Donald Trump, and the MAGA movement that has coalesced around him, pose two great puzzles for those who would like politics to make some sort of rational sense. First, how was an authoritarian mountebank, running a shambolic, shameless campaign, elected for a second time? And, what drives the MAGA movement—what explains its support, and its sometimes baffling set of policies? In answering both questions, many factors—racial and ethno-national resentment and bigotry, misogyny and masculine fragility, distrust of and umbrage at a remote elite, economic deprivation, insecurity, and pessimism, and sheer fear provoked by a fast-changing, confusing world—have played a part, and should be explored by those best qualified to do so.
Trump, and the strong-man, authoritarian populism of which he is a tentacle, exercise an ethical appeal. It is an affirmation of an ethos of ruthlessness.
Here I discuss a related, but distinct, issue: the ethical dimension of Trump’s appeal. To examine Trump in terms of ethics may seem like trying to understand the desert in terms of water. But by ethics I mean something both wider and more precise than moral decency or probity. I refer to ideals of what a person should be or do; the general sense of how human beings should behave, and what sorts of characters they should have or cultivate, to be worthy of admiration, or at least respect. Trump, and the strong-man, authoritarian populism of which he is a tentacle, exercise an ethical appeal. It is an affirmation of an ethos of ruthlessness.
The Ethos of Ruthlessness
Ruthlessness as an ethos—a feature of character and outlook, which shapes how one engages with the world—consists in the suppression or rejection of all scruples, doubts, consideration for others, and remorse in pursuing objectives, whether these be personal gain, political power, or social transformation. The ruthless person may or may not have deep-seated convictions or allegiances. But when such a person sets their mind on a goal, they pursue it with (in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s words) an “inveteracy of pursuit that knew neither rest nor conscience.” The ruthless person, further, denies—or simply fails to consider—that those harmed by their actions may have a just complaint that merits rectification or conciliation.
There has never been a lack of ruthlessness in politics; but Trump and his ilk raise ruthlessness to heights of pride and ostentation. Their speech drips with it. During his first term, Trump declared that he would achieve “total domination” through the use of force by “very tough, strong, powerful people.” Giving a foretaste of his second term, he promised that his deportation regime would be “a bloody story.” Trump’s “border czar” promises to “bring hell” to those who oppose the administration’s draconian measures. This tough talk has been taken up by those who provide ideological justification for the Trump administration’s arbitrary and cruel abrogation of normal procedure, due process, and decency. Thus, one MAGA intellectual refers to those who disagree with his conception of Americanism as “zombie[s]” and “human rodent[s].” Elon Musk attacks one of the main antitheses of ruthlessness—empathy—as “civilizational[ly suicidal,” and a “bug” in “Western Civilization.” A podcast directed at young, internet-savvy conservatives is named, simply and revealingly, “Ruthless.”
Trump and his ilk raise ruthlessness to heights of pride and ostentation. Their speech drips with it.
While some Trump voters ignored or disbelieved such declarations, others heard them loud and clear—and voted for Trump not in spite but because of them. One voter interviewed by the New York Times, asked to describe Trump in one word, replied “ruthless.” She elaborated: “I believe in a lot of things that Trump has said and done. Other things I wish would be different. But he’s ruthless in that he doesn’t give up. With anything he does, he’s not shy. He doesn’t tiptoe around anything.” Though avowedly “undecided,” this voter clearly expressed a preference for Trump. After the election a swing voter in Pennsylvania told a journalist that he recognized Trump’s dictatorial tendencies, even likening him to Hitler—and, in the next sentence, declared that he had voted for Trump.
Ruthlessness has an intrinsic attraction in a world that often seems out of control.
For many Trump supporters, as Adam Serwer declared, “The Cruelty is the Point.” We may be inclined to see this as reflecting sheer sadism or nihilism, or a lack of moral education. But the wrong sort of moral education may also play a role. Signals sent—through religion, entertainment, and the forms and norms of media—which identify ruthlessness with strength, courage, truthfulness, or authenticity, seep into our imagination of the world and ourselves. Ruthlessness has an intrinsic attraction in a world that often seems out of control. It garrisons the mind against the stress of uncertainty, the pain of regret. It lends a feeling of strength, a patina of psychological power, a glamor of toughness.
Legitimating Ruthlessness: From Ethos to Ethics
Politics—particularly democratic politics, where people are constantly pressed to provide reasons for their preferences—carries with it a certain pressure toward legitimation: to justify why we think that a particular ethos, no less than a party or policy, deserves affirmation and obedience. We thus move from ruthlessness as an ethos to ruthlessness as a deliberately endorsed ethic or norm.
