T
he rise of populism in Europe—and here in the United States by way of Donald Trump—is a rebellion against postmodern weightlessness. Political commentators are right to point out voter concerns about immigration, economic distress caused by globalization, and the technocratic establishment that holds them in disdain. But underneath these concerns lies a metaphysical disquiet.
A nation is united by a shared loyalty. We read a great deal about income inequality and the growing wealth gap between today’s meritocratic winners and everybody else. But we’ve also been through a long season of cultural dissolution, or at least cultural loosening. The result has been an expanded lifestyle freedom (that mostly benefits the meritocratic elite). Yet it’s less and less clear what’s at the center of our common life. Although our tradition of individualism can blind us to this loss, it’s the dark center around which so many of our current concerns revolve.
Populism is a response to this vacuum more than a movement of economic grievances, or even anti-immigrant sentiment. It reflects a concern that our common life lacks metaphysical dignity: There’s no longer something greater than utility or some other bloodless good capable of binding us together strongly enough that the rich and powerful remain accountable.
In modern Europe, the nation superseded the Church as the source of metaphysical dignity for communal life. Since World War II, however, the nation has waned, not just because of the centralizing logic of the European Union, but also as a result of the hard lessons learned about the dangers of nationalism. Contemporary European populism reacts against that weakening. It seeks to reinvigorate the nation, not just legally, but symbolically as well.
I’m sympathetic. A man should be proud of where he’s from. We’re ennobled by our loyalties to our motherlands, which is why I think patriotism is something to be encouraged and cherished. But I don’t think European populism can succeed, at least not just as a revived nationalism.
