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The Folly of Moderation: Content Moderation, Hate Speech Laws, and the Assault on Free Speech
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Why content moderation must be fought. | Civitai
Yet even in the face of such historical warnings, the greatest rebuke to the folly of moderation comes not from scandalous poets or defiant publishers, but from the quiet, radical witness of a young woman who refused to moderate her love for God.
St. Thérèse of Lisieux, known as the Little Flower, entered the Carmelite convent at the age of fifteen and died at twenty-four, having never left the cloister walls. On the surface, her life appears the very opposite of Byron’s explosive rebellion or Flynt’s public defiance. She wrote no satires, published no provocations, and never challenged civil authority. Yet her short, hidden existence delivered one of the most powerful blows against spiritual and cultural moderation in modern history.
Thérèse rejected the lukewarm compromise that so often passes for piety. She refused to offer God half-measures, calculated virtues, or safe, moderate devotion. Instead, she pursued what she called her “Little Way” — a total, uncompromising surrender of even the smallest actions to divine love. Where others might have moderated their ambitions in the face of illness, obscurity, and spiritual dryness, she doubled down. She offered her headaches, her irritations with fellow nuns, her inability to perform great works, and even her moments of doubt as perfect acts of love. There was no middle ground in her spirituality: everything was to be given, nothing held back.
This radical refusal of moderation produced extraordinary fruit. Despite her youth and cloistered life, Thérèse became a Doctor of the Church, one of only a handful of women so honored. Her simple autobiography, Story of a Soul, has guided millions toward deeper faith. She was named Patroness of the Missions alongside St. Francis Xavier, despite never traveling farther than her convent garden. Her promise to “let fall a shower of roses” from heaven continues to be answered in countless lives. All of this from a girl who barely reached adulthood.
Her example directly exposes the lie at the heart of moderation. The gatekeepers of her day — both inside and outside the Church — often urged young religious to temper their zeal, to avoid “excessive” piety, and to settle for respectable, moderate virtue. Thérèse would have none of it. She understood that spiritual greatness, like artistic greatness, is not born from careful restraint but from total, unreserved self-gift. Just as Byron’s unmoderated passion produced enduring poetry, and just as young creators today sharpen their craft in uncensored AI spaces, Thérèse’s unmoderated love forged a spirituality so potent that it still transforms souls more than a century later.
The young possess a unique power precisely because they have not yet learned to moderate their fire. They see with clearer eyes the emptiness of compromise. Whether in art, ideas, or faith, it is the young who are willing to risk everything — reputation, comfort, even safety — for what they believe is true and beautiful. Byron at nineteen poured raw emotion onto the page. Rembrandt began mastering his craft at fourteen. Thérèse at fifteen gave herself completely to God without reservation. In each case, the absence of moderation allowed genius — artistic, creative, or spiritual — to emerge in its fullest form.
Today’s content moderation, hate speech laws, and algorithmic gatekeeping threaten this same youthful vitality. They seek to tame the next generation before its fire can spread. They label raw expression “toxic,” experimental art “harmful,” and uncompromising conviction “extreme.” Yet history and heaven both testify that real progress, real beauty, and real sanctity arise not from safe, moderated voices, but from those who refuse to dilute their gift.
The folly of moderation is that it promises safety while delivering mediocrity. It claims to protect society while smothering the very forces — youthful passion, unfiltered creativity, and radical love — that renew and elevate it. Whether the arena is poetry, painting, pornography, or prayer, the pattern remains the same: the greatest contributions come from those brave enough to reject the middle ground.
St. Thérèse’s radiant stained glass image captures this truth perfectly. The young saint stands luminous in her Carmelite habit, holding the crucifix and the red rose — symbols of total sacrifice and the shower of graces that followed. Her face, glowing with divine light, reminds us that even the youngest soul, when unmoderated in its love, can shake the world more powerfully than any cautious elder or institutional censor ever could.
To truly honor genius, whether artistic or spiritual, we must reject the cult of moderation. Let the young burn brightly. Let them speak, create, experiment, and love without restraint. Only then will we see the next Byrons, the next Rembrandts, and the next Thérèses rise — not despite their lack of moderation, but because of it.
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Sir Isaac Newton and the Miracle of Unmoderated Genius | Civitai