The Decline of The American Right
The Nihilism Nexus: Donald Trump, Nationalism, The Man of Tomorrow
Conservatism thrives on nostalgia, but in an ever-changing world, clinging to the past is a path to irrelevance. As the world evolves, those who refuse to adapt are left behind, relics of a bygone era. History is not shaped by those who follow convention but by renegades—those who defy the odds, challenge the status quo, and push society towards a self actualizing greatness. This is the inevitable downfall of Donald Trump and the contemporary American Right: they are relics of a fading world, unyielding in their refusal to embrace change. They long for a return to a time that no longer exists, a vision of the past that they are unwilling to act upon. Stuck in a perpetual state of reaction, they demand transformation but refuse to lead, always on defense, never on offense. The contradiction of their desire for change, while clinging to a nostalgic vision of the past, only hastens their decline.
The Inevitable Weakness of the Contemporary American Right
History teaches us one essential truth: those who do not evolve with the times are left to decay. Much like the ancient Spartans, who clung to their rigid way of life only to fall to King Philip of Macedon, the contemporary American Right is a people in stasis, unwilling to change yet simultaneously demanding change. They raise their voices in outrage, but their protests rarely manifest into action. They long for a return to a world that no longer exists, but they are unwilling to make the sacrifices necessary to bring that vision to life.
This is where the great contradiction lies: the contemporary American Right demands a restoration of past greatness, but lacks the will to fight for it. Their complaints fill podcasts, blogs, and Twitter feeds, but they stop short of real political action. They are reactionaries by nature, always on the defense, perpetually responding to the moves of the Left, yet incapable of driving the political and cultural agenda themselves. This reactive posture is a symptom of their deeper weakness.
The American Right has no unifying identity, no single cause that binds them together. Instead, they are a fragmented amalgamation of disaffected liberals, politically homeless moderates, and reactionary conservatives. Figures like Donald Trump, Tulsi Gabbard, and J.D. Vance may represent the discontented middle American worker, but they do not offer a cohesive vision for the future. Their only common ground is a shared resentment of the liberal elites, the media, and the political establishment. But resentment is not enough to sustain a movement. Without a unifying identity or a clear set of values to rally around, they are doomed to remain on the fringes, bickering among themselves while the world passes them by.
Contrast this with the Founding Fathers, who the Right venerates. These men were not passive complainers; they were revolutionaries, willing to sacrifice everything to create a new world. George Washington may not have been a military genius on par with Napoleon or Caesar, but his greatest strength was his ability to rally his troops in the face of despair. The Founding Fathers embodied the spirit of asabiyyah—a fierce loyalty to the group that transcended personal gain. It was this unity, this willingness to die for their ideals, that propelled them to victory against the greatest empire of their time.
In contrast, the contemporary Right is paralyzed by its decadence. They demand change but are unwilling to sacrifice for it. They cling to a nostalgic vision of the past, but they are too comfortable to fight for its restoration. Look at Israel, a nation often criticized but undeniably willing to fight for its survival. The Israeli state is an example of a people with a clear identity, willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for their vision of a homeland. Whether for validation, economic gain, or ideological conviction, Israel bends the world to its will. This is what the American Right lacks: the willingness to impose its vision on the world, no matter the cost.
The American Right today represents an empire in decline. The US may still hold global power, but internally, it is fractured and adrift. What made past generations great—whether the Founding Fathers or the "Greatest Generation" of World War II—was their unity and their capacity for sacrifice. In moments of crisis, they came together for a common cause, whether to defeat the British Empire or to confront the forces of fascism. The Right, by contrast, is a divided and cynical collection of individuals who are unwilling to unite for any cause beyond their own grievances.
In the natural world, survival demands adaptation. Societies are no different. The world is undergoing a great realignment, as thinkers like Alexander Dugin and commentators like Peter Zeihan suggest. The old order is breaking down, and new systems are emerging. In this context, the American Right finds itself out of step, appealing to a weak and confused majority rather than embracing the hard truths of a changing world. They are led by reactionaries, not revolutionaries. Their inability to place their finger on the pulse of global change leaves them perpetually in retreat.
The contemporary Right fails to understand the harsh reality of existence: if you are unwilling to sacrifice for your ideals, you will be consumed by those who are. The Founding Fathers understood this. The Greeks at Thermopylae understood this. The Scythians who united under Tomyris to defeat the Persians understood this. But today, the American Right has forgotten the most basic rule of survival: you must be willing to fight, or you will be devoured.
