Between Black Sky and Green Earth

Trump, Musk, the Aenean Spirit, and the Vertical Axis of Upwing and Downwing

For centuries, the dominant framework of political thought has been the horizontal spectrum—left versus right, progressive versus conservative, socialist versus capitalist. This axis, which dates back to the seating arrangement of the French National Assembly in 1789, has shaped our understanding of political conflict for generations. But it is failing.

Not because the old battles have been decisively won or lost, but because they no longer map onto the defining questions of our time. The 21st century is not a battle between collectivism and individualism, nor even between authoritarianism and democracy. It is a battle between those who would transcend nature’s limits and those who would entrench within them. It is a battle between those who see technological progress as a moral imperative and those who see it as a Faustian temptation. It is a battle, not just of who rules, but of what is possible by ruling.

This is the Vertical Axis of politics: Upwing versus Downwing, Ascension versus Restraint. And it might be the true fault line of the future.

The Death of the Left-Right Spectrum

The left-right divide made sense when politics was primarily a question of economic distribution. Should wealth be shared, or should it be earned? Should the state intervene, or should the market rule? For most of the modern era, this was the dominant question of governance. But today, the most pressing political questions have little to do with redistributing the fruits of economic growth and everything to do with defining the limits of growth itself:

• Should we colonize space or preserve Earth?

• Should we engineer artificial intelligence to surpass human intelligence, or should we limit it to prevent catastrophe?

• Should we bioengineer humans to extend life and enhance abilities, or is this a violation of our nature?

• Should economic growth be maximized through automation and globalization, or should economies be constrained to maintain social stability?

These questions do not fall neatly along left-right lines. A socialist may be either a radical transhumanist or an ardent eco-primitivist. A conservative may be either a techno-optimist or a traditionalist agrarian. The horizontal spectrum collapses in the face of these dilemmas, as old ideological coalitions fragment and realign in response to the accelerating forces of technological and civilizational change.

The Emergence of the Vertical Axis

The concept of the Vertical Axis is not a new one, though it has only recently begun to gain prominence. The futurist F.M. Esfandiary (later known as FM-2030) first articulated the notion of an Upwing versus Downwing divide in his 1973 manifesto Up-Wingers: A Futurist Manifesto. Esfandiary was a radical technologist and transhumanist, arguing that the political conflicts of the future would not be about class struggle, but about whether humanity embraced or resisted technological transformation. He saw the Upwing vision as a future of boundless expansion—space colonization, cybernetic enhancement, and post-scarcity abundance.

His vision was largely ignored at the time, dismissed as the ravings of a techno-utopian. But history has proven him correct in at least one regard: today, the most significant political battles are increasingly fought along the lines of the Vertical Axis. The defining issues of the 21st century are all questions of whether humanity will successfully push forward into the future or retreat into the past.

This divide has become clearer in recent years as traditional political factions have fractured. Libertarians, once staunchly aligned with the right, now find themselves split between those who embrace the boundless potential of AI and genetic engineering (Upwing) and those who fear corporate overreach and societal destabilization (Downwing). Progressives, traditionally leftist, are similarly divided between those who champion technological acceleration to achieve social equity (Upwing) and those who advocate for degrowth and ecological limits (Downwing). Even within conservatism, there is a war between those who seek to preserve traditional values against foreign threats by achieving technological dominance (Upwing) and those who believe traditional values can only be sustained if we return to a simpler order (Downwing).

The Key Principles of Upwingers & Downwingers

The Upwinger and the Downwinger differ in their most fundamental assumptions about human nature, progress, and risk.

Upwing: The Philosophy of Expansion

The Upwing worldview is driven by a belief that the future must be seized, not feared. Its core tenets include:

• Humanity is destined to expand. The Earth is not our final home; we are meant to colonize space, merge with machines, and evolve beyond our biological origins.

• Risk is necessary. Every great leap forward—fire, agriculture, industry, computation—has carried dangers. But the greatest risk is stagnation.

• Technology is liberation. From AI to bioengineering to nuclear fusion, technological breakthroughs are the key to overcoming all limitations, from poverty to disease to mortality itself.

• Scarcity is obsolete. The future is one of abundance—post-labor economies, near-infinite energy, and the conquest of material constraints.

• The past is a foundation, not a prison. The Upwinger values tradition only insofar as it enables further progress.

Upwingers see the universe as an open frontier, and humanity as its destined conqueror. They are the builders, the engineers, the accelerationists.

Downwing: The Philosophy of Limits

The Downwing worldview, by contrast, is defined by caution, preservation, and restraint. Its central beliefs include:

• Humanity is bound to the Earth. We belong to this planet, and our attempts to escape it—whether through space colonization or AI transcendence—are doomed to hubristic failure.

• Risk is catastrophic. Every technological advance carries unforeseen consequences, and modern civilization is already pushing ecological and social limits too far.

