A silence, not the noble kind of deep thoughts, but the heavy, hypocritical one that follows an anathema. This is the new social code, the toxic alphabet ruling the virtual squares where people gather not to debate, but to execute. Contemporary heresy is no longer a matter of religious or political dogma; it is the refusal to kneel before the liturgy of the single permitted thought. And the most infamous charge, the moral guillotine for those who dare to stand above the choir, has a single name: narcissism.

A semantic perversion of rare violence has been accomplished. That word, once reserved for specific pathologies of the spirit, has been transformed into a blunt weapon. Wielded by the digital pack, it serves to mask the most crass intolerance with the veneer of dime-store psychology. The dissenter, the doubter, the one who does not recognize himself in the new social Gospels, is no longer simply accused of ignorance or bad faith. No, he is even denied the dignity of an intellectual position. His is merely sickness, a pathological alteration of the self. A hypertrophic ego that refuses to dissolve into the conformist magma.

One must ask: from where does this river of moralistic bile spring? Which workshop forged these new priests of emotional orthodoxy? The impression, strong and bitter, is that of witnessing a gigantic project of soul engineering. A sort of forced training in acquiescence, seasoned with the oleographic language of inclusion and sensitivity. It is the dictatorship of do-goodism, passed off as progress. A machine that does not tolerate discordant voices, nuances, areas of shadow. Everything must be black or white, with us or against us, saint or narcissist.

The result is an intellectual desert. Opinions become “lived experiences,” ideas are judged based on the identity of who expresses them, debate is reduced to a competition in signaled virtue. Anyone who tries to point out the absurdity of this mechanism, who dares to question its dogmas, is immediately attacked. His is not criticism, it is “trauma.” His is not reasoning, it is “harm.” And thus, the only vibration permitted is that of consent, a hypnotic and flat hum that erases all individuality.

There is a subtle violence in this cage of buzzwords. It is the denial of the other in his deepest essence: the right to error, to complexity, to the contradiction inherent to a free man. They deny your soul, they hand you a diagnosis. And in this process, one feels the chill of a new Middle Ages, advancing not with swords, but with hashtags and indignant posts. A cold that does not come from a lack of ideals, but from their fanatical and inhuman excess.

           — ✦ —

🦅 Cheyenne Isa ₿ 🦅

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