IN EARLY 2021—not long after the wave of Black Lives Matter protests crested, and just a couple of weeks after January 6th—a Substacker imagined this scenario:
A political revolt occurs against the progressive governing elite of a fictional state. The people rise up because “their government sucked.” It had become, according to the Substacker, “obsessed with race.” Fortunately, “a responsible elite” exists, “which could staff a new form of government.” There “in the so-called ‘private sector,’ the art of monarchy had been perfected.”
The new leader, a “monarch,” really, was “recognized by all as the outstanding visionary leader” in the private sector and “master of not one but two groundbreaking companies.” The Substacker called the revolutionary regime a “startup state.”
And in the startup state, they moved fast and broke things. “These hardcore West Coast thugs knew nothing at all of government . . . no Gordian knot ever stopped these hotshot punks.”
The Substacker was Curtis Yarvin, a programmer-turned-right-wing-blogger whose previous writings had been posted largely under the nom de web Mencius Moldbug. The scenario he laid out in 2021 eerily anticipated, in attitude at least, DOGE, the so-called Department of Government Efficiency.
In fact, since as early as 2008, Yarvin has been arguing for the forced retirement of federal employees—not to save money but to effect a regime change, or, in tech parlance, a hard reset. He wrote, “if you gave the entire civil service an opportunity to retire tomorrow on full pay, nine out of ten would take it, and lick your hand like golden retrievers for the offer.” This argument gave rise to a Moldbug shibboleth: R.A.G.E., or Retire All Government Employees.
Indeed, Yarvin’s prescience didn’t go unnoticed by the denizens of DOGE itself, when it was still a going concern earlier this year. One senior adviser told the Washington Post that Yarvin provided the “most crisp articulation” for their project.
“It’s an open secret that everyone in policymaking roles has read Yarvin. They were able to take the Curtis theory and use it to empower people on the ground to actually do stuff—even if they can’t admit it publicly.”
It’s no wonder then that those seeking to understand the Trump administration, and often specifically DOGE, have seized on Yarvin. He seems like a Rosetta Stone for the remade right wing.
I don’t want to overstate his role or influence: Yarvin did not devise a master plan implemented through DOGE or the Trump administration’s other actions. As of January 2025, Yarvin had not met Elon Musk, for instance, and in March he gave the Trump administration a grade of C-. He’s ambivalent about what Trump and co. have achieved so far—and for its part, the administration has taken actions that have much more to do with Trump’s instincts, or the policy prescriptions of Trump’s closest advisors, than anything Yarvin has said or written.
Further, Yarvin’s peculiarities and weaknesses—both as a thinker and in terms of his personality—make it tempting to regard him as a clownish figure whose ideas are simply not worth examining except insofar as they illustrate his underlying pathologies. His political self-education has the lopsidedness and uneven distribution of intensities and competence that is typical of autodidacts. And the sources for which he shows a special enthusiasm are ones he often reads in overtly tendentious ways, sometimes to a point of simply falsifying them.
But Yarvin’s thought is nevertheless important. It is one of several theories in the wider discourse that are used to justify the Trump administration’s transgression of norms. And it’s especially relevant for shaping a particular set of elites’ response to Trump and the wider political and cultural environment. Yarvin particularly helped create a “permission structure” for the Silicon Valley startup and investor milieu to endorse Trump and Musk as a viable alternative to the Democratic party and to support parts of Trump’s political agenda.
What’s more, Yarvin’s ideas are picked up by right-wing political staffers, in part because of his influence—both perceived and real—among the hyper-online Silicon Valley set. As Yarvin put it to the New York Times, “The actual ways my ideas get into circulation is mostly through the staffers who swim in this very online soup.”
He is a conduit—a boundary actor—who has passed ideas from radical libertarian and authoritarian sources into Silicon Valley and right-wing activist circles.
To borrow a phrase, you could call Yarvin the “Marx of the microdosing class.”
BORN INTO A SECULAR JEWISH FAMILY in 1973, Curtis Guy Yarvin spent much of his childhood abroad as the son of a State Department official. He graduated from Brown in 1992 and did graduate work in computer science at UC Berkeley before dropping out. Instead of earning his degree, he entered the tech startup world of Silicon Valley, eventually founding Urbit in 2002 and the Tlon, Inc. in 2013, with seed money from Peter Thiel.