The inevitable weakness of the contemporary American Right lies in their unwillingness to embrace action and sacrifice. They demand a return to a world that no longer exists, but they are not willing to fight for it. They bemoan the changes happening around them but offer no coherent alternative. They are a people in decline, fragmented, and adrift in a world that is leaving them behind.
Donald Trump, American Nationalism, and the Decline of Empire
Donald Trump was not an anomaly—he was a signal of deeper currents running through America and the broader Western world. Trump’s rise in 2016 was not simply the result of populist frustration; it was the expression of a mass political realignment, a practical revolt against the entrenched elite, the bureaucratic class, and the professional bourgeoisie, whose self-preservation instincts have come to dominate the political order. Trump became the embodiment of a national discontent, a force that refused to conform to the rules and customs of the existing order, precisely because he was a rejection of the elite's complacency and decadence. However, understanding Trump’s role requires a philosophical lens—one that examines the nature of empires in decline, their elites, and their inevitable collapse.
The Circulation of Elites: Burnham and Moldbug
James Burnham, in his analysis of the "managerial revolution," accurately diagnosed the nature of elites. As empires mature, the initial virtues of sacrifice, struggle, and meritocratic ascension are replaced by a circulation of elites—a revolving door where power is passed down through nepotism and self-interest rather than through the achievement of great deeds. Curtis Yarvin (Mencius Moldbug) expands on this, noting how the managerial class—what he calls "the Cathedral"—exerts control through cultural institutions, perpetuating itself through an opaque yet entrenched system of influence. These elites do not rise by merit or virtue, as was once required in the aristocratic eras of Rome or other ancient civilizations. Instead, they inherit their positions through proximity to power and institutional privilege.
The problem with this elite circulation, particularly in the modern United States and Europe, is that the current generation of elites has not made any significant sacrifices. They have not earned their place through acts of courage, military service, or statesmanship. They’ve become elites merely by virtue of birthright, nepotism, and navigating a system built on institutional inertia. This mirrors the late Roman Empire, where the virtus of the early Republic—the strength of character, military prowess, and civic duty—had long given way to hereditary aristocracies that cared more about maintaining their wealth and power than about the survival of the empire.
The Roman Parallel: Sacrifice and Citizenship
The Roman Empire, in its early days, expanded through conquest and assimilation. It did so by offering a path to citizenship for those who served the empire, particularly through military service. Rome’s greatest strength was not just its military; it was the incorporation of conquered peoples into its system, whereby non-Roman men could earn citizenship after years of service. This was a process that not only expanded Rome’s reach but also kept it vital and cohesive. It was a shared sacrifice—the willingness to risk everything for the empire—that made Rome strong. It was a cyclical process where conquered peoples would become part of the Roman identity, feeding its army, its institutions, and its culture.
As the Roman Empire grew, however, this practice weakened. The elites became more isolated from the broader population, the military increasingly relied on mercenaries, and the system of citizenship as a reward for service was diluted. The Roman military, once an embodiment of Roman virtus, became a hollow shell. What had once been a collective sacrifice for the glory of Rome became a mere profession, disconnected from the core of the Roman people. As the elites retreated into luxury and decadence, the empire crumbled from within.
A similar process has taken hold in the modern West. The contemporary elites—the global bourgeoisie, media figures, and professional class—have inherited a world they did not build. They are not warriors, builders, or pioneers. They are caretakers of a system whose internal logic is already faltering. In the United States, the elites preside over a declining empire, their authority based not on sacrifice or achievement but on the perpetuation of a status quo that no longer serves the majority of its people.
Trump as the Renegade Figure
This is where Donald Trump enters the scene. His 2016 election was a rebellion against the elite class and the nihilistic drift of American political life. Trump, though far from a philosopher-king, was a symbol of a people who felt alienated from their rulers. Trump, in 2016, presented himself as a lion, willing to challenge the neoliberal order, the norms of politics, and the institutionalized systems of power that had left so many Americans behind.
Trump’s 2016 message—essentially a middle finger to the establishment—tapped into the resentment of Middle America. He wasn’t just running for office; he was fighting against an empire in decline. But Trump was never a man of great sacrifice. His wealth and status were inherited, and while he positioned himself as a fighter for the working class, his 2020 and 2024 iterations revealed the hollowness of his revolution. By 2020, Trump had opened the Republican Party to independents, disaffected liberals, and political outsiders. But rather than revitalizing the party with a new spirit of sacrifice or purpose, the GOP became a hollow husk of conflicting ideologies, with no clear identity or direction.
What we see in Trump’s trajectory is the cyclical decline of empires. The early Republican virtue of Rome gave way to decadence, just as Trump's initial rebellious vigor gave way to a muddled, incoherent movement in 2020. Trump, like late-stage Rome, represents a weak reaction to the elites, not a complete overthrow of them.
