The last couple of weeks in American politics have offered
an interesting confirmation of some of the main themes I’ve discussed on this
blog. For that matter, those weeks would have come as no surprise to one of the thinkers
whose work has guided these essays since this blog started a decade ago, the
philosopher of history Oswald Spengler. I can all too readily imagine the hard
lines of Spengler’s face creasing in momentary amusement as he contemplates the
temporarily divergent fates of those two candidates for the US presidency that,
less than a year ago, nearly everyone insisted would be facing one another in
the general election: Jeb Bush and
Hillary Clinton.
Bush is in some ways the perfect poster child for the theme I
have in mind just now. When he launched his campaign last year, it was a
letter-perfect copy of the successful presidential campaigns of the last three
decades. He lined up plenty of big-money sponsors; he assembled a team of
ghostwriters, spin doctors, and door-to-door salesmen to run his campaign; he
had a PR firm design a catchy logo; he practiced spouting the kind of empty
rhetoric that sounds meaningful so long as you don’t think about it for two
minutes; he took carefully calculated stands on a handful of hot-button topics,
mouthed the conventional wisdom on every other issue, and set out to convince
the voters that their interests would be harmed just a little bit less by
putting him in the White House than by any of the alternatives.
That sort of content-free campaign is what got George Bush
I, Bill Clinton, George Bush II, and Barack Obama onto the list of US
presidents. What it got Jeb Bush, though, was a string of humiliating defeats.
Some have suggested that his tearful exit from the race in the wake of the
South Carolina primary was the act of a child who had been promised a nice
shiny presidency by his daddy, and then found out that the mean voters wouldn’t
give it to him. I think, though, that there was considerably more to it than
that. I think that Bush had just realized, to his shock and horror, that the
rules of the game had been changed on him without notice, and all those
well-informed, well-connected people who had advised him on the route that
would take him to the presidency had basically been smoking their shorts.
If anything, though, Hillary Clinton’s campaign offers an
even clearer glimpse into the festering heart of the American political
process. She did exactly the same things that Jeb did—it’s indicative that the
two of them both splashed their first names across their equally banal campaign
logos—and she also managed, as he never did, to get the apparatchiks of her
party lined up solidly on her side before the campaigning season got under way.
By the ordinary rules of US politics, she should have enjoyed a leisurely
stroll through the primaries to the Democratic convention while Jeb Bush
wrestled with his opponents, and then gone into the general election with
plenty of money to spare, saturating the air waves with a deluge of
advertisements designed to convince the American people that four years under
her leadership would be ever so slightly less disastrous for them than four
years under Bush.
This time, though, the rules have changed. Clinton is facing
a spirited challenge from party outsider Bernie Sanders, and though she’ll
still probably get the nomination—it’s a source of wry amusement that just now,
the Democratic Party’s nominating procedure is significantly less democratic
than that of the GOP—it’s pretty clear at this point that she’s not going to
get it without a fight. Once she does, in turn, instead of facing another bland
insider in a tepid race to the center that can easily be clinched by an ad
blitz or two, she’ll be up against Donald Trump, whose popularity soars with
every petulant denunciation the pundits of the privileged classes fling at him,
whose take-no-prisoners style of bare-knuckle campaigning is exactly the sort
of challenge that neither Clinton nor her lumbering campaign staff have shown
the least ability to handle, and who is prepared to offer the voters something
other than the very slightly lesser of two evils.
Now of course Clinton has made things considerably worse for
herself by the way she’s approached the
campaign. She’s got a whopping case
of that weird mental blind spot I labeled, in a post that
appeared here last year, “the delusion of control”—the notion, as
pervasive as it is preposterous, that when a member of America’s privileged
classes does something, the rest of the cosmos is obliged to respond to that
action in a wholly passive, wholly mechanical manner. For a world-class
example, watch the way Clinton’s handlers simply look blank each time they find
out that most of the American people loathe and distrust their candidate, and
try repeatedly to “reintroduce” her, as though they think they can just hit a
reset button on the campaign machinery and start all over again.
For that matter, Clinton’s own attitude during the campaign
so far reminds me of nothing so much as
what happens when someone puts money into a defective vending machine.
She’s fed the thing her quarters and pushed the right button, but the desired
product hasn’t dropped to the bottom where she can get it. Now she’s jabbing the button over and over
again, and in due time she’ll be pounding her fists on the thing and screaming
at it because it won’t give her what she’s paid for. I honestly don’t think she’s ever, even for a
moment, considered the possibility that the voting public isn’t simply a
passive, mechanical mass that will spit up a presidency for her if she just
manipulates in in the right way. I doubt
it has entered her darkest dream that the American people might just up and
decide to cast their votes to further their own interests rather than hers.
