From Babbitt to Galt: How American Literary Archetypes Shaped Musk, Trump, and Modern Conservatism
Few works have shaped conservative self-perception quite like Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. Its impact wasn't just in its philosophical arguments of the dangers of government overreach and the rent seeking class, it was in creating a template for how modern conservatives could view themselves as protagonists in their own epic narrative. Rand’s John Galt was more than a character; he was an archetype that business leaders and conservative thinkers could emotionally inhabit. Post war 20th century conservative American politics is wrapped in Galt's certainty, his unapologetic pursuit of self-interest, and his conviction that his success was self-made. The novel offered them something precious: moral permission to see resistance to misguided social responsibility as an obligation to their highest best purposes.
Two decades before Atlas Shrugged, Sinclair Lewis gave us George F. Babbitt, the quintessential middle-class businessman whose name became shorthand for shallow materialism and conformist success worship. Lewis’ Babbitt was intended as satire, but that didn’t stop his character from becoming a blueprint too.
The parallels between Babbitt and Rand's protagonists are striking. Both represent a kind of American business mythology; the self-made man, unfettered by government interference, standing proud against the masses who don't understand their vision. But where Babbitt was portrayed as comically insecure, Rand's heroes were given a philosopher's certainty. She transformed the Babbitt archetype from a figure of satire into one of romance.
Which brings us to today's convergence of Elon Musk and Donald Trump; two figures who seem to have stepped right out of different parts of this literary tradition. Musk, with his techno-utopian promises and declarations of being a "free speech absolutist," could have been written by Rand herself. His persona is pure Randian hero: the misunderstood genius who will save humanity whether humanity wants it or not. Even his public stumbles seem to reinforce this self-image. Every setback is reframed as proof of persecution by lesser minds.
Trump, meanwhile, came onto the political stage as Babbitt; not taken seriously by critics. Moreover, not taken too seriously by supporters. He was bluster and social climbing, forever seeking validation while claiming not to need it. His gold-plated aesthetic and performative machismo would be right at home in Lewis's satire. Yet like Babbitt, Trump's performative lack of depth became not a liability but a kind of credential; proof that he wasn't one of those overthinking coastal NPCs.
Their emerging alliance represents a fusion of two strands of American political mythology. It's the marriage of Randian philosophical certainty with Babbitry's raw social resentment. We’re free to climb aboard the Taggart Comet and feel simultaneously like persecuted übermenschen and regular guys fighting the system. What a world!
Who knows what Rand and Lewis would think of the inheritors of their literary legacy. Rand's heroes were supposed to be perfectly rational actors, not emotion-driven social media provocateurs. Lewis's Babbitt turned introspective in the end to inspire self-reflection about the emptiness of materialistic conformity, not serve as a how-to guide for building a political brand. Yet here we are, watching as literary archetypes are reborn in ways their creators likely never imagined outside of the cautionary thought exercises of their work. The Musk-Trump alliance represents a kind of perfect storm of American business mythology; the self-styled genius inventor joining forces with the braggadocious deal-maker, both claiming to fight for freedom.
These are not new characters in America's story. They're modern iterations of archetypes that have been with us for generations, shaped by fiction but made real through the power of self-perception and cultural mythology. The question isn't whether these archetypes will persist; they're too deeply embedded in American culture to disappear. The question is whether we'll finally learn to see them clearly, not as heroes or villains, but as expressions of our complex and often contradictory national character. This is very, very American. Whether or not one takes that as a compliment or a put down has more to do with what’s already been made up in their minds than what they witness.
We find our truth in our fiction. Here’s to hoping we keep writing it.