Understanding the Political-Ideological Complex

How does culture, belief and ideology translate into power in our political system, and where are we headed?

There are many different models we can use to understand how power operates in society. Each offers distinct insights by illuminating particular relationships and dynamics that might otherwise remain hidden from view. When President Eisenhower introduced the concept of the “military-industrial complex” in 1961, he wasn't offering the only way to understand American power—but he provided a model that revealed important patterns in how military and industrial forces could create self-reinforcing systems that shaped both policy and public understanding.

Similarly, when we examine power in our current moment, we can approach it through various models of understanding. We might look at it through an economic lens, examining how wealth concentration affects political outcomes. We might analyze it through institutional frameworks, studying how formal structures shape the exercise of power. Or we might examine it through cultural models that explore how shared narratives and beliefs influence political behavior.

One model for our current moment would be to carefully understand the relationship between political power and ideological frameworks. We might call it the “political-ideological complex”—a way of understanding how political power and ideological systems mutually reinforce each other. This isn't the only way to understand our political reality, but it's a model that can yield important insights about how power operates in contemporary America.

To understand this model, let's first consider what we mean by political power and ideological frameworks. Political power involves the ability to make and enforce decisions that affect society. This includes formal authority through government institutions, but also informal power through economic and social influence. Ideological frameworks, on the other hand, are the systems of ideas and beliefs that help people make sense of political reality and justify particular arrangements of power.

These two elements—political power and ideological frameworks—don't operate independently. When a group gains political power, they often promote ideological frameworks that justify their authority. Similarly, when certain ideological frameworks become widely accepted, they shape which forms of political power seem legitimate and which don't. Understanding this interaction helps explain why some ideas gain influence while others, despite perhaps having stronger arguments, remain marginalized.

In a recent essay, I delved into what I perceive to be technical elites in Silicon Valley promoting the idea that technical competence should be the primary basis for decision-making authority. This isn't just an abstract argument—it's an ideological framework that justifies concentrating power in the hands of those who can claim technical expertise. Their control over key information platforms allows them to amplify this ideology, while their growing political power makes the ideology seem more credible. The framework and the power reinforce each other.

To see how this model helps us understand political transformation over time, consider the period from 1945 to roughly 2016. During this era, American politics operated within what I’ve taken to calling consensus liberalism—a governing framework whose core beliefs transcended traditional left-right divisions. This wasn't just about specific policies; it represented a particular configuration of the political-ideological complex where market efficiency, global integration, and technocratic governance were seen as naturally aligned with democratic values.

What makes this model particularly revealing is how it helps us understand both the stability of that era and its eventual unraveling. The consensus liberal framework wasn't just a set of ideas—it was a system where political power and ideological justifications reinforced each other in specific ways. Policy debates occurred primarily around questions of distribution—healthcare, education, tax rates—while fundamental questions about power itself remained largely settled.

But this very stability contained the seeds of its own transformation. As market success generated unprecedented concentrations of private power, the political-ideological complex began to shift. Technical elites gained not just economic influence but the ability to reshape how authority itself is understood and justified. Their claim that technical competence should override traditional democratic processes represents more than just a policy position—it's an attempt to fundamentally reorganize how legitimate authority operates in society.

This helps us understand why certain ideas gain influence while others don't. The technical elite's ideology of competence-based authority gains traction not just because of its arguments, but because it aligns with and justifies existing concentrations of power. Meanwhile, traditional democratic frameworks face challenges not because their arguments have been defeated, but because the power structures that supported them have been eroded.

What makes our current moment particularly complex is that multiple frameworks for legitimate authority now compete where consensus once reigned. Traditional liberal institutions still base their authority on democratic processes and constitutional principles. Technical elites claim legitimacy through demonstrated competence and problem-solving ability. Populist movements assert authority through claims of authentic representation of “the people.”

Understanding these as competing configurations of the political-ideological complex helps explain why our political battles have become so fundamental. We're not just arguing about policy choices within a shared framework—we're witnessing a struggle over how authority itself should be understood and justified in society.

Within the political-ideological complex, it's crucial to distinguish between intellectual traditions that maintain academic or theoretical vitality and those that possess social currency—the actual ability to shape how power operates in society, based on people’s affinity to the ideas of those traditions. This distinction helps us understand a striking feature of our current moment: while many intellectual traditions continue to produce work and maintain internal coherence, only two—liberalism and reactionism—currently wield significant social currency within the complex.

