society because of their superior intellect, bravery, or some combination of both. Of course, in Plato’s Republic, the idea that individuals lacked the intelligence, knowledge, and temperament needed to govern made the masses unfit to govern. Yet, democracy gave them the right to govern, which Plato found unacceptable. In regard to democracy, since when is majority opinion on an issue the best way to ascertain the most accurate answer? Imagine that I suddenly developed severe chest pains. I would not call everyone in my circle and ask for their opinion about what might be wrong. I would not consult my mechanic, my postman, my girlfriend, or the guy at the coffee shop. I would go to a cardiologist because the cardiologist has spent years acquiring specialized knowledge about the human heart that I do not possess. I would trust an expert precisely because I recognize the limits of my own knowledge.

In principle, representative government works on much the same idea. We cannot possibly be experts on everything required to govern a modern nation. We do not have the time or expertise to understand foreign policy, monetary policy, military strategy, constitutional law, taxation, trade, or thousands of other complicated issues. So instead of voting directly on every question, we elect people whom we believe are better equipped to study these matters, debate them, and make decisions on our behalf.

The problem is that political representatives are not cardiologists. They are human beings with ambitions, interests, egos, and weaknesses. The very people we entrust with enormous power can become corrupted by money, political influence, lobbying, party loyalty, or the desire to remain in office. And when the people we have chosen to represent us become more interested in serving themselves or powerful interests than the public, the consequences are borne by all of us.

That, to me, is the great dilemma of representative democracy. Direct democracy assumes that ordinary citizens can and should make political decisions themselves. In contrast, representative democracy assumes that we are better served by entrusting those decisions to people with greater knowledge and experience. But representative government creates its own danger: once we hand that power to others, we must find ways to make sure they remain worthy of the trust we have placed in them. The problem is therefore not simply choosing the right people to govern us; it is creating institutions strong enough to prevent those people from abusing the power we give them.

If we take Plato’s Republic seriously, the system could work today in principle, but only if human beings were considerably more virtuous than they actually are. Plato’s central insight is that governing is a specialized activity. Just as we would want a trained physician rather than a randomly selected citizen to perform surgery, Plato believed society should be governed by people who had spent decades developing wisdom, discipline, and an understanding of justice.

In Plato’s ideal state, the rulers—the philosopher-kings—would not seek power for personal gain. They would undergo an extraordinarily long education designed to develop reason and virtue, eventually spending roughly 50 years preparing for leadership. They would also live relatively simply and would not be permitted to accumulate wealth as ordinary citizens did. This was intended to remove the temptation to use political power for personal enrichment. In other words, Plato’s solution to political corruption was not to give everyone political power, but to create rulers educated to have little interest in abusing it.

Imagine applying that idea today. Instead of becoming president because you are a successful businessman, celebrity, television personality, career politician, or exceptionally good campaigner, you might first have to demonstrate decades of intellectual achievement, practical experience, sound judgment, and—most importantly—character. You would be selected and educated from an early age, studying philosophy, history, mathematics, law, economics, science, and ethics, and then gradually given greater responsibilities. The assumption would be that governing is a profession requiring preparation comparable to medicine or engineering.

But there is a huge catch: Plato’s system depends upon human beings being extraordinarily good at selecting and educating those future rulers. Who decides who is genuinely wise? Who determines whether someone possesses virtue? And how do we know that the people doing the selecting aren’t corrupt themselves? Even a supposedly enlightened ruling class is still made up of human beings. Give them enough power, and ambition, greed, tribalism, and self-interest can eventually enter the system.

That is why Plato’s Republic is simultaneously fascinating and problematic. The system could work if philosopher-kings were wise, incorruptible, and genuinely devoted to the common good. The problem is that the system has no reliable way of guaranteeing that they will be. In fact, this may be precisely why modern constitutional democracies developed checks and balances: rather than assuming we can find rulers who are virtuous enough to be trusted with enormous power, we construct a system that assumes rulers will sometimes be selfish, incompetent, or corrupt—and tries to limit the damage when they are.

Getting back to the question posed earlier about whether a political system is good because it gives people the ability to choose their rulers and get rid of them when they fail, or because it reliably produces competent, virtuous rulers who govern in the interests of the people, something interesting emerges: Plato’s Republic and modern democracy may be answering different questions. Plato asks, “Who should rule?” Democracy asks, “Who should have the power to choose who rules?” The unresolved question is whether either answer, by itself, guarantees good government. The Chinese Communist Party believes they an answer to this important question.

China’s concept of “whole-process people’s democracy” offers an alternative to the Western model of representative democracy. Xi Jinping introduced the phrase in 2019, and the Chinese Communist Party later developed it into a formal political doctrine. The Chinese government argues that democracy should not be defined primarily by competitive elections, but by whether ordinary people have meaningful opportunities to participate in consultation, decision-making, administration and oversight throughout the governing process. A 2021 Chinese government white paper explicitly describes the system as combining electoral and consultative democracy and, importantly, procedural democracy with “results-oriented” or substantive democracy.