There are several recurrent ethical justifications for ruthlessness, observable in the history of political practice, theory, and ideology.
The first rationale for an ethic of ruthlessness is avowedly anti-moralistic (which is not the same as immoral); it is frequently identified with political “realism.” On this view, ruthlessness in winning power and using it to one’s advantage is simply what politics is. In the words Thucydides attributed to the Athenian delegation to Melos, “The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.” It is win or lose, kill or be killed. In a realm of often unprincipled struggle, how can one survive, when faced with the ruthlessness of others, without hardening one’s heart, stopping one’s ears, getting one’s hands dirty?
Fomenting a sense of danger, of being under attack creates a frightened public convinced of the need for, and justice of, ruthlessly brutal defensive action.
This line of argument, always powerful, increases in plausibility—and widens in what it can excuse—when politics is identified with war. Those engaged in a truly “life and death struggle,” must grasp and use power without restraint or scruple: “Who aims at the end cannot reject the means.” Thus Trumpist intellectuals call for “ruthless offense” to “save America,” while Trump suggests using violence against the “enemy from within.” Such rhetoric, matched by increasing militarization of law enforcement and immigration control, is all the more powerful when the enemy is identified as sub-human—as Trump does in referring to opponents as “vermin.” Here (and elsewhere) Trump offers a toned-down echo of an author with whose speeches he is reputedly familiar. As Adolf Hitler graphically asserted, “in this contest there are only two possibilities: Either the enemy will walk over our corpses, or we will walk over his.” Fomenting a sense of danger, of being under attack—as Trump and other populist leaders have constantly done, harping on immigration, terrorism, and crime—creates a frightened public convinced of the need for, and justice of, ruthlessly brutal defensive action. At a more purely psychological level, the evocation of fear and resentment, mounting to hatred, warps perception and discourages careful thought, which can inhibit ruthless action. Faced with drastic danger, and the malevolence of enemies offers a reason to turn against reason, since delay or deliberation will leave one vulnerable. We must hurt “them,” before they hurt us; and because they wish to hurt us, they deserve to be hurt. And the worse we hurt them, the safer we will be.
This merges with a second rationale for ruthlessness, which sees it as justified insofar as it contributes to achieving some noble ideal. Realism teaches that one cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs; ruthless moralism holds that, if the “omelet” in question represents a morally worthy outcome, no number of eggs are too great to break. This is a familiar feature of the revolutionary Left. But people of various political persuasions may come to embrace the principle of “fiat justia perat mundus”: “Let justice be done though the heavens may fall.” Justice may mean redistribution or rescue, but it may also mean retribution towards transgressors. For many Americans, Trump appears as a bringer of justice both to the put-upon American worker, and the criminals who have done him (it is most often him) wrong. Certainly Trump—with his emphasis on punishing “illegals” and his declaration that “I am your warrior … I am your retribution”—speaks to this morally self-righteous justification for such abhorrent actions as family separation, the use of military-grade violence against protestors, and the persecution of government officials. And morally-inspired—or excused—ruthlessness also has a distinctively right-wing variant. As Albert Camus reported a “German friend” telling him in 1938, “The greatness of my country is beyond price. Anything is good that contributes to its greatness.”
Trump, the convicted felon and sexual assaulter, is not a plausible champion of law or morals. Nor does it seem that this former registered Democrat is wedded to any ideology (except perhaps nativism). The man who sneers at those who have suffered and sacrificed for their country as “losers” clearly is not inspired by high ideals. His ruthlessness is pure, without purpose or referent. This may be part of his appeal. Trump’s supporters can project their own ends—economic regeneration, American strength internationally, an end to imperialism and establishment of world peace, religious revival, or vanquishing political gridlock and corruption—onto him, and assume that his ruthlessness will allow him to achieve these goals where others, hemmed in by irksome scruples and procedural niceties, have failed.
Trump’s supporters can project their own ends onto him, and assume that his ruthlessness will allow him to achieve these goals where others have failed.
The assumption that Trump will work toward some desirable end, however ludicrous it may appear, is revealing. For some, naked ruthlessness is a sign of honesty, a guarantee of being in earnest—even though anyone who has embraced an ethos of ruthlessness will hardly balk at deception and betrayal. Willingness to resort to drastic action appears to many a sign of conviction. After all, how dedicated can one really be said to be to a goal for which one is not prepared to lie, betray, or kill? Leaving aside for the moment the validity of this association of conviction with ruthlessness, it is worth noting that—as Trump shows—the inverse is not true. Willingness to lie, torture, or kill does not guarantee conviction or integrity.