This dynamic becomes clearer when we examine how intellectual traditions interact with actual power structures in society. When Marxist scholars produce sophisticated analyses of capitalism and social relations, they may develop compelling theoretical frameworks and maintain robust academic discussions. Similarly, when libertarian thinkers articulate detailed arguments about markets and individual rights, they might construct logically sound positions. Yet, despite their intellectual rigor, these traditions struggle to shape how institutions actually behave or how power actually flows through society. Marxism and libertarianism are intellectual traditions in desuetude within the political-ideological complex.

Understanding this state of desuetude helps explain why certain intellectual frameworks can appear vibrant in academic or online spaces while having minimal impact on how power actually operates. The persistence of these traditions shouldn't be dismissed—they continue to generate insights that might prove valuable for understanding our world. But their disconnection from social currency means they operate primarily as analytical tools rather than as forces that can reshape political reality.

In contrast, liberalism and reactionism maintain social currency because they connect with how people understand and experience power in their daily lives. Liberal frameworks, despite their weakening grip, still resonate with deeply held beliefs about democratic processes and individual rights. Reactionary frameworks, meanwhile, tap into profound dissatisfaction with existing institutions and promises of restored order through strong authority.

This configuration of social currency helps explain why our political battles have become so fundamental. When only two major ideological frameworks possess the ability to shape how power operates, political conflict naturally aligns around their competing visions of legitimate authority. Other perspectives, however intellectually rich, remain in desuetude—unable to translate their theoretical insights into practical influence over how power flows through society.

So with that backgrounder of sorts, let’s delve into the current landscape and how liberalism and reactionism are positioned within the American political landscape.

To fully grasp the gravity of our current situation, we must understand the nature of this unstable interregnum and its implications for the future of liberal democracy. The diminished social currency of once-influential ideologies like hyper-identity politics, Marxism, and libertarianism isn't merely an academic curiosity—it's a symptom of a profound shift in how power operates in our society.

This shift has left us with a political landscape dominated by two primary forces: liberalism and reactionism. However, it's crucial to understand that these aren't monolithic ideologies, but rather broad traditions encompassing various strands of thought. Liberalism, in this context, refers to the tradition of constitutional democracy, individual rights, and the rule of law that has underpinned Western governance since World War II. Reactionism, on the other hand, represents a rejection of these liberal principles in favor of more authoritarian, traditionalist, or nativist approaches to governance.

As an armchair philosopher deeply engaged with the liberal tradition, I feel compelled to acknowledge that liberalism itself has not been immune to internal contradictions and excesses. In recent decades, we've witnessed the emergence of two problematic strands within liberal thought. On one hand, a form of hyper-identity politics and what some term “wokeness” has pushed self-actualization to extremes, often at the expense of social cohesion and common purpose. On the other hand, a faction of market fundamentalists has emerged, advocating for an ever-shrinking role of the state, effectively undermining the very institutions necessary for maintaining a liberal order.

These developments have not only weakened liberalism from within but have also provided fodder for its critics. They represent a departure from the balanced approach that characterized post-war liberalism, which sought to harmonize individual rights with social responsibility, and market dynamism with state capacity.

What makes this internal tension within liberalism particularly significant is how it affects liberalism's ability to maintain social currency in the political-ideological complex. When liberal frameworks become unbalanced—either through excessive emphasis on individual identity or through market fundamentalism that undermines state capacity—they begin to lose their ability to provide coherent justifications for how power should operate in society. This creates openings for reactionary frameworks to gain social currency by promising to restore order through more authoritarian approaches.

This dynamic helps explain why our current interregnum is so unstable. The two traditions that maintain social currency—liberalism and reactionism—are themselves undergoing internal transformations that make their competition for legitimacy more volatile. Liberalism struggles to maintain its balanced approach while reactionism attempts to convert populist energy into a coherent alternative vision for how society should be ordered.

Understanding these dynamics within the political-ideological complex helps us see why simply defending traditional liberal positions isn't sufficient. The challenge isn't just about winning policy debates within an accepted framework—it's about rebuilding liberalism's social currency by addressing the imbalances that have weakened its ability to justify and shape how power operates in society.

