Our politics are no longer arguing over omelets; we are arguing over whether eggs even exist. Until we recover a shared moral and ethical foundation, serious debate in America—and in Idaho—will remain nearly impossible.
I owe the simplification of this point to a recent letter to the Wall Street Journal by Mr. Erni Laynez, who clarified what I have long thought of as our “moral and ethical predicates.” I have written recently that for roughly the first 150 years of the Republic, Americans certainly fought over political philosophy—Jeffersonian Republicans against Hamiltonian Federalists, Jacksonian Democrats versus Whigs, and so on—but they nevertheless shared a common reverence for the underlying principles that governed both policy and disagreement itself. They could clash fiercely over ends because they agreed, at least broadly, on means and on the moral architecture within which the argument took place.
Today, that shared architecture is crumbling.
Think of political philosophy as an omelet. There are many ingredients you can add—ham, bacon, sausage, cheese, tomatoes, onions. You can leave some out and add others in. But no matter how creative you get, if there are no eggs, you do not have an omelet.
In our national life, the “eggs” are our founding documents and the principles behind them: Natural Law and Biblical morality as recognized in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. These are not sectarian decorations; they are the binding agent that holds the whole dish together. They give coherence to our notions of rule of law, contract and property rights, due process, and the rights of conscience. Those are the essential ingredients that must be present in every political “recipe,” regardless of partisan preference.
The difficulty today is that much of the political left cannot—or will not—agree on what, if anything, should serve as the main ingredient. When there is no consensus about the moral “eggs,” arguments devolve into raw power struggles: who can shout the loudest, mobilize the most outrage, or control the bureaucratic machinery. You cannot reason someone out of a position that was never grounded in reason or in shared first principles.
The Declaration of Independence is explicit about what those first principles are. It appeals to “the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them” and then declares “that all men are created equal,” and “that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” In other words, the distinctively American version of liberalism—our insistence that all human beings are equal and free—rests on a theological and moral foundation.
We are equal because we are created. We possess rights because there is a Creator and because there is a moral order—“the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God”—that precedes the state and limits it. Government does not grant these rights; it recognizes and secures them. That assertion is not a mere slogan. It is the foundational moral predicate upon which every legitimate political argument in this country ought to stand, whether the argument takes place in Washington, D.C. or in Boise, Idaho.
If someone rejects that predicate and denies that our rights are grounded in creation, nature, and nature’s God, then he is not simply disagreeing about policy details. He is, in effect, arguing to overthrow the very moral and ethical framework on which the American experiment rests. He is trying to cook something that is not an omelet and insisting we call it breakfast.
Modern progressive liberalism, as it is commonly practiced, offers plenty of ingredients—identity, grievance, technocratic management, redistribution—but it offers very few eggs. It is long on slogans and short on a coherent moral anthropology. Thus we see wild swings and striking contradictions.
How, for example, do you move from the “#MeToo” insistence on believing women and condemning sexual predation, to defending or minimizing the conduct of favored political figures who stand credibly accused? What stable moral principle explains the selective outrage?
How do institutions that claim to champion human rights and tolerance now justify the naked antisemitism that has taken root in academia and filtered into portions of the media? On what philosophical or legal basis can anyone defend the intimidation of Jewish students on campuses supposedly dedicated to free inquiry and equal protection?
What moral, ethical, or legal justification can there be for the widespread waste, fraud, and abuse we are seeing in Medicaid and welfare programs—quite possibly including right here in Idaho? When benefits are treated as political currency rather than as carefully stewarded resources directed to the truly needy, what underlying principle is being honored?
And how do we justify granting massive tax breaks and economic incentives to large non‑profit hospital systems, ostensibly in the name of community benefit, while families and employers are paying more for health insurance than many pay for a mortgage? We watch CEOs of hospital chains and insurance companies collect multi‑million‑dollar compensation packages, and then we tell working families to be grateful for their “coverage.” What conception of justice or stewardship is at work there?
These are not isolated cases of hypocrisy. They are symptoms of a politics unmoored from any stable moral foundation. When you discard the “eggs”—when rights are no longer grounded in a Creator, in natural law, and in the dignity of the human person—policy becomes a tool of factional advantage, not an expression of principle.
Donald Trump, for all his flaws and all the controversy surrounding him, clearly understands that politics is about cracking eggs. He has broken a great many—bureaucratic norms, entrenched assumptions, polite fictions—and that is precisely why so many detractors despise him and so many supporters admire him. You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, and you cannot disrupt a complacent, self‑protective political class without shattering some of its cherished habits.
Whether one likes Trump or not, his rise has exposed just how hollow and performative much of our political discourse had become. He forced questions back to the level of fundamentals: nationhood, sovereignty, the obligations of government to its own citizens. Those are eggs, not garnish.
In Idaho, we need leaders who are willing to crack some eggs of our own—not for the thrill of disruption, but in service to the principles that actually define America. We need public servants who will insist that our policies, from health care to education to welfare, be judged against the standard articulated in the Declaration: Are we recognizing that all are created equal? Are we protecting life, liberty, and the honest pursuit of happiness? Are we honoring the rule of law, property rights, contracts, due process, and the rights of conscience?
If the answer is no, then it does not matter how artfully the policy is presented or how loudly its advocates proclaim their compassion. Without eggs, it is not an omelet. Without moral and ethical predicates grounded in the laws of Nature and Nature’s God, it is not American statesmanship. It is just another plate of political hash.
We in Idaho should demand better—from our leaders, from our institutions, and from ourselves.
