Part II: Ideology as Costume and the Cult of Martyrdom
When investigators dig into the lives of lone-actor attackers, ideology often rises to the surface. Manifestos, social media posts, and online rants are seized upon as evidence of motive. But scratch a little deeper, and ideology begins to look less like the root cause of violence and more like a costume—a borrowed script attackers use to make sense of their own collapse.
The Buffalo supermarket shooter left behind a manifesto filled with racist memes and internet jargon. In it, he wrote: “The truth is my personal life and experiences are of no value. I am simply a White man seeking to protect and serve my community, my people, my culture, and my race.” Investigators later noted that his document was plagiarized almost wholesale from earlier far-right writings, cobbled together from “infographics, shitposts, and memes” circulating online. The manifesto wasn’t the product of a coherent ideology; it was a mask for despair. Beneath it lay a young man who had dropped out of college, withdrawn from friends, and admitted he saw no value in his life.
In Jacksonville, the shooter left writings filled with racial hatred, but he also targeted cultural figures like Eminem and Machine Gun Kelly. The bizarre mixture of racism, pop-cultural grudges, and violent fantasy revealed less about political doctrine than about personal performance. The local sheriff, who reviewed the documents, dismissed them as “the rantings of an isolated, hateful, madman.” His father reported that the shooter had stopped taking psychiatric medication and had become socially isolated after dropping out of college and losing his job.
The man who attempted to assassinate Donald Trump in Butler, Pennsylvania, defied neat categories. He was a registered Republican, yet had once donated to a progressive cause. He left no manifesto and no clear ideological track record. What did emerge were signs of decline: his father reported that he had become withdrawn, at times talking to himself, and showing signs of mental strain. Still, the attack was almost instantly described as a left-wing assault on a conservative icon.
If ideology often serves as costume, then martyrdom functions as the stage. Lone-actors do not only want to kill—they want to be seen, remembered, even sanctified. Their violence is rarely strategic; it is performative. They imagine themselves as heroes or avengers, even when their acts undermine the very causes they claim to serve. The Buffalo massacre discredited white nationalist ideology; the Jacksonville shooting reinforced public horror at racist extremism; the Trump rally attempt produced sympathy for Trump himself. Far from advancing their beliefs, these attackers diminish them.
Martyrdom in a Culture of Dehumanization
Martyrdom thrives where rhetoric strips opponents of their humanity. In today’s political climate, adversaries are not merely argued with; they are branded as racists, Nazis, fascists, or antisemites. These terms, when used precisely, describe horrific realities that must never be forgotten. But when hurled loosely in partisan combat, they lose meaning while sharpening their sting. They create an atmosphere where silencing an opponent feels not just acceptable but virtuous.
Words themselves are not violence. But words can prepare the ground for violence by portraying opponents as less than human. A lone-actor already in collapse does not need detailed instructions—only permission. In a climate of dehumanization, the fantasy of martyrdom feels sanctified, as if violence were not an act of despair but an act of justice.
Faith, Politics, and the New Stage for Martyrdom
This danger grows when religion and politics become indistinguishable. As David Brooks observed in The New York Times in the days after Kirk’s death, the memorial services and commentary surrounding him often mingled faith and partisanship until it was hard to tell whether speakers were invoking the faith of Jesus or the faith of MAGA. Instead of discipling people in humility, hope, or charity, rhetoric trained them in enmity, conquest, and domination.
Traditional faith institutions once provided moral guardrails, reminding believers of their own fallibility and the need to restrain passions. But when faith is fused with partisanship, those restraints vanish. Politics becomes spiritual warfare. Opponents are cast as Satanic, and martyrdom is glorified as proof of divine favor. For a collapsing individual, the message is clear: to kill is not just to act, but to sacrifice for the sacred.
The irony is stark. The very institutions once tasked with moral formation now risk amplifying the culture of martyrdom and collapse. The result is a combustible mixture of unrestrained faith and unrestrained partisanship—a mixture that rewards extremity, erases moderation, and offers collapsing individuals a ready-made script for their violent performance.
For a collapsing individual seeking meaning, this atmosphere is combustible. A lone-actor already steeped in grievance may seize upon these cues, convincing himself that his attack is an act of justice.
This is how personal collapse merges with public rhetoric: the attacker’s crisis finds validation in the culture’s words, and his fantasy of martyrdom gains the illusion of moral legitimacy.
NEXT POST
Part III: The Simplification Machine
The power of lone-actor violence lies not only in the act itself but also in how it is narrated. Media does more than report these tragedies—it simplifies them, frames them, and feeds them into an endless cycle of clicks, shares, and soundbites.