For What It's Worth

Power, Perception, and the Seduction of Certainty

(10 minute read)

Key Takeaways:

• Magical thinking requires twisting language to justify power grabs
• Power‑seekers use magical thinking and warped language to excuse their lust for domination
• Magical thinking feeds on our fear of uncertainty and complexity
• Maturity means rejecting magical thinking for limits, accountability, and truth

“It is not the thing itself that troubles you, but your own judgment about it. And this you have the power to change.”

–Marcus Aurelius, “Meditations, 8.47”

“The things you think about controls the quality of your mind. You become your thoughts.”

–Marcus Aurelius, “Meditations, 5.16”

“…alternate realities are nothing new in America.”

–Sarah Churchwell, “The Wrath To Come,” Bloomsbury Publishing, UK, 2022

In The Age Of Magical Thinking 2 we looked at the darker side of magical thinking, focusing on how the intoxication of power can distort perception and erode moral judgment. Here, magical thinking is not about superstition, but about the moral illusions we create to justify what we desire or fear. Identity, ideology, and group dynamics can pull ordinary people into alternate moral realities. The most dangerous form of magical thinking is the idea that power is its own justification, making cruelty seem virtuous and control appear to be truth.

Holy Language, Unholy Ambition

Magical thinking is not always obvious; it often hides in our language and the stories we tell. For example, someone might claim that the nation has a divine destiny willing to take up that mantle as a leader. Opposing their agenda can be framed as opposing God’s plan.

When Ronald Reagan popularized the phrase “shining city upon a hill” to describe America’s God‑touched destiny, he wasn’t quoting scripture but reworking a 1630 Puritan sermon by John Winthrop.

In 1984, Democratic governor Mario Cuomo answered Reagan directly in his “Tale of Two Cities” address, arguing that Reagan’s vision left “the other city” in shadow—the poor, the unemployed, and the marginalized—showing how holy‑sounding political language can hide very human suffering rather than invite honest debate.¹

The language used can create both subtle and blatant pressure, especially for people who sincerely want to do the right thing or have a different worldview. It can quietly discourage any freedom to ask honest questions or trust personal moral instincts.

Vocabulary can function like a charm for leaders and followers alike: choose the right words, repeat them often, and it can seem as though we are fulfilling a solemn duty, briefly lifted into the role of instruments meant for something greater.

When sacred language enters political discourse, it can blur the line between faith and policy.

When Politics Becomes Theology

In the previous article, we looked at power and control in Orwell’s “1984.” Written soon after Nazi Germany, Orwell did not intend “1984” as a prophecy but as a warning about the loss of objective truth and how quietly people accept government control.

State surveillance, censorship, turning lies into “facts,” and twisting language were not distant possibilities for Orwell; they were already happening, and he had seen them firsthand.

The novel’s depiction of a state-enforced “reality control” and the Party’s use of language as a weapon—”Newspeak” and “Doublethink”—all words made-up by Orwell to explain what he saw; governments lulling citizens into believing that reality can be changed simply by declaring it so.

One may think that the use of Orwell’s “1984” here can be alarmist. After all, we are living in a free society, aren’t we? Are we? There are plenty of current examples to consider.

Today’s U.S. surveillance state doesn’t need “1984”-like telescreens to enforce its preferred reality; it uses vast data collection, algorithmic ‘risk’ scores, and secret watchlists. When officials insist these systems are merely ‘protecting freedom’ and dismiss critics as naïve or unpatriotic, they echo 1984’s logic—turning constant monitoring into a sacred duty and treating any demand for transparency as a threat to the common good.¹

Orwell’s warning was not merely about surveillance itself, but about how power sustains itself by reshaping truth until citizens accept domination as reality.

Another example of this overreach is the chilling NYTimes article where JD Vance avowed, “There is no law, there’s just power.”

That quote actually stems from Carl Schmitt, a German jurist “who provided much of the intellectual ballast for the Third Reich.” Here is Vance’s full quote as it appeared:

“The thing that I kept thinking about liberalism in 2019 and 2020 is that these guys (liberals) have all read Carl Schmitt — there’s no law, there’s just power. And the goal here is to get back in power.”

Vance puts these words in Democrats’ mouths, claiming liberals are obsessed with power and use Schmitt’s writings to justify lawlessness and power grabs. He argues their use of political correctness as a weapon simply follows Schmitt’s power playbook.

Given Carl Schmitt’s history and politics, Vance’s comparison is striking. A leading legal theorist of Nazism and an opponent of liberal ideals, Schmitt defended the use of extraordinary executive power to defeat a regime’s enemies.²

Vance is a graduate of Harvard University and is expected to know better. It is possible that he does understand this and is nonetheless choosing to present it in this way.

While Vance appears to use the opportunity to make a political case (he was vying to be Trump’s VP on the Republican ticket), the rest of the NYTimes interview can be framed as a justification for using power to confront perceived enemies, so long as “conservatives were the ones doing it.”

In fact, it seems that many of his concerns about political correctness may have come from his own internal reflections.

