Since the beginning of his second term, President Trump’s desire to re-Christianize the country has been obvious and in line with the aims of the leaders of the Christian right since the 1980s. While it is true that, at every moment of political difficulty, Trump immediately invokes the theme of greatness inherent in the MAGA program, his more general rhetoric can often be placed on an eschatological register. Since taking office, hardly a day goes by without his mentioning the return of the golden age to the United States. In November 2025, he was still repeating, at a rally of McDonald’s franchisees, that America was living in a golden age, since “we are doing better than we have ever done as a country.”
Links between the millenarianism so dear to many evangelicals—especially Pentecostals and charismatics—and Trump are frequently made: despite policy results that have been at best mediocre, the President’s more religious activists have always gone out of their way to make him appear as an ultimate savior of the end times. According to the Texas pastor John Hagee, who had loudly expressed his support for Trump during the first term, the billionaire was the ultimate bulwark against the coming of an Antichrist from the West. In his second term, the situation is more or less unchanged for evangelicals who have always wanted to see Trump as a new Cyrus or a new David, except that some now compare him to Jehu, the biblical monarch who restored the kingdom of Israel.
The Heavy Use of Eschatology: A Risky Strategy
In the context of religious ferment in the United States, eschatological rhetoric—wanting to embody the savior of humanity— can be a dangerous gamble. If results do not confirm the expectations of followers, one risks being seen as a false prophet or even the Antichrist. Many presidents have faced such accusations during their terms: the Democrats’ Franklin Delano Roosevelt and Barack Obama were favored targets. In Trump’s case, one may rightly wonder whether a reversal of Christian opinion is not underway. For many evangelicals, the words and images invoked by Trump and his allies serve as religious dog whistles, coded language making specific biblical references. So, as Trump has come into conflict with several MAGA thought leaders, talk of betrayal has grown louder.
Eschatological accents are evident in the remarks of Marjorie Taylor Greene, whose relationship with Trump was severed after months of tension. The President did not hesitate to call his former supporter crazy (“wacky Marjorie”) and portray her as a traitor (“Marjorie Traitor Greene”). The representative from Georgia replied, quite surprisingly, by announcing her intention to resign in early January 2026. One of her statements draws particular attention. She asserted that she neither “worship[ed]” nor “serve[d]” Trump. Beyond the desire for independence, the term “worship” must resonate strangely in Evangelical ears: is this not the word generally reserved for God? Is it not the term used in Revelation 13:8, when speaking of the reign of the Beast, knowing that the Beasts of Revelation are usual substitutes for the Antichrist? Even if the term “Antichrist” was not said explicitly, Greene was nevertheless playing with the biblical reference.
Eschatological rhetoric […] can be a dangerous gamble. If results do not confirm the expectations of followers, one risks being seen as a false prophet or even the Antichrist.
For his part, Peter Thiel, who devoted four lectures to the biblical Antichrist, seems rather convinced in his conspiratorial perspective that the Antichrist will be a “Luddite who wants to put an end to all science.” But he does not seem to rule out the Trump hypothesis. Indeed, he states: “If you are prepared, sincerely, rationally, and thoughtfully, to assert that Trump is the Antichrist, I will listen to you.” Obviously, this is a very alarming criticism for the Republican leader. Although Peter Thiel refused to financially support Trump’s 2024 campaign, he resumed funding Republicans after the victory and has significant influence over the MAGA movement. J.D. Vance sees him as his mentor. If such a figure were to turn against Trump and denounce him as the Antichrist, the situation would become considerably more complicated for the President.
The latest defection to date is that of Tucker Carlson. The former Fox News commentator has always had a difficult relationship with Donald Trump, though they had reconciled during the summer of 2024. After the victory, their relationship began to fray again: in June 2025, Tucker Carlson reproached the President for not disengaging from the Middle East to focus on America, as he promised he would, and accused him of being complicit in Israeli war crimes, earning Carlson a barrage of insults from Trump. But it was above all in October that their quarrel changed in nature, when Carlson launched into a controversy of a religious character. During an interview with the antisemitic nationalist Nick Fuentes, he stated that “Christian Zionism is a heresy.” The thesis is bold given that the bulk of Trump’s base is Evangelical and that Christian Zionism has been one of the fundamentals of Evangelicalism since the 1880s! Moreover, the term “heresy” could only shock such an audience.
Peter Thiel […] does not seem to rule out the Trump hypothesis. Indeed, he states: “If you are prepared, sincerely, rationally, and thoughtfully, to assert that Trump is the Antichrist, I will listen to you.”
