Despite our best intentions, Trump’s name is on everyone’s lips, yet I have no interest in the sordid details of his psyche. His pathologies are a matter of indifference. It’s clear to me that he’s a violent, dangerous lunatic. His desperate attempts to win attention and adulation likely stem from abuse he suffered as a youth.
Whatever action Trump takes is almost guaranteed to be idiotic - not just run-of-the-mill idiotic but epically, spectacularly so. Commenting on his actions reduces you to his level. Regardless of how many words you use, the verdict is clear: “Trump…bad.” But this gets us nowhere. Without action to shift the balance of political forces towards a society that eradicates the roots of Trumpism, decrying the symptoms of the underlying disease is an exercise in righteous futility.
However, thinking about Trump does teach us something useful: profound evil can coexist with deep mediocrity. Trump is responsible for an incredible amount of suffering and death, but when I watch him on television, I feel a surprising lack of affect. No outrage, no fury. Occasionally, a Trump meme makes me laugh. How can that possibly be? Where does my cognitive dissonance come from?
