Autonomy and Interdependence

I have a backlog of unfinished posts, revealing the distractions of my life since the advent of the Trump administration, but I want to start a new one (you are welcome to read one as a new post or a new administration or both). 

In his 2000 review of M. Mitchell Waldrop's book Complexity: the Emerging Science at the Edge of Order and Chaos (1992), Robert Dare says: 

Complexity, the theory goes, manifests itself in “complex adaptive systems”, which are made up of many independent agents [my emphasis] who interact and adapt to each other and to their environment, producing the phenomenon of emergence -- a system behaving as more than the sum of its parts.

I was disturbed immediately by Dare’s characterization of agents as "independent". To my mind, agents in any complex system are not independent. While they may have some identity and integrity independent of the complex system within which they are interacting, they are also exchanging energy, matter, information, and organization with the other agents within the system, to the point that they can hardly be understood or even exist apart from that enfolding ecosystem. Consider a single neuron in a brain – yours or mine, perhaps. It can be isolated, put in a petri dish, and studied. Eventually, of course, the neuron will die, not having participated in a single coherent thought. What we might learn from such study can be useful and illuminating, but it ends in death of the agent under study. The same with a single human – say, you or me. We can, of course, become a hermit, isolating ourselves totally from other humans, but human society is only one of the many complex systems within which we are embedded, such as the Earth. If we isolate ourselves from the Earth, denying any exchange of energy, matter, information, and organization, then we die almost immediately, depending on how long we can last without breathing. We are not independent, discrete agents, and thinking of ourselves as independent leads to grievous misunderstandings.

Still, I suspect I was over-reading Dare's comment, and my favorite complexity writer Edgar Morin provides the proper correction. Morin says that complex systems function through a paradox of both autonomy and dependence – not either/or, but and/and. Agents in a complex system are both autonomous and dependent, and anyone trying to understand a specific agent must think in these usually antagonistic terms simultaneously. Likewise, one must not assume that the two concepts are in some manner reconciled. They are not. Rather, they stand face to face, at times cooperating, at times conflicting, but it is within the necessary tension between the two that the agent both emerges and gains its agency.

I suspect, then, that Dare's independence refers to agents' autonomy of action and the absence of centralized control, rather than to an existence isolated from the system. In the context of his review of Waldrop’s book, "independent" seems to imply that agents—whether they are quarks, cells, individuals, planets, or galaxies—operate according to their own local rules and adapt to one another without a "single, intelligent, 'executive branch'" dictating their behavior. We can see this sort of tension at work in the murmurations of starlings where each individual bird decides for itself how to move but within the context of the flock. The result are those beautiful swarms that delight the eye and mystify us.

In a murmuration, each starling, as a single agent in this complex adaptive system, acts locally with a certain amount of autonomy and without a ruling starling to guide it – no Abraham Lincoln or Steve Jobs starling. Rather, a starling considers its proximate mates and tries to synchronize its own actions with theirs. It's quite possible that a single starling has little to no sense of its larger swarm. It almost certainly has no sense of the orchestrated movements of the murmuration and the fantastic designs that it is helping to create. Rather, it behaves locally as best it can with its tiny brain and quick reflexes, but with little sense of the larger designs of its flock. It is aware that the movements of the swarm affects its own movements, but it can explain those influences only in terms of its local conditions. At times, a smaller swarm will separate from the larger swarm to form a different sect, political party, or musical or literary genre, but often the separated swarm eventually finds its way back to the larger swarm.

In his attempt to explain this dynamic tension between autonomy and dependence especially in the field of Education, Mark Mason says:

In the simplest terms, [these systems] solve problems by drawing on masses of relatively stupid elements, rather than a single, intelligent, ‘executive branch’. They are bottom-up systems, not top-down ... . [T]hey are complex adaptive systems that display emergent behaviour. In these systems, agents residing on one scale start producing behaviour that lies one scale above them: ants create colonies; urbanites create neighbourhoods; simple pattern-recognition software learns how to recommend new books. The movement from low-level rules to higher-level sophistication is what we call emergence. (Complexity Theory and the Philosophy of Education, 2008)

Agents are not truly independent of their enfolding ecosystems in an existential sense. Rather, they act in a mass "of relatively stupid elements, rather than a single, intelligent, 'executive branch'". I assume that Mason is suggesting that humans, for instance, are not absolutely stupid, but only relatively stupid when compared to their enfolding ecosystems, which are functioning at a higher scale. This is like saying that a flock of starlings has certain intelligence and capabilities that an individual starling lacks. Complexity science conceptualizes this dynamic not as a contradiction, but as a necessary paradox of autonomy versus interdependence.

That agents are deeply embedded in their ecosystem and thus interdependent, or coupled, which is central to complex adaptive systems. While agents such as starlings and humans have some degree of local autonomy, they are formed by a mutual causality. They are "co-creative, co-emergent, [and] co-dependent on each other for their existence" (Lichtenstein, Bringing Complexity into Social Analysis, 2018). The identity of an agent is always co-created by the presence of all the other agents in the system functioning both in their own identities and the identity of the swarm.

No agent can exist without the exchange of energy and information with other agents both at its own scale and at scales above and below it. As far as I know, all agents couple, where individual components influence and are influenced by others; if parts are "tightly coupled," a change in one propagates rapidly to others. Inversely, loose coupling tends to slow down propagation through a complex system. In her essay about how complexity works within modern organizations, Glenda H. Eoyang says:

In an organization, coupling affects the speed of information transfer and the effectiveness of efforts to encourage change. For example, if research and development are tightly coupled to the rest of an organization, then the manufacturing processes had better be flexible and adaptable. The factory will be expected to produce new and radically different products frequently and with minimal cycle times. On the other hand, if the organization is uncoupled from research and development, then findings will not be reflected in product designs, and management might see R&D funds as wasted resources. (A Brief Introduction to Complexity in Organizations, 1993).

Starlings, it seems, are a tightly coupled bunch who greatly value flying with their flocks and, hence, their magical murmurations in which, in the familiar expression, the whole becomes more than the sum of the parts.

This degree of coupling, of course, can become too restrictive for some agents, especially humans. This is because the whole is also less than the sum of the parts, as Morin explains: 

The whole is not only more than the sum of its parts, but it is also less than the sum of its parts. Why? Because a certain number of qualities and properties present in the parts can be inhibited by the organization of the whole. Even when each of our cells contains the total of our genetic inheritance, only a small part of that heritage is active, and the rest is inhibited. In the relationship between an individual and her society, the liberties (even those extreme liberties that are considered delinquent or criminal) inherent to each individual may be inhibited by the police, laws, and social order. Restricted Complexity, General Complexity (2007)

Thus, while starlings are engaged in their magical murmuring, they are constrained from searching for insects, seeds, and fruits in the grass or from mating in the nests that male starlings have constructed and attracted a female to join.

This downward pressure by the system on the individual agent is too restrictive for some humans who like to brag that they are individuals not coupled to any human group – social, political, religious, philosophical, economic, or otherwise. And while sociopolitical systems can be too oppressive, humans are, in fact, tightly coupled to their material ecosystem, the thin, blue line of atmosphere, land, and water within which they exist. And almost all humans are coupled to their human groups. I suspect that even the hermit on the hilltop owes much of his solitude to the other humans who created him, raised him, and then informed his language and religious practices.

But dependence does not seem to work only one way: from enclosing ecosystem to individual agent. At the same time that a complex ecosystem helps define its enfolded agents, the complex system itself is literally defined by these multiple interactions among its many different agents. The connectivity, or coupling, among agents is often viewed as more important than the agents themselves, as it is the interactions that create and maintain the system's structure. When we watch the murmuration of starlings, we are captivated by the flows and contours and shifting shapes of the swarm, not so much by any individual starling. A single starling does not a murmuration make. (Letts, Complexity Theory and Social Theory, 1992, p 42)

As Edgar Morin has explained to my satisfaction, to understand complexity, we must learn to think in complex ways. This juxtaposition of autonomy and interdependence, of individual and group, of whole and parts, is one of those ways to think differently. Morin uses the term self-eco-organization to express this complex thought. Morin argues that for a system (or agent) to be autonomous, it must be open to its environment to exchange energy and information. In his essay Restricted Complexity, General Complexity (2007), Morin says:

I define self-eco-organization as living organization, according to the idea that self-organization depends on its environment to draw energy and information. … Consequently, we arrive at what I logically call the autonomy/dependence complex. For a living being to be autonomous, it must depend on its environment for matter and energy as well as knowledge and information. The more autonomy develops, the more multiple dependencies develop.

