It hasn’t gone unnoticed, even among the Republican faithful, that America’s presidency—once noted for its constitutional decorum—has begun to resemble a royal court. More striking is that many of the new incumbent’s keenest supporters appear untroubled by it.
The president demands not only loyalty but public protestations of servility, and he prefers to appoint lapdogs––like Matt Gaetz, Pete Hesgeth and Robert F. Kennedy––on the basis of their fealty to him and his ideas, despite controversies and limited experience in their respective roles. The wealth of Trump’s cabinet also reflects an oligarchic tendency, where political knowhow comes a poor second to financial prowess.
The administration makes unashamed use of Trump’s extended family. Donald Trump Jr. has played a pivotal role in shaping the cabinet, influencing key appointments such as J.D. Vance as Vice President and Tulsi Gabbard as Director of National Intelligence. Kimberly Guilfoyle, Trump Jr.’s fiancée, has been nominated as Ambassador to Greece, and Charles Kushner, Trump’s father-in-law, has been appointed Ambassador to France. The president only trusts those connected to him dynastically, and appears to be looking for ways of perpetuating his tenure beyond the statutory two terms. (He’ll probably ask the House to vote him the same dispensation that FDR was given during the war, but for very different purposes.)
Internal factionalism is rife, with vain glory-seekers openly vying for courtly favours while seeking opportunities to do each other down. Senior appointments seem permanently precarious and provisional, with decision-making both centralised and quixotic. It’s all very kingly. Bigly kingly.
All of this is very odd, to put it mildly, because the USA was founded on its opposition to monarchy: not just the monarchy of Britain but all monarchies, and it has taken pains over the years to protect itself from going the same way.
Article I, Section 9 of the Constitution precludes the establishment of hierarchical systems associated with monarchy and aristocracy (“No title of nobility shall be granted by the United States”) as well as taking steps to enshrine republicanism as its preferred political system (“Article IV, Section 4: “The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government.”)
In addition, the Constitution ensures that power is separated into three branches (legislative, executive, judicial), in contrast to monarchical systems where it was traditionally concentrated in the hands of the sovereign. Moreover, leadership is based on election, with no provision for hereditary succession or the dispensation of grace and favour, a direct departure from monarchy, about which the key framers of the Constitution all wrote disapprovingly. This is why nominees for high office have to be vetted by Senate committees.
Donald Trump’s change of tack raises the question of whether kingship was only ever a French-fomented reaction against the behaviour of the British Crown––notably George III––and his betrayal of English traditions relating to common law; of parliamentary checks on power and taxation; of the rights of representation; and of the restraints of a constitutional monarchy. It now seems that American anti-monarchism was just a phase. A trend. But is that possible?
Yes––and to see how an entire population can switch from abhorring kingship to embracing it, we have a historic model to refer to: that of the Bible.
In the First Book of Samuel, the Israelites demanded a king, having never had one before. At the time they existed as a confederation of tribes governed by charismatic “judges” who led them collectively during times of crisis but wielded less authority during peacetime, leading to disunity and arbitrary justice.
Then, prompted by the corruption of the sons of the prophet Samuel, who are reported in 1 Samuel 8 as taking bribes and perverting the law, faith in the system broke down, and the people called for a king.
For Samuel, the most senior figure at the time, such a demand was an offence against the Constitution––the Covenant––just as it seems to be today. Although under Moses the people had been given guidelines on how to appoint a king if they ever wanted one, by the time of Samuel, their wish is interpreted as a lack of faith in God, who wishes to protect the theocratic system and remain in place as the ethereal king they have appealed to for their needs since their deliverance from Egypt some four centuries earlier.
In the end, God concedes but makes it clear that kingship will be as much a curse as a blessing, and will always depend on the virtue––that is, the holiness––of the king and his faithfulness to God’s commands.
Why did a mortal king outrank a divine king? Samuel warned the people that a king would exploit and abuse them, enslaving their sons and forcing them to sacrifice themselves to his military adventures.
It is implicit also, in the Mosaic conditions for kingship, that kings have a huge appetite for excessive power and wealth, and like to accumulate the spoils of sovereignty, especially wives and horses. They’re not likely to be virtuous.
And indeed, the succession of kings that follow are mostly a disaster. Even Solomon, known for his wisdom, despoils the people and bankrupts them with his spending and borrowing.
Knowing this, what makes kingship so appealing? The answer is painful. “With a king over us,” say the people, “we will be like all the other nations.” The Israelites have got to a place where the autocrats of other nations have become more inspiring to them than their own legitimate leaders.
The rulers they admired were a nasty lot: Nahash, the Ammonite; Jabin, king of Hazor; Eglon of Moab. Their equivalents today? Vladimir Putin. Kim Jong-un. Viktor Orbán. Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. I think we can see which way this is going.