The Unitary Executive Theory

Let's Call It What It Is

Photo by Ian Hutchinson on Unsplash

This is, after all, a philosophy blog.

Okay, ladies and gentlemen. Friends. Patriots. May I say, comrades? We need to talk about this little thing known as the “unitary executive theory.” And I want to be upfront here, to shock you with my conclusion before I even get into justifying it: the unitary executive theory is a fascist theory. And its most vocal adherents are, for the most part, fascists.

By fascism, I mean a governance structure that asserts the supremacy of executive will over legal constraint, subordinates the judiciary to the leader, and seeks to erase institutional pluralism in favor of centralized authority. It replaces law with loyalty and governance with spectacle. I'm not using the term as a mere epithet but to identify a specific political arrangement with recognizable features. If you'd prefer to say “reactionary” because you have some weird mythical problem with the idea that the Nazis and Hitler were also fascists then okay, fine. Whatever. I don't care.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And the unitary executive theory is not a neutral constitutional interpretation but a power grab dressed in legal language.

Let's cut through the academic pretense. Fascists and reactionaries only care about power. In particular, getting more of it for themselves. Their philosophers, like Yarvin and Dugin, argue that power is inevitable and submission to it is the only rational thing to do. The unitary executive theory is a theory of power. It's essentially, at its core, an argument that the three branches of government are rock, paper, and scissors. That the executive is the rock, Congress is the paper, and the Judiciary is the scissors. They argue, essentially, that when push comes to shove, rock beats scissors. This is actually the heart of the theory.

They love to cherry-pick Hamilton's words about the need for a “vigorous executive” from Federalist 70, while conveniently ignoring everything else Hamilton wrote about the dangers of unchecked executive power. That same Hamilton who argued for “energy in the executive” also warned against “the accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary, in the same hands” as “the very definition of tyranny.” These selective readings of the Federalist Papers aren't scholarship—they're cherry-picking designed to give constitutional cover to authoritarian ambitions.

This is not one theory among many. It's a rejection of coequal branches. It is not a color within the constitutional palette—it is a solvent designed to erase the canvas. As Hannah Arendt warned, the normalization of authoritarian governance happens not through dramatic seizures of power but through the gradual erosion of boundaries and the steady accommodation of previously unthinkable ideas. The unitary executive theory offers precisely this kind of normalization—making palatable what should be intolerable.

Carl Schmitt, the Nazi legal theorist whose work fascinates the modern reactionary right, famously defined the sovereign as “he who decides on the exception.” This is exactly what the unitary executive theory enables—a president who can declare when normal constitutional constraints no longer apply. Schmitt's openly authoritarian framework and the unitary executive theory converge on the same endpoint: a leader unconstrained by law.

The theory's adherents will cite the Constitution's vesting clause: “The executive Power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America.” This apparently straightforward reading conceals a radical reimagining of American governance that would have horrified the Founders, who had just fought a revolution against executive overreach.

The most extreme version of unitary executive theory wouldn't have been recognized by Washington, who submitted himself to congressional oversight, or Jefferson, who acknowledged judicial authority even when it frustrated his aims, or Lincoln, who respected constitutional boundaries even during civil war. This theory gained momentum during the Nixon administration, when executive power advocates sought to shield the president from accountability. It reached new heights under George W. Bush, whose lawyers used it to justify expansive war powers and even torture. Now, it threatens to become a blueprint for dismantling constitutional constraints entirely.

It's very important to understand this, because this is what they are going to argue in the coming weeks and months as the regime gets into legal and political fisticuffs with the court. At some point, the courts will attempt to enforce orders against the regime, and the regime, citing the unitary executive, will order the US Marshal to ignore the court order, or face termination.

This isn't abstract theory anymore. Look at the team Trump has assembled: John Eastman, who authored memos arguing the Vice President could overturn an election; Jeffrey Clark, who attempted to use the Justice Department to challenge election results; and even J.D. Vance, who has suggested that the executive should simply ignore court rulings he disagrees with. These aren't fringe academics—they're positioned to implement this doctrine from within.

When the confrontation happens, various legal theorists will tell you this amounts to a constitutional conundrum. What are we to do? Does the president's power to fire a US Marshal exist concurrently with the court's power to deputize said Marshal, and produce a constitutional crisis here?

The fascists who support the unitary executive theory want you to believe the answer here is yes. But this is an insane, obscurantist, post-truth construct of bullshit nuance. The answer is no—the Marshal shall follow the order of the court, and the executive taking actions to fire the Marshal to prevent the execution of the court's order is illegal and not allowed.

A U.S. Marshal executing a court order is not merely a federal employee subject to presidential whim—they are acting as an officer of the court. The Marshal is a deputy of the court. The employment status of the Marshal is irrelevant. Shutting off his payroll and disabling his access badge does not create a rock-smashing-scissors moment.

The Marshal is a deputy of the court, and any administration official stopping said Marshal from entering a building or any other law enforcement officer interfering with said Marshal in the carrying out of the court's order is a traitor to the United States of America. It is that simple.

What makes unitary executive theory particularly dangerous is how seamlessly it fits into a broader authoritarian playbook. Across history, fascist regimes have asserted that executive power is above judicial review, claimed direct representation of “the people” against “elites,” gradually disabled oversight mechanisms, transformed law enforcement into personal security forces, and reframed constitutional constraints as mere technicalities obstructing the leader's vision.

In moments of constitutional crisis, moral clarity becomes essential. When an administration orders officials to defy court rulings based on unitary executive theory, the proper response isn't academic pondering about competing authorities. The proper response is to recognize this for what it is: an attack on constitutional governance itself.

Two plus two equals four. There are twenty-four hours in a day. And the unitary executive theory, in its most extreme form, is not a legitimate constitutional doctrine but fascist bullshit designed to transform the presidency from a constitutional office into an elected autocracy.

The center must be held—not because it is easy, but because it is ours to hold. And holding it requires calling things by their proper names. The unitary executive theory is not complex constitutional interpretation. It's a roadmap for executive tyranny disguised in constitutional language.

And that's the thing about fascists. They're never honest about what they're doing. They'll wrap it all in patriotism and tradition and legal theories that sound reasonable if you don't look too closely. But when you strip away the fancy language, what you're left with is simple: a cult of executive power that elevates a single person above all constitutional constraints.

In a free society, power is not self-justifying. It exists in tension with other powers, in dialogue with law, and in service of the governed. Any doctrine that denies this—however artfully couched—is not theory. It is theology. And we are not here to worship presidents.

That's not America. That's not what the Constitution created. And we shouldn't pretend otherwise just because they've found a Latin phrase to dress it up in.