For agents and the complex systems that they enclose and in which they are themselves enclosed, both autonomy and dependence are necessary conditions of existence, and agents emerge and express themselves within that near chaotic, irreconcilable space between the two. This complex space is a recursive conversation rather than and either/or argument. An open system must at the same time be closed (independent) enough to maintain its distinct identity, yet open (interdependent) enough to feed its existence. To understand either agent or system, we must consider both and their interactions. Thinking of either the one (reductionism) or the other (wholism) won't do.

Preiser, Cilliers, and Human describe this complex method of thinking this way:

[T]he logic of critical complex thinking proposes a type of thinking that necessitates a double movement similar to what Derrida calls the double bind. It suggests that the concept and its counterpart (the yes and the no) are thought simultaneously. Morin (2007) calls this the ‘logical core of complexity’, which is dialogical and economical in nature. However, the art lies not in thinking one in terms of the other in binary motion, but in terms of how the one is dependent and determined by the other. The knack lies not in describing opposites when making knowledge claims, but in thinking both at the same time. It is described as a ‘dialogic (that) is not the response to these paradoxes, but the means of facing them, by considering the productive play of complementary antagonisms’. (Deconstruction and Complexity: A critical economy, 2011)

In summary, a more correct understanding of Dare's claim is to assume that "independent" means that agents are not necessarily puppets of a central controller. Rather, they are as Heylighen, Cilliers, and Gershenson say in Complexity and Philosophy (2006), agents are always "partly competing, partly co-operating, or simply mutually ignoring" each other and so entangled that they cannot be fully understood apart from the system they constitute. So for me, independent is the wrong understanding; dependent is the wrong understanding; self-eco-organization is the correct understanding. 

Understanding the Stories Evangelicals Tell about Trump

This post addresses the issue that I have with the stories that the American Evangelical community tells about Donald Trump. As a political progressive, I am perplexed when I hear my friends and family tell me, for instance, that Donald Trump is a righteous warrior battling evil powers such as the Deep State and Demonic Democrats to restore America to its former greatness. I struggle to characterize either Trump as a righteous warrior or Democrats as demonic, and I am not yet convinced of the existence of a coherent dark cabal within our government bent on the subversion of the United States. Moreover, I do not believe that America has fallen into a deplorable depravity. Perhaps most troubling, though, I do not understand how people whom I know otherwise to live intelligent and successful lives can believe such stories about a character whom I perceive to be thoroughly corrupt. I find myself asking how these good people can buy into Trump's MAGA community.

I have recognized similar confusion among many of my politically progressive friends and family, and while it is easy to dismiss such Trump stories as silly or stupid, such dismissal does not help me to address the danger such stories pose or to understand the people who believe such stories. I have been reading and writing about the Trump stories since 2018 and about rhizoRhetoric since 2014. My thinking about the Trump narratives, then, has been framed by my thinking in complexity, especially in rhizoRhetoric and rhizoNarratology, both of which view rhetoric and narratology as complex systems. While this post will not focus on narrative as a complex system, which I will address in a future post, it will be informed by that view.

In this post, I will use the narratology of Walter Fisher to frame how the MAGA community, especially the Evangelical wing of that community, can believe and act on the stories about Donald Trump. I will explore one story in particular: the story of Donald Trump as a latter-day King Cyrus of Persia. I choose this story because it is concise and treatable in a short presentation, but much of what I say about it can be applied to the many other Trump stories in circulation. In fact, I think much of what I say applies to all narratives in general, but we shall see.

Rational vs Narrative Paradigms

In his 1984 article "Narration as a Human Communication Paradigm", communication theorist Walter Fisher posits two large modes of public discourse: the rational and the narrative, and he claims that public discourse in the West has been dominated by the rational paradigm, which emphasizes logic and evidence, while the narrative paradigm, which centers on compelling stories and how well they resonate with an individual's existing beliefs, has been relegated to the role of mere opinion. Fisher attempts to reverse this imbalance, insisting that narrative is the more inclusive and fundamental form of communication and reducing the rational to a special case of the narrative. He goes so far as to make narrative a core, defining feature of humanity, which he calls homo narrans, or story-telling humanity.

Problems with the Rational Paradigm

The rational paradigm assumes that rationality defines the human being and is the epitome of human thought and creativity. It is not, for a number of reasons that lie beyond the scope of this post, but Fisher points to a number of issues that the rational paradigm causes for public discourse:

1. Humans are essentially rational beings. (They are not)
2. Argument in the form of clear-cut inferential structures is the paradigmatic mode of human communication. (It is not)
3. Argument is framed by situations – legal, scientific, legislative, and so on. (This restricts valid discussion to those fields, leaving out much of human experience)
4. Rationality is fixed by expertise in subject matter and logic and skill in applying that expertise. (This restricts valid discussion to experts in those fields, leaving out most humans)
5. The world is a set of logical problems appropriately addressed through rational analysis and logical argument. (The recognition of complex, wicked problems has upset this assumption)
6. Rationality privileges epistemology over ontology, knowing over being.
7. Rationality restricts public discourse to certain and probable knowledge. (4)

Fisher notes that the rational paradigm excludes most people from public discourse, which is reserved for rational elites who have been educated in specialized knowledge and in the forms of rational discourse germane to that field of knowledge. He says that the end result has been to "restrict the rational world paradigm to specialized studies and to relegate everyday argument to an irrational exercise" (5). 

Fisher lists a wide range of thinkers who challenge the rational paradigm. I'll not cover his thorough list, but I note that the challenges to the rational paradigm continue into the twenty-first century. For instance, in his books The Righteous Mind and The Happiness Hypothesis, psychologist and popular author Jonathan Haidt characterizes the human mind as a rider on an elephant, and he makes a strong case that the rider, our rational mind, evolved not first but later to support and guide the elephant, our emotional, intuitive mind, and that the emotional mind is the stronger, more fundamental sense-making aspect of human thought. Of course, when the rider and elephant work together, then humans can achieve their greatest insights, but when they conflict, the rider is no match for the elephant and is usually left in a clean-up role, trying to rationalize whatever the elephant does. In Chapter 8 of The Happiness Hypothesis, Haidt explains that the elephant mind understands its world through story rather than through rational argument.

Even more recently, in his Atlantic essay "How the Ivy League Broke America", conservative columnist David Brooks details how the Twentieth century educational leaders such as Harvard president James Conant sought to restructure American society on rational terms, leading to an overemphasis on rational intelligence and to an American caste system built on IQ scores and matriculation in the most elite schools. This reliance on the rational paradigm has not led to the ideal public leadership that Conant envisioned. Rather, as Brooks suggests, "under the leadership of our current meritocratic class, trust in institutions has plummeted to the point where, three times since 2016, a large mass of voters has shoved a big middle finger in the elites’ faces by voting for Donald Trump."

After the presidential election in November, 2024, Ohio State University political economist Don Leonard published an online article "Trump voters said they were angry about the economy" in The Conversation in which he analyzed the disconnect between the government's facts and rational arguments about the positive health of the economy and the popular perception that the economy is failing. The Government's self-evident propositions, demonstrations, and proofs," its "verbal expressions of certain and probable knowing" (4) convinced most economists that the American economy was improving, was well, especially when compared with the economies of other nations recovering from Covid. The data were accurate, and the arguments were impeccable. They were also wrong – rather, they told the wrong story. The American middle class, which voted largely for Trump, told stories about sticker shock at the grocery store and gas pump. Those like myself who listened to the rational argument didn't hear those stories, and we forgot that story always trumps argument – pun intended.

Despite its intellectual affordances and benefits, the rational paradigm is not the only or even the best way to view the world. The rational paradigm will not adequately explain why so many of my Evangelical family and friends put their faith in Donald Trump. I must look for explanations and clarity elsewhere, in narrative.

