When power seeks to be god

Beyond propaganda, pomp and the aesthetics of power, a citizen’s freedom begins where genuflection ends. The human temptation to take God’s place is not confined to the religious sphere. It is a historical, political and cultural constant.

From the story of Genesis—when the serpent promises man that he ‘will be like God’—to modern cults of personality, the impulse is the same: to rise above everyone else, to claim unlimited authority and to present oneself as the chosen one, the new Messiah.

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Neither culture, nor intelligence, nor technological advances have necessarily made us better people. All too often, they have merely perfected our mechanisms of vanity.

Technology has not corrected arrogance: it has amplified it, aestheticised it and placed it at the service of new liturgies of the ego.

The scene did not portray faith, but propaganda. It did not evoke transcendence, but narcissism. It was the visual representation of an age-old human delusion

This week I saw proof of this once again when I came across an image generated by artificial intelligence that bordered on social, political and religious blasphemy: a sort of pseudo-Baroque fresco, laden with a religious and kitsch aesthetic, in which a president appeared dressed in a red and white robe, with his resplendent hand resting on the forehead of a sorrowful man, surrounded by figures in a reverential pose and crowned by a radiant light suggesting divine approval.

The scene did not portray faith, but propaganda. It did not evoke transcendence, but narcissism. It was the visual representation of an age-old human delusion: the desire to be worshipped.

Those who believe themselves to be messiahs tend, sooner or later, to provoke the healthiest reaction of a free society: mockery, sarcasm, laughter. And this is no accident.

The narcissism of power needs adoration because it seeks to usurp a sacred space. Reverence is its lifeblood; praise, the air it breathes. It cannot tolerate anyone contradicting it, it does not admit the cough of criticism, it demands constant assent.

When criticism breaks through, they respond with anger; when mockery spreads, they fall apart. That is why ridicule is their kryptonite

However, behind that façade of confidence there is often immense fragility. The leader who presents himself as invulnerable actually depends on a constant diet of applause. He thrives on flattery.

When they do not receive it, they become frustrated; when criticism breaks through, they respond with anger; when mockery spreads, they fall apart.

That is why ridicule is their kryptonite. There is no more practical or effective mechanism for dismantling the narcissist’s façade than public laughter.

The authoritarian thrives on solemnity, on grandiose gestures, on an image designed to provoke fear and fascination.

Humour brings them back down to human scale. It strips away their demigod disguise and exposes them in their most vulnerable state: that of someone who needs to be admired in order to sustain themselves.

In practical terms, ridiculing the narcissism of power means not playing along with their charade. Not repeating their slogans as if they were dogma.

More than one believed themselves to be the chosen one and succumbed to the illusion that the judgement of posterity would justify their excesses of power

Not treating its imagery as if it were sacred. Not participating in the ritual of reverence. A cartoon, a caricature, an ironic comment or a collective burst of laughter can do more for democratic health than a hundred fiery speeches.

History shows that those who have sought to be gods rarely content themselves with serving society, but rather wish to be served by it.

They organise wars, unleash conflicts and seek to have their name carved in the stone of history, for better or for worse.

Some went so far as to say: ‘History will judge me’, convinced that they represented a higher destiny. More than one believed themselves to be the chosen one and succumbed to the illusion that the judgement of posterity would justify their excesses of power.

In the face of such figures—be they world leaders or petty domestic tyrants—it is worth remembering a basic form of resistance: refusing to kiss the ring, to bow down.

Do not bow down before the new Caesar. Do not obey orders that demand moral, emotional or spiritual submission.

Every healthy democracy forces a choice between conscience and the cult of the leader

The lesson remains relevant, even in a secular context: “You cannot serve two masters”. Every healthy democracy forces a choice between conscience and the cult of the leader.

And alongside this stands another decisive boundary: “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s”.

Translated into our times: political power administers, but does not save; it governs, but does not redeem; it directs, but does not deserve worship.

The deepest freedom is the joy of those who recognise only the sovereignty of the Eternal One

The only dignified way for ordinary citizens to stand up to those who wish to take God’s place is to retain our lucidity and joy.

To keep laughing, to keep dismantling the feigned solemnity, to keep pointing out the artifice. For as long as a society retains the freedom to laugh at power, that power must never be absolute.

Therein lies one of the deepest forms of human freedom that God has given us: the serene joy of those who do not kneel before the gods of today and recognise only the sovereignty of the Eternal One.

Jorge Pastor is a Spanish Baptist pastor.