In 2007, Yarvin emerged, pseudonymously, as a DIY political theory blogger. He’d started out as a “prolific commenter” on the blog “Overcoming Bias” (later “LessWrong”), a home for self-described “rationalists” obsessed with AI. “Unqualified Reservations” is what he called his own blog, and there, he began to make a sustained case for monarchy.
What makes Yarvin a monarchist—a so-called neoreactionary—is his belief in the absolute importance of securing law and order before all else. Yarvin insists that a unitary executive is a practical necessity for achieving this goal—really, a king is what we need. The king’s role is to secure order as the basis of liberty.
What makes Yarvin a “neoreactionary” is that he reconstructs the argument for monarchism on new bases. Secular, he makes no metaphysical claims about the divine right of kings or the great chain of being. Instead it’s a combination of radical libertarianism and authoritarianism. Think Thomas Hobbes with contemporary technocratic jargon or sci-fi gobbledygook.
Yarvin’s intellectual emergence can be traced from the most extreme edge of right-wing libertarianism, and his old blog suggests his self-directed political development was guided by canonical libertarian texts on libertarian websites. He calls the Austrian economist and libertarian icon Ludwig von Mises a “titan” and the “paleolibertarian” economist and activist Murray Rothbard a “giant.” In the early 1990s, the anarcho-capitalist Rothbard assailed the mainstream conservative movement, but he saw potential hope in an alliance with a dissident hard right. “I am a Rothbardian,” Yarvin wrote earlier this year.
Yarvin fully embraces the paleolibertarian critique of the state as an overweening, imperial threat to traditional ways of life. He sees virtually no function for large parts of the modern welfare state and is willing to push the conclusions of his libertarian principles far beyond the American mainstream, and even beyond conventional libertarian discourse, into privatized fantasylands.
Running parallel to Yarvin’s radical libertarianism—which he believes will lead to human flourishing—is his conviction that there is no spontaneous order. Anarchism is anathema to him; he believes order must be imposed by a narrowly defined but unassailable state. He cites the Victorian thinker Thomas Carlyle, whom Yarvin describes as a “royalist libertarian,” as his inspiration for this position. And Yarvin’s turn against democracy and toward monarchy was in part midwifed by another radical libertarian, Hans-Hermann Hoppe, who argued democrats naturally follow short-term incentives and in doing so create unceasing risks to the state. Kings, on the other hand, are free to plan for the longer term, and are therefore superior.
Underneath Yarvin’s thinking is a techno-pessimism fueled by a dyspeptic assessment of the threats to ordered society. He frequently imagines a criminal state of nature in overtly racialized terms, seeing it realized in Johannesburg, Kinshasa, and Oakland. And while he has downplayed his claims about race, Yarvin admitted (as Mencius Moldbug) to reading and linking to “white-nationalist blogs” and taking their critical positions—if not their wholesale programs—seriously. When pressed earlier this year about his older writings, Yarvin said that “the sentiments behind” his “most outrageous quotes”—presumably including his racialized commentary—“were serious sentiments, and they’re serious now.”
There is a striking congruity between elements of libertarianism and the 1990s Silicon Valley tech culture so many tech leaders grew up in. They both feature systems thinking that seeks to engineer “solves” for problems combined with a broad social latitudinarianism and a nerdy but nonetheless overwhelmingly male culture. On top of these naturally libertarian assumptions, Yarvin builds a framework for totally rejecting mainstream epistemologies—ways of knowing—and embracing authoritarianism. (Here, too, is an echo of Hobbes.)
And Yarvin has specially packaged his worldview for this newly empowered tech bro audience. He uses the language and references of the Silicon Valley set, and he writes in ways that flatter the Silicon Valley elite. Which prominent venture capitalist doesn’t, in some way, think of himself as a natural aristocrat or would-be prince? You can’t tell me that Elon Musk, whose efforts to produce an heir put Henry VIII to shame, doesn’t think in these terms. It’s no coincidence that when Yarvin writes about princes, he increasingly connects the concept to startup CEOs.
YARVIN TENDS TO THINK IN TERMS of structures and forces. He fills his writing with colorful illustrations that are at once provocative and juvenile. Like many bloggers of the 2000s, he has a chronic case of logorrhea. If nothing else, Yarvin can be a good explicator and an effective salesman of concepts, although his compulsive use of comic analogies often suggests he thinks he is significantly smarter than his readers.