The Narrative Paradigm and Public Discourse

In "Narration as a Human Communication Paradigm", Fisher argues that narrative is a more powerful and persuasive form of communication than logic because it can engage both our minds and our hearts (14). Narratives can help us to understand complex issues, to empathize with others, and to make decisions based on our values as well as our reason. He concludes, then, that the narrative paradigm offers a better way of understanding and resolving public moral arguments (10). 

Fisher lists a number of characteristics that empower the narrative paradigm to correct the rational paradigm's distortion of public discourse. He says:

The narrative paradigm insists that human communication should be viewed as historical as well as situational, as stories competing with other stories constituted by good reasons, as being rational when they satisfy the demands of narrative probability and narrative fidelity, and as inevitably moral inducements. The narrative paradigm challenges the notions that human communication – if it is to be considered rhetorical – must be an argumentative form, that reason is to be attributed only to discourse marked by clearly identifiable modes of inference and/or implication, and that the norms for evaluation of rhetorical communication must be rational standards taken essentially from informal or formal logic. The narrative paradigm does not deny reason and rationality; it reconstitutes them, making them amenable to all forms of human communication. (2)

The narrative paradigm, then, does not replace the rational paradigm; rather, it subsumes it, rendering the rational paradigm as the more narrow and specialized form of communication. Narrative is the primary, older means of making sense of the world, as the story of the ancient Persian King Cyrus illustrates.

The King Cyrus Story

King Cyrus the Great is a prominent historical and legendary figure, though historians believe that at least two different Persian rulers were called Cyrus the Great. Historians note him as "a conqueror who founded the Achaemenian empire" in about 550 BC, the largest empire to that date (Frye). This essay, however, focuses more on Cyrus' treatment in legend, first mentioned by the Greeks Herodotus and Xenophon, historians whose accounts of Cyrus involved legend as much as history (Frye). Like Oedipus, Cyrus was prophesied to overthrow his king father, but was given to a shepherd to raise, only to return as a man to fulfill the prophecy.

Cyrus is also mentioned prominently in the Jewish Bible, where he is credited with freeing the Jewish people from captivity in Babylonia and allowing them to return to Jerusalem to rebuild their temple (Frye, "Cyrus the Great in the Bible", and "Cyrus the Great"). The story has a somewhat fragmentary treatment in the Bible, being recounted in several different books: 

• 2 Chronicles 36:22, 23 describes Cyrus' edict to rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem ("Cyrus")
• Ezra 1:1–4 describes Cyrus's decree to allow the Jewish people to return to their homeland (Frye).
• Isaiah 45:1 says that Yahweh anointed Cyrus as a biblical messiah for this task ("Cyrus the Great").
• Daniel: though many references to Cyrus are tangential, most of the accounts in Daniel take place at the end of the Assyrian rule of Babylon when the Medo-persian Cyrus conquers Babylon and installs his uncle Darius as his proxy.

Cyrus's actions had a lasting impact on Judaism, and he is the only non-Jewish figure in Jewish scripture to be called a messiah, an anointed deliverer of God's people ("Cyrus the Great", "Cyrus the Great in the Bible", and "Who Was Cyrus the Great?"). The classical Jewish historian Josephus details how the Jews returned to the Land of Israel and rebuilt the Temple in Jerusalem, following instructions given by Cyrus in a letter to the repatriated Jews ("Cyrus the Great in the Bible").

King Cyrus as a Progressive Paragon

Cyrus has also been revered outside the Jewish tradition. Cyrus's progressive political practices, especially his tolerance and support of local customs among the people he conquered, have been legendary throughout history, and his policies are considered revolutionary ideas that are still emulated today (Frye, "Cyrus the Great", "Who Was Cyrus the Great?"). The Greek historian Xenophon casts Cyrus as the ideal ruler in Cyropaedia, his didactic and, at least in the case of Cyrus, largely fictional treatise on political leadership (Frye, Tuplin).

In 1879, archaeologists discovered the Cyrus Cylinder in the ruins of Babylon in  modern day Iran. The British Museum, which holds the original clay cylinder, says that the cylinder recounts how the Babylonian god Marduk used Cyrus to conquer Babylon and to relieve its people of oppressive rulers:

Nabonidus, the last King of Babylon (555-539 BC), had perverted the cults of the Babylonian gods, including Marduk, the city-god of Babylon, and had imposed labour-service on its free population, who complained to the gods. The gods responded by deserting Babylon, but Marduk looked around for a champion to restore the old ways. He chose Cyrus, King of Anshan (Persia), and declared him king of the world. (British Museum)

In honor of Cyrus' compassionate and inclusive practices of governance, a replica of the Cyrus Cylinder is currently on display at the United Nations in New York ("Who Was Cyrus the Great?"). However, as the British Museum notes, Cyrus' progressive rule may be as much legend as fact:

Because of its references to just and peaceful rule, and to the restoration of deported peoples and their gods the cylinder has in recent years been referred to in some quarters as a kind of 'charter of human rights'. Such a concept would have been quite alien to Cyrus's contemporaries, and indeed the cylinder says nothing of human rights; but the return of the Jews and of other deported peoples was a significant reversal of the policies of earlier Assyrian and Babylonian kings.

In his analysis of the reign of King Cyrus "Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations," R. J. van der Spek notes that while modern praise of King Cyrus' progressive rule is valuable for challenging "the usual Eurocentric approach to the history of the near East in traditional scholarship, which tends to see all the blessings of modern civilization as coming solely from Greece and Rome" (234), he insists that "the worthy cause of deconstructing 'orientalism' … is not furthered by presenting … unhistorical and anachronistic reconstructions" (235). Van der Spek insists that the elevation of Cyrus as a paragon of progressive political values rests on three erroneous assumptions:

1. "An anachronistic perception of ancient political discourse", in which "no discourse on religious tolerance existed." Like other empire builders, Cyrus was dealing with the practical problem of encompassing a variety of political constructs each with their inherent and conflicting religions. Sometimes Cyrus was harsh with conquered people, destroying their temples and practices, but often he accepted "multiformity in order not to provoke rebellion."
2. Starting with tolerance as the defining characteristic of Cyrus' rule, even though it is "possible to describe his policy as positively pragmatic or even mild in some respects;" rather, "Cyrus was a normal conqueror with the usual policy of brutal warfare and harsh measures. The will of the Persian king was law, and no principal right of participation in government was allowed."
3. Scholars falsely contrast the rule of Cyrus with that of the Assyrians he conquered. The Assyrian rule was not merely cruel and intolerant, and they did not impose their Assyrian gods on conquered people. (235)

If van der Spek is correct, and I accept his analysis and conclusions, then the stories modern historians are telling about Cyrus are more a reflection of their own progressive politics than of the realities of King Cyrus. As Amélie Kuhrt says in "Cyrus the Great of Persia: Images and Realities", the ancient texts cannot "be used to support the idea that Cyrus introduced radical new policies of religious tolerance …  Although the [archaeological] evidence is not immense, it is sufficient to counter the image of the Cyrus of modern European and Judaeo-Christian tradition. Instead of a young idealistic liberator, with a new vision for ruling the world, we can begin to define a king, heir to an already fairly significant realm, who deployed both brutal and placatory gestures in a calculated and effective manner." (10, 16). This enhanced story about Cyrus' supposed progressive political theories becomes an important point as I consider the stories Evangelicals currently tell about Donald Trump as a latter day King Cyrus.

King Cyrus as Donald Trump

I first heard about the Trump as Cyrus story from my brother, a retired Evangelical minister. Intrigued, I found an NPR interview with Robert P. Jones, president and founder of Public Religion Research Institution (PRRI) who says that many Evangelicals have compared Trump to:

the Persian king Cyrus from the Book of Isaiah in the Hebrew Bible. And that's important because there, Cyrus is presented as an ungodly king who nonetheless frees a group of Jews who are held captive in Babylon. So by comparison, Trump here is the powerful, strong, authoritarian liberator, someone who by definition and maybe even by necessity is even above the law and who alone is capable of liberating conservative, white Christians from their oppressors.

