I once met a very nice madman, at a monastery in Ireland. I was 21 and living on my uncle’s farm. I needed a break, so I left for a week-long retreat at a Trappist monastery in County Tipperary.

There, I met Jerry, also on retreat. Jerry was an intense but harmless madman. His madness stemmed from a believe that he’d been ordained by God to bring peace to Northern Ireland.

Fair enough. A noble goal. Harmless enough — even after Jerry’s behavior turned bizarre.

Quite bizarre, actually. One evening, we went to a nearby pub. In walked a man wearing a trench coat, handing out copies of the IRA newspaper. Jerry lost it, yelled at the man, called him an infidel, and dragged him to the door intending to throw him out.

The attempt failed. Instead, Jerry and I were grabbed, picked up, and tossed out of the pub. That was how I discovered both flight and the unforgiving firmness of pavement.

Next morning, Jerry amped up his madness. He interrupted the monks’ prayer by donning a robe and prostrating himself at the altar. That convinced the Abbot to ask Jerry if he’d voluntarily commit himself to a psyche ward in Dublin. Jerry agreed, and I was commissioned to escort him there.

That’s the abridged story of my friend, Jerry. A madman, yes. But a benign, well-intentioned madman.

Alas, not all madmen are warm and fuzzy. Given enough power, a madman can be incredibly dangerous — existentially dangerous, as history has shown too many times.

I won’t recount the Who’s Who of history’s most deadly madmen, because you know where this is going.

Donald Trump. If he wasn’t a madman during his first term, he is clearly now off the rails. Continue Reading →