Public funds carry an implicit obligation: serving the people they support. Professors who dismiss this duty should not be surprised when citizens respond with frustration.
Imagine an Iranian warship calmly navigating the Indian Ocean—then, out of nowhere, a U.S. submarine appears and launches torpedoes in what one professor recently described as “sheer cruelty.” In their narrative, the United States isn’t merely mistaken or imprudent; it’s the perpetual villain in a cartoon morality play, cast as the relentless bully.
Others claim President Trump’s actions toward Iran stem solely from domestic political distraction—specifically, an alleged effort to divert attention from the Epstein files. Their logic follows this pattern: Trump once suggested Barack Obama might attack Iran for political reasons. Therefore, through reasoning that would embarrass a first-year philosophy student, he must now be doing precisely that himself.
We correctly believe free speech requires tolerating ideas that are foolish, offensive, or absurd. But the First Amendment does not obligate taxpayers to fund such views.
This pattern repeats. In January, progressive philosophers of religion flooded social media with fake reports about ICE, insisting American Christians must allow unrestricted immigration as a requirement of loving their neighbor. When questioned about passages they cite that presuppose conversion to faith, discussions quickly shifted from political discourse to hostility toward Christian scripture itself.
My own feeds were inundated with posts from progressive philosophers recycling Democratic talking points. One prominent example: philosopher Eleonore Stump reposted fabricated stories about Liam Ramos, counterfeit images of ICE shootings, and emotionally charged appeals rooted in what is now called “suicidal empathy.”
The situation has become systemic. American professors live in a country that pays them well to teach Marxist progressivism while enjoying robust constitutional protections for speech and inquiry. They are free to develop theories so eccentric they would not survive a staff meeting at a reasonably sensible insurance company.
The late philosopher Roger Scruton coined the term oikophobia—the fear or hatred of one’s own home—to describe this phenomenon. Browsing faculty social media, especially in humanities disciplines, reveals it: virtually any other country can do no wrong, while the United States can do nothing right.
These professors lament how the “benevolent” Venezuelan ruler was removed by U.S. actions. If they admit he was a tyrant, they pivot to asking whether America is supposed to remove every tyrant worldwide—a moral theory that applies only when conservative governance acts. In their personal lives and domestic politics, these same scholars champion incrementalism: “Don’t let the perfect become the enemy of the good.” But when Donald Trump or conservative America initiates action, oikophobia triggers a collapse in critical reasoning.
Recently, James Carville—a former professor of political science at Tulane University and a political consultant to foreign governments—publicly violated the third commandment by asking God for more “Trump derangement syndrome” while admitting he hates Trump and wants to hate him more. This is not mere political resentment; it’s a descent into madness.
This posture has become standard in political science and humanities fields, resembling intellectual surrender as described in Romans 1: being given over to a “debased mind.” When intellectuals lose judgment, consequences spill into institutions, students, culture, and policy.
The strangest aspect is that taxpayers continue funding these professors—especially at state universities where salaries are public money. Americans tolerate this out of respect for the First Amendment but mistakenly believe free speech requires taxpayer support for absurd ideas.
Oikophobia rarely exists in isolation; it grows from autophobia—a self-hatred that manifests when professors despise their country, the civilization that produced it, and eventually themselves. Their teachings urge young people to reject their bodies, treat biological reality as an inconvenience, and even mutilate themselves in pursuit of identity constructed from will alone. Civilizations teaching children to hate themselves do not flourish long.
Another pattern emerges: many professors were raised in Christianity before rejecting it entirely. They often speak of Jesus as one teacher among many or outright dismiss him—a rejection that becomes the foundation for broader hostility.
The America they envision is stripped of Christian foundations—a global moral neutrality where Western civilization stays perpetually on trial and all traditions receive presumption of innocence. In their view, just as America can do nothing right, Christians can do nothing right either. Meanwhile, almost any spiritual alternative—no matter how strange or historically problematic—wins enthusiastic approval.
One professor raised in a conservative Baptist home later embraced “hedonic atheism,” recounting excitement about sitting on the dirt floor of a shaman’s tent to ingest hallucinogenic mushrooms for “opening doors of perception.” Christianity: rejected. Mushrooms with a witch doctor: enlightenment.
Future historians may question how a prosperous civilization funded intellectuals dedicated to explaining its own unique wickedness. Most civilizations eventually discovered a simple solution: stop paying for it.
Owen Anderson is a professor of philosophy and religion at Arizona State University and author of The Declaration of Independence and God.
