*This piece was co-authored by Justin Schedtler
Is the world about to end? If you've been listening to Donald Trump, you might think it's just around the corner.
By now, almost every American has heard Donald Trump's stark, gloomy rhetoric. It has underscored his political message from the very start of his campaign. From a porous Mexican border to Syrian refugees, Chinese currency manipulators to D.C. beltway insiders, Trump sounds alarms with the fervor of an end-times prophet: if we don't build a wall, we will all be murdered in our sleep!
But it's not just a Trump phenomenon. For more than two thousand years, people have claimed the world is teetering on the brink of obliteration. At this very moment, a viral video proclaims that the earth's magnetic poles will flip and trigger the apocalypse (don't worry; it won't, NASA says). In December 2012, millions worried about the supposed Mayan prophecy about the end of time (though scholars of Mayan history warned that this was a misunderstanding). And California-based preacher Harold Camping famously (and, of course, incorrectly) declared the end of the world down to the day.
One particular word often describes these doomsday scenarios: apocalyptic.
Apocalyptic rhetoric isn't a new thing in American politics - and neither is it inherently conservative. In 1964, Lyndon Johnson's presidential campaign produced a heavy-handed commercial showing a young girl counting the pedals on a daisy, when she is suddenly interrupted by a menacing voiceover counting down to a nuclear bomb blast. The voiceover makes clear the apocalyptic choice at hand: "All of God's children can live, or go into the dark." According to Johnson, a vote for Barry Goldwater - his conservative opponent - is a vote to send American children "into the dark" night of nuclear annihilation.
In general, apocalyptic worldviews speak to groups of people whose world seems to be falling apart. The apocalyptic message encourages them to persevere in the face of seemingly overwhelming odds. Lyndon Johnson's commercial, for example, was intended to persuade voters to re-elect the status quo in a time of crisis. Two thousand years before Johnson, apocalyptic rhetoric in the biblical book of Revelation tried to inspire early Christians suffering under temporary persecutions in the eastern Roman Empire to persevere in their religious commitments. And about three hundred years before Revelation, the apocalyptic book of Daniel encouraged Jews under persecution in Jerusalem to remain faithful to their God.
Trump uses apocalyptic rhetoric for a similar reason: today, a particular way of life seems threatened. It's the "good old days" of 1950's American culture (complete with its subtext of white male supremacy) that Trump wants to bring back. Those pining for such a world are right to worry: that culture is fading fast, and they know it.
So, is there anything unique about Trump's brand of apocalyptic rhetoric? Michael Gerson argues that Trump's conviction that the entire American political system is corrupt, and that he alone is the savior, takes apocalyptic rhetoric further than any politician before him. But the trope of the political outsider, unsullied by Washington's toxic sludge, is common in politics. On this point, Trump sounds like Mitt Romney's 2012 campaign slogan: "Washington is Broken."
What is special, then, about Trump's apocalyptic vision of America? Perhaps it is also the most unique thing about his political messaging: Trump "says what he thinks." It is his greatest political strength, because it sparked his campaign and continues to fuel his publicity. But also, Trump the candidate lacks the basic filters (and the basic decency) that the American electorate has long taken for granted. Trump is the kind of person who refers to all Mexican immigrants as rapists, mocks physically disabled reporters, and calls the parents of a slain American soldier "angry Muslims."
Whereas candidates used to rely on political "dog whistles," or polite ways to say impolite things, Trump avoids any pretense to civility. As Jeet Heer says, his "genius is to turn subtext into text." Trump embodies German philosopher Theodor Adorno's description of fascist leaders: "They know no inhibitions in expressing themselves. They function vicariously for their inarticulate listeners by doing and saying what the latter would like to, but either cannot or dare not."
Trump's apocalyptic rhetoric is characteristically blunt; he pulls open the curtain and makes all things plain. But this is precisely where he differs from typical apocalyptic rhetoric. Biblical apocalyptic texts rely upon puzzling imagery and ambiguous references, and always retain a sense of wonder and mystery to them. Apocalyptic texts aren't simple puzzles to be solved; they are elaborate sermons of hope, and their perplexing imagery keeps them from mapping too closely on to any particular historical moment. Biblical apocalypses were designed to be open-ended, suggestive, and ultimately inspirational to different communities. There is never any admonition to fight back or seek earthly vengeance. Instead, the faithful wait patiently for God's decisive intervention.
In contrast, vulgar apocalypses - the kind that Trump offers daily on the stump - lack such complexity and sophistication. Instead, they incite their listeners to violent revenge fantasies. In other words, Trump's rhetoric is about as eloquent as a sandwich board with "THE END IS NEAR: DESTROY THE UNDESIRABLES" scrawled on it. And his message contains about as much hope - which is to say, none for those outside of its narrowly cast target group.
Vulgar apocalypses tell the faithful to mindlessly follow their leaders and claim what is rightfully theirs in order to restore the past. In Trump's version, "good" Americans are under assault on all sides and their only hope is to give him, their savior, full control of the country. Then all problems will end and "safety will be restored." Biblical apocalypses, on the other hand, envision not restoration of a beloved past, but the radical transformation of all forms of life.
In short, Trump is a purveyor of apocalyptic visions that are as vulgar as his taste in home decor. And that is a new thing for American politics, at least from a major party's nominee for president.