One of his most influential ideas is the “Cathedral”—initially with a capital C, but lately without. Reporting about DOGE earlier this year indicated some of its staffers consciously used the term. The Cathedral is, as Yarvin put it, “journalism plus academia,” two industries he treats as a collective synecdoche for the wider systems of knowledge production that he believes were long ago captured by liberal progressives. His theory might be described as a cross between the analysis of epistemology and power of Michel Foucault and public choice theory applied to ideas.
In Yarvin’s view, the Cathedral, like the means of much progressive domination, is decentralized. It comprises various newspapers, universities, NGOs, think tanks, websites, and so on. But, he argues, it acts as one: “It always agrees with itself. Still more puzzlingly, its doctrine is not static; it evolves; this doctrine has a predictable direction of evolution, and the whole structure moves together.” (Emphasis in original, here and throughout.)
To Yarvin, the way liberal or mainstream opinion morphs over time—in what he sees as lockstep—is the work of the Cathedral and, ipso facto, proves his point.
What happens, Yarvin argues, is that in any society, the people who produce, promote, and validate ideas respond to the incentives created by the dominant culture. And the people with the power to promote ideas promote the ones that are useful to them. Specifically, any idea they promote is one that “validates the use of power.” Yarvin calls these “dominant ideas.” In other words, the ideas that predominate in a society are the ones that justify and reinforce the ruling elite.
In a progressive society, Yarvin alleges, “Only professors can formulate policy—that is, set government strategy; only journalists can hold government accountable—that is, manage government tactics. Strategy plus tactics equals control.”
A rationalist, Yarvin believes in the scientific method, but he also believes that our progressive political culture and political structure has corrupted it badly enough that it is no longer reliable.
One of the areas of science Yarvin wrote about in his earlier blog and returned to in the 2020s is climate science, or as he refers to it, “climate alarmism.” He sees it as a good example of how the Cathedral operates. To him, if the climate crisis were real, it would require a massive societal response that would empower climate scientists and their political patrons. They desire this increase of power, and so they promote the idea. Another of the Cathedral’s “dominant ideas” is race, a concept Yarvin believes operates in a similar way. Both climate and race, he argues, are given so much credence because they justify the ever-increasing authority of a progressive bureaucracy.
The idea of the Cathedral is not new in right-wing circles. Media and academic “ivory tower” bias is a longstanding conservative complaint. So is liberal conformity. In the earliest days of National Review, there was a regular column on “The Liberal Line.” The mocking premise of the column was that liberal groupthink was actually delivered in a party line, as it was for Communist Party members.
By a similar token, the former Marxist James Burnham—a National Review editor and a significant right-wing theorist—treated ideology or formal rhetoric primarily as a tool for justifying the domination of society by specific groups of elites. Burnham’s followers have argued for decades—since the 1980s and 1990s—that progressive liberalism justifies bureaucracy. Yarvin borrows concepts from Burnham and explicitly cites him.
Yarvin, Burnham, and others in this line—which you can extend back to Marx and Nietzsche—engage in Ideologiekritik, an approach to political thought with adherents on the left and right, that “unmasks the power interests behind moral and political claims.”
Still, though the set of ideas it represents is not new, the “Cathedral” succeeds on a messaging level. The term is evocative. It conjures Gothic grandeur and institutional heft. It also implies—deliberately—that secular, progressive ways of knowing are actually religious in nature. The conventional progressive worldview is, in Yarvin’s critique, one taken on faith, taught by a progressive clergy, and maintained by the decentralized left-wing inquisitorial powers of the woke mob. Occasionally, Yarvin, who is a critic of democracy, will argue that the Cathedral is fundamentally undemocratic. The progressive bureaucracy only creates the illusion of democracy as a way to protect its own power.
Despite his avowed rationalism, Yarvin takes an approach to knowledge and to politics that is defined by nihilism. It is virtually impossible to know which ideas are right or good since their success, even measured in conventional ways like publication in peer-reviewed journals or winning grant money, serves only to demonstrate their political value, not their underlying truth.
If anything, Yarvin implies, ideas held by experts outside the mainstream consensus are more likely to be correct because these dissident experts hold them despite systemic incentives to abandon them (or even in spite of systemic punishments for keeping them). It’s an argument for professional heterodoxy.
One upshot of Yarvin’s thinking in this area is that progressive elites fail because their systems of information feedback are faulty: The way they get their information is always distorted by the Cathedral’s warping acoustics. They are unable to make effective judgments about the real world because they cannot access it.