To understand the reactionary tradition that now holds significant social currency, we must examine its intellectual foundations and key figures. Among the most influential theorists of modern reactionism is Curtis Yarvin, who has also been known under the pen name Mencius Moldbug. His work represents a sophisticated attempt to develop a coherent intellectual framework for rejecting liberal democratic principles entirely.

Yarvin's significance lies not just in his specific arguments, but in how he has helped create an intellectual foundation for various strands of reactionary thought. Unlike many critics of liberalism who operate within its basic assumptions, Yarvin launches a fundamental challenge to liberal democracy's legitimacy. He argues that democracy itself is inherently dysfunctional and that more centralized, hierarchical forms of authority would prove more stable and effective.

What makes Yarvin's influence particularly noteworthy is how his ideas have gained traction among certain technical elites. His background as a software engineer and his way of analyzing political systems as if they were computer operating systems appeals to those who approach governance through a technical lens. This connection between reactionary political theory and technical frameworks helps explain why some in Silicon Valley have become receptive to explicitly anti-democratic ideas.

Yarvin's critique goes beyond typical conservative positions. He doesn't just argue for specific policy changes or traditional values—he questions the fundamental premises of liberal democracy. His vision of “neocameralism” proposes replacing democratic institutions with what amounts to corporate governance structures, where society would be run like a business with clear ownership and control.

This framework has proven particularly appealing to technical elites who already see their managerial competence as a better basis for authority than democratic process. It provides intellectual justification for the belief that technical expertise should override democratic deliberation. When combined with control over crucial technological infrastructure, this ideology becomes more than just theory—it provides a blueprint for how technical elites might reshape political authority.

Yarvin's influence illustrates an important aspect of how reactionism maintains social currency in the political-ideological complex. By providing sophisticated theoretical frameworks that justify anti-democratic governance in terms of efficiency and stability rather than traditional authority, reactionary thought can appeal to modern elites who might otherwise dismiss more traditionally conservative ideas.

This helps explain why reactionism, unlike other non-liberal ideologies, maintains significant social currency. It combines intellectual sophistication with practical appeal to powerful groups, particularly technical elites who control crucial infrastructure. Meanwhile, its critique of democratic dysfunction resonates with populist frustrations, creating potential alliances between elite and popular anti-liberal forces.

The practical influence of reactionary thought in our current moment becomes starkly clear when we examine how Yarvin's ideas have captured the imagination of some of the most powerful figures in technology and venture capital. Peter Thiel, Marc Andreessen, and Balaji Srinivasan aren't just wealthy individuals—they represent a significant faction of technical elites who control crucial infrastructure and wield enormous influence over how our society functions.

What makes this particularly significant for the political-ideological complex is how these figures have gained unprecedented influence within the Trump administration, despite Trump himself not sharing their ideological commitments. Trump, who appears to lack any coherent ideology beyond personal interest, has made a cynical but effective alliance with these reactionary technical elites. This has dealt them into what we might call the political-ideological poker game at the highest levels.

The appointment of J.D. Vance as Vice President represents perhaps the most visible manifestation of this influence. Vance, a Yarvinite whose political philosophy aligns closely with reactionary thought, now sits a heartbeat away from the presidency. This isn't just about individual personnel choices—it represents the growing social currency of reactionary frameworks within the centers of American power.

This configuration reveals something crucial about how ideological influence operates in practice. Trump's own lack of ideological commitment actually makes him a more effective vehicle for reactionary influence. By providing populist energy without ideological constraints, he creates space for more sophisticated reactionary thinkers to reshape institutional frameworks and decision-making processes.

The alliance between populist energy and reactionary intellectual frameworks, though potentially unstable, has proven remarkably effective at gaining practical influence. Technical elites provide resources, infrastructure, and intellectual justification, while populist forces provide the political energy needed to challenge established liberal institutions. This combination helps explain why reactionism, unlike other non-liberal ideologies, maintains significant social currency in our current moment.

The declining influence of Steve Bannon relative to ascending technical elites in the second Trump administration illustrates something profound about how power transitions occur within the political-ideological complex. Bannon, who helped architect the populist infrastructure that made Trump's rise possible, now finds himself increasingly marginalized as technical elites consolidate their influence.

