Editor’s Note: What would the sharpest critics of the past make of today’s political theater? To find out, we used artificial intelligence to imagine how historical commentators would review current events. The following is an AI-generated commentary on the recent movement by Christian nationalists to “rededicate” the United States to God, written in the tavern-born wisdom of Mr. Dooley.

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, wiping down the bar with a rag that had seen better administrations, “I see be th’ papers that th’ politicians have gone an’ handed th’ counthry back over to th’ Almighty.”

“I didn’t know He’d lost th’ lease,” said Mr. Hennessy, nursing his glass.

“He hasn’t,” said Mr. Dooley. “But th’ fellas in Washington are lookin’ f’r a new landlord so they can collect th’ rint thimselves. Ye see, Hinnissy, back in th’ day, th’ founders wrote up a grand Declaration to break th’ old covenant they had with th’ King. They set up a new deal, a social contract based entirely on th’ consint iv th’ governed. ‘We pledge to each other,’ they said. But that’s a terrible system f’r a politician, because it means ye actually have to listen to th’ voters.

“Now, these modern fellas have figured out a much betther scheme. They stand up on th’ stage an’ declare a grand rededication. If they tell ye th’ nation belongs exclusively to a God in a far away Heaven , well, God is what ye call an absint owner. He don’t show up to th’ press conferences to veto their bills.

“So, these political fellas step right up an’ say, ‘Seein’ as how th’ Boss is out iv town, we’ll be His earthly proxies’. They take their own party platform an’ they fuse it right up with a divine mandate. The practical result, Hinnissy, is that loyalty to th’ Almighty an’ loyalty to their specific political movement become indistinguishable.

“In a regular republic, if ye disagree with a man about how to pave th’ roads, ye’re just a citizen with a diff’rent idea. But once they’ve rededicated th’ state, th’ whole landscape shifts. If ye don’t vote f’r their man, ye’re no longer just wrong on th’ policy ; ye’re framed as an inimy iv God Himsilf. It’s a wonderful mechanism f’r validatin’ an’ consolidatin’ present political power.”

“It sounds like a deeply spiritual transaction,” said Mr. Hennessy.

“Oh, ’tis very spiritual,” said Mr. Dooley. “But structurally speakin’, th’ immediate beneficiary iv th’ transaction is always th’ political power claimin’ to represent Heaven on earth. Whin a politician tells ye he’s rededicatin’ th’ state to th’ Lord, keep one hand on ye’re ballot an’ th’ other on ye’re wallet.”

Editor’s Note: What would the sharpest critics of the past make of today’s political theater? To find out, we used artificial intelligence to imagine how historical commentators would review current events. The following is an AI-generated commentary on the recent movement by Christian nationalists to “rededicate” the United States to God, written in the cynical, unmistakable voice of H.L. Mencken.

To the dedicated student of the American political carnival, the recent spectacle of “rededicating” the Republic to the Almighty offers a masterclass in the audacity of the ruling class. One must stand in quiet awe of the sheer, unadulterated brass it takes to gaze upon a secular republic and boldly claim it as a divine fiefdom.

Anyone burdened with a passing knowledge of verifiable history understands that the framers of this government deliberately avoided dedicating the enterprise to a supreme being. The Constitution itself remains blissfully silent on the matter of the Divine , and the Treaty of Tripoli explicitly, legally assured the globe that the United States is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion.

Yet, the charlatans currently parading across the national stage would have the booboisie believe otherwise. Lacking a legal foundation, they reach back to the 17th-century Puritans—a gloomy sect heavily steeped in a method of reading the Bible where they borrowed the identity of ancient Israel to make their own trans-Atlantic migration feel important. The modern nationalist demands we believe that when a European chaplain planted a wooden cross on the beach at Cape Henry in 1607, he somehow legally and spiritually bound the God of Israel to a future democratic republic. It requires a leap of logic so massive it borders on the athletic.

But one must look past the theological pageantry to see the true mechanics of power at play. When a nation is rededicated to a God who resides in a far away Heaven, that God functions politically as an “absent owner”. An absent owner, naturally, requires earthly management.

