The planet is being drawn into a spiral of dangers by a president who is unpredictable in his predictability, for whom the exercise of power constitutes a kind of pleasurable entertainment.
Does he resemble Nixon? Or, if one looks a little deeper, can other historical analogies be found beyond the “madman theory,” Vietnam, and Iran? And why, if one delves into the psychological bonds that shape human behavior, should one not reach as far as Nero?
One might indeed reach that far, even if Donald Trump never climbs Capitol Hill to watch Washington engulfed in flames in ecstatic fascination. Psychiatry had already examined his case during his first term. Today, America again suspects that its president is “mentally unstable.” If he is not Nero, then he is Caligula.
The common characteristic of all figures who adorn the gallery of the disturbed is the unpredictability of their reactions. At least, however, in one respect Trump proved entirely predictable. From the first days of the conflict, it had been speculated that if he became trapped in a war of attrition, he would attempt to extricate himself by declaring victory. First, he proclaimed the “total destruction of a great civilization.” And then he sounded the “absolute and total victory.” One might wonder “what has happened to the president,” if he symbolized the bugle call with a trumpet. Perhaps even if he appointed as minister the shaman with the fur hat, the horns, the painted face, the tattoos, and the Thor’s hammer pendant on his chest who had stormed the Capitol five years earlier.
Grotesque, yes—but not harmless. The planet is being dragged into a spiral of risks by a president who is unpredictable in his predictability, for whom the exercise of power is a kind of pleasurable pastime. Isn’t it fun to utter five words—“I will raise tariffs by 500%”—and watch the planet’s eyes widen in shock and fear? Isn’t it absolutely entertaining to keep the whole world on edge with a single statement, to see it bite and hang from your “beautiful balls”?
For him it is—for at least for people like his “Secretary of War”—even if it is not for everyone else. And since it is not, it may be worth asking where that thin red line lies that separates mental instability from outright madness. One conclusion may be that the emperor is unstable enough not to account for the long-term consequences of his instability—analysts say it will take at least a year after the war finally ends for energy flows and costs to be restored. But the emperor is not so “mad” as to be indifferent to irreversible damage. As they say: “Trump always chickens out.” In the end, he “always backs down.”
This appears to be the shape and form of things today, the third day of a fragile ceasefire, and without taking into account the possibility of a sudden psychological deterioration of the emperor and his chicken. At least for now, the absence of danger is not complete. It sometimes reminds one that his nuclear warheads are in their silos, waiting for a gesture. But at least he knows what will happen if his finger presses the button.
With the nuclear threat, Richard Nixon built the “madman theory” to corner the Vietnamese. Half a century later, Donald Trump is governing (or entertaining himself) with the theory’s real-world applications. With his missiles, his flames, his trumpets, and his shamans. And, fortunately, with his chicken.