That analysis seems plausible to me for a variety of
reasons, but high among them is the way that Clinton’s supporters among her own
class-and-gender subcategory have demanded that all American women back the
Clinton campaign. I’m thinking here particularly of Madeleine Albright, who
made the news a little while back with a irate public statement insisting that
“there’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.” That’s a common trope among a certain
well-paid class of Second Wave feminists. It’s become controversial, and for
good reason, among a great many other feminists, particularly in the partly
overlapping sets of women of color and women in the wage class. Listen to them,
and you’ll hear at some length how they feel about being expected to help rich
and influential women like Madeleine Albright pursue their goals, when they
know perfectly well the favor won’t be returned in any way that matters.
What, after all, does a Clinton presidency offer the
majority of American women, other than whatever vicarious thrill they might get
from having a president with a vagina? The economic policies Clinton
espouses—the current bipartisan consensus, from which she shows no signs of
veering in the slightest—have already brought poverty and misery to millions of
American women who don’t happen to share her privileged background and more
than ample income. Her tenure as Secretary
of State was marked by exactly the sort of hamfisted interventions in other
people’s countries to which Democrats, once upon a time, used to object: interventions, please note, that have already
been responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths in Syria, Libya, and
elsewhere, and may yet—especially if Clinton takes the same attitudes with her
into the White House—treat a good many American women to the experience of
watching their kids come home in body bags from yet another brutal and
pointless Mideast war.
The reaction to Albright’s public tantrum is in many ways as
instructive as the tantrum itself. A great many American women simply aren’t
buying it. More generally, no matter how furiously Clinton and her flacks
hammer on the buttons of the vending machine, trying to elicit the mechanical
response they think they ought to be able to expect, the voters aren’t falling
into line. Trump and Sanders, each in his own way, have shown too many people
that it’s possible to hope for something other than an intolerable state of
business as usual. In the wake of their
candidacies, a great many voters have decided that they’re no longer willing to
vote for the lesser of two evils.
That’s a point of some importance. To my mind, it’s far from accidental that for
the last few decades, every presidential election here in the US has been
enlivened by bumper stickers calling on voters to support the presidential
ambitions of Cthulhu, the tentacled primeval horror out of H.P. Lovecraft’s
tales of cosmic dread. I’m sorry to say that the Elder God’s campaign faces a
serious constitutional challenge, as he was spawned on the world of Vhoorl in
the twenty-third nebula and currently resides in the drowned corpse-city of
R’lyeh, and as far as I know neither of these are US territory. Still, his bid
for the White House has gotten further than most other imaginary candidacies,
and I’ve long thought that the secret behind that success is Cthulhu’s campaign
slogan: “Why settle for the lesser evil?”
The reason that this slogan reliably elicits laughter, in
turn, is that the entire rhetoric of presidential politics in the United States
for decades now has fixated on the claim that one party’s pet stooge won’t do
anything quite as appalling as the other side’s will, even though they all
support the same policies and are bought and sold by the same corrupt
interests. Over and over again, we’ve been told that we have to vote for
whatever candidate this or that party has retched up, because otherwise the
other side will get to nominate a Supreme Court justice or two, or get us into
another war, or do something else bad.
Any suggestion that a candidate might be expected to do something
positive—that he or she might, for example, reject the bipartisan policies that
have crashed the standard of living for most Americans, consigned the nation’s
infrastructure to malign neglect, and pursued gargantuan corporate welfare
programs, such as the worthless F-35 fighter, at the expense of anything more
useful or necessary—is dismissed out of hand as “unrealistic.”
What the insurgent candidacies of Trump and Sanders show
conclusively, in turn, is that the lesser-evil rhetoric and its fixation on
“realistic” politics have just passed their pull date. There are very good
reasons for this. The pursuit of the lesser evil means that the best the
American people are supposed to hope for is the continuation of the current
state of things—that’s what you get, after all, if your only talking points
fixate on stopping things from getting worse—and for most Americans today, the
current state of things is unbearable. Cratering wages and soaring rents, a
legal environment that increasingly denies even basic rights to everybody but
corporations and the rich, an economy rigged to load ever-increasing costs on
working people while funneling all the benefits to those who already have too
much—well, you can fill in the list as well as I can. If you don’t happen to
belong to the privileged classes, life in today’s America is rapidly becoming
intolerable, and the “realistic” politics that both parties have pursued with
equal enthusiasm for decades are directly responsible for making it
intolerable.
Thus the reason that a large and growing number of ordinary
working Americans are refusing to accept another rehash of the status quo this
time around is that their backs are to the wall. That’s a situation that comes
up reliably at a certain point in the history of every society, and it’s a
source of wry amusement to me that Oswald Spengler predicted the situation
currently facing the United States—and, mutatis mutandis, the rest of
the industrialized world as well.
Spengler’s historical analysis covers a vast amount of
territory, but the point at issue here appears late in the second volume of The
Decline of the West, where he sketches out the immediate future of what we
call Western industrial civilization and he named the Faustian Culture. His
theme was the way that democracies die.
