Let’s start with the basics. The book was written in the late ’80s, a time when Trump was hungry to rebrand himself from a New York real estate hustler to a titan of industry. Why? To sell himself. Not ideas, not wisdom, himself. Every chapter is a flex: stories of “epic” deals, boasts about “winning,” and vague, recycled advice like “think big” or “fight back.” The ghostwriter’s fingerprints are everywhere—Schwartz gave Trump’s ramblings structure, turning narcissistic anecdotes into something resembling coherence. But here’s the kicker: even polished, Trump’s “philosophies” crumble under scrutiny. Take his famous “deal-making” strategies. He brags about leveraging fear, exploiting desperation, and walking away from partnerships unless he gets everything. Sound familiar? Fast-forward to 2025: strong-arming Ukraine into lopsided mineral deals while abandoning allies to Russian aggression isn’t diplomacy. It’s thuggery.
The core theme of the book—that success comes from relentless self-interest—isn’t conservative. It’s corrosive. True conservatism respects tradition, stewardship, and mutual benefit. Trump’s version? “I win, you lose, and if you complain, you’re weak.” His anecdote about demolishing a historic Art Deco building to erect Trump Tower isn’t a triumph; it’s a metaphor for his entire ethos: bulldoze the past, ignore the collateral damage, slap your name on it. For Christians, this should ring alarm bells. How many times has he weaponized faith as a prop? The man who mocks the meek, enriches himself through chaos, and shows contempt for the vulnerable isn’t a defender of Christian values. He’s a salesman using the cross as a stage flag.
The book’s advice on negotiation is particularly revealing. Trump claims to “always aim for a win-win,” but his examples tell a different story. In one chapter, he recounts forcing a contractor to accept slashed payments by threatening to bankrupt them. Where’s the “win-win” there? It’s extortion. Today, we see the same pattern: dangling support for Ukraine only if they surrender resources to his cronies, while letting Putin carve up sovereignty. That’s not deal-making. That’s a shakedown. And his fans call this “strength”? It’s weakness. Bullies don’t negotiate; they intimidate. Real leaders build coalitions; Trump burns them.
Schwartz’s prose strains to paint Trump as a visionary, but the cracks show. The writing is repetitive, the insights shallow. Trump’s definition of “thinking big” is just spending recklessly and shouting louder than critics. His “tips” are clichés dressed up as wisdom: “protect the downside,” “know your market,” “use your leverage.” Groundbreaking stuff. Worse, the book ignores ethics entirely. No discussion of fairness, loyalty, or the common good—just a single-minded focus on “the deal,” no matter who gets trampled. For a man who now positions himself as a defender of “Western values,” the absence of any moral framework is telling.
As a conservative, what infuriates me most is how this book—and Trump’s entire brand—hijacks the language of conservatism while gutting its principles. Limited government? He’s expanded executive power more than any modern president. Fiscal responsibility? He ballooned the deficit before the pandemic. Family values? Please. The man’s personal conduct, his disdain for institutions, his race-baiting—none of this aligns with conservative ideals. He’s a counterfeit, and The Art of the Deal is his manifesto of fakery.
And let’s talk about faith. Trump’s co-opting of Christianity isn’t just cynical; it’s blasphemous. The Bible calls for humility, care for the poor, and integrity. Trump mocks humility, enriches himself at the poor’s expense, and lies with every breath. His supporters, especially Christians, should ask: What “deal” is he offering them? A seat at the table? Or a role as extras in his reality-show presidency?
This book isn’t a guide to success. It’s a warning. A warning that charisma without character, deals without decency, and power without principles will always end in disaster. We’re living that disaster now.
(What do you think? Does “winning” justify abandoning ethics? Can a man who thrives on division ever unify a nation? I’ll dive deeper into the second half soon—but for now, let’s just say this book aged like milk.)
The book’s later chapters drone on about “truthful hyperbole” (a term Trump loves, which is just a fancy way to say lying), and how perception matters more than reality. Translation: Image is everything, integrity is optional. For a man who now occupies the Oval Office again, this isn’t just a business strategy. It’s a governing philosophy. And it’s failing. Miserably.
Take his chapter on “containing costs.” Trump frames cutting corners as a virtue—skimping on materials, stiffing contractors, litigating endlessly to avoid paying debts. He spins this as “smart business,” but what’s the real cost? Eroding trust. Burning bridges. Creating a system where no one wants to work with you twice. Sound like anyone’s foreign policy? Look at how he’s alienated NATO allies, emboldened adversaries like Russia, and turned international diplomacy into a series of public humiliations. This isn’t “artful deal-making.” It’s amateur-hour recklessness. And the world is paying for it.
Then there’s the glaring hypocrisy in his advice about “loyalty.” Trump demands absolute loyalty from others but offers none in return. He recounts firing employees on a whim, betraying partners when convenient, and shrugging off consequences because “that’s business.” Fast-forward to 2025: aides who’ve served him for years are thrown under the bus daily. Allies in Congress are bullied into compliance. Even his judicial appointees face public attacks if they dare rule against him. This isn’t leadership. It’s a cult of one. And for Christians, the dissonance should be deafening. When Christ called us to love our neighbors, I don’t think he meant “love them until they’re no longer useful.”
The book’s most insidious theme, though, is its celebration of chaos. Trump brags about keeping competitors off-balance, creating drama to distract, and using controversy to stay in the headlines. It’s all about “winning the news cycle.” But governance isn’t a reality show. When you’re overseeing a nation, chaos isn’t a strategy—it’s a failure. Look at the last 100 days: policy whiplash on aid to Ukraine, public feuds with intelligence agencies, and a cabinet in constant turmoil. Meanwhile, inflation soars, global conflicts escalate, and domestic unity frays. But hey, at least he’s “owning the libs,” right?
What’s missing from The Art of the Deal? Any sense of legacy beyond the self. Trump doesn’t talk about building institutions, fostering communities, or leaving something lasting. It’s all about immediate gratification: the next deal, the next headline, the next trophy. Conservatism used to mean conserving something—tradition, stability, moral order. Trump’s version? Burn it all down for a quick win. And for what? A Twitter rant? A fleeting bump in polls? This isn’t conservatism. It’s arson.
Schwartz, the ghostwriter, has said he regrets “presenting Trump in a way that brought him wider attention.” No kidding. The book didn’t just boost Trump’s brand—it gave him a roadmap to the presidency. Every chapter reads like a trial run for his political playbook: demonize opponents, gaslight the public, and reframe greed as greatness. But here’s the tragedy: The man who claims to “love deals” has no idea how to close one that actually benefits anyone but himself. His “deals” with autocrats? One-sided photo ops. His “deals” on infrastructure, healthcare, or immigration? Empty promises. It’s all sizzle, no steak—and after four years of this, you’d think voters would stop biting.
As a Christian, I keep circling back to the why. Why do so many believers still rally behind a man who embodies the opposite of Christ’s teachings? Trump didn’t “make Christianity great”—he made it a marketing tool. He uses Christianity selectively, manipulatively, and with zero intention of living by it. The Bible warns about wolves in sheep’s clothing, but this wolf’s wearing a MAGA hat and holding a flamethrower to democracy.
In the end, The Art of the Deal isn’t just a bad book. It’s a cautionary tale. A warning about what happens when we mistake bravado for bravery, selfishness for strength, and cruelty for cunning. Trump’s second term isn’t an anomaly—it’s the logical endpoint of the philosophy he laid bare in these pages. And if you’re still cheering for this “deal-making”? Ask yourself: What’s left to negotiate when trust, decency, and the rule of law have already been sold off?
