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Sunday pages: "The address of gen. Washington to the people of America on his declining the…

Greg Olear's latest piece for PREVAIL does something rare: it treats a 229-year-old political document not as a dusty relic, but as a live wire connecting directly to the fractures in our current political landscape. By reframing George Washington's Farewell Address as a specific warning against the mechanics of modern factionalism, Olear forces the reader to confront the uncomfortable reality that the threats Washington identified are not historical footnotes, but the operating system of today's governance.

The Architecture of a Republic

Olear begins by dismantling the static view of American history, reminding us that the map and the population were once fluid. He notes that in 1796, the United States was a fraction of its current size, with "New Spain was larger than the United States!" This context is crucial; it grounds the reader in a moment of extreme fragility where the nation's survival was far from guaranteed. Olear argues that the very character of the presidency was shaped by Washington's personal restraint, a trait he contrasts sharply with modern tendencies toward self-aggrandizement.

Sunday pages: "The address of gen. Washington to the people of America on his declining the…

"Because of George Washington, the Chief Executive is addressed as 'Mr. President,' and not 'His Excellency,' or some other floofy European aristocratic rendering," Olear writes. This observation highlights how institutional norms are often the result of individual character rather than immutable law. The author suggests that without Washington's specific humility, the office itself would have evolved into something unrecognizable, potentially monarchic in nature.

The piece draws a direct line from Washington's decision to step down after two terms to the erosion of that precedent. Olear points out that Washington "established the precedent of the peaceful transfer of power that all but the current holder of that esteemed office have dutifully followed." This is a bold claim, yet it is supported by the historical record of Washington voluntarily relinquishing power despite having the popular support to stay indefinitely. The author's framing here is effective because it shifts the focus from personality to the structural vulnerability of the system when norms are ignored.

"If Washington's personality was any different... if, in short, he were more like Donald Trump—the office of 'President,' and the very character of the nation itself, would be unrecognizable today."

Critics might argue that drawing such a direct comparison risks oversimplifying the complex institutional checks and balances that have persisted regardless of individual leaders. However, Olear's point is not about the specific individual but about the type of behavior that threatens the office's integrity.

The Warning Against Factionalism

The core of Olear's argument lies in his analysis of Washington's text as an "admonition" rather than a mere farewell. He highlights Washington's fear that the unity of the government is the "main pillar in the edifice of your real independence." Olear paraphrases Washington's concern that enemies, both domestic and foreign, would work to "weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth."

The author selects specific passages to show how Washington anticipated the weaponization of division. "The alternate domination of one faction over another, sharpened by the spirit of revenge, natural to party dissension, which in different ages and countries has perpetrated the most horrid enormities, is itself a frightful despotism," Olear quotes. This is the piece's most potent section, as it connects the abstract concept of "faction" to the tangible reality of political violence and the erosion of liberty.

Olear argues that the current political climate mirrors Washington's worst fears: "In 2025, Washington's greatest fear has come true. The will of an enterprising minority has supplanted the will of the people." He describes a scenario where "cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men... have subverted the power of the people; have usurped for themselves the reins of government." The author's choice to use Washington's own words to describe modern political maneuvering creates a jarring, yet compelling, parallel.

The commentary also touches on the religious aspect of the address, clarifying that Washington was not a Christian nationalist. Olear cites Washington's 1790 letter to the Touro Synagogue, noting that the President promised that the government "gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance." This historical fact serves as a counter-narrative to modern attempts to conflate religious identity with political power, reinforcing the idea that the founding vision was one of pluralism, not exclusivity.

The Ruins of Public Liberty

As the piece progresses, Olear becomes more explicit about the consequences of ignoring these warnings. He writes that the "common and continual mischief" of factionalism "agitates the community with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms, kindles the animosity of one part against another, foments occasionally riot and insurrection." The author connects this directly to recent events, stating, "And have we known riot and insurrection? We have, Dear Reader; we have."

The argument culminates in a stark assessment of the current trajectory. Olear suggests that the "disorders and miseries which result gradually incline the minds of men to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an individual." He describes the current state of affairs as "the birth pangs of a formal and permanent despotism," pointing to the physical and symbolic damage done to the institutions of government.

While the piece is powerful in its urgency, a counterargument worth considering is whether the comparison to 1796 overlooks the resilience of the American system. The Constitution has weathered civil war, economic depression, and deep social divisions without collapsing into despotism. However, Olear's focus is on the direction of travel, suggesting that the cumulative effect of recent actions has pushed the system to a breaking point that Washington specifically warned against.

"In 2025, we are experiencing the birth pangs of a formal and permanent despotism. A third of the country has sought security... in the absolute power of an individual—a bloated, amoral traitor, in our case."

Bottom Line

Greg Olear's commentary succeeds by treating the Farewell Address as a diagnostic tool for the present, using Washington's own warnings to illuminate the dangers of modern factionalism and the erosion of democratic norms. The piece's greatest strength is its refusal to treat history as a static backdrop, instead showing how the specific choices of the founding generation continue to define the boundaries of our political reality. The biggest vulnerability lies in its unyielding focus on the current administration's failures, which, while historically grounded, risks alienating readers who might view the situation as a cyclical political struggle rather than an existential threat to the republic. Readers should watch for how the institutions Olear describes—the courts, the press, and the electorate—respond to the pressures of this "permanent despotism" in the coming months.

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Sources

Sunday pages: "The address of gen. Washington to the people of America on his declining the…

by Greg Olear · PREVAIL · Read full article

Dear Reader,

I tend to picture the map of the United States as unchanging—as fixed as the alphabet. Same with the fifty stars on the flag. But of course that was not the case.

Cast your mind back, if you will, 229 years into the past. The year is 1796. The Declaration of Independence is just 20 years old; the Constitution, only seven.

The nation itself is much smaller, in terms of both size and population. Tennessee, the 16th state of the Union, was admitted on the first of June. The Louisiana Purchase is still seven years in the future. There are roughly five million people living in the United States—equivalent to the 2025 population of Alabama.

And Alabama? That wouldn’t become a state until 1819. Part of that piece of real estate was claimed by the state of Georgia; part of it was the eastern swath of Mississippi Territory; and the entire coastline—imagine if the Florida panhandle extended all the way to Louisiana—was something called “West Florida.” West Florida was itself governed by the Viceroyalty of New Spain, a vast expanse south and west of the Red and the Snake Rivers, encompassing significant portions of California, Texas, Arizona, New Mexico, and Nevada. In 1796, in fact, New Spain was larger than the United States!

Our all-time greatest president was also the all-time worst, because to date, only one man has held the job—the general and Revolutionary War hero who, as they say in the theater, originated the role.

It’s hard for me to think of George Washington as a real person. For one thing, he lived before photography, and the Gilbert Stuart portraits don’t help me visualize him as a flesh and blood human, despite the rosy cheeks. And there is a mythology around him. He has been so hero-worshipped as to be an almost legendary figure, more akin to Achilles or King David than, say, Jimmy Carter.

But real he was. And if Washington’s personality was any different—if he were self-aggrandizing instead of humble, immature instead of wise, feckless instead of responsible, selfish instead of empathic, small-minded instead of mindful of his long-term legacy; if, in short, he were more like Donald Trump—the office of “President,” and the very character of the nation itself, would be unrecognizable today.

Because of George Washington, the Chief Executive is addressed as “Mr. President,” and not “His Excellency,” or some other floofy ...