Jones should have also noted that a number of prominent national leaders and at least one international leader, Benjamin Netanyahu of Israel, have compared Trump to King Cyrus of Persia. The Trump as Cyrus story possibly originated in 2016 with a vision by Lance Wallnau in his article "Why I Believe Trump Is the Prophesied President" in which, three days before Trump won the 2016 election, Wallnau says:

This is the proposition I give to Christians who are dispirited by the failure of their favorite candidate to capture the nomination: Don't ask, "Who is the most Christian?" Instead ask, "Who is the one anointed for the task?" … From my perspective, there is a Cyrus anointing on Trump. He is, as my friend Kim Clement said three years ago, "God's trumpet." I predicted his nomination, and I believe he is the chaos candidate set apart to navigate us through the chaos that is coming to America. I think America is due for a shaking regardless of who is in office. I believe the 45th president is meant to be an Isaiah 45 Cyrus.

Whenever and however it originated, the story gained traction in Evangelical circles, though it is fading among Evangelicals since the first Trump presidency. What does this narrative offer Evangelicals that they will so readily accept it not just as a convincing story but as fact?

I think that, in general, repurposing an ancient story into contemporary times has several benefits for the community repurposing the story:

• Reinterpretation: Any modern storyteller can retell the Cyrus story in a fresh way. This could be a play or a graphic novel, but in the case of modern Evangelicals, it has been mostly social media memes and sermons. The core message of persecution and liberation remains, but the format changes to resonate with a contemporary audience.
• Local Application: The story can be adapted to reflect a modern community's struggles. I know first-hand – and any reading of modern social media and attention to Evangelical sermons will confirm – that Evangelicals perceive themselves as persecuted by the mainstream society (the World) and media (Fake News). Retelling the Cyrus story with a local twist can spark conversations among Evangelicals about how to confront persecution and to anticipate deliverance through a flawed Trump and by a beneficent and loving God.
• Shared Values: Ancient stories remind us of the enduring human values we share across time. Cyrus's story highlights the hardships and eventual deliverance by an Act of God of the Israelites, a theme that transcends cultures and eras. The story also highlights Cyrus's emphasis on justice and tolerance, rare in ancient times, a justice and tolerance that Evangelicals see for every other social group, but not for themselves – except from Trump. Evangelicals can use this story to clarify their position in the World and to promote internal social cohesion.

According to Tara Isabella Burton in her Vox article "The Biblical Story the Christian Right Uses to Defend Trump", this "vessel theology" frames Trump as a divinely chosen instrument, regardless of his personal character or actions, to fulfill a specific historical purpose—in this case, the advancement of a "Christian America."

The ancient Jewish story of Cyrus is scattered across the Old Testament with mentions in 2 Chronicles 36:23, Ezra 6:3–5, and Isaiah 45:4–5, and in the histories of Josephus. Isaiah records how the Israelites had been conquered and exiled to Babylon. They felt forsaken by God and oppressed by their captors, yet the prophet Isaiah foretells that their deliverance will come through the most unlikely of sources - Cyrus, the Persian king who was not a believer in the Israelites' God. Isaiah 45 declares: "This is what the Lord says to his anointed, to Cyrus, whose right hand I take hold of to subdue nations before him." Isaiah portrays Cyrus as an instrument of God, a messiah or savior of a people and the only non-Jew to receive that title, despite himself being ungodly and ignorant of the true God. Through this narrative, the downtrodden Israelites found hope that God still had a plan for them, to be delivered even by those who did not worship Yahweh.

Burton ultimately reveals how this narrative is both strategically employed today for political expediency and deeply rooted in centuries of Christian nationalism within the American identity. I can certainly see echoes of this narrative today in how some modern Evangelical Christian communities have interpreted the presidency of Donald Trump. The Cyrus parallels allow them to overlook perceived moral failings in their leader and instead focus on the ways Trump supposedly undermines secularism and enacts conservative policies they see as aligned with Christian values. Despite conceding that Trump is ungodly and immoral in his personal life and behavior, many Evangelicals nonetheless view Trump as ordained by God to protect their interests and to be an instrument for godly policy initiatives, just as the ungodly but similarly ordained Cyrus did for the captive Israelites. Trump is anointed by God to deliver His people. Trump is an anointed one, though Evangelicals would not use the term messiah, reserving that only for Jesus.

The story of King Cyrus, then, provides a narrative structure that Evangelicals can use to make sense of the miraculous victory by a political newcomer over the politically seasoned and hated Hillary Clinton, or the miraculous undoing of Roe v Wade to stop the wholesale murder of babies, or the heroic struggle at the border to stop the pollution and mayhem of illegal aliens. The story also makes sense of the rabid response of demonic Democrats to undermine the Champion of God, Donald Trump. Clearly, the Forces of Hell will do anything to stop God's Man of the Hour, but as in the Old Testament, God will prevail through His anointed champion, as He has done through the re-election of Trump.

King Cyrus is a handy story that helps Evangelicals define themselves and their relationships with the world, although the story has begun to lose purchase as many Evangelicals have come to see Trump as a born-again Evangelical, one of their own no longer requiring justification as an anointed outsider. As McKay Coppins says in his article for The Atlantic, "This [King Cyrus] analogy seems to have outlived its usefulness to the religious right: A 2020 Pew Research Center survey found that 62 percent of Republicans viewed Trump as “morally upstanding,” and in a Deseret News poll commissioned last year, 64 percent said they believed he is a “person of faith.” The former president no longer needs to be described as a blunt, utilitarian tool in God’s hand."

Affordances of the King Cyrus Story for Evangelicals

So why did Evangelicals take up the Trump as King Cyrus story, and then why did they abandon it? Answering those questions helps me understand how narratives work in society.

Evangelical Identity

First, Evangelicals took up the King Cyrus story because it expresses their identity, the image that they wish to present both to themselves as a group and to others. This concern with identity becomes clearer when we compare and contrast the ways that mid-twentieth century academics used the King Cyrus story with the way that Evangelicals use the story.

After the discovery of the Cyrus Cylinder, some academics and even certain political actors such as the Shah of Iran and UN leaders framed King Cyrus as a paragon of progressive political values. Unfortunately for those progressive academics, the United Nations, and the Shah of Iran, subsequent scholarly analyses of the historical career of Cyrus debunked much of the progressive narrative, but that debunking reveals that academics and world leaders are quite capable of taking up stories that can be made to support their preferred identity. Any community can repurpose a narrative to meet its own needs and to clarify its own identity. Evangelicals are not unusual in this respect; rather, they are typical.

Of course, unlike the progressive academics, modern Evangelicals do not emphasize the themes of tolerance and individual rights; rather, they emphasize persecution and restoration. While it's likely that none of these themes were on Cyrus' mind at the time he was conquering Babylon, emphasizing those different themes today reveals more about Evangelicals and about modern scholars than it does about Cyrus. The Cyrus story is a narrative structure, then, that both communities use to define who they are, both internally to themselves and externally to others. That both communities likely miss the historically factual King Cyrus is almost irrelevant to their use of the story.

That stories can help clarify and express the identity of a community is for me reminiscent of Dan P McAdams' concept of narrative identity in his article  "'First we invented stories, then they changed us': The Evolution of Narrative Identity". McAdams says that narrative identity is "a person's internalized and evolving story of how he or she has become the person he or she is becoming", except of course applied to a group rather than an individual. As McAdams notes, narratives, and in our case shared narratives, provide "the [group] with temporal coherence and some semblance of psychosocial unity and purpose". This is an important insight, I think, that emphasizes the personal aspect of narrative identity. Evangelicals see the attacks on their community as attacks on themselves and their families. When they see the government and popular media privileging other social communities such as illegal aliens and LGBTQ+, then they feel personally affronted and threatened not just for Evangelicals as a group but for themselves individually. This personal attack (it feels very much like an attack to them) opens them to anyone (for instance, Donald Trump) who will promise restoration, or to Make America Great Again. It also makes many of them willing to fight, to grab their guns and march on Washington to stop the steal of their country and their place in it. As most any psychologist will confirm, threats to one's personal identity are existential threats worth fighting against.