This entire spectacle of rededication is nothing more than a grandiose job application. By claiming the nation belongs exclusively to God, these political factions conveniently position themselves as the sole legitimate interpreters of His will. It is a brilliant rhetorical maneuver. They fuse their own highly specific, partisan agenda with a divine mandate. Once the transaction is complete, any citizen who dares to oppose their tax policies or legal appointments is no longer simply a voter with a different opinion ; they are framed as an enemy of God and an agent of spiritual darkness.

The public, as always, is invited to bow their heads in reverence, blissfully unaware that the earthly proxies are busy picking their pockets.

Editor’s Note: What would the sharpest critics of the past make of today’s political theater? To find out, we used artificial intelligence to imagine how historical commentators would review current events. The following is an AI-generated commentary on President Trump’s recent state visit to China, written in the tavern-born wisdom of Mr. Dooley.

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Dooley, wiping down the bar with a rag that had seen better administrations, “I see be th’ papers that th’ Prisidint has been over visitin’ th’ Impror iv Chiny.”

“I thought Chiny had a prisidint too, or a chairman or somethin’,” said Mr. Hennessy, nursing his glass.

“They have whativer ye want to call a man who don’t have to pack his bags whin th’ lease is up,” said Mr. Dooley. “But Impror is what he is, an’ Impror is how he treated our man. They put him up in th’ F’rbidden City, Hinnissy. ‘Tis a grand, sprawling palace they used to keep strictly f’r th’ local boss an’ his wives, but seein’ as how our Prisidint has a well-known weakness f’r gold paint on th’ ceilin’ an’ high walls, they opened th’ big red doors wide. Nothin’ says ‘welcome to th’ workers’ republic’ quite like dinin’ in a room where they used to behead th’ help f’r sneezin’.

“It was a masterclass in dip-lomacy, which is th’ art iv smilin’ at a man while ye step on his shoes. Mr. Xi, th’ head man over there, looks at our Prisidint an’ says, ‘Ye’re a great man, an’ ye’re doin’ a grand job.’ An’ th’ Prisidint looks at Mr. Xi an’ says, ‘Ye’re a great man too, an’ I’m an aven greater man f’r noticin’ it.’ In th’ old days, Hinnissy, they’d shoot off cannons to show respect; now they just shoot off compliments till th’ translation machine gives up th’ ghost and starts smokin’.

“Thin, to show what a tight-knit bunch iv geopolitical strategists th’ family is, out comes th’ magic flat-screen. Th’ Prisidint shows th’ Chinese boss a movin’ picture iv his little granddaughter singin’ a song in their own tongue. Ah, Hinnissy, there’s nawthin’ like a little tyke singin’ a ditty to soften th’ heart iv a man who runs a billion people an’ a million steel mills. ‘Twas a beautiful touch. I’m thinkin’ iv teachin’ me own nephew to sing in Gaelic, just in case th’ brewery rep comes askin’ f’r th’ unpaid bill.

“An’ thin came th’ business, th’ meat iv th’ matter. Two hundherd an’ fifty billion dollars in trade deals, they announced, with all th’ fanfare iv a circus parade passin’ through town. ‘Tis a sum so big ye could almost pay off th’ bar tab iv th’ Eighth Ward. But ’tis mostly on paper, Hinnissy. ‘Memorandums iv undherstandin’,’ they call thim in Washington. Which means, translated from th’ lawyer-talk: ‘I undherstand ye’d like me to buy ye’re airplanes, an’ ye undherstand I might, if I don’t figure out how to build ’em meself first.’

“But th’ best part, th’ part that shows th’ true genius iv th’ man, was whin they stood up at th’ microphones to talk about who’s robbin’ who blind. F’r months on th’ campaign trail, ’twas ‘Chiny is stealin’ our shirts an’ laughin’ at us.’ But standin’ there, lookin’ at th’ roast duck, th’ Prisidint didn’t blame Mr. Xi at all. He says, ‘I don’t blame ye f’r takin’ advantage iv us. If I was you, I’d take our shirts too. I blame th’ fellas who used to live in th’ White House f’r leavin’ th’ closet door open.’