(In truth, this is a powerful criticism of modern dictatorships. Authoritarians inevitably create environments where few are willing to tell the leader what they don’t want to hear, often to disastrous results.)
Every regime creates incentive structures that warp ideas. Yarvin argues that, for historical reasons, a left-wing progressivism came to dominate in the United States and take over its key informational and political institutions.
To engineer a regime with robust order, maximum freedom, and minimal bias in the information space, Yarvin has landed on monarchy as the best option. Over time, he has increasingly drawn on the example of Silicon Valley elites to illustrate his thinking about the ideal monarch. “Like it or not,” Yarvin wrote in 2020, “the closest match is a startup CEO.”
Yarvin has offered plenty of justifications for monarchy. In his view, the fundamental choice isn’t really between monarchy and democracy. In pure James Burnham fashion, Yarvin thinks all political regimes are some form of elite oligarchy. So the choice facing us is between bureaucracy and monarchy.
Yarvin thinks progressive bureaucracy is bad. It is inefficient, intrusive, and led by an elite whose views have been irreparably warped by the Cathedral. To him, bureaucracy is the natural form of progressive oligarchy. It “leaks” power. By dispersing authority, many can claim credit for successes and deflect blame for failures. The “leak” can be stopped—should be stopped—by concentrating power in one person.
“The cathedral cannot be repaired,” Yarvin writes. It must be replaced. Repeatedly, Yarvin insists the entrenched American political order must be dug out and replaced wholesale—hence the imperative to Retire All Government Employees. He wants a regime change not just of the administration, but the political structure and the order it begets. The monarchical order can be built only after the present is swept away.
In fact, this is one area where Yarvin sees some value in democracy. It is a powerful tool of elite circulation. Disenfranchised elites harness the power of the masses to remove elites in power and replace them with themselves. (This, too, comes straight from Burnham.)
CURTIS YARVIN IS NOT the grand theorist of DOGE, let alone the Trump administration. I doubt he has real, specific influence. His relationship with JD Vance, he told the New York Times, is “definitely overstated.”
Yarvin’s not a serious theorist. Philosophers, historians, public intellectuals, and even rival right-wing thinkers tend to dismiss him rather than take his worldview seriously. Despite his earnest efforts, his cobbled-together, gonzo theories won’t leave behind a school of thought. We won’t be reckoning with the implications of his ideas for decades to come. Indeed, we wouldn’t be doing it now if it weren’t for the need to explain Trump. Yarvin parlayed scores of ten-thousandword posts into the simulation of an intellectual career. Jury-rigged from sources he’d gleaned online, Yarvin’s thought exists entirely divorced from the ivory tower he resents. He’s a subject, not an interlocutor.
And yet, his two Substacks boast a combined subscribership of nearly 61,000 as of this writing. If even half that number regularly read his posts, that’s incredibly impressive for someone dealing in long, ideas-focused writing.
As is the case for virtually all would-be intellectuals, Yarvin’s influence is indirect. But it is real. So, while I am skeptical of Yarvin as a Rasputin-like figure, I do think Yarvin has played a role in encouraging the direction of right-wing politics at an elite level and in creating permission structures, especially for major investors and influencers in Silicon Valley, to embrace Trumpian politics.
By permission structure, I mean a framework that provides justifications that allow someone to change their views and behaviors.
Yarvin provides permission structures in at least three places: first, in rejecting mainstream norms about information; second, in his calls for DOGE-like cuts to the government; and third, in legitimizing Donald Trump’s autocratic tendencies.
By popularizing the “Cathedral” in certain sectors, Yarvin intellectualized the Silicon Valley revolt against “wokeness.” His argument suggests that far beyond the cultural impositions with which we are most familiar, like language policing or political correctness, the Cathedral is dangerous politically and harmful to human progress. Worse things are in the offing for us if we do not halt its progress here. This is how Yarvin’s concept of the Cathedral creates a permission structure for Silicon Valley types to turn hard against cultural progressivism and join the right-wing reaction against it: Their incitements seem trivial, but only to those who can’t tell that there is a straight road from requiring personal pronouns in an email signature to far worse forms of domination.