Narrative Coherence

The second reason that Evangelicals took up the King Cyrus story early in the rise of Donald Trump is because the story meets the three criteria for a worthy narrative listed by Fisher: coherence, fidelity, and context. Does the story of King Cyrus make sense in itself, or as Caldiero asks in his article Crisis Storytelling: "Is the story free of contradictions? Does it 'hang together?' Is it consistent?" For most Evangelicals, the answer is yes, the biblical story of King Cyrus is coherent, despite its fragmentary treatment in the Old Testament. It hangs together, especially for Evangelicals who view The Bible as the literal, inerrant, perfect Word of God. While many modern Biblical scholars find inconsistencies within many Biblical narratives, including those of Cyrus, most Evangelicals do not. For them, any perceived inconsistencies in the Word of God are the fault of the reader, not the Text. The text is sacred, and Evangelical exegesis is strongly involved with ironing out inconsistencies in Biblical accounts of creation, the nature of God, and so forth. If we modern readers see double or triple meanings within biblical narratives, then the fault is with us, not The Bible. For Evangelicals, the King Cyrus story in the Christian Old Testament is coherent and factually true, and they work very hard to read it as such.

But is the Trump as King Cyrus story coherent? Again, yes. If you believe that from time-to-time God involves Himself in the daily business of national politics to alleviate the suffering of His People, as He so clearly does in the Biblical narrative, then it is easy to see the parallels between the persecuted Israelites in Babylon and the persecuted Evangelicals in the United States. In the first case, God used King Cyrus to address the suffering of the Israelites, and in the second, God is using Donald Trump to address the suffering of Evangelicals. The parallels are obvious if one focuses on just a handful of data points such as oppression and liberation and ignores the other salient data points such as political expediency, social justice, or individual rights. This selective focus on just a few points can hardly be criticized, though, as it is a function of all narratives, which leave out more than they include, and what is left out of any narrative is often just as telling as what is included. We might criticize the points that a narrative includes or excludes, but we can hardly criticize a narrative for not including everything. Narrative coherence requires selection. Otherwise a story collapses into a wallowing morass.

Narrative Fidelity

Fidelity refers to whether a story aligns with other stories that the community already knows and believes. Caldiero asks: "Does the story exist on the same plane as other stories the reader has experienced? What are the 'truth qualities' of the story? Is the reasoning sound? How good is the reproduction of the story? What is its value?" If a story resonates with a community's existing beliefs and values, it is more likely to be accepted. For example, the King Cyrus story's presence in the Bible automatically grants it fidelity and relevance for Evangelicals, as they view all biblical stories as the literal word of God and relevant to their lives. 

The key seems to be a story's plasticity and adaptability, the ease with which a community can fit the story into an existing suite of stories. The King Cyrus story has shown its ability to match the stories favored by different communities with different stories. For instance, political progressives of the middle twentieth century saw in the Cyrus narrative inclusion, compassion, multiculturalism, and tolerance within King Cyrus' approach to governance, all values that these political progressives held dear. A half century later, Evangelicals see in the same story deliverance and restoration by God of His Chosen People, values that they hold dear. Clearly, the King Cyrus narrative can shapeshift to meet the demands of different communities 

Narrative Context

Both the coherence and fidelity of the Cyrus story are tempered by a person's own "history, culture, and perceptions about the status and character of the other people involved (all of which may be subjective and incompletely understood)" (Fisher, Narrative paradigm). Both coherence and fidelity — or what we might call the fit or feel of a story — is determined not solely by the characteristics inherent within a story but also by the life history of the people hearing the story. Stories that fit well with what people already know and value are more readily accepted. Those that don't fit require much more persuasion, if not coercion. Thus, we cannot think of a narrative argument as a discrete thing in itself with its own internal logic and probabilities as we can with a syllogism; rather, we must account for the ecosystem within which the narrative argument is expressed.

In this sense, the story of King Cyrus fits well with the life experience of Evangelicals both as a group and as individuals. Evangelicals perceive that their demographic is no longer the dominant group in America, and their experience with both mainstream and social media reveals to them that their group is regularly attacked and denigrated by others. They feel oppressed, just like the Israelites in Babylon. In Evangelical thought, Babylon is routinely used as a metaphor for the World, all of society that is not within the Evangelical community, and the World oppresses them.

Then, the character of Cyrus fits well with the character of Trump. In 2016, most Evangelicals knew that Donald Trump was not a born-again Christian Evangelical and that he does not claim to be; however, they see the Hand of God in his miraculous victory over hateful Hillary, his defense of strong borders, and his defeat of ungodly abortionists. They concede Trump's failures as a Christian Evangelical, but they accept how God is using him to combat the demonic forces oppressing them – just as God did with King Cyrus. Of course, as Evangelicals shift from from seeing Trump as an imperfect champion of God to a born-again Christian, the King Cyrus story loses its fit and finish within the community and fades from the community discourse.

Fisher argues that these three elements — coherence, fidelity, and context — determine a story's narrative rationality. This differs from traditional, formal rationality that relies heavily on logic and evidence. Fisher argues that narrative rationality is more fundamental to human understanding and decision-making, as people are naturally drawn to stories that resonate with their values and experiences [5].

It is important to note that even if a narrative exhibits coherence, fidelity, and context, it does not guarantee universal acceptance. The Trump as King Cyrus narrative is accepted by many Evangelicals, but not by those who do not share their beliefs and experiences. The effectiveness of a narrative depends on the audience's pre-existing beliefs and how well the story aligns with their worldview. Moreover, as we've already shown, as the community's view of Trump himself shifts, the salience of the Cyrus narrative for Evangelicals fades. Other biblical narratives such as those about King David become more salient and echo more strongly through the community.

Conclusions

Fisher's two communication paradigms, the narrative and the rational, while not mutually exclusive, can be useful for understanding how different communities process information, form opinions, and then respond to their worlds. 

Like Fisher and many others, I challenge the Western reliance on logic and reason as the primary mode of human interaction, arguing that narrative is not simply for entertainment and bedtime stories; rather, it is a fundamental aspect of human communication that is often more appropriate than is the rational paradigm for understanding and responding to human experience. As Fisher says, narratives do not merely entertain but actively shape our perceptions and understanding of the world. Thus, he argues, that narratives have a central role in public moral argument that is crucial for resolving moral disagreements and that they can offer a better understanding of the human condition than the rational paradigm can, as I think they demonstrated in the 2024 US general election.

This reversal of the relative importance of the narrative and rational paradigms can be problematic for many non-Evangelicals, particularly those with less regard for religious narratives and who may be more inclined towards the rational paradigm when evaluating Trump's presidency. These people, Rationalists, are more likely to:

• Focus on Empirical Evidence: Rationalists may find Trump's policies and behavior contrary to their values and detrimental to society based on their interpretation of factual information and analysis from sources they deem credible.
• Prioritize Logic and Expertise: They may rely on expert opinions, data analysis, and reasoned arguments from fields like economics, law, or political science to form their perspectives.
• See the World as a Set of Solvable Problems: Rationalists may approach societal issues as challenges that can be addressed through knowledge, reasoned debate, and effective policy-making without divine intervention.

The Challenges of Bridging the Divide

These different communication paradigms can create significant challenges in communication and understanding between Evangelicals and non-Evangelicals regarding Trump's presidency, as evidenced by the widespread confusion among many non-Evangelical Rationalists about how anyone can find any political or moral virtue in such a corrupt figure and the widespread resentment among Evangelicals about their oppression by elitist culture. Most narratives, especially those deeply intertwined with identity and faith, can be highly resistant to change, even when confronted with contradictory evidence. All people, Evangelicals and non-Evangelicals alike, have stories that inform their sense of who they are, how they fit into the world, and how the world works. Any challenge to those stories threatens an individual's and a group's identity, whether they conceive of that identity as a soul or a psyche.

When engaging in discussions about Trump, then, Evangelicals and non-Evangelicals are likely to be operating from fundamentally different frameworks, making it difficult to find common ground. The stories we tell ourselves frame what we know and what we can know. If we do not work hard to learn and understand the stories that groups outside our own tell and believe, then we will likely talk, or yell, past each other, communicating little other than our antagonism to the other group's sense of self.