This transition reveals a classic pattern in how revolutionary movements evolve. Bannon's brand of economic nationalism and cultural populism served as an effective battering ram against liberal institutional power. His ability to mobilize populist energy through media manipulation and cultural grievance helped create the conditions for challenging the liberal order. But once that order was sufficiently weakened, the technical elites who had initially aligned with this populist movement began to assert their own vision for restructuring authority.

The irony is striking. Bannon's populist infrastructure, built on nativist appeals and promises to “deconstruct the administrative state,” became the very vehicle through which technical elites could advance their own vision of governance based on competence rather than democratic process. In this sense, Bannon's movement served as what Lenin might have called a “useful idiot”—it provided the political energy needed to destabilize liberal institutions, but lacked the coherent framework needed to establish a new order.

The technical elites, in contrast, brought both resources and a sophisticated ideology about how society should be reorganized. Their vision, influenced by Yarvin's ideas about replacing democratic processes with technical management, provided a more complete framework for restructuring authority. While Bannon offered grievance and destruction, figures like Thiel and Andreessen offered a concrete vision of how power should operate in a post-liberal order.

This shift from populist energy to technical control wasn't accidental. The technical elites understood that populist movements, while effective at generating disruptive energy, typically lack the organizational capacity to establish stable new power arrangements. By letting Bannon's movement do the initial work of destabilizing liberal institutions, they positioned themselves to step in with their own framework for reorganizing authority once the old order was sufficiently weakened.

What makes this particularly significant is how it demonstrates the relationship between different forms of power within the political-ideological complex. Populist movements can generate the political energy needed to challenge established orders, but sustainable power requires control over crucial infrastructure and coherent frameworks for justifying authority. The technical elites, with their control over digital infrastructure and sophisticated ideological justifications, were better positioned to convert political disruption into lasting institutional change.

While reactionary thought has gained unprecedented influence within the political-ideological complex, we must be careful not to overstate its current control. The situation remains fluid and uncertain, particularly within the Republican Party. Trump himself, despite his alliances with reactionary technical elites, remains primarily driven by personal vanity rather than ideological commitment. This creates a degree of unpredictability in how reactionary ideas might translate into actual governance.

However, this uncertainty itself represents a significant risk. Given Trump's age and the actuarial realities that implies, we must seriously consider the possibility of a President J.D. Vance during the next four years. Unlike Trump, Vance is deeply animated by reactionary philosophical frameworks. His potential ascension to the presidency could represent not just a personnel change but forbode a fundamental shift in how political authority is understood and exercised, as Vance has a free hand to enact his theory of executive power, which envisions completely ignoring the courts.

This possibility highlights the precarious nature of our current interregnum. While reactionism has gained significant social currency and institutional influence, it hasn't yet secured clear control over the political-ideological complex. Instead, we're witnessing a complex competition between different visions of authority, with Trump's personal cult of personality temporarily masking deeper ideological battles.

Understanding this dynamic helps explain both the opportunities and risks ahead. Trump's lack of ideological commitment means that reactionary influence, while significant, remains contingent rather than consolidated. Yet this very uncertainty, combined with the possibility of a true reactionary ideologue ascending to the presidency, makes our current moment particularly volatile.

The technical elites who have aligned themselves with reactionary thought have gained unprecedented influence, but they haven't yet achieved the kind of systematic control over political institutions that their ideology envisions. They must still work through and around Trump's personal whims and the remnants of traditional political structures. This creates a dangerous period where different forms of authority—personalist, technocratic, and reactionary—compete and combine in unpredictable ways.

Despite its current moment of institutional weakness, liberalism maintains a profound and often underappreciated source of strength: its values remain deeply embedded in American political culture. Even as liberal institutions face unprecedented challenges, the core commitments of liberalism—individual rights, rule of law, democratic process—continue to shape how most Americans, including many Trump supporters, understand political legitimacy.

This persistence of liberal values often operates below the level of explicit ideology. Many Americans who might reject the label “liberal” or even actively oppose what they perceive as liberalism nevertheless demonstrate strong attachments to fundamentally liberal principles. When they demand fair treatment under the law, defend their individual rights, or expect their votes to count, they're expressing essentially liberal values—whether or not they recognize them as such.