American Nationalism and the Hollow GOP
The GOP today is a party without a core identity. In the absence of a shared cultural or ethnic unity, it has become a conglomeration of various disaffected groups—politically homeless liberals, traditional conservatives, libertarians, and populists. There is no cohesive vision for the future, no clear national identity. It is this lack of unity that reflects a broader symptom of America’s decline as an empire. Like Rome, which in its latter years was a patchwork of identities, languages, and divided loyalties, the Republican Party and, by extension, American nationalism itself, have become a hollow entity driven more by resentment than by any affirmative vision.
Julius Evola expanded on this, noting that civilizations in decline lose their sense of Tradition—the metaphysical underpinnings that provide meaning, direction, and authority. In America, the Republican Party's embrace of neoconservatives like Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan, coupled with their flirtation with populism, reflects a deep confusion about what it means to be American in the 21st century. Without a unifying myth or shared purpose, this once-great political entity has become politically nihilistic, only capable of reacting to the Left but never taking meaningful action.
The Fall of Empire: Sacrifice and Decline
The central theme of both Rome’s fall and America’s contemporary political decline is the absence of sacrifice. Sacrifice, in both personal and national terms, is what sustains an empire. In Rome, it was the willingness of individuals to serve and fight for the collective good that created the Roman identity. In America, this notion of sacrifice has all but vanished. The political elites have made no sacrifices, and neither has the Republican Party. Instead, they have become caretakers of a system they do not understand or respect.
This absence of sacrifice leads inevitably to decadence. The elites—be they Roman aristocrats or modern American politicians—become concerned only with their own preservation, not with the health or future of the empire. Trump, who once represented a potential break from this elite consensus, ultimately failed to deliver on this promise. And so, like the Roman Empire before it, America continues its slow decline, held back by a class of rulers who cannot lead and a political party that cannot define itself.
The Rise of the Slave Caste: A Sign of Decline
The rise of the slave caste, as Julius Evola warns through his reflections on the Vedic caste system, signals the decline of the higher orders of society. In recent years, this decline has become glaringly obvious. In just one year, content creators on OnlyFans, a platform driven by instant gratification and superficial materialism, generated $6.6 billion, surpassing the NBA’s $4.9 billion in revenue. The figures are symbolic of the same problem: a system that rewards individuals without requiring them to embody any higher virtues or make sacrifices that demand humility.
In a democracy—or even a republic—this problem is inevitable. Such systems, designed to cater to the masses, empower those at the bottom of the caste hierarchy while neglecting the cultivation of greatness. Evola describes this as the inversion of the natural order, where the base instincts and desires of the lowest common denominator are elevated and celebrated. It is not the cultivation of virtue or excellence that defines success today, but rather a chase for material wealth, pleasure, and status without any corresponding obligation to sacrifice or personal growth.
As Thucydides observed in his analysis of Athens, when a society is driven primarily by the pursuit of pleasure and material gain, its decay is imminent. In our times, individuals who have zero investment in the future of the nation or its well-being are granted status and wealth, solely by appealing to fleeting desires. The NBA player, glorified for his physical prowess yet often detached from the intellectual and moral responsibilities of leadership, and the OnlyFans creator, selling themselves for digital currency, represent the same archetype: those who have wealth without greatness, status without sacrifice.
The Materialism of the Decadent Age
What we are witnessing is not just materialism as a sign of wealth, but as the ultimate arbiter of status in a world where virtus—the classical idea of virtue—has been all but forgotten. In ancient aristocracies, while material displays of wealth were common, these displays were balanced by a higher calling: education, statesmanship, and leadership. As Livy chronicles in the history of Rome, even the most lavishly wealthy Roman patricians were held to a standard of greatness. It was their ability to lead, to sacrifice, and to embody virtus that defined them, not merely the opulence of their estates.
But the modern equivalent of the bourgeoisie, aspiring to mimic the aristocracy without understanding the values that underpinned it, has degraded into mere materialism without a higher standard. This mimicry and lack of substance can especially be seen in the rise of "coaches" and the self-help industry, perhaps most famously exemplified by figures like Dr. Jordan B. Peterson. His "12 Rules for Life" reflects this phenomenon: a set of rules that prescribes a way of being as though greatness can be codified into steps or checklists.