Finally, we should note that the narrative and rational paradigms are general trends in communication, and not all individuals within these groups will fit neatly into these paradigms. Most individuals within any group hold diverse views and tell diverse, sometimes conflicting stories, and factors beyond religion, such as political ideology, personal experiences, and social networks, also play significant roles in shaping their perspectives. But understanding the divergent tendencies of narrative and rational arguments can help us bridge the gap between alien points of view.

Works Cited

• Benson, Samuel. "Most Republicans think Donald Trump is a person of faith. We asked why." DeseretNews, Deseret News Publishing Company, 03 Jan 2024, www.deseret.com/2024/1/3/23982720/republicans-think-donald-trump-is-person-of-faith-we-asked-why.

• British Museum. “Cylinder”. The British Museum, 2024, www.britishmuseum.org/collection/object/W_1880-0617-1941.

• Burton, Tara Isabella. "The Biblical Story the Christian Right Uses to Defend Trump: Why Evangelicals Are Calling Trump a 'Modern-day Cyrus.'” Vox, Vox Media, LLC, 05 Mar 2018, www.vox.com/identities/2018/3/5/16796892/trump-cyrus-christian-right-bible-cbn-evangelical-propaganda.

• Caldiero, Christopher T. "Crisis Storytelling: Fisher’s Narrative Paradigm and News Reporting." American Communication Journal, 9:1, Spring, 2007. https://ac-journal.org/journal/2007/Spring/articles/storytelling.html.

• Coppins, McKay. "The Most Revealing Moment of a Trump Rally: A close reading of the prayers delivered before the former president speaks." The Atlantic, Sep 2024,  www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2024/09/trump-rally-prayers/679152/.

• "Cyrus". King James Bible Dictionary, MasonSoft Technology Ltd, 2024, kingjamesbibledictionary.com/Dictionary/Cyrus.

• "Cyrus the Great". Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 23 Nov 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyrus_the_Great.

• "Cyrus the Great in the Bible". Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 21 Nov 2024, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyrus_the_Great_in_the_Bible.

• "Few Americans Express Positive Views of Trump’s Conduct in Office." Pew Research Center, 05 Mar 2020, www.pewresearch.org/politics/2020/03/05/few-americans-express-positive-views-of-trumps-conduct-in-office.

• Fisher, W. R. (1984). "Narration as a human communication paradigm: The case of public moral argument". Communication Monographs, 51(1), 1–22. doi.org/10.1080/03637758409390180.

• Fried,  Lisbeth S. "Cyrus the Messiah". Bible Odyssey, Society of Biblical Literature, 2024, www.bibleodyssey.org/articles/cyrus-the-messiah/.

• Frye, Richard N. "Cyrus the Great: king of Persia." Britannica, 30 Oct 2024, www.britannica.com/biography/Cyrus-the-Great.

• Kuhrt, Amélie. "Cyrus the Great of Persia: Images and Realities". Representations of Political Power: Case Histories from Times of Change and Dissolving Order in the Ancient Near East, edited by Marlies Heinz and Marian H. Feldman, Penn State University Press, 2007, pp. 169-192. doi.org/10.1515/9781575065830-011

• Tuplin, Christopher J. "Historical Themes of Xenophon". Britannica, 10 Oct 2024, www.britannica.com/biography/Xenophon/Historical-themes#ref291346.

• van der Spek, R. J. "Cyrus the Great, Exiles, and Foreign Gods: A Comparison of Assyrian and Persian Policies on Subject Nations". Extraction & Control: Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper, ed. Michael Kozuh, Wouter F. M. Henkelman, Charles E. Jones, and Christopher Woods, The University of Chicago, 2014.

• "Who Was Cyrus the Great". Northeastern Illinois University, Northeastern Illinois University, 2024, www.neiu.edu/alumni-and-giving/giving/give-neiu/foundation-scholarships/cyrus-of-persia-scholarship/who-was-cyrus-great.

Trump Metanarratives

I intend to deliver a paper about rhizo-narratology and the Donald Trump stories to my favorite academic conference, the Southern Humanities Conference, this coming January, 2025. I've been reading and writing about rhizo thought in general since 2014 and Donald Trump narratives in particular since 2020. I've much more material than I need for one presentation, but I do need to begin organizing the material to find a focus for a 12-minute presentation. I will review my research and lift out topics as I come across them, beginning with an overview of the metanarratives about Donald Trump. I will also publish these gathering posts unclosed, adding to them as I come across more material.

By the way, I am using Gemini and Claude to read through the hundreds of blog posts, articles, and PDFs that I've covered over the past decade. Both of these AI tools read much faster than I do, and they can survey a much wider topography than I can and identify patterns that I might not see at all and certainly won't see by January, 2025.

In his Conversation article "Liz Cheney trounced", Vanderbilt philosophy professor Robert B. Talisse explains Republican Liz Cheney's loss to Harriet Hageman as a clear case of partisanship rather than policy: 'Once we recognize the centrality of partisan identities and how they are rooted in lifestyles rather than public policies, it becomes clear that much conventional thinking about how democracy works needs revision." Whereas we tend to think about policy in rational terms, I believe we think about partisan identities in narrative terms. The stories we believe and tell about our heroes and communities trump (pun intended) the arguments we make about policy. I find several common metanarratives about Donald Trump that are frequently used to frame and explain his actions, motivations, and popularity as well as the behavior of his supporters.

Trump as an Anti-Establishment, Outsider Candidate: Several writers have noted how Trump’s initial appeal stemmed from his image as an outsider, a businessman who wasn’t a career politician. He was seen as someone who could shake up the status quo and represent those who felt ignored by the political establishment. This metanarrative resonated with many voters, particularly those who felt left behind by economic changes or disrespected by cultural shifts. In his article in The Atlantic, "The Case for Trump Is Getting More Radical Every Year", David French says of this early Trump story, "While Trump was not the normal politician, the reasons I heard [in 2016] for supporting him were (mostly) conventional, and unsurprising. There’s a long history of different American constituencies feeling disregarded and disrespected. There’s a long history of populist movements in American politics."

It is possible that this more secular narrative about Trump was the main story told early on because most media at the time was blind to the more religious stories already starting to emerge about Donald Trump among his religious supporters. I think that most media sources could not recognize, take seriously, and use the more religious stories to explain the rise and popularity of Donald Trump. It seems to me now that the failure of media to engage these stories has undermined and in some ways continues to undermine our ability to understand Trump.

Trump as a Righteous Warrior Battling Evil: This metanarrative casts Trump as a divinely chosen figure fighting against corrupt and malicious forces trying to destroy America. McKay Coppins notes in his article "The Most Revealing Moment of a Trump Rally" that many prayers at Trump rallies “take Trump’s righteousness for granted” and portray him as a divinely ordained leader. This metanarrative has several prominent features that often branch into slightly different stories of Trump, the righteous warrior:

● America’s Covenant with God: Trump's evangelical supporters in particular believe that America has strayed from its covenant with God, leading to the nation's decline. Coppins says:

• The scripture verse that’s cited most frequently in the prayers [at Trump rallies] comes from 2 Chronicles. “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” … Trump’s supporters attribute America’s fall from grace to a variety of national sins old and new … The premise of all of these prayers is that America’s covenant can be reestablished, and its special place in God’s kingdom restored, if the nation repents and turns back to him. … What’s new is how many Christians now seem convinced that God has anointed a specific leader [Trump] who, like those prophets of old, is prepared to defeat the forces of evil and redeem the country