I think most of us who are generally socially aware have a voice in our head that says: “You shouldn’t say this; you should try to say that. Maybe you believe this, but you should try to put it a little bit more diplomatically.” And in 2020 that voice had become absolutely tyrannical. There was nothing you were allowed to say. Offending someone was an act of violence. I think a lot of us just said: “We’re done with this. We’re not playing this game, and we refuse to be policed in what we think and what we say.”

This answer comes after he is asked about the hearings to confirm Justice Kavanaugh and the Black Lives Matter movement. He explains that he was uncomfortable with how Kavanaugh was treated and that he did not fully agree with the BLM movement.

At the same time Vance takes the Democrats to task for their lawlessness, he appears to excuse participants in the January 6 events, portraying them as merely engaging in a form of democratic process.

In the statement “there is no law, there is only power,” Vance suggests that the ends can be used to justify the means; power is paramount so long as the group in favor remains in control.

This raises concerns about how faith language shapes political identity, a kind of political “magical thinking:” the belief that simply holding power—rather than respecting law, limits, or consequences—can reshape reality to fit the desires of those in charge, as if sheer will or authority could override the constraints that actually govern social and moral life.

Power as an End in Itself

“There is no law, there is only power” also echoes Orwell’s power crazed O’Brien.

• “There’s just power,” says Vance.
• “Power is not a means, it is an end,” says O’Brien.

• “There’s just power,” says Vance.
• “The object of power is power,” says O’Brien.

• “There’s just power,” says Vance.
• “There will always be the intoxication of power,” says O’Brien.

Given his connections to the Catholic, ultra-conservative Opus Dei organization, it may not be surprising that Vance appears drawn to language that emphasizes power in almost mystical terms.

Holiness and Hierarchy

Opus Dei, founded in Spain in 1928, is a Catholic institution composed of both lay members and clergy. Its stated aim is to encourage lay people to pursue holiness through their chosen professions. In other words, it promotes the idea that individuals can seek spiritual growth by approaching their work with competence, integrity, and commitment, and by integrating their faith with their professional lives.

It’s telling how the group responds to its critics. When they do respond, they defend this position by saying it is badly misrepresented or merely misunderstood. They insist that holiness does not come from the work itself but from God’s grace through one’s vocation, yet they still claim an exclusive hold on this unusual idea of sanctification.

“The universal call to holiness, strictly speaking, does not derive from the universal dimension of the various earthly activities carried out by men and women. At its root, the universal call to holiness is an expression of the vocation to identify with Jesus Christ that every believer receives as a gift a task in baptism. Every baptized person is called to be holy; moreover, every human being is holy, insofar as he or she is destined to be a living member of the Mystical Body of Christ.”

If “holy” is meant to express the preciousness of life—that every human being is made in the image of God (here is where I stand on that)—then that should be appreciated. But it appears that is not the intent.

The idea that one community is uniquely “right” is a belief of that community itself, not an objective truth everyone must accept. The exclusivity of “every human being is holy, insofar [as they are] destined to be a living member of the Mystical Body of Christ” is problematic. “A human being is holy if they are …one of us.”

This can be troublesome because the language used implies an “us and them” toxic magical belief system. A Jew is no more or less human, worthy, or sincere in belief than a Hindu, a Buddhist, a Wiccan, a Muslim, a Taoist, an atheist, and so on (among the thousands of other religious organizations in the world).

The idea of achieving holiness primarily through joining one’s group is perplexing enough. But to promise that holiness can be achieved through one’s job is not a central theme presented by Jesus. Instead, he more often portrayed a fully human life as one marked by generosity and humility in the present world, with an emphasis on good deeds and caring for society’s most vulnerable.

Whatever form of comforting belief we hold, the simple fact that we are here at all can be deeply significant. Either life is precious and special or it isn’t, and I lean toward believing that it can be.

Acknowledging that the organization presents a view of holiness as attainable through daily work may seem like addressing an easy target. Ultimately, though, this perspective appears to rest on a series of optimistic assumptions. While we cannot know what is in the minds and hearts of Vance and others, we can still evaluate their claims and actions by their observable outcomes.

“You will know them by their fruits,” said …someone. In Matthew 7:15–20, Jesus gently warns about false prophets, reminding us that even if people seem convincing at first, over time their words and actions reveal who they truly are.

If you are a Christian and still reading this, I’d like to offer a gentle suggestion. If finding meaning in everyday life is important to you, you might enjoy reading “The Practice of the Presence of God.” This short 17th-century classic shares warm, practical reflections on noticing God’s presence and purpose in ordinary tasks.

A more in-depth book on the subject is The Servant-Leader Within by Robert Greenleaf. It offers a thoughtful exploration of what it can mean to be Christ-like better than any of the contemporary personalities we’ve considered so far.

¹Andrew L. Whitehead and Samuel L. Perry, “Taking America Back for God: Christian Nationalism in the United States” (Oxford University Press, 2020).
Whitehead and Perry argue that Christian nationalism “sacralizes” a particular vision of the nation, so that challenges to that vision are treated as attacks on God’s will and on the Christian nation itself—rather than ordinary policy disagreement.

²David Dyzenhaus, “Legality and Legitimacy: Carl Schmitt, Hans Kelsen and Hermann Heller in Weimar” (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997).