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In the digital age, the incessant calls to action reverberate across the virtual landscape, summoning legions of fervent warriors to wage battles against perceived evils.
This rallying cry, echoing the urgency of a multitude of crusades, permeates our online existence. Be it the casual dehumanization of entire swaths of people to the slow deterioration of language through constant decries of ‘racist’ and ‘pedo’—everything is a conflict now. A conquest. A campaign against the devil himself. We do not ‘treat’ cancer; we FIGHT IT. We do not discuss climate change; we FIGHT IT! It is not enough to ‘Not be racist’; you have FIGHT against racism! The fight against homelessness, the fight against heart disease, the fight against hate—that’s a novel one.
The internet has become a constant battlefield where zeal and fury and bold, untenable posturing are prized virtues. Amidst this cacophony, a troubling pattern emerges—the call to arms is always fueled by fear, anger, outrage and the demonization of specific, or sometimes not-so-specific, groups of human beings. It is a grand mobilization, an ever-present summons to fight against perceived devils, urging countless brave soldiers to embark on a crusade. Yet, as we heed these calls, it is essential to question the consequences of blind action and reflect on the historical echoes that warn of the perils of unchecked zeal.
The echoes of the crusades, with their rallying cry of "Deus Vult," resonate through history as a stark illustration of the corrupt motivations and hypocritical hubris that underpinned the Catholic Church's actions. Pope Urban II's proclamation, ostensibly on God's behalf, invoked the commandment "thou shalt not kill," revealing a selective interpretation that conveniently exempted Christians from guilt when facing non-Christians, particularly the Saracens.
Poetically emphasized here:
From the Hand of Pope Urban, the second of his name,
And woe betide any who reckon this claim
Is anything but what God wills it to be,
A new holy order from our holy trinity.
For we've all heard the commandments, those tablets of yore,
Ten Holy Orders which wholly are law.
But we need to understand what God meant very clearly,
For a footnotes been lost, I believe, quite severely,
For when the Lord ordered that 'Thou Shalt Not Kill',
He only meant Christians. The rest? Well. Do as you will.
Hugs and kisses to all; a new day has reckoned!
Feel free to kill Muslims now, sighed Pope Urban the Second.
This allowed the ranks of Christendom to murder indiscriminately, to rape and burn and pillage and all without any worry of eternal damnation. God Wills It, after all. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t be.
Just like Jesus always wanted.
The Inquisition, marked by the belief that any means were justified in curing heresy, stands as another chapter in the annals of humanity's capacity for cruelty under the guise of righteousness. The pursuit of ‘saving souls’ led to the execution of malicious and evil acts, with little resistance from a populace convinced of the righteousness of their cause. The Inquisition serves as a chilling reminder of how when fueled by the fear of damnation, individuals and institutions can justify atrocities in the name of a ‘greater good’.
The pernicious mantra of ‘manifest destiny’ during the colonial era unfolded a chapter of history marred by atrocities, betrayals, and land grabs, particularly in the United States. The decimation of indigenous peoples, the wholesale slaughter of buffalo herds, and the misguided attempts at forced assimilation by self-righteous virtue signalers underscored the destructive consequences of ideological fervour. Native American children were herded to Christian schools, beaten and punished if they spoke their native language or practised their own spiritual beliefs. And the kindest, most virtuous souls of their day flocked to be the ones to beat the decency into these savages. The notion that ‘these people’ were obstacles to progress justified unspeakable acts, carried out in the full belief that divine right was on their side.
In contemplating the historical propaganda of the past, one cannot help but question why recognizing similar patterns in contemporary narratives proves so challenging to so many people. The impulse to improve the world, driven by a zealous desire to fix perceived wrongs, paradoxically leads to the destruction of the very world one aims to improve.
How can anyone pertain to know what’s good for other people? Do we even know what’s good for ourselves as individuals?
The blindness to the potential catastrophes caused by unchecked progress remains a constant throughout history, raising the question of whether human nature has truly evolved or if, as a species, we remain susceptible to the same pitfalls.
One ant is a determined and brave little beast, willing to wrestle with titans ten thousand times its size. Admirable. But a line of them? Hell, a whole kitchen full? That’s a plague. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re all perfectly good animals, individually. One saint is charming; they’re caring, they’re impassioned and empathic, and they make good conversation and provoke thought. But like the ants, there just gets too much—and before you know it, there’s a plague on your hands. A mob of self-righteous fools, a catastrophe—a ‘plague of saints’, as Alan Watts would name it. A plague that will stop at nothing to fix a world that’s not broken.
All for the world’s own good, you understand.
As the digital landscape continues to summon legions to innumerable crusades—any and all perceivable societal ills, be they stoked by religious propaganda, nationalist propaganda or any propaganda you care to mention—history has set a precedent, and the result is always the same.
Humanity doesn’t change, nor does human nature. We’re making all the same mistakes. We can see the tyrannies and propaganda of yesterday and condemn it as heinous, as downright evil—and yet, rarely do we see it in today, nor, often, in ourselves.
The echoes of the Crusades, the horrors of the Inquisition, and the atrocities of the colonial era serve as stark reminders that the road to hell is often paved with good intentions. And that just because you feel your cause is just, through you, the devil might be acting out his interests.
It is a good time to ask yourself: Is my righteous fervour real, or has it been stoked, deliberately, by someone or something that wants sparks flying in as many directions as possible? Have I been coopted into a mob, my fury fueling some more insidious agenda?
I guarantee you have more in common with those ‘devils’ on the other side than you’d care to imagine.
In a world where the call to action permeates every corner of our lives, the challenge lies in discerning when the fight against perceived devils becomes ideological and dogmatic. Here are a few rules I try to live by.
- Never dehumanize anyone, whether they deserve it or not.
- Carry yourself and your opinions with a pinch of levity.
- Don’t take anything personally. Other people’s opinions are not reflections on you.
- And be as honest as you can be, especially with yourself.
And so, as we navigate the complexities of human nature and the intricacies of the world around us, let us heed the wisdom of the ages: The highest virtue is not conscious of itself as virtue. It is the quiet humility of breathing, the simple act of living, and the profound appreciation of the miracles that surround us.
For in our quest for righteousness, let us not become ensnared in the trappings of ego and conceit. Let us embrace the true essence of virtue, not as a badge of honour to be worn proudly and suitably lauded, but as a guiding light to illuminate our own separate paths through the darkness.
That is how good is best served. In the real, tangible change that comes about when one stops fighting against the world and starts living as part of it.
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