He argued that democracy suffers from a lethal vulnerability, which is
that it has no meaningful defenses against the influence of money. Since most citizens are more interested in
their own personal, short-term advantage than they are in the long-term destiny
of their nation, democracy turns into a polite fiction for plutocracy just as soon
as the rich figure out how to buy votes, a lesson that rarely takes them long
to learn.
The problem with plutocracy, in turn, is that it embodies
the same fixation on short-term personal advantage that gives it its entry to
power, since the only goals that guide the rich in their increasingly
kleptocratic rule are immediate personal wealth and gratification. Despite the
ravings of economists, furthermore, it simply isn’t true that what benefits the
very rich automatically benefits the rest of society as well; quite the
contrary, in the blind obsession with personal gain that drives the plutocratic
system, the plutocrats generally lose track of the hard fact that too much
profiteering can run the entire system into the ground A democracy in its terminal years thus
devolves into a broken society from which only the narrowing circle of the
privileged rich derive any tangible benefit. In due time, those excluded from
that circle look elsewhere for leadership.
The result is what Spengler calls Caesarism: the rise of
charismatic leaders who discover that they can seize power by challenging the
plutocrats, addressing the excluded majority, and offering the latter some hope
that their lot will be improved. Now and then, the leaders who figure this out
come from within the plutocracy itself; Julius Caesar, who contributed his
family name to Spengler’s term, was a very rich man from an old-money
Senatorial family, and he’s far from the only example. In 1918, Spengler
predicted that the first wave of Caesarism in the Western world was about to
hit, that it would be defeated by the plutocrats, and that other waves would
follow. He was dead right on the first two counts, and the current election
suggests that the third prediction will turn out just as accurate.
To a very real extent, Hillary Clinton’s faltering
presidential campaign is a perfect microcosm of what Spengler was talking about
in his cold analysis of democracy in extremis. Her entire platform
presupposes that the only policies the United States can follow are those that
have been welded in place since the turn of the millennium: more government
largesse for corporations and the rich, more austerity for everyone else, more
malign neglect for the national infrastructure and the environment, more wars
in the Middle East, and more of the fantastically stupid policy of
confrontation—there
really is no gentler way to describe it—that has succeeded, against
all odds, in uniting Russia, China, Iran, and an assortment of smaller nations
against the United States, by convincing their leaders that they have nothing
to gain from a US-centric world order and nothing to lose by challenging it.
Those policies have not brought any of the good things their
promoters insisted that they were going to bring. Another four years of the
same policies aren’t going to change that fact. Every American voter knows
these things, and so does Hillary Clinton, which is why her campaign focuses so
precisely on everything but the issues that actually concern the majority of
American voters today. That’s what lends a savage irony to Madeleine Albright’s
brittle demand that American women support Clinton even though, for all
practical purposes, she’s offering them very little more than they got from
George W. Bush. Albright’s is the
classic voice of a senile plutocracy on its way down, demanding a loyalty from
others that it has done precisely nothing to earn.
I suspect we’ll see plenty of the same sort of irony as the
current election season lurches toward its end. No doubt Clinton and her flacks
will keep on trying to reintroduce her to voters who already know her quite
well enough, thank you; no doubt we’ll hear all sorts of encomiums about what a
nice person she is—as though that matters one jot to people who know that four
more years of the policies she supports may well land them out of a job and out
on the street. For that matter, facile claims that everything is fine, the
economy is booming, and the American people are happier than they’ve been in
decades are already appearing in the mass media. No doubt things look that way
if you live in a bubble of privilege, and take good care never to step outside
it and see how the other 80% live; for that matter, it’s true that if you take
the obscene gains raked in by the privileged few and average them out across
the entire population, that looks like economic betterment—but those gains are
not being shared by the entire population, and the entire population knows
this.
For the connoisseurs of historical irony, there will
doubtless be plenty of entertainment to be had in watching the Clinton campaign
as it tries one tactic after another to get that vending machine to cough up
the prize Clinton so obviously and desperately craves. None of those veerings
matter in any broader sense, because Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders have
already demonstrated that rejecting the consensus of America’s dominant
minority is a ticket to electoral success. It’s possible—indeed, I think it’s
likely—that Clinton will manage to squeeze past Sanders and get the Democratic
nomination by fair means or foul; it’s considerably less likely that she’ll be
able to overcome Trump in the general election; but even if she does, others
will follow where Trump and Sanders lead, and sooner or later one of them will
triumph.
The more likely option just now, I think, is that the
Clinton campaign will meet a crushing defeat at Trump’s hands, and the decline
and fall of Hillary Clinton will also mark the end of the failed consensus that
has dominated American politics for decades. That fact alone doesn’t guarantee
improvement; no law requires that whatever policies replace the conventional
wisdom must be better. Nonetheless, things will change, and it’s at least
possible that some of the changes might remove at least a few of the worst
features of the bleak era now stumbling to its end around us.
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Even archdruids need the occasional break, and it’s been getting on for two years since I last took one. This will therefore be the last post on this blog until April 6. See you then!