• Technology is a double-edged sword. While it can improve life, it also dehumanizes, disrupts, and destroys. The rise of automation, social media, and artificial intelligence has eroded human connection and stability.

• Scarcity must be managed. Growth is not infinite; the world has finite resources, and we must learn to live within its natural and social constraints.

• The past contains wisdom. Traditions, religions, and long-standing cultural practices exist for a reason. Attempts to discard them in pursuit of progress will end in disaster.

Downwingers see the modern world as a tower built too high, teetering on the edge of collapse. They are the stewards, the conservationists, the reactionaries.

Elite Attitudes Towards the Vertical Axis

The emergence of the Vertical Axis—Upwing versus Downwing, transcendence versus restraint—has not gone unnoticed by the ruling elite. It has, in fact, divided them.

Where the old horizontal spectrum gave us clear tribal alignments—corporate oligarchs on the right, labor unions on the left; libertarians for deregulation, progressives for redistribution—the Vertical Axis has scrambled these alliances. In its place, two new factions have formed within the world’s power structures:

1. The Upwing Elite, a coalition of tech moguls, venture capitalists, military-industrial strategists, and radical futurists who seek to expand human civilization beyond its current boundaries.

2. The Downwing Elite, an alliance of bureaucrats, environmentalists, globalist NGOs, and financial interests who seek to regulate, stabilize, and constrain progress within what they perceive as safe and sustainable limits.

Each camp has its own vision of humanity’s future. And each wields formidable influence over the direction of civilization.

The Upwing Elite: Architects of Expansion

The Upwing Elite believe themselves to be the architects of expansion. They see the future as a frontier to be conquered—technologically, economically, and even biologically. Their power stems from their ability to scale: they build trillion-dollar companies, fund moonshot projects, and create industries where none existed before. Their ranks are dominated by:

• Tech Titans – Elon Musk, Peter Thiel, Jeff Bezos, and their ilk, whose companies push the boundaries of AI, space colonization, and genetic engineering.

• Venture Capitalists – Those who finance the dreams of technologists, betting on innovation as the ultimate wealth multiplier.

• Nationalist Strategists – Military-industrial players who see technological supremacy as the key to geopolitical dominance.

The Tech Titans: Gurus of Growth

For these Upwing Elite, technological progress is not just desirable—it is imperative. The logic of exponential growth governs their worldview: Moore’s Law, the Singularity, the Kardashev Scale. Musk’s multi-planetary species, Kurzweil’s technological singularity, and Thiel’s startup society are not mere thought experiments. They are blueprints for civilization.

Their modus operandi is disruption. They do not lobby for mere policy tweaks; they seek to render old institutions obsolete. Musk’s SpaceX has outpaced NASA, his Starlink threatens to decentralize the internet away from state control, and his Neuralink aims to fuse human minds with artificial intelligence. Each of these initiatives represents a direct challenge to existing power structures.

Their political philosophy is flexible but leans libertarian in practice. They despise bureaucracy, resist regulation, and view centralized governance as an impediment to progress. If an industry cannot keep up, it deserves to die. If a nation imposes too many barriers, its talent will leave.

They do not simply believe that humanity can transcend its limits. They believe that it must, or perish.

The Venture Capitalists: Kings of Acceleration

Closely aligned with the tech titans are the financial elites who fund them. The venture capitalist class is the financial engine of Upwing politics, throwing billions at startups that promise to reshape society.

Unlike traditional financiers, who favor stability and long-term returns, Upwing VCs are gamblers. They thrive on volatility, placing risky bets on revolutionary technologies that may either dominate the world or collapse into oblivion. Their creed is accelerationism: move fast, break things, let the best ideas win.

If an AI revolution eliminates millions of jobs? Creative destruction.
If biotech experiments create moral dilemmas? Progress cannot wait for consensus.
If national borders inhibit growth? Find a way around them.

These Upwing Elite does not ask for permission to change the world. They build the world that makes the old one irrelevant.

The Nationalist Strategists: Supremacy Through Technology

Not all Upwingers are libertarian innovators. Some are cold-blooded pragmatists operating within the deep state. The Pentagon’s DARPA, the intelligence community’s data-mining divisions, and the private defense contractors who build hypersonic missiles and autonomous drones are also Upwingers in their own way.

For them, technological advancement is not a utopian dream but a matter of national survival. In their calculus, AI dominance means battlefield dominance. Space colonization means strategic supremacy. The ability to print organs, edit genes, or control information flows is not just a luxury—it is a necessity to stay ahead of America’s adversaries.

The result? A convergence of interests between Silicon Valley and the military-industrial complex. Palantir, Anduril, and other defense-tech firms blur the line between startup culture and defense strategy.

These elites believe the future belongs to those who master technology first.

