There’s a quiet but dangerous philosophy spreading through modern society. It has no manifesto, no clear origin and no stated leader, yet its influence is unmistakable. We can see it in our politics, in our corporate boardrooms, on our timelines, in our schools and across our TV screens. Let’s call it Raskolnikovism, after Dostoevsky’s tortured antihero, Raskolnikov: the young man who murdered a secondhand goods dealer and convinced himself it was for the greater good; a necessary evil and principled crime.
Raskolnikov believed that some people (“extraordinary” individuals) have the right to transgress moral law if their goal is noble enough. If the end is progress, or justice or benefit for the greater good, the means, however violent or cruel, can be justified. Sounds extreme? Perhaps. But let’s look closer. Take a look at society today and you will see it is increasingly governed by this logic. We cancel in the name of justice, we exploit in the name of innovation and we suppress in the name of equity. We excuse deception, abuse, manipulation and even humiliation, so long as it justifies serving a higher narrative, one that somehow benefits the so-called “extraordinary” of society.
This is Raskolnikovism. It’s not a political or religious ideology. It crosses left and right, corporate and grassroots, churches and mosques. It’s across the board, and it’s the belief that what we’re doing isn’t wrong, because we’re doing it for the right reasons.
The new conscience
Raskolnikov’s great mistake was not just that he killed (of course, that was his biggest mistake) but that he overrode his conscience after having killed. He silenced the still, small voice in favour of his theory of moral obligation and superiority. He ignored what he knew to be wrong and wicked, going against the wisdom and reason of a traditional society. It is this that we see today, a silencing of the still, small voice within, our conscience or moral compass. In fact, we have gone even further. Instead of just silencing our conscience, we have outsourced our conscience to society. We have let go of our own, individual moral conscience. We no longer ask: is this right, or wrong? We no longer seek information on the subject matter to attempt to answer those questions on our own. We just look to see what’s trending, or what’s relevant or popular. And we have handed that over to the algorithm that drives our social media app of choice.
The result: social media has become our collective superego, guiding our moral compass and ultimately deciding for us what is right and wrong. It scolds, praises and punishes. Every day, we’re told what to care about, what to condemn and what to ignore. Our morality is no longer derived from personal, deep conviction built on reflection on sacred texts or factual data. Instead, it’s from engagement metrics such as views and comments.
Like Raskolnikov, perhaps not by our own choice though, we have silenced our reasonable, patient and slow-burning inner guide. We no longer ask questions such as : what does this mean for my soul, society or the future? We just ask how this will play out online, and make decisions based on that perceived outcome.
But in such a system, truth becomes entirely relative. Truth loses all virtue, and performance takes its place. And any action, no matter how cruel, can be defended if the right narrative surrounds it. We are no longer guided by conscience; we are guided by crowd sentiment. Evil can be judged righteous, bad can be judged good and wrong can be judged right, simply depending on the digital narrative that hits your feed.
It’s not just social media though. Corporations, universities, celebrities and even sports leagues now position themselves as society’s conscience. Press releases have become sermons, CEOs speak like moral philosophers and brands declare their virtuous intent to the world (often before they deliver on basic human decency in the workplace). But here’s the problem: institutional morality is strategic, not spiritual.
It is crafted in marketing departments and legal teams. It is designed for optics and it quickly changes with consumer sentiment. And, crucially, it rarely risks anything. A tech giant may post about mental health while building addictive platforms. Universities speak of justice while silencing dissent.
These contradictions aren’t just hypocrisies; they’re symptoms of a conscience that no longer lives in people, but in public relations and online platforms. The truth is, we now really do live in an age in which the appearance of morality is more important than its practice, and in such a world, the Raskolnikovs thrive.
The practical examples of this in our society are clear, with cancel culture being a prime example. Cancel culture is in effect a mindset, or communal consciousness, that leads to individuals or brands becoming publicly shamed or boycotted over a single statement or post. It causes outrage to spread rapidly through social media like a virus, often without context or verification, as people piggyback on the collective anger.
The consequences are real and damaging, ranging from verbal and mental abuse to job loss and reputational harm. Comments on gender identity by JK Rowling, for example, sparked widespread calls to boycott her works. The online mob judged her actions harshly, demonstrating how society often outsources moral reasoning to the collective rather than engaging in thoughtful individual reflection.
The Just Stop Oil protest movement, which focused on urgent climate action, but through disruptive tactics, is another example. Activists blocked roads, prevented people from going to work and, in extreme cases, delayed access to hospitals. In one high-profile incident, two activists threw tomato soup at Vincent van Gogh’s painting Sunflowers at the National Gallery in London. The painting itself was unharmed, protected by glass, but the frame suffered about £10,000 in damage. The activists defended their actions as necessary to draw attention to the climate crisis. While their intentions were rooted in a moral cause, the methods illustrate how society has started to justify harm when guided by ideology rather than careful ethical consideration.