Etymologically, a heretic is someone who chooses a doctrine other than the true doctrine; he is therefore someone who lies or denies the divinity of the Father and the Son. Anyone with even a passing knowledge of the Scriptures can see in Carlson’s statement a reference to this passage from the First Letter of John: “Who is the liar but the one who denies that Jesus is the Christ? This is the antichrist, the one who denies the Father and the Son. Whoever denies the Son does not have the Father either; whoever confesses the Son has the Father also.”
Through these three examples, one can see the danger looming over the President, even if his purported switch from being the proclaimed savior to the Antichrist is, for the moment, only recognized by a few.
The Epstein Affair, Conspiracy Thinking, and Eschatology
Another issue now constitutes a major threat: the Epstein affair. This sordid case, which involves sexual abuse of minors, rape, and enslavement, has received a considerable amount of attention in recent years. QAnon and other networks of the extreme right have seized upon it, and numerous conspiracy theories have flourished online, fueled by the businessman’s suspicious death in prison. Many refused to believe it was suicide. On the internet, one could easily hear or read fiery speeches about Epstein and the corruption of the many elites around him. For a time, the affair served Trump’s interests: according to his supporters, all of his opponents—Democrats, journalists, singers, Hollywood filmmakers—were implicated in the vast pedo-criminal conspiracy set up by Epstein. Thus, only Trump, claimed his supporters, was capable of restoring true moral values in the United States. All of this reinforced Umberto Eco’s thesis that obsession with conspiracy is an essential element of Ur-fascism, but neither Trump nor his supporters seemed to care.
Once the election was won, however, Trump’s about-face was striking. Trump showed himself reluctant to publish the entirety of the Justice Department’s Epstein documents and archives, as promised. The controversy swelled, and many noted the President’s own close relationship with the sexual predator. It was only recently that Trump yielded under pressure and ordered the declassification and publication of the Epstein files.
At first glance, the Epstein threat seems of a radically different nature. What connection could there be between conspiracy theories surrounding a major sexual scandal and the expectation of the end times? However, conspiracy thinking and eschatology share many common points.
The Epstein affair demonstrates how conspiracy thinking and theology go hand in hand.
If one refers to the tradition of the Antichrist that goes back to Adso of Montiers-en-Der, one might be tempted to see in it a mythology close to conspiracy theory. From his birth, the Ultimate Enemy, the fruit of the union of a prostitute and the Devil, must be born in Babylon, an imaginary city that symbolizes corruption. He must then be raised by Magi and enchanters in the cities of Bethsaida and Chorazin. Subsequently, when he arrives in Jerusalem, he will pass himself off as Christ and the Jews will welcome him as the Messiah. He will then perform false miracles and lying wonders, persecute the righteous—notably the two witnesses who preach against him—and corrupt the others. It is ultimately Jesus (or the archangel Michael) who will put an end to his reign. The myth of the Antichrist rests on mystery, deception, lies, and imposture—in other words, the usual mechanisms of conspiracy theories. One could even see, in this legend, a conspiracy against God.
The Epstein affair demonstrates how conspiracy thinking and theology go hand in hand. The scenarios are almost identical: Trump wanted to appear as a savior, but in the event of failure, the risk is to be seen as the Antichrist, the impious being who must rule the world for a time before being struck down by Christ. Trump campaigned as the scourge of corrupt and pedophilic elites linked to a terrible sexual predator; if his name were to appear in the Epstein files, he would in turn risk being assimilated back into these hated elites.
One can go even further: the defections that have taken place in the Republican camp have cheerfully mixed religion and conspiracy thinking. At the height of his feud with Trump in June 2025, Elon Musk opted for a frontal attack. While the word “abomination” used by Musk to describe the One Big Beautiful Bill (the budget reconciliation bill passed by Trump) can refer to the biblical book of Daniel, it does not necessarily imply an eschatological subtext. Nevertheless, Musk’s reference to the Epstein case was particularly harsh. If the files were not published, he said in essence, it was because their content compromised Trump himself. The accusation fizzled out as Musk deleted the tweet that launched it the next day. Nevertheless, the damage was done, and the Epstein case clearly contributed to the defection of one of the president’s most prominent supporters.
In November 2025, Marjorie Taylor Greene explained that her falling out with the President—and, with it, her refusal to “worship” him—also had its source in this affair. For months, she pushed for the publication of the files and criticized Trump’s hesitations. She continued to intervene, saying she did not trust the Justice Department’s promise to publish them—a clear way of putting pressure on the Republican administration.
This constant mixing of conspiracy theory and eschatology is not really surprising in light of the recent history of the United States. In the past few years, the country has been a kind of politico-religious laboratory; in this context, many theories, often originating in Pentecostal circles, have emerged. Thus, the Seven Mountains Mandate, which appeared in the 2000s under the impetus of Lance Wallnau, has spread widely throughout the country. It aims to exert evangelical dominance over “the spheres of religion, education, economics, politics, arts and entertainment, media, and family.” In the same way, the popularity of dominionism and Christian nationalism have increased considerably. One also remembers that many analysts considered that the QAnon movement, with its explosive mix of conspiracy thinking and theology, could be regarded as a new religion. Nevertheless, the massive spread of conspiracy theories steeped in the eschatological tradition is now taking even more worrying proportions, and the risk of seeing public opinion turn against a president who has made intensive use of them increases day by day.