That this is difficult for many to recognize reflects a third ethical rationale, which identifies ruthlessness with virtue— perhaps the highest virtue. On this view, ruthlessness is equated with strength, manliness, greatness. The relevance to Trump, with his slogan of “Make America Great Again” and appeal to the testosterone-drenched “Manosphere” is obvious. Political commentators often invoke the idea of a “culture war,” centering on matters of gender and sexuality, religion, and nationality. We might also think in terms of an “ethical war” between proponents of very different ideas of virtue or excellence. For some, ruthlessness, hectoring, confidence and cruelty are qualities to display with pride. For others, these are contemptible; it is in compassion, thoughtfulness, humility, forbearance, and continence that true nobility lies.
The Weaknesses of Supposed Strength
While ruthlessness involves a projection of strength, these rationales, on examination, prove shaky; they may reflect inner weakness—intellectual, moral, psychological—on the part of those who embrace them.
The first, “realist” rationale reflects a cynicism, or despair, which is often exaggerated—and likely self-confirming. Embracing a politics of ruthlessness generates a ruthless politics, marked by the instability and destructiveness of a war of all against all, which ultimately makes a desert of social life. In The Republic Socrates explains that the tyrant—defined by his unconstrained appetite, and ruthlessness in satisfying it—is the most miserable of people, because he has no true friends. Those who expect to fare better with the collective ruthlessness of movements, with their supposed solace of solidarity, would do well to remember the tendency of revolutionaries to turn on one another. Ruthlessness does not guarantee success, though it does ensure pain. And this pain is seldom restricted to the “other side.” (Just ask the Russians who have suffered from Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, the Israelis who have died as a result of Netanyahu’s empowering of Hamas in order to tank a two-state solution, or the Gazans slaughtered in the Israeli response to Hamas’s massacre).
The moralistic justification for ruthlessness reflects a certainty about one’s justness or rightness, which is seldom well-earned.
The moralistic justification for ruthlessness reflects a certainty about one’s justness or rightness, which is seldom well-earned. It may also reflect a naïve confidence about moral consensus. Surely, Trump voters may think, everyone (or everyone who is not brainwashed by “woke”) must agree that making America stronger is a good thing. Which ends are right is, or should be, self-evident. The question is whether one is able, and willing, to adopt the best means to the end—and have the resolution to see things through.
But people do not agree about the priorities and purposes of politics, any more than we agree about the road to salvation. We do not agree about what a stronger America would look like, or about how to get there. In the absence of thoughtfulness and openness to persuasion—and the retention, even as one chooses a course of action, of the knowledge that others who disagree may be (at least partly) right—it seems likely that the dogmatic pursuit of justice or greatness will yield disaster—and ultimately, a war of all against all.
The ruthlessness embodied by Trump, Musk, and their lackeys ultimately drives toward civic collapse—and fosters ethical degeneration. Claiming superiority, the apostles of ruthlessness degrade themselves. Recognizing only the law of the jungle, they become bestial. Behind the mirage of “greatness” lies vindictiveness, dishonor, and the bully’s mix of cruelty and cowardice. And the moral rot tends to spread. Republicans who once took inspiration from Lincoln, Reagan, and John McCain first excuse, then emulate, buffoons and crackpots like Matt Gaetz, Pete Hegseth, and Marjorie Taylor Green.
The ruthlessness embodied by Trump, Musk, and their lackeys ultimately drives towards civic collapse—and fosters ethical degeneration.
Despite its weaknesses, a politics of ruthlessness will be hard to resist. Insofar as it is not rational—or more than merely rational—it cannot simply be refuted by reasons. Even if it proves disastrous in the long (or medium) term, it often succeeds in gaining power or setting the agenda. If it cannot do good, it can do great harm—and prevent others from doing good.
Working our way back from a politics and an ethical culture of ruthlessness will be a long and arduous task. Proponents of liberal democracy value qualities—openness, tolerance, generosity, fairness, humility—which should still be celebrated, and cultivated, even if they do not conduce to political success in this moment. The question is whether we possess, or can develop, another, rather different quality—that of strength. Not the strength of ruthlessness, but that of fortitude, endurance, and fidelity to ideals, expressed not in self-defensive acquiescence, but in the ability to keep resisting—with insistence as well as tactical flexibility—even in the face of repeated defeat, until the time (if it ever comes) when there is a breakthrough. It is not at all clear that most or many supporters of liberal democracy possess these qualities or have sufficient reserves of strength to endure the crushing of dreams and lives. Perhaps our current challenge will call them forth.
Joshua Cherniss is an Associate Professor of Government at Georgetown University, where he teaches courses in political theory and the history of political thought. He is the author of A Mind and its Time: The Development of Isaiah Berlin’s Political Thought and Liberalism in Dark Times: The Liberal Ethos in the Twentieth Century