Warning and solution
Dostoevsky wrote Crime and Punishment as a spiritual warning, not just about one man’s descent into madness, but about an idea: that human beings can justify anything if they detach themselves from conscience. It’s about the slow erosion of moral clarity through rationalisation, tribalism and public performance, and about the creeping belief that we are above the moral law and if our cause is good enough, we no longer need to be. Society now shows it is no longer fiction derived from a Russian author; it’s our feed, and it’s slowly becoming the foundation of our culture.
But our conscience doesn’t work that way, and we simply cannot ignore it. Either we can listen to it and respond with actual morality, or, like Raskolnikov, we can try to suppress it and justify it, and watch ourselves slowly slip into madness, and society into anarchy.
So, where to from here? Society has largely outsourced its conscience. We have ceded the space of moral reasoning to social media, to the endless scroll of opinions, memes and emojis. And in doing so we have lost the source of ultimate wisdom and depth of understanding, those anchors that are meant to guide us in discerning right from wrong. Yet the solution is surprisingly simple. In fact, it begins with something you are doing: reading.
Reading, and particularly deep reading, counters the behavioural responses that social media encourages. Social media is reactionary and it thrives on immediate responses, on emotional impulses triggered by surface-level statements. The algorithms are designed to keep us engaged, to prompt the next click, the next like, the next share. It is rarely about understanding and more about velocity and volume. In this environment, our minds are tossed back and forth, never settling long enough to reflect or to judge with depth. Sometimes, morality itself is reduced to a meme, an emoji or a punchy sentence that fits neatly within a screen.
To counter this, we must first embrace reading for knowledge: reading deeply, widely and intentionally. Knowledge reading is the act of acquiring facts, understanding context and building nuance. It can be applied to politics, where understanding policies, cultural and historical factors, and differing ideological perspectives is essential. It applies to understanding societies, religions and the histories that shape them. If we take the time to examine all sides, to weigh facts carefully, we equip ourselves to think critically rather than react impulsively. Without this, we are at the mercy of whatever post, article or video happens to appear on our feed next.
Dostoevsky wrote Crime and Punishment as a spiritual warning, not just about one man’s descent into madness, but about an idea: that human beings can justify anything if they detach themselves from conscience.
Reading widely in this way is not merely an academic exercise; it is a moral one. The pursuit of knowledge is, in essence, a pursuit of truth. Truth does not arrive neatly packaged in a 280-character post. Truth requires patience, attention and diligence. Books, newspaper articles, essays by thoughtful commentators — these are the tools of discernment. They offer perspective and depth that social media cannot provide.
But as knowledge alone is insufficient, there is a second imperative: engage with texts that cultivate moral understanding. For me, these are sacred texts such as those of the Bible: Proverbs and Ecclesiastes, for starters. These are historical and ancient texts that have offered guidance successfully for thousands of years. They are sources of moral formation, compasses to navigate life’s complexity. They provide benchmarks against which to measure choices, actions and societal trends.
Though it will not come with universal agreement on what is moral, it will provide a foundation on which people can decide for themselves and debate healthily. Without it, we are lost, tossed around by the ever-changing currents of social media. My suggestion to read sacred texts, or moral literature more broadly, is not an attempt to promote conservative nostalgia or to cling to tradition for its own sake. It is simply about what works. These texts have withstood the tests of time because they illuminate the human condition. They give us frameworks for thinking through dilemmas, for confronting ethical uncertainty and for finding clarity amid ambiguity. In a world filled with misinformation, half-truths and viral outrage, these texts are anchors we need.
Equally important is the recognition that modern tools, such as artificial intelligence (AI), cannot replace conscience. AI is not a source of moral authority. It can provide information, summarise perspectives and even guide us towards resources, but it cannot tell you what is right or wrong. It operates on patterns and probabilities, not on ethical judgment. To defer moral reasoning to AI is to abdicate responsibility and risk embracing a digital Raskolnikovism. Technology should be a tool, a guide to knowledge, not a substitute for conscience.
The lesson from Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov is clear: one cannot silence conscience indefinitely. Attempting to do so leads to psychological and moral collapse. Either madness sets in, or suppressed truths surface with destructive force. Listening to your conscience is not optional; it is imperative. We must strive to make decisions guided by what we believe to be true, even if that truth is imperfect or incomplete. Mistakes will happen, but made with reflection and principle they are infinitely preferable to those made passively or reactively.
The solution is clear. By reading, reflecting and rooting ourselves in knowledge and moral clarity, we can reclaim our conscience. We can navigate a world of uncertainty with integrity. We can restore depth, substance and wisdom to our engagement with the world.
Ultimately, it comes down to one principle: do not outsource your conscience. Do not surrender your moral judgment to screens, feeds or artificial constructs. Seek knowledge, embrace moral texts and cultivate your own understanding of right and wrong. And in doing so, you will resist the fragmentation of society and the corrosion of conscience and avoid becoming infected with the plague of Raskolnikovism.
This article was first published in Business Day.
