When Affection Turns Cold: The Social Politics of Kingship, Unrequited Love, and Demanding Better
Dear Reader,
The Extravagant Man-loving Chief Executive.
Now that I have your attention, I want to reflect on how I spent my Flag Day and the 250th anniversary of the United States Army on June 14, 2025. I spent it with an old friend, at the tomb of General George Washington—Father of the Army, Father of His Country, Patriarch of Liberty. I went to Mount Vernon. George Washington refused to be King of America, and in doing so, he became the most kingly of men. Here’s what I mean.
In his Politics, Aristotle classifies governments based on who rules and whether they rule for the common good or for their own interest. From what we have remaining of Aristotle’s work, which was produced sometime in the 4th century BC, he understood kingship to be a legitimate form of government: monarchy under the right conditions. His theoretical framework is built on a spectrum of dichotomies that presume correct and deviant forms of government. Kingship, in its proper form, is the rule of a single virtuous man whose concern is not his own advancement but the well-being of the entire polity. Under that strict definition, it qualifies as a "correct" regime. The leader leads as a servant of the public good.
Aristotle made the case that if one man possessed unmatched virtue, it would only be right for that man to rule alone. Such a man would not merely enforce the law; he would, in a real sense, be the law. The attraction is obvious: unity, efficiency, decisiveness. The natural perversion of kingship is tyranny. Both are rule by one, but the tyrant rules for himself. He governs through fear, sustains power through manipulation, and confuses personal benefit with public good. The most degenerate form of political life—no dignity for the citizen. But Aristotle missed what later scholars saw—especially the Christian Greco-Romans, the Patristic writings of the early Christian Church Fathers from the 1st century to the 8th century. They wrestled with the nature of humanity and the impact of revelation. It is their tradition that built what we call European civilization. Impersonal interests were insufficient, and men are corrupted by power of the kind Aristotle considered.
In the traditions of the Dark Ages and the medieval world, the Old Testament Kings of Israel and the Christian Roman Emperors in Constantinople were the great models for rulers. In the medieval mind, only God’s throne was higher than that of the emperor. To be a true emperor, one had to be man-loving. The word for this in Constantinople was philanthropeia. It goes beyond what we think of when we say philanthropy. Philanthropeia is no mere check-writing exercise. It is, quite literally, the “love of mankind”—a virtue, a way of being, a philosophical orientation of the soul toward others. It was the supreme executive application of “love thy neighbor.” And for us today—adrift in a culture of commodified virtue, transactional politics, and performative compassion—philanthropeia is the lost moral key to unlock the attentiveness we desire from our government.
The emperor was to love his people enough to abide by the law, which is an amazing assumption considering that the later Roman Emperors could make new laws and change old ones at will. And yet, they were expected to obey the law themselves until they formally and officially changed it. To do otherwise was to be unfit, to bring dysfunction, to reject the duty to ensure the well-being of their subjects. To be bound by law and self-limiting was part of being man-loving. It took extraordinary self-control, but the emperors were limited by public knowledge of the teachings of the Church, and public opinion in this regard limited how far they could go before provoking resistance. They were to be just and merciful; both required the moral instruction of the Church and the knowledge of their people. Mercy could not exist in the abstract, without knowledge and understanding. Nevertheless, the expectation of displaying a man-loving nature remained important.
The leader with philanthropeia does not govern the way we have become used to. Technocracy governs without affection—aloof, managerial, and morally sterile. Transactional tribalism offers loyalty, but only to those who pay, fueled by ego and division rather than sacrifice. Sentimental bureaucracy feigns compassion while evading moral clarity and responsibility.
By 1782, the United States Army was angry. The Continentals had cause—the Congress of the Confederation had not paid them for a long time. Soldiers were fighting for freedom but were not paid; many had families and farms they had not seen for a long time. Under these conditions, the men started to imagine providing their own solutions.
Lewis Nicola was an Irish-born military officer and merchant who immigrated to Philadelphia, where he became active in the American Revolution. Nicola rose to prominence during the American Revolution, eventually leading a Corps of Invalids and writing a military training manual. In May 1782, amid economic hardship and political uncertainty, Nicola controversially wrote to George Washington. After listing the grievances of the Army and the problems with Congress, he suggested a solution to America’s civil-military relations problem. I have added emphasis in bold:
This war must have shown to all, but to military men in particular, the weakness of republics, and the exertions the army has been able to make by being under a proper head. Therefore, I little doubt, when the benefits of a mixed government are pointed out and duly considered, but such will be readily adopted. In this case it will, I believe, be uncontroverted that the same abilities which have led us, through difficulties apparently unsurmountable by human power, to victory and glory—those qualities that have merited and obtained the universal esteem and veneration of an army—would be most likely to conduct and direct us in the smoother paths of peace.
