The art of noblesse oblige has been largely forgotten by the modern age and is practiced so rarely that it has become all but unrecognizable. However, former President Donald Trump’s visit to McDonald’s on Sunday showed that he at least understands the ancient custom, and the American heart yearns for its revival.
Noblesse oblige is a French term referring to the duties and obligations that the nobility have toward the common man. Although the term itself is credited to a 19th-century book by Pierre-Marc-Gaston de Lévis, second duke of Lévis, the concept itself has been around far longer. One of the oldest examples of noblesse oblige may be found in Homer’s Iliad, when Sarpedon appeals to his comrade Glaucus’ sense of noblesse oblige in encouraging him to fight with him on the front lines. Throughout history, figures from Alexander the Great to the last of the European monarchs in the 20th century lived out noblesse oblige.
A prime, although fictional example, of the custom may be seen in the popular television show Downton Abbey. Robert Crawley, the Earl of Grantham, recognizes that, as lord of the manor, he has a responsibility to tend to his lands and even spend his money in such a way as to benefit those who live there, providing them with livelihoods, good property, and homes worth living in. Throughout the series, he attempts to instruct his children, and his heir apparent, Matthew, in this noble tradition.
In order for one to practice noblesse oblige, two conditions must first be met. The first, as the name itself obviously suggests, is nobility. While Trump may not be a blue-blooded aristocrat, he is the closest thing we have in our liberal, democratic, and economy-obsessed era. He is insanely, exorbitantly wealthy and comes from a (relatively) long line of money: his father was a wealthy businessman who himself was the son of a wealthy businessman. Fred Trump was a builder and real estate developer, and his father, Friedrich, amassed some wealth catering to gold miners and, later, began his own real estate business.
Aside from his family’s wealth, Trump acts as an aristocrat would have — or as nearly as one can in a decidedly anti-aristocratic society. For one thing, he always dresses well: Trump is almost never seen without his suit and tie, a white dress shirt with cufflinks, and polished black dress shoes. Of course, he wears the appropriate clothes for such sports as golf or tennis, but so would an aristocrat. Trump doesn’t go in for gauche or gaudy fads, he eschews the skinny-fit-suit look currently in vogue, and he doesn’t dress down — he campaigns in the clothes befitting his rank, a suit and tie, not in a quarter-zip sweater and chinos, nor even in a blazer and grey flannel slacks. (Remember this point, I’ll come back to it shortly.)
Trump is also “exclusive.” Not in a crude, snobbish, or purely legalistic way, but in a way that shows that he is aware of his station in life. He does not try to be “cool” or “fit in.” He flies a private jet with his name emblazoned on the side, he rides in limousines and town cars with vanity plates, and he lives in a veritable palace in Florida, with additional residences around the country. He doesn’t buy some economy car or wear brands that everyone else could buy at the local department store in an effort to say, “Look at me, I’m just like you!” He recognizes that his is a privileged life, and he lives his life in such a way as to neither squander nor be ashamed of that privilege.
The nobility of old were, in addition to being landlords and military commanders, often artists and thinkers, writing poetry or reflections on political goings-on. The French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville famously toured the fledgling Unites States of America in order to pen his classic series of observations Democracy in America. The renowned author and statesman Edmund Burke hailed from the aristocratic “de Burgh” dynasty, which traced its roots in Ireland to the late 1100s. Perhaps less known — but more than worth looking into — was Nicolás Gómez Dávila, a Colombian aristocrat who published at least nine collections of philosophical aphorisms during his lifetime, commenting on everything from Catholic liturgical practices to communism to the evils of the modern world.
Just so, Trump was himself a political commentator for a time. Long before considering a bid for the presidency, he was frequently asked his opinion on current affairs by talk show hosts and television journalists. For a period of time in the 2000s, he was a weekly (unpaid) contributor to Fox News, offering his insights and sharing his philosophy with the masses free of charge. So much for Trump’s bona fides as a modern-day nobleman.
The second requirement of noblesse oblige is, of course, oblige — the obligations, responsibilities, and duties that the nobleman has to the common folk. While there are a few besides Trump who may be considered modern-day nobility, there are far fewer who understand and fulfill their obligations to us commoners. But Trump’s adult life is packed full of stories of him helping others — whether it was stopping a New York City mugging that he stumbled upon, paying off a grieving widow’s debt so that she could keep her family farm, showing up with his own employees to help out with recovery efforts on 9/11 as the Twin Towers crumbled, or countless other examples — simply because he could.
In fact, Trump’s continuing pursuit of the presidency is an act of noblesse oblige, too. In numerous interviews back in the 1980s and 1990s, Trump asserted that he did not want to be president — but that he would if he felt that no one else could do the job. In his campaign speeches, he frequently notes that he could be enjoying retirement, spending his substantial fortune, and playing golf at one of his many resorts. Instead, he is facing politically motivated criminal indictments and convictions. He has been sued and fined for hundreds of millions of dollars. He has literally been shot in the side of the head. This is not self-interest, it’s noblesse oblige.
The reason that Trump’s McDonald’s appearance garnered the love and support that it did is not necessarily because the act itself was wholesome or endearing. Any candidate could have shown up for a 20-minute photo-op to salt fries or man the drive-through window, and it would have been just another cheap political ploy. Imagine Mitt Romney, for example, putting on that apron over his cashmere quarter-zip sweater and a plaid sportshirt picked out by a stylist specifically for the event.
Trump was not pandering. There was no part of his performance that cried, “Look! See! I’m one of you. Do I fit in?” He walked into McDonald’s wearing his suit and tie and put that apron on right over his white dress shirt with cufflinks that a McDonald’s manager probably couldn’t afford for a few years. He did not condescend to voters by pretending to be anyone other than Donald J. Trump, the modern-day nobleman.
One of the most important things he did at McDonald’s, though, which is a key aspect of noblesse oblige, is serve his fellow Americans. The nobleman recognizes that the very reason he has obligations to his countrymen — the very reason, in fact, that he must serve them — is because they are his countrymen, they are his fellows. For all of his wealth and status and time and leisure and privilege, he is just a man, and so are they. One of the truest signs of humility is service. A particularly touching — and telling — moment during Trump’s McDonald’s visit came when one voter thanked the former president, through the drive-through window, for taking care of “ordinary people” like him. Without a hint of irony or insincerity, Trump immediately replied, “Oh, you’re not ordinary. I can see, you’re not ordinary.”
For decades, Americans have been forgotten, ignored, spurned, and scorned by the new aristocracy, a class of political elites bred in the voting booth. Their obligations to the common man remain unfulfilled, while their paychecks swell and the coffers of foreign entities are lined with the common man’s earnings. Yet every two to four years, these aristocrats will pretend to be “one of you,” will try to dress as you dress, talk as you talk, and drink the same beer you drink. Is it any wonder then that Americans have become so encouraged by the sight of a modern-day nobleman who, instead of pretending one of the “common people,” recognizes his own office and, even better, reminds the common people that we’re not so common after all?
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