  They view Trump as a divinely chosen leader, akin to biblical figures like Esther, Solomon, or David, destined to restore America's righteousness and its place in God’s kingdom.
  ● Trump as God’s Instrument: The sources highlight a shift in perception among Trump's supporters from initially seeing him as an "unlikely vessel" like Cyrus the Great, who served God's purpose despite personal flaws, to believing in his inherent righteousness. This is evident in prayers at Trump rallies, which often assume his goodness and implore God to aid him in his preordained mission. Coppins reports that in recent Trump rallies, "rather than asking God to make Trump an instrument of his will, most of the prayers start from the assumption that he already is. Accordingly, many of them drop any pretense of thy-will-be-done nonpartisanship, and ask explicitly for Trump’s reelection.”
  ● Spiritual Warfare and Demonization of Opponents: The sources depict a belief system among some Trump supporters that frames the political arena as a battleground for a spiritual war. This narrative casts Trump as a warrior battling demonic forces, particularly targeting figures like Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, who are portrayed as agents of evil. Coppins says, "It’s easy to see the danger in internalizing the concept of politics as spiritual combat. Trump’s rallies become more than mere campaign events—they are staging grounds in a supernatural conflict that pits literal angels against literal demons for the soul of the nation. Marinate enough in these ideas, and the consequences of defeat start to feel existential.”
  ● Trump's Persecution as Proof of his Righteousness: The sources point out the tendency among Trump's supporters to interpret the numerous accusations and legal challenges against him not as evidence of potential wrongdoing, but as proof of his victimhood. This persecution narrative reinforces their belief that he is a righteous figure opposed by nefarious forces. French writes, "When you understand that people really, truly believe the state of political and spiritual emergency outlined above, then a lot of other cultural phenomena start to make sense. … Why would Republicans immediately rally around Trump after the FBI search? Because their entire story of the past six years teaches them that Trump is persecuted, he’s God’s instrument, and the Democrats (and “deep state”) are thwarting God’s divine plan."
  ● The “Deep State” and the “Liberal Media” as Enemies: The sources identify the belief in a "deep state" and the demonization of "liberal media" as integral to the narrative of Trump as a righteous warrior. These entities are portrayed as actively working against Trump and his supporters, reinforcing the sense of a cosmic battle against evil. In their article "Conservatives feel blamed", Smith and Jones explain conservative's mistrust of the liberal media: "Many conservatives are deeply skeptical of journalists’ motivations. Our interviewees view mainstream news outlets as part of a group of liberal institutions dedicated to making conservatives into pariahs. The misinformation often at the heart of conservative responses to COVID-19 is a symptom, rather than a cause, of this distrust." French explains the conservative antipathy to the deep state this way: "Here’s the new narrative: The Trump presidency exposed the true evil of the left. They persecuted Trump more than any other president in history. First, there was the Russia hoax, then the impeachment hoax, then they shut down the economy and schools to destroy Trump; they shut down churches to destroy the Church. They burned cities. They hollowed out our police forces. They were tyrants. They forced us to wear masks that didn't work and to take an experimental vaccine that has killed tens of thousands of vulnerable Americans. [Italics in the original]
  
  These elements combine to create a powerful narrative that resonates deeply with Trump’s most ardent supporters. By framing him as a righteous leader chosen by God to battle evil, this narrative provides a framework for understanding current events, justifies unwavering loyalty, and fuels a sense of urgency and existential stakes in the fight against perceived enemies.
  

Trump as a Victim of Persecution: A common metanarrative among both religious and secular Trump supporters is that he is a victim of relentless attacks from the left-wing media and political establishment (French and Taussig and Nadler). This metanarrative portrays him as a persecuted figure, unjustly targeted by his enemies because of his efforts to "save the nation." According to this story, investigations into Trump, such as the Mueller investigation and the January 6th indictment by Jack Smith, are merely hoaxes designed to discredit him. This story is used to explain away any negative information about Trump and to solidify his image as a fighter under constant attack. As Hans A. von Spakovsky says in his editorial for The Heritage Foundation: "The indictment of former President Donald Trump by special counsel Jack Smith—with the full approval of Attorney General Merrick Garland—is an attack on the American political system and fundamental rights protected by the First Amendment to freely discuss, debate, and contest serious election and political issues. It represents the ultimate weaponization of the Justice Department, a transformation started by President Barack Obama’s attorney general, Eric Holder, and completed by Garland, to take out a viable political opponent of Garland’s boss and political patron, President Joe Biden. Nothing more, nothing less."

Like the above metanarrative about Trump as a righteous warrior, this persecution metanarrative is developed through several key themes that can branch into distinct expressions of the story:

• The "Deep State" and "Liberal Media" as Antagonists: Many Trump supporters believe in a shadowy "deep state" apparatus working to undermine his presidency and a “liberal media” dedicated to portraying him negatively. These entities are presented as inherently opposed to Trump's mission to "make America great again," representing a corrupt establishment resistant to his attempts to restore the nation to its former glory. 
• Trump's Legal Troubles as Evidence of Persecution: Trump supporters often interpret the various legal challenges and accusations leveled against him not as legitimate concerns but as proof of a coordinated effort to silence and discredit him. This persecution narrative is particularly evident in the reaction to the FBI search of Mar-a-Lago, which was immediately framed by many Republicans as politically motivated and further evidence of the “deep state” working against Trump. As David French points out in his Atlantic article "The Case for Trump": "Why would Republicans immediately rally around Trump after the FBI search? Because their entire story of the past six years teaches them that Trump is persecuted, he’s God’s instrument, and the Democrats (and “deep state”) are thwarting God’s divine plan." David Frum adds that this framing serves to deflect attention from the potential validity of the accusations and strengthens the image of Trump as a victim of his enemies' relentless attacks.
• The "Big Lie" and the Stolen Election Narrative: Many Trump supporters hold the pervasive belief in the "Big Lie," the false claim that the 2020 presidential election was stolen from Trump. Sarah Longwell reports that "Some 35 percent of Americans—including 68 percent of Republicans—believe the Big Lie, pushed relentlessly by former President Donald Trump and amplified by conservative media, that the 2020 presidential election was stolen." This belief is presented as more than just a political disagreement; it's a core tenet of the persecuted savior narrative. By portraying Trump as the rightful winner of the election, supporters cast him as a victim of a vast conspiracy involving widespread voter fraud, manipulated voting machines, and a coordinated effort to suppress his votes. This stolen election narrative further solidifies the image of Trump as a target of powerful forces seeking to prevent him from achieving his mission to save the nation.
• Attacks on Trump as Attacks on His Supporters: The sources suggest that some Trump supporters view attacks on him as attacks on themselves and their values. This perception is fueled by the belief that Trump is a true representative of their interests and aspirations, a champion fighting against the same forces that they perceive as threatening their way of life. [11, 12] This shared sense of persecution strengthens their loyalty to Trump and fuels their determination to defend him against his perceived enemies.

By framing Trump as a persecuted figure unjustly targeted for his efforts to "save the nation," these narratives serve several key functions:

• They solidify his image as a righteous warrior: By portraying him as a victim of shadowy forces and a corrupt establishment, these narratives reinforce the belief that he is a force for good, standing against evil and fighting for the interests of ordinary Americans.
• They justify unwavering loyalty and support: If Trump is engaged in a battle against evil, then any criticism or opposition to him can be easily dismissed as being part of the problem, further justifying unwavering support among his base.
• They create a sense of urgency and existential stakes: By framing the political landscape as a battleground for the soul of the nation, these narratives instill a sense of urgency and existential importance in supporting Trump and his mission. This further motivates his supporters to view the fight against his perceived enemies as a fight for their own values and way of life.

Trump as a Symbol of Conservative Grievance and Resentment: Much of Trump’s popularity is fueled by a deep sense of grievance and resentment among many conservatives. In their article "Conservatives feel blamed", Doron Taussig and Anthony M. Nadler argue that conservative distrust of mainstream media stems from a deeply held belief among conservatives that the media seeks to blame, shame, and ostracize them and their values. Conservatives see Trump as someone who understands their frustrations and will fight back against those they perceive as their cultural and political enemies.

These narratives, often amplified and reinforced by conservative media outlets, have created a powerful suite of metanarratives around Donald Trump and his presidency, which has, in turn, made it difficult for many of his supporters to accept information that challenges their worldview, such as the outcome of the 2020 election.

BTW, the images were generated by Google's ImageFX in my attempt to capture the emotions of each metanarrative.

Rhizo Narratives as Nonlocal Hyperobjects

This post looks closer into Timothy Morton’s concept of hyperobjects as nonlocal. As I discussed in my previous post, hyperobjects are entities that are massively distributed in time and space, often exceeding human comprehension. Morton calls this massive distribution nonlocality.