The philosophical difference with the American conception of democracy is therefore quite significant. In the American tradition, elections are central because they let citizens choose among competing political leaders and, ultimately, remove them from office. China does hold elections, particularly at the local level, but competitive national elections between rival parties are not the mechanism through which national political power changes hands. Instead, the Communist Party remains at the center of the political system. Chinese officials argue that this allows the government to concentrate on long-term objectives rather than constantly worrying about the next election. The Chinese model consequently places greater emphasis on whether government produces what it regards as desirable outcomes—economic development, infrastructure, stability, poverty reduction, national strength and social order—than on whether citizens have the same electoral choices available to Americans.

There is an interesting parallel here with the “America First” idea, although the two systems have very different political foundations. America First says, in essence, that the American government should put Americans’ interests ahead of international ideological projects or other countries’ interests. China’s system takes a similar nationalist premise to an even more comprehensive level: the political system is explicitly designed around China’s interests, development, and national rejuvenation. The difference is that China does not regard liberal democracy, political pluralism, or alternation between parties as prerequisites for putting the nation first. Indeed, the Communist Party has explicitly rejected Western ideas such as multiparty alternation and separation of powers as necessary components of democracy.

That distinction could become increasingly important if American influence continues to decline relative to China. China is not simply becoming an economic competitor; it is increasingly presenting its political system as an alternative model of governance. Its argument is essentially: “Judge a government by what it accomplishes for its people, not merely by whether it holds competitive elections.” That argument could have considerable appeal in developing countries where governments may be frustrated with the instability, polarization, corruption, or short-term political incentives sometimes associated with electoral politics. China’s growing economic and geopolitical influence allows it to demonstrate that its model can be associated with national development and modernization.

Whether whole-process democracy actually “catches on” internationally remains uncertain. China’s model has obvious weaknesses from a liberal-democratic perspective, particularly the absence of genuine national competition for political power and citizens’ limited ability to use elections to replace national leadership. At the same time, it would be a mistake to dismiss the model simply because it does not resemble American democracy. If China continues to become more prosperous, technologically advanced, and influential while maintaining political stability, other countries may increasingly ask a question that Americans have traditionally taken for granted: Is competitive electoral democracy the only legitimate route to effective government? The answer to that question could become one of the major political debates of the twenty-first century.

The danger, going forward, is to place too much responsibility for the condition of American democracy on one man. Donald Trump may have tested the boundaries of presidential power, challenged democratic norms, and contributed to the political divisions that plague the country. But Trump did not create these weaknesses by himself, nor can his departure from office make them disappear. A democracy ultimately depends upon the citizens who participate in it, and that means we must be willing to accept some responsibility for what our political system has become.

We have allowed politicians to dodge questions in debates instead of demanding direct answers. We have watched candidates make promises during campaigns and then abandon or reverse those promises once they take office, often without offering a meaningful explanation. We excuse behavior from politicians we support while condemning the identical behavior when it comes from the opposing party. We have become so committed to winning political battles that holding our own side accountable can seem like betrayal. But democracy cannot survive if accountability is conditional on which party occupies the White House.

This is ultimately not an argument against democracy. It is an argument for taking democracy seriously. Elections are not merely opportunities to defeat the politician we dislike. They are mechanisms through which citizens reward competent government, punish failure, demand explanations, and insist that those entrusted with power remain accountable to the people. If we refuse to do those things, then we should not be surprised when politicians conclude that they can say whatever is necessary to win an election and govern however they wish afterward.

I am not suggesting that America should abandon democracy and embrace authoritarianism. I am certainly not advocating that we become China. I am neither a lover of Xi Jinping nor am I suggesting the Chinese Communist Party has created a modern-day Plato’s Republic ruled by virtuous and wise leaders. But we would be foolish to ignore what is happening. If China continues to rise as an economic and geopolitical power and increasingly challenges America’s position in the world, it will not merely export goods, technology, and investment. It will also have the opportunity to promote its own conception of governance as an alternative to ours.

That is the uncomfortable possibility Americans need to confront. The greatest threat to American democracy may not be a single president, political party, foreign power, or ideological movement. It may be our own willingness to tolerate a system in which politicians are rewarded for winning rather than governing, where promises can be broken without explanation, and where loyalty to a political tribe matters more than accountability to the country.

If we want American democracy to survive, we cannot simply wait for Trump to leave office and declare the crisis over. We have to demand more from our politicians—and more from ourselves. Otherwise, the question will not be whether Trump killed American democracy. The more troubling question will be whether we, through our apathy, partisanship, and unwillingness to hold our leaders accountable, allowed it to die.