Staring into the Abyss

“They who fight with monsters should be careful lest they become a monster. Gaze too long into the abyss, and the abyss will also gaze into you.” – Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil

We all know the quotation. Like many of Nietzsche’s aphorisms, it has taken on a life of its own, and people tend to read it as a warning: don’t become what you hate. So what does this mean for those of us who are angry about the rise of white nationalism in this nation? Should we be ashamed of our anger? Are we staring into the abyss, in danger of becoming what we hate, letting our rage warp us? 

A similar warning winds through the formative stories of our culture, from Beowulf and The Iliad to Star Wars and The Hunger Games. You meet the enemy, and they are you. Cast down the oppressor, and step into their place. “We’re not so different, you and I,” the villain says to the hero.

It’s a valid concern. Consider the Bolshevik leaders who overthrew the ruling class then went on to ape them (as satirized in Animal Farm). Undercover agents who join the opposition. Exorcists who get so obsessed with fighting the devil, they do truly evil things.

But sometimes the warning is used to delegitimize justice work. Maybe because people are uncomfortable with anything that rocks the boat, or because they benefit from the status quo. Or the abuser’s accusation that anyone objecting to mistreatment is the real villain. It’s a step from there to: “Antifa are the real fascists” or “Black Lives Matter are the real racists.” And one step more to “only this authoritarian leader can save you.” 

Every January, people with no interest in racial justice still share “inspiring” quotes by Martin Luther King Jr.:

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” 

“Be the peace you wish to see in the world!”

“I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear.” 

The real profundity of these quotes is lost when they are taken out of the context of King’s labors and sacrifices. They should be read alongside his denunciation of white moderates, and his defenses of those who riot. King’s nonviolent resistance didn’t mean he was tame or docile, any more than Jesus was. He blocked highways. He made people uncomfortable. He was divisive. His murder didn’t come out of nowhere; it was the expression of an entire white culture that resented being asked to do better. 

King is now an American hero. Unfortunately, many white Americans assume that since we honor his legacy, white supremacy is no more. Our culture has created an alternative version of King, an inspirational-meme version, so even those who oppose current racial justice activists and support white supremacist movements feel comfortable sharing his words.  

And he’s still hated. Most people aren’t willing to admit this yet, but given our nation’s trajectory, I expect to see more of them go public with it. As I write this, a day before Inauguration Day, many are wondering what will happen next. What about the immigrant families who will be targeted for deportation? Black Americans who have experienced an uptick in racist harassment since the November election? Gay married couples worrying they will lose their rights?

America voted in a racist, sexist authoritarian, and he was inaugurated as president on Martin Luther King Day. It’s a grotesque juxtaposition but it highlights the two faces of the United States, King’s dream versus the nightmare of white supremacy. Yet I suspect this contrast will be lost on millions, given our widespread acceptance of the watered-down version of King, and the propaganda that has cast Trump as a benevolent savior. 

Eight years ago, when Trump was inaugurated for the first time, there was a stronger sense of widespread opposition not only from grassroots movements, but from people with wealth and power. This time it feels like everyone is capitulating. The billionaires and entertainment icons are falling in line. The courts refuse to hold Trump accountable. No one is coming to save us. 

It’s hard to know what to do, but this should be clear: Historically, it’s not gentle sweetness, but hard conversations and unrelenting resistance that bring about change. Women’s rights, labor rights, civil rights—all had to become disruptive enough to shake those in power, and make them listen. Of course, afterwards, the powerful still rewrote the narratives: men “gave” women the vote. White people “granted” civil rights to Black people. 

Fighting monsters isn’t going to make us monstrous, but ignoring and excusing them will. King chose love, but love did not mean staying silent or playing nice. It meant holding firmly to a vision of a Beloved Community, united in both love and justice. In the Beloved Community, no one’s flourishing is paid for through the suffering of another. That peace is real peace, not resigned submission, not silent acquiescence. Most of us are not ready to choose love as radically as King did, but we should know that choosing love doesn’t rule out being angry, disruptive, divisive, difficult, and severe. 

Still, there’s something to that Nietzsche quote. There is a danger in fighting with monsters, not because fighting them is wrong, but because we might forget what we fight for. When I look at the MAGA movement, I see no values, no principles, not even a coherent ideology. It is at its heart a nihilistic movement, driven by a spirit of opposition and resentment, even if propaganda has convinced millions that it is about family or flourishing. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want my anger to become toxic and sterile, so I forget joy and creativity and am left, like Flannery O’Connor’s Misfit, with “no pleasure but meanness.” 

In The Lord of the Rings, Faramir tells Frodo: “I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” It’s good to keep in mind that war is only justifiable insofar as it defends what is good, and even then the arts of peace, of gardening and creating and community-building, are superior. 

Is this part of what it means to choose love? Let’s not lose sight of it, in the next four years. But let’s not stop fighting, either. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca Bratten Weiss is a writer and academic residing in rural Ohio. She is the digital editor for U.S. Catholic magazine and can be found at rebeccabrattenweiss.com.

For related Messy Jesus Business, see this article by Cassidy Klein, and this prayer by Sr. Julia Walsh.