The Galilean Vision and
the Gaudiness of Power
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”
In this saying and in so many others, Jesus offers an image of power that critiques images of power as domination. Power, for Jesus, lies in love and humility, in kindness. Alfred North Whitehead describes this orientation as the “Galilean vision.” From within that vision, the question of bad taste takes on a unique meaning.
Taste, argued the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, is not simply a matter of personal preference or refined sensibility. It is often a social signal, a way in which individuals and groups mark distinctions, display cultural capital, and reinforce hierarchies of status and belonging. It becomes a weapon of exclusion.
From a Galilean perspective, what makes “bad taste” bad is not that it violates an objective, context-independent norm residing in the depths of the heavens. It's not that it violates Beauty with an upper-case B. Rather, it is bad when it functions to exclude others by signalling superiority, privilege, or social distance—when aesthetic display becomes a way of elevating oneself and diminishing others.
In this sense, the moral problem of taste lies not in the objects themselves—gold and marble—but in the spirit of exclusion and domination they may embody. A Christian ethic, centered on humility, hospitality, and solidarity with the vulnerable, invites a different use of beauty: one that welcomes rather than intimidates, and expresses shared dignity rather than hierarchy.
The homes of dictators are, then, typically monuments to bad taste in this deeper moral sense—a point made with raucous clarity in Dictator's Style: Lifestyles of the World's Most Colorful Despots by Peter York, who examines the aesthetic worlds cultivated by figures such as Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin, Nicolae Ceaușescu, Muammar Gaddafi, Saddam Hussein, Mobutu Sese Seko, and François Duvalier—settings where gold-plated fixtures, marble halls, and theatrical extravagance reveal architecture functioning less as beauty than as a performance of domination.
How does this work aesthetically? Whitehead’s concept of symbolic reference can help us further interpret this kind of performance. In Whitehead’s view, many of the images in our minds and hearts are not merely abstract ideas or merely physical things in the world, represented in our minds. Rather, they are composites of perception and interpretation, in which physical objects are experienced through socially learned meanings, as symbolic referents. A gilded ceiling or a marble staircase thus becomes more than a material feature of a building. Through symbolic reference it becomes a sign of domination, an image that communicates and reinforces a social idea: that an elevated in-group—those with status and power—stands apart from and above an out-group whose status is lower or nonexistent.
If you find yourself in the out-group, there are several possible responses. You may accept the symbolism and respond with jealousy or admiration. This is the hope of the person or group deploying the dominating symbol: that others will feel impressed or envious, thereby reinforcing their sense of superiority—or, more precisely, their desire to be and feel superior. They want to be admired so that they feel good about themselves, and you are helping them.
Your other option is to reject the symbolism and respond with indifference, resistance, or ridicule. Sometimes this rejection takes the form of a reversal of meaning, in which symbols meant to inspire awe instead provoke laughter or contempt.
Here Whitehead’s notion of reversion becomes relevant. Reversion occurs when the patterns of valuation within experience shift, so that elements normally associated with prestige or admiration are interpreted differently. Through such a reversal in feeling, gold and marble cease to appear as signs of greatness and instead appear as gaudy excess or moral emptiness. What was intended as a display of glory becomes, in effect, a symbol of vulgar domination.
Seen in this light, the meek inherit the earth not by gilding their halls or lining them with marble, but by refusing the symbolism of domination and embodying a different kind of power altogether.
Is this merely a compensatory mechanism? Is such reversion rooted in what Friedrich Nietzsche called ressentiment--the psychological reversal by which those without power reinterpret the symbols of the powerful as signs of corruption or vulgarity?
Perhaps sometimes it is. But from within the Galilean vision described by Whitehead, the reversal need not arise from wounded envy or bitterness. It can instead arise from a genuinely different understanding of power itself—a recognition that love, humility, and solidarity are deeper forms of strength than domination, and that symbols meant to inspire envy and awe may simply reveal the insecurity of those who rely on them.
Thus the proper response to the gaudy is not only ridicule but also pity. Thus the proper response to the gaudy is not only ridicule but also pity—for beneath the gold and marble lies a fragile desire to be admired, a longing for greatness that has mistaken domination for dignity.
In this saying and in so many others, Jesus offers an image of power that critiques images of power as domination. Power, for Jesus, lies in love and humility, in kindness. Alfred North Whitehead describes this orientation as the “Galilean vision.” From within that vision, the question of bad taste takes on a unique meaning.
Taste, argued the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu, is not simply a matter of personal preference or refined sensibility. It is often a social signal, a way in which individuals and groups mark distinctions, display cultural capital, and reinforce hierarchies of status and belonging. It becomes a weapon of exclusion.
From a Galilean perspective, what makes “bad taste” bad is not that it violates an objective, context-independent norm residing in the depths of the heavens. It's not that it violates Beauty with an upper-case B. Rather, it is bad when it functions to exclude others by signalling superiority, privilege, or social distance—when aesthetic display becomes a way of elevating oneself and diminishing others.