This constant mixing of conspiracy theory and eschatology is not really surprising in light of the recent history of the United States. In the past few years, the country has been a kind of politico-religious laboratory; in this context, many theories, often originating in Pentecostal circles, have emerged.
A Particularly Striking Case: The Defection of Bryce Mitchell
One might argue that this analysis relies a little too much on allusions, on the implicit, on tropes. Be that as it may! A recent video illustrates perfectly the idea of a convergence—even a fusion—of eschatology and conspiracy thinking. It is an Instagram post from the end of October 2025. Its author, Bryce Mitchell, is not exactly unknown: the thirty-something has a media presence since, beyond his job as a cattle breeder in Arkansas, he is a professional mixed martial arts (MMA) fighter, an ultra-violent sport. He has also made headlines several times, notably for claiming that Hitler was a “good guy,” before rather pitifully retracting.
In this video, addressed to his fans, the fighter begins with undeniable vehemence: “I no longer support Donald Trump, I don’t like him, I think he is a corrupt leader.” The first reason for this disenchantment, he claims, is that he did not publish the Epstein file. He condemns American diplomatic and military interventions in Israel and Ukraine and accuses Trump of “putting America last.” Further frustrations over agricultural policy and the price of beef are also aired. Then his tone changes. He states that Trump deceived him and that he was an idiot. He becomes agitated, moves toward the camera, and makes his dog growl. The young man then openly designates Trump as the Antichrist, referring to Revelation 13:3, where the wounded head of the Beast is miraculously healed in a false resurrection to manipulate God’s followers. This is a transparent reference to the assassination attempt against the President in Butler, Pennsylvania, where Trump was struck in the head. Finally, Mitchell announces that we have entered the Great Tribulation and that the mark of the Beast will be present in forty-two months. He concludes: “Trump is finished, he’s gone, he’s compromised, he’s out there with the rest of the pedophiles.” The video nonetheless ends on a note of nostalgia: “he’s a good actor,” says Mitchell, “and he fooled me for a very long time.”
Figure 1. Comments on Bryce Mitchell’s video attacking Trump. Photo by Joël E. Schnapp used with permission of the author.
In the video’s short run time, one finds all the elements mentioned earlier: conspiracy thinking linked to the Epstein affair and eschatology, with its reference to Revelation. Above all, one sees, perfectly materialized, a double reversal. Whereas Trump made use of the Epstein affair, he is now on the side of the pedophiles; though his followers believed in him, he turned out to be the Antichrist. In both cases, deception and concealment are at work. The Instagram clip was viewed nearly 70,000 times; it was shared nearly 2,600 times. That is not enormous, but it is still significant, especially since many national media outlets, such as Yahoo, Fox News, and MSNBC, commented on and disseminated this post. Mitchell thus received immense publicity which likely tarnished the President’s prestige among the most religious fraction of his electorate.
Even if this is just one figure’s stance, it is nonetheless symptomatic of the increased risk of a change in opinion against Trump. The publication of the Epstein files constitutes a veritable Sword of Damocles, all the more so since, for many evangelicals, the affair has now taken on apocalyptic connotations. If the crisis were to intensify, if other voices were to join Mitchell, Trump could be forced to resign, though such a crisis could benefit the most radical fringe of the MAGA movement—that of Nick Fuentes and America First. One could then be confronted with a genuine Nazi drift, on the model of Philip K. Dick’s famous dystopian novel The Man in the High Castle. That is where Bryce Mitchell’s preference lies. When one of his supporters asks him in the comment thread whether he supports Nick Fuentes, the reply comes instantly: “Nick is my brother.”
Joël E. Schnapp is a French historian, holding a PHD in Modern History from the University of Paris-X Nanterre. He is a research associate at University of Grenoble and a specialist of Apocalyptic Traditions in the Renaissance and the Christian Polemics against Islam. He has written several articles about the Turks and Islam in the Renaissance, including his 2017 book called Prophéties de fin du monde et peur des Turcs au XVe siècle: Ottomans, Antichrist, Apocalypse. In 2023, he published an essay called Chroniques de l’Antichrist: Crises et Apocalypses au XXIe siècle, in which he reflects on medieval apocalytic traditions applied to contemporary history. He has also written numerous articles for Le Monde, Le Média, Le Nouvel Observateur, Le Point and Lundi.am.