Great men do not need rules for life. They are not bound by lists of behaviors that confine them, nor do they require instruction on how to "be a good leader." Greatness arises from an inherent sense of nobility, a natural command that emerges from within. It cannot be taught. Just as virtuous men do not need to be told not to commit murder, for it is instinctive, so too do great men not need to be told how to lead or live virtuously. This echoes the Roman tale in which women were forbidden from drinking wine or kissing in public, not because the prohibition created virtue, but because it reflected deeper mores that bound the people together—a natural order that arose from the ethos of the community.
This is where the problem lies: today’s moral and behavioral codes are slavish, not noble. They cater to those who seek to follow, not those who lead naturally. Instead of cultivating a higher sense of being, these self-help rules function as mere survival tools in a decaying society. These practices—whether as trivial as putting the shopping cart back or as performative as adhering to rigid "life rules"—are not tied to the noble mores of a higher caste, but to the slavish mentality of those who seek external validation rather than embodying greatness from within.
The Slave Caste Ascends
In this age, we witness the ascendancy of the slave caste. People with no knowledge of greatness, no understanding of history, culture, or sacrifice, are rewarded for their conformity to a culture of instant gratification. As Polybius warned, the degradation of a society is marked by its catering to the masses, pandering to the lowest common denominator. The modern slave caste is not necessarily the economically impoverished, but those who, though they may possess wealth and fame, lack any deeper connection to the values that sustain a civilization. They have no aspirations for higher virtues, no ambition for sacrifice, only the hollow pursuit of status through wealth and notoriety.
The tragedy of this rise is that technology, rather than being a tool for the elevation of humanity, has only accelerated this process. As society grows more complex, its demands on the intellect and character of its citizens should theoretically increase. But instead, everything is simplified for the "dumbest accessible person," as though technological advancement must coincide with intellectual regression. This is the great irony of our age: the more advanced we become technologically, the more primitive we become morally and spiritually.
In a world where education systems cater to the weak, where safetyism reigns supreme, and where the ideals of struggle, hardship, and sacrifice are seen as outdated, the rise of the slave caste is inevitable. Evola, in his work Fascism from the Right, does not advocate for a simple return to authoritarianism or fascism as a solution, but he does recognize that the weakness of democracy lies in its pandering to the masses rather than uplifting the strong. Machiavelli too noted that when a state gives too much power to the whims of the people, it loses its ability to cultivate true greatness.
Beyond Democracy and Fascism: The Call for Strength
We have reached a point where modern society, driven by materialism, needs to question what constitutes "good" and "evil" beyond the simple frameworks of democracy and fascism. As Evola emphasizes, the true measure of a society’s strength is not in its wealth or governance systems, but in its capacity to cultivate virtue—virtue that is inherent, not imposed by external rules or codes. The wealth and power amassed by the current generation of so-called elites and influencers lack any grounding in the heroic ideal that once underpinned the notion of greatness.
What we witness is the rise of individuals who, in a metaphysical sense, are part of the slave caste—people who, despite their wealth and influence, have no higher ideals beyond material gain. They are not part of a true aristocracy of virtue and sacrifice; they are the result of a society that caters to the desires of the weak and offers no resistance to decadence. This is the Age of the Slave Caste, where those who have no vision or investment in the future are elevated as the symbols of success.
The Call for a New Order
If there is any hope of reversing this decline, it lies in a return to the ideals of struggle, hardship, and sacrifice. As Machiavelli notes, it is only through the crucible of adversity that true greatness can be forged. In a world that no longer values these ideals, we must look back to the wisdom of Thucydides, Livy, and Evola. Their writings remind us that a society’s strength lies not in material wealth, but in its capacity to endure, to sacrifice, and to uphold values greater than immediate gratification.
The rise of the slave caste may symbolize the current decline, but within that decay lies the potential for rebirth. As history has shown time and again, it is often in moments of great decadence that the seeds of a new order are sown. Whether America can escape the fate of Rome, and whether a new aristocracy of virtue can rise from the ashes, remains to be seen. But one thing is clear: the current order is unsustainable, and without a return to the ideals of greatness, the decline will continue.
American Nihilism: The Specter of a Declining Civilization
Just as Nietzsche foresaw the impending nihilism that would plunge Europe into the chaos of World War I and World War II, so too did Leo Strauss anticipate a similar existential and ideological collapse in the modern West. Strauss’s critique of German Nihilism speaks directly to our contemporary moment—a time marked by moral and spiritual decay, a fragmentation of identity, and the loss of a coherent, shared vision for the future.
This sense of malaise, which once gripped Germany between the wars, now pervades the political and cultural landscape of the United States, manifesting in what can only be described as American Nihilism. Today’s Left and Right, despite their ideological opposition, are united in their shared rejection of the current order. However, like the German nihilists of the Weimar period, neither side offers a constructive alternative to replace the decaying frameworks they so vehemently oppose. Both sides, in their own ways, reflect a nihilistic impulse to destroy without the corresponding will to create.
