Everybody has a job to do. There are people in Iraq on both

The words of Denzel Washington — “Everybody has a job to do. There are people in Iraq on both sides of this war who do what they do for religious reasons, and they feel with God on their side. Some people are good at annihilating people. Maybe that's their gift.” — are not spoken as idle reflection, but as a piercing meditation on the complexity of human purpose and the tragedies of conflict. They remind us that in war, men and women do not act as abstractions; they act from faith, from conviction, from duty, and sometimes from darker callings. Each believes their role is righteous, each imagines themselves chosen, and in that belief lies both the strength of their endurance and the seed of their destruction.

To say “everybody has a job to do” is to acknowledge the ancient truth that life compels all to act, whether in peace or in battle. Some are healers, some are teachers, some are builders, and some, in times of war, become destroyers. Each believes themselves to serve a higher purpose. Yet here lies the paradox: even those who commit terrible acts may see themselves as instruments of the divine, convinced that their gift lies in destruction. Thus, Washington forces us to confront the uncomfortable reality that conviction alone does not sanctify action, and that what is called a “job” by one may be seen as horror by another.

The example of Iraq is chosen with precision. In that war, men on both sides raised banners with God’s name, convinced that their struggle was holy. Some fought to liberate, others to resist, others to dominate, yet each believed the heavens approved. This is not new: throughout history, wars have been clothed in the language of faith. The Crusaders marched under the cross, declaring it God’s will, while Saladin’s forces stood against them with equal certainty of divine favor. Both believed they were agents of righteousness, yet the earth drank the same blood from both armies. Washington’s words remind us that in war, divine justification is often claimed by all sides.

And yet, his phrase “maybe that’s their gift” strikes with deeper irony and sorrow. For what kind of gift is the talent to destroy? What kind of purpose lies in the annihilation of others? It is a gift that poisons the giver, a talent that corrodes the soul. But still, there are those who wield it with mastery, as though it were their calling. History gives us names like Genghis Khan or Napoleon, men who reshaped the world by destruction, men whose “job” seemed to be the annihilation of armies and empires. Their gift brought them glory in their time, but also suffering to countless lives. Such a gift is dangerous, for it seduces the wielder with the illusion of destiny.

The lesson here is stern: not every gift is holy, not every calling is righteous. To excel at destruction is not the same as to serve justice. A man may be skilled with the sword, but unless guided by wisdom and compassion, his talent is a curse. A nation may be powerful in arms, but unless it restrains its fury with justice, its strength is a terror upon the earth. The ancient sages taught that power without virtue is ruin, and Washington’s words echo this wisdom in modern form.

What then must we take into our lives? First, discern your true gift. Ask whether it builds, heals, uplifts, or whether it consumes, destroys, and leaves only ashes behind. Do not be deceived by passion or anger into thinking that destruction is your highest calling. Even if you are strong in conflict, let that strength be tempered by service to peace. Second, recognize that others, too, believe themselves righteous, even when they stand against you. This awareness does not excuse cruelty, but it grants the wisdom to understand, to negotiate, and, when necessary, to resist with clarity.

So let these words be remembered: “Everybody has a job to do,” but not every job honors life. The highest gifts are those that preserve and uplift, not those that annihilate. Learn from history, see through the illusions of war, and choose your calling with care. For though the destroyer may shine for a season, it is the builder, the healer, the one who serves love and justice, who leaves a light that endures across the ages.