The Downwing Elite: Managers of Decline

If the Upwing Elite see itself as the faction of expansion, the Downwing Elite sees itself as the faction of stability. They consider themselves the guardians of sustainability, the regulators of chaos, and — most importantly — the managers of decline. Unlike the Upwingers, who thrive in instability, the Downwingers crave stability above all else. It is a self-serving stability, that keeps the entrenched elite in power, of course — but isn’t that far better than the chaos of unregulated markets and the calamity of unsustainable growth?

Their power is not in building new worlds but in controlling access to the existing one. Their ranks include:

• Environmental Activists – Figures like Bill McKibben, Greta Thunberg, and the architects of the Green New Deal.

• Old Money Financiers – Billionaire philanthropists who fund movements that seek to curb human excess and enforce limits.

• Global Bureaucrats – The United Nations, the World Economic Forum, and regulatory agencies like the EPA and the EU Commission.

The Environment Activists: Devotees of Degrowth

If the Upwingers worship Progress, these Downwingers worship Earth. They see technology as a Pandora’s Box—filled with wonders, perhaps, but ultimately best left unopened.

For them, the Anthropocene is a cautionary tale, not a launchpad. The climate crisis, mass extinction, and ecological collapse are proof that humanity has already overreached. Their answer is not more innovation but less—less energy consumption, fewer emissions, smaller cities, a reversion to slower, simpler ways of life.

They do not merely believe that humanity can scale back. They believe that it must, or perish. They are the arch-foes of the tech titans, the devotees of degrowth at war with the gurus of growth.

The Old Money Financiers: Billionaires Against Growth

Ironically, many of the world’s wealthiest individuals are Downwingers. Not because they oppose power, but because they seek to conserve the world as they already dominate it.

The great banking dynasties, the Rockefeller Foundation, the Gates-funded NGOs—these are not institutions that embrace disruption. They are institutions that fund control. They bankroll carbon-reduction initiatives, social governance scores, and economic policies that limit risk-taking.

Why? Because their wealth was built on the old system. Upwing chaos threatens their stability.

The Global Bureaucrats: Rulers Without Borders

These Downwing Elite thrives in institutions that transcend national politics. They are not beholden to voters, nor do they answer to market forces. They rule through regulation, through treaties, through mandates.

For them, technology is not a force of liberation but a threat to be managed and a tool to be exploited. Their preferred instruments are carbon taxes, AI ethics boards, and international accords that restrict the power of nation-states. They believe that humanity’s footprint must shrink, that growth must be slowed, and that risk-taking must be minimized.

In their worldview, every innovation carries an existential risk. AI might eliminate jobs, biotech might create designer inequalities, space expansion might exacerbate resource depletion. To control the future, they seek to control technology.

The Elite in Conflict over Current Policy

The conflict between Upwing and Downwing elites is not going to take place into the future. It’s taking place now. The elites are already at war. Today’s battles over climate policy, DEI, and immigration are all being fought on the Vertical axis.

Climate Change

If there is a single issue where the divide between Upwing and Downwing is most obvious, it is climate change. For the Downwing elites—environmental NGOs, UN technocrats, the sustainability-obsessed class of corporate managers—climate change is the existential crisis of the modern world. Their response is pure Downwing: mitigate risk, enforce restraint, limit excess, and above all else, do no harm.

To these elites, the Anthropocene is a disaster of hubris—a grand Upwing project (industrialization, mass energy consumption, technological acceleration) that has run amok and now threatens to collapse under its own weight. The solution, they argue, is a return to limits. Carbon caps, energy austerity, sustainability targets, de-growth. The goal is not to transcend the planet’s boundaries but to entrench them, to “live within our means.” Their endgame is a steady-state world: low emissions, slow consumption, no great leaps forward, just careful management of decline.

Geoengineering? Hard no. Too risky, too arrogant. It is the purest expression of Upwing logic—"We broke it, so we’ll fix it"—and that is precisely why they reject it. Climate intervention technologies like stratospheric aerosol injection or ocean fertilization reek of Faustian hubris, and to the Downwing elite, hubris is the sin that led to this crisis in the first place.

Upwingers, as usual, take the opposite approach. To them, climate change is not a call to shrink—it is a challenge to conquer. Musk’s Tesla isn’t just about green energy; it’s a declaration that industrial-scale technology can outmaneuver the need for carbon austerity. Thiel isn’t investing in degrowth; he’s funding nuclear fusion startups. Bezos isn’t writing NGO reports on sustainability; he’s throwing money at carbon capture and sequestration, a fix so ambitious it borders on sci-fi.

The fault line is clear: Downwingers want to manage decline, Upwingers want to engineer ascent. One side sees a crisis of overreach, the other sees a test of innovation.

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion

Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion—DEI—is a quintessentially Downwing project. It is precautionary, collectivist, and deeply hostile to disruption. Its goal is not to accelerate humanity’s trajectory but to cripple it, to impose artificial limits so that no one is “left behind.”