In quantum physics, nonlocality refers to the instantaneous connection between two particles regardless of the distance separating them. This nonlocal entanglement defies classical notions of objects, space, and time. Morton borrows this concept to explain that hyperobjects are not confined to a specific location; rather, they exist simultaneously in multiple places and times. This nonlocality means that hyperobjects stretch across distances, past, present, and future. It also implies that our understanding of hyperobjects must be nonlocal. I find that tricky, and applying nonlocality to the Trump narratives helps me understand both nonlocality and the stories better. I hope.

Consider the Trump as King Cyrus story. This story does not exist solely in our present place and time. Rather, it stretches over millennia, something like a fossilized human footprint. It existed already for the ancient Israelites in Babylon, and it stretches across the centuries to echo again in twenty-first century America. Moreover, while its effects are already being felt here and now, its full consequences may well be realized in the future. Moreover, as the story gains traction and resonance within its community, it perturbs countless individuals (believers and nonbelievers alike) and ecosystems (political, social, economic) simultaneously. Thus, the Trump as King Cyrus story exhibits both spatial and temporal nonlocality.

Morton’s use of nonlocality is crucial for understanding the elusive nature of hyperobjects such as narratives. It challenges our intuitive understanding of objects as localized things. We want to think of a narrative as a thing – a book in hand, for instance, or in the case of the Trump as King Cyrus story, as a sermon delivered by a beloved pastor this past Sunday or as a blog post we read online. While it is each of these things, it is also all of them and more, including all those countless, indeterminate things of which we are not yet aware. And it is those things yesterday (still yesterday, today), those things today, and those things tomorrow (already those things tomorrow). 

Nonlocality invites us to conceive of narratives that are interconnected, distributed, and entangled with the environment in complex ways. This shift in thinking is similar to Morton's shift in how to think about Nature: not as a thing out there, a problem for us to solve sooner or later, but as air in which we live and through which we exist.

Consider this: if a hyperobject is nonlocal, then our understanding of it is also nonlocal. We cannot fully comprehend a hyperobject from a single perspective, at a single point in time, as a single thing. To begin to understand a hyperobject, we must adopt a more interconnected view from inside the hyperobject itself. This is precisely contrary to the usual way of approaching narratives, which work from outside the narrative to define its limits: a story begins here told by this author, in this form, to those particular people, about a particular character and event, for this purpose. It's as if the practiced literary critic is pushing all the muck and slush of an emerging narrative into a coherent lump to mold it into a discreet thing, delineating its form and function and how well they work together to convey the single, focused message of the story. It's as if an author is doing that.

Of course, both authors and critics believe that is what they are doing, and such an effort from the outside has great efficacy and explanatory power. However, this outside-in approach blinds the author, reader, and critic to the nonlocality of the narrative. Only when working from inside the narrative can one push outward, mapping connections from the here and now across realms – gone, now, and yet to come – toward the horizons of what we can see and say, all the while confident that the rhizomatic narrative is always already beyond our horizons, unpredictable and indeterminate, waiting to be mapped, perturbing us anyway.

This nonlocality can be felt even in the here and now. For instance, even before we heard the story about Trump as King Cyrus, we may have felt the perturbations of that narrative, often with the consequence that we are confused. We encounter Trump adherents who appear to almost worship the man with a religious fervor, which is inexplicable for those of us who do not have much or any respect for him. We sense the ripples and hum of the cosmic background radiation of the King Cyrus narrative without actually knowing the story itself. Not only are we entangled with the stories about Trump, but we are entangled with the story of a Persian ruler of 2,600 years ago. That's nonlocal entanglement, or as Einstein called it: spooky action at a distance.

Rhizo Narratives as Viscous Hyperobjects

As I was finishing my post about the decentralized nature of narrative, I began to see the connections between rhizo narrative and Timothy Morton's concept of hyperobjects. In this post, I intend to explore those connections to see what emerges.

Morton begins his 2013 book Hyperobjects by defining hyperobjects as "things that are massively distributed in time and space relative to humans" (location 104, Kindle edition). He provides some examples such as the Florida Everglades, all the styrofoam ever produced, and the solar system. These are big things, and they fit quite nicely with the prefix hyper, but they unfortunately suggest that hyperobjects must be big relative to humans. Bigger is, of course, one shade of meaning for hyper, but not the only one. I prefer beyond. Hyperobjects recede beyond us both into the infinitely large and into the infinitesimally small, into the past, through the now, and into the future. Thus, a quark is as much a hyperobject as is a solar system.

And this fits better, I think, with Morton's object oriented ontology (OOO) which suggests, among other things, that no object ever fully reveals itself at any one time to any other object, including us humans. Full disclosure appears not to be part of the universal order, if OOO is correct. Thus, all objects are hyper, including stories.

Fortunately,  Morton provides us with some characteristics of hyperobjects that can aid our thinking about this slippery concept:

1. Viscosity
2. Nonlocality
3. Temporal Undulation
4. Phasing
5. Interobjectivity

Of course, as a hyperobject itself, the concept hyperobject does not exhaustively reveal itself with these five characteristics, but we can begin to find some handholds and landmarks that can help us understand this concept.

Viscosity is all about entanglement. In his blog Ecology without Nature, Morton says of viscosity, "the more you know about a hyperobject, the more entangled with it you realize you already are." Hyperobjects engage us skin to skin, breath to breath. Sometimes they rape us, sometimes they make love, but mostly they are just around us like air that we don't notice until it moves … or stops. Air is a viscous hyperobject pressing in, around, and into us at all times.

Trump's 2020 Stolen Election story is a viscous hyperobject. Not on the same scale as air, perhaps, but it shares the same kind of viscosity as air. Whether you accept the story or not, the story is always already there wherever you are, rattling at you from beneath some rock, buzzing at you through the ether, on your smartphone, by the breakroom, in your dreams. You cannot escape it. If you manage to forget it for awhile, you will be suddenly reminded of it in an overheard conversation in a restaurant, and you realize that while you were distracted the story was still circulating, resonating through the social and political ecosystems. Like Harry Potter or a garden weed, it appears like magic, already realized, as large as Hagrid. The story is rhizomatic.

When you first heard the story, it was already there. It was already there for Trump, assuming he might have been the first to tell this particular version of the story, but the story was already there: a deserving, blessed hero (usually a man, in this case, Trump) is denied his just rewards by an evil character or cabal (the antagonist, in this case the Deep State and/or Democrats) against which he will wage holy war and win. You know this story and have told it yourself, perhaps many times in countless iterations. The narrative is always already there.

The very large hyperobjects force us to realize that we are within the object and the object is within us. There is no exterior, only interior. The only way to experience the story is inside the story inside us. We have no vantage point outside the story from which to analyze it. The scientific, objective point of view is a psychological trick we use to keep reality at a distance from us, to keep from being overwhelmed by the massive black holes pressing in from all sides and imploding within our guts. The objective point of view seems to work at times, but life — its energies, materials, information, and organizational strategies, its stories — interpenetrate us, tying us together. We are a knot in a web, a crossroads, and when the knot unravels, we cease.

The concept of hyperobjects, as introduced by Timothy Morton, offers a useful lens through which to examine the complex and pervasive nature of narrative. By understanding stories as hyperobjects, we recognize their immense scale, temporal depth, and inescapable influence. Like the air we breathe, narratives are viscous, entangled in our lives, shaping our perceptions and actions. The Trump 2020 election story, for instance, or the Trump as Cyrus story serve as potent examples of a hyperobject narrative, demonstrating its ability to permeate our consciousness and resist containment, regardless of whether or not we believe the stories. As we delve deeper into the characteristics of hyperobjects, we will uncover how this framework illuminates the rhizomatic structure of narratives and challenges traditional notions of authorship, objectivity, and linear progression.

In subsequent posts, we will explore the remaining characteristics of hyperobjects—nonlocality, temporal undulation, phasing, and interobjectivity—to further unpack the implications for narrative theory and practice. By examining how these qualities manifest in storytelling, we can gain a more nuanced understanding of how narratives shape our world and how we, in turn, shape them. Ultimately, this exploration will invite us to reconsider the boundaries between storyteller and audience, between fiction and reality, and between the past, present, and future.