What’s more, intentionally or not, Yarvin lets adherents dismiss not only mainstream science, but mainstream scientists, as well. “The primary goal of science policy today is to take and keep power,” Yarvin writes. “Generating good science for a good price is only a secondary goal.” If “climate alarmists” are merely rent-seekers responding to progressive incentives, aren’t vaccine researchers, too? What about any scientist seeking National Science Foundation or National Institutes of Health funding? The Cathedral justifies total skepticism of any connection between government and science. Climate skepticism, the MAHA movement, and cuts to the NSF and NIH are all consonant with Yarvin’s rejection of the Cathedral. Likewise attacks on universities, like Harvard, or think tanks, or even tools of U.S. soft power like USAID or the United States Institute of Peace: these can all be seen as smashing windows in the Cathedral.
Alongside the idea of the Cathedral, Yarvin holds—largely because of his radical libertarian commitments—that the government has no business doing large swaths of what it’s doing. Once again, whether or not he intends this, Yarvin has created a large body of written work that serves generally to justify massive and nearly indiscriminate cuts to the federal government. No wonder DOGE staff thought they were enacting the vision of the guy who coined “Retire All Government Employees.”
Libertarian-influenced opposition to regulation is also extremely convenient to Yarvin’s techy audience at this moment in Silicon Valley’s AI turn. A lack of regulation—and even a moratorium on state-level regulation, as was nearly included in Trump’s recently codified budget bill—would give Silicon Valley companies a free hand in a complex and ethically gray field. When you consider the extraordinary energy and water requirements that have been projected to meet the needs of the AI industry in the coming years, you can see why Yarvin’s denigration of climate science might be appealing to parts of Silicon Valley. Recent reporting suggests, for instance, that OpenAI, an industry leader, sees climate change as a potential PR problem, but not as a real issue to be grappled with.
Perhaps most critically, Yarvin’s open, repeated, and insistent preference for a monarch creates space for his readers to tolerate or even actively support an authoritarian turn in American politics. Writing in 2022, Yarvin framed Trump world as a “kind of weird regime in exile.” In an optimistic scenario he didn’t think plausible, Yarvin counseled an idealized Trump to take “100%” of the power, and “to take it all at once—completely legally.” He envisioned a simplified version of the unitary executive theory that goes like this:
The true law of the land is that the President is the chief executive of the executive branch. This has a plain English meaning which has not changed in 250 years. Trump knows what it means to be a CEO. So do his voters and his staff. In office, they will behave as if the Constitution meant what it clearly says. Too bad about the haters!
Congress may pass any bill it likes. The courts may have any opinion they like. It is the job of the executive branch, as a coequal branch of government, to respect these bills and opinions. But respecting the legislative and judicial branches is not the executive’s only job; nor does the Constitution say it is. If the voters feel that the President they elected has done a poor job, let them vote him out. He is accountable to them, and no one else. We call this “representative democracy.”
To say that this analysis—in which the president does not execute and obey the law but merely signals “respect” for it—in no way resembles mainstream constitutional theory is to put it extremely mildly. Checks and balances be damned, Yarvin is saying the president should wield the executive branch to the maximum extent. A straightforward reading of Yarvin’s work creates the permission structure to tolerate or even endorse authoritarian measures and personalist politics. After all, such things will always be preferable to progressive bureaucracy.
As he reflected on the Trump administration in early 2025, Yarvin noted favorably that it demonstrated an understanding, on a philosophic level, that “the government needs to be run top-down from the Oval Office.” It also understands that the system needs to be “hacked” and that
power creates power. Power is habitual obedience. The more power you use, the more power you have. Not only can you just do stuff—you also have to. You have to keep using power—otherwise, you lose it. In fact, if you don’t grow it, you lose it.
This ethos, if embraced by Silicon Valley types or White House or Capitol Hill staffers, is an obvious threat to republican democracy.
YET JUST AS KARL MARX, disagreeing with interpretations of his work, told his son-in-law, “I am not a Marxist,” Curtis Yarvin is unhappy with the actions of the Trump administration that are sometimes taken as evidence of his influence. According to the Washington Post, he mocked DOGE in colorful terms familiar to anyone who’s read him: They were a chimpanzee orchestra trying to play Wagner; they were an incel trying to chat up a woman. When told by a fan that Elon Musk was “fulfilling the neo-reactionary dream,” Yarvin’s response was, “I wish.”
If the Trump administration has been so directionally aligned with Yarvin, why is he disappointed?