The clerisy of academia, HR bureaucracies, and progressive NGOs have framed DEI as the moral foundation of the new managerial order. They see human advancement not as a race to be won, but as a reward to be parceled out only when true equity is achieved. They argue that the natural inequalities produced by free competition—whether in business, science, or technology—must be smoothed out through deliberate intervention. If rapid growth leaves some behind, then rapid growth must be slowed.

Risk aversion is baked in: don’t disrupt too fast, or you’ll upset the balance. This is Downwing thinking at its core—progress must be restrained, inequalities must be flattened, and the system must remain stable. This is why DEI policies often prioritize process over outcome, representation over innovation, quotas over competence. It is not about building the fastest or the best; it is about ensuring that the process of building does not create too much imbalance along the way. (There is, of course, simply a healthy dose of anti-white anti-male bigotry too; but since white men have historically been the quintessential Upwingers, this tracks, too.)

Upwingers have little patience for this. The very idea of DEI contradicts the foundational belief of Upwing philosophy: that human potential should be maximized, not moderated. Tech elites, engineers, and futurists operate under a different set of assumptions: excellence, merit, acceleration. To them, DEI is at best an inefficient distraction, at worst an existential threat to progress.

Musk has openly mocked it. Thiel has dismissed it as “anti-competence ideology.” In Silicon Valley, the pushback has been real—not because Upwingers oppose fairness, but because they do not believe fairness should be engineered. Their version of humanism is utopian, but not in the bureaucratic sense. They do not want to distribute mediocrity evenly; they want to elevate humanity by pushing it forward.

For the Upwinger, inequality is not a bug—it is a feature of human evolution. The best minds should lead. The most ambitious builders should succeed. The strongest civilizations should rise. The DEI framework, which aims to flatten hierarchy and slow advancement in the name of stability, is irreconcilable with that view.

DEI is not about reaching for the stars—it is about making sure no one falls too far behind on Earth. That makes it, at its core, a Downwing project.

Mass Immigration

At first glance, one might expect mass immigration to be an Upwing cause. More people, more talent, more dynamism—shouldn’t the frontier-builders of the world welcome an influx of fresh minds and eager workers? But in reality, mass immigration has become a Downwing tool—not because it is about expansion, but because it is about equilibrium.

The push for open borders does not come from the Upwingers who want to colonize Mars. It comes from the NGOs, corporate HR departments, and globalist policymakers who see mass migration as a mechanism for stabilizing an unbalanced world. The logic is simple: move populations from the overcrowded South to the underpopulated North, redistribute wealth from prosperous regions to struggling ones, and in doing so, preserve global equilibrium.

This is why immigration is championed by the same elite class that pushes for sustainability and DEI—it is not about growth, but about managing decline. If labor markets are stretched, don’t automate—import. If demographic collapse looms, don’t innovate—resettle. If inequality is too stark, don’t accelerate wealth creation—redistribute populations.

This is not the Upwinger way. Upwing elites are not opposed to immigration in principle—Musk himself has hired engineers from all over the world—but their fix for labor shortages is not open borders. It is automation, AI, robotics. It is restructuring the economy at scale.

Thiel, ever the iconoclast, has taken a more nativist stance, arguing that America should focus on self-sufficiency rather than dependency on foreign labor. The military-tech crowd shares this sentiment—a nation betting on technological supremacy cannot afford to dissolve its borders.

Herein lies the Upwing critique of mass immigration: it is a policy for a world that assumes today’s limitations cannot be overcome. It assumes that birth rates cannot be reversed, that economies cannot be restructured, that technological solutions cannot outpace demographic trends. In contrast, Upwingers assume that all of these things can be fixed—not by importing populations, but by pushing humanity forward.

For Downwingers, mass immigration is a way to balance the scales. For Upwingers, it is an excuse to avoid real solutions.

A High-Stakes War of Upwing v. Downwing

In each of these issues—climate, DEI, immigration—the core divide is the same. Downwingers seek to manage the world as it is. Upwingers seek to transform it into something greater. This is not an abstract philosophical debate; it is a war over the very operating system of civilization.

The clerisy that dominates academia, NGOs, and corporate HR wants a world of controlled stability, a world where risk is minimized, where power is distributed evenly, where progress is a cautious, bureaucratic process — and they intend to be the ones in control of that bureaucracy.

The builders of the Upwing world want something else entirely—a world of wild expansion, of unfettered invention, of new frontiers and great risks. They plan to take the risks, whether we like it or not, and to reap the rewards for it all.

The battle between the elites has already begun. Who will win? Will the Upwing accelerationists or the Downwing bureaucrats triumph? It’s hard to say… because the elite aren’t the only combatants on this battlefield.

