American democracy needs more architects and fewer arsonists. The defining challenges of our time, from the crisis of loneliness to the polarization spilling into political violence, are social problems. And these problems have been exacerbated by the erosion of the institutions that once gave people purpose, discipline, community and agency.

As we approach the 250th anniversary of the American democratic experiment, confidence in institutions sits at a low ebb. It’s disheartening, but not without good reason. Congress lurches from shutdown to shutdown. News outlets chase outrage over understanding. Top universities, instead of cultivating citizens skilled at cooperating across difference, have too often energized activists who stoke division. Across sectors, those who should be guardians of the common good have let their credibility crumble.

Our inclination as concerned Americans should be to act as architects, working to restore the integrity of our institutions or to design something better. Instead, the dominant social change paradigm of the past decade has rewarded arson—the impulse to burn down what is broken rather than build what can last. The loudest voices, even those already advantaged on every metric of privilege (education, income, opportunity), insist on tearing down structures, exposing flaws, critiquing leaders, and condemning entire systems as irredeemable. The spirit of critique, while healthy when used constructively, has hardened into a posture of cynicism.

I have seen this dynamic up close in my own world, the nonprofit sector. To draw from Yuval Levin, organizations betray their purpose when they cease to mold people through habits of service and excellence, and function as stages for performance rather than schools of character. Bold statements and displays of activist outrage may win praise in the moment, but they distract from the core mission. The real strength of nonprofits has always been their ability to hone the craft of helping communities of people with diverse identities and divergent ideologies flourish. By keeping that north star, the social sector is not only more effective, but it creates the conditions of a common life together.

The genius of America has always been the vibrancy of our civic life. Our schools, congregations, associations, and charities are the living expression of democracy. Alexis de Tocqueville noticed this nearly two centuries ago when he wrote, “In democratic societies, the science of association is the mother science; the progress of all the others depends on the progress of that one.” The health of our democracy is inseparable from the health of our civic institutions.

Tocqueville saw America’s strength in how people of different backgrounds learned to cooperate for a purpose larger than themselves. That’s exactly what we see in The Bear, FX’s critically acclaimed show about a scrappy Chicago restaurant. On the surface, it’s about food, kitchen chaos, and the drama of the dysfunctional Berzatto family. But really, it’s about building an institution.

In season one, the staff rallies to save a failing Italian beef shop. In later seasons, their focus is creating a fine-dining restaurant worthy of critical acclaim. Along the way, we see what institution-building requires: relentless craft, humility, and a willingness to be shaped. Marcus, the pastry chef, spends sleepless nights experimenting until he finds the perfect doughnut. Syd, the sous-chef, studies dishes across the city to sharpen her own. Carmy, the chef-owner, pushes hardest of all and believes in the potential of his team— sending staff to culinary school, investing in their growth, and modeling what it means to care about excellence.

Everyone in their ragtag staff has known hardship, yet no one retreats into cynicism. No one stands on the sidelines sneering about toxicity or shouting that the whole system should be dismantled. They fight; they fail; they doubt, but they keep showing up because they believe a restaurant—like any institution worth its salt—is worth doing and can change lives. The opening scene of Season 4 flashes back to Carmy and his late brother Mikey discussing the initial idea of opening a restaurant. Carmy reflects that restaurants are special places “where all our good memories happen.” When Mikey pushes back that the industry is too difficult, Carmy replies, “It’s fucking hard. But that’s what makes it special—it’s hard, it's gnarly, it's brutal, and it’s specific, and not everyone could do it, but I could do it, Mike.”

That belief in the ideal—that a restaurant can change lives, and that difficulty is what makes it special—is the restaurant’s “secret sauce.” Our institutions, and the people driving them, must believe in theirs. Whether you serve on a school board, work in Congress, or lead a nonprofit, the lesson from The Bear applies: treat your work as a craft, pursue excellence as a service to others, and believe that your institution can form people, including yourself, for the better—even when the work gets hard, gnarly, and specific.

Our democracy will not be renewed by the arsonists. It will be renewed by the architects—people who, like the crew at The Bear, devote themselves to institutions that endure and call us beyond ourselves into something larger, richer, and shared.