On the Left, this manifests as a critique of capitalism, liberal democracy, and traditional values, often without a coherent vision of what should come next besides Progress. On the Right, there is a nostalgic yearning for a return to an idealized past, but this too is nihilistic, as it seeks to obliterate the complexities of the modern world in favor of a romanticized vision that no longer exists. Both ends of the spectrum, in their dissatisfaction, are trapped in reactionary postures, unwilling or unable to articulate a coherent moral protest that can transcend the decaying order.
The Necessity of Violence in History’s Transformation
Strauss’s reflections on German Nihilism, much like Nietzsche’s warnings, highlight the uncomfortable truth that societies do not evolve through passive reform alone. In many cases, it is violence—whether civil or foreign—that brings a new spirit, a revitalization to the people and the nation. History has shown, time and again, that great change comes not through dialogue or peaceful transition, but through the crucible of conflict.
American Nihilism, much like the nihilism of interwar Germany, seems to be careening toward a similar conclusion. The internal contradictions that define the American Right and Left cannot be reconciled through the existing political frameworks. As Leo Strauss noted, the existential dread and rejection of the current order often lead to radicalization on both sides. Without meaningful leadership that can confront these anxieties, the specter of violence—whether civil or foreign—looms large as the only path forward.
The American people, much like the young German nihilists Strauss described, are alienated from the existing institutions, disillusioned with the elites, and searching for a higher purpose that seems increasingly out of reach. American Populism, represented in figures like Donald Trump, seeks to offer a corrective to the malaise, but even populism lacks the philosophical depth and cultural unity necessary to sustain a true transformation.
A Call to Rediscover the Roots of American Identity
The challenge for the United States, in confronting this era of American Nihilism, is not simply political. It is a profound philosophical and spiritual crisis that demands a reengagement with the foundations of Western thought. The solutions will not come from the surface-level debates between Liberalism and Conservatism, nor will they be found in the technocratic fixes of corporatism or globalism. To navigate this crisis, the American people must delve into the deeper questions of Being and Purpose, as explored by thinkers such as Martin Heidegger, Plato, and the Romantics.
This involves revisiting the origins of American identity—not just the Federalist ideals but also the Anti-Federalist perspectives that shaped the nation’s founding. Understanding these roots can offer a pathway beyond the stale political binaries that dominate the current discourse. Moreover, integrating the wisdom of Eastern philosophies—particularly the balance and harmony found in Taoism, Buddhism, and Hinduism—could offer alternative frameworks for addressing the existential malaise gripping the West.
The Return of Virtue and the Necessity of Sacrifice
As Julius Evola reminds us in his critique of modernity, civilizations cannot survive without a commitment to Tradition, virtue, and sacrifice. The materialistic decadence and superficial comforts that define our age have dulled the spirit of greatness that once characterized Western civilization. This is the root of the American Right’s weakness—its inability to move beyond reactionary politics and engage with the hard truths of a world in flux. The American Left, too, is plagued by nihilism, as it seeks to dismantle structures without offering a coherent, meaningful alternative.
The path forward requires a new aristocracy of spirit, one that is grounded not in wealth or power but in virtue and moral clarity. This new leadership must be willing to impose a higher order—not through the force of law alone, but through the cultivation of a new cultural ethos, one that rejects the slave caste mentality and embraces the pursuit of greatness. It must be prepared to confront the moral protest of the nihilistic age and offer a vision that transcends both the decaying order of Liberalism and the reactionary impulses of Populism.
Beyond Nihilism: The Search for a New Order
In confronting the American Nihilism that now grips our society, we must remember that within every collapse lies the potential for rebirth. The violence that will likely precede this transformation is not something to be glorified, but it may be an unavoidable part of the process. As Polybius and Machiavelli understood, the cycles of history are often driven by conflict, but through conflict comes the possibility of renewal.
The question before us is not whether American Nihilism will continue—its trajectory seems clear—but whether we have the courage and the wisdom to transcend it. Can we rediscover the philosophical roots that once gave meaning to the American experiment? Can we build a new order that embraces sacrifice, virtue, and greatness, rather than succumbing to the comfort and decadence of the present?
As we stand on the precipice of this new era, we must remember the lessons of the past. Like the great empires of old, America must confront its internal decay if it hopes to endure. The path forward may be fraught with struggle, but within that struggle lies the potential for greatness. Whether through civil conflict or some unforeseen foreign confrontation, it is likely that only through the crucible of violence will a new spirit arise to restore the American soul.