Populist Vibes on the Vertical Axis

Elites may set the framework for political conflict, but they do not control how the masses respond to it. If the ruling class is divided between Upwingers and Downwingers—between those who wish to accelerate humanity’s trajectory and those who seek to preserve existing structures—then populism is the great, chaotic force that scrambles these divisions.

Unlike elites, whose positions on the Vertical Axis are shaped by long-term strategic visions, populist movements are reactive. They emerge from frustration, from economic anxiety, from cultural shifts, and from perceived betrayals. Populism has no fixed ideology; it is a response to elite failure. This makes it a wildcard in the Upwing-Downwing conflict, as populist factions often hold contradictory impulses—both fearing and desiring the very changes that Upwing and Downwing elites seek to enact.

Downwing Populism: Stability at Home, Not Overseas

One of the strongest currents in populist politics today is Downwing in nature—resentful, cautious, driven by the belief that the world has already peaked and that further change will only bring ruin. These are the farmers and industrial workers resisting automation, the anti-globalists fighting against transnational tech corporations, the vaccine skeptics who fear biotechnology, the preppers stockpiling against collapse.

Their instincts align with the Downwing elites—both see progress as a force that needs to be reined in—but their worldview is parochial rather than global. They would be happy to see their countries, cities, and neighborhoods enjoy stability, equality, and order; they would be happy for billionaire wealth to be redistributed to their pockets. But they aren’t interested in changing their way of live to achieve stability, equity, and order at a global level. They aren’t interested in first-world wealth being redistributed to third-world pockets.

They entirely reject centralized control. The environmentalist bureaucrats, the UN climate commissions, and the corporate ESG overlords all claim to be preserving civilization, but the civilization they are preserving isn’t the populists’ civilization. To the Downwing populist, protection does not mean global treaties or carbon taxes—it means localism, homesteading, traditional values. It means keeping the power in their hands.

Since they view Downwinger elites as (at best) misguided globalists, Downwinger populists do not trust those elites to be their stewards. They see Downwinger economic regulation as a tool to destroy small business; Downwinger climate change policies as a means to control their consumption; Downwinger AI policy as a tool to keep powerful technology in the hands of the oligarchs. Downwing populists are out of synch with Downwing elites on their own axis, and thus inaccessible to them as a voting block.

Upwing Populism: National Greatness, Not Global Progress

Despite its affinity for Downwing caution, populism also carries a powerful Upwing impulse—one that is nationalistic, ambitious, and willing to embrace grand visions.

Trump’s MAGA movement, despite its Downwing protectionism, carried a powerful Upwing charge. When Trump promised to rebuild America’s manufacturing, to dominate space, to create the strongest military in history, he was tapping into Upwing populism. His voters may have feared AI taking their jobs, but they also cheered for a Space Force. They may have distrusted Big Tech, but they loved the idea of American technological supremacy. They may have opposed globalization, but they wanted their country to be powerful again.

As with Downwing populism, Upwing populism is selective—it does not embrace progress in general; it embraces only that kind of progress that reinforces national identity and strengthens the people who feel they have been left behind.

It is, like Downwinger populism, deeply skeptical of globalist elites who promise to make the world better for everyone; but unlike Downwinger populism, it is deeply enthusiastic about national elites who promise to restore greatness for them.

The contradiction within Upwing populism is that it often supports the same kinds of technological and economic expansion that it also resists. It wants energy independence but opposes solar and wind farms. It wants economic prosperity but is wary of AI and automation. It cheers for American rockets reaching Mars but fears the technocrats who run the space industry. This makes it a volatile force, constantly shifting between support and opposition depending on who controls the narrative.

How Trump Used the Vertical Axis to Build a Winning Coalition

Donald Trump did not win in 2024 by accident. Nor was his victory merely the product of partisan inertia, demographic shifts, or media spin. Trump won because he did something no other candidate has ever done: he forged an alliance across the Vertical Axis, bridging the chasm between Upwing ambition and Downwing caution, and used it to unite elites and populists into a political coalition more powerful than anything seen in a generation.

This coalition was neither natural nor inevitable—it was the product of careful maneuvering, instinctual showmanship, and keen insight into what both the Upwingers and Downwingers desired. Upwing elites wanted freedom to build; Upwing populists wanted restoration of greatness; Downwing populists wanted protection from disruption. Trump promised all of the above, and in doing so, he created a movement that none of the factions, on its own, could have sustained.

The result was an electoral force unlike any other—one that was as comfortable at a SpaceX launch as it was at a Rust Belt rally, as enthusiastic about American technological supremacy as it was about border security. Trump did not fully resolve the contradictions between Upwing and Downwing, but he exploited them masterfully.

The Upwing Alliance

The Upwing elite have never hidden their aspirations. They believe in exponential growth, unshackled technological development, and unconstrained human will. But in the years between the Obama presidency and the 20240 election, they found themselves increasingly at war with the Downwing clerisy—the bureaucrats, regulators, and ESG-driven financiers who sought to impose restraints on AI, energy, and biotech.