Some people have so connected the ideas of tyranny and monarchy as to find it very difficult to separate them. It may therefore be requisite to give the head of such a constitution as I propose some title apparently more moderate, but if all other things were once adjusted, I believe strong arguments might be produced for admitting the title of king, which I conceive would be attended with some material advantages.
I have hinted that I believed the United States would be benefited by my scheme. This, I conceive, would be done by having a savage and cruel enemy separated from their borders by a body of veterans that would be as an advanced guard, securing the main body from danger. There is no doubt but Canada will, some time or other, be a separate state, and from the genius and habits of the people, that its government will be monarchical. May not casualties produce enmity between this new state and our Union, and may not its force under the direction of an active prince prove too powerful for the efforts of republics? It may be answered that in a few years we shall acquire such vigor as to baffle all inimical attempts. I grant that our numbers and riches will increase, but will our governments have energy enough to draw them forth? Will those states remote from the danger be jealously anxious to assist those most exposed? Individuals in Holland abound in wealth, yet the government is poor and weak.
Republican bigots will certainly consider my opinions as heterodox, and the maintainer thereof as meriting fire and faggots. I have therefore hitherto kept them within my own breast. By freely communicating them to your Excellency I am persuaded I own no risk, and that, though disapproved of, I need not apprehend their ever being disclosed to my prejudice.
Nicola tried to be subtle but reading between the lines was easy: Washington had the loyalty of the Army and he could deal with the Congress by using the Army and be king of the new nation. Washington responded sharply:
Sir: With a mixture of great surprise and astonishment I have read with attention the Sentiments you have submitted to my perusal. Be assured Sir, no occurrence in the course of the War, has given me more painful sensations than your information of there being such ideas existing in the Army as you have expressed, and I must view with abhorrence, and reprehend with severity. For the present, the communication. of them will rest in my own bosom, unless some further' agitation of the matter, shall make a disclosure necessary.
I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could have given encouragement to an address which to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs that can befall my Country. If I am not deceived in the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a person.
Washington was clear: “I am not your guy. I love my people more than power, and I am not taking them down that road.” Aristotle thought the leader would have full power, but Washington, by training and experience, understood that to truly lead, he must be limited—to refuse power, to govern in accordance with the law and his oath. To be law-bound was to truly protect his people and secure the Revolution. This made him the lover of his nation, and without this love, he could not have become the Patriarch of Liberty.
In the past, everyone wanted to be emperor in the Roman tradition—to be like Julius Caesar and his nephew Octavian, the first emperor. They even stole Caesar’s name as a title: kaiser, tsar, and so on. But now, because of the greatness of America, everyone wants to be a president, like George Washington. He was greater than Aristotle’s “king.” But they do not understand how he made his nation safe and secure.
Washington loved the American people, and despite his human limitations, he lived for them. In his Farewell Address, he told the American people:
That he loved them
In looking forward to the moment which is intended to terminate the career of my political life my feelings do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved country for the many honors it has conferred upon me; still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has supported me, and for the opportunities I have thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment by services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness unequal to my zeal.
They should love liberty
Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every ligament of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm the attachment.
The unity of government which constitutes you one people is also now dear to you. It is justly so, for it is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the support of your tranquillity at home, your peace abroad, of your safety, of your prosperity, of that very liberty which you so highly prize.
They should love each other
Citizens by birth or choice of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which belongs to you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slight shades of difference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles.
Is it better to be feared or loved? Washington built a country and government that went from colony to putting a man on the moon in less than two hundred years. What did Machiavelli do beyond write a book many quote but don’t actually read?
Getting used to being unloved warps the natural expectations of human relationships. When people are conditioned by indifference—whether in families, institutions, or culture at large—they come to view affection with suspicion, read kindness as manipulation, and interpret vulnerability as incompetence. The result is a strange emotional expectation: being taken advantage of while also wanting attention.
Needing attention.
And ripe for scams.
When it is a mass problem, it is beyond personal and becomes civilizational. Additionally, it seems that a society habituated to emotional neglect turns brittle—the wrong kind of hard. It erupts over offense but forgets how to forgive. Institutions feel cold because they are cold. And when love is no longer expected, mutual indifference becomes the default, and empathy seems strange, weak, or unnatural. In such a world, solidarity dies.
When did we stop expecting our leaders to love us? Not manage us. Not entertain us. Not command us. But love us as fellow citizens in a shared moral project. To put the future of the country first. To lead, not bully. Can we ask it again? Will we demand it again? Or are we too proud—or too far gone—to demand what George Washington taught us? Love your neighbor. Love your country. Be a nation.