Understanding this dynamic helps explain both liberalism's current vulnerability and its potential resilience. While liberal institutions face serious challenges from both technical elites and reactionary forces, any attempt to fundamentally reshape American political authority must contend with deeply ingrained liberal expectations about how power should operate. This creates a significant constraint on anti-liberal projects, even when they gain institutional influence.

Consider how even the most ardent Trump supporters often frame their grievances in essentially liberal terms—claims about electoral integrity, individual rights, or abuse of government power. While these arguments might be deployed against liberal institutions, they reveal how thoroughly liberal frameworks for understanding political legitimacy have penetrated American political consciousness.

This widespread, if often implicit, commitment to liberal values suggests that reports of liberalism's death might be premature. While liberal institutions face serious challenges, and while the political-ideological complex has shifted in ways that weaken liberal influence, the cultural foundations for liberal democracy remain stronger than surface-level political conflicts might suggest.

The persistence of liberal values in American political culture points to a fundamental danger in the reactionary project of technical elites. While these elites might succeed in gaining institutional influence or control over crucial infrastructure, their vision of replacing democratic legitimacy with technical competence faces a deeper challenge: it runs counter to how most Americans understand and experience political authority.

This creates a potentially explosive situation. The technical elites, emboldened by their control over crucial systems and their sophisticated ideological frameworks, might attempt to impose forms of authority that most Americans—even those who currently support anti-liberal political movements—would find fundamentally illegitimate. When people's basic expectations about political rights and accountability clash with attempts to establish more authoritarian forms of control, the result is often instability and conflict.

The danger becomes particularly acute when we consider how technical elites might respond to this resistance. Their ideological framework, which sees democratic process as inefficient and technical competence as the true basis for legitimate authority, could lead them to view popular attachment to liberal values as simply another problem to be solved through technical means. This could create a destructive cycle where attempts to impose technical control generate resistance, which leads to more aggressive attempts at control.

This dynamic helps explain why the reactionary project, despite its sophisticated theoretical foundations and powerful backers, might ultimately prove destabilizing rather than ordering. The gap between how technical elites want political authority to operate and how most Americans understand legitimate power creates conditions for serious social and political conflict.

Even Trump supporters who currently align with anti-liberal forces often do so while maintaining fundamentally liberal expectations about individual rights and government accountability. The attempt to replace these expectations with purely technical or managerial authority could trigger forms of resistance that cross current political divides. People who disagree deeply about policy might nevertheless unite in opposing attempts to fundamentally reshape how political authority operates.

Bannon's attack on Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg, particularly his claim that “we'll break these guys eventually,” reveals the growing tension between populist nationalism and technical elite power within the political-ideological complex. His use of the term “techno-feudalism” is particularly telling—it represents his recognition that technical elites aren't simply wealthy individuals but represent a distinct vision of how society should be ordered.

When Bannon says “These oligarchs in Silicon Valley, they have a very different view of how people should govern themselves,” he's accurately identifying a crucial ideological divide. The technical elites do indeed envision a form of governance based on technical competence rather than popular sovereignty. However, what makes Bannon's position particularly interesting is his apparent belief that these elites can be “broken” and converted to “populist nationalism.”

This reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of how power operates in our current moment. The technical elites haven't simply aligned with Trump out of convenience—they're actively working to reshape how political authority itself operates. Bannon's populist framework, which sees this as a battle that can be won through political pressure and ideological conversion, misses how deeply the technical elites' vision is tied to their control over crucial infrastructure.

Bannon thinks in terms of political movements and cultural warfare, while the technical elites focus on controlling the infrastructure through which power actually flows in modern society. Their conflict isn't just about policy differences—it's about fundamentally different understandings of how authority should operate.

There's a striking irony in how Steve Bannon and I arrive at remarkably similar analyses of technical elite power, despite standing from opposed ideological stances. When Bannon warns about “techno-feudalism” and argues that Silicon Valley oligarchs “have a very different view of how people should govern themselves,” he's identifying the same fundamental dynamic I've been analyzing: the attempt by technical elites to reshape political authority based on claims of competence rather than democratic process.