In this sense, the moral problem of taste lies not in the objects themselves—gold and marble—but in the spirit of exclusion and domination they may embody. A Christian ethic, centered on humility, hospitality, and solidarity with the vulnerable, invites a different use of beauty: one that welcomes rather than intimidates, and expresses shared dignity rather than hierarchy.
The homes of dictators are, then, typically monuments to bad taste in this deeper moral sense—a point made with raucous clarity in Dictator's Style: Lifestyles of the World's Most Colorful Despots by Peter York, who examines the aesthetic worlds cultivated by figures such as Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Joseph Stalin, Nicolae Ceaușescu, Muammar Gaddafi, Saddam Hussein, Mobutu Sese Seko, and François Duvalier—settings where gold-plated fixtures, marble halls, and theatrical extravagance reveal architecture functioning less as beauty than as a performance of domination.
How does this work aesthetically? Whitehead’s concept of symbolic reference can help us further interpret this kind of performance. In Whitehead’s view, many of the images in our minds and hearts are not merely abstract ideas or merely physical things in the world, represented in our minds. Rather, they are composites of perception and interpretation, in which physical objects are experienced through socially learned meanings, as symbolic referents. A gilded ceiling or a marble staircase thus becomes more than a material feature of a building. Through symbolic reference it becomes a sign of domination, an image that communicates and reinforces a social idea: that an elevated in-group—those with status and power—stands apart from and above an out-group whose status is lower or nonexistent.
If you find yourself in the out-group, there are several possible responses. You may accept the symbolism and respond with jealousy or admiration. This is the hope of the person or group deploying the dominating symbol: that others will feel impressed or envious, thereby reinforcing their sense of superiority—or, more precisely, their desire to be and feel superior. They want to be admired so that they feel good about themselves, and you are helping them.
Your other option is to reject the symbolism and respond with indifference, resistance, or ridicule. Sometimes this rejection takes the form of a reversal of meaning, in which symbols meant to inspire awe instead provoke laughter or contempt.
Here Whitehead’s notion of reversion becomes relevant. Reversion occurs when the patterns of valuation within experience shift, so that elements normally associated with prestige or admiration are interpreted differently. Through such a reversal in feeling, gold and marble cease to appear as signs of greatness and instead appear as gaudy excess or moral emptiness. What was intended as a display of glory becomes, in effect, a symbol of vulgar domination.
Seen in this light, the meek inherit the earth not by gilding their halls or lining them with marble, but by refusing the symbolism of domination and embodying a different kind of power altogether.
Is this merely a compensatory mechanism? Is such reversion rooted in what Friedrich Nietzsche called ressentiment--the psychological reversal by which those without power reinterpret the symbols of the powerful as signs of corruption or vulgarity?
Perhaps sometimes it is. But from within the Galilean vision described by Whitehead, the reversal need not arise from wounded envy or bitterness. It can instead arise from a genuinely different understanding of power itself—a recognition that love, humility, and solidarity are deeper forms of strength than domination, and that symbols meant to inspire envy and awe may simply reveal the insecurity of those who rely on them.
Thus the proper response to the gaudy is not only ridicule but also pity. Thus the proper response to the gaudy is not only ridicule but also pity—for beneath the gold and marble lies a fragile desire to be admired, a longing for greatness that has mistaken domination for dignity.
Symbols of Gold and Marble
Meanings commonly associated with gold
- Divine or sacred authority
Historically, gold was used in temples, churches, and imperial palaces. By adopting it, rulers visually link themselves to sacred or transcendent power. - Wealth and abundance
Gold communicates that the ruler, and by implication the state, is immensely powerful and prosperous. - Radiance and spectacle
Gold reflects light dramatically. Large chandeliers, gilded ceilings, and ornate fixtures create an overwhelming visual experience meant to impress visitors. - Cult of personality
In authoritarian regimes, interiors often function as theatrical backdrops for images of the leader.
Meanings associated with Marble
- Timeless durability
Marble has been used in classical Greek and Roman buildings and imperial monuments. It suggests permanence and stability. - Civilizational legitimacy
Marble connects a regime visually with earlier empires and classical traditions. - Monumentality
Large marble halls, staircases, and columns create a feeling of overwhelming scale. - Cold grandeur
Marble interiors often feel austere and imposing, reinforcing distance between ruler and ordinary citizens.
Dictator Style
Lifestles of the World's Most Powerful Despots
Welcome to the fabulous lifestyles of the cruel and despotic. Running with the idea that our homes are where we are truly ourselves, Peter York's wildly original and scathingly funny look at the interior decorating tastes of some of history's most alarming dictators proves that absolute power corrupts absolutely, right down to the drapes. Mining rare, jaw-dropping photographs of interiors now mostly (thankfully) destroyed, York's hilarious profiles of 16 inner sanctums of the scary leaves no endangered tiger pelt unturned, from Saddam Hussein's creepy private art collection to General Noriega's Christmas tree to the strange tube and knob contraption in the Ceausescu bathroom. All your favorite dictators are here: Hitler, Lenin, Stalin, Tito, Mussolini, Mobutu, Idi Amin, Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos—each with their own uniquely frightful chic. An interior decorating book like no other, Dictator Style is a welcome tonic for a world in need of a good laugh at the expense of the all-powerful.