Donald Trump is not an ideologue. Big ideas or profound questions have never truly interested him. Instead, he is an opportunist who leverages ideas to the extent that he can comprehend them. During his second term, he relies on ideological frameworks more than in his first, when conspiracy theories largely shaped his approach.
As a shrewd political operator, Trump recognizes the power of ideology in consolidating his influence. This is why he has surrounded himself with ideologues who possess grand visions and seek opportunities to implement them in real politics. Thus, two forms of opportunism converge to drive his policies.
The ideologues around Trump come from diverse ideological backgrounds—neoconservative, libertarian, post-liberal, and more. Their common thread is an intense opposition to liberalism, which they often, albeit inaccurately, equate with the Democratic Party. They are also deeply invested in the culture wars, determined to achieve victory at any cost, showing no leniency to ideological adversaries. Many of them are former liberals who have become disillusioned.
Curtis Yarvin describes such figures as "dark elves"—individuals who have abandoned their once-cherished liberal ideals. Trump’s ideological allies fit this description; they are disenchanted with liberal democracy itself. For some, democracy is irreparably broken. Their skepticism extends beyond liberalism to democracy and even the foundational concept of republican governance, where public opinion shapes decision-making.
Instead, they favor a managerial governance model, where executive authority efficiently dictates policies, much like corporate leadership. In this framework, citizens are reduced to employees. Others, including Trump himself, prefer to see citizens as subjects. Were they familiar with the ancient Greek concept of the sovereign as "empsychos nomos"—literally, the "ensouled law"—they would likely embrace it. This idea elevates the ruler above all written laws, making his will the ultimate authority.
Carl Schmitt, a German legal scholar (1888–1985), adapted this notion of sovereignty for modern times. When Adolf Hitler rose to power in 1933, he initially faced constitutional constraints. Schmitt provided legal, historical, and theological justifications for eliminating these limitations, paving the way for the Enabling Act of 1933, which granted Hitler dictatorial powers. Schmitt’s theories played a crucial role in transforming Germany from a democracy into a dictatorship.
J.D. Vance, a rhetorician rather than a philosopher, has drawn inspiration from similar political theology. When he converted to Roman Catholicism, he declared Augustine his patron saint. However, his political theology aligns more closely with Schmitt than with Augustine. This pattern extends to other thinkers contributing to Trumpism, who claim allegiance to Catholic, Protestant, or Orthodox traditions but instead promote what can be described as "Political Catholicism," "Political Protestantism," and "Political Orthodoxy."
Having studied "Political Orthodoxies" and their role in the rise of Putinism, I now see a parallel in the way political Christianity is fueling Trumpism. These movements reshape theological ideas to justify authoritarian governance.
For example, in Russia, the concept of "katechon"—the restrainer of the Antichrist—has been used to justify Vladimir Putin’s rule. Byzantine theologians once applied this term to their emperors to reinforce their absolute authority. Today, Putin’s ideologues depict him as a katechon, a sovereign exempt from common law, divinely ordained to restore global order. Given the ideological trends in Trump's orbit, it is unsurprising that some American religious figures may attempt to cast Trump in a similar light. Russian Z-theologians have even expressed concern that "the U.S. has intercepted the Russian agenda of katechon."
Another concept from Byzantine tradition, "symphonia"—the close cooperation between church and state—has gained traction in American conservative circles. In the Roman Empire, symphonia granted the church privileges in exchange for legitimizing imperial rule. In modern Russia, the Orthodox Church plays a similar role for Putin. American Christian nationalists supporting Trump likewise seek to dismantle secular governance, though they have yet to explicitly adopt the term symphonia.
Both Putin and Trump’s supporters engage in culture wars, but in Russia, these conflicts have escalated into actual war. While American culture wars remain largely rhetorical, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is, at its core, a culture war turned violent. The justifications for the war shift constantly, but they often mirror the ideological battles of American conservatism—focusing on identity and ideology.
Russian war propaganda portrays the invasion as a struggle against Western liberalism and Ukrainian identity. To reinforce this narrative, Putin elevates ethnic Ukrainians who adopt a Russian identity to prominent positions, demonstrating that, in his view, "true" Ukrainians must align with Russia. In this framework, Ukrainian national identity is equated with Russophobia.
This transformation of American culture war rhetoric into violent action is not unprecedented. Throughout history, Russia has appropriated Western ideologies and weaponized them. The Soviet Union adapted Karl Marx’s theories to justify totalitarian rule, leading to immense suffering. Similarly, Hitler took European nationalist ideas and escalated them into the Holocaust.
Ukraine has repeatedly suffered as Russian rulers weaponized Western ideas. Lenin’s forces occupied Ukraine under the guise of socialist internationalism. Stalin engineered the Holodomor famine, driven by Marxist beliefs about the counter-revolutionary nature of the peasantry. Now, Putin’s war on Ukraine is inspired by American-style culture wars, proving once again that ideas, when wielded by authoritarian regimes, can have deadly consequences.
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