This analytical alignment between a liberal and a right-wing populist nationalist reveals something important about studying power dynamics. The mechanisms of power and their implications can be observed and understood somewhat independently of one's normative preferences about how power should be used. Just as scholars with opposing political views might agree on how a particular political system functions, Bannon and I have arrived at similar observations about technical elite power from radically different starting points and with entirely different desired outcomes.

What makes this parallel particularly fascinating is how it illuminates the distinction between analyzing power and advocating for particular uses of power. Bannon sees technical elite power as a threat to his vision of populist nationalism, while I see it as a threat to constitutional democracy and liberal institutions. We're observing the same phenomenon—the attempt to establish new forms of authority based on technical competence—but our concerns arise from fundamentally different values and objectives.

The irony becomes even richer when we consider how Bannon's own actions may have accelerated the very transformation he now decries. By helping to destabilize liberal democratic institutions through populist movements, he created opportunities for technical elites to advance their vision of authority. His current frustration with figures like Musk and Zuckerberg preparing to attend Trump's second inauguration suggests he recognizes this dynamic, even as he maintains the ultimately futile belief that these elites can be “broken” and converted to populist nationalism.

This situation raises broader questions about political analysis and power dynamics. How often do political actors with opposing normative views share fundamental insights about how power operates? Perhaps this indicates that understanding the mechanisms of power requires a kind of analytical clarity that transcends ideological commitments—even as our responses to those mechanisms remain deeply shaped by our values and objectives.

The erosion of liberalism's control over the rules of power in the United States marks a profound and dangerous shift in how political authority operates. The post-war liberal consensus didn't just represent a set of policies—it provided the fundamental framework within which political competition occurred. Even sharp disagreements happened within shared assumptions about how power should be exercised and legitimized.

What makes our current interregnum particularly dangerous is the absence of any clear replacement for this liberal framework. When the basic rules governing power become contested, political competition shifts from policy debates within accepted boundaries to raw struggles over the rules themselves. This transforms both domestic and international politics into increasingly naked power games, where institutional constraints and democratic norms hold less and less force.

Think of it like a sports match where the referees have lost authority, but no new system of rules has been established. The game doesn't just become more aggressive—it fundamentally changes character as players realize they can challenge not just within the rules, but the rules themselves. In our political reality, this means actors increasingly focus on accumulating power rather than exercising it within accepted constraints.

This dynamic becomes especially dangerous in international relations. The post-war liberal order didn't just govern domestic politics—it provided the framework for managing international competition through institutions, alliances, and shared norms. As this framework weakens, we're seeing a return to more primitive forms of power politics in the international arena. Countries increasingly act based on raw calculations of power rather than institutional commitments or normative constraints.

The interregnum's instability is compounded by how different actors understand power itself. Technical elites view power through the lens of infrastructure control and technical competence. Populist movements see it in terms of mass mobilization and cultural authenticity. Traditional institutions try to maintain formal authority while their foundations erode. These competing visions of power don't just conflict—they create fundamental uncertainty about how political authority itself should operate.

This situation creates risks that go beyond normal political competition. When the basic rules governing power become uncertain, actors face increasing pressure to grab whatever power they can, however they can. This can create devastating feedback loops where each power grab further erodes institutional constraints, leading to ever more aggressive power seeking behavior. History suggests such periods of fundamental uncertainty about the rules of power often precede periods of severe political instability or conflict.

The belief that Trump's unpredictability and bullying tactics will provide strategic stability reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of how power operates in international relations. While there are legitimate criticisms of American strategic hesitancy in the post-Iraq War era, confusing aggressive posturing with effective power projection can lead to dangerous miscalculations.

The Iraq War's impact on American power projection can't be overstated. By destroying public confidence in the use of military force through a war fought under false pretenses, it created constraints on American hard power that go beyond simple political reluctance. The public's loss of trust in military interventions represents a real limitation on strategic options that can't be overcome through mere rhetorical aggression or unpredictable behavior.

What makes Trump's approach particularly dangerous is how it mistakes the appearance of strength for actual strategic capability. Bullying and intimidation might create short-term advantages in specific interactions, but they often undermine the institutional frameworks that make power projection sustainable over time. It's like holding a gun to someone's head—you might get immediate compliance, but you've created conditions that make future cooperation impossible and resistance inevitable.

