I observe with growing disquiet — and my soul grieves as before a sunset darkened by storm-laden clouds — how from modern means of communication, from the television that invades the domestic hearth, from the invisible net that envelops and permeates everything, from serial narratives that enchant the youngest with their continuous thread of images and sounds, there come signals ever poorer in restraint, in decency, and in inner modesty. Rarely, very rarely, does one find therein the example of good manners, of fair confrontation, of courtesy joined to firmness, of that nobility of spirit that does not fear to affirm the truth, yet does so with respect and reverence towards the other. On the contrary, on such stages of the ephemeral, domination is often celebrated: the strength that crushes, the victory of the violent over the weak, as though in this consisted the ultimate fulfillment of humankind.
In this noisy universe, swollen with shouts and devoid of silences, raising children becomes an arduous and painful undertaking. Not because the values to be transmitted have vanished — for they still live, like embers beneath the ashes, in many faithful hearts — but because those very values are contradicted daily by opposite examples, brilliant in appearance and seductive in immediacy. The young, placed before models that glorify physical, psychological, or verbal violence, see what we preach continually denied by what the world acclaims and rewards. And it is hard for them to believe in the goodness of meekness when oppression is celebrated, in the nobility of sacrifice when selfishness is exalted, in the beauty of purity when vulgarity is ceaselessly displayed as a trophy of freedom.
I believe firmly, with a conviction rooted like an ancient oak, that the human being must strive toward an inner and spiritual elevation, for only in that luminous dwelling does the true meaning of life reside. The material dimension — possession, apparent success, worldly glory — is only a secondary accompaniment, a fleeting shadow, surely not the supreme goal. Yet never as in our time has there been such an effort to persuade humankind that it is nothing but body, consumption, immediate satisfaction of desire. The religion of the instant is praised, the god of profit adored, interiority replaced by the image reflected in countless screens. The soul, which is the true center of the human being, is forgotten, denied, derided as a naïve superstition of ancient times.
To defend one’s ideas is right and at times necessary; no one could demand of us a cowardly surrender or a renunciation of the truth we perceive deep within. But when the defense of ideas turns into contempt for the other, when we fail to recognize in another’s face a human being as worthy as ourselves, bearer of equal dignity and mystery, then the battle is already lost before it is even fought. A victory obtained by trampling another’s humanity is not victory, but defeat disguised beneath the clamor of outward triumphs. And this poison of contempt, filtered drop by drop into consciences, does not remain confined to daily disputes but rises higher, reaching the chambers where the powerful of the earth decide the fate of peoples.
There, in those inaccessible places where power is exercised with solemn and sometimes icy words, the lack of respect becomes devastating action. With at times frightening lightness, wars, bombings, and massacres are decided in the name of economic interests, political supremacy, or national pride dressed up as ideals. Thus violence, exalted on small screens, finds fulfillment on the grand stage of the world; and the weeping of children, the ruins of cities, the caravans of homeless refugees cry out the lie of a progress that proclaims itself civilized and humanitarian yet bears death within it. What kind of progress is this, which perfects instruments of destruction and dries up hearts? What civilization can stand upon oppression elevated to norm and indifference exalted as virtue?
Amid such contradictions, the young grow suspended between two opposing calls. On the one hand, within the quiet intimacy of conscience, they still perceive what is just, what is beautiful, what is worthy of the human being: respect, solidarity, compassion, the longing for truth and good. On the other hand, the world around them proposes as desirable what is more striking, louder, more immediately gratifying: success without merit, fame without sacrifice, strength without justice. There arises a state of bewilderment, like that of one walking in fog without a compass. In some, this interior conflict generates deep sadness, a sense of inadequacy and discouragement; in others, it gives rise to aggressiveness, anger, blind rebellion against everything and everyone. These are clear signs of an unresolved interior laceration, of a soul that longs for light yet finds itself surrounded by shadows.
Many then ask what our task may be in this troubled age. I believe it consists in stemming this drift not with the same violence we condemn, but by entering hearts through example, measured words, and vigilant patience. The great transformations of humanity have never been born from the clamor of weapons or the harshness of decrees, but from the silent strength of men and women who have known how to bear witness, with their lives, to the dignity of the human being. It is not by shouting louder than others that one convinces, but by living in such a way that life itself becomes argument, demonstration, invitation.
