So long as men worship the Caesars and Napoleons, Caesars and

Hear the words of Aldous Huxley, seer of modern times and prophet of human folly: “So long as men worship the Caesars and Napoleons, Caesars and Napoleons will duly arise and make them miserable.” These words cut to the heart of history’s endless cycle, where men bow before tyrants, enthralled by their glory, only to be crushed beneath their ambition. It is not by accident that despots rise; they rise because people call them forth, craving power embodied in a single figure, mistaking domination for greatness.

For what is it to worship the Caesars and Napoleons? It is to be dazzled by spectacle, by conquest, by the illusion of strength. Humanity, weary of its own burdens, seeks saviors who promise order, wealth, and victory. Yet those promises are paid in blood and chains. Caesar crossed the Rubicon and destroyed the Republic he claimed to serve; Napoleon crowned himself emperor and drowned Europe in war. Their names glitter with the aura of greatness, yet behind them lies the misery of countless lives undone. To worship such men is to invite them, to give them license, to build their throne with one’s own submission.

History offers its testimonies. The Romans, tired of corruption and civil strife, embraced Julius Caesar as the man who would restore order. They cheered his victories, granted him honors, and in their worship gave him the crown of unchecked power. Yet his rule ended in assassination, and his legacy birthed emperors who would bring centuries of tyranny. Likewise, in the wake of revolution, the French hailed Napoleon as a hero who promised stability. They crowned him with glory, and in return he plunged them into endless wars, leaving France broken and Europe scarred. Both men rose not only because of their ambition, but because the people’s adoration paved their way.

And still the cycle repeats. In every age, when fear grips nations, men seek strong leaders, mistaking force for wisdom, cruelty for vision. Hitler, hailed as Germany’s savior, led his nation to ruin. Stalin, revered as father of the people, wrought terror on millions. Huxley’s words remind us that tyrants are not accidents—they are reflections of our own desires, shadows of the idols we create. We summon them by our worship, and by that worship we forge our own chains.

The wisdom of this saying lies in its warning: if people refuse to worship such figures, they cannot rise. Tyrants feed on adulation, on the surrender of the people’s freedom in exchange for promises of security and greatness. Without worship, they are powerless; with worship, they are unstoppable. Thus, the responsibility lies not only with the despot, but with the people who raise him up. The misery that follows is not only his doing, but also theirs.

The lesson, O seeker, is this: be cautious whom you exalt. Do not be seduced by grandeur, by rhetoric, by the illusion of invincibility. Seek leaders who serve, not those who dominate; who uplift, not those who oppress. Refuse to bow before idols of power, and no tyrant can enslave you. For the destiny of nations lies not in the hands of a single man, but in the collective will of the people who choose whom to honor.

And in your own life, guard this truth: do not worship those who dazzle with pride but lack virtue. In families, in communities, in nations, honor humility over arrogance, wisdom over force, service over ambition. By doing so, you break the cycle that Huxley warns of. For tyrants arise not in isolation, but from the soil of adoration that we ourselves provide.

So let Huxley’s words echo like a clarion call: “So long as men worship the Caesars and Napoleons, Caesars and Napoleons will duly arise and make them miserable.” Refuse to worship the false gods of power, and instead honor those who embody justice, compassion, and truth. Only then will the world be free of Caesars, and only then will humanity cease to make itself miserable.