Friedrich Nietzsche provided this falsehood its most explicit modern interpretation. In his book On the Genealogy of Morality, he argued that Christianity, with its naïve emphasis on virtues such as humility, mercy, and sacrificial love, represented a “slave morality” that weakened humanity. Instead, he proposed a reformulation of values grounded in domination and the will to power.

Nietzsche also argued the loss of belief in objective moral truth would usher in an era of profound upheaval, which proved prophetic as the 20th century was the bloodiest in human history. Viewing Christ as the embodiment of a life-denying “slave morality,” he rejected the ethic of the Cross as weak and ineffective. What followed was not freedom but endless conflict, as his vision found concrete expression in the political and revolutionary movements of the 20th century.

His conclusion was simple: in order to triumph in this world, one must abandon the morality of the Cross. It echoes the biblical theme of good versus evil, namely, the tension between the kingdom of God and what Scripture refers to as the “prince of this world,” traditionally understood as Satan, who is the author of deception, domination, and the distortion of truth. As Christ states in John 8:44, “He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him…for he is a liar and the father of lies.”

This pattern found a definitive expression in the revolutionary violence of the 20th century. Che Guevara did not merely reject Christianity intellectually; he rejected it existentially. He embraced a worldview in which redemption comes through violent struggle and victory through the destruction of the enemy. As he wrote in a letter to his mother, “I am not Christ…I fight for the things I believe in, with all the weapons at my disposal.” Christ’s beautiful instruction to love one’s enemy is replaced by a dictum to eliminate one’s enemy. (For a fuller treatment, see my article: “Marxism Is the Opium of the Lost—Truth and Redemption Are Found Only in Christ.”)

This pattern is not limited to Marxist revolutions; it appears across contemporary ideological and religious movements as well. Present-day ideological movements treat violence as something sacred to achieve certain ends.

Islamism, in its militant forms, operates precisely within this framework. It is a political ideology that views history through a lens of dominance and subjugation, where victory is proof of truth and power is the ultimate expression of perceived divine favor. The sword, as opposed to the Cross, becomes the instrument of redemption. It is a denial of Christ’s words, “Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39).

The concepts of power and divine authority are littered throughout the biblical tradition. In particular, the Old Testament contains numerous instances of divine judgement involving extreme violence. Examples of this include the annihilation of the Canaanites and the command to eradicate Amalek. Despite these passages being invoked to justify modern acts of aggression, they must be understood within their specific historical and theological context tied to divine command and salvation history. And as such, they do not provide a standing moral justification for violence.

To correctly interpret these passages, we must understand them in light of their fulfillment, not as enduring models of political action. Christ’s life, death, and Resurrection function as a radical transformation of our understanding of justice. Christ is at the very center of the human story. This creates a theological tension between the Gospel message and older understandings of mercy and justice.

Nevertheless, even among Christians, particularly those who staunchly defend Zionism, especially in its more violent forms, the moral vision of Christ is reduced to geopolitical concerns.

The 1986 film The Mission illustrates a tension between self-sacrifice and combat. In it, Rodrigo Mendoza, played by Robert De Niro, reflects the instinct to seek justice through force, similar to Che Guevara. Fr. Gabriel, who is portrayed by Jeremy Irons, follows a Christ-like path to self-sacrifice, refusing to substitute truth and goodness with power. The film reveals, in no uncertain terms, the heart of every conflict: the way of the sword or the way of the Cross.

Christ does not conquer hearts by the sword but by the Cross. He calls His enemies to repentance and to be loved; and He establishes truth through sacrificial love, not dominance. This is precisely why the notion of “might makes right” stands in stark contrast to the Gospel message.

The only way to make sense of the world is in light of the Gospel; otherwise, we will be trapped in an endless cycle of violence, always an eye for an eye.

Thus, we must reject when political leaders argue that moral restraint must give way to overwhelming force in order to secure peace. Those expounding such rhetoric are employing the very same philosophy that unites revolutionary Marxism, militant Islamism, and countless empires throughout history.

Rightly understood then, figures like Netanyahu and movements rooted in militant ideology, despite their obvious differences, can be understood as operating similarly. All of these appeal to power as the decisive force in history. In the end, regardless of the ideology, they subordinate what is true, good, and just for the other to strategic necessity.

Violence may achieve temporary victory, but it is never long-lasting. In the context of the current conflict with Iran, including the Israeli and American military actions, it is tempting to reduce the issue to choosing the lesser of two evils. However, such an approach does not lead us to moral clarity; it often serves to obscure it. Competing narratives, whether from mainstream media, pro-Israeli sources, critics of Zionism, or those sympathetic to Islamic movements, must all be subjected to critical scrutiny.

Too often, our judgments are shaped by what aligns with our preferred interests, what is more socially acceptable, or what may be more beneficial to us materially. Rejecting one claim and embracing another does not establish what is right and just. Our commitment must remain grounded in truth and the objective moral order, even when difficult. Moreover, silence, in such moments, is not a neutral act; it, too, can become a form of moral evasion.

The consequences of these distortions extend beyond the political into the spiritual realm. Once the Cross is reduced to impracticality or foolishness, and when Christ is treated as a morally malleable and benign figure that is politically irrelevant—or as in the case of Nietzsche and Marxists like Guevara, who see Him as the epitome of weakness—what is left is far removed from what is good and just. What we are left with is mere survivalism undergirded by a philosophical materialism motivated by worldly desires. If we succumb to such a view, peace becomes unattainable.

We mustn’t lose sight of the spiritual dimension to war. And consequently, if we do not separate power from truth, we will not only misjudge events, we will lose sight of our humanity.

My endeavor has been to uncover the deeper philosophical and theological temptations that have shaped our discourse on war. Unfortunately, more often than not, expediency has taken precedence over virtue and morality. We must also align our hearts and minds against the fear-driven temptation, especially in times of war, to justify “might makes right” as a necessary lesser evil.

Christ’s words will help us avoid moral pitfalls: “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the first and great commandment” (Matthew 22:37-38). But how can we navigate our way out of these confused and troubled times? The answer lies in prayer and in aligning with truth over influencers or politicians who have their own motivations for pushing their own agendas.

I believe that the real tragedy, from a Christian standpoint, is not that we do not know these truths but that we fail to consistently live by them.

To follow Christ, then, is not to uncritically take sides in such conflicts but to reject the notion that truth is reducible to force and justice to supremacy. The task of the Christian is never easy, since it requires one to unashamedly and faithfully follow Christ’s teachings.

So, put simply: Will you follow the Prince of Peace or the prince of this world?