As Joseph Campbell suggested in the 1988 PBS interview series The Power of Myth with Bill Moyers, the tallest buildings in a society reveal what it values most. In medieval Europe, it was the cathedral. In the 18th century, the political palace. In the 20th, the corporate skyscraper. Today, the tallest structures are not physical at all—they are digital. They are the profiles we collectively elevate on social media. They are the influencers, celebrities, moguls, and content creators who dominate our screens and shape our behavior, beliefs, and sense of worth. These are the modern-day cathedrals—sacred not for their depth but for their reach.
And what do these towering social figures say about our value system?
It is not compassion, fairness, or wisdom that gives them altitude. It is visibility. It is the ability to convert attention into revenue, identity into brand, and lifestyle into aspiration. Social media has become the public square and the mirror, and what we see in that mirror is unnervingly clear: our collective worship of capital, clout, and image.
Even those who decry inequality, preach fairness, or advocate compassion do so through the lens of personal branding. The loudest voices for justice are often selected not by merit or insight, but by how well their message fits the algorithm. Social impact, more often than not, must now pass the gatekeeper of virality. A well-crafted truth that doesn’t trend is often discarded. Meanwhile, a vacuous display of luxury, a petty feud, or a clickbait stunt garners millions of views.
Take a moment and scroll your feed. Who is there? Who do you follow? Who gets amplified? A self-made billionaire flaunting watches and jets? A reality star giving “life advice”? A fitness influencer selling diet powders? These figures may not represent what we claim to value—but they undeniably reflect what we reward. Whether through admiration, envy, or engagement, we build their influence with every tap and scroll. In Campbell’s logic, they are the temples we now erect, pixel by pixel, story by story.
And the more we feed this system, the more we sideline the thinkers, healers, artists, and change-makers whose voices could lead us toward a socially conscious future. When follower counts and brand deals dictate influence, those who speak uncomfortable truths—about climate collapse, racial injustice, mental health, or spiritual emptiness—are often drowned out or forced to commercialize their message to survive. The social algorithms of our time are not just mathematical; they are moral. They dictate who matters.
We often speak of the algorithm as if it were an autonomous tyrant, but in truth, it is a mirror reflecting our collective appetite. The algorithm operates on a classical demand and supply model: what the public consumes more, the system boosts more. When we say something ‘went viral,’ we must admit—we made it viral. If makeup tutorials by someone who blatantly disregards environmental ethics get millions of views, the algorithm will fund them, not silence them. It is not innocent to say, “I only follow them for their beauty tips” when we are simultaneously giving more power, money, and influence to someone who tramples on values we claim to uphold. Our engagement, no matter how apolitical we believe it to be, actively feeds their destructive continuity.
This is the moral hypocrisy at the center of our cultural decline. We speak of justice, sustainability, equity, and compassion, but our collective behavior on social media rarely reflects these ideals. We might post about climate change and then elevate influencers who vacation on private jets, endorse fast fashion, or promote meat-heavy lifestyles. We condemn cruelty while enriching the cruel. We reward the very people who ignore our ethics—then act surprised by the moral state of the world.
If we were to self-assess honestly, we could spot the dissonance. We are not passive victims of a broken system. We are the ones who shape the algorithm. We are the ones who choose the voices that rise. And we are the ones accountable for the trends we feed.
Even those of us with good intentions fall into the trap. We collaborate with those who can “boost our reach.” We tailor our messages to avoid offending potential sponsors or to please platforms’ metrics. Slowly, our desire for impact becomes a strategy for growth, not healing.
So where do we go from here?
We must be courageous enough to reconstruct our social value system. To follow those who speak softly but carry truth. To amplify the voices of thinkers, educators, and artists who are expressing the desire to change with actual plans for improvement; and more than anyone, activists who lead with compassion for a world in social harmony, and community leaders whose work may not trend—but transforms. To risk slower growth for deeper connection. To realign our metrics with meaning.
True influence—the kind that builds civilizations and heals divisions—has never been about the loudest voice, but the truest one. If we want a future shaped not by capital but by compassion, we must choose to make those voices tall. Not for their fame, but for theiressence. Not for their style, but for their soul.
The long game is not about likes. It is about love. To exist in a state of Pure Love. The kind that heals. The kind that lasts. The kind that builds what no algorithm ever can: harmony.
