Let’s call it “The Narcissist’s Wager.”

Ross Douthat, a former opinion columnist for The New York Times (and occasional guest on the America Media podcast network), is now a correspondent for “60 Minutes,” and he scored an interview with President Donald Trump days after a midterm election in which his party and brand of politics suffered a stinging defeat. Mr. Douthat and Mr. Trump spent most of the interview going over many of the issues that could have prompted the election results—the Iran war, mass deportations, the economy—but the end of the conversation went to a place where maybe only Mr. Douthat could have taken it. He set up Mr. Trump with a hypothetical wager. 

At the end of his life, when he’s being judged before God, all Mr. Trump would have to do to inherit paradise “is feel love and forgiveness for James Comey, Nancy Pelosi, anyone who you have expressed hate for over the years.” Could he do it? The full exchange: 

President Donald J. Trump:

Well, then I wouldn’t be real, would I? I mean, if I said to you, “Sure,” the easy answer to that [is], “Oh, yes, I could forgive!”

Ross Douthat:

No, I don’t think it’s an easy question at all.

Mr. Trump:

I found them to be extremely dishonest people, very bad people, very bad for our country. I love our country far more than I can love people and people like that.

Mr. Douthat:

Is the answer no?

Mr. Trump:

The answer is no. I want to be honest. 

Mr. Douthat:

Before the judgment throne of God? 

Mr. Trump: 

No, I think they were very bad people. And I dislike— I can use the word hate. I do hate some of my enemies. I think they’ve been terrible. Look what they put me through: the weaponization. I got indicted—I got impeached—

Mr. Douthat:

Mr. President, you have had the most charmed and remarkable life of any American in my entire lifetime. And you are telling me that before the judgment throne of God, you couldn’t find it in your heart to forgive some of your enemies? After all that’s been given to you? Come on, help me out here.

Mr. Trump:

I mean, it’s such an easy answer. All I have to do is say, “Yes, I can.”

Mr. Douthat:

Again, I don’t think it’s an easy answer. That’s why I asked you.

Mr. Trump:

Can I be honest? I probably cannot do that, no. Because I do hate some of my enemies, and I always will.

We can give the president this: It is an honest answer. He acknowledges that the easy thing to say here is “Yeah, I could do it for heaven!” not really mean it, and move on with his lame-duck period. But he wants to be honest. And there is something compelling—and this has always explained much of Mr. Trump’s appeal—about someone so willing to break all conventions to say what is true to him instead of what is expected. (When Erika Kirk, Charlie Kirk’s widow, forgave her husband’s killer, Mr. Trump immediately responded with “I hate my opponents.” The White House defended his remarks by saying it was an example of the president being “authentically himself.”) 

The clarity with which he offers his truth should shock his supporters and detractors alike. In a way, it should function as evangelization by repulsion. At the risk of stating the obvious, Jesus explicitly commands his followers to love their enemies, despite what the broader culture or human instinct might dictate. In the way he taught us to pray, we ask God to “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” The mercy we extend to others will serve as the standard by which we shall receive it. Full stop.  

As much as we like to believe in the Christian foundation of our national culture, the divine carpenter’s influence has so often wilted when it has run up against that other American bedrock: rugged individualism. Other people ought not to get in the way of our ambition, our happiness, our authenticity. Many will hear Mr. Trump admit, “Well, then I wouldn’t be real, would I?” and find that sentiment more admirable than they find revolting his resistance to forgive. Not even the commands of Jesus Christ himself should compel us to betray our true selves! Of course, one could imagine a response that is both radically honest and humble enough to ask for God’s mercy: To forgive is exceptionally difficult, and I don’t know if I can do it. But I want to want to forgive, so may God help me. 

There is a risk for the Christian viewer to stop at the feelings of shock and revulsion upon hearing that Mr. Trump won’t be able to quit his favorite sin, vengeance, at the gates of paradise. But like the Red Lizard in C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce (“May I kill it?”) or Gollum and his precious ring before the fires of Mount Doom, we will all, like Mr. Trump, have personal, hard-to-quit sins stripped away from us in the end. Vengeance may not be your sin of choice, but there are plenty of alternatives available. If you think letting go of earthly hatreds and attachments will be easy, then you have not fully considered the dilemma, as Mr. Douthat suggests. 

The pope is traveling in Latin America and, as has become common, offered a counterwitness to the president. Speaking to a group of young people in Uruguay, he encouraged them: 

When being just and honest comes at a price, pay it. When forgiving seems like a defeat, forgive. When everyone tells you to think of yourselves first, do not be afraid to put yourselves in the last place. Be willing to give up time, money, comfort and plans to serve others. May those who see you find themselves asking: “Why do they live in this way? Where do they get this freedom? Why do they love one another so much?”

Where do they get this freedom? Donald Trump is himself. He reports to no one. He is the archetype of the unrestrained individual. He will (he says) stand before the judgment throne of God and proclaim, “I did it my way.” 

But does anyone listening really believe that this man is free? 

Zac Davis is an associate editor and the senior director for digital strategy for America. He also co-hosts the podcast, Jesuitical.