Trump recognized the frustration among these Upwing elites and offered them a simple deal: he would remove the obstacles in their way, and in return, they would help him secure power. It was a mutually beneficial exchange, and it was sealed in two key moves:

1. The Musk Alliance – Elon Musk, long a critic of regulatory overreach and political interference in industry, had spent years clashing with the ESG-aligned corporate elite. In 2024, he took the unprecedented step of throwing his full support behind Trump. He didn’t just endorse him—he founded America PAC, a super PAC that funneled millions into Trump’s campaign. SpaceX launches became political rallies; Starship became a symbol not just of human expansion, but of Trump’s promise to clear the way for those who dared to build.

2. The Vance Pick – Choosing J.D. Vance as his running mate sent a powerful message. A former venture capitalist with deep ties to Silicon Valley, Vance was a bridge between the populist world of MAGA and the Upwing world of tech elites. His presence reassured builders and investors that Trump’s second term would not just be about border walls and tariffs—it would also be about unleashing innovation.

For Upwing elites, Trump’s campaign was an opportunity to break free from the stagnation imposed by the Downwing managerial class. Biden’s bureaucratic stranglehold on energy production, AI research, and industrial policy had driven them into Trump’s camp—not because they were traditional conservatives, but because they saw in him a chance to move forward without interference.

Trump’s promise was simple: Let’s build a great future together. The greatest future. There’s never been a future as great as the one we’re building.

The Populist Appeal

Trump’s electoral success was not built on the elite alliances alone. While Upwing industrialists and venture capitalists poured money into his campaign, it was the populist energy of everyday Americans that provided the raw political force behind his victory.

This was not a monolithic populism. The people who turned out for Trump in 2024 were not all from the same ideological mold. Some wanted national expansion, others wanted stability at home. Some wanted aggressive technological development, others wanted limits placed on its disruptions. Trump’s skill was in recognizing that populism is not a single impulse but a collection of grievances—and that by crafting his rhetoric carefully, he could appeal to both Upwing populists, who craved national greatness, and Downwing populists, who craved security and stability.

Trump’s message was designed to speak to both instincts at once. He promised bold action, but action that would benefit his people, his nation. He promised progress, but progress that would serve American greatness, not some abstract global community. He embraced technological advancement but rejected the idea that it should come at the expense of the American worker.

Against Immigration: Protection and Power

If there was a single issue that bound Upwing and Downwing populists together, it was immigration. But they saw it through different lenses.

• For Downwing populists, mass immigration was an existential threat—an erosion of national identity, a source of economic competition, and a destabilizing force that threatened their communities. Their stance was deeply parochial—they weren’t interested in whether immigration was good or bad for the world, only in how it affected their world. They wanted tight borders, strict deportations, and an end to policies that placed the interests of migrants above their own.

• For Upwing populists, the border was less about protection and more about national strength. They weren’t simply opposed to immigration—they wanted America to be a fortress, a dominant power that dictated the terms of global engagement. To them, open borders weren’t just a cultural threat, they were a sign of weakness—of an America in decline, unable to defend its sovereignty.

Trump spoke to both. He didn’t frame immigration merely as an economic concern (the argument of traditional right-wing politics), nor merely as a cultural concern (the argument of nativist movements). Instead, he framed it as a question of national power—America should not be overrun but should dictate the terms of who comes and goes. His stance on mass deportations thrilled Downwing populists, while his promise of a stronger, more assertive America thrilled Upwing populists.

This is why Trump’s immigration rhetoric was not just about security, but about strength. The wall wasn’t just a barrier—it was a monument to American control. Deportations weren’t just a policy—they were a declaration that America was taking back its sovereignty. Both factions could get behind that message, even if their reasons for doing so were different.

AI and Automation: Innovation Without Displacement

The rise of artificial intelligence and automation is a defining technological shift of the 21st century, and it is a purely Upwing phenomenon—a force that accelerates efficiency, reduces labor dependency, and scales economic production beyond human limitations. But it is also deeply disruptive, particularly to the very people who make up the Downwing populist base.

Trump’s challenge was to navigate this divide—to embrace technological progress without alienating the working-class Americans who feared being left behind by it.

• For Downwing populists, AI and automation represented a direct threat. The longshoremen’s strike of 2024, which shut down ports from Maine to Texas in protest of automated cranes and self-driving freight, was a signal of rising labor anxiety. To them, technology wasn’t progress, it was theft—taking good-paying, middle-class jobs and handing them to robots or algorithms. Their instinct was to slow it down, regulate it, even ban it outright in certain industries.