Repeated throughout Yarvin’s blog and Substack is the idea the regime needs to be thoroughly repudiated. It needs a hard reset. For Yarvin, the second Trump administration, for all its gleeful transgressing of norms, is insufficiently radical on one hand and inept on the other.
Yarvin’s gripes are tactical, philosophical, and self-preservationist. He is the reactionary theorist frustrated. In this respect, Yarvin may join the ranks of many intellectuals over the years, including virtually all radical libertarians, in being frustrated by the political actors who have, at times, claimed their various mantles.
For one, Yarvin doesn’t think that much of Trump as a leader. In 2022, Yarvin called Trump the most important right-wing political figure since Nixon—a fascinating choice in itself—but at the same time, he doubted how serious Trump actually was about ruling. Trump was still Trump. Yarvin felt free to imagine, ironically, a Trump-led regime change because, he said, he knew it could never happen. Speaking to the New York Times, Yarvin said that where Franklin Roosevelt—whom Yarvin admires for the way he describes FDR seizing executive authority—was a “hereditary aristocrat,” Trump “is not really from America’s social upper class.” The lack of pedigree undermines the former real estate developer. Never mind that shelves of books have been written explaining why that is a misunderstanding of FDR; the point is that Trump is not Yarvin’s prince; he is temperamentally incapable of the type of governance Yarvin imagines.
But more than that, Yarvin thinks the Trump administration lacks the ardor and seriousness to grasp the nettle. So while Yarvin might praise the administration for advancing a monarchic view of the presidency, he recognizes it isn’t doing it because he said so. His thought just happens to align with and justify Trump’s instincts (and, formerly, Elon Musk’s). Yarvin has repeated over and over that the entire Cathedral needs to be destroyed. But, for structural reasons, the “barbarians” the administration has brought in to perform the necessary hard reset of the regime lack the vision to execute it. Yes, they have picked high-profile fights with the universities and the news media. But their motivation is primarily “entertainment.” The Trump team is chaotic enough to disrupt, but not to destroy.
All thinkers have quirks; high-frequency bloggers make theirs unmissable. One of Yarvin’s is that he really is serious about kingship. He has a specific view of what it means. A critical component of Yarvin’s conception of kingship is a kind of post-partisanship. “One of the things that I believe really strongly,” he has said, is “that it’s utterly essential for anything like an American monarchy to be the president of all Americans.” Or, as he elaborated on his Substack, “The alternate regime must not be sectarian.” The king’s “policy is first and foremost one of national unity, and its first deliverable is peace in all civil wars—race wars, class wars, gender wars and culture wars—hot civil wars and cold civil wars—all over, forever.” Even if such a thing were possible for a people as jubilantly fractious as the Americans, or for that matter possible among human beings at all, such royal magnanimity runs counter to Trump’s perpetual dividing of the country between his people and his enemies.
I tend to read Yarvin as having a sincere interest in a culture war armistice. While he offers license to authoritarians, his ideal has little to say to integralist Catholics or conservative postliberals. It’s unsurprising that a secular, San Francisco–based former libertarian’s ideal king would end up being an authoritarian with social moderate characteristics.
Yarvin loves an extended metaphor. He says that when a king comes to power, he does so by capturing the nobility. Within the Cathedral, Yarvin thinks scientists are a form of nobility. This lens has colored the way Yarvin has judged the Trump administration’s actions. Winning over scientists should be part of the process of building the new regime. He doesn’t like the way DOGE focused on saving money. The government isn’t a business in the classic sense; that’s a category error. Rather, an effective monarch, Yarvin intimates, would convert this new nobility to its own cause. That’s what he means when he says cutting funds to NSF scientists is short-sighted from a “standpoint of building capital or building power.”
The best way to “own the libs,” Yarvin thinks, is to restructure the system to capture them for the new regime. Then you own them for real.
Finally, Yarvin is highly alert to the efficacy of right-wing tactics. He doesn’t like when the right plays the villain, which he thinks it always does, because it allows the left to advance.
On top of this, Yarvin seems wary of linking his ideas too closely with Trump and the DOGE project. He doesn’t want blowback caused by their haphazard moves to damage his own reputation.
That’s too bad. Inasmuch as Yarvin sees himself as a Machiavelli writing a manual for a prince, Trump is his Cesare Borgia—whether Yarvin likes it or not.
Great Job Joshua Tait & the Team @ The Bulwark Source link for sharing this story.