It is slow, toilsome work, not exempt from discouragement. At times it seems like sowing in the desert, speaking to deaf ears, offering examples no one wants to imitate anymore. And yet every act of goodness retains eternal value, every word spoken with truth and gentleness penetrates like a seed into the soil of the soul and may sprout even after many years. The young, though they sometimes appear distracted and distant, observe, listen, record in silence. Their hearts can recognize what is authentic, and in the long run they are drawn to it far more than to the dazzling lights of the ephemeral.
We cannot, however, content ourselves with a generic invitation to goodness. We must rediscover the very roots of human dignity, return to questioning who we are and toward what goal we tend. If the human being is only a casual fragment of the universe, thrown for a few decades into the blind play of material forces, then violence is merely one of its possible expressions; and oppression, far from being condemnable, becomes a sign of strength and adaptation. But if the human being is a creature endowed with spirit, if he bears within himself a call to the infinite that no earthly good can satisfy, then violence appears for what it truly is: a betrayal of our highest nature, a degradation of what is most noble within us.
From this viewpoint, good manners are not merely a series of external rules or a formality of etiquette meant to make social coexistence more pleasant. Rather, they are the visible expression of an interior order, a sign that one has recognized in oneself and in others a sacred dignity. Respect for another’s word, patience in listening, modesty in judgment are not outdated ornaments but pillars of a truly human society. Where these are torn down, the law of the strongest inevitably prevails, and coexistence turns into a permanent arena of struggle.
It is therefore indispensable to educate — and before that, to educate ourselves. No one can give what he does not possess. We cannot ask the young for gentleness if we ourselves are quick-tempered; we cannot demand respect if our words are saturated with sarcasm and scorn. The most effective education is always that which passes through example. And thus, in homes, schools, workplaces, in communities large and small, each of us is called to be custodian of a different climate: more human, more worthy. Every conversation can become an occasion for growth or for wounding; every discussion can build up or destroy.
Many will say that all this is utopia, that the world has always been ruled by the strong and always will be. Yet the history of humanity testifies that the highest ideas, the most authentic achievements, have not been the work of the violent, but of the meek and the persevering. Violence leaves ruins visible and showy; meekness builds in silence — but what it builds endures. Empires raised by the sword have vanished like dust in the wind; the good accomplished in humility continues to act through the centuries, often without name and without clamor.
Nor can we ignore the specific responsibilities of the media. They, like rivers carrying water to the fields of the soul, may irrigate or inundate, may fertilize or devastate. When they deliberately choose to exalt vulgarity, aggressiveness, and banalities elevated to norm, they betray their highest task, which should be to elevate, educate, enlighten. What is required of them is not blind censorship but awareness of their enormous influence on souls in formation. Those who speak to the world have the duty to weigh their words as a physician weighs a powerful drug.
And yet, even if major media often seem to turn downward, no age is ever completely lost so long as there are hearts willing to resist. Not by scornful withdrawal or by flight from the world, but by the daily choice of a different way: speaking without insulting, disagreeing without hating, affirming the truth without humiliating. In this silent resistance lies the destiny of humanity itself. We must not delude ourselves that we can change the whole world; but we can change the climate around us, and that alone is far more than it seems.
Thus, when I look upon today’s youth — often judged wholesale with unjust superficiality — I see not only confusion and fragility, but also extraordinary seeds of goodness. They are more sensitive than they appear, more thirsty for authenticity than is often believed. They long for credible examples, for adults who do not merely preach but live what they proclaim. If they do not find them, they turn elsewhere, chasing substitutes for happiness that soon dissolve; but when they meet them, they recognize them and follow them with passion.
The task before us is therefore arduous, yet not impossible. It requires that we ourselves undertake a journey of interior elevation, of vigilance over our words and actions, of loving care for the smallest and weakest. It requires believing that good is not a naïve illusion but a powerful, though discreet, force. It requires rejecting the notion that the success of the violent is the last word of history. We may not be granted to see the full fruits of this sowing, but this does not lessen the nobility of the work.
For it truly concerns the very destiny of humanity: whether it shall live as predator or as guardian, as dominator or as brother, as one who tramples or as one who builds. In this choice — renewed each day, in every gesture, in every word — it is decided whether our civilization will still have the courage to call itself human. And as long as there is someone who, though amid turmoil and fatigue, continues to believe in the elevation of the spirit, hope will not be extinguished, but will burn like a quiet flame in the heart of the night.
This post is also available in: Italiano (Italian)