• For Upwing populists, AI was a tool of power—but one that had to be wielded for America’s benefit. They weren’t afraid of technological acceleration per se, but they didn’t want it controlled by Silicon Valley oligarchs, globalist corporations, or hostile foreign powers. They wanted AI to serve American strength, not undermine it.

Trump resolved this tension not by rejecting AI, but by controlling its narrative. He did not promise to halt automation, but he did promise that automation would benefit Americans first. His campaign platform included massive investment in AI-driven defense systems, strict policies to prevent American AI technology from falling into Chinese hands, and tax incentives for corporations that used automation but kept human jobs intact.

This was the art of the deal: he never rejected Upwing innovation, but he made it nationalist rather than globalist. AI was fine, so long as it worked for us, not for the Silicon Valley elites who had abandoned their own country.

By framing the debate this way, Trump neutralized the anxiety of Downwing populists while maintaining the enthusiasm of Upwing populists. His position was not against AI, but against the wrong people controlling it.

Economic Nationalism: Growth and Stability

Trump’s economic vision was both Upwing and Downwing, carefully calibrated to appeal to both factions without alienating either.

• For Upwing populists, economic nationalism was about dominance—making America the most powerful, productive, and technologically advanced economy in the world. They wanted high-tech industry, massive infrastructure projects, and a manufacturing sector that could outproduce any foreign rival.

• For Downwing populists, economic nationalism was about protection—ensuring that American jobs were not lost to outsourcing, mass automation, or foreign competition. They wanted tariffs, subsidies, and trade policies that shielded American industry from external threats.

Trump fused these instincts into a single message: economic expansion combined with strong national borders and worker protections. He promised to bring back American jobs—but not just through protectionism. He framed industrial revitalization as an Upwing acceleration of America’s ascent to greatness, not just a Downwing recalibration to restore things as they were.

This is why he did not embrace economic degrowth—the core principle of Downwing elites. While Biden’s administration flirted with deindustrialization in the name of climate goals, Trump promised to reindustrialize on an even greater scale than before. But he did not do so in the language of laissez-faire capitalism—he did so in the rhetoric of robust nationalism. The benefits of expansion would not be for global corporations, but for American workers. The future would not be dictated by globalist bankers but by patriotic industrialists. This was economic nationalism as both protection and expansion—growth, but for our nation, our people, our industries.

Trump did not resolve every contradiction between Upwing and Downwing populists. Inherent tensions remained. But what he did—better than any politician in modern history—was give both factions a common enemy.

• The Downwing populists were not wrong to fear disruption, but Trump told them that the real villains were not innovators, but the globalist elites who rigged the game against them.

• The Upwing populists were not wrong to crave power and expansion, but Trump told them that their strength was being deliberately stifled by bureaucrats, regulators, and foreign competitors.

This was the great trick. He didn’t make them choose between Upwing and Downwing instincts—he told them both were right. He told them that the only thing stopping them from achieving both stability and greatness was the enemy class that stood in their way. And he gave them a new leadership class - the Upwing elite - to usher them forward. That is why Trump’s coalition was so powerful. It was not just built on populism. It was built on populism with elite leadership.

The Future of the Coalition: Can It Hold?

Coalitions are not philosophies. They are mere political arrangements, held together by practical incentives and temporary alignments. Philosophies, on the other hand, endure. They provide coherence, a unifying framework that binds disparate forces into a single movement with purpose and direction.

Trump’s 2024 coalition was an impressive balancing act—a fusion of visionaries and traditionalists, of builders and protectors. But its survival depends on whether a coherent ideological synthesis can emerge that weaves together the disparate threads. If the Vertical Axis remains a mere battlefield, the coalition will fracture, and one faction will eventually turn against the other.

But if a true guiding philosophy can unite these forces—one that unites Upwing ambition with Downwing conscience—then something long-lasting might emerge: a truly defining movement that is neither recklessly utopian nor paralyzed by fear. That movement, that philosophy, that zeitgeist — I believe is the very one that I have labeled Aeneanism.

The Aenean Synthesis: Upwing Ambition, Downwing Conscience

The name Aenean is drawn from Aeneas, the mythical founder of Rome. Unlike Achilles or Odysseus, Aeneas was neither a reckless warrior nor a cunning trickster. He was a man who carried the weight of a fallen civilization on his shoulders—a man who fled the ruins of Troy not to escape, but to build anew. His story was one of destruction and rebirth, of ambition tempered by loss. He did not shrink from the call of destiny, but he did not chase it blindly, either. He was not merely a conqueror; he was a builder.

The Aenean worldview follows this path. It acknowledges the necessity of expansion, innovation, and risk, but it does so with an awareness of fragility, balance, and sustainability. It does not retreat into stagnation, but it does not hurl itself heedlessly into catastrophe, either. It does not reject the Upwing vision of growth and transcendence, but it insists that growth must be guided, that transcendence must be earned.