“‘Tis a wonderful thing, Hinnissy, an’ a great innovation in foreign policy. Ye travel halfway across th’ wurruld, eat a man’s food, drink his tea, an’ use th’ occasion to yell at th’ ghost iv th’ fella who had ye’re job befure ye.”

“So, did they solve th’ problems iv th’ wurruld?” asked Mr. Hennessy. “Will th’ factories be comin’ back to Chicago?”

“They will not,” said Mr. Dooley. “Th’ boats will keep sailin’, an’ th’ ledgers will keep bleedin’. But they had a grand dinner, they took some beautiful pictures, an’ nobody dropped th’ fine china. In th’ high-stakes business iv runnin’ th’ globe, Hinnissy, ye count that as a massive triumph, declare a total victory, an’ move on to th’ next banquet.”

Editor’s Note: What would the sharpest critics of the past make of today’s political theater? To find out, we used artificial intelligence to imagine how historical commentators would review current events. The following is an AI-generated commentary on President Trump’s recent state visit to China, written in the cynical, unmistakable voice of H.L. Mencken.

To the dedicated student of human theater, the expedition of Mr. Trump to the Middle Kingdom offers a spectacle of almost magnificent proportions. One need not subscribe to the partisan hysterics of the daily press to appreciate the sheer, unadulterated pageantry of the affair. Here, after all, was the grand collision of two formidable egos, draped in the ancient silks of diplomacy and broadcast live for the amusement of the global gallery.

The stagecraft, one must admit, was flawless. Mr. Xi, playing the role of the benevolent but unyielding sovereign, arranged what the mandarins in the press billed as a “state visit-plus.” This culminated in a dinner within the walls of the Forbidden City—a real estate concession not granted to a foreign leader since the establishment of the People’s Republic. For a visiting president whose primary genius has always rested in his appreciation for grand facades and gilded framing, it was a masterful stroke of flattery.

The verifiable details of the summit are where the true nature of statecraft reveals itself. Rather than the table-thumping belligerence promised on the campaign trail, the American president assumed the posture of an admiring, almost genial guest. In a maneuver of dynastic diplomacy that would have made the Ming emperors nod in quiet recognition, he produced an iPad to show Mr. Xi a video of his young granddaughter, Arabella, singing dutifully in Mandarin. It was a disarming, highly calculated gesture—a reminder that in the upper stratospheres of power, politics is often managed as a family business.

Then came the inevitable arithmetic.

The grand, triumphant chord of the expedition was the announcement of some $253 billion in trade deals. The public was expected to stand in awe of the sum. Yet, the knowledgeable observer understands it was simply the customary exchange of paper. The vast majority of these agreements were non-binding memorandums of understanding—polite promises to perhaps, eventually, consider doing business. It was a performance designed precisely to pacify the folks back in the heartland, executed with the precision of a seasoned showman closing out the second act.

Perhaps the most revealing moment, however, was Mr. Trump’s address regarding the trade deficit. Standing beside his host, he delivered a rhetorical twist of remarkable audacity. He did not blame China for outmaneuvering American markets; instead, he placed the blame squarely on the shoulders of his own predecessors in Washington for allowing the ledger to bleed. It was a candid, entirely pragmatic admission, delivered with a shrug. It proved that the man understands at least one fundamental truth of the political pageant: when the red carpet is rolled out, it is poor form to insult the host, especially when there are past administrations so conveniently available to take the lash.

In the end, the Beijing expedition altered very little of the underlying geopolitical reality. The economic friction, the naval posturing, the endless jostling for supremacy—all of this remained exactly where it was before Air Force One touched down. But as a piece of performance art, it was unparalleled. The emperors of old would have recognized the transaction instantly: the tribute of flattery exchanged for the illusion of triumph. And the public, as always, received exactly the show it paid for.