The notion that unpredictability creates stability fundamentally misreads how international order operates. While strategic ambiguity has its place in diplomacy, systematic unpredictability tends to make other actors more aggressive in their hedging strategies, not more compliant. When no one can rely on consistent behavior from a major power, every actor faces increased pressure to maximize their short-term advantages and prepare for worst-case scenarios.

This relates to our broader discussion of the political-ideological complex because it shows how different understandings of power can create dangerous dynamics. The belief that aggressive posturing can substitute for legitimate authority reflects the same kind of magical thinking we see in technical elites who believe competence alone justifies power. Both perspectives misunderstand how sustainable power operates through institutions and frameworks rather than mere force or capability.

The legitimate concern about post-Iraq War strategic hesitancy requires more sophisticated solutions than simple aggressive behavior. Rebuilding public confidence in the legitimate use of American power would require demonstrating both capability and wisdom—showing not just that we can project power, but that we understand when and how to use it responsibly. Trump's approach of unpredictable bullying actively undermines this necessary rebuilding of trust and legitimacy.

The collapse of liberalism's influence in maintaining the international order represents a fundamental shift in global power dynamics. What we witnessed with Ukraine marked an intermediate stage of decay—the West's approach of providing enough support to slow Russia's invasion but not enough to ensure Ukraine's victory reflected liberal internationalism’s weakening but not yet complete collapse. This half-measure approach signaled a fatal tepidness in defending liberal principles, creating a dangerous middle ground where conflict could persist without resolution.

Trump's return to power marks the definitive end of this intermediate stage. The rules-based international order that characterized the post-war era isn't just weakened now—it's effectively finished. This represents more than just a policy shift; it marks the end of a system where international behavior was constrained by shared norms and institutional frameworks.

The implications of this collapse extend far beyond any single conflict. The rules-based order didn't just manage specific disputes—it provided the fundamental framework within which international competition occurred. Without these guardrails, we're entering a period where raw power calculations will increasingly drive international behavior. States will act based on what they can do rather than what international norms or institutions say they should do.

The convergence of these dynamics—the breakdown of liberal institutional control, the rise of technical elite power, the collapse of the international rules-based order, and the fundamental contestation of political legitimacy itself—creates conditions of profound uncertainty and grave danger. We find ourselves in a moment where multiple systems of constraint and stability are failing simultaneously.

The dangers we face aren't just additive—they're multiplicative. When domestic political legitimacy becomes contested at the same time that international frameworks collapse, the potential for catastrophic outcomes increases exponentially. Technical elites wielding unprecedented power over crucial infrastructure, reactionary forces gaining influence over political institutions, and the erosion of traditional democratic constraints all interact in ways that could amplify rather than check each other's most dangerous tendencies.

Consider how these forces might compound: A domestic political crisis could weaken America's ability to maintain strategic commitments, encouraging aggressive actions by rival powers. Technical elite control over crucial systems could limit institutional responses to such challenges. The absence of reliable international frameworks could make every crisis more likely to escalate. Each of these dynamics makes the others more dangerous.

What makes this situation particularly perilous is how it challenges our ability to even analyze risk. Traditional frameworks for understanding political and international dynamics assumed certain baseline institutional stability. When the foundations themselves become uncertain—when we can't rely on basic assumptions about how authority operates or how power is legitimized—our ability to predict and manage outcomes becomes severely limited.

We're not just facing specific threats that can be evaluated and addressed through existing mechanisms. We're experiencing a fundamental transformation in how power itself operates, both domestically and internationally. The technical infrastructure that increasingly mediates political and social life, the erosion of democratic institutions, and the collapse of international frameworks create possibilities for catastrophic failure that our existing models of risk may not adequately capture.

This isn't meant as a counsel of despair, but as a clear-eyed assessment of our reality. Understanding the gravity of our situation—recognizing how different threats compound each other and how fundamental the transformation we're experiencing is—represents the first step toward developing meaningful responses. But we must be honest about the scale of uncertainty and danger we face. The combination of domestic instability, international disorder, and technological transformation creates conditions where traditional assumptions about how power operates, how conflicts escalate, and how systems fail may no longer apply.

"The old world is dying, and the new world struggles to be born; now is the time of monsters." — Antonio Gramsci