Aeneanism is neither utopian nor reactionary. It is neither accelerationist nor precautionary. It is liminal. It is a philosophy for a world that stands at the threshold of great transformation—a world poised between technological godhood and civilizational collapse. It is the answer to the crisis of the Vertical Axis, the path between reckless ambition and fearful retreat.

Why Pure Upwing Fails: Hubris Without Conscience

Pure Upwing philosophy, in its most extreme form, is the belief that humanity’s limits are illusions, that progress is inevitable, and that risk is merely a necessary price for advancement. It is a vision of unrestrained techno-optimism, where problems are solved not by restraint or caution, but by pushing forward at maximum speed.

We see this in the most radical strains of transhumanism, where the promise of AI, genetic engineering, and brain-machine interfaces is pursued without regard for ethical or existential consequences. We see it in reckless financial speculation, where entire economies are turned into casinos in the name of innovation. We see it in the hubris of empire, where states expand beyond their means, believing they can always outrun their own collapse.

History is littered with the ruins of civilizations that followed this path. The Roman Empire, in its final centuries, expanded its bureaucracy and military to unsustainable levels, convinced that its power was limitless. The Industrial Age nations of the 19th century charged blindly into global warfare, believing that progress and expansion alone could hold their societies together. The 20th century’s utopian projects—whether Soviet communism or neoliberal globalization—pursued grand visions without heeding the warning signs of instability, and they paid the price in collapse.

Pure Upwing lacks a brake pedal. It does not know when to stop, when to consolidate, when to secure its gains before leaping forward again. This is why it cannot be the guiding philosophy of the future—it is a formula for disaster.

Why Pure Downwing Fails: Conscience Without Will

If Pure Upwing is reckless, Pure Downwing is paralyzed. It is the ideology of caution, of limits, of saying “no” to change rather than guiding it wisely. It sees risk not as a necessary challenge, but as something to be feared and avoided at all costs.

We see this in radical environmentalism, where the fear of ecological collapse leads to an outright rejection of technological solutions. We see it in bureaucratic overreach, where progress is smothered under layers of regulation and precautionary policies. We see it in isolationist and agrarian movements, where the desire to preserve cultural and economic stability turns into an outright rejection of industry, expansion, and technological growth.

Pure Downwing licks an accelerator. Downwing philosophy, taken to its extreme, leads to stagnation. A civilization that refuses to take risks eventually decays. It becomes inward-looking, fearful, unable to adapt to external pressures. Just as the Upwingers of history burned out in the fire of their own ambition, the Downwingers withered in the frost of their own caution.

The Aenean Balance: Courage and Wisdom

Aeneanism offers an alternative. It does not deny the Upwing instinct toward progress, but it also does not reject the Downwing recognition of limits. It seeks to harness risk rather than embrace it blindly. It seeks to guide technological expansion rather than suppress it.

This means embracing nuclear energy and fusion, but not allowing energy policy to be dictated solely by corporate profiteers or climate ideologues. It means pushing for space colonization, but recognizing that Earth remains our foundation, and that abandoning it is not an option. It means deploying AI and automation, but in ways that empower workers rather than replace them. It means promoting national strength, but without turning to reckless militarism. It means encouraging scientific advancement, but with ethical oversight to prevent the horrors of unchecked experimentation.

Aeneanism is not a middle ground of compromise. It is not an attempt to appease both sides of the Vertical Axis. It is a true synthesis—a higher vision that resolves the tension between the two by recognizing that both impulses are necessary. It is the basis for a civilization with the daring to reach for the stars and the wisdom to find its way back to earth.

Aeneanism as the Philosophy of Trump’s Coalition

Trump’s 2024 coalition was an attempt to fuse Upwing and Downwing forces under a single political movement. But it lacked — it still lacks — a philosophical foundation. It was held together by rhetoric, by instinct, by a shared sense of opposition to the status quo, rather than by a coherent vision of what comes next.

Aeneanism provides that vision. It offers Trump’s coalition a purpose beyond mere defiance. It tells the Upwingers that they are right to build, but that they must build sustainably. It tells the Downwingers that they are right to defend their way of life, but that they cannot do so by rejecting progress entirely. It provides a path forward where ambition is checked by wisdom, where progress does not come at the cost of collapse.

The Vertical Axis of politics is the defining struggle of our time. Those who do not recognize it—who still cling to the outdated left-right paradigm—will become increasingly confused by the questions of our day. For those who embrace it, the questions it presents to us are clear: do we ascend, do we plateau, or do we fall? Do we build, do we fear the consequences of building, and do we know the consequences of not building?

I believe Aeneanism offers the best answers to these questions. It offers a path between reckless acceleration and fearful stagnation. It tells us that humanity must rise, but that it must do so wisely.

The old world is decaying. If no action is taken, the old world will fall. A new world could be built. But this time we must build it to last. Contemplate this on the Tree of World.